.the English pronounce the Cornish town's name as: nookie... the **** is it, a Green Day album name, or a Limp Bizkit song? perhaps i'm too French in my pronunciation... quail... eggs... quay... qua-a... if i were Welsh i'd write you the name like so... newyddquaa... but no... but no, has to be nookie... like buggering a ******* chimp... quail eggs... see how language becomes mutated? nothing is apparently, certainly, stable... always the permutation of a flux... i must have ingested a little of the French concept of: je ne sais quoi when learning English... come one... nouveaucarrière: new quarry... nouveauquai... nookie?! seriously?! Q, Q... Quail eggs... quay... new... quay... maybe the usage of hyphenating words into compounds needs to be revised in the english sprechen... ******* mutation... nookie... ****** ******, + a ******* wookie, walking carpet ride worth the name Chew-a-Buck-back-up! i'd settle for: new-key... some sort of variant of a maritime honing device for locating ships sending distress signals during storms... but... no... but hey... it's authentically Welsh territory... Cornwall is, after all... a pre modern extension of Wales... nookie this: shotgun my *** while is spew rhetoric concerning the health benefits of applying feces instead of ****** cream for the benefits of: no one.

over 20 years spent living on these isles,
and i never made the connection -
Welsh nationalism could only work
if you included Cornwall -
   given that Cornish is very much:
a southern dialect of Çymru -

    i guess... i'm not sure...
    let's put it to the etymological filter...
beginning with primary words:

black
           du   (Cornish)
      du   (Çymru)

    red
       rudh (Cornish)
      coch (Çymru)

    white
          gwydn (Cornish)
gwyn (Çymru)
      
        i guess that's how etymology works,
a shared origins story...
etymology is best
  examined with primary words,
basic nouns / adjectives...

that was the adjective test...
now for the noun test:

sun
          howl (Cornish)
  haul (Çymru)
      
  moon
   loor (Cornish)
    lloer (Çymru)...

    sky
               ebron (Cornish)
   awyr (Çymru) -
   ah...
      now we see what becomes from
etymological deviation...
the sky has to have more
inherent connotations
of a religiosity as the resting place
of sort...

i'm sure that sea, earth, water,
and fire, are very much akin
or mountain...
but i could be wrong...

sea
    mor (Cornish)
  môr (Çymru)
        
earth
    dor (Cornish)
   ddaear (Çymru)

   water
         dowr (Cornish)
      *dŵr (Çymru)

fire
          tan (Cornish)
    tân (Çymru)

mountain
   menedh (Cornish)
         mynydd (Çymru) -

ah... well then...
that explains the separatist movement
of Cornwall akin
to the Spanish Basque or
the Catalonia...

  white cross on a black flag...
they're ******* Welsh down
in Cornwall!
   i was eating a Welsh pasty
all along!
           oh... i see...
  
  that's why they're separatists
down there...
but there's one word that's
crucial in all of this,
given the emblem is
on the Welsh flag...

  dragon...
**** me!
       there's an etymological source
for the word in English...
and, it comes from?
Cornish!

   draig (Çymru)
  dragon... in ******* Cornish!
**** me...

what's... snake?
   serpont (Cornish)
    neidr (Çymru)...

   there are similarities though...
blatant ones...
which explains the separatist
sentiment of the Cornish people...
they are like
the Hindu corp
of the Urdu speaking Welsh...
high Welsh and low Welsh...

nice to know...
thank god i didn't make the brash
etymological decision to
find the long lost cousins
of a shared source
akin to "abstract" words,
like...

        gallos-power-gallu...

****!

          g­od?
       DUW | WUD

well... god is a universal word,
and it matches...
  duw is god in Cornish,
and in Çymru...
   as it is also Allah on Malta...
funny as the fact that Malta
and it's Knights Hospitaller
cross of St. John of
                                 1567.

20 ******* years on these isles -
and only now i realize
why the Cornish are separatists...
they're Welsh...
   in disguise,
under the guise of a tourist
hot spot that's "nookie":
                       i.e. Newquay...

come to think of it...
    even though i'm living in England...
i interacted more with
the Welsh, the Irish and the Scots...
than i have with the English...
    i'm starting to think that...
if i don't make my way to
Yorkshire...
  or Newcastle...
then i lived in a country...
where the supposed countrymen
of said name... never existed!
ha!

well, in english you'd never really know
that Cornwall was once part of Wales,
given that Wales, isn't in the name
Cornwall: but that's in English...

in Polonaise?
        well... Wales / Walia (that double-u
  or rather, the double-v,
   since... erm: ωμέγα?)
         ergo?
      Cornwall / Kornwalia...
      probably the most beautiful part of
England you can begin to imagine...

aside...
   the current debate over "the pond" in
h'america... tuition fees, student debt...
as much as the h'americans love to gloat
and boast this that and the other...

