the proust edition of la recherche i had, which i gave away to a charity shop; if you could stitch or strap the edition to my hands clenched into a fist (it was, after all a cheap 2 vol. edition), i could have knocked you out. no, i didn't read it, which is why many people never bother to use the dictionary, because it's always a one volume edition.

it became so haunting to have sang with david
with the lyre the lyrics:

             i'm happy, hope you're happy too...
             ashes to ashes, funk to funky
             we know major tom's a *****
             strung out in heaven's high
             hitting an all time low

it was so eerie i felt goose bump hoofs on my
cheeks adding for extra five o'clock shadow
that i never knew i had.

that's the thing about having european editors,
the ****** day, the whole theatrical approach,
it's just a ****** book of poetry,
it's not exactly an atom bomb,
but they sent the draft which i'm hoping to add
to with my *hoc erat in votis to armenia,
Armenia, yes, once an incorporation of
the soviet rather than tsar's empire:
so jui-seph shtalin involved himself with the russians
from georgia, and my first idea sparklers will
come from armenia - good place to ask napoleon
to escape elba, i say, ol' chap.

and after the teenage girl hype period of an artist,
ziggy, you know what i'm talking about,
you get a process where an artist matures,
becomes prone to criticism, has no hype factor,
has no real monetary appeal to the less
hyped-up juice-of-genitalia army,
has to become a sensible economist -
there! catch him! that's where an artist
translates to other mediums his actual worth,
i feel privileged to have lived at a time
when david bowie released his heathen album,
one critic pointed that it was his best album
since the 1980 release of scary monsters,
so then i bought scary monsters...
i worked backwards...
i didn't feed the ziggy & space spiders from mars
gimmick / egoism, or even the rebel, rebel choir
of cult followers, and you know what?

              i'm happy, hope you're happy too...

it worked, now i can listen to the music like a distraction
tool, refrigerator buzz, ambiance, the freelance
artistry of it all, less care for kids, more care for
the insolent kids that aged and donned their employment
qualifications as 'art critics.'

but what i listen to isn't exactly what i write with,
it would plagiarise the thought process
so much that it would destroy it - the moment's gone,
the ingrained concept of time has allowed
for the same space of the origin of the narrative
to look different, even though nothing was moved.

so with this anglo renaissance circa 1950s -
1990s (nietzsche was critical of the reformation
when martin luther attacked the renaissance creativity,
no great composer in the counter-reformation,
just ignatius layola and the jesuits),
with the beat generation poets (preceding them,
the spirit of influence that was ezra pound
and no other i dare to admit, a seal-off point,
built a hydroelectric dam in nevada f. d. r. did)
you then had the explosion, and i mean it,
the EXPLOSION! 1960s psychedelia,
1970s ******* infused black sabbath etc.,
depressive 1980s with depeche mode iconoclasm
and the cure's slit your lips if not wrists,
the great digging of ***** duran duran,
scandinavian love hopes of a-ha, etc.,
then the shift back to the geographic place of origin,
seattle, grunge, rekindling of thinking man's
rock amiss the ******* fuel of the decade
with prog rock bands, i.e. tool;
and then of course the brit pop decade
(oasis, blur, the stone roses, the la's among many,
bands that still invoked a sing-along even
in such odd places like taizé in burgundy
for the wonderwall chorus)
and then... the death of it all...
artists getting rich, flamboyant, eccentric,
and the people seeing how they were "duped"
deciding enough was enough...
came napster, came pirate - ye har me mateys! -
and the death of the anglo renaissance
with kareoke culture - indeed if
the germans never conquered england,
and that book man in the high castle
by philip k. **** isn't true...
why did we allow the japanese to conquer
our culture? huh?!

p.s. when you realise all those 5.5K reads,
all those so called morale boosters... on websites
such as these, don't have a £ / $ in front of them;
and as i learned, after being reported to a website
similar to this accused of being a troll
for simply asking the long-ago standard
a.s.l. (age, ***, location) but only sticking to location,
losing some of the haul i'd liked to keep,
i realised i can lose that, no problem,
i rather lose that than lose what i have inside of me.

