I enter Auschwitz 1.
Apprehensive crunches with every step.

I stand in a gas chamber.
Fully clothed.
With oxygen flowing freely.

I stand on a spot where thousands have stood before me.
But I'm able to make an exit,
Yet I'm rooted to the floor,
Transfixed with horror.
I feel like the last remaining tree,
surrounded by a forest of death.

Deforestation makes me sick.

*

Birkenau has a secret
that it doesn't want to tell.
A broken ending stood still.

The arches.
The ruins.
The tracks.
Thuds of reality slapping my face.

Stood inside the bleak barracks,
our guide asks us
"Imagine what it would like to be here -
What you'd see,
smell,
hear."

My eyes widen open in a scream,
they sting, fighting back at the image conjured within my mind.
I take a sharp breath
and close my eyes.

I am scared.

Petting the clouds till they part
The ****** red skies bleed their light
down upon the mountain of corpses below
Children, skulls smashed in, babies on bayonets
Hanged men spinning pirouettes
Timelapse footage of X-ray sterilization
The laughing macemen
all smoke and elbows
Herding humans into faux showers
Grins and rattling grease-guns
It is as plain as pain this must be a dream
But I do not want to wake up
Not until the end
When the corpses rise up
to consume the exterminators
and the screaming begins
Then the blood shall flow anew.

Most people don't know this, but as a boy, Criminal Trump worked at the
Auschwictz-Birkenau death camp where from 1940 to 1945 the Nazis murdered 1,100,000, mostly Jews, the largest number of murders committed  
in any of the other 15,000 death camps spread over Europe in World War II.
Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp was locacated in the province of Upper Silesia in Poland. The camp used Zyklon B to ****** these men, women, and children in their gas chambers. Criminal Trump had multiple duties. He would help the **** guards force the Jews out of the railroad cars, enduring somehow the yelling and screams of the Jews who, for the most part, had already heard the fate awaiting them. Criminal Trump laughed with the **** guards. Criminal Trump, even though he was just a boy, was allowed to carry a club to beat any recalcitrant Jew who would resist getting into line. One of Criminal Trump's most favorite tasks was to watch the women and their female children be forced to take off all their clothing. Criminal Trump enjoyed staring at these naked females, choosing for himself those who were the most beautiful to him. He would wait longer than most of the **** guards before turning on the Zyklon B gas. One of his least favorite jobs was carrying the corpses covered with human excrement to the ovens where they were to be burnt. The smell was almost too fetid for him to do his job. Though Criminal Trump showered after each of these horrid, but necessary, tasks, he never could get rid of either of the smell or the memory of what he had to do hours each day in the gas chambers. In fact, as a man, he would awaken with a start from recurring nightmares of these atrocities he had participated in as a boy.
What Criminal Trump did as a boy at Auschwitz-Birkenenau death camp shaped how he would treat virtually every human being he encountered later
in life--with lack of any empathy at best, with sociopathic cruelty at worst.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

He lifted his hand, it shook,
he leaned towards speech, halting,
a stroke confined his feet
to shuffled, prayerful, praises,
the day pushed dusk through blinds,

“How you buh, beautiful?” (a rasp).
“You take your meds?” the nurse said.
“How you… to… today?”, finger pointing
(reminded of it's hook).
She smiled and smoothed his bed
"You flirtin’, you bad man?”

Once he'd made a vow, an oath
in Auschwitz-Birkenau;
forced to pick gold from charred teeth,
he pledged to sidestep death, to live!
And, walk in love, to the Sabbath.


Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks

The old man’s skin was parchment thin,
his eyes a watery blue.
On his left arm he bore the mark;
his Birkenau tattoo.

The letter “B” and six numbers
would be with him to the grave.
A permanent reminder
of his time as ******’s slave.

Two winters spent in Auschwitz-
What God would so design?
It left him gaunt and starving
with no faith in the Divine.

Yet he survived the worst and lived
when all his bunk  mates died.
His first wife was dust on the wind
as was their little child.