i'm looking at myself...
    i went to university, studied chemistry,
and history...
   3rd year? 12 hours per week in
the laboratories...
three tiers of chemistry:
a.  physical - i hated physical chemistry,
it's so un-chemical...
   too much physics / mathematical
*******, so obviously i was weak at it...
b. inorganic chemistry...
    something that mingles with
   geology / metallurgy...
   eh... so so... it was o.k. and finally
c. organic chemistry...
   my strongest route, my faustian dream...
and so much like cooking,
so much so that... well: heston blumenthal...
maybe that's why i love cooking
so much, since it reminds me of
organic chemistry...
   anyways, i digress...
      back when i studied...
  and labour was in power with their:
education, education, education mantra?
that's what was still great
                  about britain...
the last stand as it were,
   ****, i still remember tha handing over
of hong kong...
    fee, per year? 1,250 quid...
                      that's it...
student loan, 3,000 quid per year...
   i actually did manage to live
             on the 3,000 with enough money
spare to do weekend away trips to paris,
stockholm, barcelona etc. - and god:
how i loved to travel alone,
bumping into strangers in hostels...
and the best part?
    i don't have to repay my loan until
i earn over 15,000 quid per year...
and since i'm not earning that...
                  the loan will be annuled after
30 years...
   mind you... a really **** year to go
to university and become a british citizen...
since... in scotland... e.u. citizens didn't
pay tuition fees!
      hence the massive surge of the polans
circa 2005...
                                 so: america, **** yeah!

but on a night like this,
esp. in the evening prior to the night itself,
there's that surge in electricity in the air...
you're walking to the supermarket
and the most mediocre magic happens...
sonny rollins' blues in your ears
you pass a street lamp and it gets switched
on by the grid...

                   it's only special because
your're listening to jazz and when you listen
to jazz and promenade...
you might as well be as content as if
walking a yorkshire terrier...
    
   while on the way back, instead of your
usual beer... you buy yourself...
a rowntrees ice lolly...
    and you eat that... smirking, feeling
                                                 like a badass.

p.s. the best thing i received from
the university wasn't even the degree...
a chance to play squash, mountain climbing
(glen coe was a beau)...
         a t-shirt...
since, once i left: a self-teaching discipline.

.you don't get it... it's... too... late... whatever argument you have concerning the bill of rights for the internet, or whatever... "public utility" involves... internet banking and internet commerce has your argument by the *****... and it's stretching it... about to play a mad-south violin tune on excess skin; ****, love the arguments... but e-commerce and e-banking if like... whatever the purpose of the internet was... it... was... ha ha! about saving the amount of paper used in offices around white-collar workers... eventually... because, what else?!

at this points, i'm thinking -
why divide and conquer?

just put some salt on the wounds
and watch the fiasco...

why? well... hmm...
i don't like the sterile environment
of the internet...

once upon a time,
like it's some Disney cartoon prologue
from the 1930s...

i can't watch Joe Rogan on
youtube anymore...

         whatever alternative video
recommendations i get when
watching a video...
        it's a ******* brick wall...
it's the same **** i watched before...

the algorithm isn't being inquisitive
of me...
        i like the idea of an A.I.
being inquisitive of me,
when with each video,
there was something, potentially new,
humming its presence
in the background...

       i liked that... the A.I. would
just... propose some, other, more
far-fetched alternative...
      and this environment was
existent, alive, and well,
say...

            one and a half years ago?
give or take the "concept"
of circa....

     but now? i turn on the internet,
and it's like... the ******* BBC...
do i ******* look like a *******
pensioner?! or am i some add-on to
the song forever young...
clown prince clapping with one hand
or doing the jazz hands:
all grin and no subtlety of humor?

the internet existed from...
say... ****... when did i frequent Microsoft
chat rooms...
say...
                     i was in year 9, 10, or 11...
i left high-school in the year 2004...
years 12 and 13...
        let's just say...
the year that limp bizkit's
album choc. starfish and the hot dog
flavored water album was released...
with the song hold on...
an atmospheric riff...
subtle, gentle...
like black sabbath's solitude "riff"...
a gentle play on never engaging
in *******-like
solos for the guitars...

so?
    the internet in its original casing lasted
for... a gross value of...
    16 years? maybe 17 years...
no more...
  the internet is dead...

it used to be fun...
       oh **** me, 2 years ago?
it was the cherry on top of relating to blank
spaces... but now?
the ****'s sterile...
infertile, and to boot: impotent...

point in question:
i'll have t rethink finding watching brick walls
entertaining once more...
imagining... ****...
you sure one of them didn't make
a corner-stone Jesus quote,
slyly moved...
   and then painted a Piet Mondrian?
you sure?!