Five four three two one,
Fire spews,
Flames violently shoot out of the golden boosters,
Cold ice breaking off the shell,
The white noise fills the air,
The ground shakes with panic,
And liftoff,
The manmade seraph lifts into the sky,
The Golden Flame forcing it further up,
We watch not with excited eyes,
But with sad hearts and long faces,
We know,
We know today is the last day this bird will fly,
We have slain an angel,
We have slain American Patriotism,
We have slain ourselves,
The Space Shuttle may just have been a chemical reaction lifting mass into the sky,
But it let us explore,
It let us discover space,
The bitter, beautiful darkness that surrounds and blankets the planet,
And now we have told her she must die,
Regressive politics turning into a malignancy against mankind,
Killing the Human spirit,
Spreading,
Cancerous tumors mark landforms on the map,
Goodbye,
My Dear Space Shuttle,
My technological love,
You always inspired me,
It's my turn now.

PLAY it across the table.
What if we steal this city blind?
If they want any thing let 'em nail it down.
  
Harness bulls, *****, front office men,
And the high goats up on the bench,
Ain't they all in cahoots?
Ain't it fifty-fifty all down the line,
Petemen, dips, boosters, stick-ups and guns-what's to hinder?
  
  Go fifty-fifty.
If they nail you call in a mouthpiece.
Fix it, you gazump, you slant-head, fix it.
  Feed 'em ...
  
Nothin' ever sticks to my fingers, nah, nah, nothin' like that,
But there ain't no law we got to wear mittens-huh-is there?
Mittens, that's a good one-mittens!
There oughta be a law everybody wear mittens.

Dearest Victoria ,

you enquired so, we have:

Listing the problems from her front teeth to the back molars, Winston sat with her back to the mirror

She had bad eyesight so couldn’t really see the contours of her face but was comforted by the fact that there was another person in the room ,

Down stairs Q was making cakes ,

the outfit she wore had enough diamonds to drown a drag queen , some ended up in the cake , along with the usual ingredients : ***** , fluff from under the stairs , a pinch of cremation dust from her Pa’s last fake funeral , the end of a shoelace that had begun to fray and very good quality butter Hard to find in these parts, Most the butter was mixed in with genetically modified jaguar pelt,

modified to grow their pelt as butter, the farmers would attach buckets to their bodies and collect as they malted

This was the latest trend, Q despised it , she made cakes for the café up the road , a dingy old shack with only four stools and one type of coffee, sludge

Out in the garden Sarah Whitely grew her carrots, alongside her parsnips and next to that stood an oak tree who rained down her wisdom onto the veg ,

this made sure that everyone in the house was stocked up with their daily doses of Wisdom ,

Otherwise they were sure to get sick without it ,

I believe in your world , you’d call it something a bit like vitamins ,

Only as one ate the carrots their eyesight into other universes would develop

And the parsnips helped them with their imagination,

I like eating mine with thai tea caramel sauce, shipped in from the faraway land of JAUL , there I hear they don’t need to eat anything but pastries and pizza to keep up their health , they live in amongst wise trees with wise people and wise mountains , thus their capacity for wise is already overflowing, they keep it in jars under the stairs and gift their visitors with at least 3 jars before they depart ,

From across the valley I can see the Snarls house, they are friendly enough and pretty decent fellows but quite honestly they must learn to be a little more understanding and a little less demanding ,

they keep on borrowing all of our rolling pins and never give any back , and the ones they do give back are the ones I don’t really mind them having , it’s that silver one with the flecks of gold dust I really want to use, the gold flakes onto the pastry , that

my dear friend, is the secret to a good quiche, gold dust

The market is 19 kl away , john the Baptist is often the first up , so he goes out there on the solar bike ,

his name isn’t really john the Baptist but ever since he had that motorbike accident he , firstly , switched to solar bikes , and secondly decided that he wouldn’t live any more of his precious life being called Barry McWetsulf ,

anyway, so John does all the shopping but seems to almost always forget the washing powder that doesn’t foam , ergh , the foaming ones contain maggot eggs that burrow into your clothes and before you know it , the foam is all maggots and you’ve got to buy a new cloak ,

that’s a pain you know ,

they aren’t easy to come by anymore Since the hobbits passed through and bought all of he stockpiles up ,

no one thought to make any more

We heard they were dead

(sigh)

supply and demand eh?