Now his grandson bears that mark,
the one and  very same.
To remind the world Of ******’s crimes,
He has skin in the game.

Bundled rags,
As much a bed
As clothes,
Hang forlorn
From limp hand
That shakes
Spasmodically
As tears mingle with
Dirt fleck mist
Father, Mother
Grandma
Granddad
Sweet sister
Baby brother
All gone
On the train
Leaving you behind
To weep
At your loss
Now
And forever
In the future

This then
The last train
To Auschwitz-Birkenau

Auschwitz-Birkenau, Belzec, Bergen-Belsen,
Buchenwald, Chelmno, Dachau, Dora-Mittebau,
Flossenburg, Gross-Rosen, Janowska, Kaiserwald,
Majdanek, Mauthausen, Natzweller-Struthof,
Neuengamme, Oranienburg, Plaszow, Ravensbruck,
Sachenhausen, Sobibor, Terezin, Treblinka, Westerbork.

There were more than 15,000 of these death camps
spread over ****-occupied Europe. In addition to Jews,
other groups murdered were homosexuals, the physically
and mentally infirm, political and religious dissidents,
Gypsies, communists, socialists, Afro-Germans, Soviet
POWS, intelligentsia, beggars, alchoholics, prostitutes,
freemasons, and trade unionists.

It is estimated that between 15,000,000 to 20,000,000
human beings were murdered by Nazis during the
Holocaust. ****** assumed power in 1933, **** Trump
in 2017.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

you can really only begin critiquing a movie, beginning with the soundtrack, and, my my, wasn't T2 such a pleasurable follow-up.

you ever noticed how you can't look
at a moon, cross-eyed,
   with only one eye?
      a debilitatingly obvious fact,
when i started integrating into english
society, i said to myself:
make sure you know the sewers of
this city of tongue,
make sure you know every nook &
cranny, make sure you can speak
the native, better than the natives...
i think i did a fair good job,
   after all, english speakers think that
english is a difficult language to learn,
not to a bright-spark aged 8,
this other italian kid, fat as a doughnut
didn't bite into the tongue as rapaciously
as i did...
              and so it went:
synthesise the acquired for about 20 years,
and then analyse it later...
       my my, what a kinder surprise it
ended up becoming!
     but have you ever gazed at the moon
cross-eyed? suddenly you become
no more the *polyphemus...
  you start looking at the moon cross-eyed
and suddenly two moons appear,
  the optical lambda stops working,
             what once was Λ, become a V -
      and you really get to see the world
of polyophemus' father: poseidon,
   because everything almost looks submerged
under water...
                              V
                        ­      Λ       two in 'ere,
two up 'er,
                           almost like the sunset on
tatooine...
          and always that persistent guilt over
"ooh the bad n- word",
      oh sure, besides the fact that i befriended
a 60+ year old ghanian grandfather in
the off-lice, once upon a pumpkin-carriage
tale time ago, and i always end the conversation
by a handshake that involves to of mine
and only one of his...
        so i feel this much . of "despair" /
                      "responsibility" when using
a toothbrush... *****, i ain't got beef,
but cut some slack on the shifty every changing
nature of urban slang,
     ***** might just mean: a shady individual,
and if i can't say nigh-jer (niger),
what am i going to replace it with, nigel?!
        if that's offensive, then i think we really
did a pish-poor job at slaughtering each other
or making ***** films...
     obviously we need to crank up the heat...
tell you what...
   you know what the "holy roman empire"
shifted a tad bit to the east,
and involves poland, former czechoslovakia
and hungary?
             first of all, the languages are a bit hard...
and not everyone speaks english
like they do in the benelux or scandinavia,
that's for starters, but the poles received two
great gifts from the german people,
first the marienburg castle given to us by
the teutonic crusaders of the north,
and second of all...
  auschwitz-birkenau, majdanek, auschwitz zwei
(they're intact, and can be quiet easily
reponened)...
i can't even believe i managed to translate
english black humour...
    i thought some things were never
possible...
     william burroughs in his book
    the cat inside talks about the SS training...
the initiation into the upper ranks of
the SS was to gouge out the eyes of a pet
cat after feeding & cuddling the cat for a month...
to eliminate the pity-poison and mould
the complete übermensch...
  then he goes on to say how he would never
hurt a cat...
               these sort of people,
the ones that value animal life over human
life can actually become the foremost conscripts...
with my ginger quarus?
  that ******* annoying luciano paravortti?
that qat qaeda who ***** in peoples beds
and deserves a smack?
            give me half an hour,
a bottle of *** and i'll tell you once the time is
done...
      but you see... the german have
actually provided gifts...
  these sites are deterrents...
   and if you travel to warsaw in december,
and land there, and walk outside the airport...
you might as well fall it scythia...
           feral lands, i know i've said this before,
but i've just been rewatching commentary
videos from 2015 / 6 events...
      i've stopped identifying the reality of:
it's only real when i've encountered it,
and: it's just a media coverage when it hasn't
happened to me...
             and sometimes i just end up
drinking and writing something:
completely mediocre, since i know it's
provoking some sort of hornets' nest of emotion,
and that the only redeeming part of this
exhausting effort (due to its mundane
subject matter) is the optical diamond -
for the most part, we peer into the world
with two eyes that are so calibrated to be effectively
synchronised, convergent,
     looking at the convergence point,
clearly indicates that when converging,
   the eyes diverge, and are actually parallel...
i have absolutely no idea how
   this happens, the whole: looks upright
but then translate to the brain is actually
upside-down is one thing, but that's the vertical
aspect, i mean the horizontal explanation
of the eyes... how, even though they are
placed at a parallel, they actually manage to
converge, whereby polyphemus' one
is as good as our two...
                i don't have the resources to explore
of given an answer in concreto,
                     just one guy,
having a drink, looking at the moon,
                                                   cross-eyed.

