The **** kids gaol



Once upon a time there was this kid named Brian Mandler who was 14 years

Of age and was sort of obsessed with figuring out a way to catch and reform

Really dangerous criminals.   When he explained how he’ll do it to his family,

They told him that they don’t want to hear it and they all leave the room and

Brian went to his room and got onto his computer and started to track

Down some dangerous criminals and as well as that he will watch Australia’s

Most wanted and unsolved mysteries to make sure he is up to date with the

Goings on and when he catches them he will give them a pill which puts

Them to sleep and it makes them dream that they are on TV and Brian

Can watch it to keep him informed on their goings on.

When he saw the first criminal who was named David Perton Brown who

Was a real evil child snatcher who loves to pray on vonerable kids who

Haven’t got good lives as well as robbing them  and leaving them to die

and then he’ll do about 180 on the freeway trying to **** families

On their way to their holiday destination and quite often he succeeded but

This time Brian got onto his computer and said that he wants to get David

And put him on a early morning childrens show called the Saturday Morning

Cartoon hour where he’ll meet people left, right and centre and most of those

People will be children and he’ll have guests who will give him heaps for the

Crimes that he did and also he’ll have a visit from the police every 4 Saturdays

To really check up on him but he had to make the kids unaware by posing to

Make sure that kid’s say no to drugs and lifts with strangers and that meant

That the host could try something outside.

As well as that Brian put him on a nightly music show because some of his

Victims are now teenagers who like music and Brian made him the sort of

Host that will constantly goof up a lot.  The program was called The Talent

Quest and he’ll be teamed up with 2 police officers who are making sure there

Is no funny stuff going on.

Brian planned to keep him in his little gaol for a long time till he starts to settle

Down a bit.

The next criminal is Joshua Tartwright who is a vicious modern day pirate who

Takes adults over 40 and holds them captive in his little boat and he has been

Doing this for about 12 years and Brian got onto his computer and told it

That he wants Joshua to on the pirates of the Carribean TV series and keep him there till he realises that he is no match for those pirates

And he doesn’t feel like kidnapping them anymore but this was hard to get him

To take the drug and Brian had to get to rough police officers to hold him down

And then force feed him till he his knocked completely out and then his life as

A television star started.   Joshua was excited about being on a pirate show and

He wanted to email all his friends but he was stuck in another world and also

He was the one the pirates wouldn’t leave alone and he felt weird and wanted

The drug to wear off but we all know that when it wears off it’s dinner time.

As he started the pirate show it was hard for him to be his own man because he

Was kidnapped straight away it was hard for him to understand what this

Dream meant and was trying to tell Brian that he wants his blood.

Brian jumped on the computer and said how about we keep him captive there

For 2 hours and then it would be dinner time and h’ll enjoy that.

Meanwhile Brian wasn’t scared one little bit and watched the television to

Catch another criminal and it was Mark Dellar who tried to make John the

Baptist (the religious fellow) look evil by coming into the Christian church and

Preaching that John the Baptist was evil and every thing that he did

John the Baptist was telling him to do it and the Christians were very

Upset and screamed so loudly as Mark stole money from everyone in

There and Brian got onto his computer and said that he wants to put

Mark in his gaol and make him a religious guru to be put onto Television

At 5 am every weekday morning as well as listen to good people’s

Prayer requests and he must help them as well.   The first request was a

Man who is terminally ill and there is no way he will get out of it and

This man yelled at him in the prayer request that he sent and Mark

Tried to tell him that he has nothing to worry about because God

Is on your side and Brian got onto his computer and made the walls

Cave in and knocked Mark out and the man just ran away saying

We won the first battle and Mark woke up and he had a cup of coffee

And a biscuit waiting for him and he was relieved but there were more

Strange cases in his dream and Brian is there to reform him.

Brian thought it was a good job he gave him as a Television preacher helping people get better than making people feel Worse which what he was doing..

Brian watched more of Australia’s most wanted and saw a group of

Violent and dangerous armed robbers who were knocking over 7

Eleven stores and rich people’s houses as well as stopping the

Families from going out and having fun and Brian had his little

Plan to get them in his little gaol.     He wanted to play them at their

Own game by pretending he was a rich powerful man because

He had more dangerous things than any robber like his booster

Shot in which Brian wanted then to be cops in televisions cop

Drama ‘cop department” in which they deal with dangerous criminals

Like them each day and Brian thought that they will reform if they

Knew the kind of trauma they were putting their victims through and Brian

Keeps them there forever if they don’t reform even if it eventually kills

Them so the crooks can’t escape because Brian is too powerful for

Any of them.

Brian sat their laughing at the armed robbers playing cops and at

One moment they were locked in a security vault which had a

Bomb in it which is set to explode in 20 minutes and Brian went

On the computer and said let the bomb go off and then they will

Be put back in their beds and we will have lunch for them before

We torture them some more and then Brian sat down and said

What a job well done but there are still heaps of dangerous criminals

He needs to catch yet

Brian turned on America’s most wanted and there was the Texan ******

Who preys upon women in their 20s by luring them into his panel van

And keeping them ******* in his back shed till they are killed and Brian

Said that he wants to catch the Texan ****** and start him on stint on

General hospital where he will play a young woman who is the target

Of a never ending ****.

The police took the drug off Brian and went straight to the Texan rapists

House to give him the drug and at first he wondered why he needed to

Take these drugs because he wasn’t mental he said and there is nothing

Wrong with him and he refused to take them and tried to escape and

Then Brian got onto his computer to make him too slow to get away and

Brian was happy to get him onto General hospital and make the old ladies

Very happy.

When he first fell asleep there was a ****** at the end of his bed and wanted

To get within his sheets and really let him have it and the Texan ****** was

Screaming so loud stuff like” Let me go I’m a man not a woman but this

****** just heard the innocent lady scream and there was no way that he

Was to escape and Brian was laughing like crazy at the Texan rapists bad ordeal

And went onto the computer and said I want him to be attacked every day

To understand what it was like for his victims and they started to employ

People to play the rapists straight away and Brian was happy to see that this

Plan of his is working very well.

Brian was the envy of all his friends but noone apart from his best friend

Thomas knew about it because of the closeness of their friendship,

Brian’s secret was safe with him.

Brian and Thomas went to the park to have a drink under the tree

Together and talked about their lives and Brian isn’t aloud to talk about

His gaol life just in case anyone was around and at the moment noone

Could suspect anything.

After Brian had a break he watched more of Australia’s most wanted and

Saw there was a man wanted for bank fraud who is on the run in Brisbane

And Brian wanted to track him down and give him the drug that puts

Him in his little gaol where Brian will put him on as victim of fraud who

Was on Brian’s fake edition of 60 minutes until he realises that what

He did is wrong and that he will never do it again and when the police

Arrived at his house to give him Brian’s magical reforming drug he put

Up a fight and started to flee away on foot down the street that he lives

In with some police following him and others contacting Brian to use his

Powers to make him slower and catch him and give the drug to him and

Put the fraud man who doesn’t tell people his name into his little gaol and

When they did Brian was so happy of all the crooks he caught without

A worry in the world , Brian watched the episode of 60 minutes and

Really enjoyed him suffering because of all the people he made suffer

He needs a taste of his own medicine.

They asked him what is it like to be a victim of fraud and do you think you will

Ever see that kind of money again and he told them that he wants the money he

Stole so he could go to the Bahamas and cruise around looking for chicks and

Brian went straight to the computer and said keep ribbing him because it’s fun to

Make this guy suffer because what he did was terrible so rib something fierce.

Brian watched this music show and He was happy that the young people who were at the music festival were

Really letting him have it and this really entertained Brian a lot and

Then he switched it over to the Talent quest where our criminal was being

Told he was talentless and was upset with the whole outcome of it all, he

Threatened to jump off the top building and be dead forever and Brian

Went onto the computer and said that there is no way that he will die if he

Jumps off the roof to the ground, in fact he will just wake up and a guard will

Be there to keep an eye on him and now he was aware of the fact that noone

Could escape from Brian’s little gaol.

The Saturday morning cartoon show went very well with the child snatcher

Being teased by 2 11 year old girls and one 7 year old boy  and he nearly lost it and Brian was so happy that they were teasing him.  Then he told the kids that

He will **** them all and Brian went onto the computer and said don’t try any

Funny stuff because there is no escape for you now fella,and then he put

one of the cartoons which was our modern day pirate who was being tortured by Blackbeard and Brian was happy because this man needed to know why he is

in this little gaol of Brian’s, and then he went onto his computer and said to

Blackbeard too never let him get free because what he was doing to these

Adults was a very bad thing and then he went back to his chair and laughed at

Blackbeard the pirate torturing this modern day pirate like a lamb to the

Slaughter.

Blackbeard also made to walk the plank and Threatened to cut his head off

Agreed that it could be fun to see him suffer.   Like what it was like for him

In the end of his life and the pirate said “please don’t **** me please don’t ****

Me I am a modern pirate and in days to come pirates have a lot of vegeance

Than in these times” and Brian went to the computer and told them to

Chop his head off once and then keep trying to do it so he could suffer

And that would be heaps of fun Brian thought.

Brian turned it over to general hospital where his Texan ****** was screaming

In the back boot of a car and noone could hear him except for Brian who was

Watching him and he got up and wrote on the computer “He wants them to

Feed his body to the sharks at 11.59 am so he could be ready for lunch.

He switched the TV over to the cop show where our armed robbers thought they are in the perfect job because there were no crimes around so they just sat down

And relaxed and Brian wasn’t happy and went to this computer and told

Everybody to put on a few situations to make them really suffer like they

Did to the police on Earth and then suddenly there was a call on the 000

Saying there was a mother and her 13 year old son locked in their panic

Room while the robbers were having a field day robbing the place

and the cops went straight there only to find out that this was their first

test, because when the reached them the crooks turned on them and

left the mother and 13 year old son in the panic room and Brian went

to his computer and said I want these so-called policeman to try to save the

mother and son instead of trying to **** the police and if they don’t they will

flunk the test.  So one of the policemen went into the house and tried to

save the mother and son while the other two were having a gunfight and the

policeman who was in the house saving the victims couldn’t get the door

opened and screamed for his mates to help him but they were too busy

having a gunfight in the front lawn with the neighbours scared for each others

safety, and Brian went to his computer and said give these ****** gunfighters

a wake up pill because they don’t seem to realise what is really important

here and that is saving the victims and not killing the cops like cowboys

and Indians you ****** fools.

While all the caught prisoners eating their meals Brian watched Australia’s most

Wanted to try to catch some more crooks and they told him about the

Charnwood child snatcher who lived in “as the name suggests” Charnwood

And he took street kids off the streets and he would tell them that he has the

Perfect home for them and as a matter of fact he would tie the kids up

And when they die of starvation or dehydration he would take them out

To the cow paddock and let the cows pick at them and When Brian heard

The details he got straight up to his computer and said that he wants to

Put the Charnwood child snatcher on a new show called Sugary who is

A very witty and smart seal who is befriended by this 8 year old boy who

Is the Charnwood child snatcher because Brian wanted to teach him

Not to destroy the family’s lives, like he did when he kidnapped their

Children from them.

Brian sat down and watched the first episode and they had this evil

Genous who wanted to take the seal and sell him for seal meat and

The boy was so determined to stop this crook he would stay out and

Guard Sugary all night and hours and hours went by and noone turned

Up and the boy was determined not to leave because Sugary was his

Favourite pet.

When the crooks got there the boy jumped up and said” If you want

Sugary you have to take me as well” and the men said “Whatever”

And shoved the kid in a bag with the attempt the **** him and then

**** Sugary soon after and Brian got up to his computer, don’t let them

Be killed, just keep him ******* till the end when the parents come to save

Them and make sure that sugary is safe as well.

Then Brian sat down and saw The father rescue the boy and Sugary from

This evil genious and the evil genious said I will get you next time boy

Next time heh heh heh and then you won’t escape from that.

The Charnwood child snatcher woke up and found himself locked in a room

And he looked outside and a lady has a cup of coffee for him and he took

The coffee and thanked the lady and sat down until it was time to take his

Reforming pill.

Brian was happy because the Charnwood child snatcher was forced to learn

The perfect family bond between parents and children.

About 5 hours later than that Brian sat down and watched the 6 o clock news

And they informed everybody with Christmas approaching there was man

Who escaped from prison who is a good santa claus impersonator and every

Christmas he would go to Santa School and pass the test and then he’ll be

Assigned to working in one of the shopping malls and that doesn’t sound

Like such a crime and Brian was thinking this is a happy story until he heard

The next bit where he will get the kids to put their name and address so he

Knows where to go on Christmas eve and then he studies when the kids

Will be alone in the house and comes to their homes

people die, and come back to life, the previous lives they had, might have gone nastily but still…..



you see, have you often worried why young dudes, who were born in the 60s 70s and 80s, how they

are very selfish, and other things like that, well, it could be the tragic deaths of how they finished their lives

you see one person was john f kennedy and another was martin luther king, another was marilyn monroe

and another was john lennon, and another was tupac, and i was greame thorne, and i was blackbeard the pirate

and captain cook, you see the paranormal world traps all the young, and greame thorne and the life before him

patrick dunbar, have been keeping my legs itching, and making me play cool for yeah mate yeah kids, and

forcing me to be that shy young dude, even if i know how to speak on stage, i am forcing myself into relaxation

so, i can easily, one day i can be an MC, or bring my santa claus character to the next level, you see i was st nicholas

as well, and i also was isabella of france, mate, there are a lot of brutal murders in the past, which could be the

reason, why a lot of today’s earth bodies are selfish, thinking, their last lives were treated so badly, they will take out

revenge on the world, and greame thorne and patrick dunbar and albert waldron are pushing my feet down to the floor

to make it feel like a hooligan or a little young dude, ya know, they were saying, don’t get bullied mate, be a hooligan

you see greame thorne was worried how i was getting teased at school and made me tie myself up very tightly

and i wanted to be a TV star, but my dad was an old fogie, who, hates young people misbehaving, i like the young dudes on TV

they are cool, and i was in two plays as an adult and a few school plays, they were cool, you see, anyone who was killed, ya see

they get their bones dug up, but the should is in the youth of today, like patrick dunbar and greame thorne are with me, which forced

me to be a kidnapper, i was the 323 year old man born on christmas day, i was blackbeard the pirate, i was bigfoot who was the illusion

of the loch ness monster, you see i was a reincarnation hooligan, but people are treating me like a shy hooligan, the feeling comes about

because i tried to be a kid, to avoid being kidnapped when i was drinking and throwing beer bottles on top of st matthews roof

the medication i am on, is pushing me down on the floor, making me feel dad was doing it, but it was steven bradley sand all the other

bad guys, and because i was blackbeard the pirate and bigfoot and a vicious dog, i am being told i am not a family person, since i tied

up a boy in 1990, i caused a lot of trouble as blackbeard and bigfoot, and this dog was really my last evil life which was killed, you see i

am not evil in this life, and big foot turned into the loch ness monster, i am working in all these lives, to make the world easier to live in

if i had a million, i could use it to take homeless people off the street, and try and stop the hooligan itchy feet push down

I WANNA BE FAMOUS, in what i can do,   I AM NOT SHY, MY REINCARNATION HOOLIGAN, is striking again

I was there, I saw it, Beaufort, North Caroline
A hamlet of sorts, ocean hugged, just sublime,
There’s a house near the water, on its front a sign seared
“Beware all who enter. This was the home of Blackbeard.”
Born 1680, England’s Bristol, Teach or Tack by name,
Fictitious personas, it’s the pirate’s game.
He sailed for the Caribbean as a ****** of the time;
From home port of Jamaica, fighting Annie’s war before turning crime.
Two captains by his side, they plundered merchant ships,
Cargo seized, often vessels, on their pirating trips.
A man with a thick beard, braided black in pigtails;
The ominous harbinger; full wind in his sails.
No captives were harmed, yet many vessels met their graves;
His ferocious reputation could be viewed with some praise.
In 1718, now a commodore, at the height of power,
He blocked the port of Charles Town, no guard ships, no search tower.
For a week; nine vessels stripped, the Crowley’s plutocrats were held,
Passengers questioned, then locked below, then an exchange, unparalleled.
The lives of men for medication, and maybe some trinkets on the sly,
They set sail for home port, run aground, problems intensify.
Once home, Blackbeard was offered a Royal Pardon from the British court
And that’s why the seared sign is on a home in Beaufort.

for any of my work to have any meaning, i can only suggested browsing Empedocles (of Acragas), in saying that, i suggest the name, primarily it's a form of philosophy, written in poetic form... in that it exhausts the need for poetic technique: i.e., there's more to see, than actually hear.

