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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.perhaps it's a good thing,
that i don't succumb to witty
rhyming poetry...
i hate rhyming poetry as much
as Bukowski hated disney...
Homer didn't rhyme...
  and all the better for it...
this rhyming fetish,
whereby, when you start
rhyming, succumbing to
some quasi orthodoxy?
   getting caged?
       better than rhyme...
   noticeable signs of impromptu,
and absolutely no, so
signs of editing...


      if god is dead in philosophical
discussions...
then rhyme is dead
in poetic composition...
    we, really don't need curriculum
poetics for GCSE students...
cages, entrapment,
   not bothering Stendhal from
the brink of a post-existentialist
despair sitting in
that other graveyard,
  the library shelf...
    and seriously?
    why Jane Austen on the 5 quid
banknote, and not Mary Shelley?

and there's a reason why i will
not make a single youtube video...
why?
       on a certain level of the popularity
stratum,
   it's become this,
  american nostalgia for high school,
the gossiping, the undermining,
the atypical Brutus confidant circle
of "content" creators...
   net-novellas -
   a bunch of people my age...
******* up to the tele-novella
       ergonomics that Polish grandmothers
watch, imported from Turkey...
or the English 1985 Eastenders
soap opera...
   ******* have to be different,
through and through,
drive on the "wrong" side of the road,
then they have to start calling
tele-novellas, soap-operas!

short attention span, sure sure...
no problem...
          do your ******* homework
during the week, watch the omnibus
on the weekend...

what's this one youtuber, who said
something about the advertisement blockers?
by the way...
   Samsung?
     all videos have been demonetized...
perhaps on the odd occasion
a vevo ad... but that's about it...

       advertisement blockers?
  seriously?
   are these people so ******* impatient
that they can't locate the mute button?!
i see an advert: MUTE...
   i think of something,
   to craft an anti-zombie
   pause, moment, anything...
    why block advertisement -
when you can merely mute it...
and listen to the vacuous sound
of celestial orbits?

        within a certain tier of content creators,
it's already the ****-smearing,
soap opera, back in a high school
playground "nostalgia"...
  sorry... not for me...
but thank you, for taking the effort,
to take a reed, dive into a lake,
and breath through it,
while remaining covert, hidden...

         again... numbers numbers numbers...
i'm still exercising a freedom of
"speech", but i rather prefer the
practice of writing, as the appropriate
res extensa of the vector origin
for this cascade, the res cogitans
as it were...

   and there really are only two forms
of nuanced language:
a study of philosophy,
   or the study of: law...
      but this youtube **** show...
   this: back in high school,
no revenge time...

                 i only tuned in for the music,
but then these youtubers started
propping up in the recommendation
list for the music i was listening to...

die krupps postscript suggestions
came up with x,
   wooden shjips came up with y...
lao che came up with z recommendations...

on a side note...
   ha ha!
    mark manson's book...
  the art of not giving a ****...
it mentions Bukowski...
  only read the sample...
        that he was a, loser...
and loser is specifically derogatory
term in American society...
to which i reply?
   and what the **** did
mark manson, actually win?
Bukowski at least won
a childhood where his father beat
him silly in the ******* bathroom...

you haven't exactly won anything,
mr. manson...
   if you didn't lose anything
to begin with;

and if you have?
   let's see the follow-up of
to your bestseller,
         of "not giving a ****";
but we won't, will we?
      - hardly brown-nosing,
the guy's dead,
1997... i have to keep
the integrity of the dead
on my bookshelf...
      
      who reads this
reverse masochism of the self-help
literature genre, anyway?
you can't even use these books
as a counter to a decent roll
of toilet paper!
   unless you want to scratch,
ahem, sorry, wipe your *** with
the pages, and start an **** bleeding!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
you know about as much about copyright laws, as i do, about shoelaces; what's the word... oops?*

and what did i decide to cook today?
oh, just some hungarian goulash sauce -
extra paprika - pork -
served on a potato "pancake" -
mixed potatoes with flour, an egg,
salt & pepper, more paprika -
fried onions & bacon, and, would you
believe it? brussels pâté...
i was desperate: there was no lard
in the house...
   served on two grand leaves of
col lettuce: yummy as a sunset glazing
a hyacinth;
and no, on a flower it's called
caramelised butter effect,
   it's not actually called photosynthesis
at those moments.

i'm still bewildered by these people who
"just happen" to dictate a "reality"
by calling the dasein of events a case of:
on the internet, vs. the real world.
utterly bewildering...
no, i'm still bewildered -
let me tell you a little story...
do you know how much mail
i get through the door each year?
perhaps 4 letters...
        reality check: the b.b.c. is broke,
it's actually the broke broadcasting corporation,
the british bit flew out the window,
they're airing shows from the years
MMXV & MMXVI primarily -
oh look who's coming with the surprise -
no, it's not *pacman
: the ol' jolly roger
by the name of jimmus savillius -
****** broke the bank with his antics,
not the b.b.c. is a dog with three legs,
broke! ha ha!
             there's still something
bothering me... what part of "reality"
are these people pushing, that can't see
the duality, instead choosing a dichotomy
of the existence of the internet,
ah, either they're too young,
or the internet itself is too young,
and they haven't seen the shredder impact
of the internet on the high street...
when was i at a local high street?
honest to god, heart on my shoulder,
hand on my other heart singing the regional
anthem... can't remember...
if you only get 4 letters through the post
a year, and even less emails -
unless of course you tell people your email
address...
   either i'm the biggest loser, or the biggest
winner in this fiasco...
   i get as many emails as i get actual,
post-office letters...
    **** me, lucky you if it's a handwritten
letter, without an electronically generic
signature, you must be santa claus!
ah, pretty pretty, esp. since it was written
in green and purple crayon...
     get in there my son, you're bound
to enter the major league of *******
and *** fiddlers: just make sure you mention
the black component preference,
like, you know who.
           i can't believe they're coming for these
people, i swear to god, if someone working
class was to read the saturday or the sunday
times supplements, they'd go gargamel
bonkers... as i once explained the smurfs to
a scaffolder and his girlfriend walking
from an off-lice, as we both joked:
   she's short enough for the blue...
god, her reaction as impeccable:
heaven sent no hell apart from a woman's
fury at being either scolded or joked about;
works every time,
  so, gentlemen! can we return to our
drinking?
                  and they said in pop culture that
grief was an aphrodisiac - twice down
the shoot, thrice with the shakers as **** it is...
as it turns out so is male humour is a gemini
with grief...
     the furious vagi... and i knight her:
            n'ah...
                        i still don't get where
or when the reality check will take shape...
how much of "real" life on the internet
is not mere commentary?
... ... ... ... i'm giving you some time to answer...
whatever happened to the intricacies
of the "real" world and the internet?
what about those hacks, what about
internet banking,
   what has suddenly become so unreal
about the internet?
oh right, so we can hold a welsh f-u f-off (V)
to the publishers, and bypass their
bad taste in prose?
          thinking about it: i think it is...
oh sure, we'll earn a few collateral badges
of those who fell with weak psyches -
but to say, the most splendid, known
to man, ever imagined ******* -
well... you'd be a fool to distinguish
the internet as a wachowski construct...
listen mon, you're saving the amazon,
pixel by pixel by pixel alone...
   but you've also woken the eyes of
beelzebub -
          and the irish are pounding -
and the russians stopped drinking for a month -
and the poles decide:
it's our time to march with the gob!
i still can't believe that people can't
fathom a simple newtonian calculus
of integrating two entities -
     and making them as one -
      personally?
i'm an impatient person, or, rather:
i don't like people wrestling with me over
copyright, copy what? what?!
there's only one page on the internet
that respects copyright laws... wattpad...
no other page on the internet disallows
the ctrl c through to ctrl p...
not one... ******* if you think anything
about "copyright" laws in the 21st century...
one page, one page out of a billion,
that respects copyright, and what do they do?
they kick me off it, because in
privy i asked a girl where she was from,
to get the feel of what inspires her...
like in that film the passengers -
where the girl says: i could write all day
with a view of the chrysler building...
  well then... UP YOURS!
Yenson May 2019
They call it a 'Class War"
They call it a "War of Liberation"
whilst its just another instance of white oppression

Childish, immature, mean and nasty underachievers
like the kid on the beach who kicks over others sandcastle
because they are better than the ******* castle he made

Like that that uncool dumb teen who scatters the board game
because he's now seen that he is losing and cannot win at all

like those ugly pimpled friends who would play gooseberry
and ****-blockers because  they can't get nice dates of their own

like that bitter mad one who will spill ink over your white top
or new Trainers because he or she has old and ***** ones

They are all from the world of the sicko psychos and damaged
talent-less mean, envious, sad pathetic people going nowhere
If I can't make it, why should others do and be winners

They all graduate to the divisive politics of the ****** losers
Power is stopping progress and advancement because they are down
Power is bringing achievers and enterprise down they can's gain
Power is sabotaging all that is good because they are bad in all

Measly fetid minds they plot and conspire in gangrenous network
dolts, scums, unwashed losers and rejects of society, bottom feeders
Come join the Party, our specialty is chaos and disruption of winners

The pathetic jokes of the white West, losers in their own backyards
picks on an African who came from disadvantages to better them
better educated, more intelligent, cool and stylish in every way
pack full of potential, going places they can never go or reach

Our sick, mean spirited under-achievers, expert losers and scums
crawled on the war-path, riddled with envy, sick with jealousy
ruin his progress, oppose and disrupt a black man who doubles
efforts to achieve, what if losers try is given to them on a plate

What here is done for the greater good, what here is honorable
celebrated victories for psychos, racist underachievers I think not
peoples power? more sick, tormented, jealous n envious chicanery
anarchy jealousy, anarchy shame, anarchy racists, anarchy liars

One Single Black achiever demonstrates the inherent strength
and grace of our all our Ancestors against sick, persistent white oppression. That's the story here.
If its a fair war, why hide and go underground, why fight *****!
Chris Slade Dec 2018
I’ve O’D’d on Glucosamine Sulphate, so much I’m mentally scarred.
It’s escalated now I’m 70… I’ve mainlined on my Senior Railcard…
I bow down to the Norse God Voltarol… He eases all my pains…
and there’s Deep Heat, Germaloids, even Anusol for the other stresses and strains.

The wondrous Winter Fuel Allowance! That’s what lights our lamp these dark days - ahh, those twilight hours!
But after the logs, it’s not Leccy or Gas we crave? No! We buy ***** with ours…
the Whisky, Gin, *****, Wine, a drop of Brandy too. It all helps us numb the cold
whilst memories of happier times gone by - brighten up this ****** growing old.

Supplements, sterols, statins, aspirin, beta blockers… All the heart meds - life’s a battle.
In the 60s it was *** and Drugs and Rock ’n’ Roll… Now there’s less *** and a lot more rattle!
****** fails to make it now - “no more”, after the last time - she said!
These days the only thing it does is stop me rolling out of bed!

The bus pass lets me roam the world… from John O’Groats to Land’s End.
But these days I travel locally Southwick, Lancing, Steyning; oh yeh and a cousin in far Gravesend.
Further afield; abroad perhaps? Well no…Back then it was Newhaven for the Continent.
But now I’m over 70, well, it’ll just be Worthing for the INCONTINENT!

And… did I say? Not that I was ever in the habit of measuring it you understand - or straightening out the kinks
I’m pretty sure that these days - and ’no’ it’s NOT just the cold… but, your once adequate **** - it shrinks!

