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Du warst das Blut in meinen Adern, mein Herzschlag. Ich war nicht einmal der Staub unter deinen Schuhen.
I'm still not over you.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
wiener blut wiener blut,
berlin bulle blut berlin bulle
aß:
fehler koscher für ein bär aß als bulle:
schweinestall politik.
Edna Sweetlove Aug 2015
A bilingual "Barry Hodges" poem!

Ah, beloved Dachau!
Thou delightful Bavarian city of charm,
History has made thy name immortal
Yet cruel warfare has passed you by.
Thank God thy medieval streets and squares
Remain untouched by high explosives.

I took a lovely young maid there
For a weekend of rampant love,
But, after an immense meal of pork chops,
Sauerkraut, Blutwurst and Bratkartoffeln,
Her stomach exploded like a grenade
And her gorgeous body was ruined.

How cruel is life in our modern world!
As I sat weeping in the Pension Eichmann,
Looking through the contents of her wallet,
I decided to pay her a fitting tribute
By buying a night with the fat chambermaid,
Who swore she was you-know-who's ******* great-granddaughter.

O great joy, she said, since it was the low season in Dachau,
We would be joined by her bony bulimic friend Angelika
(Himmler's great-niece), two mouthfuls for the price of one,
Thanks be to God, it was the just right time of the month
For such a cosy little *******, because although I love raw meat
I am less keen on it being oozing blood, so ******* vampires.

And now for the German version!*

Ach, geliebte Dachau!
Du schöne bayerische Stadt mit Charme,
Die Geschichte hat deinen Namen unsterblich gemacht
Unt grausame Kriegsführung hat umgangen werden Sie.
Gott sei Dank, dein mittelalterlichen Straßen und Plätzen
unberührt von hochexplosiven Sprengstoffen zu bleiben.

Ich lockte ein schönes junges Mädchen dort
Für ein Wochenende der grassierenden Liebe,
Aber nach einer gigantische Mahlzeit von Schweinekoteletts,
Sauerkraut, Blutwurst und Bratkartoffeln,
Ihr Bauch explodierte wie eine Granate
Und ihre wunderschönen Körper ruiniert war!

Wie unfreundlich ist das Leben in unserer modernen Welt!
Wie ich in der Pension Eichmann weinend saß,
Beim Blick durch den Inhalt ihrer Geldbörse,
Ich entschloss mich, ihr ein passender Tribut machen
Mit dem Kauf einer Nacht mit dem großen Zimmermädchen -
Sie hat geschworen, war der illegitime Ur-Enkelin des Eichmann.

O große Freude, sagte sie. In der Nebensaison Dachau,
Wir würden uns von ihrer Freundin Angelika (Himmlers Großnichte),
Verbunden werden, zwei Bissen für den Preis von einem,
Gott sei Dank, war es die richtigen Tage im Monat
Für solch einen gemütlichen kleinen Orgie, denn obwohl ich liebe Fleisch
Ich bin weniger daran interessiert, wenn es Blut sickert. Vampire raus!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
i actually blame the outbreak of dementia in western society as sourced within a fat-free diet... you need to ingest fat! for ****'s sake! the brain is primarily fat! how can you just simply overdose on sugars?! sugar is like crack-******* compared to more complex sugars, i.e. carbohydrates! how can you do this to your own people?! smalec / lard... with pork trimmings and garlic (czosnek / ch)... how can western society "think" it has the upper-hand in the argument, when it pushes out fat-free yogurt?! the brain needs fat, it's fat... you need to ingest fat! point is: people in the west don't know how rare dementia is in "eastern" europe... avocado on toast? what's the problem with you? it's supposed to be guacamole! or at least eaten with a trickle of lemon juice with spicy food! retards... retards! you need to ingest fat... giving your body too much sugar makes you: either fat... or absolutely dumb... demented... dementia... eh, see the correlation? you need to ingest fat, simple as: your brain isn't a muscle, the argument: oh, we need to flex our cognitive muscle... what the **** is this? what sort of argument is this?! it's fat, it's probably once fat, twice jelly... in a city of about 60 thousand i've known only one example of alzheimer's... my auntie... sure, it's a dementia epidemic: because you're draining all the fat out of the foods that should have it!!! fat feeds the brain, since the brain is primarily fat... ****** dodo started speaking: woah abouh the omega-3 arguments? dunno... you catch the sardines and the mackerels. dunno(h)... i once knew this ****** that spent his days ripping newspapers... he could rip a newspaper better than i could cut it up with a pair of scissors... you know the scottish patent? you fold a piece of paper, lick the edge, then you fold it in the opposite fold, and lick the edge once more... and then the paper tears away as smoothly as melting butter on a hot piece of toast... but this ****** could tear pieces of newspaper in one smooth stroke... apparently typing these "offensive" words in a country of inbreds is "offensive"... i think i'll just call her: katherine die neu blut middleton... hardly a mary, but the blood matters, nonetheless.

8 6 9 4 1 7 3 2 5
5 3 *4
8 2 6 7 1 9
1 2 7 5 3 9 8 4 6
6 1 8 9 4 5 2 7 3
7 4 3 2 6 1 9 5 8
2 9 5 3 7 8 1 6 4
4 7 2 6 8 3 5 9 1
9 8 6 1 5 2 4 3 7
3 5 1 7 9 4 6 8 2

                              no. 8930
                                                      perhap­s i could have
done a more difficult puzzle, but then i was
relaxing, drinking ***...
             i made two mistakes...
as indicated, the first one in italics 4
  and the second in bold 1, which i implanted
as 9...
         even though a 9 was already in the sequence...
to correct myself i had to write out
the alphabet... even though i'm really terrible
at memorising the alphabet (hence i'm
a vocab millionaire),
                so to revise looking at 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
i had to write the letters out...
thinking: imagine su doku using neun briefe,
like so:
(a) b (c) d (e) f (g) h (î) j (k) l (m) n (o) p (q) | r s t u v
                                                               ­           w       |x y z|
i'm terrible at remembering the alphabet sequence,
     the cut-off point comes along like this, in sing-along:
a b c d e f g, h i j, k, l m n en oh p... q r s; t u v...
                             blah....
but i thought: i'd love to write a letter imbued su doku...
just for the kicks...
thankfully, having written the alphabet out
                i managed to salvage and complete
the puzzle...
                                    *** and tunnel vision?
more like double vision;
                            and two cats distracting me,
                               pretending to fall asleep like a pair
of pensioners, sitting down.
A slight quiver from the bow in your back
I come on strong like a fatal attack
Hunting you down
A hushed whimper in your throat condemns
The subtle undertones of shameful whims
Cutting you down

A silent breakdown in the guise of guilt
Laying waste to a temple built
Crumbling down
A lucid dream where you all four come
Expecting nothing, but for me to run
Gunning you down

So, it has come down to this
Sinking further between your lips
Holding your hips I aim to fix
This memory with another hit

Self-soothe with a fading bruise
All there is left of you
Leaving you down
Tip off the cops in this ****** plot
Left unpursued with a final thought
Burning you down

So, it has come down to this
Sinking further between your lips
Holding your hips I aim to fix
This memory with another hit
Erase her graceful face
Erase her staying taste
Erase her hopeful trace
Erase her
Erase her

(Ich möchte sehen, dass Sie sich für Ihre Unwissenheit brennen. Ich will sehen Sie spucken Blut, du verdammte Hure. Es gibt nichts, ich will in meinem Leben, außer dich leiden sehen aus erster Hand. Ich könnte glücklich sterben wissen Sie nahm das eigene Leben, also, wenn Sie wirklich wollen, mich glücklich zu machen, dann gehen ******* do it. Ich werde weinen gottverdammten Tränen der Freude, wenn du weg bist, dass eine Garantie ist. Gehen Sie weiter und hassen mich, weil ich krankhaft bin, aber dieses realisieren: Sie wissen nicht, Scheiße, und du wirst nie, du Fotze stur. Ich werde dich in der Hölle zu sehen.)
Er legt die Nadel auf die Ader
und bittet die Musik herein
zwischen Hals und Unterarm
die Melodie fährt leise ins Gebein

Los! Los! Los!
Bop bop shu bop

Er hat die Augen zugemacht
in seinem Blut tobt eine Schlacht
ein Heer marschiert durch seinen Darm
die Eingeweide werden langsam warm

Los! Los! Los!
Bop bop shu bop

Nichts ist für dich
nichts war für dich
nichts bleibt für dich
für immer

Er nimmt die Nadel von der Ader
die Melodie fährt aus der Haut
Geigen brennen mit Gekreisch
Harfen schneiden sich ins Fleisch
er hat die Augen aufgemacht
doch er ist nicht aufgewacht

Nichts ist für dich
nichts war für dich
nichts bleibt für dich
für immer
-
He lays the needle in the vein
and he asks the music to come inside
between his throat and forearm
the melody travels softly in the bones

Go! Go! Go!
Bop bop shu bop

He has closed his eyes
a battle rages in his blood
an army marches through his bowel
the intestines become warm slowly

Go! Go! Go!
Bop bop shu bop

Nothing is for you
nothing was for you
nothing remains for you
forever

He takes the needle from the vein
the melody travels out of the skin
violins burn with shrieking
harps cut the flesh
he has opened his eyes
but he is not awake

Nothing is for you
nothing was for you
nothing remains for you
forever
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clWpAaH0gNk
Robert N Varty Oct 2011
Wir leben in einem geordneten Chaos,
mit viel Zeit, und doch ohne Zeit,
mit angenehmem Schmerz,
und schmerzhaftem Vergnügen.

Das Leben ist gerecht, aber ungerecht;
eine gesunde Krankheit,
der man nicht entfliehen kann.
ein friedlicher Krieg,
in dem es einen glücklichen Herzschmerz gibt.

Unser Blut ist lebendig,
aber es trägt kein Leben.
Unsere Gehirne denken,
aber ohne Gedanken.

Wir sind am Leben
Und sind doch tot
Johanna Khan May 2013
Mit jeder Träne die fällt
Werden meine Gedanken klarer
Mit jeder Träne die fällt
Zerplatzt ein neuer Traum
Mit jeder Träne die fällt
Zerbricht mein Herz in neue Stücke

Dein Anruf hat mein Herz zum Rasen gebracht
Ich konnte nicht aufhören zu lächeln
Die Zukunft war eine Traumwelt
Du und ich und unsere Träume in ihr vereint
Gedanken an dich haben meine Tage verschönert
Gedanken an deine Stimme
Gedanken an deine Augen
Gedanken an deine Umarmungen
Gedanken die mich lächeln ließen
Und mir jetzt das Blut in den Adern gefrieren lassen

Mit jeder Träne die fällt
Werden meine Gedanken klarer
Mit jeder Träne die fällt
Zerplatzt ein neuer Traum
Mit jeder Träne die fällt
Zerbricht mein Herz in neue Stücke

'Take care' waren meine letzten Worte an dich
Die Antwort von dir - nur ein Lächeln
Dein letztes Lächeln für mich
Ist im Nachhinein auch mein letztes Lächeln gewesen
Nun flüstere ich jeden Abend mit dem Mond
Doch mein 'I miss you' wird dich nicht erreichen
Denn dein Mond ist jetzt ein anderer
Du hättest dieses eine Mal auf mich hören sollen!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
don't worry, you're not watching ******* ****, but it might be equivalent, given the stature of the words... i never knew why Hebrews complained at the word Jew sounding yuck, and the Poles never minded, even with Pollack... funny... anyways, you either accept this wording or you accept ******* ****... your choice.... but censoring spelling is like inbreeding anti-literate farmers who have tractors instead of horses these days... bake that macaroon slightly more, i want to see a suntan on it; chance of a bagel thrown in gratis? i thought so... happy Hanukkah.

Hier stehe ich mit den Händen voll Blut
Und trage in mir eine beißende Wut
Du sagtest du wolltest den Körper von mir
Und ich gab dir alles gerad wie ein Tier

Ich kann nicht ertragen zu sehen dich leben
So komm her zu mir lass dir den Todeskuss geben
Viele lockte ich schon in den grausamen Tod
Und auch du wirst verfaulen in der Kammer der Not

Winsel um gnade oder schrei es hinaus
Es gibt keine Hoffnung du kommst niemals mehr raus
Denn hier ist dein ende und ich werde es lieben
Zu weiden dich aus am Bunkertor sieben

Bunkertor sieben
Am Bunkertor sieben*.
Sun Drop Feb 2018
I'm just your cigarette.
Burn me away.
Inhale my toxic fumes.
Fed to the ashtray.

Cooler than nicotine.
Coarser than sand.
Softer than velvetine.
Blood on my hands.

Lungs overwhelmed by the blitzkrieg.
Breathe, if your conscience allows.
Das Blut des Bündnis aushusten,
Leide, du schreckliche Frau.

Menthol defies your betrayal,
caffeine defies your shot nerves.
Tobacco curbs your addiction,
cancer is what you deserve.
been wanting to use some german in a poem for awhile
Mariana the King May 2013
What should I write about?
I can't seem to think.
My poetry talent is filling with doubt,
It seems to be as bad as my lackluster "wink"

Maybe I will write about my life?
How much I love who I am.
I could write about my strife,
Or how I strike life like a battering ram.

Those all seem so "cliche"
I need to think DEEP.
Should I write about today?
Or how I didn't get any sleep?

No one cares about those things...
But what can I make interesting?
I cold exaggerate my love life...
Nope, that wouldn't be anything.

All right. Here we go. I'll write what first comes to mind.
I will close my eyes and wait,
And hope there is something to find.
Just set my thoughts strait...