.if you want the fresh impromptu, you might as well skip this unpublished draft, i'm even starting to think about leaking my hellopoetry.com password... but given my suspension... FOR 8 MONTHS because of some soccer mum not having encountered something akin to a harlequin novel... i'll leave it at that: •••••••••••••••••, here's to some depeche mode... last time i checked, even africans have the same inside of their hands "whitened"... there is no racial difference to be allowed to read into chiromancy... i met one ***-, tomikuni... he also inquired about reading my hands... we're all pale, governed by the thumb, when asked, or not asked, to hold "something".

and what is the only variant of classical
music, heard on a radio?

    well... there's the fama radio night
sessions - with not adverts
   radiofama.com.pl -

it might be your take on what the french
tell the english, i.e.: euro-trash...

but no adverts...

                          and there is no reason
to concede to reviving punk,
hippy music didn't see a revival,
why should punk?

   a variant of classical music radio,
akin to bbc 2, or classic fm...

       that "oddity" of a morphed bbc 4
internet coverage, akin to lionel nation...
and what i mean by that,
is not h. d. thompson's gonzo...

          the allure of the, un-scripted...
and all of this is raw, flesh,
language at a smithfield
                   or a billingsgate...

talk-radio as the logical conlusion
of exposing your child to classical music...
it's genius -
   reverting back to classical music
once you're older, and don't play
an instrument?
                      what's the point?

dr steve turley bashing out a medieval
mash-up on the guitar...
            and that's "not" even
inspiration for a rock star status...
i like his smugness -
    it's... zesty, lime-like:
             certainty of the twinkling
of the eye that consists of:
    a remaining - intact, i.e., sane.

bbc radio 4?
      what, with zee archers nonsense?
this radio novella
that keeps propping itself up
like a bad take on eastenders without
the kray brothers?
          
                  talk-radio is all about
a non-existent "script":
       the flamboyance of spontaneity...
with the crux, being?
                