yeah, thanks a lot...
for making internet t.v.,
*******... wankers... gob shy-ters! *******!
cubicles of norms no one is
ever going to fulfill... like some ****
eugenics poster children of
what a perfect family looks like...
wankers!

the internet is dead,
and what used to be a great jukebox that's
youtube... oh... forget it...
that's dead too...

i liked the days when the A.I. was
A.I., and restricted from
a ******* Terminator-futurism-phobia...
and look what the wankers
brought with them... cages...
restrictions... they didn't even consort
with the actual hardware providers...
the ones who actually provide
internet access...
the one time the middle men were
of relevance...

no...    these people ****** the A.I....
with what i already stated:
   Terminator-futurism-phobia...
what a waste of potential...
the internet: as the internet lasted for
roughly 16 years...
and then died the death of being glued
to a t.v. set...
          so... why bother carrying your
smartphone everywhere?
it's like carrying a t.v. everywhere!
it's like... the 1980s, reinvented...
boomboxes in miniature form...
    see what this has become?
   it's beyond a circus or a freak-show...
it's an atomic bomb: imploding...

i'll still write ******* into this blank space...
but... the bet is settled on:
i'll drink more, heavily...
and turn out the advocate of
being... a disciple of the Cynic school;
the end.

.i still can't find my generation bv limp bizkit online... that's... just, just ever so bothersome... and what did: the who, ever receive.... oh... right... the sunday times magazine front-cover.... HIS generation... roger daltrey, the Who frontman, on the groupies, the madness of keith moon - and backing Brexit... nice... nice... but i can't search for lim bizkit's my generation - song... this is the part where you pray with the congregation... when the last of the Auschwitz survivors die... hmm... a free world... when the last of the Auschwitz survivors die... hello wowld.

like burning out
cigarettes on the tips
of your knuckles...
just because...
you're too cheap
to intake tattoo ink.

always a blast with
a blur,
    of a remnant scar;
sure as hell
beats taking to
defining self-harm
with inking.

I figured something out today.
The majority of the people I serve are completely braindead.
It makes me so angry.
Some of them tap their glasses, in such a way to make me hear in my mind,
"Oh yeah more water over here, would you?"
And I sit there and realize
I am a machine to them. A cashier. I make change.

I hate half of my coworkers. I hate to sound like a total ****, but its true.
One of the guys in the kitchen is just an *******. He barks orders, doesnt say please or thank you,
You know, all that standard crap that I have come to expect
Considering I have been raised to be the NICEST PERSON outwardly...

[It was around 13 when my inwardly was born and raised.
That age when all I did when listened to Sisters of Mercy and Korn
And wore leather gloves all over the place (fingerless, of course)
And cited goth poetry and Edgar Allen Poe in English class...

Hey... got the best speech/writing grades...

Women finally realized I existed.
I no longer cared for women.
Friends flocked.
I no longer needed friends.
People stopped trying to stab me.
I no longer cared.

The horrendous, hilarious, horrifying truth to what I felt those times
Was that I finally had acceptance when I no longer wanted it.
Oh, the irony (Coincidence, probably... Not by definition, just by realism... it was a coincidence that happened to be RIDICULOUSLY ironic)]

The other guy back there is a complete and utter clique-artist.
In every. Sense. His backwards *** hat, the jewelry sparkling,
His "homie" attitude...all that ****.
Now I don't care where he was raised, it's just that this guy
Gets all these beautiful, nice, seemingly very sweet women swooning on him.
And I sit here, polite, making light jokes and flirtation, and I guess maybe I am no longer attractive to women, because I get nothing. Even when I all out ask for a date. Excuses, excuses.

This may sound like me whining, but I am just trying to be honest about how I feel about these people.

Nowadays I find myself with my mouth shut constantly.
Making jokes no one gets... Am I high brow or low?
I don't get it, girls want this guy in the kitchen, they swoon and blush over the *******,
It's all rude comments and no manners, a lot of angry people, shouting, shooshing,

I just feel like this could be done a better way.
Look, call me crazy, and to all my readers,
I'm sorry, this is a very different kind of writing that I get into sometimes, but...

I think I may be one of the very few intelligent people of the world.
I think poets and musicians are many of the few. And I mean real musicians, not bands like
(and I will name them all just for fun, let them sue me if this eventually gets published)
Hinder, Shinedown, Nickelback, Creed, Nikci Minaj, Seether, Limp Bizkit, oh I would go on, but the list...
It extends beyond ME.

So.... We are all of a very select and important group.

And I think we all need to realize that we can team up to make the world a better place...for at least the next generation to come.
Somehow...
Even if we don't fix what is happening all around us constantly...
Let's bring the greatest art to the greatest and most deserved generation.

I love my life, and I love you people...
I just wish I didn't feel so down...

But hopefully I will fall in love, too. We'll see.