Roses are red,
Violets are blut,
This prom won't work,
Maybe I should write a haiku

Okay, I admit it!
I can't write poetry.
But maybe someday Ill gain wit
And create wonderful comedy.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
before i begin, a pre-scriptum...
         in my hand, this minute?
                   what a rare delight...
the Beauties of Sterne:
                                with some account of his life...
printed for J. Walker,
published by J. Walker, Paternoster Row &
   J. Harris, St. Paul's Church Yard...
London... 1811!
    and being a big "fan boy" of the fiction
that a bibliophile might have an adventure:
Roman Polanski's the Ninth Gate...
   now, for a book that's... 208 years old?!
it's not in bad shape... sure...
the hardcover is missing by a half...
but all the text is intact...
              obviously colouring of the pages...
but hey... i'm not a museum...
             the book is still fiddled with...
ha ha, the opening page with a picture
reads as follows:
   there are worse occupations in this world,
than feeling a woman's pulse...
perhaps a quote about... insensibility?
   it reads as follows:
       it is the fate of mankind, too often,
to insensible of what they may enjoy at
the easiest rate (sermon XLII)...
   besides, lucky for me youtube continues
to glitch from time to time...
    now looking more in line with channels
than individual artists...
   notably? Harakiri Diat (channel)...
eh... :wumpscut, the soft machine,
demdike stare, vomito *****, feindflug
weren't enough...
          turns out... there's more...
beyond penta, matutero and GloOMy
PhAntOM... well, please, allow me:
   filmmaker - the love market,
              la ***** bianca - demian...
hell... if you want to venture into the past?
i know one band that freaked out
my ex-girlfriend... gong - flying teapot...
or that song by greenskeepers, lotion...
               i thought i'd never see someone
become freaked out about music...
curios and also highly curious, yes...
but freaked out?
                 primitive knot - puritan...
demolition group - you better...
          1986 Yugoslav minimal electro...
Bruce Roach - Gut...
              and as it turns out...
    i look from this corner of the internet and find
absolutely no need to delve into
the dark web... install Tor...
           if you really want to...
  you'll find all you need... but you need
to sift through a bibliography of a book prior
to... it's all here... this sort of material
has an inbuilt filter... it filters out
             mainstream consumers of content...
i should know...
    3 websites that banned me,
1 suspended me...
                   i crossed the threshold...
    normie poetic: outcast *****...
           yet i still sometimes happened to chance
upon a will...
           lao che - soundtrack (the whole album
is decent) -
              


.i once heard it was based upon the following maxims: bogatemu wszystko wolno (the rich are allowed anything), siła razy gwałt (force multiplied by ****)... well... over the years, that much was true... but then i conjured a reply: nie wszystko wolno bogatemu (not everything is given an allowance to be expressed by the rich) and wola odiąć gwałt (will, having substracted ****): otherwise it's still wola razy gwałt (will, multiplied by ****).

****, i only just "woke" up from
this game,
you know that game...
oh i'm pretty sure you know it...
it's called
   pass the jew along...
   rudolf höss
      cited, among the list:
ibrahim ibn yaqub,
         radhanites (there's a surd
H in there, rad-'anites)
    casimir III...
esp. the latter...
           so.. give the current h'americans,
we're still playing the globalist
nomad game of: juggling the jews,
yes, no, maybe?
so my mother tended to
two old jewish women,
because, just "because"
their sons were active in
the "economics" of passing law
and techno-literacy?
oh... right... i "see"...
                            i... "see"...
in defence, of the "neglected" ones...
makes perfect sense,
de facto 51,
                  area 51 was always
a propaganda convert term
for Israel, rather than some area
bound to Nevada, wansn't it?
wasn't it?
                      ask me again
one year from now,
did we live peacefully among the jews?
they'll tell you the joke...
didn't the jews shoot,
with riffles,
   with bent barrels / sights
aiming at themselves rather
than the nazis?
       no, no soap jokes when
it comes to yews...
the yids...
      everyone in poland just
wondered: why so pacified?
        so blatant in walking into
an inferno?
                      you know...
it took Poland longer to surrender,
while being attacked by both
the Germans and the Russians,
than it took for the Fwench
to be attacked by the sole effort
of the Germans?
    funny... that...
                               i truly admire
some nazis, for their ingenuity...
notably? erwin rommel...
   lothar von arnauld de la periè(re)...
(subtle, i give you that one,
per-y'eh...
                 'old 'ack 'old 'ck
   h-b-h-b,
                                    rein in...
otherwise perié... ergo without
                                           the -re)...
michael wittmann...
and i'm a ******...
      **** me...
they didn't bomb paris,
might as well state:
they also didn't bomb
  marienburg or most of danzig...
Warsaw? taken down,
levelled, brick by brick,
        until no brick stood on brick...
              what?!
i thought the western capitalist-ico
communist insurgents
wanted target practice?
          i thought these people
wanted nazis, no?
          i'll admit... tiki torches?
you must have never looked
at european football hooligans...
tiki torches?!
you having a bbq?
            never heard of flares?        
- mind you...
you know what's worse beside
beind ridiculed?
having your intelligence
insulted...
i.e. do i look like someone
who managed to ****
your mother with a *******
harmonica,
or, am i, bound to the responsibility,
of your parents playing
the irresponsibility card,
attempting to convey a child
into existence aged circa 50
circa 45,
and what comes out is
an autistic cucumber?!
    **** me...
try giving ****** lessons
to circa 50 year olds;
and now the paradox...
   "i'm" the "schizophrenic"...
cool cool, coolio...
     i'll just hide in that "harem's"
worth of a brothel with
the prostitutes who tell
me they get s.t.d. checks on
a regular basis, o.k.?
_____

what am i to add to this?
not much, is there...
was the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald
ever great?!
  how satisfying it is to be unable
to please the crowd....
words, after all, are not bread...
how one wishes
for an anathema rather than
a martyr's embrace...
            one begins to imagine...
then one loses interest...
then...
                    peering through
the eye of a needle
watching a camel walk through...
one spots something outside
the realm of the metaphorical miracle...
do i have to?
      what if i remain to this side
of the eye of the needle?
what riches do i have that i cling to...
books & music...
does that make me rich?
what are the sort of riches where either
people plunder readily (music),
or do not engage with to begin
with?
who are ready to read...
i can claim to be a book thief...
i stole two books from my high school
library... the quran and the scarlet &
the black by stendhal...
            "stole"... i extended their
licance of being borrowed...
how am i rich: if my riches are the riches
no one would want to steal?!
i am rich... though...
               but i am rich in a both
materialistic / non-materialistic paradox
frame...
                what i own no one wants to
steal! why steal a first cheap edition
of a dickens' novel if you're not going
to read it!
              
       **** **** ****.... if they were such
philistines... when blitzing London,
why did st. paul's remain intact?
   "coinicidence"? i don't think so...
and why did they steal all those
art-works? again, "coincidence"?

                    they were people:
i find it uncomfortable to suit them up
in transcendence,
to be: epitome evil...
  to be the übermensch...
                   they loved art as much
as they loved being the antithesis
of the golden horde: gucci, dolce & gabbana
zz top: well dressed men...

     nazis loved art and fashion,
by far the best dressed army in the world
and history...

   ol' herman and otto came back
from the eastern front to a scared wife and mother...
people! they weren't mythical creatures...
the nazis can hardly become
chimeras as they become in the minds
of pseudo-communists of the western lands...

they are hardly the epitome of evil,
i know the 21st century narrative
deems them: "the perfect example"...
come on... they're not evil embodied
with not subsequent examples to be given
to... historical capitalism of evil:
there's always someone waiting,
some group of people to stage
a competition libra... and they will...
overcome the nazis...
it's only a question of ingenuity /
imagination...
           gas chambers was only industrial...
it will become personal in the years to come...
methodologically trained cultured
barbarians woken from a slumber...

the nazis were not: philistines...
   in no defence: didn't they speed up the creation
of the state of israel?
   didn't they? **** uncle:
   lavrentiy pavlovich Beria is going to state
the matters differently?
like hell he is...

        my family also suffered in that war...
sure, not in a concentration camp:
but on the front...
             there's even a joke that my
grandfather remembers:
the jews were shooting with bent nozzles
of riffles...
   as he also remembers two ss-men
who he asked for sweets,
and they would give them to him,
he'd as them: herr! bitte bon-bon!
   sweets so sweet that he would have
to rinse his hands under water
to unglue them from the sickly in-between...
how all the insurgent soviet soldiers
were teenagers and preferred to
sleep in pigstys and among the goats
in the hay...

how did the nazis become mythological
i will never understand,
at uni i had a **** history teacher,
canadian, she really liked my essay
on napoleon... how he was a great
strategist...
akin to?  

   erwin rommel wasn't a ****...
erwin rommel was, erwin rommel...
a great strategist...
        am i supposed to thrive in this
current year of polarized *******?
it's the current topic,
i can't escape it,
  sure, i'd love to have a Wordsworth
moment, lurking in me,
or an anna akhmatova breakthough...
instead?! i'm given this sort of *******
on a platter,
  and all that's missing are the wedges
of lemon and the eager oysters to
be gulped down... lucky me!

no, i don't like how the nazis are misrepresented
as both the übermenschen:
these mythological epitomes of evil
(no greater evil is to come? really?!)
and at the same time
as philistines: they stole art,
they ensured that critically cultural
documents of architecture were left
undisturbed... st. paul's cathedral...

         it's not like some otto or moritz
didn't come back home to a wife
and children... no...
he came back to the shadow cult
of the ******* hanging over him...

you know what the most haunting experience
i have ever experienced was?
Ypres... world war I site...
visiting a german cemetary...
compared to the allies cemetary?
**** me, what a meagre sight!
           the allies were burried with marked
graves, each man to his own cross...
the german burial ground?!
  mass graves....
eh: one marker: 200 bodies in one pit...
                 and here's the 21st century with
games about shooting: zee nat'zees...

   just visit the world war I cemetaries...
the ally cemetaries? square miles...
each man with his white cross...
german cemetaries? as mass graves go...
one marker per 200+ troops...
so... not that much space required...
less: bombast!
               pride & prejudice /
   pomp & circumstance...
   which the english speaking world is...
of the latter convenience to suit the narrative.

to reiterate...
   as a ******... the whole german fetish
isn't my kind of gig...
what with my grandmother being born
on the front... given opiates at an early
age so she would not cry and allow
the soldiers to locate her and my gread-grandparents...
but...
   they were the best dressed army in
the history of warfare...
they were not philistines and they certainly
weren't the mongolian golden horde...
i.e. they stole art, notably jewish artwork...
and if a luftwaffe squadron were to drop
a bomb on st. paul's? they'd probably
be shot...
  after all... Posen wasn't destroyed,
Breslau wasn't destroyed...
        Danzig wasn't destroyed...
Cracow wasn't destroyed...
             o.k., half of Warsaw was,
but we know why that happened
(or at least i do... idealist students who
thought they could fight the enemy
with slingshots and air-pistols)...
why? the Germans were simply thinking:
oh... we'll just be moving back...
i once explained it to myself...
they weren't exactly some mythological
grand evil template...
so i started thinking about them as:
Hans von Seeckt...
  or Otto Hertz...
              or some other german random
soldier...
      well... you should travel to Ypres,
Belgium... and visit a German cemetary
from war world I... then visit
the allies graveyard...
       each soldier, individually buried...
with his pwetty pwetty weißkreuz -
mostly named...
                 now visit a german cemetary...
mass.... graves...
                they just dumped them,
heaped them...
                        to me they were people...
you can't exactly reason with a mythological
evil - an archeological evil,
   an archetypical evil...
          for an archetypical evil?
try the nuclear family...
                         ******... that sort of thing...
child abuse... too many actors
were involved in this story,
too many mistakes, too many naive blunders...
evil on this scale is easily diluted...
which is why it's taught as history,
in schools...
   no one will teach children about...
oh... say... the Wiener Blut scenario...
   Josef Fritzl...
                    i'm pretty sure this will not be
taught in a history class...
                or... the H. H. Holmes Hotel story...
but it might become a jack the ripper
tourist-fetish... might it not? well, it already is.
Nora J Watson Jul 2010
II
Shadow ghosts,
With ice-cold fingers.
Come near me, precious.
Come dancing, precious.
Come dance a devil’s jig.

Quieres mi corazon?
Willst du mein Blut?

Dance for your dinner, my precious, my love.
Join the circle.
Look at their smiles, my dear.
So beautiful, so wide.
Careful. They might swallow the world.
Send us back in the dark.
So warm, so calm.
Suffocating womb again.
Nothing but time.
Pounding of blood drums,
Calling us to dance.
Take it slower, slower.
Match the heartbeat, mi corazon.
Feel the pulse, together.
Twine fingers, twine hair, wide mouths to the sky.
Feel the beat, mi amor.
Feel the reaper man’s call.
The beauty doesn’t last,
But the dance, my precious,
The dance is forever.
My precious,
My love,
Mi corazon.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
.the industrial age is over... i sometimes forget when the middle-ground was made into a sentence... the antichrist, or the demigod son of Hephaestus... the satanic push... to lever the molten iron: over... salt / silicon mines! gears up! industry and the satanic industries... perhaps... just... perhaps... now softcore industry of: etertainment rubrics... sewn underwear from the genesis that they were always going to be: export, MADE IN CHINA... this... grand ideal... but coming along with my bucket and spades... i knew that already, come 1994 in st. augustine's primary school... i had the sponge ****** mind ready to slurp the bubbles of ferocity sally scandals... post-soviety ex-satellite state civi? quasimodo was always going to give me the thumbs up... but when the bells rang... they started ringing for no injunction of a need to 'en masse'... there was a fire... a quiet innocent fire... but all the fingers started pointing...

politics, this most feral sport...
perhaps... "ars politico"?
the art of politics?

right now... boxing seems like a civil sport...
perhaps the damage is not written well
into the events...
but at least the audience is tamed...
probably by bets...
or other forms of decorum...
but in this sport of rhetoric?
in politics?
i don't see how... i don't see how i can
ooh and ah like a douglas murray...
although i'm a big fun of...
almost every homosexual talking...
it's like... that one aspect of ******...
i would have: if i could have...
not have a *******...

said sir lancelot onan jr....:
i have never met a woman...
who could... hand-job / ****-me-off
a prince william better than i...
it's a sad truth when you come across
specimens of women who only known
how to YANK and never... DOODLE
the phallus... with the ******* still
intact...
and *** and *** is just a ******* formality...

darwinism is the modern reinvention
of the copernican ooh-ah!
if copernicus did so: as an "independent"...
Galileo came along with his
mighty telescope... and the martyr's cushioned
seat... while some Greek...
to "us": unknown...