I'm sorry...Your *******! It ain't so long!
First poem I read in public as a poetry ******... It went well enough for me to decide that I would do it again.
Mark C Jan 2013
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F-plan G-plan colon-cleansing He-man
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blissful as a bar of chocolate
that’s when I decided
**** thin happy wins
More or less glued together from spam emails and their associated web sites
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
.i'm sorry, but i've looked at english grammar for far too long, to buy into the current *******... i just came from behind the iron curtain, i'm not about to go into "hiding" under a silicon curtain... valley my ***, silicon curtain, the end. gender, "neutral" pronouns? pronouns can't be "neutral", neutered... neuter via plural? they being a non-descriptive associated of both a he and a she? ****... most languages can't escape gender-inclusivity of their nouns... for example, names of cities... now you can have gender neutral nouns, i'll concede that... London: gender neutral... Paris: gender neutral... and then of course the more universal nouns in English, predicated by either a definite or an indefinite article: making gender-ascription to nouns even harder... because that's how the english language operates: something is either definite, or it's indefinite... all the continent languages, however, ascribe genders to their nouns... either masculine or feminine, or whatever... is this some sort of quasi-anglophone envy of continent languages? say, in my nativspreschen... słońce (the sun) is feminine... księżyc (the moon) is masculine... Warszawa (Warsaw) is feminine... Niemcy (Germany) is actually gender neutral, in that it refers to a people... Rosja (Russian) is feminine... Anglia (England) is feminine... there is noun-ambiguity regarding "gender" in continental languages... which the English language lacks: due to the definite / indefinite articulation via (a- -the      "ism")... pronoun gender "neutrality" never existed... because... gender-appropriation of nouns was never on the cards in this language... and never will be... come on... you really don't need some foreigner to tell you the basics of your own tongue... i hate to even associate myself with such pieces as are provided in the form of the "useful idiots"... i hate it... it's like asking to fiddle about with a down syndrome competitor at a su doku olympics... it's not fair!

i only really had two loves in my life... Paris, circa 2005 and Edinburgh circa in the range of 2004 through to 2007... those really were my only true loves... London? London just grew on me, esp. the east end... i became infected with its heterogeneity, so much so, that whenever i visit my grandparents, in the most feral of lands, Poland... and peer into its homogeneity, i am fed a staggering amount of nausea... sure, once in a while you'll spot a Roma in these parts, handling cheap chinese goods at the market, but otherwise? and... given, that i'm a first generation expatriate (eh, eh? i know what the natives call their own, "elsewhere", akin to h'america or australia)...

                 the girlfriends? eh... two, three, more prostitutes...
whoever these middle-aged men are, talking m.g.t.o.w., after two failed marriages... i was already on my way, aged 21... sure, it was fun for the first few years... i remember the tingling sensation of holding my first girlfriend's hand while watching romeo + juliet in her father's presence... that **** was cool... it's still so vivid to me... again: slandering women is not cool... i remember these girlfriends with a fondness... i don't want the anchor of bitterness to put me in one place... fondness is all the wind in the sails you will ever need to sail along... and... em... stealing one or two kisses from prostitutes... that's all...

                      the last one i left? 21... she married...
she remarried...
            and she ****** quiet a bit in between...
last time i visisted her out of a weird sense of obligation...
hand... slashed down their veins...
             i stayed for about four days...
   over a period of two nights i slept with the window
open, with my clothes on...
third night i took my clothes off...
                i inquired...
           she was waking up each morning with
a jug of coffee and turned into:
   less a masters in anthropology...
and more the russian gamer chick...
                     one night she called up her
sycophants...
               we smoked...
                     her husband wasn't home...
"then", her, "still"(?) huspand?
                   but her boyfriend was there...
i was sitting akimbo and talking to this guy...
and he told me how he ******:
my would be fiancé...
                           well... i just broke down
into the most amazing laughter...
   a laughter that put me to sleep,
a laughter that made all the people leave,
and i was left with her, alone,
in a room...
              she was still playing a video game...
while i got up and rolled another joint...
but the whole joke comes at the fact that:
i, i was the person who was always dumped...
ilona, promis, isabella...
                           they all dumped me...
but... what, a, *******, relief!
               maybe that's why i came to terms
with myself, maybe that's why
drinking in ms. amber's company
is such a joyous treat...
                 unlike most drunks...
esp. women: i do not wallow in grief,
or for that matter... hold any grievances...
all that has happened,
   has, happened, in order that i might find:
release, and in finding my release...
relief!

                            i had to mention these
scenarios... i remember the last words ilona
said to me: blah blah... by doing x
as you've continued to displease me...
blah blah... you'll never become a man!
                    true...
                                ­ who the **** want's
to be an ahston court trained poodle?!
   what, enough ***** to keep the economy
going?
        everyone knows that women
are the crown of capitalism...
                     no woman, no crown, no capitalism...
it's not even socialism at this point,
or anarchy... it's... eh... m'eh?
                                 why do only fools and horses
marry?
          ****, if there was a swan ontology
built into man? maybe... after all...
                    there is such a phenomenon
(more like a noumenon) of the widow swan,
or a widower swan...
      it's as if the animal has lost its
physical union, and transitioned into
a metaphysical union, beside the body...
   a realm of perpetuated memory,
   awaiting transcendence...
         now... i believe there's a godhead for
all things in this world...
there's the godhead of swans,
   as there is the godhead of all the other creatures...
which: gushes out ontological cueues...
pointers...
                    after all, i already said what
my two true loves were...

        Paris and Edinburgh...
                   i remember the first time i arrived
in Paris...
when i reached 3 Ducks hostel in Paris,
the guy in charge, was surprised,
that i managed to walk,
   all the way from where the drop-off was
for people arriving from the airport
by coach, some 40+ miles from Paris itself...
i walked... i breathed... i was amazed
at the Eiffel Tower...
   most people just took the underground...
plus i had a really ****** map...
didn't speak the language...
                    but that year... circa 2005... Paris...
      that was...
                          something else...
or Edinburgh, circa 2004...
                    thank god i didn't apply
to Warwick university...
      campus university *******...
         Bristol? eh... the city didn't appeal
to me...
                   Edinburgh... that's something
else...
                    even Venice is more or less:
passable...
                      
              mind you... what's this current
transgender debate about men thinking they're
women, competing in women's sports?
today i saw the perfect example
of a decent woman's sport...
  tennis... haleb vs. linette...
       **** on me, what a match...
no. 3 seed versus no. 87 in world ranking...
                          i prefer women's tennis...
with male tennis its all about
the service game: "****" advantage...
but at least in woman's tennis,
   you get longer rallies...
   and the antithesis of what an ****** sounds
like... and all that show of legs...
it's beautiful...
       beside... this "new" transgender "thing",
that **** is old...
     i always confuse the two...
     DDR...                        FDR...
Deutsche Demokratische Republik...
          Federal Republic of Germany...
   so, yeah... the former... DDR...
                 and i've heard this many times...
the same happened back then,
at the olympic games...
                          it's a joke now...
  but women from the DDR were given hormones...
to make them more masculine...
           only that... it was real chemistry
working on real biology...
   women, were given male hormones...
and competed with other females...
          now?
                      em... what if these "women",
want to compete with women...
       and can do so... if given female hormones,
added with a cocktail of male hormone
blockers?!
         the whole olympic circus is already
rigged with chemistry...
**** it: ***** all of them!
                   may the best chemist win!
**** it, jack 'em up! give each and everyone
of them the best juice!
swear to god,
   all the female atheletes back in the days
of DDR were given some hormonal++ juice...
maybe a mix of amphetamines and
        steroids...
       so... if these "women" want to
compete with women?
                     shouldn't they be given...
say... the realistic dosage of hormones...
         a body of a natural woman creates?!

****, in a time when a bilingual is deemed
a schizophrenic... because he's not a polyglot...
of course the trans movement was always going
to undermine women...
     that's why i decided, aged 21...
no... you know what?
                        i don't like stress...
              loved you, but thank god i left you...
Paris and Edinburgh became my two true loves...
and... given they're cities...
they are as intricate as any person might be...
so... not to be demeaning...
                  but a cat and mouse game...
and then being dumped...
                               i settled for the next best
thing... once a year... ****... once every five years...
if there's any Jack the Ripper urge "lurking"
in me...
                         just visit a brothel
to check your body temp. against another
body, and see if you can share the same pulse.

but as you might have already guessed,
this was the original draft:

tattooing an impermant
mark on the left arm:

    h-
              (e)
         -a-
     (lef)
                -y
                       (od)

what yah /          
יאח‎          demands...

ה‎ (he) + א‎ (alef),
   and   ח‎ (het) + ע (ayin) -

i.e. the tetragrammaton
squared -
  laughter of the interchange.         ע

p.s. i still don't
see how Adam conceived of
Abel, or Cain...
   how a-lef or a-yin is a consonant,
transcendent...
given the hebrew ah is:
guised in the name kametz...

i see a story of two Adams...
and i called them,
Aleph                  and Ayin.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
502 bad gateway bypass...
title: shattering of stone
body:
in the rubble: a mountain could
be found;
as might be suggested...
given enough time and there's plenty
of it, as there is of space...
the now known deserts of the world...
were once great mountain ranges...
the ancient Egyptians even tried
to replicate this truth by erecting pyramids...
as if implying: look! look!
there were once mountains here!
now! there's nothing but sand!
how the gods, grunted at the idea of mountains
in what is not Sahara... fickle creatures
like the creatures they created are...
who knows... perhaps there will one day
be the desert of Himalaya...


i felt it coming at me like a freight train...
i was going in for work sharp...
woke up at 6am, had a coffee and ate the prepared
bun with pickles and liver pate...
but couldn't finish it... drank a coffee and smoked
a cigarette... had a shower, pampered myself
with about 7 different pampering products...
usually i'm obviously to how i smell like...
but on the bus i could quiz myself:
who here smells like soap and who here smells
like either stale bread or a curry / eggs?
that's the 86 route for you...
it's the immigrant bus... and... funnily enough...
i'm an immigrant myself... although...
it's different when you come to foreign shores
aged 8... and thrown into the education system
rather than bypass all that jazz & enter the work
force... by immigrant status i'm a veteran of sorts...
by 7am the pains and spasms in my abdomen were
becoming excruciating... i could feel
a plug-hole of a **** building up...
      like a bear before retiring to hibernation...
i wouldn't be able to just simply, **** this plug-hole
of a **** out before or on the job...
why? because there would be more to come...
dizzying effects of focus...

i was nervous... she said she would be coming to
do a shift today... who? Jeminah...
she sent me a text telling me how anxious she was...
i figured... the best... blatant: covert question
would be... you worried the trains are not working?
oh... you can get the 86 bus... the tube might be open...
pulling a long long stick...
a lever even... something Archimedes would
use to lift a mountain off the ground...
she felt anxious... oh... because of those two storms?
Eunice - the worst for 30 years...
red weather alerts? you worried about that?
i was seriously stroking a massive bear silly...
she felt anxious for all the reasons i wanted her
to feel anxious about...
n'ah... the way to get to the venue wasn't on her mind...
neither was the weather...
she was found out... she didn't want to be in
the company of the other girls...
and because i put my foot down:
this is getting silly... i'm not going to get blamed
for your son's and her son's friendship fallout...
telling the truth...
    what a recurrent theme with me these days...
well... at least its not a soap opera style of
a multiverse of competing dramas...
there's only one... and i'm fortifying myself with
all the right answers... i need to play this out
like an opera... petty **** that can grow and grow like
that must be explored from many angles...
down the line...

she didn't show up... the other two girls involved
acted slightly funny... she must have passed on
my Pontius Pilate messages: i'm washing my hands clean
of the matter... you girls created this issue...
you sort it... those two boys are not falling out
over something their mums did...

handshakes all round... two clingers...
one ****** with a nervous tick but one guy with
cerebral palsy... well... oddly enough...
having been a recluse for almost a decade...
i have managed to surprise myself by fitting the role
of a people person... i don't know where i was storing
this confidence... self-assurance... stoic silence...
i don't feel the need to talk unless talked to...
sure... i might say an anecdote or two:
how Millwall fans at Fulham told me a joke
about a West Ham player who's fond of kicking
cats... cat lives matter...

the shift itself... West Ham are back to their usual
antics of not respecting lesser opponents...
Newcastle are on a campaign trail to survive
in the Premier League... two of their best players weren't
playing: yet they still managed to draw 1 - 1...

who do you think are going to fall?
i says: Burnley had it coming for the past two years...
yeah... Watford is a boomerang team...
one season on the Premier level...
the next on the Championship level...

seems i can have much fun with people,
whether coworkers or the actual public...
the freaks among the coworkers follow me like
dogs, while the public?

an old lady wanted me to use her camera to take
photographs with the West Ham mascots:
some bear mascot was first, then Harry the Hammer...
i had to tap Harry's shoulder when a father asked me
to call him back while he moved along the stand
so he could go back and have a photograph taken
with his kid: so heavily padded he almost didn't feel
my touch...
but he went back...
then that retired police officer that took my side
when some busy-body ***** of a: not my supervisor
kept on demanding i put on a face mask...
that infernal: secular niqqab...
the retired police officer noted: he's distraught...
**** the club: if they can think they can get away
imposing their own rules: all staff must wear ******
coverings... this busy-body even said:
i don't you not covering your nose...
so, what then? my chin is capable of breathing?!
scale of escalation... the from me to the supervisor
to the busy-body third part...
the ex-police officer used the hypothetical
argument: but i have a deaf person, friend,
sitting next to me: he needs to lip read...
how is he going to read my instructions if he can't
see my mouth...
and then... well... i wasn't bothered...
wearing these nappies always brings back
memories of my grandfather's funeral...
he was a big deal in a small-town where i was
born... a foreman in the metallurgy industry...
he knew a lot of people...
but how many showed up to his funeral?
not even the half that i'd have expected...

we kept chatting... my supervisor later came up
and asker me... so...   ?!
oh... you know, we just talked about life...
his father was a widower... living in Cornwall...
he used to get free grub from the local (pub),
but when the pandemic hit...
he lost all WILL to live...
and me says: you know how people say that
you can die from a broken heart,
i guess you can also die from being denied
WILL... we agreed... we shook hands about x3...
like a post-scriptum he asked me for my name
and i asked for his... Mark...
now living in East Sussex... but originally from
Dartford...