                                     ensō -

the only aspect of ζεν, a ταoιστ might
respect.

      p.s.
                  do i believe in u.f.o.  s?
(****, acronyms and the plural article
attached to them, mind boggling)
     no... but i've seen one, so the belief impetus
is, kind'ah missing in me...
             i've transcended speculation,
a question-worthiness on the matter...
since the question no longer manifests
      itself in the narration impetus?
the impetus for narrative, is narration per se;
and how lovely, it is to see
a noumenon...
      when the world of phenomenons
reads like this:

  the times newspaper, saturday, july 21,
2018,
               OVER 70,000 CHILDREN
PUT ON PILLS FOR DEPRESSION...

great headline...
     alas, a chemistry degree (3rd)
from edinburgh uni.,
     am i chemo-phobic?
                 i should ask myself that
same question, when i next
brush my teeth, apply shampoo to
my cranium,
   or wash my hands.
__________
as any drunk might,
   now i know why my parents decided
to leave Poland...
   Chernobyll...
           when you hear the facts...
about a single gram of Uranium, U-236,
2.34 x 10 to the power of seven, years
being the "half-life" or...
****, i should have read over my
chemistry notes from Edinburgh...
before the particle fizzles out...

                 i was lucky...
i am to born again with the age bracket
of 33... which means i only received
a Cain tattoo on my right shoulder-blade...
birth-mark,
apparently i suffered greatly as a child,
hernia and all...
            i had the birth-mark removed,
i'm pretty sure i was a donor,
my flesh became donated to
   some scientific lab and studied...
here's my Shylock pound...

given what's currently happening in my
home city...
with the slow decay, the ever more increasing
number of cancer victims, middle-aged....
they're talking about the sort of cancer
that... moves, visibly, under your skin...
people are freaking out...

     it's not a joke,
   the soviets wanted to hush hush the whole
affair...
                   3.2 of whatever scale...
was hushed... but the reality was
aquivalent to 400 x-rays in a spell of a minute...
i was under the impression that i was
the child of economic migrants...
   eh eh...
               i don't think that's actually the whole
picture...
   come on! if people were hot and bothered
in Minsk... Belarus...
           this wasn't a ******* tornado...
tornados come and go... we're talking
500 years of after-effects...
               even my great-grandmother
remembers how the trees in the local park
were affected... streaks of autumn trees...
among streaks of actual spring green
phosphorescent trees illuminated
by street lamps...
          like the current phosphorescent green
oaks in england...

   they fled... and took me with them...
who gives a **** whether i came to england
without speaking the language...
hiding in toilets at my primary school...
but then... one day...
after self-teaching myself the language,
studious, labour of the mind,
books and books...
i was the teacher's pet...
             i remember this one time...
st. augustine's, near barkingside...
i was the only kid doing long arithmetic...
while the "natives" decided to
stage a: lord of the flies sort of coup
against the replacement teacher...
and what happened when our...
  ****... ms. mcguire! can't believe i still
remember her name...
  i wasn't happy that the children
were scolded,
  i did my work, they didn't,
and i managed to do whatever i wanted
while they had to catch-up
on what i already did...

         for whatever childhood i had,
i still remember it fondly...
    my father being unable to teach me how
to swim in the english channel,
me teaching myself to swim out of sheer
will and determination: competition...
i know people brag about:
how smart they were so early on:
                             yadda yadda bull... ****!

now i am here to take out my investment
in this language,
   to... peacock and strut...
        as i am also glad to not brag about
being a polyglot or a... eh... somewhat polymath...
either this... or a slump in depression
and suicide thinking:
   as always... i don't get out of bed
and think of one impossible thing,
   i get out of bed to overcome one suicidal thought...
not all suicidal thinking is the end game,
some of it relieves you in having
integrating a kick-up your **** to get out of bed!