.but, once upon a time...
  i heard a woman say the words: i think....

sorry, no,
whenever a woman says
the words i think...
rarely equates to
but i also doubt, and
the subsequent i exist...
nope...
       i'm not buying this ****...
this bollocking of a statement...
take your ****, and let it stink
its' way to rot, in some other *******
sandpit for the critters in
daisy infused diaper...
what?      missing lavender?!

oh no... i'm not a recluse,
old, bitter...
some kind of: shove it about,
keep it quiet,
shove it, **** on it etc.:
keep it cloakroom friendly...

       i, am... puritanical... rage...
what i i see?
i see death...
     i see the anger of Charon:
******! you should have been
with me just shy of 11 years!

i'm not mad...
but the death that's lucrative in chasing
me is... exponentially ******-off
from the people and limp ****
that my accusers / perpetrators
are facing....

my wrath, and the deity's?
breadcrumbs...
                  sure as **** now
Shawshank Redeption: of play,
in order of the worth of tactic.

i'll die.. and justice will not be served..
hence?
theology overpowers jurisprudence...
sorry...
Eden lost the bet...
  man is no judge...
man will never serve
a justification of serving the idea / ideal
of blind justice...
         lessons from a "blind" god...
whatever blind justice doesn't see...
a god, that has to only take a break,
from not focusing on
  a non-existence argument...
which... well... no proof... let's be honest...
and turns his attention
to man, the favor of law,
and the upkeep...
            man only discovered the law
of gravity...
  man didn't invent it...
the consistency of the law of gravity...
well...
   ha ha...
                what were all the other laws
conjured up by man?!
thought so... grey area... fuzzy brain.

you taught me ABC order.
you taught me to rollerblade.
you taught me about limp bizkit.
you taught me the words to "danger zone".

you gave me my first taste of anger,
gave me my first feelings of terror.
how anyone could feel so much, all at once,
and let it out at something so mundane,
[your punching bag]
and still scare me so much is beyond me.

you gave me my first taste of alcohol.
miller lite, and i hated it.
you made me drink more, because well,
"it's an acquired taste, you know, like wine."
in later years you'd say the same of ***.

i still don't know how i let it happen, really.
one minute we were friends,
and no one really knew how close.
the next minute your hand was in my pants,
and that's the last place i wanted it.

in the next minute we're on the phone,
you somehow got my number.
you're apologizing, and crying.
i've never heard you cry before,
"what the hell is going on, a?"

give you a second chance? to do what?
to apologize? you never had a first chance.
meet you where? when? tonight?
"you know i can't do that."
then again, if you're leaving in the morning.
just this once, for you. i need the closure.

i still feel like i asked for it,
i don't know if that will ever change.
in the middle of the night, still,
i wake up, convinced i'm bleeding.

soaking through my sheets just like that night.
it stains my skin in a way that will never wash off.
the glint on your knife from the moon that night?
leaves a scar that will never fade away.
unlike the one on my thigh. it's gone now.

you took so much from me.
you took my innocence,
and i'm not just talking virginity.
every single person i look in the eye,
i can see potential.
the potential for destruction.

we are none of us born good or evil.
some of us are just good, with evil tendencies.
you, though. you're something else.
evil, with sadistic tendencies.
you're a ******* monster.

but i have nothing to say to you anymore.
i wish you nothing but the worst.
[i hope your **** hurts where i bit it.]
and i hope you hear my screams when you sleep,
every
single
night.

There's a few things you should know about me before you read my work. First, I am a very passionate person. 99% of my poems/lyrics are based of life experiences I have been through. I started a writing about a year ago when everything in my life crashed and burned. My heart was broken, I lost all of my friends, I was failing in school, and had no support from anyone. All I would do is sit down and write. This was one of the only ways of releasing my emotions and coping with pain and passion.

I am an artist, so I also draw, paint, make videos, and play guitar. Maybe you will laugh at this but my favorite band is Limp Bizkit. Their music has gotten me through many hardships in the past. They are what has inspired my to start writing and creating music. I met the lead singer, Fred Durst. I told him how much his music means to me and how it has helped me so much. He responded in a very deep way. He told me "We have to reach the deepest darkness before we can come out into the light" or something along those lines.. I don't remember exactly how he put it. I believe I have a purpose in life, and that purpose involves what I am doing right now.

I am thankful for every experience God has put me through for I have learned a great deal out of each one. Not only do I learn more about people who have come into my life, but I learn even more about myself each step of the way. No matter how hard things get, I will always come out as a stronger and deeper person.

Like a child I sat in a corner and played.
Intuitively did the things that I wanted so the ones around me had to be persuade.
Mindless as a stone I kept on going.
Perfectly playing the part of a fool without me knowing.

Brick by brick my body slowly crumbled.
In the eve of night my life suddenly stumbled.
Zoned in a derailed capacity and now with a limited motion.
Keeping only my mentality but unable to make a notion.
I started to realized my biggest mistake.
Talking to the wall and the ceiling now finally seeing the path that I choosed to take.