Mark said he had thick skin... and i told him...
your eyes are watering... i don't believe it...
looking at them feels like watching a very bountiful
aquarium... you're not going to fool me mate...
life... plus, it's not against the law to not wear
the *****... as i later said:
now you get to see who the people with OCD
and the hypochondriacs are...
yeah: it feels weird... i'm walking around without
the "*****" while my wife is still paying
servitude to outlaw rules...
but if they want to... why deny them the right...
sure sure...

but i had to use a member of the public
to infiltrate the hierarchy on the job...
he used the proper arguments... i was just thinking:
perhaps people just want to see my face...
recognise it... see ****** expressions...
after all: we've been playing a game of pretending
to be Muslim women for two years...
how about we start playing hide & seek once more?

what happened later... the curiosity of the children...
i looked at them, smiled, they smiled back...
they felt so comforted... they felt like:
well... thank god this cubist-esque freak-show is
running and hiding... little girls, little boys...

like i told Mark: but the young 'ung suffered... too...
you need to see people faces,
i might have slouched with the expression
of "****** recognition"... but expressions matter...
you sometimes have to out the tongue to the face...
you want to see someone laugh,
at ease... nowhere near the culture & the people
of Afghanistan... this might have to be the building
block of the supposed "great" restart...
seeing people's faces...
esp. when it comes to children...
they want to see faces they can trust...

but it's outright blatant...
i'm not going to make a comparison between
The Beatles "vs." The Rolling Stones...
for me it always been
Bruce Springsteen "vs." Chris Rea...
no... can't choose...
who the **** do i couple Bob Dylan with?
i'm currently sipping some whiskey while
in the company of ol' Bruce...
ah... Bob Dylan vs. Tom Waits...
        Tommy 'ol boyo...
                    live circus... going out west (live)...
Tom Petty though...

there was one expulsion... a ginger she-male...
all the fans were laughing: don't give her out...
the SIA guys were playing gorillas while
i was on my break... putting my hand on the shoulder
of the hurt party... calm... calm... you ginger ostrich...
stop pandering to the parade of:
already lost teenage hormones...
it sort of worked... i giggled... and no one
became involved... i chewed on my gum like i
like might have been found chewing on a broomstick
or a horses' mane...
i chewed so hard until my jaw hurt...

Tom Waits - going out west (live)...
now we're talking...
prior to Prince dying: you had not access to
songs like Party-man... Trust... all copyrighted
material... yeah.... but i own the best of CD...
why can't i stream it?!
oh, right... he's dead... free-for-all...
free meat for the crows...

why oh why would someone walk up to me
and ask to take a selfie with me?
yeah... this American accented dude...
i watched him through the second half...
off his nuts...
but at half time he walks up to me and asks...
can i take a selfie with you?
sure... weird...
am i famous?! or am i just ****** approachable...
all the other stewards are like bricks in
a mountain: but mountains don't have bricks...
or they're over-anxious busy bodies...
it's like people never learned their NVQ training...

safety, security, service....
the service part is the building part...
you pass off being attired in safety / security tactics...
but... service comes first...
you talk, you interact... you learn to be human...
one year of this, before i ask for being given references...
that's when i'll work toward looking toward a more
permanent employment as a chemistry
teacher... even though... scribbling this sort of *******:
i'd love to become an English teacher...
ha ha... an English teacher... even though i'm not
English...

i need the references... working with my father in
roofing... no, can, do...
they don't want familial ties in references...
one year... i'd still do these gigs on the weekend...
but one year...
you get a chance to deal with a football crowd...
you got a belt... when it might come to dealing
with a classroom of rowdy children...
like Louis XIV stated... it's the trick of the eye...
look the authoritative type...
there's nothing more to it...

then these three supporters at the front...
when they first started singing the song for the cat-lives-matter
footballer who was more into... kicking
cats than a football... how did the lyrics go?
almost Dr. Seuss...
he kicks with his right foot... he kicks with his
left foot... i pursed my lips... i tried to cover my
face with my hand... all the while trying to as
instructed: not taking sides... not showing emotions...

but their remarks came fast... i must have looked
interesting...
so where are you from?
Russia? guess again... Ukraine? nope...
Czech Republic? nope... ******! yep...
but i've been living here since the age of 8...
and i'm 35...
have a nice life: she said... one of them was
ginger... presuppositions of Irish... the beard was
pulled... oh my god, the girl looked proper, proper,
drunk...
i went on a break... i came back:
oh! he's back! you know you're the only one
without a hood on! all the other stewards...
the guy who's usually here is somewhat asleep
while prying open his phone...
where's your pancho against the rain?
oh... i gave it to a spectator... blah blah...

point being... i was actually waiting for her...
Jeminah... all the time... she didn't show up...
i've just received a text from her...
what is... drotaverini hydrochloridum?
i had to take it today...
a rubric of buzzwords...
it sells alongside suggestions akin to the morning-after
pill...

well, it will be a rubric of buzzwords...
i had to take some pills for the cramps in my stomach...
it just felt like one of those Sprintsteen,
Chris Rea, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty sort of nights:
when you feel nervous about thinking bout
a girl while simultaneously feeling nervous
about taking a ****... so you feel like taking a ****
at 7am but delay it to until 5pm... 6pm...
because the girl's easting away at your mind...
you're getting cramps in your abdomen
like you you're about to do a clown trick
with balloons turning them into theoretical poodles...
because you just love the girl:
you just love the girl...
she might be a single mother, she might think
she's a woman... but she's just a girl to you...
even though you're not her father...

oh right... the buzz... words... as someone who studied
chemistry i should know what drotaverini hydrochloridum
is... it's for the abdomen cramps...
for: i ought to have taken a ****...
but here's me stalling...
will she, will you come?
DROVATERINE....
an antispasmodic drug...
   used to enhance cervical dilation during child-birth...
i'm giving birth: to a feeling...
i think i'm in love... she's all anxious...
Bruce's: Maria's Bed... yeah... i'm on that same page
in this story...
esp. noted use in Asia and Central Europe...
i'll be lazy: i'll cite it verbatim:
it's structurally related to papaverine,
is a selective inhibitor of phosphodiesterase 4
and has no anticholinergic effects...

the way i see it... i'm giving birth to love....
i want her fat **** to sit on my face...
sorry... what?!
i'm being absolutely serious...
just looks up the article on Anticholinergics...
i don't have a womb...
but i have a heart that seems to have
sunken into the levels of the intestines...
while i get all spaghetti tangles
for brains...
i'm in love... i can't help it...
she a cougar red head... a deep red...
a mahogany red...
i can't stop thinking about her...
it's exactly impossible to live:
without having to think about her...
anxious cluck by cluck...
if she's not going to abide by failures in life
then... no... life's not worth living without her:
when she's at her pinnacle of failure...
let me pick her up...
let's pretend there's an old world
worth looking at... that there might be a world war
in the theatre... none of these proxies in
the H'American department of... up-keeping
hard-ons and kaleidoscope coyotes...
now for the text messages... why weren't you around?!

i wrote this yesterday, i went downstairs for sone grub
because i couldn't fall asleep...
my mother came down... saw me in my TOMBSTONE
mode... drunk... what? you want me to punch
myself in the face? lucky for her, lucky for me
i remained silent, because the night was silent...
she ****** off i ****** off... today i made mein vater
und mein mutter some ******
chicken broth with vermicelli...
all the usual suspects were used...
the leek, the parsley root, the carrot,
the garlic (skin on), the celery... chicken... d'uh...
although i didn't use the chicken *******...
that's going to be used for a curry...
  
and what are my other options? living alone?
paying rent to a landlord from hell?!
shame... sure... but the attic is full of clutter
and there is no basement...
plus i have a private library the deservedly might
need a proper: HEAVE! HEAVE!
50 oars...

i'm in love and not for all the right reasons...
if my youth took the route of an atypical man...
starting from 20 working my way up...
yeah... but i went mad at the age of 21...
******* invisible choir, great wind dispersing it...
psychiatry that tried to attempt its regression
tactics of implanting me with false memories...
giving me anti-psychotic drugs that fattened me up
until a nurse said:
you either loose weight... or you'll be put
on high-blood pressure tablets...
so... i bought a bicycle... lost 20kg... cycled off
into the sunset...
now... 35... years old... oh... look...
they're looking... they're actually interested...
the young girls have: "woken up"...
yeah... by now? i'm not interested...
i don't and i didn't pay much attention
to the game of genes... it's a fractional impossibility...
unless you're cloning yourself...
by the time you're a grandfather...
only a quarter of you remains...
  why bother with the argument?
        it's silly...Darwinistic unrealism has always been
a thorn in my side...
eh?                            my genes have my consciousness?
i'm... translatable to future generations?
sure... but they can't be my own...
why would i be interested in young girls...
if things worked out for me like they might have
worked out for other men...
a walking *****... and spare parts of monetary dough...
i never wanted to make money...
i took the principle left around for others to see...
between the aesthetic and the ascetic...
well... St. Francis of Assisi...
other men in my position: who have hungered and
been left out in their 20s... now in their 30s can have
their comeback...
their revenge... me? i'm trying to court
a woman 4 years older than me... with a boy
that's 11 years old...
i said: bully them into teaching your German...
you know, it's the mother tongue of English...
grammatically the two languages are very much
aligned... Fredrick... "bully" them into making
you learn Deutsche... i said BULLY i implied:
persuade... do i need to use sign language...
finally... though... a third head on the Hydra...
if i had a little Frankenstein in my possession...
i could be learning Deutsche proper with him....
a youngling like that... sponge for brains...
maybe i could teach him some of my ****** zunge...
wow... no no... that's the whole point of turning
toward art... by 35 i could have been earning
100+ £... yawn... no, truly...
playing this to-and-fro with younger girls
because i now might have status...
not much fun... to be exacting...
single mum... problems at school...
you should learn German rather than French...
he understood it splendidly...

             just you wait... i'll get him into modern German
folk music... did i buy her off with my homemade wine
and him with my own made banana loaf with hazelnuts?!
here's to me!
salute!

              - on these isles for most of my life...
35 - 8 = 27... twenty-seven ******* years!
and no chance at a pluck at the Rose...
up north she was giving it up to grooming gangs
from Pakistan... down south...
shy ******* nunnery: "all of a sudden"!
but now... ah... this... hybrid of Scotch and English
stock... i'm shuddering... i'm still getting these
cramps in my abdomen that says:
you have a womb... what?! i'm transgender?!
what the ****?!

that's why i didn't want to earn money...
well... it's not that i didn't want to...
you see what happens when you go mad aged
21... and how you figure things out...
at least now i'm not a target...
i don't have anything to offer expect for...
knowledge...
it's a blessing...
since... it's hardly what any woman wants...
women tend to want only their own advice...
they conjure this advice like witches conjure up...
perhaps the rosemary herb
goes well with lamb... but like the Turkish
broads suggested... but if you add it to beef...
oh! mein! gott! the Turkish lavash!
with that red onion & parsley roughage of
a side salad... mouth-watering stuff...
i don't really need to see the competitive hard-on
of whatever Sultan to counter the Hagia Sophia...
just that beef lavash...
and yes, you'd be wrong... English cheddar
works just as well...

but... i'm no Frank O'Hara... there's no qualm in
me about not being a painter...
why i'm not a painter translates to me as:
why am i not a painter?
i abhor colours... well... i like some more than
others... the amber and the auburn...
the greens... whiskey... autumn...
but when it comes to movies?
i prefer them to be black & white... less strain
on the eyes...
if images are moving? black & white...
sure... no one is expected to paint in black & white...
like no one is expected to write in
rainbow hieroglyphics... i can stand for an hour
beside a colour painting...
it doesn't move, i don't move...
time, the world: moves...
fair enough...
but colour-riddled movies?
a strain on the eyes...
    why am i not a painter?
                     why am i not a narrator?!
i'm clearly neither... what's the middle ground?
priest? psychiatrist? *******... poet?!
oh you have to be choking me to make me joke...
let alone laugh... but i'm not rhyming...
but there was a time and a place
when people identified this art with
a need for mathematics... measure... ticture...
rhyme... music...
like **** that's happening now: proper...

- perhaps it's not painting, i think it;s painting,
perhaps lacking in colour, perhaps lacking in contorts..
in shapes, in disguises...
what? no traffic light: goes green?
no traffic light remains red?
no middle ground for the amber?
no cyclist prepped to be the shepherd of traffic?
to leech onto a truck where he might be
visible... to orientate the roundabout congestion?
no one, ever, minded, this?!
before moi!
           oh... what shame... what utter shame...
we were supposed to help each other out...
not be these... petty demigods...
silly ******* idiots...

             i might have to reiterate my stance...
she's giving me the love-ups making me feel like a woman...
i'm getting cramps in my abdomen...
sure... i ought to have taken a **** 7 hour prior...
but i keep it in... like a bear about to hibernate:
a plug-hole ****...