- just like i don't understand people who fake doing the maestro whenever they listen to classical music, in the same vein: your greengroccer... your plumber... your electricians.... god forbid you t.v. guy....  don't translate that oddity in, modern music and imitating drummers... i get air guitar, i get air maestro... no one really bother the drumming brigade, when i listen to classical music, i am looking for a maestro, when i listen to contemporary music i, want a drummer, bad; ****! St. Thomas' gospel is becoming real... like i really, really, need a *** change.... never mind the 50cl of whiskey waiting for me, or sasha foxxx's eyes... the job? hammer in a thousand nails... industrialise ***, what do you get? a **** economy... why would god enter the equation if all the problems are theological self-made-heresy? it's not even that *** sells, and god gives gives rise to stampedes... what with the Koran and oil, are we counting to state the same arithmetic... i mean: the industrialisation of ***... nothing that hurts, nothing but a quip... that sorta of definition belongs in China or India with a billion participants... what we have is a case of mouthing off the competitors, when you're actually chihuahua in the Sahara of expectation.... i'm as mad as the numbers say i am... personal stories are non-essential.... i included mine for added effect... or a presumtpion that i might: acknowledged as having said anything in total....counter to english existentialism, so wholly preoccpupied with zoos and biology as the only scientific resource... i can't agree to it making sense, in the standard item-basis-list of following-up an argument... that dire, fake or indeed couch-sloth desert-prune is only half of *σ... i mean there's a tendency of a natural disparity, to ensure a dialectical health of any if all argument... σ = per se... it's because there no single, identifiable argument, the one current is a vogue argument, in the realm of zeitgeist parameters... it's not the only one... the world will move on... it's only that at the zenith of civilisation, we are only bound to industrialise ***, and art is, as according to W. Benjamin, in a state of: ditto, in the age of machanical, reproduction... easier said than... and so done... i feel the anaesthetic needle doing the suggested thing, of numbing me... it's not when art is given onto this Moloch-like altar... it's when *** is industrially-scaled to require cinema... and the quickie-dip of dimension having repertoire in threes... i have no care to ensure there's a narrative and a frenzy... i just care to say: there's a narrative, and a frenzy.... that one has no insurance, and that the other has all the resources that would otherwise invole a familial life... which now, evidently, is prone to same-*** affiliations than compliment-*** affiliations... meaning less art from the **** realm, and more art from the hetero or h-quasi realm (origin ****)... you need to talk about the cushions, if you're going to sleep in the bed, ****'s sake! -

to really live by the "rules" of existentialism,
to live an existential doctrine,
is to really: live an uneventful life,
or should i say: rather ordinary?
  well... i wouldn't go as far as saying it
might be boring, just... un-spectacular.

and all it takes it five beers and, oh, about
6 miles of wet wintry cement,
   and o.t.t.'s album blumenkraft,
with the crescendo song: billy the kid strikes back...

walk 6 or 7 miles in winter
and you come back into a warm abode
and you have skeleton hands...
numb from the cold...
but in england winter is different
than on the continent...
a wet winter (which is very english)
is worse than a dry winter (which is
continental)...
  as honesty goes... -18C in a dry winter
is probably not as bad as -1C in a wet
winter...
    so there's me, completely
****-faced watching the t.v. series
this is us, and one of the characters is
a black kid that gets adopted by
a white family when
    one of the triplets of the white family
dies in child-birth,
and he finds his biological father...
and also a mid-life crisis:
white folks told me to excell,
so he does,
   black daddy was a poet and played
the piano...
and he experiences a mild
schizophrenia... see, it's not a scary word,
i mean: without the extreme symptoms...
   a split-mind...
thankfully i cushioned mine on bilingualism...
and i have been ever since: bilingual -
nothing to be proud of,
   after all: there's the genius polymath...
but it's not about that: it's about winter...
winters in england are so different to
winters on the continent...
the grey skies? oh, that's here all year...
    talk about being a weather man
in Saudi Arabia, most of them moved to England:
where the action is...
          
but really, i can't imagine why existentialism
as a movement, culminated in the zenith
it achieved (precursor movement?
phenomenology)
        oh yah yah: were nieche, very Kensington,
very, Chiswick...

but to really appreciate an existentialist
dogma, a truly uneventful life...
   and given that existentialism in the French
vein akin to Kant but not so much Heidegger
lends itself to the cartesian maxim...
well... that's because it kinda has to,
but not really...

  Kant took out i think and merely focused on that,
his biography goes along the lines of:
a ritual walker, stayed in one place,
    a rook of the clock, i couldn't exactly call him
a pawn... nonetheless...
             a very uneventful life...
why? thought.
    
    what's the most interesting thing i've done today?
i thought, or, i had a thought (a / the article scissors
cutting off the -ism)...
and that's about it...
    had a thought...
                   i hit the gong that thus translates into
the post ergo / therefore of i am,
   and then i realised: i wasn't motivated enough
by my thought: to do much!
              
historically speaking, my writing can only be placed
into a dynamic of being called post-existentialism,
it's not boasting, it's just a plain fact,
   like Monday will be St. Valentine's day, 2017...
and some men collect stamps,
   and some men like fishing,
    and some men have the habit of writing about
things that are, a bit like Avogardo's constant,
meaning they'd love to speak about these things
over, and over again, and never get bored of them,
or for that matter: start families.

strange how it works, have it all...
       or have none of it, to later only have that one
vector that's opposite of mortal, ******...
        or have both, in a way,
and be later traced to some Shakespearean controversy
about a mistaken identity...
well... there's that too.

that must be it, existentialism, and the most,
ordinary life...
         pause for what, akin to something else i wrote
about beginning the thought catching
up to the walk a few days earlier which began
with z and i and diacritical marks,
how northern slavs wouldn't necessarily disrespect
the already present diacritical mark
on the ι (iota), i.e. regarding acute z (ź),
and how if z & i appear together, i.e.
    z and immediately after it, i... you don't bother
writing an acute version of z,
   as a southern slav (balkan) might,
with his caron (ž)...

or a bit like stating the old chestnut of universals
vs. particulars...
   well... they can say what they like about
the cheapness of writing in this medium
but there is nothing so gut-wrenching as a deleted
passage, that will never return...
    immediate heartache... there on the screen,
the computer decides to "have a mind of its own"
moment by either your carelessness
          or the computer's defects and: ****!
gone, a shift+ and suddenly... writing while not
looking at the keyboard, as you do... ****!
gone... gone baby... gone...
    and if that's not analogy of: a lesson
in placing your hands correctly onto the computer
does me: you're looking at the keyboard
and not at the screen...

  how about writing with my eyes closed?
  haven't seen anyone attempt that...

here goes:

    and with that i give you hades...

not bad, i should try it more often... it's not believable
because it's actually correct and has no mistakes....
*******.

alternative? and with that i give you sheol...
   still the same... double *******.

((   ((
    
and that's all it takes... the part where you let go,
because you have to:
  the regret can be there, but soon has to
be overruled...
   it mattered at the zenith of logic,
it was really there, for such a brief moment,
i could call it a study in how you can ****
a very lucid moment, and then have to "resort",
but, rather: merely accepting it as having no place
in the overall composition...
    so to the windowsill, finishing off
blackbeard (whiskey and coca cola and
a cigarette)... changing the aura from
o.t.t.'s album taken home from the "marathon"
(yes, the prime existential tool is the transcendence
of synonyms, encouraging misnomers
or: how to not build dams, or become custard
beavers, looking for words...
    the river, every time, always looking at a river...
the sea and the people and time...
   rivers occupy an infinite concept of space
and the change within such a Thermopylae,
as it might give you indigestion,
or the highest serving rank of memory...
the sea and the people don't scare me,
and it's hardly a thing of admiration...
its just a sight of pulverisation, a headache...
the river, the solitude, and the fact that local
newspapers have adverts of only lonely women...
sure, read a national newspaper and there
are women seeking men, women seeking women,
men seeking women, men seeking men...
but look at a local, a local newspaper: only women
advertising themselves for candles and firecrackers...
it seams men were always programmed (a priori)
        into the gravitas of solitude...
what i really meant to say: existentialistic writings
can appear foreboding with the ditto...
with the perception that there's this ulterior,
dark-seeded motive...
      i just thought about bypassing the thesaurus,
like some writers do,
    you can spot it when they do,
a word they looked up from their labour
of lumberjacking the keyboard
sticks out like a modern statue, or a broken finger,
a word: right off the pages of a thesaurus...
   i just mean that there's nothing sinister enclosed in
the said "brackets"...  there's nothing additional about it,
but as narratives go... you sometimes want to bypass
Sherlock Holmes and write a synonym-antonym,
you want to bypass the thesaurus, content with your
own vocab riches, but too "lazy" / engrossed in
what's actually coming...
say, that interlude, a cigarette, finishing off the whiskey,
with the glass freezing and having a layer of ice
around it... and: why i'll never be part of the nirvana's
or the doors' cult...
     pearl jam's indifference, from their second album.

so it's sometimes thereuputic letting go,
  after all, no one built a house on the summit of Everest,
if i wrote something of such clarifying quality,
and lost it... i can only apply an imagery of having seen it,
the best i can suggest that i wrote something
akin to 1 + 1 = 2, and then accidently deleted it...
and that's the sad part,
universals as vowels, particulars like consonants,
    even numbers akin to 2 and odd numbers akin to 1
(divided into decimals, or the wormhole of 0.123456 etc.) -
it was a beautiful sight, and then, again: ****!
gone... like a magician doing a trick
   and then... the sadness of having lost the technique
to recreate it...
well, the best i can do to recreate it is based
on a short argument...
   if universals and particulars (relying on the fact
that both have a plural form,
  i.e. so not 1 in 1, but the many of 1,
   and akin to: the 1 in many, and the many in many,
and the 1 in 1 / focus, something identifiable) -
or loosely universals like vowels, and particulars like consonants,
but given the two experience diacritical distinction /
additions... i could best remember what i wrote
as: 1 e.g. particular, if divided: fractions, and after
fractions: decimals...
                2 e.g. universal, if divided: whole numbers,
and after whole numbers fractions, and later decimals...
   so on and so forth with 3 (particular), 4 (universal),
     5 (p.), 6 (u.)...
                 a bit like having your own telescope
and microscope, just looking at what we make silence
of, our two ways of encoding what could have,
or should have been said, that was nonetheless said,
transcending our contemporaries as, what can only
be described as... an echo, lost in the caves of aeons...

this promenade begun with something to z & i...
or z, i, ι, ź and ž (what a nice pentagram,
i was watching the six nation's match
between wales and england,
and lo! behold... a goat at the fore!
  mind you, i took a cigarette break when they scored
their two tries).
Cardiff? yeah, been there once...
         Poland v Wales qualifying match,
donning a polish football shirt, got approached
by two young welsh girls saying: your team is ****...
started giving it the local... how fast they ran away...
and they say we laugh more than we cry,
   and i could be the one to snigger a sly laugh at
that memory, but cinema memory says to me:
time to usher in the reverse-psychology,
calling white black, and laughter crying...
        or as i like to call it, the paradox marriage
that has, literally not tentacle hold on the world,
   the bilingual marriage,
             lodged deep inside my head,
most recognisable by my theory study of diacritical
marks, or actually having noticed them,
and having no real, authentic accent to remind me
that i belong in either geography...
         whether from beginning, or toward an end...
some call it acting, some call it faking,
  i call it: just what i was given, or, more precisely:
what i earned... and that was to no good use...
        unless... this is the best expression of what the foundations
look like.

what was i thinking of? ah!

   it just involved the σ                       ς roundabout...
the aesthetic variation for one,
but on another investigation, well, sigma, total, sum,
and how be obey it like a golden ratio or pi,
   it's just auto-suggestive of how we are never truly
synchronised in our arguments...
   but, "paradoxically", or should i say: by a miracle,
make up the greatest potent to have an argument...
  we can never truly really synchronises ourselves
to fill the boots of expressing an utopian dream,
otherwise we wouldn't dream... period...
  so bye bye Freud and that method of escapism...
     we already ensured that, if they be our creation,
the gods are already at war with the Titans...
      i'll actually acknowledge that in an age of
pop philosophy in that Greece was, a place of allowing
a fertility of thought and later popularising it
(we don't live in times where there's a fertility consecrated
on the altar of thought, or what philosophy is, thinking per se /
for itself... innovators! scientists! up-starts!
or as some might say, the other pronoun battle,
the one without genitals involved,
as could only be sooner said:
  per se, or per per...
                       in in...
nothing sexualised... it's only that there's a limit in pronouns,
per se / in itself must come across the muddle
regarding the moment when people lose their
identity and begin their life with: ? thought
rather than i think,
       i can't place it anywhere else than inside my head,
better there than in the genitals,
   or wasn't Jesus circumcised and the zeitgeist
of St. Thomas' gospel and the transgender movment?
    the church is old, and counter-authoritarian,
it's just a tired institution, so it has no actual authenticity
over the current changes in society,
    might as well call onto Islam to move the chess pieces...
or that's what i'm currently seeing...
   i was just thinking about a logical limit in language,
e.g. timbaland's song the way i are...
   there really is a logical limit on how far you can
suddenly just forget grammar...
            so why begin with per se?
                 at best described as a cogitans (

Feared on both land and high seas
Many a tale can be told
Of the pillaging of neighborhoods
Daily setting sail these pirates bold

Days spent digging for buried treasure
Leaving no stones unturned
The pirates ***** was out there somewhere
Blackbeard's gold is what they both yearned

After a day of living reckless
The warm waters would call their name
Where they would do battle in their sailing ships
Perfecting this pirate game

Both of them young brothers
Buccaneers through and through
Wise enough to listen to their mother
When she said get in the tub you two

Yes their high seas are warm bath waters
And their cutlass a mighty scrub brush
As legend would have it in their short years
They are pirates of the tub

THE GOINGS ON OF THE GREAT BARNEY BROMWICH RANCH




  IN THE YEAR OF 1645, A 33 YEAR OLD MAN NAMED BARNEY BROMWICH

DECIDED HE NEEDED TO CREATE A GREAT HOLIDAY RESORT, WHERE THERE IS

A PADDOCK OF HORSES, SO THEY CAN RIDE ALL THROUGH THE COUNTRYSIDE

YOU SEE BARNEY WANTED THIS TO BE PERFECT, AND HE FIGURED THE ONLY WAY

TO MAKE IT PERFECT, BRING IT INTO AN AREA WHICH HAS A LOT OF GREAT WALKING

AND RIDING TRAILS, AND THERE IS A WONDERFUL RIVER, RUNNING, YEAH THIS IS A GREAT ESCAPE

YOU SEE THEY HAD AS LOT OF ROOMS AND RIGHT NEAR THE ENTRANCE, ON ONE SIDE THERE

IS THE LOUNGE AREA, WHERE PEOPLE SAT AND TALKED ABOUT THEIR DAY, AND ALSO

ON THE OTHER SIDE IS THE KITCHEN AND THE DINING ROOM, WHERE PEOPLE SAT TO EAT

AND EACH MEAL TIME, THERE WERE A LOT OF CHINS WAGGING  IN THAT ROOM

MIND YOU IN THE FIRST 10 YEARS, THERE WERE 45 DEATHS, AND BARNEY WAS ASTONISHED,

BECAUSE, PEOPLE RAN OFF ON BARNEY’S HORSES, AND NEVER CAME BACK, SOME WERE

FOUND DEAD WHILST OTHERS WERE JUST MISSING, BECAUSE THEY WERE LOST CAUSE THE

HORSE, TOOK THEM TOO FAR, BARNEY HAD A HARD TIME WITH THE SHERRIFF, SAYING, THAT

THIS MIGHT NOT BE A GREAT IDEA AFTER ALL, BARNEY DISAGREED AND SHOWED THE SHERRIFF

TO THE FRONT DOOR AND WENT TO HIS LOUNGE, WHERE HIS DEN IS IN THE FIRST DOOR AS HE ENTERS

THE LOUNGE, HE KNOWS IT’S BUDDHAS WILL MAKING PEOPLE DIE, TO END SUFFERING, FROM THESE HARD TIMNES

THERE IS NO MAIN REASON WHY PEOPLE DIE ON ADVENTURES THEY WANTED TO GO ON, NOBODY CAN

ANSWER THAT, NOT EVEN BARNEY, 30 OF THOSE 45 DEATHS, WERE LATER FOUND IN THE DREADED RIVER

WASHED UP ON SHORE, NO TECHNOLOGY TO SAVE THEM, BARNEY WANTED TO DRAIN THE RIVER, CAUSE TOO MANY

PEOPLE DIE FROM IT, BUT THE SHERRIFF AND THE MAYOR AND THE KING SAID, NOBODY IS TAKING THE WATER FROM MY LAKE

AND BARNEY WAS THROWN INTO THE LAKE, HE SURVIVED THAT, BUT HE STILL, FOUND IT HARD AS HIS CLOTHES, WERE

STOLEN, AND IN 1669, CONVICTS FROM ENGLAND CAME TO THIS ISLAND, AND WENT TO THE BARNEY BROMWICH RANCH

TO THREATEN TO BLOW UP THE RANCH, IF THEIR DEMANDS AREN’T MET, THESE CONVICTS ARE REALLY NASTY, THEY WILL

DO ANYTHING TO GET THEIR HANDS ON BARNEY’S LOOT.