Sleep can't help me now. Nothing can help
me now. As many people care, and as sure as I am that the number of people that do care is less than or equal to zero, I still regret waking up every day. How hard is it to feel

When do the days grow into hours grow into grow in grow to the
     top of the forest where the environment sways back and forth
          on unstable ground where everything is constantly shifting
and sinking deeper and
                           deeper and
                                d
                           ­      e
                                  e
                           ­        p
                                    e
                         ­            r, to the point where nothing even matters anymore and the only sounds anybody hears are just the bittersweet echoes of whatever ounce of sadness you still have saved for a special occasion. Represent the resentment that resides in the recesses of your wretched receptacle that reaches for any affection afflicted amorously to our attached arteries and alveoli and attend to any of our other needs. Remember not to cast asunder others or to deprecate mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers who should love one another for each other as well as the lovers who quiver and shudder at affection and attention reflected at their functioning conjunction of otherworldly love for one another. Know what you want and need and see to it that you get to be the best you could be and tell yourself to be free! Scream to your creators and scream to yourself that I, yes I can be whatever I want to be and whatever social constructions will not let me see, then I wish to be freed and I get down on both knees and pray to whomever will hear my dreams.

Know that there is no being more powerful in your life than you. You are the Alpha and Omega, the Logos and the Pathos, the Shakespeare and the Limp Bizkit. Everything that you ever want is an achievable aspiration, and all you need to do is know. Know. Know. Know. Know. Know that when you grow old and frail and brittle that your body will ache with the experience of a person who has been to hell and back and maybe back to hell one more time because you were young and never learned. So play games, jump and run, dance and sing, do something you'd never do normally, try out for the play, play sports, write a poem, write a song, write anything at all, talk to people, talk to strangers, sleep for 4 hours instead of 8, sleep for 12 hours instead of 4, think and think and think until it drives you to drink and think some more. Know that you wish and wish to know that everything you want and need is obtainable and in your reach. Life is alive and wants you to live, so show Life respect and do what it wants you to do: Go.

i was never a big fan
of limp bizkit...
o.k., i was when
i managed to land a spit-bomb,
on someone,
from the roof of
storied parking lot,
with peter richardson
in tow...
            and we laughed it
off...
           i once attired
myself as samuel jackson
with a kagol flat cap...
   hold on: the song,
we we're never left touch
attire, ourselves with the mad *******,

i'll keep my memory
of peter intact wit
kieeran...
and what the hell happend
jumping over that
south park fence...
  dangling monkey...
  ******...
              after the hours....
me and kieeran...
knuckle assured.
around the kidneys...
     punching each other silly....

youth club,
we used to chase
snooker cues
and girls and chances
of labouring under *****
mags...
most notsbly from Ypres....
******* h'america....
death sow, death sigh...

   death via h'america....
limp bizkit..
hold on.

youtube channels...
northern ******* monkeys...
shaun vs.
the iconoclast...
what?! i've integrated,
"you" suddenly get to tell
me that regional
differences,
   or regional
          nuances,
or regional biases,
somehow, don't matter?
i thought that integration
was inclined
to follow your "in-bred"
biases... no,
that was never on the table
with the playing deck of cards?
the **** do the english want
within the reasonable constraints
of integration,
or a fellow european,
oh, right... the lazy intervention
description of pakistani,
i.e. ****-,
            that will suffice?
good good...
      i'm back in the early 2000s,
with a song like
hold on by limp bizkit...
because i just know
that an ******* dysfunction
wouldn't work
with grooming gangs
and ******* teenage girls...
i'm not a moralist...
i tend to find legally binding
women off-putting,
******* with a bulgarian
*******? no problem.
i just hate being lectured
all the ******* time...
savvy?
          i might have been
misinformed,
but, now? no, no....
               can't have a chance
to make the appropriate
statement, "mate" / "bruv"...
i hate to inact a sense
of reacting with a remark
for inappropriate scandal
fathoming...
       so i was supposed
to integrate, but
then not integrate into intra-national
"taboos"
      of the southerners
moaning about northerners...
oh...
   integration is the prime aspect
of simply learning the language...
and the rest is just:
monkey fairy: *****-nilly?
that's how it works?
  you integrate to the point
of passing a spelling test,
but you don't integrate
into the fathomability
of intra-national biases...

   the **** do you "actually" want?
you don't know, do you?
i lick some cymru,
i spend 3 years in scotland,
and i'm still expected
to conform to the existential
"concerns" of someone
running away from Bristol
& Devon?!

         wow! just, wow!
do i compliment the audacity,
or just tame the stupidity?
you know...
in terms of a mind-****,
i'll sooner spend 2 hours
staring at a *******
      washing machine...
than listen to this current,
diatribe...
         so i "integrated"...
but now the locals are
"finding" problems associated
with the other integration
prospects...
    