- anticholinergic agent are substances that block the action of the neurotransmitter called acetylcholine (ACh) at synapses in the central and peripheral nervous system...

-  anticholinergics are divided into two categories in accordance with their specific targets in the central and peripheral nervous system and at the neuromuscular junction: antimuscarinic agents, and antinicotinic agents (ganglionic blockers, neuromuscular blockers...

she says she's anxious... i'm nervous too!
i'm getting cramps in my stomach...
i'm giving birth to love...
i want access to her son... i want to learn Deutsche
with him... is that too much to ask?
i don't have the sort of money
to access younger, fertile, girls...
i'm left with single mothers... MUFFAS...
oh... she's rounded... like the earth ought to be...

i'm still shy on one reply...

Apologies for the lateness of this message, came home and "had to", i.e. wanted to make some Silesian gnocchi with beef in a dill and a horseradish sauce... cooking for three, it takes time, then I fought up on some footie... was soaked at West Ham, but it was a good shift.... so what happened to you? Weren't you supposed to come? I found out late that the tube was working, managed to use it on the way back... so what happened? What were you anxious about? The bad weather the day before? I took a walk for a newspaper when the storms hit... it was almost fun-windy... at one point I stood rooted in one place for about 3sec being unable to move... the winds almost roared, i even stopped listening to music on my headphones as I listened to the wind whizz by and ruffle the trees... sort of like ASMR but with a loud speaker... I imagined the wind ruffling the trees like someone brushing their hair on an ASMR video... you feeling better though, yes? You doing Fulham this week?

but we're talking about a psychotic girl...
one layer of narrative against another...
she might as well conjure up
a missing 13 year old cousin
to just test you...
thar's how it works...
this reality, this ugly "thing"...
and the deviances of how much
i want to sleep with her...
there... i said it... beautiful view.
see me here
don't read me here
touch me here
get
away
from me


she wet my whistle
with
her
lips
her kisses
were french
her tongue
wrenched
we ride
collide
she
lets me
inside

here we dine
learn
me
to
dance
past my
blockers advance
?

























...
..
.
hides
...
..
.
jeremy wyatt Feb 2011
Shelter me
            from all that I am                
what I try to be
I tried to shelter you
wash the blood and muck
from your hurt thighs
read you a kid's book
while you tried to sleep
in the bath too afraid
***** soiled wee scrap
we couldn't get you clean
cut your head where they
***** you over the wall
your blonde hair
stuck to the tiles
you made me cut it off
so I shaved my head
to be ugly with you
shared an overdose
tricked you
your half was
just beta-blockers
you tried to comfort me
share our pain
slept in bed with me
like you were
a proper mum
with your hurt
arms around me
till you crawled
out to find
the boyfriend
with his drugs
I could never shelter you
from what you were
life and light
grey-faded
shrink in with me
let us share this grave
of soiled hope and
anguished dreams
my wee rough pal
the first one
in the world to say
that you loved me
you wrote it
on my arm for hospital
they thought you were
my daughter I
wished you were
prayed for angels
to shelter you
like you tried
to shelter me
that night
we failed each other
DieingEmbers Oct 2012
He gave me folic acid
I thought I'm not pregnant
and laughed
I needed to laugh to find humour
in the situation
grave as it was
cancer medicines and chest X-rays
all routine for
Rheumatoid Arthritis free floating
in the blood
HE SAID
joints tender before
aching now
meds that may make your hair fall out
again I laugh
I'm already going bald.
tonight the cycle begins immune system down
as these react with beta blockers
leaving me wide open to decease and infection
I need a laugh
right now
I can't see the funny side
manicsurvival Aug 2013
I worry that the only reason I have to write is because no one will listen to me
I can't leak my thoughts to my psychologist or psychiatrist or parent because I know that my words aren't safe and that legality triumphs anything I say
I know that I'm like lava at its boiling point, about to erupt
I know that I'm self destructive and that things are only getting worse
I have so much to say, maybe if I told the entirety of the truth, I could be helped
But I fear the corrupt system too much
And I don't want to say anything to my parents because they have watched my prolonged mental distress and they have seen my breakdowns and hysterical fits and they've heard my screams
I've been medicated
SSRIs and Xanax and Ativan and Prozac and Klonopin and Lexapro
I've spent hours in a therapist's office, only to censor my life and hear a psychology major regurgitate everything I already know
I can't stand it anymore
I want to be high on **** forever and laugh at nothingness
I want to be drunk to the point where I forget that life is even a thing
I want to kiss his lips and touch him every moment of the day because I'd feel loved even if I wasn't
I hate what has happened
I hate what is happening
I hate that I've changed
I hate how hard I try because the payoff never seems to pay off
And that I try to keep changing but everything isn't enough and everything won't ever cut it
I don't know what to do
I need endorphins and serotonin and beta-blockers and benzos
I need to know that this isn't a never ending cycle
I need to know that what I'm feeling is temporary and that this isn't what my life will be like
I need to tell my therapist and my doctor and my psychiatrist that I don't know what to do anymore and that the thoughts that control me are no longer bearable because I know that I want to live
I know however, that if I say the wrong thing, my words will be reported to DCFS and I could be baker acted and I don't want that to happen
So all I have in the end are my thoughts, killing me inside every moment of everyday
Tearing me apart like my lungs can no longer expand
Like my heart can no longer pump
Because my mind controls everything, and everything is in flames
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
a conversatioon with cats is "biased" upon the focus on gesticulation, or rather: a hyper-cipher of expressing a body to encompass language, without a focus on the existence of thought: that can be allowed rain.

a gender neutrality of pronouns?!
pronouns have been "gender neutral"
last time i checked...
   in attempting to give directions:
    it is a pronoun with negative
subjective "insinuations"...
          
that* also being
                               a pronoun...

   the mob rule argument:

       i'd like to "know" what
a "world" view looks like...
          given the specifics...

and some have children, and some have
mediocre language use...
        but who's to lay the brick on brick
and say: that's a castle, not
a mountain...

    i could have loved a woman
once...
          had she not thought i lied to her
and slapped me in the face...
  apparently visiting your
grandparents is taboo...
                     must be a russian thing...
and if she told you:
well i moved from st. petersburg
on the ground that he provided for me,
but i wouldn't move to the outskirts of
london that he slept on floor
while i slept in his bed as he held my
hand to imitate a lullabye

   then i too am riddled with having
to perform the lunacy of prayer,
     invent a god i might require
to invest in rekindling will...
     but still, the narcissus before the still
waters of a lake, imagining mirror,
when peering into a shadow...
  
                  schattenkind...

     an artist is fed by curiosity...
        the many may remember the many
that leave no foot...
            to be trodden on via repeat...
                 ******* Seneca deserved his
fate...
            complaining about the Tao monks
is one thing,
                  but living by stipend
of their maxim is another...

       dancing on hot coals is one thing,
petting a lion another...
       why Aesop conjured the
lion & fox chimera and not the
fox & wolf: now akin to me...

                 pronouns are generally
discriminating, anti-narrative shrapnel
of words...
                but for deity's sake:
why does the devil require a precursor
of a definite article,
   and it can "never" be cited:
                        a god?

                          i once studied the monarch,
the bishop and an orchestra conductor,
you know what i found?
    what, with a static audience?
        even with an opera singer on the fore,
the balancing edge of falling into
a sea of people?
               this clown with a prestigious
monicker?

                     as some might pet a cat like
another might play a guitar.

       can you imagine an orchestra
without a conductor,
   with a frozen audience to "provide"
a rhythm?
            i'm just starting to realise
the need for an orchestra conductor...
      imitation of rhythm...
           i've started reading
   the need for a conductor
   of an orchestra....
                               orientating
yourself using an inanimate object
to make a performance...
          requires a motivational
"tool"...
                    something wiggling
and spaghetti throwing
                      in foci:
     i.e. there's an alleviating point
     to mediate orchestra and audience...
considering the in stasis presence
             of an audience...
              
           sabina zweicker singing
        drachengeboren...

   because who would think an orchestra
conductor a homelessman?

        if he be not a motivational tool?
it would appear that there was
to be a mediator, akin to a football
judge & linear,
        to encompass an team worth
an orchestra, and an audience...
                
     oiled up ****** *****...
                                 and a sinking Venice...  
      my mediocre beginning
culminating in no works of Goya...
        a tuba player and an Etonian choir
of cherubs masked as castratos
        of some obscure Egyptian harem...
labouring a geometry of
people who's shadows do not
              morph into stones of graves...

     however many plagiarisms
of frank zimmerman...
         ah, right... hans... zimmer...
scooters on four-wheel chimps-
worth a Ferarri calling it a
Mediterranean diet's worth of canvas
blockers...
                  
        because language suddenly
had the ontological basis to bias
            play-dough in favour for
a rigid architecture of a chair?

       i won't fly with angel wings,
      but i'll certianly become flustered
with pigeon beaconc worthy of flight...
    
   and they really did overplay
    tchaikovsky in st. petersburg
when celebrating the use of a fountain...
i said to her: they're turning in their graves...
even if dead, i said to her:
  the dead find it hard to fall asleep...

they really did overplay
   tchaikovsky in st. petersburg
while crafting a water fountain
             spectre...
   with the regrettable consequences of
having under-played prokofiev...

as i find the conductor a "primitive" form
of  Cratylus:
        to have spoken deaf...
                             among the hearing;
but there's the need to mediate
    a moving body against
a canvas that does not,
                  in a forum...
                        a place of congregation,
at leat a thinker can be allowed
to be entertained
             by such a, un-fathom-ability.
Jammit Janet Jul 2021
#62
Sway like the wind
Contract your core
Feel it harden
Let out your roar

As you release with intention
Lay her out flat
Juke
With determination
Make the blockers curse
Cause they lost track

Nickel and dime
My currency
As I make
My way back around
Securing our victory
As the venue fills with joyous sound
A poem about jamming in roller derby! ♡
what if my certitudes were lies
what if my soul was not alive
what if my questions were the goal
and worthiest answers were not told

what if this thing was not a poem
that no verse were riming
that they were from different realm
where it exists no timing

when I look back to my old questions
I see misunderstanding and poison
not from the questions, they're guiltless
but from the answers that aren't timeless
some fear have grown to trash
others were created from scratch
but never a time a single question
were to lead to misconception
only the temporary answers
with time has become mind blockers

I think i'm too serious
"what if" is made for genius
for people smart enough to act blindly
fearless enough to work hard and kindly
but since I don't know who I am
what if I choose to be one of them?
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
.the joke reign being: ****** doing the jazz hands worth of clapping... like smith 'n' butch doing a: manicure with jellyfish attempting to usurp paralysis... like a ****** faking jazz hands... mind you: canned laughter always left an eerie impression on me... and i didn't even have to laugh... but a ****** over-exemplifying "her" hands? well... they're not exactly petite, geisha curiosities, worth the fragility of spring to be made comparison of!

when a ****** over-exfoliates
the use of her hands....

i once mentioned:
the most ****** aspect
of a woman
are her hands...

so when a ****** over-exfoliated
"her" use of the hands...

never a "missing" ****
in war,
whether man, woman,
or... animal....

size...
               the hands:
do not lie...
whatever lie there ever
was to be ingested...
like: words were food...
to distinguish them:

a vowel is pure fat,
and a consonant was:
slow burn sugar,
i.e. a carbohydrate...

but i can be made acute,
aware,
how a ****** is
the antithesis
of both heterosexual
& homosexual love...

it is neither...
it's an added curiosity...
a niqab-take
on ***...

              i sometimes
wonder...
jerking off...
am i looking
at the cleft of
a buttocks of a woman,
or the cleck of a woman's
*******...
they... seem so well
pair... and undifferentiable...
i can't seem to tell
the difference!

back in the day
when marylin mason
was
all gag and hardly
any gay...

but you can tell
a ****** from a woman...
however many hormone
blockers...
bones do not lie...
hands...
the size of hands...
    like some joke goes:

and if i removed one
tier of my ribs from my body,
i too, wouldn't
have to leave the house
for a *******...

  my same misery
story... concerning the selling
& buying of vinyl...

hands though...
i'm trying to bind myself
to either braille or
sign...
     in deciphering
the trans-******...
like it's a ****** scenario
to not read this as:
just shy of Ypres.
It's not enough to complain
It's not enough to feel shame
It's not enough to give up after
U fail. It's not enough to go blame

The neighborhood u grew in
Or the ppl u were around
No excuse is enough to justify
So u can just deny knowing how

so if you need to work
3 jobs, while u scratch and claw
your way to whatever dream thay lay
awaiting you to sink teeth and lock ur jaw

break your enemy and the law
create a strength with ur flaw
like having deadly aids and using it
to **** ur enemy by sleeping with his wife or dog

whatever it takes do the job
be stubborn and never listen
to the dreamkilling dream-***** blockers
who want u to fail so u can be kissin

the same *** they kiss, dont miss ur chance
dont over think
take what u want like bill cosby does after
making a woman a drink

cuz To succeed and exceed what u perceive
in your dreams, and become
a man than if u have to bleed for what u believe
then by all means cuz success ends

when your sacrifices do, so dont give up and
Cry while u surrender if not, pains expected
be hardheaded and stubborn cause its a positive,
thing in this case but differently name as relentless