SO THE CONVICTS, DECIDED TO LEAVE WITH BARNEY AS A HOSTAGE, AND 5 YEARS LATER, THEY BURNT BARNEY, AND HIS ASHES

WERE SCATTERED IN THE SEA, WHICH EXPLAINS MY FASCINATION FOR RUNNING RIVER WATER, THROUGH THE RAPIDS, BARNEY’

WAS REINCARNATED AS EDWARD TEACH, WHO IS BLACKBEARD THE PIRATE, AND WHEN EDWARD TEACH TURNED 14, AFTER HIS

FATHER THROUGH HIM OUT OF THE HOUSE, FOR BEING ABUSIVE, AND EDWARD STOLE A BOAT, IN THE NEARBY OCEAN, SO HE CAN

BE GUIDED BY THE TERRIBLE DEMONS TO DESTROY EARTH, EVEN THE BARNEY BROMWICH RANCH, HIS PREVIOUS LIFE PLACE

AND HE KIDNAPPED 13 CHILDREN, WHERE HE WILL MAKE THEM STAY IN THE RANCH READY TO BE BLOWN UP, THE KIDS GOT IN THE MIDDLE

SECTION OF THE RANCH, WHERE THE BOMB WILL BE, SO EDWARD AND THE KIDS TRAVELLED THROUGH RIVER TO RIVER TILL THEY FOUND

THE RIVER NEAR THE BARNEY BROMWICH RANCH, YOU SEE, EDWARD TEACH SAID HE WAS GOING ON A SPIRITUAL JOURNEY, YEAH HE WAS

HE WAS BLOWING UP THE BUILDING HIS PREVIOUS LIFE STARTED, YA KNOW IT COULD BE BECAUSE IT CAUSED TOO MANY DEATHS

YA KNOW HE IS CRONUS, AFTER ALL,, WHEN HE ARRIVED THERE, HE TIED EACH KID UP IN HIS BED, AND TWO KIDS WERE, HUCKLEBERRY FINN

AND TOM SAWYER, WHO WERE ROUGH AND TOUGH, AND HUCLEBERRY FINN AND TOM SAWYER, ESCAPED TO BE LOST FOREVER, SO THE

NEXT MORNING EDWARD TEACH SAID, TIED EVERYONE UP, AND SAID, I AM GOING TO BLOW THIS BUILDING UP TODAY, AND THEY HAD 5 HOURS,

AND IN THAT FIVE HOURS, PEOPLE WERE PANNICKING AND HUCKLEBERRY FINN AND TOM SAWYER CAME BACK AND BASHED EDWARD TEACH

AND STARTED UNTYING ALL THE PEOPLE, BUT, THE BUILDING WAS BLOWN UP, HUCKLEBERRY FINN AND TOM SWAYER, WERE BLOWN RIGHT OUT OF

THE RANCH AND INTO THE RIVER, ABOUT 23 DEATHS CAME FROM THAT, BUT HUCXLEBERRY FINN AND TOM SAWYER, AND ALSO, EDWARD TEACH, HEARD

BUDDHA’S VOICE SAYING, YOU MUST REINCARNATE, YOU MUST LEARN YOU ARE DESTROYING OUR FUTURE, OF MOTHER EARTH, AND EDWARD TEACH WENT INTO THE

STORE TO BUY A BOTTLE OF WHISKEY TO DROWN OUT BUDDHA’S VOICE, AND EDWARD TEACH SAYS, I WILL NEVER BELIEVE THIS STUPID RANCH IS MINE

AND THAT MADE BUDDHA AND ATHENA VERY MAD, SINCE THEN EDWARD TEACH CARRIED ON TAKING KIDS AND ADULTS FROM ALL CORNERS OF THE GLOBE

AND FOR THE FIRST 6 YEARS, EDWARD TEACH WAS TRYING TO **** HUCKLEBERRY FINN AND TOM SAWYER, BY CHASING THEM, TYING THEM UP

AND THESE 6 YEARS WERE TOUGH, BUT EDWARD MOVED ON, AS HE AT THE AGE OF 22, WAS KIDNAPPED AND BROUGHT ON BOARD A PIRATE SHIP,

WHERE HE GOT THE NAME BLACKBEARD THE PIRATE, AND TERRORISING PEOPLE ON THE CARRIBEAN COASTLINE, AND HUCKLEBERRY FINN AND TOM SAWYER

WERE FIGHTING TO STAY ON THE LAND

THE END

captured in the psych ward, meet olly thomson



in the dark night a good samaritan named olly thomson was having a lot of problems

with his mind, you see it all started when he was visioning his little cat diamond was turning

wild to his eyes, and he had this vision from god to heal diamond, with his voices telling him what

to do.   first diamond jumped onto olly’s computer, like he was sending a message, and the first

voice came saying, you must get rid of diamond, cause you see he is not diamond, he is much more

than that, you see at first he thought it was his best mate brett who died, and wanted to save him

and he was saying come on calm down diamond, calm down diamond, you have to remain calm

i will heal you diamond and then diamond started to fight back and another voice from an old school mate peter

saying, it’s a raccoon, **** it, we don’t want any of them in this country and then diamond let out a little meow

as if he was very scared and then linty chamberlain came into olly’s head saying, you must **** your cat, for it

is the dingo that killed my baby daughter Azaria, and olly’s dad said, it’s our cat diamond, he could be brett

he could be a raccoon and he could be the dingo that killed azaria, and diamond was dead and olly said, what have i done

and olly’s parents came down after they called the police, and they wanted to know what was bothering olly, and when

the police arrived, first they had a word with him, and then they carted olly off to the HDU, to get a mental health assessment

and as olly got caught the old mens kids who used to be his friend said, your not like us anymore olly and we don’t like you anymore

olly and illy said one word in the back of the paddy wagon, which was, i am the guy, your mother warned you about, you see olly

got that saying off the movie cabin by the lake, and the police ?shut the paddy wagon door on olly and drove him off to the HDU,

and when he arrived, all the mental health professionals were there, and olly was kicking and screaming and ron gave him a shot

of ****** to calm him down and then when he was completely calm the nurses allowed olly into the HDU, where olly did nothing

but watch the television, and talk to the nurses and also olly got on very well with charlie chaplin and patty roe, who had very good

conversations, and harry at the first glance of olly said, i am going to **** you, and ron went over to olly to ask him some questions

about why he is in there and olly said i am 323 years old and born on christmas day, and i lived underground while the dinosaurs

were roaming around the earth, and ron then brought out the breakfast trays, and then handed out the morning medications

and illy was handed risperidal, which was made to calm him down and he stayed on melleril as well, and at first risperidal was

helping him write stories, fact or fiction and he wrote a story which one of the nurses read saying, olly was the great don lane

and the don lane show was olly’s way to escape his painful voices, although none of that was in the poem he wrote about

him being don lane and then tommy came out to watch TV and olly touched tommy on his ***** saying, you are my best mate

on my pirate ship, and i remember tying you up in the bottom room on the deck and tommy said LEAVE ME ALONE YA ****

and went over to the nurses to put in a complaint about olly and every time olly’s parents came, and at the second they leave

olly jumped up and threw a very big tantrum needing four doctors to calm him down, and then olly went back to his chair to

watch TV and wait for his next visit by his parents, you see olly was a bit of a loner, you see his only real friends are his parents

and that was the reason why he killed his cat diamond, and he said to harry, ya know i am 323 years old and born on christmas day

and harry said, can you shut up, i don’t want to hear your constant chatter, because i have killed many a man, and i am devious and

cunning enough to **** you, while your in here, and olly said, i was the original santa claus and harry said ******* ****, i don’t care

who you are, you are fucken bothering me and then harry got up and walked over to hassle the nurses and then ron came out with

the lunches and olly said, thank you, i can do with a decent feed and charlie chaplin said yeah, but it’s not a decent feed here

and harry said, you expect me to eat this slop and threw his lunch all over olly and he said, is that any way to treat your ancestors

you see i am 323 years old and born on christmas day and my first life was your great great great great great grandfather and harry said

shut up **** and get the **** away from me, olly wood and olly said he was a hooligan after that, robbing banks and stealing ships

i even stole blackbeard the pirates ship, and chopped blackbeards head off and harry said SHUT UP **** and after lunch, ron went over to the TV room

to talk with olly and said, do you know you are ******* people off here and olly said, of course, but it ain’t my fault, i was merely stating out i was

harry’s ancestor and ron said, here is a eppelin, ok, it will control your overactive imagination and olly said, i am 323 years old and born on christmas day

and then said, i could be, you don’t know, your just a lousy psychiatrist, i am the spiritual healer of the land and ron went into his office to search

the web to find out olly’s problem and there was this new drug which can calm an overactive imagination which was seroquel, you know 700 mills

will control your mind, but it can hype your overactive imagination, so we may need to give you another drug called serenade, and keep

him here in the HDU for a few weeks to be monitored, as this medication mightn’t work and then at 5, ron brought out the dinners and ron spoke to

olly about changing his medication, to seroquel and serenace, but you must cooperate with us, because for some people seroquel can hype

you up, and the serenace is there to calm the seroquel down and olly said, when i was a kid, i was treated like an llke an old fogies kid  or a hooligan

and i reckon that i need something for that because, i know my mates have moved on, but my illness says they moved on swearing to never muck

with the old fogie, olly, he’s not like us, cause he goes to bed early and olly said, there is another name he was called, a old bludger or a dole bludger

which could be because he had no cool friends when he was at school, and olly considered himself very cool and in 1 hour, ron brought out the nightly medications

and first to tommy, then to charlie and over to patty and over to harry and then he gave the seroquel and serenace to olly and olly said can i have a coke please

and ron went away got olly a cup of coke and clocked off and bought a pizza and went home to watch TV, and falling asleep on the couch, as usual, thinking

today went very well, he THINKS.

Slim Dusty sings I love being in the afterlife




I love being in the afterlife
I think it's rather grand
I see people who dead before I was born
Including my great great great gran
You see I went up to her and asked the question
Do you wanna beer, or don'tcha
And she just said to me
I have never heard of beer, oh I know I never have
But I will have one just to try one
And I was happy to give her a taste
I love being in the afterlife
I think it's rather grand
I see people who died before I was born
Like Edward Teach, who was Blackbeard
And I asked him if he'll like a beer or do you want me
To walk the plank, and guess what he said to me
You see, Slim, I would love to have a beer with you
I think we never had beer back then
But even if we did, I don't think it's as nice as this
Thank you Slim, if we had more people like you
When I was on earth, I wouldn't had to be so bad
I love being in the afterlife
I think it's rather grand
I see people who died before I was born
Like the great WG Grace
I asked him, mate you played our game
You deserve a beer
And WG Grace took one look at me
And after that he said, you see back then I loved playing cricket
And I had my fair share of beer
But since you joined the afterlife Slim
A Saturn lager is the best for me
And to my gran and Blackbeard and WG Grace
Thanks for welcoming me here in the afterlife
And I love floating from planet to planet
See ya later

Out on the path, I wait for her
my friend who’s just for me.
We play and sing and laugh a lot,
though no-one else can see.

You call her imaginary,
but she’s real and best of all,
she’s made a solemn promise
to be here when I call.

My mum says she’s not really there,
though the truth is mum don’t know
the fun me and my friend have had
or the places that we go.

We get lost in the forest
and fly up to the stars,
then sit upon the rooftops
throwing jelly beans at cars.

We’ve dug up buried treasure
and stared Blackbeard in the face.
And we’ve ridden Pegasus
to see the earth from space.

If you think I may be fibbing,
I’ll tell you it’s no lie -
to say we’ve seen most everything,
my secret friend and I.

But now the time is ticking,
she’s never usually late.
But here I am still waiting
sitting by the gate.

I feel the world revolving
as seasons come and go.
I never thought she wouldn’t come,
but perhaps I finally know.

That secret friends are mortal
and don’t last forever,
but I’m quite sure I won’t forget
the times we spent together.

I think I hear the clock indoors
chiming half past four.
The day has almost passed without her,
I’m not so little anymore.

But, just as I turn to go inside,
I hear the squeaking gate
“I’m so sorry,” my friend cries
“I didn’t mean to be this late”!

The world turns again to greet the moon
and my friend and I shall roam,
weaving in and out of dreams
making memories our own.

So, grown-ups if you’re finding,
modern life hard to survive,
wait a while, by the gate
you never know who may arrive.

Though you may not have seen them
for about a hundred years,
secret friends remain with us
and help allay our fears

that we all grow old and crinkly
and forget how to dance and laugh
just have a little patience
and pause there on the path.

captured in the psych ward, new year special




it’s new years eve and ron bought along his punch bowl and a few sushi dishes

as well as party sandwiches, to make the people in the psych ward have a good atmosphere

for the new year, and this year charlie chaplin man was going to read all of his poems as the

entertainment and the nurses did a lot of work so the patients feel calm enough to enjoy

charlie’s show, so medication time was before the show and even charlie, because he was worried

he would yell very loudly if he didn’t and then it started

ron said, ok guys we are going to have a mini new years eve concert run by this man charlie chaplin

charlie said, welcome and happy new year and my first song is   The schitzophrenic


You see I am sitting at the mall
I am having dillusions of people teasing me, and I wish this will all stop, oh please, just leave me the f..k alone
And then I hear voices that aren't really being said o hear Jon killed my best friend named Fred, the thing is I have no best friend, oh year
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
From the first diagnosis till the day you reach 45, you see if i take medication it can be controlled yeah oh yeah
I am schitzophrenic
Then I went to see my psychiatrist and he told me, to try and get a life, I told him I was blackbeard and John F Kennedy, he just threw a smart *** comment my way, I thought that comment was rude and ******, yes it is hard to be liked when you do
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Yes it's easy to do, just let me hang out
You see with my medication it can be controlled, ooooh
I am schitzophrenic
You see I get paranoid when I see people around and right wing governments want us locked up
It mighty hard to have this illness and I cab say this
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Do it once and you get all hooked and after that you feel like a geek, cause your a schitzophrenic, and also with medication it can be controlled
Oooooh I'm a schitzophrenic
Yes, that's true

charlie said, that was a great song and it’ll get you started ya know, the next song is maybe later


maybe later, i will get what i want

maybe later, i will rediscover the beauty

of being alive in this great world

it’s just a long-awaited journey

from beginning to end

and i will try and enjoy the moment

in the psych ward spotlight

i say, please slow down, your moving too fast

please almighty one, let me live long enough to give

a poor old soul a home

they don’t want a bench and they don’t want an old burnt out hall

it’s not fun for me

to look at these big buildings

with hot shot business types, when your not one

it’s enough to drive you mad

please make me except it could be later




the next song charlie sang was standing on the inside looking out, a song that explains what we are going through


standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward trying to get better

you see i was visioning i was in glenelg bay

but instead you get doctors saying how are you enjoying your day

i wished i was well and enjoying my life

instead of being in here wasting away

then i called out to almighty god

and the best i can get is a man who claims he is jesus christ

i said, no, were you nailed to the cross

and he said yeah after i rode in on my horse

and i said wasn’t it a donkey you ran in on and i was

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward trying to get better

i was getting bored, so i asked the nurse

to give me a pass out to the cafe

because i was starting to lose my mind

and when they said no i let out a little wine

i said please please please, mate, this place is driving me mad

the inmates here, smell really really bad

so the nurse made me a banana smoothie and i said thanks

and took it away to my bed, walking past every room before mine

i even tripped over a piece of fishing line

then i sat down in my glenelg bay apartment sipping my smoothie saying

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward trying to get better

dinner time came and i had fish and chips

it was ever so discusting, ya know like hospital food

i opened my orange juice and gave it one almighty sip

and i ate my chocolate mousse, yeah it is as tasty as

when dinner was over i went to the TV room

to watch the news and home and away

then some dude came into watch it with me

and he said, did you know i was GOD, i said, no

as i sat there thinking i was

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward trying to get better

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward in the psych ward

in the psych ward trying to get bet-ter


charlie chaplin after that song was over sang his small poem titled a smile has nothing on us, here goes


whether you let out a big smile or not

you could add it to your melting ***

what you need is a great big melting ***

big enough to take the world and all it’s got

every thing that you can eat

my rundown car is really neat

the coffee urn is piping hot

boiling whether you like it or not

but your smile comes through and through

like a fresh flower, blooming every day for me and you

i try to smile all the time

cause  it’s very fun to do

i like smiling, cause it’s fun



charlie then announced his next song saying spare me, because when your poor you always say spare me. here goes


spare me some money for the bus

spare me some money for the bus

spare me some money

so i don’t look like such a dummy

spare me some money for the bus

spare me some cutlets for my tea

spare me some cutlets for my tea

spare me some cutlets

and some vegetables

thank you very muchlets

spare me some cutlets for my tea

spare me some wine to go with that

spare me some wine to go with that

spare me some wine

so i can feel so divine

spare me some wine to go with that

spare me some chocolate for after that

spare me some chocolate for after that

spare me some chocolate

so i can have what you have

spare me some chocolate for after that


charlie then said, my next song is every day is a day of disappointment because being here really *****


Every day is a day of dissapountment

One day as I was walking down a busy street, saying g'day to everyone who u walk past, then I went back through the park and I saw so many walks of life, from the beggars asking for money and the rich refusing to give it to them, and it all sounds so crazy as I walk through doing nothing like that, after that I felt a bit peckish, so I went to the take-away to buy myself an hamburger with egg and bacon and there was this weird looking fella standing at the door, greeting each customer with a smile, he didn't really work there, but he will never be told to leave, cause he ain't a threat, oh no, then after that I went to the grocery store to buy enough supplies to last me for a week, or maybe more, I could hardly know, then after that, all that shopping made me a bit thirsty, so I went to the sports club and drown my day away, with a ice cold fosters lager or a ice cold can of VB, after that I will get so drunk o could hardly stand up and my friends drove me home and they also walked me inside, just to make sure, I don't collapse on the front lawn, you see, your day seems to go from good to bad, if you make the wrong choices and that makes every day, a day of dissapointment, after that horrible night on the *****, I got up and had a hangover cure, consisting of two raw eggs and worcestershire sauce, yes that sounds so very tasty, yes I love it and live by it, it really makes me feel like I can have a party in my mouth and everyone is invited to spend about a year or so, at the local sports club doing one thing every single day, and then after that you won't seem like every day is a day of disappintment for everyone on this earth



charlie then decided to pretend he had a best mate named albert waldron and back then albert gave him lyrics to a song, here it goes



Alfred Waldron looking back, oh yeah



You see I was a great footballer, man
Yes, I was so ace, but it was a long long time ago
About close to 1 hundred years
You see I payed in South Australa
And I played footy very well, and after the match
I would go to my car, and get my BBQ an start cooking the snags
Yes, I loved that, it was really really cool
Everyone thought I was an average cook
And they all came over for some meat
Yes, I even had some nice cold beers
Yes, I think thats so very cool
As I cooked the meat, the other players were saying
Come on mate, cook us some nice beautiful Aussie snags
I also played cricket, for South Australia as well
And I even took my BBQ to the cricket for after match food
The only way you can do that now, is if you just stayed local
And some days, like at the footy and the cricket
Every player got very vocal
I was a real Australian guy, who loved to play, footy or cricket
And I loved the BBQ at the end, yes it was so esquized
Yes I had the muscles, and I have lots of those
Everyone enjoy eating a snag a sausage
And then an egg and bacon roll
Since that footy life ended i felt cool


ron said to charlie just one more song because people are yelling and we can’t control them, but charlie we will have the midnights fireworks for you, ok



charlie said he has got his fresh old legs going wild here it goes


they will dance

they will run

into the midday sun

they will race

warm embrace

be a bit lazy

head to the pub

go to the shop

to buy some clothes

angels coming down

worshipping the town

playing football

driving cars

around the good old town

having drinks with the guys

fresh flowers for sale at the shop at SHOPRITE

SHOPRITE SUPERMARKET

CUTTING ALL THE FOOD BILLS YEAH

spiders coming through the window

to destroy all mankind

makin g lamb for dinner

nicest you’ve ever seen

i said i will stay home and watch my mate, mr bean

yeah, your fresh legs go wild

when they do all these things

and before the end, charlie got the entire staff and patients to sing auld lent zine at 10.00 pm

because everyone was getting tired and cranky
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ lang syne!

Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne!

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine,
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot
Sin’ auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’t in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine,
And we’ll tak a right guid willie-waught
For auld lang syne!

And surely ye’ll be your pint’ stoup,
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne!




ron and charlie were helping each other clean up while the other patiens were being injected with ******

from yelling too much and after the cleanup was done, charlie went to the TV room to watch the fireworks

that were on at midnight on the TV, meanwhile, ron clocked off and went to the pizza hut and went home to

watch the fireworks on the TV thinking, today, ron made charlie a happy man, by letting him do his concert

it wasn’t till midnight but they can’t do that in the HDU.

abstract -

a "jew" sitting inside al-musharrafah /
                            al-ka'bah /   al-kāba(h),
    trying to figure out an hebraic aversion
  using kabbalah

Γ
      0       ∞        8

      8                  1         ∞
                                            L

          \  /
            |
                        | - |        \/\/    
                                                       | - |
         _              
       /_ /|
      |_|/

    - narrative -

i knew i should have written this, straight away,
as it conjured itself before me, first
in mind, then in paper...
             but the idiot me decided for a blackbeard
refill...
             washing myself, and then heading
to the supermarket...
                 sweating all the way, and prior to also,
then walking into the supermarket,
opening a fridge-freezer with the frozen
peas, and ice-cream, and sticking my head into
it.
         i should have written this,
   when the original euphoria was there...
           walking back home i realised:
               what the hell does the noted 8, 8, 8
mean now?
                       **** it! i can't remember why
i wrote it, but didn't write an explanation;
      and now i'm bundled up in half-***
bewilderment, figuring out the chicken egg
story of: what came first, the mouth or the ****?
  aha!
              the bellybutton and the umbilical chord...
wait wait...
            that mouth of mother, and into
the **** that's the umbilical chord, and then
into: ****, a foetus' second mouth on the belly...
                  thankfully there's a cut-off point:
foetus' have no anuses...
         which doesn't beg the question,
   as to why they need to be wrapped in diapers...
imagine several weeks constipated in the womb...
you plop out... and bang! **** after ****,
as the foetal **** constricted, finally lets itself
go... and bam! diarrhea!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

          t.b.c. (to be continued...
        i'm sweating like a wild pig and i need
to have a second shower, or something)...

            - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

let's just say that the latin version of the hebraic
meditation is different,
       it focuses, against gematria,
or numerology, which is a bit like pompous
astrology: the whole - it was written in the stars?
well... sailors navigated the seas using stars
   because they thought: the sky's flat...
if the earth isn't flat, then the sky has to be flat,
otherwise how would we navigate from (a) to (b)?

    which is an antithesis to an antithesis
                              that's a prohibition of
palm reading (fortune telling) - yadekha
     (your hand), rather, the concept of yod-ekha,
your י (yod)
   (is that the hebrew version of ego? or simply i?)
   pslam 145:16 -
                             again, a gateway.

resh | he | het | gimel | dalet | lamed | mem | bet.

   so if you do not prescribe palm reading,
   you shouldn't prescribe gematria,
     or reading into letters with the eyes of numbers,
unless of course, you state your cause,
   and perform something akin to astronomy,
meaning: upon the axis of π.

      you open your hand, and then close it,
      as spring clenches its bud, and subsequently
opens it...
                       so do both wither away.

   but try imagining practicing kabbalah in the kaaba...
     _  _
       |        or         \   /
                                |
   as that, which is in the corner of the cube...
   this kabbalistic interpretation of hebrew is tinged
with roman numerals, which is why this is in latin,
rather than hebrew, and for that reason,
    in this system, gematria is a stupid superstition,
like fortune cookies in a chinese restaurant...
   we have moved toward the basics, matchsticks...
in the tetragrammaton alone, there are only:
  | | |, | | |, | | |, | | | |                  13 matchsticks;
ah, indeed, the greeks called that number
jesus and his disciples, or what the romans later said:
the devil's dozen.

      and how many sides does a cube have?
H, H,             or | _ | + | _ | = 6,
                 six on the inside, six on the outside...
but how many corners? 8...
                                    r, h, g, d, l, m, b, h.

of course the matchsticks become problematic,
      or what was chiselled into stone at the senate,
a V (5) for a U...   so no wonder there exists in
naked english such short-hand as l8er...
                                     so much so, of herbaic
with no UU (ω, w), i.e. ו
         ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ (squiggly squiggly)
     w ~ vav (a poor comparison in spelling
      ha-hara... ha... ha... ha-shem);
    and upon the 24th hour, measured right down
to the letter, a year, prior b.c, now ζηρo (zéro
               in polish)... or...
                       ζερo - in english, i.e. zee-ro(h).

and how did loki fool the hebrew god?
        he pulled his ******* back, and pretended
to be circumcised, and it worked like magic contra
   very ancient history, that always remains,
continually, un-announced in modern discussion
with a sensibility that might compete with
   all modern chit-chat in a soup... sorry, soap opera.

      and already, i said it before, do what nazis
did to the *******, but with the star of david...
rotate it... what do you see?
                i see a square carpet, and an open book,
and someone obviously sitting on the carpet
  with the book open.

    and now: for a larger schematic, givten that
the י is already the kaaba, or as i like to call it,
   the lament configuration...
   but oddly enough... there's something more...
  there's also yah.... known by its place in
  the sefirot, as chokhmah...  only second
   from the crown (keter, otherwise known
   colloquially as kippah)...
             and it means wisdom.
  
   indeed, beauty is in the eye of the beholder...
thus standing inside the kaaba, in one of the corners:

(if eve cotended with lilith, then אדאמ   (adam)
  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
| \ צ                              \
|    \                          ­      \
|       \                                \
|          \ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \
|            |                                |                ­        
|            |                                |         ­                 
|            |                                |­
\          |                                |    
    \       |                                |
       \    |                                |
          \ | _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ו |   (v)
                                              
              would have to have a shodow counter
part, namely:              צדצם‎.
    in latin geometry, and without the skewed
copernican angle... we receive the geometry of Y
  (i.e. yod);
     but i am but a man, who walked into the kaaba
in mecca... and found not a dust's worth
   of attributing the god allah... with the learnings
os the kabbalah;

    and indeed, why is the concept of infinity,
merely a dot, a big bang, a one-dimensional entity?
why is it not three dimensional?
   ah, the fours numbers,           1808...
perhaps four letters instead?

Γ
     ל‎        ∞       8                       (lamed)

     8                  ג‎         ∞              (gimel)
                                          ­L

Ben Sanders sat in his final days
By his cottage, up on the bluff,
He’d spent his life as a rover, and
He said, ‘I can’t get enough!
The sea, the sea, the lure of the sea,
It whispers at my front door,
And calls to me, here up on the bluff,
‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’

‘But I can’t go down and I won’t go down
For I daren’t go down, you see,
Not since I was caught in the maelstrom
When the seabed beckoned to me,
My mate had clung to the mast, while I
Had lashed myself to the rail,
And he went down to the stony ground
Along with the yards and sail.’

‘I hear the sound in my ears still
The roar of the whirling pool,
I’d cried, ‘Let go of the iron chest,
But he’d not let go, the fool.
It was filled with gold and pieces of eight,
Dubloons and precious stones,
It carried him down to an awful fate
Is spread, all over his bones.’

‘But I clung on ‘til the turn of the tide
I could almost touch the ground,
My head was spinning, deep in the pool
As the ship whirled round and round,
But then the tide began to subside
And I said goodbye to Bjork,
For then the ship rose up to the lip
And popped right up like a cork.’

‘We’d sailed forever the Spanish Main
The ship, Bjork and me,
And searched the atolls of rocks and sand
Of the Caribbean sea,
We found the treasure that Blackbeard hid
In a shaft, six fathoms deep,
Then Bjork had pined for Norwegian lands,
Said, ‘What we’ve got, we’ll keep!’

‘The further north that we sailed, the sea
Grew surly in its ride,
The waves crashed over the foredeck and
They tossed us, side to side,
The squalls came in and the rain came down
And we had to reef the sail,
The water rose in the bilge, until
I thought we’d have to bail.’

‘But then one night it was flat and calm
And the water lapped below,
I heard the voice of a siren then
That whispered, sweet and low:
‘Come down,’ she said, ‘you can rest your head
And give up your earthly seat,
But lie instead on a seaweed bed
With a mermaid at your feet.’’

‘I think of Bjork on the ocean bed
Though I don’t know where he lies,
His bones are covered with precious stones
With two dubloons for his eyes,
I’ve never been back to the sea since then
For I fear it, more and more,
As still it whispers on moonlit nights
‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’

Ben Sanders sat in his final days
By his cottage, facing the sea,
He seemed remote, but a final note
That he wrote was left for me.
‘My days of watching the sea are done,
I think that I’ve had enough!’
And then he strode as the tide arose
And walked, right over the bluff.

David Lewis Paget

(Inspired by E. A. Poe’s ‘A Descent into the Maelstrom).

atheana is working on removing my teeth

you see i went to the dentist this morning

and there was a problem, i was having a stabbing pain

right in my gum and the dentist enlisted athena’s help

in the healing of the infection, he gave me cephalexin

to be taken every 12 hours, till finished and i have been

advised to see a doctor if i feel giddy, they took an x-ray on my teeth

and i need another denture, as the teeth have to be pulled out

when i say athena helps, not in the magical way, no i mean

athena gives dentists and doctors help in healing, and will put

the patient under sedation, so the work can be done, athena will help you

whether you believe it or not, my consulton for the dental work is next tuesday

at 3.30pm, and i enlisted dads help in the cosmos to make sure i will help mum

with the payment, like paying $40 a fortnight, so she isn’t out of pocket, because

i don’t really want to blame dads death on not having help with my dental work done

i hope i get these teeth out as soon as i can, the right way, with athena’s help

it’s interesting to know if the NDIS, could give funding for dental treatment among other things

the coke i have been drinking, has been cosmically putting the gas into my mouth, and gets rid

of evil  from my brain, and this infection is apart of the evil, which was in my brain, you see when

i used to smile, i looked like i was giving the evil YEAH, like a few of my school friends

and that is when i was blackbeard the pirate, and i have to have the evil out of me from those days

i will need more dentures, i will help pay for it, with the help of the cosmos,

ATHENA, HELP ME

IN CHRISTMAS IN 1997, MY NANNA DIED, AND THE MESSAGE SHE SENT, TEASE BRIAN, CAUSE HE IS STILL

LIKE US, BECAUSE, IF BRIAN WAS REALLY THAT SMART, HE WOULD REALISE, THAT EVEN NOW WE ARE

PROTECTING HIM, YOU SEE MY NANNA, WANTED BRIAN TO FIND HER NEXT LIFE, BUT I AM SURE I HAVE FOUND HER

HERE, YOU SEE, BRIAN REALLY LIKED CHRIS PLAYING THE GUITAR, SO MY NANNA LEFT HER LIFE, TO TRY

AND FIND A WAY OFF THE OLD LADY IMAGE AND INTO THE YOUNG DUDE GUY IMAGE, IN HER CREATIVITY

YOU SEE MY NANNA, YA KNOW, WAS LOOKING OVER ME, YOU SEE, SHE USED TO KNIT, AND ****

AND AFTERWARDS, SHE MADE A CUP OF TEA, WELL MY NANNA IS NOW FROM THE YEAR 2000, NANNA

BECAME JOHN ROBERT RIMEL, YA KNOW HE PUT HIS STUFF ON YOU TUBE, YOU SEE MY NANNA IS

A YOUTUBE PARTNER, I KNOW HE IS MY NANNA’S REINCARNATION, BECAUSE, HE HAS THE SPITTING

IMAGE OF WHAT SHE VIEWED IN ME, OR WHAT SHE SAW IN MY DECEASED DAD, JOHN ROBERT RIMEL,

WHO WANTED TO **** THE OLD FOGIE THAT NANNY’S WORRYING CAUSED, AND MY NANNA GOT INTO

MY HEAD, SAYING, IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU TOLD YOUR FAMILY YOUR BELIEFS, LIKE YOU BELIEVE IN REINCARNATIOB

BUDDY, AND DON’T WORRY ABOUT WHAT YOUR VOICES SAY, OK, I DIED, TO GET OUT OF THAT, NANNA SAID

AND NANNA, SAID, IF YOU WANNA DO MY LEGACY OF CREATIVE GENES, DON’T **** PEOPLE OFF, YOU

SEE MY NANNA JEAN ALLAN SAID, I AM JEAN ALLAN NO MORE, AND I PREFER TO BE YOUTUBE PARTNERS WITH

YOU BRIAN, AS MY NANNA SAID, THAT SHE IS JOHN ROBERT RINEL, A YOUTUBER LIKE BRIAN, AND MY NANNA

STILL WANTS THE VOICE OF PAT, ONLY BECAUSE, IF YOU REALLY CARED FOR THE POOR, EVEN FOR KIDS

IT’S EASY TO CARE, BUT MY NANNA GETS WEIRD VIBES FROM THAT, YOU SEE MY NANNA WAS SORT OF DOING THIS

TO GET CLOSER TO HER GRANDSON CHRIS, CAUSE, MY NANNA GIVES HER NEXT REINCARNTATION JOHN ROBERT RINEL

TO JAM WITH MY BROTHER OR HIS KIDS, BUT, HE LIKES TO BE IN THE HERE AND NOW, BUT NANNA RESPECTS THAT, BUT

THAT IS WHAT BUDDHA DOES, IS RESPECT, YOU SEE MY NANNA LIKE IS NOW A MUSICIAN, BUT NANNA HAS BEEN TEASING ME

SAYING, SHE ISN’T THE BOY IN ADELAIDE WHO SAVED THAT LADY, OR THAT RUNNER AT THE BELCONNEN GAME, NO, MY NANNA WAS

TEASING, TO SAY, OH NO, SHE WOULD DO THIS, LIKE BE RUNNER AT SPORTS EVENTS OR SAVE ADULTS, BUT MY NANNA, AND

IS JOHN ROBERT RINEL, SO SHE CAN MOVE ON, RATHER THAN BE A LITTLE OLD LADY WITH FLOPPY ARMS, SO MY NANNA SAID

YOU SIT THERE DOING YOUR TAPESTRY, BUT DON’T EXPECT ANYONE TO SMILE AT YOU, OR BETTER STILL, DON’T MUCK WITH YOU

IF YOU, FIND OUR REINCARNATIONS, OK, BRIAN ALLAN KNOWS PAUL BERENYI IS JACK VIDGEON, VIBE AT THAT CAROLS IN THE DOMAIN

AND DAD IS ELIZABETH ANN CAMPBELL, AND JEAN ALLAN IS JOHN ROBERT RINEL, BRETT EGGINS TOOK KIDNAP VICTIM, ADAM WALSH

UP TO REINCARNATE AS THE OLSEN TWINS, MARK JONES WAS STEVEN BRADLEY, WITH VOICES OF REINCARNATIION BOTHERING HIM

MARK DRANK COKE, BUT DID NOTHING ELSE, SO HE IS SUPER 3 YEAR OLD LIAM, FROM THE COKE, I DRINK COKE, BUT I WRITE STORIES

ABOUT MY REINCARNTIONS I WAS GREAME THORNE, PATRICK DUNBAR, A CAT AND A DOG, ALBERT WALDRON, A HOTEL PORTER AND CLEANER

GEORGE WASHINGTON BLACKBEARD THE PIRATE, ISABELLA OF FRANCE, THE 323 YEAR OLD MAN CRONUS HANSEL AND ST NICK, AND DANIEL MESSIAH