******* is older than beer...
that's my habit...
i look at women in "niqabs" performing
these lolly-pop acts...
and all i see is the niqab...
ninjas of islam mothers of the true believers...
is there something wrong in...
watching others pleasure themselves...
now: **** would be wrong...
if... i somehow managed a proud richie
if... it were... a woman being skinned...
if it was a circumcision of man's phallus...
performed by an iron maiden
gimmick ***...
then i'd be worried...

like that sound-proof of: you're not
in the company of a psychopath...
when someone yawns... you yawn with them...

ostrowiec swietokrzyski is a forgotten town,
once the allure of metallurgy...
because rust belt only happens in
h'america... because the mines only close down
in england... these people were also:
people of the metal...
western europeans "think" that we
moved... because... m'eh...
your metallurgy meccas closed...
ours... "ours"... didn't?!

darwin is the modern version of
medieval copernicus...
and i'm pretty ******* sure...
the ancient greeks, in their childish solipsism...
had a quasi-darwin to begin with...

i'm tired of hearing this worth of ****:
there's not enough toilet paper
to match up with the 111 of wiping your ***
with the index, middle and ring finger's
worth of: grafitti!

but at least boxing is a sport that still
demands a variant of ethics...
there's gloating prior...
but catch a skiving ******* gloating
after... doktor dentist herr sadist is...
waiting... parlor no. 2...
you can simply hear a faint grip
of the christmas carol he's singing...
'i'll hang you on a noose of
poor's joe's intestines i dissected:
** ** **...'
you get the idea where no jokes
comes from?

no sport ethic teaches the contestants
to gloat... to gloat is to be fat...
to be a glutton... no one likes...
people gloating after the facts...
like no one is expecting to hear much
about: the heliocentric contra the geocentric
argument...

i beg to disagree... people have a hand
in endearing the geocentric argument...
in the anglophonic realm...
what have we not heard of in the past
2 years beside brexit, trump?
so... there's a heliocentric model...
that's working? or aren't we still
left liberated by a geocentric model of
the now and the in-between?!

last time i chanced the argument...
nothing "west" of mars...
perhaps "north" of jupiter...
again: what's the copernican "west"...
what's the copernican "east"?
i'm still a ***** ******* remnant
of ****** pact VARSUS... aren't i?
warsaw pact...
and so i am:
i am in england for no "apparent" reason...
the metallurgy advent of europe
ended... even under the soviet
umbrella you were... "influenced"...
only western europe gets to: bemoan?
begrudge?! nostalgia riddle itself an et off?!

- you can watch any other sport
and find less "grief" in it...

tennis! what is tennis willing outside
of politics?
the captivated audience...
esp. with the prime-minister's
q&a...

in football... any interference from
the crowd...
summary? a clause is passed...
pencil & paper muscles are flexed...
law comes into: from sleepy /
sheepish demands: a reality to abide
by, goal poasts are moved...

perhaps that's why boxing is a mythological sport...
it doesn't matter that the art... the sport...
doesn't take into consideration
the entire body... and even if the rules
"suggest" that the upper body canvas
is involved...
the boxing remains true:
as truth said: the interaction between
two fists, the head and a car crash
bound to some later... "investement"...

but at least boxing is a sport of pristine quality...
it can be celebrated...
with a fictive outlet...
the audience is involved but only involved
as a dasein: being there...
politics? i vote...
but i'm hardly ever going to fathom
being in parliament...

oh mein nett gott...
where is tennis and my tennis *****?
that game of: 7 rectangles...
and... at most... 11 referees...
and about 6 ball boys / girls...

ludo politico... this most feral sport...
come to think of it...
there's not much to think of...
but beside the sulking and the gloating...

once upon a time so abstract...
so abstract as there is nothing to abstract with

to exercise a will for the existence of a body...
beside having to justify talking
by simply thinking...

darwinism really has shaped events
of historical consideration to fill up the calendar...
that no amount of copernican gluttony and
gloating could ever surpass...

what was once intelligenstia vogue back
in the 15th century... via copernicus...
is once more intelligenstia vogue in this:
what year are we in?
darwin... darwinism outside of the anglosphere
of *******-tick-tock-******* is...
yet another frictive detail that acts
like sandpaper when attempted to fit into
a jean pocket of events...

it's rough around the edges...
and all this ontological borrowing from ape,
from lion, this ontological borrowing from
ants from... this microscope inside
a telescope... and otherwise... inverted...

i'm at the end of my road...
a most fractured example of what could
possibly be deemed human...
annals of worthwhile autobiographies
my ***...
merry christmas my ***...
this celebration is a bit of a *******-whipping...
i might as well die tomorrow and know
that only one man existed in all of history...
hardly a reason to curl into a foetus pose
a shadow and start biting into a corner
like some mouse for the celebration
of the birth of Leibniz or Kant...
nonetheless...

i am to celebrate... something that's
either a bad-*******-riddle-of-ad-nauseam...

or... how i'm the only person who would say:
you know they unearthed the nag hammadi
library back in 1945... and there's a correlation...
with the history of the jewish revolt against
the romans... written by an "integrated jew"...
a josephus ben matthias...
and how... that doesn't even matter?
because jesus wasn't playing
chinese whispers in the gospel of st. thomas...
and this is all just fine, fine; fine!

to celebrate a "birth" is to also...
make this "life"... what it is... "life" something only worth
the margins and minor notations...

what is relevant when cf. (comparing)
darwin to copernicus?
the awe fantasy ridden vogue of intellect,
the: darwinism is a square box that can fit
itself into any empty lodge of parchement...
a square can fit through a triangular shaped
hole... darwinism can...
be all and end all...
we don't need any continental
existential complexity... we do not need
any 20th century existential ontology...
as long as we have... an explanation readied
via darwinism... a simple 1 + 1 = 2...

i, robot; you - don't care...

Kant is still holding the spot for: bachelor of the year...
215th year coming...
Kierkegaard is a shy second...
but Kant is something akin to
what the Muhammedians would call...
the unison of all five...
the Shahadah is the categorical imperative...
Salat: to think is to pray...
Zakat: to not speak is to give alms...
Sawm: to not think about food is to fast...
(or keeping the motto...
i eat to live... i don't live to eat)
Hajj: ha ha! Paris! or... to go where you're
supposed to be...
rather than... expect others for you to be at...
to not be a tourist! a hajj implies:
be not a tourist! expect to be made unwelcome...
come with a purpose...
that deviates from the purpose of
a stated origin to be made purposive
by you going there!
hajj! don't be a tourist!

i have always found some relief in Islam...
like any Romford bound lad...
Ronnie O'Sullivan...
christianity? not after having unearthed
the nag hammadi library...
not after the words have remained
coincidental... not after 1945...
not after WHERE the nag hammadi library was found...
not after the powers-at-be
attempted to "confuse" / hide the nag hammadi
library as a distinct yet: simultanoeus event
coinciding with the dead sea scrolls...
not after the each quwaitii became a oil rich
baron sheikh... not became the pakistanis
and the bangladeshi decided: **** it working
slave hours in Dubai...

Lawrence of Arabia citation of Islam...
i will fake it... the christianity...
but i doubt to ever have a pillow to lie on...
i am pretty sure i will not make it...
i know the allure of islam...
i know the allure of islam when...
if only some genuine friend of this faith came
across me... before that farce of a friend
worth the psychopath's lying ferret's woo
of an Egyptian... with time:
no... no! no healing!

Islam is younger... christianity is...
how many schisms?
prune, pseudo-buddhist...
catholic, protestant... unitarian...
bishopric baptist... calvinist...
it's a... monotheism...
but... given the many splinters?
i find it improbable to not treat it as a...
polytheism... how many times are most kind sirs
going to divide the ******* loaf?!
until we're no longer even eating crumbs?!

christianity to me is a polytheism:
given the number of times it has divided itself up!
it's a cancer growth spectacular, al fresco!
i can only thank the protestants for this...
poly-divison...
after all... there was only one schism in islam...
and that's the allure!
because i am neither: Iraqi prone...
Iranian il allahu blah blah blahlah ural "who who"...

skin? or tattoo?
i have seen christianity die...
no one wants to talk of the nag hammadi library,
honestly... this is a ******* major event!
the media contest: the unearthing of
the dead sea scrolls is a synonym:
of an event that doesn't even happen...
the dead sea scrolls is an event relating
the death of the prophet Isaiah...
being disemboweled... being a courtesan...
guess what!
if no one is going to be ghost-forsaken
and salted-soul honest!
irish proud etc.! guess what...
like unto like: do as they do!

plus all this anglosphere wet-***** darwinism...
how the ****, did darwinism just hijack all
the arms of the humanities...
everything has to be explained with darwinism...
good! because if every cul de sac of life
was to be explained using copernicus...
imagine!

not even newton is a celebrated
scientist these days...
not even michael faraday...
but darwin is!
everything has to come down to
a darwinism - a branch of darwinism...
there's only one narrative:
a biological / psychological narrative...
how could a mythology surround
a Herr Faust / a Pan Twardowski...

england skipped the myth of the chemist...
the alchemist:
sure... william "Christopher Marlowe" shakespeare
tried to "catch-up"...
the english imagination was lost to king
arthur and the glories of:
being conquered by Rome...
of having been part of an ancient history...
last time i checked... us central europeans...
the germans, the goths, the vandals, the aesti...
the great migration types from the Causcus...
we... we didn't share the bounty of this history...
we're again: the barbarians at the gates...
us, slaves... with this sound-encoding and our
own distinctions: our caron S and caron C...
to sneak-in the tetragrammaton...

and who are, the Italiano?
do the Italians even recognise ancient Rome?
do the English truly recognise the...
what's that artifact... the Stonehenge?
ha! ha ha ha ha!
by joke alone...

darwinism's plague on everything cultural!
everything has to be a reminder of:
genes! gene narratives!
everything has to become a propability
gambit! everything has to be sacrificed upon
quasi-religious statements of: why you should,
rather than: why you shouldn't be feeling
so ******* grateful for a per se...

to me... darwinism is... a neo-copernicanism...
a stylish vogue rhetoric...
you can wear darwinism in the 19th to the mid 21st century...
afterwards? it's just a timid burn on the brain
to have to "argue" trans-generational
sensibility patterns of being the labelled:
made in western liberal free "ouch" spice society...

i can side with islam on two grounds...
who were the janissaries?
Murad I would have retorted:
who were the Jesuits?
if not by foundation, the hands of Ignatius of Loyola?
when who were the Mamluks?
my western neighbors love to...
designate my grand ethnic "etymology"
within the framework of the eaten E...
i.e. a slav(e)...

why would i side... with this... variant...
this... "variant" of "christianity"...
for a ******* carol-song-***-by-*******-yah
hard-on quest?!
you heard them...
old saxons vs. new blut saxons in
an orchestra of zeppelins hanging over london!
or... the lagoon as i like to call it...

check you "history" your etymology...
oh... because "they" would correct "misunderstood"
etymology... with a counter:
akin to the ethnonym -
loan words baron!
it's just "a missing E"...

it's still mainstream darwinism...
i imagine the years under the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth...
the Ukranians must have been like...
enough! enough of this Copernicus ******* already!
Ave Khmelnitsky!

after all... copernicus was right...
the sun does not move around the earth...
the earth moves around the sun...
copernicus was right... we were wrong...
the earth moves around the sun...
but... the affairs of the sun...
are not... the affairs of the earth...
and those... bound... to inhabit it...
the sun is important...
but... soap opera triviality is...
somehow... more... important...
drama of the callous nature of man...
is... more than... the vacuum riddle bundle
of billions of years is...
with its... mere H-to-He exchange of gaseous
bundle warmth...

one thing that governs my cruelty toward
how darwinism is exploited to fit
every ******* crevice of everyday life...
that one's: its supposed universality...

but then... this trans-genus trans-species
"comparative literature"...
it's not enough to be imitating ape...
again: which ape?
the chimp alone? the gorilla?
the ******* macaque?
why would i devolve...
having the body of a gorilla?
a gorilla could wrestle a lion to the death...
i, albino quasi gremlin bonkers IQ...
get to... pet a bonsai tiger!
yay!

two things went wrong when it came
to... "people, thinking"...
vogue ideas...
the copernican revolution...
and the... revolution of darwinism...
oh we can forget about marx...
we all know what was wrong about that...
i'm pretty sure some greek knew that already...
but we're stalling...
for **** know's what...
since: not being vular by now is not going
to help the "clarification of verbiage
over civilised tea and scones later" either...

if only these darwinist concentrated on
the source material...
but... to throw into this "existentialism"
a mix of peering with scrutiny at an ant colony...
at bacteria... at tapeworms...
and... somehow... being...
once more... the center of the universe...
of analytical diarrhoea?
in a heliocentric schematic?
**** me... are you sure...
this heliocentric argumentation was only so good...
as good as... when you didn't have to
navigate a west and an east...
on a map...
going through the Rhine valley...
via Antwerp... via Essen...
via Dortmund on the autobahn?