So address this where your address is
and if u find no way theres a huge world
out there, so keep learning and maybe one day

Ill see u on the other side
Where no one ******* or complains
Where no one is slowed by
Failure or fear cuz they're all driven by pain

Where u don't even need a brain
Just passion and will
Cause if your still ****** breathing
Than be believing u have a chance still

And I write this not only to ****
The doubt that poisons ur mind
But while stressin im confessin
Ill admit this is also to **** mine

Cuz we all get weak at times
Where we actually consider
birthing a child of regret while bitter
And become its new mom, no babysitter

Conceived with life who will *** u
Without any protection
And even those who oppose abortion
Would see this as the exception

Just make sure u never let them
C- section out your heart
Keep fighting back, cuz kept Faith when life falls apart
is nothing short of an art

It can be beautiful but dark
It can abstract and expensive
And remember stubborn and hard headed when positive
is called relentless
Henri Words Feb 2016
cheese, cheers, chips
tuna pizza, deep base
long enough in the oven
remember onion on top
in the end
bring along ta tabas scope
I mean the little bottle
chilly no, spicy stuff from the states
give me the original not only
the label and bottle
don't try to fool me you know
I had it at home everyday
I lied, even worse I said
I used to work for that little company

chic, shake, mask, shock
goat head, live, pointing at you
guest of honor
holy water in the day
alcohol at night
a hundred times a day same prayer
bow and head up again and again
spiritual outside, physical inside

a hotel room
sitting on the fifth star
lift quietly down
to the lobby bar
shaking handle of
the same beer jar
cigarettes sharing with
other guys no matter who they are
wine at dinner, red and dry
anything below 13.5 degree
better switch to cha

tea, tears
mixed with funny jokes
marlboro
words prepared for tomb stone
manufactured in Swiss not
the Philippines
same same but different

winter time again
in Hannover it was
dome, domo, taxi
same people same suit
same place same ****
they call it busy ness
oh my God

(Additional piece)

Who Else Isn't Fooling Around

summer day, the hottest
bulk trials caused flights delay
sweating like hell but
won the trust with
the last trick as always
forget about chemistry
water, acid and salts
nothing matters for those
cheap, once off products
living in details are devils
hang themselves the last day
to pay all debts

acid dyes
accident dies
exclusive group of those type
stained absolutely
blocked the lights as blockers
light up fire to smoke
lighter went back to the pocket
never opened but explore this time
burnt, burnt out
all of the sins leaking
on the floor
johnny walked away silently

distance, disconnection
disappearing appearance
sky, skype, type, wipe
weep, beep, bitter, laden
a missed call, meant safe

fear, fight, fare, farewell
dear, dare, tare, tolerance
word, world, weird, wide web
man, memo, memory
mop, mob, map
fine, fancy, fantasy, finali
me, miss, miserable, mistery, mix
you, united, uniform
we, wall, warn, wallet
wow, worry, worrier

pain, penny, perfume, perform
perhaps, panda, pancake
panadol, panasonic, peninsula
fan fence fossil
fool full fuel funeral

2016.1.3
Boys don't cry...
I feel so small and like I will never be who I want to be.
I feel like this body isn't mine but I am stuck in this body and it keeps crushing the little hope I have left.
It is like an iron grip in my chest choking out words I don't mean to say.
Boys don't cry...
I feel like an insignificant part compared to everyone else.
To the one's that get their Top surgery, get the Estrogen blockers, and get the Testosterone.
I feel like nothing will become of my transition to male.
I feel as if no one will care and I will be left alone.
I lay here crying as I write this. I am still in the body of the girl I was born in and I hate it.
CJ Sutherland May 2023
Just as
God has
The Father
The Son, and
The Holy Spirit
The man of prediction
Will have the dark Trinity;
Baal.     Ishtar,     Moleck
The god of
Baal
The deceiver
Removing God
from the church
the government.
Removing prayer
from the schools.
Removing Jesus
from the
market place.
God does.                      not stay
where he                                  is not wanted!
Absence of God, chaos begins
Indoctrinating the children of sin
A pagan world begins to rule the Earth
Ideology wars changes
the nature of education
****** indoctrination
no age is too young
Woke America is born
Children bought, sold
Aphrodites are born
Ritual killings.                   pleasing gods

The
goddess
Ishtar
Wife of
Baal
cultures
through centuries
Known by many names
Enchantress, Aphrodite,
Venus.              Diana
characteristics;  wild
fanatic ******
deviances
Her perversions
have no bounds.
****** appetite Devours
Her imagination runs wild
In a dystopian society
Aphrodite is a goddess
that can change from
man to a woman
And from a
woman to man
*** is fluid
Death of the
Traditional family
Beta blockers
given to children
As young as seven
Society can
No longer determine
what is a woman.
Reduced to a
baby receptacle
by definition.
Men now can
give birth.
******.                  perversions
openly.                  show
the agenda,
a man in a dress
with a wig and a
beard and a mustache.
with male genital
can shower
and dress in
the locker room
with young girls
Appropriate Pronouns, please
when                            feelings
instead.                        of Facts
rule the day.

Moleck
The destroyer
Killer of babies and
humans for sacrifice
New York, California
created a bill of
infanticide.
A baby can be
killed up to
28 days
after birth.
Corners
are not.                 allowed
to question
the death of a baby
63 million abortions
were sacrifice
given to
the god.                of Moleck
Cecelia Francis Dec 2014
Aware of
the hot
and cold
sides of
my heart

Remain
in one
place,

homeostate
—erode them
away— into
cardiomy-
apathy

Manage with
a balance of
beta-blockers
and ace-inhibitors

Prognosis:
still to slip
into syncopal
states, tacky
cardiac
elevated rates
Taking
alpha blockers
and beta blockers
enable us old rockers
to carry on.

I'm already on caffeine.

anyhow
I spent last night in
so I could come out fighting
because
I knew it would be Wednesday
today.
Asteroid O’Belt Sydney Junction (Beer in Bar-Alley)
With the right words, you can make music on any planet of spatial arrangement. Dark matter keeps the balance of eccentric space, where a blue-suited handsome man, shines; however blackholes lurk to turn Spike Spiegel into a dream where he lives. Is it a dream or has he ever felt more alive than being back in the action with the moral courage that threatens his very existence Don’t forget he has a gun strictly for assurance. With warships, there lurks a year in 4050. 2000 years in progress, we may have evolved in terms of interactions. Fast forward, there are different people in whole new worlds. Like epiphanies, these characters take their place in the chatter of a celestial crowded cinema in downtown Shinichiro street.
The doctors chatter with dark undertones and hushed intentions:
“Well, it’s not like the phones are cheaper. Ever since we got their first. The phones have come sooner than virtual intelligence take place in this ghost.”
“The ghost seems to work actively.”
“Seems to be shutting down in fact.”
Shadows cast on the processes of entropy there many optimistic pursuits for the present.
But, in this modern civilization, what do we have the battles and gambles among the bounty hunters interested in staying in the loop of where the money flows. But, the real artists are the creators in this desert of opportunity.

“Woah, Spike.” – Spike hynogogically resuscitates from his cybernetic sphere
“Wake Up.”- Jet
Presentation matters but, the old technology rumbles in the cosmos among the old cosmopolitans you’ve had in your fruitful day at a casino of blackjack and bounty hunting. Somehow, Faye Valentine comes with a bang and a bad gun in the back. Holstered but focused on the game.
“Fold the chips, for you?”- bent slightly over the steep end of gambling. Mrs Valentine can’t seem to get out her mind her job as dealer for Table 2 in a hexagonal room of full-scale gambling operations.
Clearly, absorbed in the rattling crowds of these snakes in the rabble. Or maybe there are actually snakes. ***** it.
“Raise.”- Dewey Striker
“See that’s a million.”- Faye Valentine
“Let’s hand it to the strong gentleman for his courage, but, exciting game of Woolong and Woes or simply Poker”- Table 1
“Nowhere as good as these drinks are in Jupiter. If I win, I’ll write it all down in my journal.”- Table 2
“Probably, better to put myself out there at the right time. You raise too.”
“Earth’s building itself. Well, people are the same.” – Table 1
“Oh imagine, if we had more planets to destroy.” – Dewey Striker
“With that, money? Yeah, baby. Write down a cheque next time.” – Faye on Table 2
“To **** the one among us, who has whereabouts about a notebook that had all the people who have been linked to the death of Spike Spiegel killed would take us years.” - Faye
“What!” – Table 2, someone wins
“Nice try, but, that book’s all the history remaining of someone I knew.” – Faye Valentine says daringly.
“The notebook stays with me, until you have enough to buy off the notebook. I’ll start with 100,000 woolongs. How about that, missey? You know the notebook of all the accomplices that ever worked with a Doohan.”
“Do right honey, you’re lucky you’re in the right room. I need the information and I’m a rich gal.” - Faye
Spike and Jet in Discussion:
“Apparently, Vicious had barely managed to finish him off.”
“Do the others know?”
“Faye remembered, but, let it go.”
Recluse in Exclusive Reminiscences (Part I)
Jet & Spike completely lost in the intricateness of the bounty-hunting. Might be a terrible idea to eat bell peppers and beef. But, if you’ve got an aching stomach from ton of drinking and stairwell trips, you’re gonna have a hangover. If the Prairie Oysters were still not his thing, only thing that changed is that the more he drank, the less he liked the planet. For his favorite there had to be a special occasion like a bottle of the finest whiskey that the joint would serve from the golden days of heart-warming company in the heart of this Japanese place.
“Oh but there was one time. When I ate…”
“That was long back 4001,
Commandeer and imagine my surprise when the ole Siren, Jet. That’s his name; there was a need to rename Spike Spiegel to the old school be-bop that pretty much enriched the video star. There was a bomb, I don’t know what happened; there are piles of rubble and pretty much every bounty hunter missed it.
“Says, he wants to destroy a planet. Somehow, there’s some secret stone interwoven with the need of the hydrogen-powered machinery to change the deuterium in the accelerator.”
“Well, we could use the quantized possibilities and run an algorithm with the specific plasma type.”
“But, that would mean we would have to bypass the gravity field blockers.”
Simply put, there was some riff-raff about the bags in the first place. Kept them off the scheme of people who were idiomatic in their habits, and that seemed to do the trick.
“Well, the Francium is resonant with the cell rejuvenation heuristics.”
"So, go to Pluto. Where do I find the little kid? After since I got to you. The dog."
"Spike, Faye's not welcome. Leave her out of this business."
"We made it clear, but, no parting ways unless we find the guy who erased her memories."
"Yeah, maybe you could contact her. But, let's keep it straight."
"Fade into the television; before the victory is yours. Television is on an old couple of people who have coffee and beans; saying them both remind me of all the people I owed at the hot-dog store we just passed by."
"Might be a good idea, right?"
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
"What about Faye and the little kid."
"One of the most annoying kids. He'll find us if we surface on this awful map of nowhere."
"Well, we are on Jupiter. Everywhere is nowhere here."
"You've been here a while."
"The days get longer, each time."
"Yeah, what about the weather? Always turbulence in the skies. ****, it’s cold."
“We’re on the moons, Spike. We have air-heaters in our lousy, ******* spaceship.”
Jet, do you ever maybe wonder giving us a visit, here on Pluto. It was the farthest planet I could think of. Changing my life was great. I won't meet, and I'll remember you as a person, a stranger now in my own paralyzed heart beat. I can't feel my jobs get any more exciting. Vicious happened long back. God knows. Now, we steal back from society."
"God only knows." - Jet, baffled by no name of the planet
No name was given; however, that made Spike rather elated with the heightened discussions happening on Mars. There the assumption they made about their friend had concluded on Pluto. Here on Jupiter, you are always working with the better people to make a living. Too many moons, and further than the Asteroid Belt still lies the interstellar galaxy all beyond our amazing stipends. All of them, owe it to themselves, bounties are perfect to fill your midnight blues. And nothing to snack gives you the existential jeepers. Better smoke before evening kung fu time before you flow like water into the background of the Bounty-Hunting business. Once you're dead, you can't come back alive, but, freedom is a specious young kid floating in space and hacking your whereabouts. He’s about 19 years old.
“Your friends would be proud of you.” – Edward seems to have beat a chess grandmaster. The same old adversary from the blues of the old loss. Edward, you’re smart. Figure out, where’s Spike.
“Spike, where are you?” – Dewey Striker
“Can I help you?”- Faye Valentine
I suppose we must have misread the situation, but, the cross and frowning kid is not your f
Holding up a picture of Spike at the beahc.
“I wonder I should go back.” – Faye hurrying to her Casino table
Pack your bags and umph
You’re leaning into yourself, and the legs feel fine and the peak of my appeal seems to be, my whole package. But, even a gun couldn’t save him from someone she thought she lost forever. Spike was the only person in the galaxy who she knew was dead for sure. You can never tell in such a large galaxy, but, there are better views of sunsets in Venus. Did I want to die? When I knew he died in the fire of bullets and completely riddled by a long series of hovering flashbacks.
Story Part II (Continued Clueless And Moving)
The windows must open to a better life. Spike’s hungry.
“Well, your smokes are in the bag you carried. Didn’t bother stealing a single one of those Macintoshes you got from that place on Earth.”
“Jesus, man what part not touching other people’s stuff, don’t you get?”
“The part where it concerns us paying for the food stamps.”
Spike quizzically asks “Do they still do that?”
“Jet, don’t tell me we’re living off the previous million we had in woolongs. Not some ****’s mushrooms this time.”
“By the way, forgot to tell you. The recorder is on, I decided to get one of those VHS tapes.”
“Yeah, about that?”
“Hmm.” –Jet
“Faye got kind of emotional on the “day.”” – Spike
Government data shows that you two are bounty hunters. Those passing wormhole customs need to pay a price. See the sign.”Await your turn. Or pay up your woolongs.”
Jet yells at Spike, and seemingly hastened,” Seems like we have to pay up.You guys charge a grand for this?”
“You mean we didn’t come for more questioning?”- Spike
“Well, Spike we have to stick to what the customs say. And sure every single woolong counts as a bit of developed product. How about Mr. Agent? Do we get a free pass for a good ole’ blues gig?”
“Mr. Spiegel, please explain to your friend over here. You cannot go without the code for the customs department.”
“Spike, Faye gave us some sort of code in the back of the letters.”
“Seriously?”
“How did she know I was alive at the time?”
“Well, I told her you wouldn’t have survived the bullets. But, you could escape from the bloodiest gunfights in the history of this team.”
“Mr. Spiegel, I wonder if you would be caring to ask the services of our executives at your cryogenic storage?”
“How do they know, Jet?”- Spike
Turns out, the cryogenic patients are monitored. This is a sacred bond of servility to a life beyond the mortality of humanity and immorality of society. IN the end the immortality and the authenticity of your identity lives on. They called it the “Ghost.”
“Do they know about G.H.O.S.T?”
“Mr. Spiegel, we are getting late. Can we please finish this easily without involving organizations of vast power and affluence.”
“Growth of Hyper Oscillating Specimen Testing”
“Wait, what?”
“I mean we have to get out of here fast and we do not have time before Vicious comes and kills us.”
How We Escaped?
Basically, we turned to our best instincts as to whether a secret lurked behind the planet’s corrupt system. Jupiter had become a place of leisure, but, the alcohol was getting to our minds.
“Yeah, we checked names.”
“We checked faces, and no sign of those doctors.”
“The dream doctors seem like real nightmares.” – Jet
“Good one, Jet. But, having the nerve to ask the customs agent about Vicious really put him off.” - Spike
“Oh, man. That scared him.” - Jet
A cold beer was opened, and what happened afterwards is unreal; and as we approach our planet Pluto. We follow the invite, and the code is some sort of invite. If it was going down, me and Spike were gonna be there for sure.
This is my book. It is about how Spika and Jet encounter some doctors involved in the past. And Faye tries to reach out, but, they can't get past customs to catch her before it is too late.
Big Virge Nov 2019
I'm Building Blocks ...  
While Those On Top ...  
Prefer To .... " BLOCK " ....  