so... the picture...
well like any past-time of any: happily to be drunk...
walking is one,
the other...
       i wanted to experience a hamsa...
     i was going to do the whole hand,
but i figured: spare some of that ink
for what you're going to write on your grandfather's
80th birthday card...
poor ******...
     he still remembers getting sweets from
two SS-men in black,
  sweets that would stick his hands together...
he still remembers how his uncle
laid in a patch of green, shot dead,
how the russian soldiers would rather prefer
to sleep in the barns with the goats
on hay rather than in beds,
how most of them were teenagers...
and how my grandmother's ultimate insult
to him was: that he was a skurwysyn:
  *******...
     well... he does have 3 other brothers...
half-brothers...
                         eh... clown needs to juggle?
however bad he was...
we did go fishing together...
    but now that he's demented...
and has a dementia routine...
                    it's hard to tell what it feels
in this, transition period of the perils of
us, the mortal men...
                  i could never associated mortality
with any sort of morality,
other than it being dictated by one's
own ambition: to keep as many people
from my private life as possible.
           so when my jewish neighbor
recently converted to islam drops by and
comments about my barber skills:
you and my son look like you've just been
released from auschwitz birkenau...
we laugh...
            and how it suits me... beard and all...
monk...
      cool cool...
   i'm still studying the qabbalah...
                    christianity became... too poverty
stricken for me, in terms of points of reference...
although not circumcised...
why would i be?
                          that extra bit of skin is
for me to not be ashamed of jerking off once
in a while...
   pije... pali... konia wali.

            and this is where the: right hand doesn't
know what the left hand is doing...
regarding chiromancy...

              tzayach's...
i tattooed over chokhmah,
                chesed and netzach....
for the love of god...
there's no     girdle of venus on either
of my hands...
  either hand looks like there's
a letter imprinted on them: M...
                i had a "fwend" in high school
once... god, what is it with the muslims...
either they want to **** you,
or convert you!
    started his own muslim chiromancy...
talked **** about how there's
the number 72 on my hands...
the number of names of the goat-blood
                               allah god...

no... i'm pretty ******* sure that's an M...
anyway...

p.s.
and then you look up those words ref.
chiromancy...
                 as ever, better to bewilder yourself
with what's in front of you,
in your posession than to *******
yourself around the zodiac brothel of
          ... well... even the zodiac killer
is more fascinating than all this: "constellations
talk"... yeah, and a paragraph of
marquis de sade's writing is more
of a hard-on than some harlequin novel!

i tattooed over the words:
    chokhmah...     in the sefirot tree:
wisdom... yah...
            chesed...        ditto:
    love... el...
               netzach...             ditto:
victory... adonoy tzevaot...
   2, 4, 7... those are the allocated numbers
to the sefirot tree...
   whether or not gematria is your thing...
because i'm the type of, "guy",
that likes the maxim: i'll meet you half-way,
now you meet me, half-way...

how could any muslim,
think i could convert,
  to the brat ******* son of christianity,
who keeps nagging,
and nagging, and punching and screaming...
if, that is, monotheism is a noble cause...
why would i look toward
the evolutionary direction...
no past, only forward,
how much of darwinism is about:
forward...
   all our ancestors were idiots...
ah... but what will those,
who will inherit what we... floundered think,
of us?
         not much, by the looks of things...
what have i done?
   to love wisdom,
is to find victory...
   the will, will come from itself,
and the power, vested in it,
i don't need to look for the "logos"
via the christian deity...
   i merely look at the genesis of the idea...
Heraclitus...
            and that's it...
and why do i do "stupid" things when drinking...
like pretending to tattoo my hand?
i do not possess the luxury of dreaming...
rarely... i do, but mostly:
it's the abyss that entertains me...
so i have to do something stupid
within the framework of a "today",
that i might sharpen my memory for
a "tomorrow"...

       i have nothing to learn from
the christians...
                  i might as well turn to paganism
if, and only if,
my... deposed fascination with
judaism diminishes...
                    i don't even care whether
i'm a jew or not, a yew: paraphrasing
the prefix from yiddish...
those people, were citizens of Paul-on-a-leash...
land...
                this is the best i can offer...
i'm not... **** like the ******* caduceus
of protruding veins wrapping
the ******* intact?