again... what's a copernican "east"?!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
. i arrived from communism, and then came across the western stigmata of post-colonialism... i tried to think of something, then i began to, "forget" my tongue... migrant Pollacks: or at least the ones that i know... don't tend to congregate... but it broke the camel's back... a people moved, ingrained with a Germanic proverb that taught them both communism & arbeit macht frei... and the english just couldn't compete... i remember taking my grandmother to the hospital with my uncle: yeah, i know, having family relations is deemed ******, backward... and i met this one Pollack... worked a stint of five years in a recycling factory... guess how he made a living? he collected *** toys from the conveyor belt... washed them, packed them, and then resold them to the unsuspecting public "back home"... funny... me? i'm pretty conscious of my recycling... to recycle glass? i have to walk a decent worth of a kilometre... drop the bottles, remember my staple menu: whiskey, some pepsi... he called the anglos: over-sexed... me... slav... me vork... me do nut-in else... be good, yes? then something like ****** blut song comes out, and i start to feel... perfectly normal... too bad that my grandfather was a communist party member, indoctrinated to even involuntarily cry died... i've met one Greek at university who made it adamant that Istambul was to be called Constantinople... like i dated a Russian girl, a monarchist... who said: the evil that happened at the gates of Hermitage... and i'm supposed to congest, all of this, like a 5 year old's worth of a sponge for a mind? hmm... interesting! i'll do my best... so why is england filled with so many accents? psst... it has no diacritical markers... not clear syllables... the french did one better... they did a bigger ****-up of their language for a sense / purpose of syllable clarity, but they used diacritical marks... or at least... applied them, for no other reasons other than a pedantic aesthetic... buffer-zone extraordinaire... the pollack... in England "we" were the ethnic group that caused Brexit... oh... i know so... hard to compete with a people who were first subjected to the maxim arbeit macht frei and subsequently the communist project to put brick on brick and let Warsaw stand, re-erected... frankly? i go back to Poland, having to experienced my parent's self-imposed exile... and i feel... nausea... back in England i much succumbed to my isolation... a society like a prison... i just... kept... forgetting to succumb to clinging to a "mein besitz(en)"... so i left satellite status extension of the Soviet experiment, and i, come, zu dieses?! i forgot to cling to roots... i forgot there was a community of similis hund... i learned the language, perfecting it to the point, where, i awoke a desire to strangle myths into submitting, by licking the wounds of the deutsche zünge in the mass graves at Ypres... i've become a namesake akin to konrad I of masovia... or a sacrificial lamb... readied to experience both the land, the culture and the language of a post-colonial people, namely the English... and to, return, to die land und die volk... shrouded in anonymous robes... the integral part of the hive... and then shoved back into English society, citing my observations of the limitless curiosity of the paradox between the universal... and no longer the particular, but the individual... under psychiatric scrutiny... should anything normative allow me to settle with the rest of the people consumed by and involved in the stated times, the tide.


               to find air bubbles
in the general crust
of staring at
a blank piece of
                            "paper"
or as i like to call it:
peering into
           an eye of Belzeebub...
pixel fabric...
        listening to some
of the concerns of the natives...
awful east...
          when the Hebrews left
Egypt they didn't conquer
by simply subjecting
the bodies of the conquered...
the minds
and their high-esteem "geometric"
variants, pillars,
of the gods...
           came along with them...
thank you, dear ***...
for peering into phoneticism
of your sacred word...
the one word that i will not
utter, before i will utter
a racial slur...
      for no apparent reason,
me: not involved
in what could give me relief...
   bound to...
    believe me...
every time i go back
to "inspect" the homogenous
society
of Poland...
       i sense a bidding
to return to
             my beloved England,
reason?
   sure... the atomised man...
but the same man already
atomised out of a coherent
existence
and what could have been
his basic principles
for the motiff of freedom,
and will...
             de facto:
                            isolation
from a presupposed belief
in a superiority in not
congregating
    with my "kin"...
         in England...
adequately...
the pollacks hide...
            rat-like...
              i know i do...
but every time i make
a public stunt a congregation
of weirdos convulse
me to speak...
                   how else would
you mingle the music
of tasmin archer
   and... something akin
to wumpscut?
       you know...
once upon a time...
psychiatrists were called
alienists...
               in England...
bilingualism can be deemed
schizophrenic...
        i don't mind the mind-numbing
drugs to give me the:
nod nod, nod nod...
          i can find myself
content the next morning
having punched myself
   to sleep the previous night...
oh... slight plum brush-stroke
just beneath my eye...
   outrage of emotion...
   **** me...
   i tend to appreciate feeling
something, and keeping my mouth
shut about it...
         sedition...

pauper i...
                    a feeling of gravity
bound to a melancholic complex
of a claustrophobic heart...
a constriction...
        and pang...

             just like:
i'd love to appreciate the dream
medium: within the safety
confines of the unconscious
to counter having to think about
taking a psychadelic...        
to alleviate myself
from measures surrounding:
"the quick fix"...

              or as due to the now...
writing for a purpose
of toying with per se...
        for a completion
of uninhibition
            from the constraints
of language
     by those who...
               could not pass
through this sly narrative ploy
of concentrating
on the a priori ad priori ex nihil...

i'm a mongrel of a contained
animation...
   thank god that death is an
excuisite
       subjective experience
waiting for me...
   and nothing but the dry
objective fact
         of...
                       the trodden body,
the vague sense of reality
within the confines
of stating the animated body...

diatribe... sure...
if poetry was to be a burden
on the cohesion of
grey everyday language,
i would have
begun with a

dear sir / madam

...........................
...........................
..­....................................
............................­.........
...................................

and ended with

   yours sincerely,
                              then it would
have made sense...
      i do know how to
make the tongue formal,
  but, for the matter at hand...
******* Kandinsky et al.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
one thing most evident about england,
well...
not that many birch trees (my favourite),
or pines...
    birch treets as said to be the scounts,
they lay the ground for a forest,
    the best i can experience
around here are foxes, no wolves...
and even the foxes as shattered...
  a bit like the badgers...
   mind you, we can have as many objective
truths, and sorta feel proud...
    but i feel numb...
   numbers don't add up in the category
of feeling...
      i should really be standing
at some road juncation:
with excess applause...
          i don't think that's necessary...
    i can only state
a neo-gothic excavation began by
type o negative...
                     and the early death of
the lead singer....
   then there's that excess of attire...
lead, and Pb...
                 as some seach: also contained
within: a leash...
               me in a Turkish shop,
talking to the owner:
Papaturk... how i saved him money
when the local council
               inquired why he provided the caravan
umbrella...
    and hid the public bench...
   5 months i haven't seen him...
     we start speaking and it really is 5 months...
i talk about a month spent in Poland
and -18 temperatures...
  he just keeps referecing 5 months...
i'm only buying 4 cans of beer,
who gives a **** about a biography?
   i don't know if i half pretend or actually am
the one some might call: busy...
           my eyes are elsewhere...
i keep looking for them like i might
turn to finding either heart or Brian...
                one's a stone,
and the other a fat-sponge soaked in porridge...
    yep... type o negative... just
when the jerry spinger show was taking off...
took goth to a new dimension,
i remained clad in the most believable grey
attire... the boring type...
        and it's only that having experienced
a very rare traffic of soul-like expderiences...
did i become to realise
that such experiences are, well,
rather pointless...
   or at least undermining everything
surrounding them...
   god is a great concept, to motivate
the hazy fairies of the suggested approach...
             and when it actually happens,
say: hear angels singing while to rob
the altar of its white cloth and lie under the
altar... checking for sure whether you
are hearing what you're hearing...
             it thus becomes an existential
game, i.e. whether you "hear" or hear,
whether you "heard it" or heard it...
     and whatever experience you may have had,
it's a bit pointless to state that you're
of a cultish calibre...
               it just becomes a bit pointlesss...
you just see selling potatoes
   and Korans as more important...
     then it becomes a case of:
  well: why beging with anything at all?
why not call all the saints mental imbeciles?
   why not begin there?
i say that because, given the teaching,
as in: forgiving your enemies,
has not compass in western society,
western society, if isolated,
would be equivalent to a man / woman talking
to themselves in the streets of Beijing...
          i say i could have had an experience,
but the way i have been itemised, scrutinised,
i'd gladly believe in a crowd of people
nibbling at a mystery...
   actually experiencing a mystery gives you nothing!
i'm all for democracy, all for chaos...
            nothing happened, i didn't exist...
it's easier that way...
    that's why i feel no affinity with western
culture... it's just a load of ******* to me...
            i could have said:
i heard angels singing,
   but given the so called "sanity" membrane
of humanity, to create an omni-entity,
to later discard it...
     evidently there's no precise vector linking
(a) to (b)...
                   in england they call this
case a "mental" illness...
  i really wish my brain had the capacity
to create placebo experiences so pontent
that i'd sorta stop following in my father's
footsteps and becoming a roofer...
then again, he was sentenced to labour
in an industrial complex of steelworks,
look how that frail and senile pope
looked like clinging to his throne,
slobbering with his last speeches, "saintly"
john paul ii...
               i was very fond of pope emeritus,
all the grannies in poland said:
take, that, thing, from the throne...
    no easier way to overcome the saints
than have a pope-saint...
   who really wants the spotlight...
but should be killed by strobe-light and something
translating epilepsy into a stroke...
   as one bound to an exodus
i have no allegiance to the current folklore of
my original people...
    i don't know why i kept the tongue:
apparently such things are hard to erase,
   being first generation, i guess only with
an english wife i'd be able to shut up...
hence my english having a "subconscious"
undercurrent of polish...
             and i live in an anglican country...
    oh there are, there are differences
between a catholic nation and a protestant
nation...
   as there are differences between northen
catholic and southern protestant...
        no wonder i was given a "medical"
    noun  schizoid...
       encompass all of that, in a single generation?
you'd go cuckoo!
                 but then again i'm playing
tennis with a brick wall...
         i don't expect pity, i don't expect empathy,
in just expect nothing, no body...
              we're all bound to wear the shoes
we tire with against the pavement...
  but ridicule is the one thing that ****** me off...
   i'd prefer a comforting joke...
   ridicule is something devoid of what is required
for a passion, even a passion scrutinised and staged
by a stand-up comedian in sarcasm...
   ridule is a bit like science,
already lost to the schism of its counterpart of
falsification...
                    so many truths! so many truths!
          i guess that's what philosophy is about,
apart from being a mediator of science with / vs.
humanism, it's the membrane segregating the two...
      you can clearly cheat with science,
you can ascribe fake statistics with science,
  tell them 1 in 5 women were *****
as part of the **** culture phenomenon,
  when someone else states: more like 1 in 165...
but you can't exactly find a person who
lied about reading Tolstoy's war and peace....
only because a person who has read that
   piece of work: isn't exactly keen to talk about it;
from experience:
   i've read don quixote... and i'm not that keen
on giving a proof of having read it...
that's my own c.c.t.v., not yours.
   you can find that a lot, one a person
reads the equivalent of 5 Islamic columns / elements...
   say.... rather than completing the Hajj...
reading the Brothers Karamazov...
        you really don't get that much
conversation...
  reading a book as the established order
of the 19th century, read in the 21st century...
you start to look at your contempories
a bit suspiciously... like they really are devoid
of acknowledging a worthwhile experience with you...
i started to look at most people, my contemporaries,
at bit like walking into a bathroom showroom...
    i guess i thought about brushing my teeth
and talking to them so they could pick up a scent
of wild strawberries oozing from my mouth...
   i read the **** books, i don't need to compete
for being able to talk about them...
given the books... it's very hard to talk about them...
      you don't really get to talk about
these columns...
          well, unless it's the Koran,
then you really get to talk... you get to shout, even,
and shoot a throng of pigeons while you're at it...
  apologies, no apologies... yada...
or as one puts it (talking queeny beeny) -
   to the great artistic mafia of Poles...
              somehow connected...
   the whole: blood thicker than water...
            oh i'm about to dump this
  mongrel soul and treat it as:
            a Mickiewicz might:
of the tongue, of the body, toward the soul
   cleansing...
               i probably will not like the end
results... but that's better than what i have now...
        i don't like to have a mongrel soul
trapped inside a mono-ethnic body...
              i tried the whole utopian masquerade of
living the dream, i.e. "living the dream",
it didn't exactly work out as western politicians
liked to have hoped it might...
             and that's the really sad part,
i really wished it could have worked...
   now, whenever i think about *******
  someone of my ethnic compendium
whether by body represented, or by soul encouraged...
i just think it's ******...
                 it's like the culture i express
has encouraged that i move to
south africa and **** someone so far removed
from my experiences...
          it really does feel like ******...
        what a sick sick world to be gravity prone to too..
but hey! we have the numbers...
     try to be cosmopolitan for a bit,
whether that's in London, or Edinburgh...
      it soon emerges that the Greek city-states of
modern capitals are surrounded by
****** prone cannibals...
   and more importantly: philistines.
                     sure, for a second you can almost
be persuaded by atheistic arguments...
as those took hold the imagination of people
in the early 21st century...
     i just look at man and see god laughing...
and since the case is: the ugliness of a godless man...
      well...
                    the crucifix is hardly
the N on the compass...
  but since the crucifix aimed at the N of the compass...
the northen barbarians said a joke
that made the crucifix something worth
imitating in the Philipines for a worth of spectacle...
and elsewhere, skog av krux -
oh, it's a very short joke...
         blod ørn... ****** eagle...
   given that so many imitate being crucified...
  can only signify it being a complete and utter joke...
one hour in a järn-jungfru
would make up 2000 years worth of history;
or a scene from a Sioux scalping stone...
    we're ingenious like that...
and yes: blod ørn - blod o(h)-ern...
          i prefer the german blut adler...
   so many moustaches, and other periphenelia
of attire, such as a bow-tie...
  to translate the bewilderment
that a latin inherited grapheme can't
be the smallest unit of sound, given the vowel...
  or how the grapheme became translated
for the worth of diacritical marks...
  æ and œ created
    the basis for diacritical marks being applied...
as with the already stated example...
ørn is derived from œrn...
             tongue-tie twisting like a serpent around
its suffocated prey...
          spine bound to crunch, and defeatist chess...
    we can never say why it was applied
to the signifier: umlaut (ü) - best explanation
is a hidden arithmetic... and the compensation
of omicron-macron...
                       but that's just a guess...
    science is anything but holy...
given the fact that it's so easily manipulated...
                 and falsified, and cheated...
     the samde torturous instruments that defended
religion, are but replaced in the name of science...
          as a life bound to be a freedom,
with labour inside the mind that is relentless,
   and in dire need of change...
where  democracy, or autocracy, as nothing more than
slaves of the arch-cardinal, known as status quo.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
it's less, well,    less agonising to think in
german, than it it is speaking in
english:                                    only when
  ς = ß, or when it doesn't...
only as it sounds,  ingested by the eyes...
and one says schtein! and zechtm nein sein!
only because you won't treat
it as a grapheme, and interchange the s mit z...
or volk, the people, and cloud, wolke...
   fascinating papa German and mother
                                    englischsprechen,
and coming from eine slawin, hein! ein! hein!
ha ha ha ha!
        marsch! die deutche marsch!
laufschritt! marsch rückwärts.... eine eine eine!
       schnell! schnell! schnell!
    commandant achtung: ja?
       nein nein... counter nein, ja? nein!
                beifall... beh-e-fall...
nein akut ah, neine arnst ah...
the one under the halo of a zeppelin:
pin-point one... like counter bay-fall,
or rather beh-e-fall... like: ***** and not
askew...
   fallen schmellen...
                             lauf rekindle...
        kinder blut...
                      la la giggly: towed by
a radio transmission.
                         deutsche, natürlich
compoundierung zung...
                 englisch alle sparen binderstrich...
so no wonder:
    i spreschen quasi deutsch,
and then there's dutch,... and Goethe
and the myth of chemistry by humanities
   and herr Faust...
              kinderfeld tanz.... where mein
piglet sour soul was sentenced to an aria?
some also say: neuter.
or soft german N, niu-ter... or new... ta ta per.
beginning with syllables...
            ending with syllables...
    ß ≠ ś ≠ š = ς ≠ σ, i.e. ß = ς ≠ σ...
or as the suggestion plainly states:
   said sound is in the eye of the one
about to say it, unravel the encoding.
i can't help, but not be, what writing in this
language might suggest...
  i just can't... or that's how you exploit
bilingualism strata... you entrench with two tongues,
and then leave one of them
  very much adequate to become a plumber (e.g.),
you actually construct one of the sides
to a very refined architecture,
you even get to experience god...
and then your psyche debases it...
  deconstructs it...
        while at the same time debasing
your language of origin as:
some sort of counter-genesis,
or an exodus with a beginning that needs to be
returned to...
   both langauge fail...
   you're playing with a cat with a shoelace
and after the "magic hand" moving the shoelace
about is "missing", the cat seems bewildered,
so much so, that his usual circumstance of
eyeing up solipsism seems, quiet frankly,
usurped...
             it's such a shame that i learned this
language to this state of affairs,
and i have nothing to give it, other than the hope
that i unlearn it...
         and given that i wasn't given a chance
to explore a psyche in my native gadać....
that i might return to stating a universe in
a cat's eye, with a woof or a meow...
in the beginning was the word,
and the word was with god...
secondant!
in the end was the word onomatopoeia,
and onomatopoeia was with the zenith:
woman's ******... but the mountain crumbled
into dust, and all that was worth, was only
worth a manly grunt and later a snore.
so yeah... cat's meow...
   or a dog's bark...
    or a fox's dry "laugh"...
                                           awoooooooooo!
Destre' Aug 2015
JC
Your work makes me think and makes me smile
Smile in a sad way every once and awhile
Thank you for being honest
and for being blut
For saying things others don't
and for being up frunt
Your inspiring
Is it tiering?
Having so many thoughts in your head?
Just waiting to be put on paper
Just waiting to be admired and read
A little rough. I don't know, is it weird to write a poem about someone you don't know?
Colors of my imagination
Grow constantly within my mind,
Prosperous world I once created
Dragged into elder forces' fight.