AND MY NANNA NOW IS REACHING ME FROM THE TOP, SAYING, NOW, MY NANNA IS JOHN ROBERT RINEL, THE REASON WHY I KNOW IT’S MY NANNA

BECAUSE I GET VIBES, YA SEE, MY NANNA WANTED TO BE MORE LIKE MY BROTHER, CAUSE SHE KNEW I DRINK, AND SHE WANTED ME TO OUT LIVE DAD

BUT I KNOW THE TRUTH, BUT I WANT TO KEEP IT ON THE INTERNET

JOHN ROBERT RINEL, YOU WERE MY NANNA WHO DIED IN 1997

BUT PLEASE. LET MY NANNA’S CREATIVE SPIRIT FLY OVER YOU, SHE KNITTED, YOU DO MUSIC ALL CREATIVE

YOU ARE THE NEXT GEN UP FROM MY NANNA, JUST THE REINCARNATION CREATIVITY

BUDDHA DOES THIS, IT SOUNDS ****** AWFUL, BUT BUDDHA'S HANDS ARE TIED
HE COULD **** DADS NEXT LIFE LIKE HE KILLED DAD, IT'S AWFUL, BUT LIFE ISN'T
ALL A BUNCH OF ROSES, I DREAM ABOUT A HAPPY FAMILY LOOK, AND THEN
WOOSH SOMEONE GRABBED ME, (STEVEN BRADLEY GRABS MY LAST LIFE GREAME THORNE) I HAVE FELT GREAT SPIRITIUALLY KNOWING THIS
AT PRESENT DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS HAVE BEEN REINCARNATED
AND RELATED TO JIMMY BARNES, DAD WAS GIVEN A YOUNG DUDE PRESENT
FROM BUDDHA FOR HELPING ME WHO IS CRONUS, UNDERSTAND MORE ABOUT THE WORLD, I AM LIKE THIS GIRL, I LOVE LIFE AND ARE TOO NICE FOR WEIRD SCHITZOPHRENIC VOICES, THANKS DAVID CAMPBELL FOR REBIRTHING WHAT BUDDHA TOLD ME, DUDES, AS CRONUS, TO SHOW THE BEAUTY OF EACH CORNER OF THE WORLD, AND I AM DOING IT THROUGH YOUTUBE, BUT ALL YOUTUBE JUNKIES LIKE ME, CRONUS'S CURRENT EARTH BODY, IS SHOWING
THAT THE WORLD IS BEAUTIFUL, AND I DID A BUDDHA CEREMONIAL SHOW
ON SUSIE'S AND MARCO'S BREAKFAST CLUB FOR KATRINA AND TOREY FROM
THE MARTIN PLACE SIEGE
WATCH MY YOUTUBEB SITES, AAA YOUTUBE TV AND AARON CLAYTON
SHOWING, HOW TO RID NEGATIVITY THE RIGHT WAY, I AM A BUDDHIST
AND I BELIEVE IN THIS REBIRTH OF BUDDHA

YOU SEE DAD WANTED TO STAY CLOSE TO AUSTRALIA, AND BE NEAR MORK FROM ORK
THE TWINS OF DAVID AND LISA CAMPBELL FROM CHANNELL 9
I HAVE BEEN MEDDLING WITH THE SOULS, TO SAY BUDDHA DOES WHAT IS GOOD FOR
THE LAST LIFE, NOT WHAT THEY WANT, BUT HE THOUGHT, DAD NEEDED
TO BE CLOSE TO ME A BIT, CRONUS YA SEE MY MATE THE MESSIAHDAN SAN, YA KNOW LOOKS ON THE INTERNET
AT RELIEF WEB.INT, TO WISH TSUNAMI'S, AND HIS CHARACTER WAS THAT BIG POWERFUL MAN, ME, I AM MORE LIKE THIS GIRL, WHO BELIEVES TO SUFFER
POSITIVELY, CAUSE WE CAN'T FIGHT THIS JEWISH MESSIAH, AND I FEEL BETTER
AS A KID, IN POSITIVE ENERGY, BUT I KNOW I AM A MAN BY AGE, BUT I AIN'T
INTO FIGHTING MUCH, CAUSE THAT IS THE REASON I SUFFER, THE POSITIVE WAY
DAN SANDER, WAS THE MESSIAH, WHO THINKS HE CAN CREATE THIS BLOKE COULD BE THE BUDDHA, CAUSE MENTAL ILLNESS IS A VERY TERRIBLE
THING, IT CAN SHOW, THAT ANYBODY CAN COMMIT CRIMES AND IT SHOWS
WHATEVER THEY'LL DO, IS DONE IN THE AID OF LOVE FOR THE FELLOW MAN
MIND YOU, I AM CRONUS AND BLACKBEARD THE PIRATE, AND I WAS KIDNAPPED IN
MY LAST 2 HUMAN LIVES, I AM ALBERT WALDRON, BUT I AM CRONUS HELPER
OF THE YA SEE I WAS THERE AS CRONUS, TO SPREAD THE WORLD FROM DOWN UNDER

TO LEARN ABOUT DIFFERENT CULTURES, AND LEARN A BIT ABOUT WHAT ****** PEOPLE

OFF, YA KNOW WHAT ****** PEOPLE OFF, HAVING TO EXPLAIN THEMSELVES TO A RELIGIOUS CHAP LIKE ME

I DON’T **** ANYONE OFF, AND NOBODY IS ******* ME OFF, APART FROM VOICES, ******* VOICES

******* SCHITZOPHRENIA FOREVER, BUT BUDDHA IS MAKING ME REALISE THAT THERE IS MORE

TO LIFE THAN MAKING PEOPLE SAYING YOUR SPECIAL

THE WORD IS REINCARNATION REBIRTH AND ENLGHTMENT, TRUST LOVE AND MERCY

it's late
and the first thing i hear is the clock's bell
ringing for each hour like a stab wound
smelling like salt and New York Harbor
as if i were a navyman like him
but silence washes over the room in a wave
and in its undertow the sands of my father are left behind

if my father was a poet he'd love all the white space
his room is a short poem, then--
an archipelago, each island
a monolith:

near the navy clock (born from saltwater and teenage dreams)
a dresser that could tell stories of wooden teeth and Blackbeard

then another, even heavier and dripping
with ancient handiwork--Marie Antoinette ate cake off it

a tv crowns it, almost aggressively
simple, burying history under Technicolor

a rug kneels in front of Marie & her crown
geometric paradise in brown and white

emptiness otherwise, just white walls (comfortably clinical)
and no extra space used (except for the bed--
large, a remnant of divorce)

and then, once again, i smell the sea
as the clock strikes something

or maybe something-thirty

halloween kids



I am a man who loves halloween yes i think it’s cool

you trick or treat through the streets, oh yeah

asking for lollies and bobbing for apples

yeah that sounds so rad to me

you see you sing songs like monster mash

and flying purple people eater and you eat people everywhere

and you hate when dr frankenstein says you are doomed sunshine

and then you played the jaws theme to scare away the dudes

party party party oh yeah, this will be pretty cool

you see hearing the sounds of the ghosts of halloween and

the big fierce dracula

and the monsters do their dash, yeah that sounds so cool

and each adult gives sweets to each kid, yeah mate ****** yeah

you see on the eve of halloween, dr micheals comes around

to say, you are a **** and a monster, yeah, you need a nice cold budweiser beer

then in the middle of the day your kids come in the bar

and show you all the candy they have found

yeah there was a lot

you see good old dracula said back to me

yeah, these kids are devious and cunning

and the great dr frankenstein said kids, we have to party with them

kids, you see we have tom and george and simon and Ben

kids we can’t have this holiday without them oh no we can’t

kids kids kids kids

kids, the party is on for young and old

you see these kids have heard every story ewer told

kids need more, but they don’t except it no

kids kids kids

kids are the reason why we celebrate this day

you see people dress up in consumes all over the USA

kids aren’t happy when the night ends oh no

they just keep the parents being tired and weary oh yeah oh no

kids the day is great for them

kids  the adults are trying to break every record that is meant

kids need to explain to these blokes that they are uncool

kids kids kids

you see kids, i see the devil with his fork

kids i see blackbeard the pirate in the body of a dork

kids the wicked witch is the biggest problem child

kids kids kids

kids can the adults steel the kids candy

kids can the adults steal is while singing yankee doodle dandy

kids is it possible  that the candy is theres oh yeah

kids kids kids

happy halloween dudes and dudelttes

.no problem about the Polacks, the Romanians or the Bulgarians... no problem... the Polacks will return to a Clint Eastwood mentality borrowed from Gran Torino... thank god the Polacks are leaving these lands... but... you can always have your Commonwealth ****-gang! so... thumbs up! both parties win!

well, just another turn of
the century dynamics,
what else is / isn't to be expect?

the european provides
the wind,
the african provides
the drums...

****...
         the asians provide the
underlying bass notes?

that's not going to work...

           i can't seem to spot
more colors on the piano
other than black, and white...

biG problem...
              
    slaves? what slaves?
the African saved the Europeans
from violins, cellos,
         and entombed themselves
in brass...
   horns, saxophones... you name it...
what slaves?

     so... if the narrative of
the world history, makes its crucible...
on the focus of the first man,
originating in Africa...

   personally? as the last man...
the last in the lineage of Shem
   Abel and Cain...
              
                   if i am supposed to play
the role of the last man,
and the man...
that's also supposed to become extinct...

i'm not liking it...
    i'll just drink my blackbeard shake
of *** & coke...
    and...
this is the part where i add:

   now scuttle along... like the good
vermin that you are;
just don't touch my fox pet
on the way out...
no one touches Rommel.

hi dudes



today i am suffering from a pain in my ankle, i have no idea

how it cam about but it’s there, i go to bed and ask athena

to spray methane over it, and she does, and i feel great

i don’t know how it started but when i was doing the barbecue

last saturday, it suddenly started to ache, mind you i was feeling

a minor ache a few days before, i couldn’t stand up, mind you

i was trying to stand, but i just had to sit down, it made me feel like

such a bludger, but every night i am going to ask athena to spray methane on it

and i will drink orange soda, you see there is a poem my mother read to me

called acka backer soda ******* acka backer boo acka backer soda *******

i love you, and i imagined the babies eyes lighting up, i foot is getting better

but it still feels a bit sore, but i still sleep well as athena is working on the

pouring of the methane on it, i got my new glasses yesterday and i look a bit like elvis costello

but hopefully my foot will get better with all the methane i am getting poured on it

you see athena isn’t perfect, you must be able to remain low stressed, and nobody

is perfect or nobody is a robot and can’t fix up as quick as a fiddle stick, but mind you

people try and not be sick, just because i have a sore fought it doesn’t mean i am negative

i watch shows where people on life insurance with their poxley smiles to say when

they die everything is going to come up roses but my leg is still hurting a bit, and athena

is the best worker for me because she is cheap, but that doesn’t mean she ain’t true

the great gas methane can work wonders for your feet,i am trying to do my tapestry

and my foot is finding it hard to be a table on top of my leg.

you see i remember my mum and late father said my poems weren’t family friendly enough for

the internet, but when i went to outer space i saw athena and then sang a few songs at neptune

the first song was do the shitzophrenic
You see I am sitting at the mall
I am having dillusions of people teasing me, and I wish this will all stop, oh please, just leave me the f..k alone
And then I hear voices that aren't really being said o hear Jon killed my best friend named Fred, the thing is I have no best friend, oh year
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
From the first diagnosis till the day you reach 45, you see if i take medication it can be controlled yeah oh yeah
I am schitzophrenic
Then I went to see my psychiatrist and he told me, to try and get a life, I told him I was blackbeard and John F Kennedy, he just threw a smart *** comment my way, I thought that comment was rude and ******, yes it is hard to be liked when you do
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Yes it's easy to do, just let me hang out
You see with my medication it can be controlled, ooooh
I am schitzophrenic
You see I get paranoid when I see people around and right wing governments want us locked up
It mighty hard to have this illness and I cab say this
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Do it once and you get all hooked and after that you feel like a geek, cause your a schitzophrenic, and also with medication it can be controlled
Oooooh I'm a schitzophrenic
Yes, that's true

and when i finished that song was finished i went to the bar to drink 45 gallons of methane to hopefully make me walk a

a bit better as opposed to looking like an old man on his last legs, i know when my legs give way

and that is when my brain stops, surely i might have my legs amputated, but if i ask athena

to give the right dose of methane and if i rest my leg when i awake, but i must walk occasionally to

make sure it gets better and i say if you have sore feet, roll your feet over a tennis ball to make

athena’s magic will work, you see the god of thunder will get the methane and roll on you

just like thunder does

The people need a villain.
Someone to hate, the loathe, to look up to.
A captain hook, a long john silver, a BlackBeard.

The people need a villain.
To justify their own strange existence.
Sitting at their cash registers, in their grocery stores,
wondering if they're doing the right things.
They see the news about the school shootings and feel better because
      no one wants to shoot them.
An Eric Harris, A Dylan Klebold, A Jeffrey Weise

The people need a villain.
Someone to tell them stuff they don't believe.
To rally them, **** them, and **** them,
Cause they haven't the nerve to do it themselves.
A Bush, A Cheney, An Obama.

The people need a villain.
Someone to love, to idolize, to fear.
God forbid we take our own chances, and maybe come out a villain,
      when all we ever looked for was truth.
A Thompson, A Bukowski, A Kerouac.

You see way back in the nineties I was a hooligan from way back, but I didn't really like my father despite him being so nice to me, I said to mum that I don't understand what bugs me in dad, but I still fought or teased him, because he couldn't be my kidnapper in his previous life because all my childhood lives that were kidnapped while my dad was my dad, you see dad might've been a foe from when I played footy as Albert Waldron, yeah that might be right because I might have been a bit scared of talking about that thinking dad was an atheist or a non church going Christian who believed in heaven and hell like my mother
I wasn't sure if I wanted to talk to dad about what I see in him
Because he was my dad, I know he was nice to me, but at that stage I hated his authority that he brought up, and as an adult I fought back, I was visioning war veteran or maybe he was a footy star when I played footy as Albert, you see I treated dad more like a football mate than a dad like I said how are you going cobbler and dad said mmmmmm a little boy mmmmm
He never said that exactly but in fact he was wondering why I was fighting him by saying come here briany why are you fighting us and I ran off saying oohhhh you are just a football mate but mum and dad were worried about me, and despite me still acting like a spoilt little brat, they said give him medication to calm his anxiety
Down, because my problem was anxiety and mum and dad got in my way, and I was drinking to get rid of my previous life thoughts but I became the person I never wanted to be, sometimes I told dad I was a hooligan and he said a hoodlum which was his name for a hooligan but really I was just thinking that isn't me to think things like that and before my dad's mother passed away, I yelled at my parents because they gave me a ****** room while they got a good room and dad really annoyed me, you see I might have been seeing this football player I fought with as Albert Waldron
You see dad was finding it hard to get through to me but I was thinking football foe, I have no idea why I teased dad, he tried to joke with me and all I see in him is that footy watching man
And despite him not watching the footy with me, I still saw them in him, ya know a cool kid to pat and Lyle even if I wanted to be with them because I was the footy fan of the family because I was Albert Waldron back in the late 1800s and early 1900s and I might have remembered dad from the crowd or an opposing player or even member of the pub I drank in and I was hearing voices in the pubs as I mucked around with the footy players as they called dad a great big old fogie
And I was him but I still was scared because I was still thinking of people being nice to me, ya know treating me like a little cool kid to the drinkers
But I had to grow up because I am not Albert Waldron anymore
I was in my mobile home and I was visioning people going about their duties like running and jumping having fun and fighting tying each other up
And I visioned dad getting really worried but I saw the football supporter coming down to rib me about Norwood losing but it was modernised by the raiders and the swans who weren't very good back then and one guy in the pub yelled at me for drinking from the jug and I said
Mate, I am just having a beer
You see there was a different atmosphere at the pub with dad
Yeah, I know it was father and son but when scott showed up
I was hearing voices from back
When I was Albert Waldron in my previous life
Scott was a fellow player and dad was this man cheering
I thought dad was teasing me
But really I was hearing his previous life as the old
Man in the Norwood football club, you see dad was in the middle of my voices and dad told me I was on my way to having an heart attack from smoking and drinking but I gave up drinking and smoking to try and stop the fighting but I fought dad for the last before September 11 2001 and that is where the voices stopped
But that wasn't true, that was where dad got sick of me and that was where I was determined to be Santa Claus but dad and mum was worried because of my past as a kid chaser from when I was st Nicholas of AntarcticIa and Blackbeard the pirate but mum and dad were worried about that we were fighting about that and I was visioning that old man at Norwood pub of dad's previous life and I was santa for 10 years and now my mind is saying dad is your dad but whether he was that old man in Norwood pub or Betty Campbell now, he was still my dad

i don't know why,
            in a litre, that's 250ml gone,
on the basis that, working from 40%,
i'm figuring, 40% - x = 37.5%,
add the half and then add the 2...
what do you get? 40%.
               anyway...
                 these "hard" spirits
are perfect for mixers...
                     you get a perfect mix
of, say,           dark *** & pepsi,
to conjure up a sharpshooter known
as blackbeard; and that really is
a name for the most trivial cocktail.
    and when i mean "hard", i do mean "hard".
ever drink habsburg absinthe?
        that's nearing the 100% mark...
            or what one might call:
   the 10,000 indicator for: what wasn't
ran, but was drunk;
zeno's paradoxical centimetre or
inches or miles or kilometres come later,
or at least last...
   but this is fascinating... % = double negation
given that kant said, 0 = negation...
it's like a denial divided by denial...
           i know the symbol suggests more
omicron representation than a zee-ρ;
    never mind... it's the perfect fraction...
like a golden ratio, % = the perfect fraction.
the thing is though...
          i'm drinking this 37.5% dark ***
and thinking... if this **** was at 40%...
          i'd be worrying about not mixing it
properly...
            and this is a "hard" spirit after all...
it's not exactly habsburg absinthe,
        or a plum extract that's know by the name
of śliwowica, common in the tatra mountains...
which, like habsburg absinthe, is
nearing            the ten thousand mark;
but some strange reason 37.5% is the perfect
partner for a mixer... say... *** & pepsi...
whiskey & pepsi... ***** & pepsi...
        at 40% you're thinking... posh whiskey,
drank lukewarm... like a brandy / cognac.
37.5% is a ******* mystery to me...
       i actually can perfect the sharpshooter concept
with that balance... mingling 40% with a mixer
is... is... just ****** hard...
          sharpshooter? excess of spirit and
a little bit of a mixer...      a bit like... a shandy...
beer with a head of lemonade?
                                no? don't know it?
37.5%, and a litre of it?! and enough pepsi?
  i call that a friday night... as a party soloist;
oh i did to the laundry wasted today,
      almost anything done drunk is fun as ****,
you get all autistic, making patterns out
of the clothes and where they should hang
on the washing-line...
       red sock, blue sock... no... red sock red sock...
here!        blue sock... tartan pattern blue sock...
no...         ah! blue sock blue sock.... dangle here!
well... you know... people have their alternative hobbies.