That's ILLOGICAL ...
Ask ... " Mister Spock " ... ?!?!?  
  
Human Nature Goes With DANGER ... !!!  
As It Now Does With Greed For Paper ... !?!  
  
Paper Used By Corporate Crews ...  
You Can't Eat Cash Try Eating FOOD .... !!!  
  
Those Are Words For GREEDY Fools ... !!!  
  
Those Who Choose ...  
To Now MISUSE ...  
This Thing Called Cash ...  
  
Then Wonder WHY ... ???  
Stock Markets CRASH ... !?!  
  
That's NOT ME Believe I'm Cool ...  
  
But Greed Gives Clues ...  
As Do These Shady Money Crews ... !!!!!!  
  
There Are Some Moves ...  
We Should Not Use ... !!!  
  
Like BLOCKING Views ...  
Or BLOCKING Those Who Raise Issues ...  
  
Because One Day ...  
You May Block Things That Benefit YOU ... !!!  
  
So What's A Guy Supposed To Do ...  
When People Try To BLOCK The Truth ... !?!  
  
Especially From Our Wayward Youth ... ???  
  
It Seems So Strange To Play These Games ...  
  
Those Who BLOCK ...  
Are Bound To ROT ...  !!!!!  
  
And May End Up ...  
Somewhere REAL HOT ... !!!!!  
  
Devilish Moves Are Just NOT Shrewd ... !!!!!  
  
Why Be Like THAT ... ?!?  
These CLOSED DOOR Clans ...  
Are NOT SO Nice ...  
And Want To KEEP ...  
The BIGGEST Slice ... !!!!!  
  
They'll Pay The Price ...  
For ... Blocking Plans ...  
That They Devise ...  
Cos' Moves They Make ...  
Are ... Just NOT Wise ... !!!  
  
Just Look At Jobs ...  
  
Fools Who Block Tend To Get Knocked ...  
And Move Themselves Into ... "TIGHT Spots" ... !!!!!  
  
How Many Times Do People Find ... ?  
That People Who Have Had Paths BLOCKED ...  
Work Their Way Right To The TOP ... !!!!!!  
  
While Those Who Try To Make Them Flop ...  
Are BITTER Til' The Day They're BOXED ... !!!!!  
  
Why Do They Try To HOG Top Spot ... ?  
  
Egos Leave Them On The Rocks ... !!!!!  
And YES You've Guessed They Eventually FLOP ... !!!!!!  
  
And Doors They've BLOCKED ...  
Become ... UNLOCKED .................................................................­  
  
Check Out Bruce Lee In The ... " Big Boss " ...  
  
The STRONG Will Face A Fool Who Blocks ... !!!!!  
And This Results In Loss of Blood And Similar Stuff ... !!!!!  
  
DON'T ... Huff and Puff ...  
And Make ... DUD Plots ... !!!  
  
Those Who Block Get Double Crossed ... !!!!!  
Some Oh Yes ... Will Call Your Bluff  
And Make You Scream ...  
  
... " I've had enough ! " ...  
  
And Then Break Up ...  
Your ... "Private Club" ... !!!  
  
I'd Rather Shake Hands ...  
And Enter Into ... " Conversations " ....  
To ... BUILD On Blocks And STRENGTHEN Plots ... !!!!!  
  
Those Who Block Should ... Take A Sec ...  
STOP And CHECK How Corporations Cash BIG Cheques ... !!!  
  
They MERGE To Get Those Big RETURNS ... !!!  
And Build STRONG Herds So They DON'T BURN ... !!!  
  
Those Are Words From Which TO LEARN ...  
  
To Now Exist ...  
We NEED To Study ...  
  
.... " Capitalists " .... !!!  
  
And Then RESIST Dumb Ego Trips ... !!!  
Words Like This Leave Folks Equipped ...  
To Do What's Right And YES ... UNITE ... !!!!!!  
  
Black And White And Asian Types ...  
Need To BLOCK Our STUPID Fights ... !!!  
  
UNITY HELPS ... Humanity ... !!!!!  
  
While This Word GREED Leaves Some To BLEED ... !!!  
And That's Something ... People DON'T NEED ... !!!!!!  
  
See ...  
EVEN Those In Poetry ...  
Seem ... KEEN To BLOCK ...  
A Man Like  Me ... ?!?  
  
I Guess That's Cos' My Poetry Is So DEADLY ...  
And Because Of Course I'm So SCARY ... !!!  
  
I Figure That's What Racists See ... ???  
Why Harbour Such Hypocrisy ....  
  
We're Here To Share Our Views FREELY ........................................  
  
But Some It Seems Are Blocking FIENDS ... !?!  
Who ... DON'T Believe In Building Teams ...  
  
They Believe In CONTROLLED Speech ...  
And CLEARLY Are The ... " Bourgeoisie " ... !!!  
  
They Normally Preach ...  
And Sadly Now Too Many Teach ... !!!!!  
  
No Wonder Kids ...  
Prefer The Streets ...  
  
The Youth Now NEED REALITY ...  
Cos Many Face BRUTALITY .... !!!!!!  
  
That's Something ...  
We NEED TO BLOCK ... !!!!!  
  
Cos' Time Ticks On .........................  
  
Sep... ar ... ation  
  
NEEDS To ... " STOP " ... !!!!!  
And Then Death Tolls ...  
Might FINALLY ... drop ...  
  
I'd Rather Connect Than DISRESPECT ... !!!!!!!!!  
  
BLOCKERS NEED TO OPEN UP ...  
And Reject ... " LESS " ... !!!!!!  
  
And Let Their Egos ...  
... Take A Rest ... !!!  
  
I Guess My Words May Make Them Vex ... !?!  
Because My Views Are SO Direct ... !!!!!  
And DON'T Protect Their ... "SECRET Sect" ... !!!  
  
But When I See The Way They Be ...  
It Makes Me Write THIS Poetry ... !!!!  
  
I'll Say It AGAIN ... !!!!!!  
  
BUILDING Teams And  UNITY ...  
Will Help To Make That CASH MONEY ... !!!  
  
And Help To Feed ...  
The Young Who NEED ...  
To See Grown People Who AGREE ... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
So They Can LEARN To STOP The ROT ... !!!!!  
  
And BUILD For EACH OTHER ...  
............ NOT Plot To ............  
  
.... " BLOCK " ....
SpecialK Jan 2018
Focusing on my goals and growth
2018 I made some oaths

To develop my self and push the lines
Leave the fear and blockers behind

To build my relations with my father
To try can achieve the happy ever after

To push my career take the next step
Too push myself to new depths

To take a plunge and make the leap
For I am strong I am not weak

Conquer my demons focusing head on
I’ll be a winner and and will say I have won

Here is to me and myself
Here is to success and emotional wealth
Steven Burns Aug 2017
I sit on my couch and I stare,

Waiting for it,

Waiting for something that will never come.

The day that one hurt that builds and builds and builds inside

Abruptly crushes itself.

I just stare into my white ceiling.

It blocks my view of the future.

I have but a piece of myself,

But I need another piece;

Another half, another filler, another blocker, another lover,

And that’s my problem.

I go to sleep every night,

Seeing those I have forced myself to love,

Those I used as halves and fillers as blockers as lovers,

And failed.

It’s not hard to conceal.

Nothing is hard.

Everything is easy.

Easy is weak.

Easy is loving when they don’t love you, easy is compassion.

Which is why that won’t change about me.

I am compassionate and that is a weakness.

I will keep chasing and chasing after people so that I can get by,

So I can be my other half, my filler, my blocker, my lover.

I’ll find that person, but until then,

I’ll be waiting.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2021
p.s. as a pre-scriptum: oh, now i know why i think this is mediocre, i haven't drunk enough to relax my "narrative"... something's here of some worth, the rest... well... it's still a tier above tabloid "journalism", if you don't me thinking.

i'm still figuring out this body, this rent...
after all: aren't we renting in this life -
although i tend to make my monetary
dynamics purely on the basis of debit
(i don't remember the last time i used
a credit card, i don't own one,
i used to, but it was such a hassle to use...
having to remember what you spent
"invisible" money on & getting a summary
at the end of the month rather than:
remembering how much money is on
my bank account... coughing up a large chunk
of it: like some sickly hindsight...
never, again)...
horrid several days in December...
the "season to be jolly": like hell it is...
over-advertised, over-sold...
                             it's not like i belong
to a large family that gets together
and spews their little "micro-aggressions"
and covert-ridicule over a meal...
being weary of ******-attractions...   huh?
yeah... but it's the culmination
of the year... the end of it...
  i'm already gearing for a restart...
December fatigue is impossibly...
the damp doesn't help...
         sitting around eating food pointlessly...
i'll eat the necessary food...
like today i enjoyed a ******
white borsch... it's a sour soup, clear...
consisting of ****** bacon...
(look up Tenacious D's kiełbasa)
hard boiled eggs...
stock made from root parsley,
     carrot, leak, plenty of garlic...
             & the stock itself: for the borsch...
mainly rye flour fermentation
juice... you also add a decent spoonful
of horse-radish to the soup...
eat it with a side of artisan sourdough
bread...
white sour borsch... oh hell...
Ukrainian borsch can hide...
the ****** red borsch (made from beetroots)
served with uszka (ucho, ear...
uszka, the diminutive of ears...
for some reason, the ****** tongue uses
a lot of diminutive terms...
to endear them... even names
of people are churned via the diminutive
machine...
Mateusz becomes Mateuszek...
Ewa becomes Ewunia)...
bay leaves + allspice pellets (also)...
plenty of sour notes...
point being, i think the **** "Aryans"
got the story wrong...
historically... the area of land that was
& is still Poland was visited by
a nomad group of Iranians...
the Sarmatians... last time i heard...
Iranians are referred to as Aryans...
& their cuisine... has plenty of
sour notes...
perhaps the sauerkraut migrated
from the region where i was born
over the Oder to...
Frankfurt-upon-Oder & subsequently
further... why the American soldiers
ref. the Germans as KRAUTS...
it's a funny side-note...
the supposed "Aryans" were fighting...
Aryans... i guess falsehood lost...

beside that... sitting around the house
doing **** all... it will get to you...
i even managed to cross that threshold
i told myself i would never cross...
coming in at more than 100kg is not
acceptable anymore...
99.5kg i can stand... but i've also managed
to go down to 96kg... but that was
during the summer, when you eat less...
or rather: you are active more...
i had to do something about it today...
i'm done with these gluttonous festivities...
did a ******* exercise quickie on
the bicycle while riding to the supermarket
to stock up for new year's day...
no more eating in the night...