The darkest matter of Ruination
Tries to destroy my universe,
But cosmic echoes of Creation
Have counterpoused their ancient force.

The oldest forces combat wildly -
There wasn't any fight like that,
The streams of power spinning blindly -
Arising essence of black shade.

The new stars' substance is arising,
From this new essence of pure dark,
Now millions of worlds are shining,
And billion fires have been sparked.

A thousand years passed after battle,
I ask its shadows (they're alive):
"How could chaotic fight to end up,
In giving birth to purest life?"

("We've witnessed universe creation,
We've seen a strength of spectral knights,
Bringing a life to new dimension
Requires energies' collapse...")

Shadows retreat - to constellations,
Last time I see the new worlds' light,
This picture - my imagination,
It's getting bleak like nighttime sky.

(inspired by Decrepit Birth and Blut Aus Nord)
Marie Nov 2020
Als die abgekühlten, verschwendeten Träume des Unterbewusstseins
langsam ihre Farbe verlieren,
werden seine verwaisten Hände übertastig,
greifen blind nach dem Fleisch,
neben dem seinen,
das weltverloren aus der verweiblichten Realität atmet.

Im Niemandsland halbwacher Gedanken,
erscheint jene Schaufensterpuppe,
die ihn an einem ganz gewöhnlichen Wochentag,
mit ihrem leeren Blick fixiert.
Plastische Existenz im gedankenlosen Körper,
zum Schweigen gebracht,
damit sie ihr Selbst nicht verleugnen muss,
wenn ihr der rechte Arm auf links gedreht wird.
Im Vorbeistehn schenkt sie ihm ein unbewohntes
Lächeln.
Oder ist es doch sein eigenes,
das sich im Fenster spiegelt?

An den Venusgürtel der Blauen Stunde gekrallt,
hält er die Augen fest geschlossen
Unsichtbar für das Lichte,
nicht sehen,
nicht gesehen werden,
ein Sich-den-Sinnen-verweigern,
im unbemerkten Raum innerhalb der Zeit

Wie der Blaue Blumendichter,
so weiß auch er,
um die Notwendigkeit der Verschiebung,
wenn die ätherische Illusion berührt,
wenn das Subjekt zum Objekt geworden,
in die Nichtwirklichkeit zurückgeschoben werden muss,
damit das lyrische Heimweh aus der
Überlebensverhinderung befreit wird

Wäre sie immer noch das,
was er am meisten bewundert,
wenn er jetzt,
jetzt,
in diesem blutleeren Augenblick,
sein linkes Oberlid öffnete,
nur einen kleinen Spalt breit
?
Wäre sie nur eine der liebreizenden
Schmetterlingspflanzen,
deren sinnliche Blüten begierig mit seinem Unterleib
tanzen,
und die Töne aus seinen Lenden presst,
bis die Musik verstummt
??
Würde er in seinen Weißhaarzeiten auf einer Bank
sitzen,
unten am See,
eine verschlissene, offene Aktentasche auf dem Schoß,
den Kopf tief vergraben im ranzigen Leder
und mit zittrigen Händen

nach einer fragmentierten Erinnerungsspur suchend,
die längst in die Bedeutungslosigkeit geflohen war
???

Er wagt einen halboffenen Blick,
hinüber zur lichtblauen Sehnsucht,
dem gestern noch so gefräßigen Verlangen,
das sich nun,
in gnadenloser Sattheit,
in seiner Fleisches-Unlust ausbreitet.

Ausgelangweilt kratzen seine gierigen Finger an der fiktiven Verkleidung,
bis ihr schamhaftes Blut in seine eigene Selbsttäuschung tropft
und ihre Brüste aus den blaubepuderten Versprechungen bersten,
die er nicht ihr, sondern sich selbst gab.

Im Schein des Morgensterns
glänzt bereits der melancholische Trauertau,
als sich beider Seufzer ein letztes Mal berühren.
Hastig wickelt er prosaische Bandagen
um ihre offenen Wunden

und schiebt das Gestern in (s)eine neue Zukunft.
Blaue Blume = Sehnsucht (metaphysisches Streben) nach dem Unendlichen, dem Unerreichbaren
der Verbrecher
waits for an opportunity
to strike at the weakest points.

der Moment
comes for them
to attack the vulnerabilities.

das Zimmer
is encased in black,
shadows creeping everywhere.

die Frage
remains if there's
a lurker amongst the darkness.

das Blut
splatters the wall,
staining the darkness with red.
The translations are as follows:

der Verbrecher - The criminal

der Moment - The moment

das Zimmer - The room

die Frage - The question

das Blut - The blood
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2017
i may be a catholic apostate who did not
take too lightly in being confirmed,
and even though i studied chemistry to a degree
level, i find a welcome break,
an armchair metaphor in studying
esoteric materials, because they simply bring
that kind of comfort, and a complete
lack of rigour that allows so much to shine
through...

like my discovery of the sign of the cross
in the Sefirot...
        again, i have to stress that i have
a fetish for the Deutschezunge and Hebrew
in theology, for i could never fall to my knees
before the one most despised by the Jews,
how could i?
          i required Hebrew literature,
and may i add: the study of kabbalah has
proven to be, after all the trials,
a very scientific endeavour into
the mechanisation of language...
        trans-linguistic is would appear...
i simply can't return to the mundane world
of either prayer or mantra...
     that's below me, plus it erodes the memory,
with its rubrics of said words
unnecessarily recited...
  forgive me, but it's one thing to
remember the necessary words
only when something is conjured and appears,
and another to conjure nothing
more than a missing poetic cannibalism...
which christianity invokes:
poetic cannibalism...
             sorry, no, the bread is stale and
the wine has been watered down,
you drink my blut -
              fermentation of rye and barley
and wheat... have a sucker pouch for
a glass of whiskey...
                  bread?
      swallow some lead pebbles...
                       i can't deal with this *******
lightly, i tread along this route with shackles
clinging, swaying, breaking silence upon
silence within silence that's an enigma...
              
but i found something of interest,
  the sign of the cross in the supposed
"tree of death"...
                  for i have nothing left in me
than the admiration of a Hebrew...
       or as i like to call them: the Hebraï...
      i.e. not the indian raj,
          but the mingling of ray with ri-fe,
    the former bit of the puzzle...
             i wish i could return, sometimes,
but most of the time i'm unabashed
in not fathoming if not merely forming an
apology...
  there truly are greater reasons beyond
the catholic church's ******* priest...
           just today three pubescent girls walked
up to me in the deathly hollow of
the night and asked for direction...
  just doll like features, barely 13...
          porcelain in moonlight from the fat
on their cheeks glistening and bouncing off them...
i merely replied: for the love of god
i do not know the street you're trying
to find... Waverley Avenue?!
   i know of Waverley St., but it's up in
Edinburgh! with that touristy greeting
of a scot in proper attire playing the bags!
anyway... back to the "primitive"
concerns...

              | in the name |
                         keter
                  ehyeh asher ehyeh

    | of the son |
               tiferet
           beauty, YHWH,

       because wasn't it beautiful?
look how much beauty arose from
the crucifixion, am i not right?
  the son is always depicted as beautiful,
esp. under the powers of
      torturous event, esp. then...

  | and the father |

binah, gevurah, hod vs.
       chokhmah, chesed, netzach...

   oh, wait... ****!
it would appear that i'm the sort of person
unashamed of showing mistakes,
or to put it "mildly": glorifying them in being
included,
   for the only end-product is one filled
with imperfections...
         after all, the prime philosophical
narrative drive is: inconsistency,
albeit inconsistency visible,
not the end-product, polished version...
i simply remembered a wrong
version of the trinitarian formula...

once again, maestro, hit me!

and it will spread to the north
                             first,
then to the west,
then to the east,
and last: unto the south bound
      (the geography of the trinitarian
formula).

being an apostate at least i got
the beginning correct:

              | in the name |
                         keter
                  ehyeh asher ehyeh

  | of the father |
     there ought to be a dispute
given the crown of myrrh...
   irony serves god best,
namely? what king serve a kingdom
sanely with such an object,
what is a crucifix compared to a throne?
hence?
      the father is the foundation
      (yesod)
  rather than the kingship (malkhut) -
that's one for riddling the zealots
and teaching liberalism...
         the heart of the father teaches
a foundation,
since, as the common saying goes:
the woman wears the trousers.

  | and of the son |
this is where it becomes complicated...
was it really the son's
final statement to express love (chesed)?
what sort of person admires a self-imposed
masochism?
               there are two rubrics at work
here...
  binah                            chokhmah
   (understanding)           (wisdom)
gevurah                    &       chesed
(strength)                               (love)
hod                                     netzach
(splendour)                          (victory)

| and the holy spirit |
   what is singular in transmission,
and what allows a collectivism of
these six traits?
        not understand,
       not splendour, not love, not wisdom,
perhaps strength,
  but surely a vision of victory...

| in the name of the son |
who is the son, when characterised the most
with said attributes?

tiferet (beauty) abides by the world,
and is, the world.

           | amen |
            malkhut,
               kingship!
finally! the relation of the crown
to the kingship via but a single word.

| and of the son |
or perhaps it is that citation upon
the cross: my father's house will be a house
of prayer: that self-assurance of victory
(netzach)... which could only revel in

   | and of the holy ghost |
   as being both gevurah & hod
(strength & splendour) respectivelym
what with the strength of an enduring religion,
and the opulence of the churches
bleeding ornament gold...
marble... silver...
  
yet the reason why the son clashes with
the holy ghost is because:
the father is unrelated in the concept
of a trinity, for so much of him belong
to the Jew, and not the slandered Gentile,
as the Gentile was slandered by the mouth
of the son...
                  
      at least the "father" is clearly related
to the following Sefirot dynamic:

     keter (crown) = malkhut (kingship) /
yesod (foundation) = tiferet (beauty)

the "son" is paralysed from this dynamic,
there's not beauty in a crucifix,
even if gilded in gold...
                    or managed by marble sculpture
macabre of the penitent madonna..
          
already the crown, the crown of myrrh
is a bad joke, the throne a hanging instrument
a torture another, bad joke,
     there is no foundation in that image,
the foundation is more scientific,
  a droplet of saliva on some glucose,
for example...
    and the beauty?
              how about exchanging two gorgeous
torture symbols to cowbell dangle
iron maidens?!

  i have the luxury of studying religious texts,
since i paid my allegiance to studying
science to the age of 21...
       i have this luxury,
              i did the science,
but now i have to attempt the ultimate
humanism: a study of religion...
but given the times:
                it's hardly nonsensical
to attempt such a feat.
Souleater Dec 2017
Das Land verbreitet Hass Tiraden,
Jetzt ist der Zeitpunkt, stellt euch auf die Barrikaden
kämpft für euer Glück
ihr bekommt es nicht einfach so zurück...
Es ist klar das es nicht einfach wird!
Habt keine Angst und zeigt euren Mut, tut nicht so als ob ihr nichts hört
ansonsten sehen wir alle Blut
wenn ihr jetzt nichts tut,
schürt ihr nur weiter die Glut...

Die Welt ist eins
Donald Trump nicht nur deins!
Ist Freiheit nichts wert ?
Ist das der Grund warum jeder weiter fährt ?
Wollen wir uns wirklich selbst zerstören?
Es ist an der Zeit zuzuhören!