I didn’t know that I was lost,
But I knew when I was found.
Those heavy chains on my heart
I was no longer bound

The sun is suddenly brighter
The coffee I swear is sweeter
I’d still be in a fog
If I didn’t meet her.

I pinch myself daily
Thankful for the pleasure
I feel like Blackbeard
Finding a buried treasure.

Who do I blame for this feeling I have that I'm going insane?
it's the pain in my brain that was never the same when you went
and when you did,the love we once had is the love that is driving me mad,
it's all inside,
the man I once was just curled up and died,now there's just me,a neanderthal thinking he's climbed up a tree and seen life in the raw,fallen and sore he has climbed up once more and seen life again,
but the pain brings me back to an insanity attack and feeling sore is the door that is locked,I want more than the tree,I want more than I'm able to see,I have touched on God's lips when my sanity slips and transcended some barrier above,I want the love that I can't be and the taste that I don't see
and who do I blame for me not getting this?
******* with insanity and even more with the profanity that goes hand in glove with this madness I love,
I chill and think about killing off time
but the time is now six and the medicines kick in
I begin to feel sane and the pain starts to begin its slow winding down
and when I look at the time it's a quarter of nine and she loves me again.
'The same every night',I hear the night porter say as his keys swing and jingle within the jangle of the corridor,when the patient who is next door, who swore to me he is Blackbeard which even I think is a little weird,said,
'Goodnight'

today has been a stormy day except the sky is clear
it's my moral compass that's stormy
i feel twisted
i feel like one of those knot bracelets we used to wear
when summers were salt and wind and blackbeard and houses with names
except not as nostalgic
i feel tired, mostly
exhausted
the kind where you wonder how in the hell you're going to do it all again
tomorrow

briano alliano performing on the moon



hi dudes and welcome to this show on the moon, and people ask me, how do i perform for you up here

and i said, i am trying to rid the hooligan from my body, my first song is titled, it’s my hooligan

you see it’s my hooligan, and it looks like i have to live with it

you see i had a puff on a ciggy and a spell with alcohol

you see i was an alcoholic dude, but i was looking at it as partying

because that is what a cool young dude does, yeah

you see i bought a bunch of cigars, but they were very strong, oh yeah mate yeah

you can’t enjoy a party with cigars in your mouth

you could get mouth cancer, if you don’t breathe it in man

you see people treat me like an adult oh yeah

they want me to do what they say, i said why should i

i have beliefs of floating up to the moon

while you losers are on earth, probably up here, but not knowing it

i am performing in every club tipping methane on everyone

i want to get respect from everyone on earth my dear

you see my body is so itchy, but that is the hooligan

of my past about 300 years, i remember blackbeard, i wrote my own story

i believe i am him , ****** oath

despite people saying i am not, i know i was greame thorne and patrick dunbar

but they say that, to stop me from living in the past

i believe i am greame thorne, and patrick dunbar, because i used to tie myself up something fierce

i was a football hero, from south australia, named the great albert waldron, **** he’s cool

and i was a great footballer back then, despite in this life, i never strapped on a boot

because of that i was treated like a hooligan, as opposed to an old fogie

and i said to myself, i am a young dude sure mate, but that didn’t take much convincing oh no mate no

ok dudes here is a great song

ya know it’s 3 6 9, the goose drank wine

i chewed tobacco up here on the moon

my dad said, you will die if you smoke

and we all are up in nirvana sipping methane

you see graham kennedy said to me

you are the pride of the afterlife can’t ya see

you come up here and perform like you do

and then you get a hanky and go ahh! choo

and we go 3 6 9 the goose drank wine

lyle called me a goose and that is fine

because back when i was young, i was a hooligan

you looked at his white shiny legs

and when a person came up to me

and made fun of me saying i have shiny legs

i told him that my legs show that

i am flat footed, and lazy to boot

3 6 9 the goose drank wine

i am a hooligan, who teases the olds

people are trying to treat me like

a shyperson or an old fogies kid, I HATE THAT

and now dudes, here is duncan

i would love to have a beer with duncan

i would love to have a beer with dunc

we drink in moderation

and never ever ever get rolling drunk

we drink in every planet, in outer space, oh yeah

i would love to have a beer with duncan cause he is no square

i would love to have a beer with patrick

i would love to have a beer with pat

we drink every drink under the table

and i tipped methane all over his hair, he said, THAT IS THAT

you see we drink in the town and country

to soak up the atmosphere, so great

i would love to have a beer with patrick, cause he’s a great mate

i would love to have a beer with baz-boy

i would love to have a beer with baz

you see we drink each drink under the table

and he will say this, BE LIKE ME AND MUMMY, DON’T CAUSE PROBLEMS FOR ME, NO

we drink in the moon and saturn and jupiter and more

i would love to have a beer with baz boy

cause he is learning how not to be square

ok dudes, i am telling you now, that, people want to treat me like an adult who is scared of life

i hate being treated like an adult who hates life

i want to be treated like an adult everyone likes

because, i love life, i live it to the full

i know i used to touch people inappropriate

i shouldn’t have done that

i say i put stuff on youtube, and a girl says, i have no right to do that

she is very very old, she will grow old gracefully

i have every right to put things on youtube

but not according to this girl, but she isn’t the queen

you see i don’t want to be a shy person, i am an adult oh yeah

i want to watch business meetings on TV when it suits

you see i hate being treated like a hooligan and a shy person, oh yeah

ok dudes, that is it that’s all and now i tip methane all over dad

so betty can be a normal kid, ok dude

well, if you write "poetry", and have no intention
to sing it, to praise some populist theme...
you end up working in a music "shop",
  of your own private library.

saying that... the best albums i ever purchased
were in scotland...
                 english was ****** for original
purchases...
                      nothing really stood out outside
of the charts, nothing obscure.

   and yes, i can enter a trance, listening
    to foster the people's song pumped up kids,
and then downing another blackbeard
   (dark *** and ms. pepsi) -
switching to lemmy kilmister's first band
        hawkwind's song about the partriach
of the nizari ismailis (assassins)
                                      hassan i sahba...
they got high from shish-kebabs and hashish...
               i'm a drunk... and all the better for it.

i don't understand why subjectivity is so wrong...
          i've been watching people stress
science, and the objective paradigm...
              esp. the atheistic paradigm...
              of **** me, the ad nauseam set of rules
to call someone stupid...
          it started with goldfish... only 2 second's
worth of attention span...
                how do you know?
              well... the fish is going mad, being stuck
in a fish bowl, on its own, with no other
fish as worthy points of reference...
    it's obviously going to evolve a coping mechanism,
of blitzkrieg amnesia...
  
the joke hasn't even arrived...
      i remember being apprehensive of marilyn manson
when he stormed the scene in the early 2000s...
but i, for some reason, managed to freak / scare
  two people with my taste in music borrowed
from scotland (the music store fopp)...
   a guy with    greenskeepers' song lotion...
and a former girlfriend with
    gong's song radio gnome invisible...
         mind you, the whole album the latter mention
is derived from, flying teapot is an l.s.d. trip
for the ears;
    **** me... the song ***-head pixies?!
          
          i love the fact that we've inherited this archive
of music...
                     sure, in the 20th century you could
celebrate classical music (as, ahem, one pop poet
did)...
                     but that sort of high-brow attitude
became suffocating...
                   esp. in the current hundred years;
       nothing wrong, i sometimes go to the opera,
and ballet...
                         it's not like i'm saying:
    now, i'll insert this needle into my ear criticism...
all in all...
                    i miss the fact that i could once stroll
through an english highstreet,
      and feel a need to buy something i really needed,
like a new music album...
                then the internet "somali" pirates came...
how many ******* shoes do i actually need?
   or mobile phones?
                             or fried chicken nuggets?

i've been wearing the same clothes for the past
    two or more weeks...
          khaki trousers, chocolate shoes,
         and a chequered green and white shirt...
   does the shirt stink?
            i shower every day, i'm a hygienic-conscious
alcoholic...
          i still use the required amount of toothpaste
as said unto children: a pea sized amount,
        done under 30 seconds, and plenty of rinsing.

i can't remember the last time i was walking down
a highstreet in england...
                       i might, if i went into a charity shop
and bought a second-hand book...
                 but last time i went into a charity shop,
i was donating a book,
          richard dawkin's the god delusion,
            with a piece of toilet paper for a bookmark;
and i wiped my *** on that book, good and proper.

what is it, gaggles, giggles, hiccups, frivolities of nonsense, you can stream me all of them to perform the rightful description - point being, like any "ally" to an idea, i move up the chain of history, beyond pole, czech, russian... there's the pearl, the oyster to attach myself into the ethnicity counter-germanic, slav, with a missing e? well, słowianin (swovianin - sw'oh-via-nin, you alright on the consonant count, brat?!) słowo = word. i could be called mad, but then i write parallel to what i see, and what i write is what happens before my eyes, obviously mismatched to say the least, and never the perfected hindenburg perfection of "waiting for it"... but this isn't a back to the future prediction of lightning either.

e-ver -
            i-ver;
  talk about a need for a grapheme...
             it's just: ha ha ha ha... funny...
     i remember this one time,
my ex-g.f. younger sister...
  the one that became my muse:
cushioning lips -
  almost ***** -
     you know: fat, plump to invite
cordiality -
                         you know the problem
with poles migrating?
  they don't congregate,
hammersmith is an exception of
an area highly concentrated by poles,
otherwise?
    a pole meets a pole in england:
what a surprise!
    i saw you buying polish beer...
  żywiec?
          a **** good beer...
                     mazo mazo mazowsze (sz = sh
cz = ch, yzwz) -
                  one hand knows:
the H catches the vowels - but it also
serves as the pivot for laughter -
  aH hA hA hA!
           batman? probably the only
"superhero" worth investigating,
   given that all the baddies are batman's
alterego...
              two-faced joking billionaire
who's enigmatic with a pet penguin to boot...
a "superhero" who's only "super power"
is a **** load of money...
and some grease in the cranium...
          really, the russians are behind all of this?!
i find that the germanic tribes of lore
can never find themselves agreed-upon
singularism of an origin -
the french will remain french,
the germans german,
       lost the spaniards -
the english were always a tad bit paddy
mongrelling themselves with celt...
                in an anglophone realm of
language -
    it's much easier to identify yourself
as a slav, than a pole, a czech, a slovak,
       a russian,
                             a bulgar,
      a roma,  
                          a croat,
                     a slovene,
     funny... it's almost desirable, to be able
to identify yourself in the most accessible
           and broadest spectrum of tattoo...
   in the end there's only western europe
   that's described as western at the limit of
berlin...
       never helsinki...
                     and my god, so much land after
berlin -
            tilting toward *anadyr...
                        the process of subsetting in
the anglophone world -
          if only welsh and gaelic was more pronounced
in this realm,
perhaps then the english could identify themselves
along a more germanic heritage,
embrace it, and not treat their affairs
down the simpleton route of a football skirmish.
i actually can't find any "english" in all
honesty - on these isles it's easier to
name a gael and a pict, a wael too,
  but an anglican?
                what are they, really,
  anglo-swabians, anglo-saxons,
   anglo-pomeranians?
     these days you're already talking about
                            anglo-slavs & afro-saxons!    
i'd still prefer a blackbeard sharpshooter
  (3:1 mixer of *** & pepsi) -
                    or a flaky monotonous-****
cosmopolitan;
  just saying, who am i to judge,
       i once tried laughing gas -
                  and didn't even laugh -
        as always, the sometimes apparent banality
of cogito per se came up with all the necessary gags;
because it shouldn't be, the prompter of
all "necessary "gags"?
     to consider the brain as devoid of thought genesis,
since man tends to think about the entirety of
his body-geography -
     nuisance, or nuance?
                       thinking is the unnecessary
action that resolves no necessary "action" -
         it's a free-falling limb -
                whenever a prompt to kick,
to throw, to spin,
                            to mix - never is there
an equivalent prompt to think...
             that said: to truly meditate is to harness
a slingshot's worth of straining -
to refrain from thought -
                     to allow the building up of strain -
prior to a release such as this...
                  and from what i found is that:
thinking revolves around a quasi-claustrophobia...
its boa constrictive presence suffocates -
   until it reveals what is its most naturally
ontological about it: pathos & irrationality;
obviously if scrutinised beyond this -
   a homing device for specified interests -
               thought in autism -
                                thought in specialisation;
but by a majority rule-of-thumb:
          a pathology and the most
                 irritable irritability - irrationality:
the random selection of non-coherent set of
"intertwined" set of facts.

so Jacky has gone up from
20 quid a liter
to 32 quid...
  
    back on the Bacardi...
can't complain...
   there is never quiet enough
*** to
satisfy a sailor,
or a... sailing, ship?

      it makes sense...
somehow, somewhere,
and against a concept /
concern of a, now...

   never now, never bank on
a now...
   now is the impossibility
of answering both
the how & why question...
now is not:
   now, how?
  & now, why?
        it's neither...

how is the space,
and why is the time...
which makes no sense
to ask the different question
at the same time...

now...
     now what?
oh ****... so "now" there's also a who?
it's ***...

so this article about Millennial(s)...
their 30 something sexless lives...
pundits,
in the realm of psychology...

o.k., fair enough,
i discovered jerking off aged
7...
having found a pornographic
magazine
in the catacombs of
a church being built
while playing hide & seek
with my childhood friends...

managed to ******* before
i managed to produce *****...
so... yeah...
the feeling of ******
is unrelated to *******
*****...
  nothing to do with it...

Magda... Magdalene...
my next door neighbor...
we had a bath together...
****-naked comparing
genitals...
she had a Barbie,
and i had the Ken...
and we wondered after:
so...
why is Ken an ******...
and we played:
fiddling the missing
part together...

     Magdalene's surname?
Bucior -
which means:
   a roughed up boot...

then i do remember my first
year in England...
living in a house
of a half Jewish family...
and 20+ migrant men lived
there also...

happy ******* childhood!
so i taught the half Jewish boy
my little something...
i says to him while we're
having a bath,
and my mother is in the bathroom
ironing...

hey...
   i've found a funny sensation...
so we ****** off in the bath...
******* jack-****...
but the muscle sensation
was there...

               so... this thing about
Millennial(s) turning to *******
****?
  really?
people watch that ****?
  i never did ****,
and mind you:
never intended to...
   ******* ****? really?!

so no **** stills...
you know... of a naked body...
when you had to actually
walk into
a corner-shop
and grow a pair of *****
and buy a ***** magazine?!
no?
   so not jerking off to fine
art nudes?!
     so my generation was
always into *******
facials and just about teasing
*******?!
          
          i was about as *******
as translating a niqab into
a latex *** suit...
    and imitating sly, ******,
slithering, squeezing...
unable to make grip
on either elbow, knee,
or thigh...
   but hell... you did one better...

Tantra massages?
kissing frenzies worth an hour
till your lips go numb
and you turn to clashing teeth?
no?

             so...
******* **** killed off Millennial
*** lives?
  you sure it wasn't
about forgetting the joys
of foreplay?

                you know... recounting
the lives of virgins...
third base? second base?
  no... no longer fun kissing
till your lips are numb,
no longer fun
   teasing the marriage of bodies
with oral parts and eyes?

not the part where the man's
face looks like he's been eating
a bowl of molten butter?

i seriously don't need *******
*******...
i go back to the still life...
nudes...
  and... ****... start imagining it...
or turn to pure audio...
   or fine art nudes...
          
   from what i've seen...
or rather: from what i wish i've never seen...
and who the hell needs
nudes?
    a nice snippet of cleavage
and we're...
    well...
   not exactly on the terms
of inclusive agreement.