         they are still prospects...
integration was not the willingness
to run 110m hurdles,
but jump the 8m high jump event...
and they never allowed
themsleves to retain
their mother-tongue...

             point of interest:
i have to be diagnosed as
a problematic individual,
i have to be deemed a schizophrenic...
it's much easier that way...
sure as **** i'm not
a grooming **** overlord...
but i need to be a problem...
**** me,
given the current climate in england,
you experience something
esque resembling "god"?
you're a problem,
     i'm used to that,
i always thought that sort
of experience would always
assure itself to be made revelled
in, in paradoxes...  
"god",
you're not off the hook,
you're more so: forever suspect...
esp.,
if there's no clarifying agenta
of sharing interests to over-state
the experience, and subsequent
markers...

i could have integrated into
an english society,
but sooner, rather than later,
i realized that...
that, that wasn't what i was
integrating into...
  i wasn't integrating into anything...
great idea,
but... no...
         from under the iron
curtain, toward the curtain of jack...
n'ah...
  power hierarchy...
   unless you want to ask
some of my "imaginary" voice
attaché subscripts...
          
   during the times when
a madman has more sanity to boot,
than some adherent
of sanity, with no madness' worth
of intent...
       i should have never smoked
marijuana those 12 years ago...
but at least the whiskey is taxed...

integrating into a foreign culture,
by simply speaking the language...
that's the base requirement...
but then...
   ah... ha ha...
     local cultural requirements...
see... this is the language
of the natives...
   but where are the tattoos
of the natives, dates,
geogrpahic nuances,
     biases...

         not 'ere...
      i'm a sponge of a person,
i succumb toward that itches
right, feeling is beyond this tier
of integration.

ever, squint your eye, in the middle of the night...
while squinting, peering at a light-source...
a street-lamp source...
to my disbelief... once you squint your eyes...
look past the camel-lashes...
oh, the light doesn't enter your
eye... it enters your:
circa: forehead... or the light
bypasses your actual eye...
light never enters your eye...
it churns out a projection
toward your forehead!

back in the "day": the beatniks vs. the squares...
angry gen X'ers via Limp Bizkit...
now what's the squares became
the normie... so, what are we?!
there's, a ******* "we"?
i think we're a we..

thereby... psychology is a field whereby
all people are somehow to be accounted for...
no chance in hell...
i squint my eyes, i look at a lamp light...
the light splinters... & it never, ever...
enters my eye... because i only squint
one of my eyes, rather than the both of them...
i move my head: left... the light source
moves to the left...
i move my head: right... the light source
moves to the right...

******* light-******: me...
or... compound pronouns in English...
your-self... my-self...
but it's never exactly: i-self...
the two pronoun hybrid of the Roman ego...
& the Germanic selbst... self...
we're talking about working around
using two pronouns at a pinnacle!
ego is a concept, it can be theorized...
but the self? that **** has to be: automated...
self-employed... blah blah...

what's that? i-self?!
egg, go! iota! i say i to someone?¬
ego can be abstracted...
the self- can be prefixed...
              forge my greatest: ****-off!
time is most apparent when people
deserve to die...
as much as they are deserving to be
born: they deserve to die, likewise...
sorry state of affairs... sorry...
for a people to espouse Darwinism...
in any other culture...
Copernicus is simply
an anecdote for the ****** people...
is Darwin the same?
last time... he's a tired old DODO...
objective truths outside the objectivity
of... water boils at 100°C
water freezes at 0°C...

mention one name, no, mention two names...
JAN HUSS...JACOB PARKOSZOWICA...
the diacritical barons..

thieves... the night sells plenty
of whaat's to be arrived at man...
me not getting paid...
this, the freely arrived at "society"...
then, some disgruntled oops happens...
will i want, *******, care?!
no... nein! niet! nie! no!

Crafted one year ago today
yours truly – hopefully self plagiarism okay
worse case scenario,
I would meet ill fate re: kenway
named after Assassin Creed
Black Flag's protagonist.

"Yo, I totally Kenwayed that guy."
by Bilbusbagginzies

Passive stance, but aye agreed
and did promise to pledge troth
faster than greased lightning airspeed
once the missus temporarily
ceased menarche regarding monthly bleed
became in family way with child
thee eldest, whom one day may breed,
when permanently settled
or opting out begetting offspring,
alluded daughter much more mature,
cuz parent trap truly ensnared me,
and I nearly capsized
manning figurative prairie schooner,
I captained poorly
barely surviving emotionally
analogously shipwrecked existence
I must forthrightly concede
done dirt cheap ***** deed.