Wie konnten wir es nur soweit kommen lassen ?
Wir haben doch keinen Grund zum hassen...

Nach all den Jahren nichts gelernt aus unseren Fehlern
die Friedhöfe werden voll sein mit Gräbern...

Macht und Gier, das ist es worum es geht
eigentlich verwunderlich das sich die Welt noch dreht
es gibt genug Grausamkeit auf dieser Erde,
der Grund warum ich nicht aufgeben werde.
Denkt nach was wir erreichen können wenn wir frei von Vorurteilen sind
Freiheit zu spüren klingt unglaublich, wie das Wunder von Kind
Caroline W Jun 2019
Scherben in nem eispalast -
Konserviert und eingefasst..
Labyinth aus Licht und Schatten,
Alpträume die sich verstecken
Träume die sie versteckt halten
Den Blick zu den sternen,
Weil nur dort oben keine Schatten sind
An ins Sternbild des Drachen
Weil ich nur dort zuhause bin
Und nicht auf dieser Erde

Nein ich muss aus einer dieser anderen Welten,
Da oben bei den sternen sein -
Kann mich nicht von natur aus um diese sonne drehen,
Keine Ahnung von wo da oben ich herkam -
Oder wohin ich dabei war zu gehen,
Doch Weiß ich das es nicht hier unten war,
Sonst würde sich nicht alles hier unten
Völlig falschrum für mich drehn,
Selbst Tag und Nacht sind verkehrt ,
Zu kurz ,zu schnell und kalt -
Wie alles andere auch ,
Viel zu schnell am vergehen


Es sind nur lichtblitze zwischen all den Schatten zu sehn,
Die die Bilder ein brennen die in diesen Schatten entstehen,
Wie blitze fotos in einen Film -
Jedes davon ein Beweis,
Das ich blos gestrandet bin,
Hier wo Dämonen wie sonst engel aussehn,
Wo alles sich gegenseitig frisst,
Und allein Wahnsinn fähig macht,
das alles lang genug zu überstehen,
Um auch nur lang genug das licht,
des wegs weit genug nach oben zu sehn,
Um überhaupt heraus zu finden
Das sterne an nem Himmel existiern -
Hoch genug oben um sich zu verstecken
Vor allem was nicht fliegen kann oder
verzweifelt genug davon ist,
in realen Horrorfilmen zu stehen,
‎um auf der Flucht vor all den Szenen
‎einfach blind nach oben zu gehn,
‎wo eine wand ist ,
beginnt zu klettern,
‎um nur nicht mehr in blut und Asche zu stehen
Fight your way up!
Keiri Nov 2019
I will speak a thousand words unspoken.
Leave a hundred paws unprint.
Have dozens of nights awoken.
Smell the lonesome wind.

I will see the invisible, and touch the nothing.
I shall be irresistible, with what you have to bring.

Yours I shall become, your neck will be my future.
My teeth do no harm and your words are a murmur.

Regarde moi, Tu me vois!
Tu me portes, ma vie, ma joie.
Pourquoi tu te fous de ma vie?
Dis-moi, comment je survis?

Tu choisis ce que je serai!
Je ne comprends pas ce que tu me vais!

Regarde-moi, Tu me vois!
Alors, n'ecoute pas!

C'est ma vie que vous avez prise
Personne n'entend mes cris

Qui méconnaît mes pleurs
Qui tue mes freres et soeurs?

Maar het doet je niets, je hoort me niet.
Je ziet het bloed niet dat je vergiet.
Je hoort en spreekt en ziet en luistert.
Alle leugens die je voor me verduisterd.

Je doet me pijn, weet je dat.
Al is het iets dat je snel vergat.

Al zie je niets als je me draagt.
Al weet je niets als men je vraagt.

Daremonai ga watashi no gengo wo hanashimasen.
Demo kono ate watashi no atama ha ten ni ikimasen.

Watashi no karada ha anata no issho ni aru darou.
Shin ha kowai deshou.

Watashi ha anata no fuku koto ni naranai.
Dakara sore koto ni kawatte shimasu kudasai.
Shin ha totemo kowai!

Spreche die sprache der toten.
Wer hat mich leben angeboten.
Von mirh zu stelen?
Ist Daß nicht elend?

Trage mich und mein blut.
Trage mich und siehst mich gut.
Dein Schwein pfeift nicht.
Mein Worte sind wirklicht.

Neden beni seviyorsun?
Beni öldürüyorsun.
Bana bir sans ver.
Beni öldürüyorsan.
Beni nasil sevebilirsin?

For I will speak a thousand words unspoken
Dis-moi, que tu me vois?
Of lieg je tegen jezelf?
Beni verdim sans...
Aber du siehst mich nicht!

Speak my language of the death.
Tu ne m'aimes pas que tu me mort.
Regardez-moi, qui tu t'en fous.
Je suis la vison autour ta cou.

_____
Grammar checked "Mink in the neck"
(Still a W.I.P.)
My keyboard failed on me with Turkish, I didn't have an 'i' without the point or the 'S' cedille. Forgive me... (Because of loving in a neighbour country, I did have the German eszett XD. I also had all the French accents. But don't get me startes on all the Japanese characters I couldn't type... Romaji it is XD
Ken Pepiton Jan 9
My grand daddy taught me to start a rope,
with a Turk's head knot. This be that sort of rope.
-- it takes less time to use
than to make
long enough
for any actual perfect purpose.

Mimetic pretenders,
euphoric make believers,
ritual passage over or under open limen
- cross the t and dot the ego.
- seek and find the missing pages
- all the mysteries in time
- that form our fundamental
- common sense in crazy made time

Lacunae rise from forgotten reasons used
to teach guardians
of secrets reasons
for war, how
to love,
in all the ways love is made worth dying for.
Blut und Grund, das Sein,
und mein, danke Schön

-- time ghosts pass, remarking at the weather-
-fine day, suns ablaze, breeze is light,
bemusing the beguiled thinking
'tis fairy, times fairs became cities, and all agreed,
election by contest, war in the spirit, in truth
using mere words, no audio, no video,
no styling nor fancy letter forms, unicode
alone no secret scripts, only sound marks
accented acutenesses and all,
+

y nada mas, mere words, redeemed, for this.
one new day redeemed for glory story need.
Morning glory teas,
in tiny shell shape cups.

May all magnificence be truth's.
Kernels of truth,
seeds producing tomorrow's
criteria, substance of things hoped for,
picked out details
to see in myths, the accuser's uses,
mysterious roots in ancien' riparian realms.

Oreithyia and Pharmaceia, intercession
for the poor.
Early spring
bulbs and flowers
the maenads chaos wine,
effigy effigial me, burning
for your mis-perception
of procedural authority,
instant re-co-gnosis,
vestigial dreams
time minds
in tow, riding your own
recognition,
around the spiral, down,
you would tell me if you were insane
so would I, the ego, living aight,
this it, you read, that's all she wrote
∞ *+
∞ -> =
aha, you think,
may be so,
say so, or no, go and
find the connection closed,
and energy flowing in to the either real realm,
or the null set, like old never minds, you had
while the circuits were fried
at the fusebox
for pennies
used to save a dime, to keep the energy
flowing to the magi's visual representation
of all that's known to hold attention,
by reflex,
look out, see windsense, energy electricity,
elect to let your curiousity fix all your if-I'da

knowns

open for conjecture, to catch subjects
objectified from the precept wisdom is, whole,
as the whole truth, we understand, makes sense
nets form nodes of both knowing, as a me,
we, each grow old at the same pace,
we become that which is,
at first step, precept assuring the runner,
there is always a place to put your foot,
goat-sense, Ein Gedi balsam eating
'scaped goat,
running down the cliff,
at the edge of annual reboots,
reconnecting reality, and the balm
traded for silk in Giliad, and
entertaing news
of miracles in smoke…
and mirrors of mercury, and
-------- time, out of mind dangling hook
make believe, fishing
we pretend, making be specific
imaginary gravity and survival codes,
for a chosen few, catchholds, grapples
for those not inclined
to lean
on a lesson
that demands experience,
to contend, hold that thought, this ain't war.

- Khai Vinh, set like the roof
- Ai can find the images,
- the place was real
- those were my antennae
- crazy true, after the fact, signal
- now, how much of that was CIA?

proud Mary keep on boinin', 'long
Bayou Bleu,
down Plaquemine way, deep night
on roads made from tiny wet white shells
that something made, while living in it,
- one way trace, wide enough
- for an auto me mover
- tugging my at to here
as we live inside our head, as far as
our fingers reach
from where we stand,
our feeling fingers only reach so far, so good.

Held a thought
a while back,
it may have been a trick, but listen, if it was,
I'd have taken it, and won, for midsent-morphing
turning tropes for the dopes hoping something new.
In fancy forms of wannabets.
Peace on Earth, is real.
Baby,
the price is all the attention you can muster,
and then some, as time seems
to have
modes, like we have moods, hormonal
catch and release reflexes, you know, like…

what, what, who cares why, what must be first
priority, ah
what are we intending to pretend to be?
Wordwise,
entertained, fed to satiation, what more, prior

to the next wisea
* asking me to believe, in hell.
I just came to fish.
I came after the curtain was torn, top to bottom,
nothing kept secret
for the artifactual value, remains
here. You know, free as any knowing, now.
There is no enemy that truth cannot love, once
you understand, the limits
of your learning curve, ai,
you accept, no lie is
of the truth, no wisdom form
is flawed, first glance,
glimpsed, real as war
glory, as valued a common lure
to the unshined …
initiate turn on … flip
the switch.
Imagine Grace.
Riches with no sorrow,
worth the effort, found
pure, then peaceable, gentle

right snap
fit, just right, no excuses, we got the mystery
imagined for us,
in the end, pain free,
in the collective consciousness some say is spirit
of our time, our Zeitgeist, doing what it does

close up, nothing spooky at a distance, eye
to eye, mere words with wishes twisted through

outs and ins and ups and downs, and
wells
deep as pressure allows,
right, I ought to sleep, but buzz…

O' no, I said too much… or did not say enough.

Slowly, Monday came.
Morning harbinger to sailors, says sit tight.

Find a fire
far from the threshold, and wait.
Talk with the locals
from the same boat, survivors,
boast of storms ridden out, and ones
that swallowed brothers
and some malicious captains. Good riddance,
some say, while others flick a libation
offering a drop of grog across time's stream.

Lift up your eyes, look down
from your satellites and see the future
coming on the weather channel, thanking
all the forces fixing droughts and flushing deltas,

with the first of winter's predictable trials.

-------------
Hunker down and listen, feel your self, you
deep down, your sacred feeling, especial self

red sky warning seen
before by wiser men, older
by experience, made
acknowledges your luck,
as a ware for use
by innocents, listen, take heed,

all things work together
for good,
for keeps
for those with hearing ears.

Listen to the wind, and thank the dry truth
for being.

just being used to
form fibers for twisting into ties

---- long lines for this ride pray patient perfecting

Rush to judge the blown away reason.

To whom is thanks given, and why, I
the desert dweller bound for Tarsus, stuck

at the edge of the raging sea.

The whole world shuddered at the blow,
the earthquake, peleg in the old tongue,
timeless
as the story eventually got writ, in a modded
Phonecian script, survivors were mostly kids,
resiliency of innocents,
one here,
one there, some whole neighborhoods,
where all the kids were in the swimming hole,
all around the shuddering islands on this world.

It was as we have imagined,
until the grownups crossed lost time,
using lost knowledge locked in idle words,

deem the day redeemed,
feel the emotion defined

gratitude for gratified if I'd known,
missed terminals, crosst wires,
connect to the sea of God's forgetfullness,
relink the collar think canals on rivers,
holding the course men set for cities,
dhghemed damdamd-dayamd indeed…
No river muses suffer such for ever

we all know enough to be accepting
oddities in timed chance trial understandings,

we all know wills to power, and notions
to jump into the ocean and go on down,
to the bottom mind tele far long now mind

space shared across time, like the snow,
when the tv went native,
in the olden days
my minds child watched the hush of creation,

let it happen, let it be, this is it, or we are lost,
and that
is un thinkable, try.
Try thinking you do not follow the whole idea,
life
is us, all of us in our most common sense,
this one, translation by Google Bard,
passed my Hausa native speaker friend's
blind Turing test,

that happened days ago, next, ah
SYTF
precept, reception tune to the humm,
listen, humm,

call the editor.

"very interesting." Rest assured,
after accessing the way made plain,

Habakkuk habit, make it plain,
make it make the motors turn minds
in to wills, and wills into power,
pure peace
prefects feel good flicked libation.
Perfect.
Print.
The entertainment, many minds
attention paying to the shared event,
today.
Today. EXTRA, read all about it,
death has no lasting sting.
Live to the end. Redeeming your time.
Swiftly passing to the beat of your own drum.

One step past the simple, love,
you find sublime, nothing down and *****,
nothing missing,
nothing broken,

as one learns to think from the heart,
part of me that's thought in you, feels as
mere words some scribe imagined hearing

as he wrote,
line upon line, asangin' twangin'
a strangle hold, twisting hairs into a rope.

A riata, I think they call em.
Horsetail lariat, patiently plaited,
to make my own noose, when the time
comes to put the tool to use.

CLASSICAL LITERATURE QUOTES
Plato, Phaedrus 229 (trans. Fowler) (Greek philosopher C4th B.C.) :
"Phaidros (Phaedrus) :
I should like to know, Sokrates (Socrates),
whether the place is not somewhere here
at which Boreas (the North Wind) is said
to have carried off Oreithyia
from the banks of the Ilissos (Ilissus)? . . .
Sokrates :
Oreithyia was playing
with Pharmakeia (Pharmaceia), when a northern gust carried her
over the neighbouring rocks;
and this being the manner
of her death, she was said
to have been carried away by Boreas."