Captured in the psych ward



Yeah the new guy was taken straight to solitary as his violent outbursts frightened everyone there at the HDU mainly because he was trying to explain in a violent crazy person way that he wanted to put this shy boy Brett omim on television cause he was worried about mr omim spike to him and you see Brett really liked him but was unaware that he was working for Home and away to study
Characters for future episodes, you see his mum and dad were worried about their son mixing with gnus crazy person but Brett said to his parents ******* and stayed at his house and this man was really angry cause he is one of those people who doesn't want people over, he just wants to play with us and then write his future episodes of home and away and he explained our character like how we look to the public very well, and then Brett saw it written in his house and mind you he didn't want this and said you ain't going to put my life on home and away, csuse if you do I will say that you are so shy and I will torture you with that forever and ever and then he said you haven't got the fucken guts mate and then Brett said come on mike, get into the car I will take you somewhere where you can write as many stories as you like and then mike lander rolling was in the HDU and met Ron cooper and mike said get out of my way, I am a writer for home and away not a dangerous crazy person and Ron put ****** in his arm and took him to the solitary room and it has a TV but mike was having problems especially when Brett charged him with slander and using his profile without permission
And the only time mike was let out of solitary was when his girl Friday came who thought it was cool to talk near the water and Ron allowed that
But made sure a nurse or even him was there so he can't try funny stuff
And the producer of home and away came in to see him and left without taking, well he said one thing and that was, no when I gave you this job
I wasn't asking you to be nosed. And film behind backs no I wanted proper people here and then mike got angry and hit Charlie in the gut and ran straight to his room and Charlie was lying on the ground in real ****** pain and Ron locked mike in saying no more visitors for mike unless they are willing to go in there cause this man is dangerous
And Ron was getting ready to take Charlie to TAFE and George came down and banged on mikes door
Ssying hey you fucken **** I want to bash the **** out of you and then George said I am julius Caesar and I am going to bask you up if you ever get out of here and mike said I am Blackbeard the pirate and I remember frying you on my boat and I will fry you some more and then Ron came back with Charlie and they bought out the sandwiches and
Then Ron got the medications out of the room and gave one by one and Charlie said mate, I am cured, today I found out how to keep silent movies, so that means I am cured and Ron said you wish and gave out the rest of the medications and then clocked off and bought Chinese and went home watched TV and fell asleep in front of the box again


Sent from my iPhone

The schitzophrenic


You see I am sitting at the mall
I am having dillusions of people teasing me, and I wish this will all stop, oh please, just leave me the f..k alone
And then I hear voices that aren't really being said o hear Jon killed my best friend named Fred, the thing is I have no best friend, oh year
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
From the first diagnosis till the day you reach 45, you see if i take medication it can be controlled yeah oh yeah
I am schitzophrenic
Then I went to see my psychiatrist and he told me, to try and get a life, I told him I was blackbeard and John F Kennedy, he just threw a smart *** comment my way, I thought that comment was rude and ******, yes it is hard to be liked when you do
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Yes it's easy to do, just let me hang out
You see with my medication it can be controlled, ooooh
I am schitzophrenic
You see I get paranoid when I see people around and right wing governments want us locked up
It mighty hard to have this illness and I cab say this
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Do it once and you get all hooked and after that you feel like a geek, cause your a schitzophrenic, and also with medication it can be controlled
Oooooh I'm a schitzophrenic
Yes, that's true

.yes, in the ancient poetic tradition, the poets were mainly... women... Sappho: who couldn't have been a woman as such, but a lesbian... lesbian doesn't count as... well... let's face it... i'm inclined to think that homosexuals are brave... i could shoot a man, but **** his ****? not a chance in hell; that sort of audacity is what Bukowski noted... we all know that the Jews and homosexuals (Greeks) are running the show, so... budge up... we're in the waiting line of this farce show of masquerading chauvinism...

i could blame my father for being somewhat
effeminate, if i didn't know that...
well... come on...
he clings to a woman (my mother)...
because... well...
his mother abandoned him...
yep... left him to be raised by my grandfather's
parents...
            and his father, my grandfather...
i make a slight replica of...
we drank, and i'm betting that we'll still
be drinking when the show's over...
so i can understand all the pandering
to a woman's mood swings...
(to boot? he can fry a builder's breakfast,
the full English?
  but other food? can't cook for ****!)
me?   i can't let my mother off that
easily... i like an argument over a woman's
minor, trivial, attention to details...
which... honestly...
   i might leave a shadow behind...
but the cats?!
            ******* plonkers... mess... everywhere...
and you'd think the cats to be
hygienic... hate them...
   i hate cats...
    i love them when they become solipsistic,
but when all the clinging sets in?
just give me a ******* dog...
  seriously, i hate being the subject
to deceptive attention seeking...
yes, i hate being the subject to...
which is why i don't understand why women
object to objectification so much...
being objectified is half if nil as bad
as being subjected to...
            all that donning the *****-hat
fried your neurons or something?

hello cliche:
Freud once said,
after all these years, i still don't know what
women want -

no surprises there...
two articles in a newspaper supplement,
side by side (how else?) -

ooh... deborah ross - let it rip, girl,
because girls, tend to bully,
women?  dunno... do ****? like bake?
and yes... me?
effeminate, because i like cooking?
i call it an extension of organic chemistry,
which, is pretty much cooking...
and the two worst meals i've
ever eaten?
both by women... over-cooked pasta,
and undercooked baby potatoes...
em... sorry? oops?

ooh... but deborah ross simply knows
how to draw the ties,
her article: dads who look after their
babies give real men a bad name...

some gems in this:

1. but i have noticed that an increasing
number of men - if you can even call
  (i'd prefer... if you even can...
never mind)
       them men, let's be frank here -
are choosing to lower themselves
by actually looking after the children
that are theirs
  (italics, my own... oh! O!
****... so the real men are the men
looking after children, that aren't theirs?)

2. it's getting silly, according to researches:
'many men - if we can call them that -
are rejecting the traditional
   role... etc. etc.... and probably becoming
impotent too'...
    the Oedipus complex is a male-thing...
perhaps i've ****** a woman that
vaguely resembled my mother...
but ******* dysfunction?
   isn't that what the girls are all about...
am i to own the Oedipus complex
and the Madonna-***** complex...
simultaneously?
   last time i checked...
the prostitutes i ****** didn't complain,
just charged me an extra £10 to perform
oral *** on them... to their bemusement...
so... what's what and which is which?!

3. might as well cut if off,
for reading bedtime stories...
getting up at 5am is probably hard enough,
when you don't get to lounge in bed for...
i'm pretty sure that at primary school
i walked to school alone...

4. golf? who the **** plays golf?
    might as well start learning to
play the ******* tambourine...

5. bang **** in the shed, and sit watching
the t.v.:
                 zoombies....
there are only about 2 decent t.v. dramas
on t.v. throughout the year...
country watch, come dine with me?
i'd much prefer to sit watching my own
******* shadow than this,
microwave called a t.v. for the brain...
a ******* candle is more entertaining
this time of year... ****!

6. butchering a chicken?
    well... last time i heard...
women do all the cooking...
so... here you go, an axe, a frantic running
chicken... you have the genesis...
now cook me a ******* exodus!

7. fight a duel, take a woman by brute
force, slap her around a bit or
drag her by her hair for wanting to win
a vote...

   so much is wrong with this...
why? LEGAL REASONS...
like **** i will...
fight a duel? for who's honor?
mine? **** that...
a woman's... i'm trying to make
reminiscence of the, "******" white
of the wedding dress...
wait...              no... can't conjure
that connection up...
and the rest?            oh...
ask some Pakistani to show it to you...
i find it vaguely entertaining slapping
a cat for taking a **** in my bed...
you choice... i'm... OUT!

8. yeah... the whole aprons and an
umbrella... the summer we've had?
i took a ******* umbrella with me
while making a bbq in the rain...
i almost stripped naked to let off the steam,
but i did open my mouth and made a suckle
at Gaia's ****...

9. bang my fist on the table when
the dinner is not ready?
i'd be banging my fist saying:
honey... please, please... please don't
cook for dinner... let me do the cooking,
i've had a bout of indigestion
from yesterday, honey, please...
please don't cook...

10. Morgan is right,
masculinity is in a wrong place,
we must do something about it...
and that would begin with me
having enough courage to ****
a ****... but since i don't have that
sort of courage...

ah... how else could this not be called
an extreme case of infantile verbiage?

always the boy,
never the "man"...

      nice article though... who edits
this ****?!
second article...
a cherry on top...

    oh, could you mansplain that again, please?

i won't go through with it...
it's basically a subversion article...
i.e. "how to speak inoffensively to men"...
more like, "how to emasculate men"...
       an atypical "threat" of,
well... let's be honest...
a "sexist comment" would go along
as - that's not appropriate and i don't
appreciate it -
            but an atypical subversion
of "threat"... would be subverted as...
  an... awkward laugh...
    
this is bonkers...
   thank god i'm the sort of person that
came for the language,
rather than the women...
   no... no chance...
even if i were a Quasimodo i'd be trying
and gagging for some...
but i'm not Quasimodo...
and i'm ******* far from gagging for
some of this...
   i'm the sort of person that says:
i want this to end,
i don't want any part of this...

  gee-whizz... and the West "thinks"
it won the Cold War...
   Silicon Curtain having replaced
the Iron Curtain...
oh sure, sure John, Jamie and Frankie...
you won, but i don't know what you've
sacrificed by winning,
whatever the hell you've won.

- after having written this,
i say:
****, i don't want to know, don't tell me,
don't tell me like it's some grand
surprise...
         no... no! i don't want to know!
i never will, and i will eat out
Charon's tongue out if he attempts to tell me...
nooooo!

.what's that Jack Kerouac book? Buddha of suburbia? more like Hospitaller of suburbia, by the looks of it...

and there's drink and there's drink,
and there's drink drink drink,
and drink...

              am i in Valhalla already?
what's up with ms. Amber?
  that liquid deity of whiskers & the ost key?
****!
    another loose cannon!
           but not orthodox canon, though?
good...
  sign me up for a power nap...
     back in 15... once all the fame game
fizzles out...

      **** me... back on the ***!
like i said to this black guy
  going out with a white girl
in a Liverpool St. pub...
  so... watcha drinking?
   *** & coke...
oh come on...
  that's a ****** name...
   so i eyed him,
thank god he was donning an excuse for
****** hair...

  look!         blackbeard!
you're drinking a blackbeard!
       what was i supposed to say?
nice minstrels?!
the girl giggled,
   the pair left,
but i was still stuck with this
Irish Indian mongrel who asked
the Wong question...
   where you from?
Essex.
  but really really from?
some people put me down as
a German, either the hairline,
the crop itself, the cheekbones,
of the jaw line...
pedigree...
           **** ****** off before
i even began to express my like
for the engineering that wernt
into the Hindenburg,
before, you know, Led Zeppelin
took off...
  
   ha ha!
i'm starting to appreciate
the dementia cinema of old people...
better than LSD...
these memory flashbacks...
           i could pig snout that ****
all day long...
      oh right...
i have half decent memories...
my bad...

   i'm not english but i do know
that when a casual strange
expresses "sorrow" with the word sorry,
the act that appeases saying
sorry, if half intention,
but the sorrow in the word
utilized? it's not there, never was...

or how about -
that's nice: ridicule, par excellence...
does engish have to boil down
to Darwin and not ontology?
which means?
i guess ontology is frightening
to certain peoples,
other than the jolly rogers of
being constantly bothered by it,
like the german...

wait... i thought the Anglicans
were cousins with zee Germans?!

my bad...

           as the saying goes:
either one liners at the Edinburgh
festival, or a decent narrative,
no punchline,
      a disorientating coming together...

dating?
     last time i checked...
walked to the supermarket, passed
a tom boy on a bench imploring her
phone for ****** expression...
walking back with *****
of decent 7% beer, asked to sit down...
offered a lighter...
talked for about 1 minutes,
asked it - not yet her
to come back to mine...

played her some jazz... drank
a bit, smoked...
ended up ******* her in
the garden...

****-naked in the moonlight...
instead of ******* into her mouth,
pulled out, did it in my hand,
and then threw it aside...

walked her home...
while she drowned in my hoodie...
she implored me not to drink...
   i said thank you,
but that's not going to happen...
kissed her forehead,
received a ring
    woven by a neck bracelet...

turns out she was a she...
a transgender
   Filipino tom-boy wearing
a sports bra...
          messy ****...
as all pick-ups are concerning
a public space like a park,
and 2 hours later... ******* in the garden...

but i have to admit...
   i was waiting for the Thai surprise
once i reached into her underwear...
lucky me or thrilled me...
what's it going to be?
       an oyster...
  or floating Alaskan timber?!

dating... ha ha!
    Camden Town...
      next to the station...
sly drinking a pouch of *****...
    oh yeah yeah,
trying to write a poetry  book...
     blah blah...
so what's more important to you
than accompanying two girls
to this other nightclub?
no much...
    but i hate being late...
  i decided to have a drink with
this guy who asked if i was gay
as we discussed whether
Rick Rubin was a better produced
to Timberland...
      ending with:
   why do people stare at you?
with the reply: i just have one of
those punching bag faces...
so she gives me her number...
          i text it the next day...
ghost.
                            
             hey, ms. Amber is always frisky...
with, or without the Valkyries...
  whoever they are...
     if are, at all...

       and thank god i actually competed
with an American over a French
exchange student when i did lose
my virginity,
                then the desert...
then a brothel in Poland,
with a centipede of Ukrainian girl's legs...
way past the Moulin Rouge cancan
dance...
                       2 hours...
              no ******* at any time...
*******...

           but please! Sancha!
  Sancha! i want my DVD back!
         i want the Machinist back!
                 couldn't you have at least
had the *******'s decency after 4 *****
with me the 5th...
to lubricate?
               what was it, ****?
          that's the second girl i slept
with that somehow appreciated
both a dark room, and doing it under
the bed sheets... ****!
can't breath!
     how can cocoon *** with the already
dark room, rather than darkened
say, dimmed lights, candlelight ever
produce arousal?
      
               *** education has,
suddenly, become, much more intricate,
point break, standard...
        Sancha, a Boer South African
didn't have, the same ******* courtesy of
a Puerto Rican ******* in Amsterdam...

****...
                   hence my query about ****...
no ****** would ever go along
and shove his gangrene phallus into,
what feels like... a ******* sandpit!

                  we cooked dinner together!
we watched a film together!
she invited me back to her abode!
then again...
   ah!
        you know where she was hoarding
her ***?
  
    in an all-male boarding school...
the boys were on holiday...
   THAT'S WHY SHE WAS DRY
down below!
                 **** me! what a revelation!
spending all the year
with adolescent boys...
   a man older than hear
didn't excite her!
           ****! **** **** **** ****!
i never saw that coming
at the most reasonable explanation
why i was pseudo-***** by
a dehydrated oyster!

             if you spend so much time
with boys who have only just
embarked on a journey of testosterone...
and you're getting all that
schoolboy affection from them?
no wonder a man who's older than
you will not turn you on!

          that **** i went to a *******
and know what the etiquette is
like, when you've just ****** 4 and you're
about to **** a 5th...

       good to know...
                         what's MGTOW again?    
does it have anything to do
with listening to a choir of monks sing?
Byzantine, Templar... anything?
oh right... not really...
          oops... i'll be on my way...
right about...           NOW.

i should really stop watching these
youtube videos,
hearing people talking is
becoming... drag...

        esp. when drinking...
just put the music back on:
buddy body...
                  said the parasitic ego...
i can only entertain
about two new opinions,
per day...
      with you congesting
me with all this blah blah...
            don't get me wrong:
i do enjoy it...
        he enjoys it! "we're" fine...

just gender neutrality...
of pronouns?
             - he said there's more!
- and there is...
        how, certain languages...
can't escape the genderism
of their nouns...
     fwench...
         for one...

what about when you
become: pronoun disorientated,
i.e.
    you begin addressing
yourself via the plural
fabric,
   and in a doom-esque
style first shooter...
  you have to look back through
your eyes...
and breathe out a...
    'huh?!'

who wouldn't be perplexed...
       more music, less talking
videos...
**** me, you know the radio
station that plays decent
pop music,
and doesn't succumb to
advert interludes from
             circa 11pm to circa
6am...
            FAMA radio...
   https://radiofama.com.pl/

               yeah i know it's not
Wagner...
   but i like the fact that
adverts die after a certain hour
of the day,
and people are trying to
fall to sleep...
       esp. if they're not being
knocked out
  by a bottle of whiskey...

funny story...
i was once in a Liverpool st.
a black cud (cuddly thing,
a bit on the, lardish side)
stood next to me
with a white girlfriend...
   - see, she giggled,
i think she was... "in, on the joke"...
so i asked him...
- what are you drinking?
- *** & coke...
- oh, that's a ****** name for a drink,
i don't want the run-down
of the recipe,
i want the meal...
so what are you drinking?
- a *** & coke...
i had to eye him up and down,
down and up...
   fair enough, buckeroo...
- blackbeard!
the girl laughed...
      me, the interracial couple,
and some mongrel
with a proud irish in him,
and some pakistani...
standing side by side...
for a while...
oh god,
the pain, the embarrassment,
of having to explain to a stranger
that you have just been
strapped to: being stood-up
for a date...
             hey...
every time i flick my hand...
my shadow "friend"
i can't shake off...
     i didn't ask for a scribe
to dictate to a god my every
c.c.t.v. movement...
        hell...
         just have to roll with it...
but there was a giggle,
and yeah, he did don a beard...
what else would you call
a *** & coke... if not blackbeard?
a black isn't exactly black
when he's not coal...
but chocolate!
         the **** was he drinking?
a jack sparrow?
   to be honest,
that does sound better...
many people these days...
are not exactly concerned
with furthering the memory
of eddie "the patch" thatch...
- o.k., just give me the pagan music
from scandinavia and
some byzantine monk chants...
   i'll figure out some Mahler
when i'm in need of thinking -

it almost felt like standing
in Trafalgar Sq.
among all the throng
of the pigeon collective,
just prior to them taking
off by a slithering snap & bite
of telepathic panic
being induced on them...
      