Unlike das papa, first born proactive
taking preventative measures
to avoid begetting offspring
with college manual, she carefully plots
being masterfully persevering
enroute to notch curriculum vitae
with two additional years of schooling
University of Pennsylvania degreed
well self groomed for succeeding

at aforementioned Ivy League
years before taking
advanced placement courses
at Harriton High School
yielding to positive advisory feedback,
she wisely did heed
shipshape smarts anchors ahoy mate
passed academic challenges
with flying colors
well seasoned life, yes indeed.

Wherefore sexually reckless
behaviour, though I eventually wed
future mother housing zygote,
nevertheless did bungle responsibilities
to exponential powers of ten -
experienced challenges to exceed
capacity of yours truly to handle
whacking thru jungle of lady love
until...making head way
verboten fruit fricasseed
essentially purring kitty
I petted and proceeded to feed
pitched, hitched, ditched

libido in throes of monkish celibacy,
procreating analogous to filigreed
custom made jewel of denial,
bubbling self cleaning oven,
plus compelled tug get ***** freed
after being ****** asthma gumweed
glommed, where male member
tiptoed thru tulips playing ukulele
playing biological equivalent
risque business "Russian roulette"
pregnancy eventually guaranteed.

Unlike me wily ***** cocked,
limp bizkit primed to hawk kitty
then future spouse did not intercede
once peppy begged, connived,
to forego birth control and test virility
attested, claimed, *******, et cetera
arousal without prophylactics keyed
sowing wild oats courtesy yours truly
didst adeptly beg, burrow, knead
testosterone totally tubular
lil trouser snake did proceed
letting call of wild take lead
tube steak king claim for fatherland
heady after slurping boot legged mead
stifled unnatural prime mate years
pent up ****** urge, thus did supercede.

Thence sore relief yours truly did need
for swearing against wearing raincoat
at seminal moment blithely releasing seed
subsequent expense imposed
on fecund counterpart
with snoop doggy dogg speed
generating prickly heat
inducing ***** fied stampede
appetite for reproduction
struggling with common sense
(particularly lacking gainful employment)
raising and supporting young ones
incurred courtesy one or more progeny
needs and wants of offspring,
who sprouted like loco crazy ****,
as greater demands imposed
on their mama and papa.

January 7th, 2022

Assaying thoughts gambol,
scuffling as in an affray
née crushing, jockeying, stampeding...
demanding equal airplay
gushing as metaphorical think
spigot turned on full force airway
thru totally tubular cerebral
microcosmic aisleway
vesicular conduit fifty
plus shades of gray
exhaling sigh of relief, cuz

transcending writer's block
innovative talent with words
did once again allay
needless panic, where yours truly
finds himself punchdrunk
in some dark alleyway,
an unfortunate fate
aging baby boomer
once skinny long haired
pencil necked geek
during previous lifetime

branded as Unitarian heretic
and punished courtesy auto-da-fé
avert reminding myself
to utilize ujjayi breath
hard driving gateway
into Pranayama practices
analogous to make
emotional transit thru
golden itty bitty
teensy weensy archway

infinitesimal impossible mission
to pinpoint areaway,
yet crisscrossing meditative
zen zone an array
of utmost nirvana
will never lead effortless
mantra buffeted concentration
not lead astray
and matter of fact
lightness of being
scaling metaphorical kickstarting

rah height aweigh
up yonder within
outer limits of twilight zone
re: supraconsciousness
keeping at bay
non intrusive thoughts
ruff lee collaring, mimicking belay
boring bonafide dog obedience training
pant tum miming begging
for limp bizkit, thus
canine loosening seat belt buckle

one notch braving violating
no trespassing sign
despite restriction
heavily populated tint
head nab yule Haitian
made Christmas benday
eerily resembling voodoo
cursed poppet summoned
if anybody doth betray
not being spellbound
hence, blithely skipping

remainder of my poetry
magic edict I dust not bewray,
no matter red clay
rambling man evincing dismay
upon approaching his endplay
regarding scrimmage with death
when divine creator
mine lovely bones he/she will fillet
impossible mission to get-a-way
grim reaper who will hollar hooray
as one mortal man does inveigh
against purposelessness born
live free and die until judgement day.

overlaid with façade of fiction = Mein Kampf

in summer re:
typed out during winter of my discontent,
when yours truly no spring chicken
stirred ruse to expatiate poetically
regarding following rhyming reason,
hence mine lovely bones
into graveyard will shortly fall.

No need for yours truly to dig deep,
(albeit bonafide figuratively)
by Dickens thru mine Uriah Heep,
a gnarled mass creep
ping, comprising, encompassing, glomming
abysmal existence strewn with hard times,

such that I wanna leap
out this metaphorical bleak house,
a black hole in the wall swallowing
i.e. disallowing any peep
ordinarily yawping, proliferating, flirting...
now fumfering lamely issued by keep
ping low profile super tramping cheap

trickster, our mutual friend
Matthew Scott Harris,
harkens back quite a few winters ago,
where lack of functioning heating unit
(think male ***** if ye will)
upended, rendered, discombobulated...
scrappy body electric hominid
to experience quality sleep.