****... here's a chimera for you:
**** of a Hermes, heart of a...
     head of a...
                  feet of a...
and a tail of a dobberman-albino-monkey:
when it was still aesthetically pleasing
to trim the ears and cut off the tail
of that particular dog breed!
   and... i'm still drinking...
                      what have you...
bitter, inconsistent, whatever you like...
i'll just trap this in the internet index,
open a newspaper from sunday,
that big one, format,
                   the old school way of reading
an english newspaper:
   having once tried folding a page
on the tube (underground)...
              never mind, thank god i still have
my *******...
i don't look like a ******* loser
all of the time jerking off
without having one...
         yeah: i'm pretty sure the kippah
has something to do with:
the imitation game, of medieval monk's
donning the tonsure haircut.

p.p.s. em... revision, it was actually U-235...
and the core of a nuclear power-plant...
being exposed...
   like 40 ******* Hiroshima explosions
in one hour, non-verbatim...
but Chernobyl was a ghost town
without the sort of tourism manifesto
of Zionists...
who would have to revisit
the grave of their ancestry...
                  no "big" deal though...
m'eh, just a little glitch...
no children in Frankfurt being told
to not play outdoors...
just a glitch...
                the holocaust is forever
the major no. 1 human disaster...
pre-planned...

     say... why study jurisprudence,
when not having studied the thesaurus
helps, i mean:
isn't all of the jursprudent concept
based upon access to a thesaurus,
aren't all nouns: "suspect",
readied for the synonym spaghetti
counsil? no? my bad?

  oh, oh... good to know! really great,
great to know: who the ****
is peddling this sort of *******!
weasels.
even your own shadows will
not forgive you...
mark my word...
whether angels, demons,
your own shadows will not forgive
you...
you'll be dancing the *******
1518 dancing plague:
whether you like it or not!

      let's take a summary:
what looks worse,
Chernobyl or, Auschwitz?
how many tourists visit Auschwitz,
how many tourists visit Chernobyl?
hmm...
    tough number to crack open
for comparison...
          this is the one time i will
craft a crux for / of moral relativism...
who was gagging for it,
and... who wasn't... when it happened:
"out of the blue"?
        let's just say:
Chernobyl wasn't premeditated...
Auschwitz, was...
           now i did start learning
about the qabbalah for a reason:
the holocaust wasn't the worst horror
of the 20th century,
the 20th century prime tattoo of historical
events: wasn't Auschwitz...
       and i will, continue,
to learn qabbalah, denoucning my "christianity",
for this, sole, reason...
the yews, jews, yids,
aren't the only people alive in this world,
i'm not going to buy into this
solipsistic narrative complex...
esp. when i will, forthrightly:
denounce who was crucified...
      i'm done... with the unearthing of
the nag hammadi library in 1945,
complimented by the josephus ben matthias
historian...
             how jesus, "son of god"
played chinese whispers in the gosepl of
st. thomas...
   n'ah... n'ah mate... i'm done...
            find yourself a ******* imam
or a rabbi: my mind is made up!
ich will tanz diese tango...
              egal du wie es, oder nicht!
sorry... whether deutsche or not,
west saxon grammar translates itself:
*** essex bound.

The Holocaust never happened?
Ask those with numeric blue on their arms
It doesn't wash off neither do the memories shoes and teeth
It is ignorance and lack of education
Or is it?
Auschwitz,Birkenau,and others
Try looking up the name of a descendant on the Yad Vashem website
They list the names and how they perished
Imagine if it was your family?
It happened and hopefully will never happen again
See Chanukah is coming and though the holiday is happy and light
There is darkness when human beings deny it ever happened
"One for each night they shed us with light to remind us of days long ago."

C@rainbowchaser2019