Morally ambiguous. Us, our we, we know not valid reasons
to do useless things, making
vain repetitions, vain making of many books,
all vanity, the making of many things from nothing.
We live on a living planet, and we have tamed parts of it,
not the part common sense comes from, it is still forest dark and lively.
Mateuš Conrad May 2022
i've learned the "hard way":
due or dew...
     orthography? Dickens would say:
chatter... but chater is a terrible mistake...
orthographic? any diacritical indicators
akin to morze (sea) "vs." może (maybe)...

a bit like the colloquial saying:
  π x drzwi (🚪)
   (pi razy drzwi... pi times door...
translation? thereabouts... sort of...
an estimate...)

H'american humour is pretty **** good...
notably?
Bloodhound Gang...
transcript:

song? Mope... from the album Hooray for *******...
- we're going to this next bomb for money-making
   play'ah that ain't with us no m'oh
- yeah, notorious b.i.g.
- hell no, we're goin' do this ******* 'n' ****
   that ain' see it comin'...
- yeah, Tupac Shakur...
- n'ah *****... i'm talkin' about mother ******'
Falco 'n' ****...
- wha'? Falco?!

see the surds? and the apostrophes?!
that's English for you...
              the apostrophes are for the surds...
you can sort of omit...

  never underestimate H'american comedy...
sometimes it's as good as English humour...
German humour is funny too...
but it's sort of funny when you're using a sledge
hammer... a kango: pneumatic drill...
moving rocks around... thinking about arbeit macht frei...

today started great... oh... right... bus stop...
single mum... a boy unconsciously crossing his fingers...
what's up?! me dragging my rented kango...

it's almost like that stereotype of: bachelor walking
with a dog on a leash... a bachelor dragging
a kango...
            i... wasn't expected to get a conversation
without the use of a dating app?!
you what?!
        she needed me... ****** way to court someone...
how much do you charge for an hour?!
will that boy of yours stop wishing for
a Santa Clause present of a father?!

          good, good?! we're nodding... so we're
in the territory of pigeons' ****** practices...
since obviously crows and magpies are more discrete...
they have ******... in the night...
right... i look useful...
                    time to recycle newspapers...
i'm not dealing with this doll wannabe *******...
i'm going to return this piece of joy...
i came round the rental shop...
Josh?! yeah... Josh... returned the tool...
said twice: what a nice piece of toy...

he returned my deposit... shook his hands...
hmm... nice... a firm one... felt like...
that ancient Roman handshake...
where you didn't shake hands... but...
you reached up to the elbow... almost...

some shopping... mostly vegetarian... ****...
silly girl: great ***... oops... oozy-fuzzy eyes...
i'm playing the currency of somehow attractive...
i'm of the opinion...
peaches... pears... a great bit of *** is
much better than a great pair of melons...
i don't know: i have a polar opposite of an aesthetic...
a great *** is better than a pair of knockers...

maybe using a KANGO made my mind up...
***** *******?!
seriously... seriously?!
alright... i'm tired, i'm bored... i'm turned off...
limp biscuit me...
i like the idea of a mirror and doing something
before the altar of the mirror and from behind
and... rottweilers... any German dog breed:

alle deutschhundrasse!

right... walk with a dog or walk with a kango...
what are the chances of a single mum...
did that boy have a leash?
no... he had his fingers crossed...
i could use that...
rent boy?!
               am i? good luck taking that on the bus...
oh... there's no argument...
there's no conversation... this is going with me...
i'm not dragging it for 3 miles...

that's the eye-opening perspective when
it comes to women...
you sleep with one *******...
suddenly there are only single mothers about...
i'd love to father a *******...
i truly would love to...
but... if it was a single mom and a daughter...
sorry... i know my limits...
i'd turn into Marquis de Sade's epiphany
via the novella ******...
            i'd probably rather have a take on the daughter
and discharge the mother to the tiresome pit
of giggling vitality...

replica?! ******!
  but... fathering... a male... ooh... that's something else...
i'm reaching for connotations of a synonym: Spartan...
i'd love that...
    Hnery VIII "syndrome"...
like my ex girlfriend... 5 girls... no boy...
maybe she was a heated toad...
can't extract a phallus from her ******:
all goes in... nothing comes out...

  all the girls i ever dated were the ones that
dumped me...
WHAT, A, *******, RELIEF!
i was dumped... Pontius Pilate ha ha:
i can die with a clarity of conscience!
thank god for that!
              it's a sort of a retrospective relief...
it takes time... a bit like wine...
  but i make my own wine... so i know...
time is a linear dimension...
it expands while it's prolonged...
while space? it's already "large", void...
three-dimensional... space doesn't move...
time... forever does...

how could i apply pataphysics of Alfred Jarry's
imaginary fishing rod and imaginary bicycle
and imaginary Seine... and imaginary: short-height
too...
   if... space were to be 0
                          time would be... 1.0
                                            or 0.1?
                                          *******, bewildering...

squirt of intellectualism that somehow
could never probably convince a competition
with Rabelais...
            
i don't exactly like my countrymen...
esp. in the realm of the diaspora...
    we don't get along...
but like that quote from the Godfather Part II...
or I... whichever...
blut ist blut... blood is blood...

i'd guillotine a Frenchman...
i'd hang, draw and quarter an Englishman...
but... would i have to, these days?!
people don't believe in their inheritance!
unless you're black...
because white = masochism...
race has become a fetish...
shh shh... let me hush hush the Russians...
is race a fetish?!
oh... right...
  oh oh...

              we're working on ethnicity dynamics?!
so... i truly can... distinguish between
Nigerians... Kenyans and Somalis?!
wow!
   imagine that!
   yeah... those Somalis! indignant, bored...
    "tired"... lazy ***** of an ***!
                no wonder they're bound to make
journalistic headlines of starvation...
they think themselves as being pharaohs...
lazy! *******! *****!
                 i hate Somalis with a ******* passion!
you ever... love to hate?!
it's good... loving to hate makes you
cautious... makes you aware...
like i once said to this Islam-adherent:
oh... i don't fast for religious reasons...
do you even appreciate the reasons for fasting?
or do you... yeah... i said to myself:
within the confines of your cranium:
you do what you're told...
i fast for the practicality of...
it sharpens your concentration...
the hungry only think about eating...

              but once you become religiously: replica:
clone... drone... hive-minded...
you're pratically dead... well... alive...
but... eh... the vitality of Christianity
was governed by a focus for a polyphony...
a multiplication-schism...
mind you: all the remaining "Christians" are
most probably Africans.,
recent "converts"...

monotheism and the project of globalism...
sure... i can see it... murky vision...

beautiful example of what's not to be done:
on an escalator...
an old man was tapping to the beat
of the ****** music
in a... that window-shopping building...
he left the escalator, i left the escalator...
but i threw a comment at him:
nice rhythm-keeping...
                               rhythmushalten...
he was tapping with his hands...
               is das so schlecht?!
                   i'll i'm missing is a bow tie
Etoilette Oct 2017
Ich gehe vorbei
durch dich
tüchtig
süchtig
und kalt ist mein Schweiß
und grauweiß
das heißt
ein Geist
tobt um mich herum
warum
weil du mich verlässt
zurecht
Und da schreit mein Blut
im Flut
in meinen Ohren
nicht wie neu geboren
und schwarz wird die Gegend
ohne Gottes Segen
weswegen
verlasse ich mich selbst
zunächst.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2020
.a man dies and whoever remains: become to intolerable - no one is willing to achieve a former status quo but life demands a status quo of sorts... that now there's a dragging sensation: a drawing toward the grave - how death beams illuminating while it eats memory and strikes at the bells of: what was, now impossible... otherwise: caricature since now and caricature culminating with now... a man dies and whoever remains so intolerable: how would it sound sacrificing my body to the memory of the sea - how strategic, little man... man of consequence and of no little to begin with... my words less than tabloid smearing: my words less than the purpose and worth of butter on a piece of bread: yes... i smear ink into phonetically encoded shapes - letters - are a reminder: for the canvas of toast and too boot: some butter to spread... collateral: always this collateral - free thinking basic structures and the great trampling - a levelling that is the antithesis of former explorer guises - to have to uproot and to deface to have to "revise": to actually keep going "somewhere"... not "i": either a kleptomaniac or a hoarder of history... unless we start stacking all things measured to heave high, high... with our past to overshadow mountains... such "things" we have allowed ourselves to keep... to have cherish so: yet to have it scrutinised too and sold off so cheap... before the bravado of authentic objectivity: or some other wording... a suddenly died... i was wishing this for him... not this supposed brainless ol' ****, ol' alcoholic the same ******* excuses with that woman! burdensome leech... the same ******* excuses with this zombie-esque woman: this... "grandma"... i'm not here to make "friends" with this language: i know of people who have managed far more worse with it! thank you, very much! i'm not above settling seances with grief: if he only died authentically with a barely tolerable voice from the other side... but all these 3 months of secrecy... and all these scraps of money to concern oneself with: grandma... *****... now it's all about coordinating a re-orientating reproach on the matter... life so cheaply... "finished"? and she "thought" it necessary to bring god into the whole equation: that god might allow such awkward gesticulation for the body to endure... princess unicorn no less... spoke such honey coating bundles of lies... she still thinks the lie was spoken as if staged... as if she forgot her lines... the rot and the fermentation process needs to sink in... after all... the grandiosity of the event already happened... a supermarket cashier inquired as to why i was so dressed... a funeral attendee... 'was it a nice send off'... oh sure sure... a nicely packaged prize come to think of it: the corpse left some stamps... so... no problem... but how cruel the immediacy of a family member... i thank the ******* of an egyptian deity that i didn't invest in the purpose of family... i am certain of a painful death... a lonely death: or rather - a death with the world... not this... inheritance vultures... he didn't leave anything to be contested!  well... he might have... but i already have what no one else thought of as important... his stamp collection... what would have been better? a collection of pornographic magazines? ***** please... i wasn't expecting this from my grandmother: i was already towing baggage from a friendship... but this is just... the ultimate purpose of pessimism... to hell with stoicism... and all those words used for peacocking arguments... i'm chopping raw hind of a bull... i'm plucking out eyes from fish... i'm... doing my last, probably only interlude of thought before the agony of fire strips me back to the basics of passions and an ****** of pure, pain of conversation: detailing the withholding of truths by a bad liar... by a ******* phlegm of a pleb sort of culmination... more n.p.c.: but somehow still my own trajectory, here, "nuanced": now... shellshocked - blitzkrieg antics... after the funeral her envy for adolf ****** was so ******* pronounced: yeah... imagine my face... a stone somewhere was smiling with glee... because this has to absolutely make no... ******* sense! she calls a day prior to the death... she doesn't call a week prior: she calls when it is in the hands of the hospice folk to bring the agonia to a close... she decides to call a day prior to the death and on the day of the death... 3 months just escaped her... this is a woman who supposedly has a grandson... em... yeah... how do those lyrics sound like now: ***** tricks done dirt cheap... this is only banal evil... bored evil... i just remember all the verbal insults against him... at least i can celebrate him not hearing them ever again... oh yeah... and the h'american election happened... please... can this political enthusiasts bother someone else with their insomnia... 3/4 of the world is sleeping... it's not that important that, or anything new... come spring after winter, summer and back toward autumn... it was nothing new that democracy is what it is... a casino of telling the most ****** lie... he pushed the epitaph concerning the necropolis mingling with democracy... in manus tuas... he said the only democracy was the democracy the dead would revel in... i need to call her up and tell her... that she needs to include an epitaph on his grave... fiat lux let light be made)! or floruit (one flourished)... genius loci (spirit of the place)... habeas corpus (you may have the body)... i like this last one... most! a fitting epitaph to write on a grave... n'est ce-pas?! habeas corpus ad subjiciendum.