Who am i? Ah I forgot, I am the local fortune teller ( that’s what is written on my business card ) but I really I trained in mechanics and have a knack for fixing jumbo jets , sadly the last one I fixed did crash into the Indian Ocean ,

killing all passengers but the dog survived, turns out I had left the last piece of the engine at home, I thought we just didn’t need it anymore

but ya live and ya learn old chap!

So dear, you didn’t put a return address on your letter asking who I was and where I live , so I wrote you one anyway , we do have signal boosters here , maybe I’ll catch you on the airwaves?

Your Friend , Trustee , Peaceful Neighbour , World dweller , Life consumer , time creator , music maker , nebula fornicator

HaHa

"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
-Ozymandias

I.
O wait for us, Colossus

as we wait - and throw you
to earth: from heaven’s gates judge you
unworthy - to hades’ lands assign,
where your iron limbs make mincemeat out
of anguished homes - by tyrants
you were thrown but floated aimless past

the drifting realms where once lay hell,
and fired you your rocket boosters - apollo’s gift

blinding still your eyes -

II.
next, awake: the visage of the Child
in your face - languishing, affronted:
two vast and trunkless legs of iron glare, only to grow
rigid still - slumping at His feet: with heart-engine smoking,

eyes hollowed-black,
lying in slumber with giant's knees bent,
in grasslands rest and where hearkens the plain - He cries out:
’tis you!

though dwarf, He is - he kneads your iron
by grass, and your wounded legs the earth
now christens, snd blesses still your sleep.

III.
He moves forth with grass blades and twigs,
crown you a nest; and bear stones unrolled to where

your feet first kisses ground.

-2.17.16

I like when you lean on MY shoulder
Not always the supporter, I enjoy supporting you too
You can cry around me
It's okay to be scared, vulnerable
These shoulders are not just ball-and-socket joints of attachment
They act as tear collectors, and confidence boosters
They're always here, unless for some reason I lose them
But until then, know they are at your disposal
Here whenever need be

Right here, right now?  The kitchen?  On the table!?
Why not? The curtain's drawn, the dishes done...
That's not the point - we might be seen: the cats!

A smiling silence marks the code for 'Yes'!

They haven't any cats.


With shaking hands the breakfast things are cleared.
Before the final tetris slot of dish to stack
Is final launch commit: they've cleared the tower
The boosters lit,  the fuel is rushing to the fires
Already burning
Bloom in crimson waves around them both.  

- Can we agree on one thing first my Friend?

This is

The heaviest, lightest thing that you can do.  
To live these silvery liquid chains of breath
And blood.
And sky and air and

Falls calling to each other and winging to the heights...

And she says

Look at me.

Brandy *** Pig, Slough Companion you'll make
To prize your Aura for his Demands cope
Though Breathe you not; Life does succumb your Shape
Still ignite his Prayers for some Soft Hope
With such Stale Breath his Mind condones still
His Method-of-Tribbles well he can bundle
Such Pampered Master does rub your fur until
The Silver-Saned Eye calls for his Handle
And like his Child the Monkey witnessed made
Hung by his Closet for his Devotions barred
To lift your snout and wiggle his Escapade
Realise his Youth just Subscribed too Hard.
Perhaps your Counsel, plaster Fines therein
Need no Forced Receipts; Or Boosters wherein.

"DONALL DEMPSEY INDEED!"

'LLANOD YESPMED?"
he squinted at my driver's licence.

"It's pronounced CLANOD!"
I said with extreme exasperation.

"Y'are not from these here parts
. . .are ya fella?"
he drawled dryly

squinting closer firstly at me then
back again to my !D.

"I'm of Welsh/Turkish extraction
but I was born on Venus!"

I explained as if to
a little kid.