       & that's how i came across the fact
that... oddly enough... exercising can provide
you with more energy...
why? because you spent some of it...
simply ingesting calories & not utilising them
fatigues you... exercising counters fatigue...
you might feel tired...
but... all the mental fatigue is gone...
you become motivated: even motivated to write
something as banal as this...
then again: i haven't been this "lazy"
celebrating: **** knows what since...
well... last year...

             by definition: during exercise you
are no longer a res cogitans...
more a res vanus: since slithers of thought
enter your mind like flashbacks
or rather like postcards...
but they're not really thought by
standards of narrative... letters become surds
like the G in the word: gnostic or, gnome...
so: apostrophes: 'nostic, 'nome...
that sort of thing...
    sometimes when cycling i meditate
on Braille, sometimes the Morse Code...
or usually diacritical markers: forever missing
in English!

more res cogitans, somewhat res vanus...
but more or less: res corpus:
a body-thing... the mind being detached from
all those constipated thoughts,
all those ego-***-solipsism alleys...
flimsy daydreams...
just my body: the wind, the eyes,
my legs, my arms, my sweat... the bicycle...
no other liberation out there,
in all honesty...       pickled brain frenzy
only comes after... when i sit down
to relax to doodle something...
        
i came across something today while my phone
was charging & i couldn't do my usual
routine on the throne of thrones...
instead of playing Mech Arena i picked
up where i left off reading Heidegger:
those black notebooks didn't come cheap...
circa £30 a volume...
             obviously first editions...
i need to find that passage once more...
i doubt i will...
ha... in the 20th century it was already noted:
we now write about reading...
sometimes... it's unavoidable...
only yesterday i was hearing loads of stories
about the stewards doing the Wembley
job when the hooligans rushed the stadium
for the England vs. Italy final...
we were driving in the car...
i felt... less was being conveyed & that it was
more about... impressing the "other"...
oh i felt like i was bonding with the supervisor...
but he was also impressed with my
plum hue tattoo... my Dalmatian eye-patch...
one of the girls inquired: i brushed it off
telling her that there was nothing to brag
about... she just assumed: oh, you Polacks...
you drink & you fight...
well... from what history has given me...
if the Polacks aren't fighting the Ottoman Turks...
the Swedes, the Russians & the Germans...
if we're not fighting the backstabbing Hungarians
who decided to side with the Austrians...
if Polacks aren't fighting then:
start counting the sitting-ducks...
why would i tell her that i was fighting my own
shadow?
in a professional environment:
you keep people guessing... informality at the core...
we're not here for ******* lunch!
arbeit macht frei has, sickly... become my motto...
not some **** joke...
oddly enough... arbeit macht frei
& RADFAHREN MACHT FREI...
cycling makes you free...
    - du macht frei
or macht du frei?!
                         oh... right... there was no
"you" in the Auschwitz slogan...

                          i could never imagine myself
being content with what people suppose
to be: relieving acts... ******* picnics in the park,
adventures in a zoo... sun-tanning...
cruises... football matches...
                   cinema...
                                     it, has, no, use, for, me...
es, hat, nein, benutzen, für, mich!
i need strain, all the time... i'm not relaxed if i'm
not doubly-aware... i always need
to be on a look out for something:
anything... i like football matches in the current
role because...
never have i watched girls without them
noticing me... sure... some do...
but they're there for the football match...
i'm there for... any possible build up of tension...
perhaps that's why i sleep:
but don't really dream...
perhaps unconsciously the gods sent dream-blockers,
evil geniuses who recommended for my
psyche to be rid of dreaming...
or being a dream-architect...
like, for example: the phenomenon
of the recurrent dream, that some people cite?!

huh?! recurrent dreams?!
it's a bit like saying: you dumb ****!
since when is it so hard to
understand the metaphor of 1 + 1 = 2?!
how long does it have to be repeated to you?!
if i don't dream... then i'm on autopilot...
almost... sure... some major dream did happen...
i even told this dream to my ex-girlfriend's
mother:

so i'm on this *****... a Pythagorean triangle:
because it's all abstract...
and these sheep like people... or these people like
sheep are falling down the *****...
behind me there's only an abyss...
they're coming down & these demonic creatures
with scythes are also coming down...
cutting the crying people's heads off...
while i'm running at the bottom of this *****
trying to save them from falling into the abyss...
i was... 17(?) when i had this dream...

have i become a paramedic since then? no...
ergo: the ***** is an abstract of something that's
not the inevitability of death.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2022
i'm in a bad way, in a really bad way -
i'm sleeping less, i'm eating less,
i'm not thinking about anything but her -
what she's feeling...
i already figured out something:
she's looking for an "engineer" of sorts,
her father was a ca-car mechanic...
my tongue is wondering into blah blah
my blood pressure is shooting
through the roof, i'm getting cramps
in my stomach: butterflies my ***...
well i wish it was a gentle ferris wheel
down there in my guts...
but it's more like a ******* zero gravity
ride... that mad one where if you had
big chunks of cheek on you they'd be
flapping like a bulldog's!
nervous, twitchy, i still have to complete
my qualifications for this job
but... no... oh come on... get out of my head!
i haven't felt this authentically sick
in a long time... i'm rattled... i'm a teenager
again... giddy loved-up fool! fool!
- and that's what i'm saying... i've just done
a Harry Windsor...
                                  what an irony: well no,
there's no ****** irony in any of this!
at 35 you'd think i'd be more sensible,
that i'd listen to advice...
                          but it's not like i was on
the dating market, that i ever dated...
we're just working together... but already
we've been on our first coffee "date"...
and yeah, i paid for it...
                            the kid will most certainly
hate me, parents are leaving
for Jamaica in a week for two weeks...
if she wants to be taken out i'd say:
want to come over? what would you like
to eat? gnocchi, some other pasta?
a steak... you like a curry? oh, you're into Chinese?
you want chairman Mao's red braised pork
belly? i can make that...
what movie you want to watch?
i have hundreds on DVD... what wine would
you like? you'd rather sip some wine
while i put on a vinyl... i have plenty of jazz vinyls...
you're not into jazz... i have some other crap...
scented candles? something stronger
than wine? absinthe, whiskey, cognac?
you want to bring a swimsuit so we can
jump into the jacuzzi.... yeah... it's in the garden...
in a "shed"...
              if i don't get slightly tipsy in the next
hour or so i'm going to be a right ol' wrecking ball...
better: i'll be a nervous wreck...
but at least that's the next few poems taken
care off... because i don't think i'll be writing anything
else about anything else...
oh for ****'s sake... i'm back to listening to some
Roxette and Bon Jovi... what's next?!
you give love a bad name, bad medicine,
watercolours in the rain... fading like a flower
(do you get) exited?
why did i ask for her number? oh, right, i wanted
clarification about how we were coming back
from Oxford and Dan's people-carrier
broke down by Potter's Bar - the clutch gave in,
he was unable to change gears and
the revs were spinning into the region of 4
while going at 20mph...
so she paid for the Uber... went down the most
picturesque windy avenues of the Essex
countryside, via Loughton - places i know from
having cycled down them...
god... i'd love to take her cycling in the summer...
if she would be up to it... have a picnic
in a field... **** in the shade of an oak...
oh: hello La La Land... if i was diagnosed
as a schizoid once before: now diagnose me...
loved up idiot... and it's not like she's some
stunning 20 year old and i'm gagging
to pass on my genes... like i already said...
pass my genes?
oh sure... that ends up well...
by the time i might have a child...
that's 1/2 of me... by the time there are grandchildren
there's only a 1/4 of me left... 1/8, 1/16, 1/32 etc.
as much as i am "love" with her...
infatuated? crazed? i'm also thinking about
the inverse ratios... a potential little Frankenstein
monster... my thinking could be passed
on... not the entire, whole narrative...
bits and scraps... well... that implies
a sort of cognitive cloning... there might be a 2/1
of me by the end of it...... then 4/1, 8/1, 16/1 of me...
i guess that's why i started writing...
- and i am so completely terrified imagining that
people might suss me out, figure out that
i have a crush... how much of theoretical
poker do i have to play to supress outright showcasing
my feelings while at the same time continually
making incursions on the charm-front?
- Matt! get your **** together, why are you
perched on the windowsill with your hand
over your mouth!
- conscience? ego? who are you, why such a silly
question?!
so i figured she has an archetypical figure in mind,
like her father, a car mechanic...
oh, sure, sure, i can add some spare parts
to a DIY problem... but i'm primarily a wordsmith...
most Slavs are...
i've already texted her some music recommendations,
"meditation" music... i'm already talking
to her about her son's name, the etymology
of Fredrick... very Germanic, like my second
name, Conrad... blah blah... no... of course
i wouldn't call him merely Fred... lazy-*** English
way of shortening names...
i woke up today and had a thought...
sky... tree... oak... red... sun...
those are absolute nouns...
everything that composes the natural world is
an absolute noun...
since it has no origin from man's creativity...
therefore? i cannot generalise an absolute
noun under the guise of: nothing...
something, anything, everything, or merely: thing...
the sun is not a "thing": it's the sun...
a tree is not a "thing": it's a tree...
the sea is not a "thing": it's the sea...
mountain, goat, dog, cat... rat...
   but... a bed is not an absolute noun...
a chair is not an absolute noun... hell... let's change
that... these are unconditional nouns...
everything born of man is a conditional noun...
why? look at the simple example
of a car mechanic asking an aid for specific tool...
most of the time he asks for the right tool...
but sometimes he's so involved by his work
that his verbal communication is misplaced
by what the eyes see... he might ask for
a thingymajig... he'll use a misnomer supplied
with the comforting words: you get the picture...
yeah... that THING...
socks are things... but dogs are dogs...
the latter are conditional nouns...
since they are not necessarily minded since
they are used... equipped...
i can't be equipped with a tree... or the sea
or the sky...
so she's looking for someone like her father...
well i know how language works...
i already introduced her to the idea of a prefix
and the suffix: omitting the R i asked:
you son's name is merely Fred? not Fredrick?
is it because of the suffix -****?
no, wait... that's actually an affix -ick (come to think
of it)...
so apart from me spamming her with
a playlist... we moved onto favourite people
in history... it was a challenge... Philip II Augustus...
of the Capetian dynasty...
Frederick II Hohenstaufen...
   that experiment he did with the nuns and
what would later become feral mute children...
because he wanted to find out what language
arrived on earth first... the croaking of the crow?
the growl of the tiger?
the snorting trumpet of the elephant?
i'm here... no... i don't recall how we arrived
of ever being reported...
perhaps that's how we keep going...
by a collective amnesia... we have to forget certain
things in order to pursue life per se,
well... at least writing this little "philosophical"
pieces has allowed me to return to some
balance... being loved up is not good to you:
it uses you up... and there are high chances of
being disillusioned... best prepare for the disillusionment...
- i have to calm down and think
about the world, or at least parts of it...
take for example the transgender phenomenon:
so there has been a backlog in metaphysical inquiry..
well, no surprises, the English speaking world
was always oh so, practical, ergonomic...
it's not like the Russian speaking world still
entombed in a Titanic battle with their prescribed
Greek orthodoxy... lunatics galore...
even this whole grammatical game that's currently
being played... sure... i'm game:
my preferred pronouns are... ONE / WE...
that's the royal approach...
as one might add: we greatly disapprove...
the end...
                   since with one, one presupposes
a potential entourage of we...
we implies a magnetism toward a shared
opinion - a quasi-self... while the plurality of a THEY
implies... oh... THOSE basket cases other "there"
in the corner... oddly enough: nothing,
yes... NOTHING is categorised as a pronoun...
since? well... how can it be anything except a noun?
it's not an adjective / quality... you can call something
attributing nothingness: but there are no attributes
of nothingness, thereby you can't treat
nothing as a noun... since... there's NO, THING,
to be allocated a noun-status...
weird... no? that nothing is a pronoun...
so is everything... anything, something, itself...
oh... but the game has already started...
there are so many audacious mouthpieces out there
doing the knitty-and-the-gritty work
with their hormone blockers that...
my two-cents are hardly important...
i guess i just came late to the party...
cool... now that i've ingested enough alcohol to
appear calm, i can go about my business...
now that i stopped feeling all loved up
i can find a chance to refocus my attention
on immediate concerns...
all the better... it's enough for one hurt creature to love
another hurt creature... it's another
to navigate this world...
the world i arrived at... given the current climate...
needs something equivalent to a magic compass...
i don't have that...
i'll scar myself less by not investing any
genes in the pool...
i don't appreciate family politics...
that cut-throat archetypical brother against brother...
no, thank you... these words ought
to be enough... and if they're not:
so be it...