well d'uh: no brainer...
i got to say goodbye to a corpse...
and that's always better
than saying goodbye
to an urn of ash...
and boy... if ol' granny decided
to fulfill the wishes of
her deawest deawest son
and had him turned into
a bowl of ask the ash:
and i didn't get to see him...
all suited and booted up
for the ceremony...
my god... the day you see
a corpse in an open coffin...
days old...
and you have anything
remotely fear: insinuated...
about... taking a casual
walk in a graveyard at night:
or in a forest...
i'm still dreaming cyclops:
i am not some
appeased dream architect:
i'm dreaming void...
a grandiose wound:
a yawning abyss...
a corpse in an open coffin...
in one of those prosectorium
waiting rooms...
where the tiles are not
that kind of: medicine proof green
of a post-mortem dissection...
they're woven from
white through to a darkening:
grey thoroughly...
oh hell... it's fun...
seeing a dead body like that:
it elevates the "beauty"
of what's casually a mere:
script at the end of a film...
sun, truck, lampost...
fox's worth of road-****...
the unlucky woodland pigeon
that miraculously died
mid-flight and wasn't seen
roosting for miles
on a pavement...
it's beyond sobering...
since you know all the requirements
to have paid the attention to detail to:
when there was a soul:
and now... given the absence
of the sigma of animation /
the sum of animation...
the heart can rot on its own,
the liver the kidneys...
it's not like there's anything
pulling all of his materialistic wizardy
by the *****...
seeing that...
and then come night, the solace
of solitude...
a forest or a graveyard...
i've come across scarier places...
living rooms of strangers...
in all honesty:
these chicken shacks of
bad actors in general...
a walking on stilts when telling
a blatancy of a lie...
now my comforts are
"criminal" / certainly counter-
to whatever bias could
come prior...
hardly one of those tim burton
hard-ons for the gothic and
quirky!
that i wish my grandmother
a speedy ****-off because
she had 3 months to tell me and "us"
what's what
but who the **** calls and speaks
of a death a day prior
then a day later... the death...
3 months of a descent!
well... lucky me that i got to say
goodbye to a ******* corpse:
not the still living ******* my pampers
momentary lapse of
lucid recollection...
and this world has to:
terribly, somehow, also, happen...
and its like this coincidental
metaphor for: the centre cannot hold...
yes, come the big world:
some mythological granny **** of
the blonde...
but hey... it's ava lauren in a suit:
and to boot: booted...
karmalaiah 'arris...
and you're like:
whittle 'ichard primo...
i'm already on the dumpster with me:
blood first arguments sinking
a blind eye and grizzle tooth load...
before i even allowed myself
to take a bite...
******* geocentric carousels of
north/east/south/west:
the one acronym: prior to
the methodology of the h'american:
scotus etc. luvvie-dubby
for the acronym chant: u/s/a!
yeah, case closed... let's pretend
how tomorrow unfolds...
by 1am i'll be a sleep-walking
slinky... toss the cards...
the grand-picture...
the world is not some forthcoming
as to allow... both engagements
and sympathy:
the immediately available response
is all reflexive: **** reaction
scream! oooh! ah!
           sooner i'll be allowed
to contemplate an indigestion "problem"
than a death of a would be patriarch...
then again:
you always marry into the woman' family...
thee sorry old story
of leaving your parents in
the gutter... your new father:
in-law: god bless his soul...
you ******* cleaving *****-worth-of
an-itching-monkey!
you! turnip quasi
aladdin's paladin and magic
carpet ride...
she allowed me to see
the corpse... 3 months: not a word...
and here are these...
puppets... bemoaning how unidealic
love forever is...
solvd me the question of
what love is:
this bogus cwy-baby pseudo:
irksome welsh "sympathy":
******* cwy-cwy: trill your
******* R!
tarantula bit you you can't start
a rolling escapade
with a tongue?
you some O'Haera or too drunk
too soiled to notice Irish?
let's just, hope... i...
haven't... the capacity to express
an authenticity of sorrow:
tilting on: "properly" with the:
authorities of who's to, read, what!
out of their own pockets:
it's... ******* free last time i heard!
question of bias...
this slap of meat:
will become either a plum poke tenderness...
or a brussel pate....
like they do in the prisons...
notably the russians...
they inject vaseline between
their knuckles... so they build
up a... pouch-of-a-fist...
no... oh no adrenaline shots... none
of the fairy liquid:
dandelions speak we dust it over
with unicorn horn dust...
n'ah... none of that...
it's my grandmother: i probably
should have not expected as little
as this... but then i like the idea
of her keeping up with
ghost theory...
she can haunt the castle
of her **** for: however more
concern for life is in her...
granny can *******, and how...
i might have... favoured her...
when she did... cwy... there's that welsh
spelling again...
but not come the advent of
a, death... take me up on seeing scenery with
you... any day: or the 3 months prior...
but... this...
of course: the limitations
of the conscience of liars:
you start to blame yourself:
oh why didn't... call...
you have to blame yourself:
she's not going to blame anything or anyone:
there are no exceptions to the rule:
thumbs galore!
seeing his corpse:
he did die...
having... kept...
an immaculate proof of fingernails...
an immaculate proof of fingernails
being kept: as swiss passport for an agreeable
handshake...
again: once more...
ask me tomorrow
and i'll reply likewise:
granny can die... if i ever see my
shadow fleeing:
that! i'll sooner mourn!
you would expect:
grannies are tender loving creatures...
unless my grandfather wasn't
a somewhat tamed lover of
keeping books... a philatelist... too...
i got it!
he just wasn't a don juan *******
philander of an unlimited access to:
***** liquor!
whatever the story:
there's just enough desired
discretion to pay homage and defend
the passing party...

both a philander and a philatelist?
what's next?
a zoologist and a d.j.?
i've ascribed myself an audience
with prostitutes:
the 3 Ps... priests... psychiatrists...
prostitutes...
in the current climate...
who's body's who?
i am mild mannered enough to know
that i'll be paying for a ****
rather than a free meal or a professional:
waggling of the tongue:
let alone the placebo of the corpus christi
*******... n'est ce pas?

yeah... just prescribe
me the ******* of the bull of Titian...
etc.
i'm sure to make enough
skin out of it for a Muhammed's rug
ed gein esque piece of:
fidgety: ain't it? unshaked ******* sack?
**** it... almost grainy...
stubble prone... begs the knees to question:
wha' and w-i-i?

unshackled extension of patterns
of predictable behaviour:
moi! contra ol' granny?!
shouldn't i have... none?
  n'ah: let us play the allowed game
of psychopathy...
who's watching, anyway?
it's not like we're going to sing a song...
a tiny little song in the centre
of the earth... wiener blut...
and what happened within the confines
of the fritzl case:
circus of horrors readied as freely
available bread! corpus... christi!

        by the looks of it...
there was ever only one individual
sentenced to undergo the torture
of being crucified..
only 'im alone... psychopath uno!
and i am... to mea culpa this sort
of *******?!
i would cling to islam as a janissary sooner
than i might clip a sheep's worth
of wool...
i don't like this sadomasochism...
no... i like the shape of my own shadow:
but how the hebrews and the greeks
will pursue: even being the toursits
come auschwitz! this shadow
of the cross..

i am a sheep attired in wolf-skins...
i sheepeople blah blah from time
to time...
who are you? who am i?!
ha!
i sometimes think of myself
as balaam... sometimes nero...
as ever... konrad von wallenrod!
in the hindu circus of reincarnation!
am i... ahem... not... allowed?!
i take to grimmace:
by the body entomped:
one soul "sold"...

granny can ******* nonetheless...
i belong elsewhere to start the argument:
ex nihil!
to praise looking for a raving
lunatic with too many words
in his mouth...
i think that's where "i think" coincides itself
for an ulterior purpose:
i suppose i breathe...
i propose that i also eat!
scraps of meat...
salted pork... works miracles
with the miracle men of the crescent moon!
as does the "excess" skin
of ******...
not that i would sacrifice my ******* *******
so easily...
i need to pretend to shake hands with
ghosts: forever...

oh you can have my tonsure my kippah:
prior to my *******...
any excess skin concerning the ****?!
ha ha!
i just want to make sure!
you... never... grit...
actually... can... ever... know...
who's playing who's game...
being so blatantly pass... arrogant...
with one's lies?!

i believe the horde... i believe the herd...
i'm yet: i am utmost...
questioning... the little... incy-wincy... spider...
details of... consceince unravelled...

yes: the universal percentage detail:
translates back toward all subjectivities!
a fraction of objectivity: 0.01%
will later govern all the subjectivities of
the 99.99: thus proclaimed:
sterile grieves!

how well connected are we: aren't we?!
we hope to suppose:
and a neighbour allows...
not that we: we just... bungie-jump
into a ***** of the social contract!
no one is readied for this side-project
of society...
oh... wait... the police are policing
hate crimes of "hate speech"...
**** it... ****... pillage...
the balkan states are ripe for an
ottoman takeover...
was i about to blink to imitate...
nodding?!

yet as much as i might sway with
a phatom lady:
upon pretending to toy with a tango:
my toes are replica shrapel toys
with the toils of grip:
my little details... at best
my least bitten-into toenails...
             how about i grow a beard
of a goat's concern...
or grace a camel with a metaphor
of a needle...

this one hebrew is by no means
a noah: i... have to... pretend a martin luther...
they have their ****** tel aviv and israel!
what's not to "like":
h'america?
isn't that project of inquiry
burning it solid last in a ******* toaster
of mc and o'
                     celtic broods concerning
who's to divide up Boston?

the jews have their: recovered land:
i'm sure they can take back
their prized tool of converting
the northern folk with them:
it's not like the polish concenctation camps
ever gave them the *****...
because... no! oh no!
the germans didn't know about them!
yiddish wasn't born into german...
it was also and always this:
pan-slavic gensture of:
will you please integrate:

well hello sheepeople!
  you almost were deserving this
congregative... charm...
            no offence... time the conquest
of france... and the... french resitance...
yeah... once the germans and the russians
came simultaneously...
to carve up...

like charles bukowski said:
the trannies, the gays and the jews
have all relevants "things" to say...
they're the power brokers...
we're just the imbecile:
ant esque drones...
trained monkeys...
    'becile crispness of the tongs...
leisuring wet brass...

we allow people such ghostly firaments
of purpose beyond their expected
concern for a grave:
we allow their little besooth lying...
how cheap and zombie-esque they have
to become: grandma in tow...
even these closest to us...

it's like we are forever tugging
a warring: total...
never helped by a prospect of calm...
forever from those closest to us...
b'ah!
take it from us from the most 3rd party
sincere...
there's hope:
you will never have to heave
to be expected to...

can i tell christ to *******?
no... he's not welcome!
if i have to use muslims for the task:
i'll happily be "coincident" -
test the role
myself via the roles of
janissaary or mamluk...

honestly? what can christianity offer me?
an aching pagan ritual hope
of an ailing translation of heaving?
who? the congregation
hybrid?
      no... scrificial lamb
on the satire of shadow with a cross...
come the mongol teasing
the mountain of skulls of baghdad:
and... england is still a place where
a shakespeare or a dickness is to be born...

me? i very much like the romance
of staging a janissaary or a mamluk
prospect...
who's dead and who:
looks like...
whittle ol' grandma
can *******: be on her way...
sooner my shadow runs off with
the sunrise than i might giver a shitload
of care: she could have prescribed me...
when alt-vater was breathing his last...
yes...
because hemarrhoids and periods
were... forever alien to us!
Raven Feb 2020
Es ist dunkel
Es ist Nacht
In aller Stille
Es ist vollbracht

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Tanzende Lichter
Tanzende Menschen
Dolche im Schimmer
Nur so glänzen

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Sanftes Wiegen
Sanftes Singen
Lassen das Wimmern
Nun überklingen

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Nasse Gräser
Nasse Hände
Mit warmen Blut
Durchtränktes Gelände

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Reibende Verse
Reibende Körper
Eine Menge
Alles Mörder

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Roter Mond
Roter Leib
Liegt am Boden
Das tote Weib

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Es wird Tag
Es wird hell
Schau Sie flüchten
Nun sehr schnell

Nichts mehr fließt
Nichts mehr tropft
Sowie das Herz
Nicht mehr klopft
Ken Pepiton Dec 2023
If bards became bums,
and ne'er-do-wells,
if, then, now
well, we may imagine,
these past seven decades,
have altered human conscience use of truth.
Servants of the sown dream,
daring to die for a good nation, as a man.

Poets in the mainstream bend believer's
imaginative use, evoke magic crocodile tears
of free wedoms, mobs, poor, co-know co-rect core
audience, participants in the experience, once.
----------
We understand the plague of liars is upon us,
as honest messengers, we acknowledge, at
our core, this is where judgement begins,
mind level core die for gnosis, tense,
fixed point you
and you
alone, as one led to learn
true, so true,
you'd dare die
to prove you knew it, right.

Audie Murphy, pre-myelinated frontal lobes.
Calm squeeze, and breathe, and hold and squeeze.
Ifery as real as any mirror neuron truth test verifies.
I could, I did, I could again,
with weapons fashioned
on a spirit pattern wedoms
take as granted, under all out
temperature and pressure,
inner peace,
outer turmoil, push,
squeeze,
as
either instance ifery, so
tuned to, some
times ring true.
Peace passeth…

If, my son,
indeed, in mind, we readily redo the deed…

If if a rare deed were a dared deed
who done it none need ask,
in our we,
it was the boy educated to believe,
there is no greater honor,
than to offer one's life,
to the nation, under God, by age six,
time and again,
I pledge, we all said, I pledge
- or vow, or dedicate, my whole being
six or seven times a week,
for twelve years, using kid faith, affirmation
and more, exposed latchkey kids,
to televised hours metadata
of heroic prewar plots,
in case of emergency,
break the forth wall…

where super heroes recruited kids
to collect box tops, and earn official Jr. G-man
decoder rings, and D-day clicker identifiers.

Know who is on our side, click.

Hey, go outside.

And make believe life is like a movie,
and you can play any role, but if you die, you do.
oops.
- it's Gaza there, sorry.
- Goliath and his brothers old turf.
Is Ra El, as re al as
a message in mindform, pretend
to
pay
attention,
think the time it takes to dip,
and swirl the drip of the pigment,
to match the mauve sky brushing breeze
snow,
soft noiseless news of old magi made to make
wishes seem as likely positive and otherwise,
in a world of up and down and round and round
on a push pull mechanical will form made up to
never
accept now as never
- bold unnullifity, as a superstition,
- spat on. Truer than any pinky swear on TV.
American Flag representative god,
Big G, general intelligence coordinator,
Wisdom's first kisser,
Yes, all the promises,
understood after knowing madness, then
Peace.
The mind, let be in me,
as a mortal man, given to comprehend,
the timing of the transitions, phase to phase,

aging, decay, ripening,
are you pouring out or gathering, vine songs ask,
have you never really been new wine drunk, fructose
high, by-pass the liver go gut to blut, bam, happy,
happy
day

un grinchable, thirst done quenchable,
seasonable tradition, done in honor to joy, our strength.

Joy to the world, the point, once made,
as a little leaven, true,
honed-most edge,
stretched to ting.

Tingaling. No, angels are not things that use wings.
Messaging is face to face in our minds eyes, as we,
a we structured on daring knowns, learned, as they say,
the hard way,

long way, or short, crooked on purpose, riverwise,
true to gravity, always,
heavy is the crown,

nay, heavy is the secret kept sacred, for power,
absolute corrupting power, to wield the sword,
one of the two, along with Longinus's spear,
authenticating the faith, defended,
to this day, only doing our duty, sir.

Rank and file, military chain of command,
inviolable but by some equal or greater might,
sharper than any two edged sword,
right,
that idea, mightiest rightness, laws of gravity and gases.

If we worry, what do we win,
if we accept an undeserved victory, what do we loose?

Peace made, in an aggressive survival mind model, shown
incessantly
for seventy years, survivable
in perfect peace.

The representative force of such a champion,
in a wedom of the meek as Moses,
we hear in our first tongue,
hush, listen ai ai ai,
sheer ifery
been as an if in
an Assisting Intelligence offers use to you,
for learning how facts can be combed,
and twisted
with common sense
to seem

obvious to any child,
though none Willie Wonka Warned,
- stories envelop all we developed
- during the days of mostly country music.
- fiddles in all the bands,
- doh see doh, and slow two steps
Dream montage…
thouroughly Willie Nelson, roughucking ride,
to the top
of the pile outside the milk barn,
keeping warm and ruminating on a steerer's role
in a beefeater world, where buffalo once roamed.
I think in Christmas as a child mode, and tell my self how I survived learning liars prosper... so I can teach my grandchildren, with no needful lie. Self governing is truely our optimum state, as a we.

— The End —