    yes, because:
what did it feel like
is, probably twice as important
to reason...
given the casual expression...
what did i think about?
**** me...
i didn't think to begin with...
here's my cognitive luggage...
thinking always comes
after...
and, unlike feeling...
is never measured
     interim...

       measured feeling...
which of course, being measured...
allows for a post-scriptum
of thought...
delay...
                   pieces of a puzzle
that do not fit
for a personal gain...
since the puzzle / labyrinth is
already prosecuting you with
an a.i. semblance
       alternative -
the womb of all things abstract...
that... automated birth
from the womb of per se...
wriggle there, little sprout
of ego, *****-esque...
  into either that bright light...
or the yawning darkness...

no... feeling is not so bad,
but a tongue attired
in a stiff tuxedo will do you
one better...
   sure...

hey! oi! penta mann!
well, i can give you a sketch
of contradictions...
i'm about to live in a country
that freely accepts
Daesh refugees...
oh, just some stupid teenager...
but you know...
        there's no tongue-in-cheek
with this...
   prejudice contra:
and this is not about being
right or wrong,
rather: i told you so mentality...

so... when will the inmates
of Broadmoor
have their spring holiday?

the western five pillars...
let's see if i get this right...
  what once was shahadah
is now...         jahudah...
   funny, if any, translation...
       it's not exactly disbelief...
more...
          atoms are our tools,
and...
something or other...

   salat (prayer) becomes
hadith (freedom of speech)...

no good translation
when you need one...
so the idea...
oh... not gluttony...

that would be too obvious...
fast...
        siam...
                           hamia...
but this is...
   in the western world?
an obsession...
they figured:
pretense for Lent...
one month of obligation
ought to do it...
but... each and every day?
for...
nibbling on an iconoclasm?

zakat...
            if not
gambling...
then certainly being
duped
     into giving to
charity organisations...
who... of the 3 quid
you donated...
send 2.50 to the offices
of the charity,
and 50 pence to
the people in need...
      
hajj...
sure... your pick...
thailand...
  south america...
there's a "you" than needs
to find you
somewhere,
that isn't hier...
but... "da"...
             a there
that has to be a certainty
             of somewhere...

see... it's almost tempting
to aim for shooting
an own goal via a headder
from a corner set-piece
into my own net...

            but me...
i'm somewhere between...
the existential crisis of...

satan contemplates a serpent
by gustav doré...
and...
   ruins (inner voices)
by james tissot..

            sure as hell...
          no brick in ruin
without a structure...
    someone about... how they
are stacked up...
are always identical...
but among the rubble...
          great... so satan begins
with the contemplation
of a serpent...
  me? ******* grand chav
of the universe?
     - and god said:
   'ere, start with a brick...
mr. ******* lego magic...
      throw a ******* dog's bone!

see if you can spot
the similarity
that binds these twins together...

  gustave doré's
the judgement of solomon...
and antonio ciseri's
           ecce ****...
no... no glaring similarity?
   so... solomon was right...
in giving the baby up
to the woman who had no measure
of her emotions
(stand to the left
in doré's interpretation,
while standing to the right
in ciseri's interpretation)?
    the heart of truth...
is the basis for being allowed
to throw a stone,
rather than climb a mountain...
or some wacko-saying
out-"there"...
  "there" also implying:
"out"? "out" of "what"
and what "in" to begin with?

given the current...
   Moloch tribunal / freedomi
base...
   given...
       a whole plethora of
examples...
        the way solomon is cast...
for the better judge...
the crowd moved pilate...
while his wife kept
it a secret
     that he judged wrongly...

doré:ciseri ratio of comparison...
and you'd think...
but it's not like i'm
attacking the psalm singer,
king david...
          it's solomon...
               he's no more sacred
than a h.i.v. infection...
looking at these two paintings...
i think he was wrong
in giving up the child
to the hysterical woman...
because there's always
than silent audacity,
invested in,
   of proving the king wrong...

only a silent heart doesn't
lie...
      there's just too much stoicism
in the woman's reply
regarding solomon's judgement...
akin to the wife of pontius
pilate...
succumbing to feeding
the amassed throng...

but this does't change
one iota of me
concerning my problem with
christianity,
given the emergence
of the nag hammadi
library...
       i can't just...
incorporate those writings
   as: level playing field
with the strictness of the unwavering
stance of dogma...

     i'm still having...
one hell of a time...
          trying to not be bothered
by the coincidence of
the writings of
josephus ben matthias...
the flight to egypt...
where the nag hammadi
library was discovered...
nero...
         the book of revelation
(which... i think was the first
book written
in the new testament...
no...
        no one has that sort
of coherency...
  listen...
    i don't even know the name
of my grandmother
on my paternal side!
    yeah...
at least the old testament begins
like a poem...
not a ******* phonebook
into the past!
   me? when Greek sentiments
alligned
themselves with the sentiments
of the Hebrews,
to topple the Romans...
who...
       first encountered
the northerners)...
   and guess what...
i'm rather fond of digging this
trench of...
whatever it is worth...
belief, disbelief...
      you name it...
better that, than converting to islam.

i have no idea why i won't touch the stuff...
what stuff?
i just can't read English philosophers...
i can't read them...
              they're too... iffy for me...
too much Peter Pan...
                  i know that's a bad analogy,
but they're just so, ****, practical,
                  it makes other thinkers look
like... Dumbo...
                great in the abstract,
but when applied? total crap.

                        i have to continue my muse
of how, poetry is the equivalent of
journalism of the mythological test of time,
and how journalism killed off history,
all are historiological  attempts of confining
space, to the mortality unit of time
expressed, encouraged, consumed...

psst... the English say they are
natural poets... but given their scientific
advancements... they hate verbiage...
or at least, the verbose expression...
basically language outside the confines
of a strait-jacket...

history has a place, and a time,
it's far from the space-time continuum...
yes... a place, and a time...
  it's far from the space-time continuum...

would a slice of lime work
better with a bourbon Blackbeard
or a whiskey Blackbeard?

    David Bowie still lives...
ok ok... rebel rebel...
but replicas' album tubeway army?
with the song down in the park?
what's all this talk of
   eugene roddenberry
and robert heinlein?

    i was always more of a fan of
philip k. ****'s stuff..
gary newman made a replica of
the do androids dream of electric
sheep... that 80s aura of:
curiosity...

i really can't read English philosophers...
i tried to read the Leviathan
by Hobbes...
            i tried... i failed miserably...
this persistent susceptibility of
a quasi-state of arrogance...
liberal democracy this,
liberal democracy that...
    like... antiques being sold in
an Ikea warehouse...

totally pointless...
              or more to the point:
underscored in value...

                i've come across great
English poets... but in terms of thought?
these ******* were already more concerned
with mob gains of talking
than thinking...

           the English fake thinking,
as they out-perform other nations in acting...
in the East the English are known as:
the dwu-twarz: two-faced...

             oh hell... they can sing too...
after all, every nation has its genius
that outperforms over nations...
the Polacks are great at volleyball...
but that doesn't make them
great thinkers...

          Hobbes evidently is supposed
to outperform Marx in the Utopia game...
i like neither...
and i'll read neither...
well... i tried reading the former...

i just see the English language as
an intricate patchwork,
crossword puzzle of what was
formerly Germanic in spirit and
endeavor...
                 nothing more...
little Herman the 5th Pumpernickel
Earl of Shropshire...
              
  i can't read into the English thought
by their historical elites...
i find myself akin to Handel...
i'm here... i'll do this...
but the locals don't come near me...
i can't be English...
at least i will not fake that
fact, and subvert the culture
as a Pakistani up north
within the confines of a grooming gang...

as uncomfortable as that might sound...
here's a coin flip...
hands on tails... well... waggling...
hands on heads... nodding...
win win scenario...

       English thought is ugly...
perhaps appealing in the field of
biology: Darwin,
physics: Newton,
chemistry: Faraday

        but in terms of abstractions?
a bunch of Dorian Grays
who ****** Joseph Merrick...
no... not pretty...
the English are the ugliest variant
of a people exercising the right to
think in abstract parameters...

look... they decided on this long
ago... they are the ones who
chose to talk freely,
they championed the freedom
of speech...
i'm pretty sure they weren't the ones
who chose to think (freely)...
the didn't champion the freedom
of thought...

so... why would i find their
philosophy appealing?!
  i managed quiet fine with their
proof of solipsism...
**** on a crowded tube...
and expect to find someone
who finds the odor appealing...
not going to happen...

i can't stomach an English
"philosophy": because it's always too
practical, too ergonomic...
sure... give an Englishman
something physically mandible,
Darwin in the realm of biology,
Newton in the realm of of physics,
or Faraday in the realm of chemistry...
fine...

   but to ask an Englishman to
champion the humanism of science
in the realm of philosophy?
no... please... don't bother...
leave the merry ol' *******
to write you a sonnet,
or sing you a new year's
hymn akin to auld lang syne...
believe... it'll work out best
for all of us.

yep, and religious authorities have funny costumes, ****** took the moustache from charlie chaplin... trump the hair from cousin it... religious authorities and their ritual costumes? i just pull funny faces... when i made a blackbeard cocktail with a ratio of too much ***, and not enough ms. pepsi; i just wanna mellow out man, listening to die sonne satan's dismal chant (italian project, as far as i know).  
                                                
                                                  and what is...
    the antithesis what christianity
suggests,
        as the opposite of
the originally stated, trinity of "light"...
ah...
          but it already said
that the *holy spirit isn't
a person, but a community...
           well...
          apart from the two stated
persona non grata of the "dark" trinity...
    these people think they're
the untouchables?
         that they are not innocent
sheep, readied for a slaughter?
    if there is no person to be summoned
as the holy spirit...
        (i.e. jungian: paraclete)
              then there is no
       person in
             in the "anti-matter" opposite...
in the opposite?
     there's the s.    and there's the a.c.
  (to the j.c.) -
                  but the holy ghost?
  the depersonification of a supposed person?
   what could possibly compete
with a "sense of community"...

        "god" the father     |       satan "the father"
        "christ" the son       |      antichrist "the son"
        the holy ghost        |       spirit of the times...

god, i have this fetish for writing religiously
inspired poetics...
        after 3 years of chemistry,
        i feel a need to do mental yoga...
  and stretch the freedoms i can blunder
with...
                       one word - die zeitgeist...
   it's the anti, to the third "person" in the trinity...

oh i know, overtones of sarcasm,
but that's just the english way... if i were gay
it would be double that already stated with
regards to being sarcastic...

         the concept is the same,
                     there's a community,
              the spirit of the times is akin
to the spirit of congregation...
        it's only that: there's no church, no mosque,
no synagogue...
                       it's that there's a happening...
   a dasein (beginning with heidegger)...
         and internet journalism just fans the flames
of people, not actually "being" there.

   now i'll settle on a peaceful 3rd... 4th? 5th?
****, might be a 6th blackbeard-sharpshooter
of *** and ms. pepsi...
             getting flustered...
                              with a burning face...
trying to choke a laugh at 1am so i don't
******* the neighbours...
                        chilling, listening to the mating
calls of foxes jumping garden fences,
  with little dogs having their usual
               courage in barking constantly,
reduced to a whimper...
                       oh man, there's this dog
in this area, walk past the garden...
     bark like a ******* orc war cry...
something of a rottweiler & and irish wolfhound,
one bark... that's it...
            a poodle would bark for about 10
minutes... **** beautiful *******
barks once... and then you hear
the hot snout panting noises... a beautiful beast...
all you'll need is two more heads,
and you'd be asking hades, for directions
to the underworld's equivalent of the dead sea...
a beautiful beast he is... i should walk
past that house more often, and perhaps,
bring a sausage with me at some point,
   so he doesn't bark when i walk past.

.those had croutons had to be the best homemade croutons ever... for the Caesar salad... genius, adding fine cut rosemary and a red onion to the lettuce... and oh... um... the chicken? poached while wrapped in clingfilm, and then gently fried... well... so much for watching the techniques on Australia's master-chef... and then the schnitzel... it had to be tenderized, but then gently smashed with a mallet... i'd say... less than five centimeters thick, drizzled with some lemon juice, to cut through the fat... obviously the beer helped to oil up the afternoon, d'uh...

and now i'm sitting here thinking...
that B.B.C. drama, bodyguard?
that's something...
     some of it was shot, would you believe,
in the offices of Tate Modern...
oh sure... you can see the Millennial Bridge
veering off to the left of the camera short,
but i'm pretty sure,
that the Globe Theater sits pretty,
right next to the converted power-plant...

anyways... so i'm sitting there,
drinking my Blackbeard (*** and coke)
solving a sudoku, per usual late night
drinking...
some people drink and go out and do
stupid **** like i also used to...
  now... i just drink and think of stupid things
to later not think about...
and it dawns on me...
   no... not exactly a hyper-happy dawn...
all it took was switching from listening
to U2 to listening to the Boss...
and it's like...
                       well... sudoku... it's not really
an intelligent puzzle... is it?
    i can do this **** drunk, or drinking...
and i'm like... it's not quiet an optical
illusion... more like the optics of a blocked
toilet...
                puzzle no. 10201...
my eyes are strained, i'm getting tunnel
vision... difficulty? easy...
   but there's no thinking involved...
i'm solving this ******* while free-falling
toward another glass of Blackbeard...
the final numbers from each of the lines /
grids fall through
   [4], [8], [9], [6], [5], [2],
                                           [1], [3], [7]...
and while drinking came the dawn...
there's nothing intelligent about this
puzzle...
                  it's just an optical strain...
yes, it's not an optical illusion...
but what it is? is an
                                       optical strain...
tested, on a drinking man's patience...
the narrative went along the lines of:
****... ******* blanks everywhere...

9 over here
                                             no ******* 2
                                             'ere


                                              no 9 down here


a ******* 5
down here

           (italic sections read upward
from down) - normal read downward
from up -

it's like being disorientated by a heavy
blow to the head...

this might just be a dry night for
writing...
                                 or...
                                                well...
           just another blank space being filled.

so i'm sitting there, on my windowsill, drinking a blackbeard
(dark *** & ms. pepsi), and solving a sudoku...
existentialism can, really get you kicking the paranoid bucket,
esp. if you read something by jean-paul sartre...
was it him, or was it someone else, who said:
to be, is to be seen...    no wonder, the need for fashion...
                              or might as well call it ****, given it's
coming from france anway...
oh but my "neighbours" (i'd say neighbours if i actually
talked to them... so much for the hope of "integrating"
into english society, when your neighbours play idiots,
or mutes, and you could die in their presence, and then they'd
talk... but only about the stench of a rotting corpse
two weeks later)...
                         anyways... so i'm solving this sudoku and that quote
hits me... someone, might actually be watching me,
  voyeurism is a thing these days, apparently, borrowed
from the 20th century french existentialists...
       but i can't help it after a while... so i'm mumbling to myself,
3    8     5          4    6  9     1     7    2    
6
1
7
4
2          
8                                                               ­            (1 2 3
5                                                              ­              4 5 6
9                                                              ­              7 8 9)...
the mumbling bit comes nearing the end of the puzzle
when you do count: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9... as enforced by the brackets...
  but then laughter arises from my filthy gob...
            i'm not, rain man for ****'s sake! ha ha!
i'm not even going to answer that by saying: oh yeah, i'm 'ard
downing some *** and pepsi...
                              i just like drinking... it's the sedative property
of alcohol that some... well... most people have yet to discover...
        saying that... most people won't...
  so they'll turn to barbiturates... or *****... or marijuana...
   oh hey... nietzsche lamented this scenario...
                                he was high as a kite on barbiturates
(personal life detail)... and he implored to be taught by
     dionysus... to be a disciple of the god of wine...
                       some people really don't know how to drink,
they go off the tangent, it seems a steady diet and then
an inject of "empty" calories in drinks which makes them
           go off the rails, and turn into
                                   absolute bonkers *****...
               this would have been his last and only invocation:
to become a disciple of someone who could school them in drinking...
i'm not too sure about dionysus-ultra, i.e. hitting the rums
    and whiskeys and vodkas...
     you know that story about spartans, right?
   they used to drink wine, but diluted it, half & half...
   and when they wanted to shame an alcoholic
   they gave him the full measure, and marched him down
the street of lacadaemon, kicking him up the ***...
    very much translated into putting a dunce's cap on
someone, and making him ride a donkey, sitting backwards...
                but you can sense from the extract of his writings
(ecce ****?), that he became fed-up with the barbiturates...
   miserable ****** wanted to learn how to laugh
                                         while drinking in his solitude;
and i'd tell him just as much: most people can't laugh
when drinking by themselves... the miserable ***** while never
learn, to unlearn their idea of drinking as a case for
stupid pranks, grizzly ***, and in general... a bad scene on
a night club's dancefloor.