from the mouth of giuseppe belli:
lei se tienghi li gatti a ccasa sua
(missus, keep your sodding cats inside)
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
life, currently... shouldn't be about...
a problem with the internet connection...
or how:
there's no satellite conncetion to the t.v. -
because of "snow"... and "hurricanes"...
but under the prescription of
the government...
  where is... where is indeed:
the replacement fireplace and a druid storyteller?
to keep up with the mr. and mrs. smith
enclosed in:
a quarantine zoo where only the virus
gets... to window-shop: concerning
what next to "wear"?

      trivial details: is anything but so grand
as to gain poetic traction from...
trans-gender activists and those teen
with premature depression antics of:
haiku... not yet a haiku etc.

but my post-soviet laptop works just fine...
it's all these delta korean "smart" whizz-kid
analogies of tablet that are...
feeding the bug of: forgot the cables...

last time i heard that the t.v. box needed
to be connected to the "dial-up" box-of-boxes...
the modem... sprinting to "evolve":
zee hub...
              smart as: the old soviet
manifesto concerning technology...
  if it ain't broke: don't even think about
spaghetti fixing it... sunshine...
and what happened? they went along
and "fixed" it...

                   like they went about fixing
the original... thesaurus rex algorithm of
youtube: that once great platitude of all other
jukeboxes...
   no chance in hell seeing these john peel
suggestion "crop up"...

i had the "audacity" to scribble them down...
once upon a time...

       band / album

beehoover / heavy zoo
        nord skin / secrets of the words
black elephant / cosmic blues
     swamp sessions / a lifesize swamp
1000mods / super van vacation
           ruby the hatchet / aurum
                  greenleaf / trails & passes
  the silver seas / catch yer own train
        sleep / leagues beneath
          spaceslug / lemanis
witch / s.t. (self-titled)
          elder / dead roots stirring
red scalp / rituals
                   castle / welcome to the graveyard
broken bells / s.t.
                        place of skulls / with vision
naxatras / (ep s.t.)
                       UNV nation / s.t.
                 the heavy minds / treasure coast
roma / s.t.
                   fabricantes / la selva incrustada...
savannah / deep shades...
mystic sons / s.t.
          sun of man / s.t.
  weird owl / nuclear psychology
       elbrus / s.t.
                   stonehenge / bunch of bisons
gin lady / electric earth
hey satan / s.t.
                   d d  blood / s.t.
               sonora ritual / dust moment
gnome / father of time
                                       godsleep / coming of age
ordos / house of the dead
mountainwolf / the silk road
               buffalo fuzz / s.t.
                                 black dust / s.t.
                may the fuzz be with you / vol. I
transpanda / goats against humanity
earthless / black heaven
           gorilla pulp / heavy lips
    black willows / samsara
   stone age mammoth / earth born... etc....

what a bullet bite... two short of ******-do'h shucks
when you come back home...
drunk and sober at the same time screaming:
some little ****** of a squinting eye...
****** up the jukebox: now i can't sing...
now i can't dance!

my t.v. needs to be smashed...
and my internet connection is tone deaf
and stone-age to boot...
i'm no trucker and i'm no christian
evangelist minder... for the "ummah"...
or whatever it's called...
i don't bet, yes ma'am...
i pay my dues to the tele-evangelical
god's son: the preacher ma'am...
yis i' 'ere owe...
  the scrutiny of a stamp-collector's
lick a slick and shove it up
the queue into heaven's ear...

         my most mediocre complaints...
a girl sent me a poem and a sketch...
and i'm just... hanging onto sanity's blockers...
steroids... and all those other
goof-*****... and i still want
to make it listening to the La's because...
the Beatles never made it to...
London Calling...
by... the stain... no... wait...
i don't know of a band known as the stain...
perhaps i should...

bad internet access and bad t.v.:
because winnie the p'ooh shot down a satellite
thinking it was: an asteroid heading
to hit Beijing...
the two: must be given a space-trap
of confusing intelligence officer:
blah-blah traps...

       i guess my mother should be dying...
my neighbour should be...
doing something...
dinosaur jr.., should be seeing
a revival... and a wish to dislodged nirvana
in the grundge charts... along with sonic youth...

but my post-warsaw pact...
this heap of "junk"... this soviety spy of a laptop...
if i wanted... i could probably synonym it
with a ******* microwave oven!
all this proto-plastic toys of...
   better heave: *******'s worth of the edit...
in capitalism: plastic is the new iron!
and all the more clueless...
call-center jihadis who will have you believe...
cables are involved...
connecting the view box for the t.v. to
the modem... the hub...
the "dial-up"...

because... the old octopus of walking about...
with syringes and makeshift veins
and arteries... to the great big brain
of "Omnia"...
                    omni-potent...
    omni-present...
omni-... yes... that litany of the prefixes...
culminating in: Islam Inc. and the female
deity of Omnia...

   wouldn't want to pluck those diamonds
out from their sockets: would we know...
then again... i'd rather see the mouth...
those niqab bound eyes are too filthy...

they pretend to cry i too pretend to see a waterfall...
and then the crocodile comes snappy
right at me...
and... i have to...
pretend he's a pig and a sort of leather belt
that can goes well with any choicest choice
of fine linen: and that not so fine kind...
you can hide pork in leather...
the belt, the shoes...
eh... crocodile crocks are too...
too **** obvious... for "hiding"...

stay inside they said...
  but the t.v. is the new fireplace...
                 and if there's not t.v...
   can life take toward... or rather... can poetry become
this surrogate for petty concerns being
answered in a democratic manner?
what's being love or not being loved...
guarded by a disparity of age:
does it matter whether you're 34 or 74?

i just want to know...
   why i'd pay circa 20 quid a week...
for a t.v. with a license...
and... nothing to watch...
     ol' lore of love is gone...
   very pressing... or hardly... practical
devaluations of that once...
formidable willing-pull-&-tug for impetus
sensation are long gone...
the crass economics of...
              heaven... i will forbid myself
to staging a cart-boot sale...
practical i: who still doesn't have a car...
and never will:
horses auctioned: yes...
            
   i had a dream that i was a motorbike...
i had the life of: roulette roundabouts of "chance"...
and that paid off...
   but what didn't pay off:
the peddling... easy-grip and whiff of
a tensed up wrist to accelerate...
would have been... the better option...

horses: tighten the reins...
imprint a heel in the torso... turn left "he says",
is say: tighten the reins to the left...
dig a heel in the right canvas bracket of torso...

i would most certainly consider
the matter closed...
    if i was getting such a ****** detail of a provider
for free or for a bare minimum...
love... hate...
these can hitchhike to their own demise
and slouching shadows to escape with
metaphors or stockholm syndrome detainees...

this 1.4 liter of ms. amber was supposed to
last me for three days...
good luck... i want to drink a little...
and become angry at those call-center mouse-traps
of pseudo-peoples...
who will cite: cables not included!
i want to become angry with...
the paycheck brigade...
   who hardly solve anything but...
digress and cut you off...
and are most likely to... over-toast
those hot-cross buns...

                       love... hate... miasmas... both... alike!
"ranting ******* and turnovers"...
and sober... does it? yes?
       what did the sober man ever conjure up...
beside... the glue of bureaucracy?
i must beg: what of the minotaur...
the menacing... hardly a bull's head
on a man's torso...
the marching of the hammers...
the marching of the quills...
i have heard that one country has asked
for finger-prints just so they can issue
a passport...
      
         my signature is not enough...
nor is my hand-writing...
         but love can wait...
       there's no need to give it a status of wine...

drinking warm whiskey isn't so bad...
you just close your eyes...
swirl the glass and pretend it's cognac...
god forbid the sanitation pipes should
malfunction...

    i have no real time for love...
love can happen in a metaphysical dress of something:
that allows... as many pockets
as there are things to hide in them...
practical peacocks of attention...

turns out: i can't fathom any ability to doodle out
a rook...
there seems to be no archetypal architect
to mind it...
there is one for an elephant...
a kamikaze giraffe that's most probably
a Nessy spin-off of a leopard: print for
a leather chair...

        is it a hybrid stork?
           best bet is: return to sender...
at least she will have an address on the readily
available... but at least i'm not hustling back
bathwater... or... i could have been...
sending her a packet of oats...

hour 'promptu...
       i'll sober up will i never...
talking to these whizz-kids about...
the internet connection and "missing satellites"...
because love should be by... "ripe old
prime concern"...
whether i am 34 or... 70 year ol' ++++...
   i can't draw a crow...
i can draw an elephant in doodle-sketch
stenography...
but i shouldn't... "technically"...
the crow is more... is more...
blatant...

show me crow: with letters!
         no... i don't imply: ᚴᚱᚨᚴᛖ....
  i mean... show me a crow...
all i see is a litany base...
of: ᚠᚨᚴᛚᛉ... this is what a crow looks like
to me...
                      "faklz"...
         you can't change my mind concerning
this...
nor can you: what sisyphus looks
like: RO...
               who needs to insert the pitch-fork
stopper of a H in the... omicron and...
what implies rolling: or rather... trilling
the R... for the rattlesnake exerpt?

   what's a snake?                           ᛊ...
it's not... ᛋ-ᛚᚨᚾᚷᛖ...
                            but for me...
a crow is... ᚠᚨᚴᛚᛉ: faklz...
                        
                                       the snake and it's...
spine... and the brain in the pickling-jar...
the winding details of signatures in
desert sands... the left-over dinosaur branch
of: by now... aeons have passed...
let alone but one... of those...
heavily culprit... tabloid newspapers...

i should have my "missing eye"
deemed the noun worthy of: faklz...
    tribulations by the:
-klz                   dolls scenting:
skip "the middle ground"...
all the latex in the world... and none
of the ******...

where is the love: it's most certainly no here...
it's with the engineers...
and not: with the call centers...

satellites and google earth and i'm still
bound to: fire! awe!
stick... friction! stones! hay fever!
ooh! aah!
   bronze age man: necklace!
harem in the waiting!
     verb + noun! elevator!
      did two nouns give birth to:
worth keeping...
i.e. pro-noun? and then that
turned into decomposition of...
chair... via... minus ch-a-r into i!?
                  no... of course not...

       of a "thing" too alive to be yet called
dead...
   just ploughing the field...
just... one of those infinitely biased
circumstance of this particular instance...
and: there's no need to peacock with
any answer: esp. if it's the "right" one...
no autodidactic when...
of a lineage... the offspring were...
supposed to be taught by people of personage...
and... scribble scribble mcdonald does doodled...
because: hey... "bruce"!
how's that york of ours: the rime
of... jack! how's that?!

    no need for tallent... no need for...
in the ethereal: of particulars...
monkey does what monkey ought...
and ought not...
with as much trouble as plasying smart...
as playing double...
and no smart or ever double...
plays out into the luck of the dumb...
you'd almost wish to be a cattle related
work of glut from a ******* & herd
perspective...
        i have to conclude...
this world for all this... beauty...
no... not when the half-imbeciles are involved
in... ruining the worth of copper...
the worth of crown...
and the worth of intellect...
for the sake of...

                a pinch of a bitter pint of a tad
bit of banter...
                   for me...
death... is a postman...
and i am... most certainly...
having to assure myself...
with a delayed send-off date...
this life and the world within in...
can or rather... would never allow me...
to feel inclined to be:
somehow... resting: even then moving...
on the bargain argument of:
being assured...
pretty much... yes...
a bargain... a bargain when asleep even...
most assured... a falling sensation...
or an ice-cream cone of licked...
morals and conscience...

and if not dabbled in?
        well... if not... dabbled in.
Jay earnest Oct 2019
Yuh
Yeah you know tattoo ink has cancer right?

You know that pizza has cancer right?

You know that coffee has cancer right?

You know that bananas have aluminum?
You know that the Earth is dying and an asteroid collision is imminent?

You know that greenhouse gasses are exacerbating climate change?
You know that hormone blockers for an 8 year old is ethical?
You know that I'm a primate?
You know that
I like trap rap

You know that my name is Wei Brown
I live in the gentrified suburbs

I planted a flower and it sits on my stove
*******

You know that every question is an answer

— The End —