Principal reason I write
to balance and aright
gratitude regarding unexpected tidy largesse
constituting special trust fund
(thank you dad -
spirit of Boyce Brandon Harris),
where eyes suddenly got bright,
and bushy tail wagged
incessantly day and night,
a sensible palliative temporarily
eased penury plight,
which cash equivalent,

equals countless denominations
characterized, granted, lorded...
Benjamins, Clevelands, McKinley's
plus dime a dozen legal tender
currency memorializing other presidents
blessedly alleviated quite
helpful thwarting necessity to fight
off bill collectors brandishing
armstrong lance compelling me
to summon black knight
in shining armor lodged within white
castle amidst prickly bishop

obviously one prone easily to excite
amusing little lord Fauntleroy
groomed as heir to throne,
enthusiasm since his birth did ignite
(Aesop pose) storybook life,
where fanciful elation did take flight
buzzfeeding, droning, fancifully feasting
on par with... I twist Oliver (all over)
courtesy Mister Bumble bee in flight
sweet nectar amidst lilies of the field
analogous to stripling Adam - fine lad
eve vent chilly seeking delight.

Ah to gather rosebuds while ye may
tis futile wishful thinking,
now at mine three
score plus three orbitz round sun,
which libido far out at bay
prurient predilections once
spawned time wracked to lay
waste vestal ****** such as... Little Dorrit,
now... raging hormones stagnant clay
hardened, atrophied, eutrophied,
jackknifed limp bizkit

impossible mission to kickstart
long bereft testy tickle
yar ****** quizzical,
slack jawed, and sullen at
deserted abandoned cobwebbed quay
ignored do not enter, keep out,
private property signals desiccated,
no place for Peter to take holiday
barring ingress to ply skin flute
amidst hollerin hootenanny,
perhaps convincingly explaining
welcoming Voldemort without delay.

Passive stance, but aye agreed
and did promise to pledge troth
faster than greased lightning airspeed
once the missus temporarily
ceased menarche regarding monthly bleed
became in family way with child
thee eldest, whom one day may breed,
when permanently settled
or opting out begetting offspring,
alluded daughter much more mature,
cuz parent trap truly ensnared me,
and I nearly capsized
manning figurative prairie schooner,
I captained poorly
barely surviving emotionally
analogously shipwrecked existence
I must forthrightly concede.

Unlike das papa, first born proactive
taking preventative measures
to avoid begetting offspring
with college manual, she carefully plots
being masterfully persevering
enroute to notch curriculum vitae
with two additional years of schooling
University of Pennsylvania degreed
well self groomed for succeeding

at aforementioned Ivy League
years before taking
advanced placement courses
at Harriton High School
yielding to positive advisory feedback,
she wisely did heed
shipshape smarts anchors ahoy mate
passed academic challenges
with flying colors
well seasoned life, yes indeed.

Wherefore sexually reckless
behaviour, though I eventually wed
future mother housing zygote,
nevertheless did bungle responsibilities
to exponential powers of ten -
experienced challenges to exceed
capacity of yours truly to handle
whacking thru jungle of lady love
until...making head way
verboten fruit fricasseed
essentially purring kitty
I petted and proceeded to feed
pitched, hitched, ditched

libido in throes of monkish celibacy,
procreating analogous to filigreed
custom made jewel of denial,
bubbling self cleaning oven,
plus compelled tug get ***** freed
after being ****** asthma gumweed
glommed, where male member
tiptoed thru tulips playing ukulele
playing biological equivalent
risque business "Russian roulette"
pregnancy eventually guaranteed.

Unlike me wily ***** cocked,
limp bizkit primed to hawk kitty
then future spouse did not intercede
once peppy begged, connived,
to forego birth control and test virility
attested, claimed, *******, et cetera
arousal without prophylactics keyed
sowing wild oats courtesy yours truly
didst adeptly beg, burrow, knead
testosterone totally tubular
lil trouser snake did proceed
letting call of wild take lead
tube steak king claim for fatherland
heady after slurping boot legged mead
stifled unnatural prime mate years
pent up ****** urge, thus did supercede.

Thence sore relief yours truly did need
for swearing against wearing raincoat
at seminal moment blithely releasing seed
subsequent expense imposed
on fecund counterpart
with snoop doggy dogg speed
generating prickly heat
inducing ***** fied stampede
appetite for reproduction
struggling with common sense
(particularly lacking gainful employment)
raising and supporting young ones
incurred courtesy one or more progeny
needs and wants of offspring,
who sprouted like loco crazy ****,
as greater demands imposed
on their mama and papa.