"Ha ha...haha!" he snorted
a tiny trickle of snot

yo-yoing up and down
his hairy left nostril.

"Ha ha...if you were to
spell yer name backwards
it would spell:

Donall Dempsey!"

I was not amused.

"Ya know...that crazy hairy
Irish earthling poet dude!"

"I'm not him!"
I fumed.

"Alright...alright...keep yer
antenas on...geeeez!"

He handed me back
my Id ID.

Tipped his hat.
Wiped his nose across his sleeve.

"Welcome to Mars.
You drive carefully now!"

I stepped on the rocket boosters.

Left him eating my stardust.

"****** customs!"
I yelled to myself.

"Huh...Donall Dempsey
...indeed!"

You strip away the trimmings and then trim off all the fat and at fifty years of age when you think you look 'all that' you're off to buy that sports car and the wig to hide your bald patch,
catch the drift?
tuck your stomach in, get botox or a face lift, you're looking saggy but you'll get there and the girl you winked at works there.

I wanted to write lots more but he shot me full of secrecy for secreting what is his story in the backyard of a pharmacy so I swallowed down some linctus from a bottle marked as dangerous,
(I do stupid things like that)

Twenty four miles further down the range,
rocket boosters aren't they strange?
but not as strange as that man in the sports car who
took the botox thing a little too far.

I disengage from time to time to feel the words in what the rhyme is and have never had the ***** to have a bald patch,
'Catch 22'.

Visualized the realism of life in actuality
**** who's the baddest a person's status depends on salary
And that mentality is, slowly killing this nation
Communities rotting from the inside out like bologna in a bad situation
Misplaced intentions and corrupt politicians
Doomed this land like pollution will if left unchecked, these situations can be corrected if hope is injected back into us like vitamin boosters we can't survive in hoovervilles in all but name but no one person carries blame its a shame we can't unite to fight the good fight again

I'm holding on to hope but its difficult friends

Thrusting into the atmosphere
From my hearts astrolabe
Using rocket boosters
Filled with fierce tears
Thunder rolling through curved space
Launched from lands of gentle rage
As I close my soaring eyes
Tonight begins my nights journey.

Throttling expansive thrusts
Billowed smoke trails
Like comet tails;
Spectacular spacecraft
Is this human vessel
With enhanced astronautics –
Ascending towards deep space
Hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

O'Cosmic Prophet
I'm stargazed and Inward bound
Surging beyond the constellation of flames
Rising through the galaxies
As an interstellar traveller
Yet I see nothing but dark matter –
It seems as though I've lost myself
And barely exist within the confines of
My imagination.


Written by Abraham Charanek

That moment, That realization
That all they say are pretty words
Ego boosters in forms of compliments
Reasons and excuses, realizing its not real
That all they're trying to do?
is make me feel better

Monkey Pox! The Monkey Pox!
Get more boosters, change your locks.
Have wild *** without a ******;
Block the fandom. Burn the kingdom.
Gambian rats are not to blame—
Trump supporters own the shame:
White extremists, spreading plague,
for reasons that, as yet, are vague . . .

Swirling around like a broken fog,
dawn arrives just as we lay.
Like a pestering fiend that is sickened with rage,
a halo of gnats engulf the brave.

Cracking the shadow with bold light,
towering cascade in full flight.
A whip of leather collides *******,
forever to work a tireless sap.

Circlejerking the popular opinion,
regurgitating a thoughtless wave.
Singular one stands among such naive,
afraid of the horde which boosters no rhyme.

Squalor bred from the hive mind,
together they run from crime.
Think on your own,
sanguine freedom will chime.

Another variant
and they're closing the doors again?

it didn't work too well the last time
perhaps they should get bigger doors.

We'll all be having boosters
to boost the boosters that boosted the
vaccine,
meanwhile
they're still boosting cars in Detroit,
nothing's safe anymore.

Such a pretty young thing
And a personality like no other I’m shocked someone hasn’t raided your finger with a diamond so the insects called men can’t have a chance with you because of your bug repellent ring
It’s sad when you realize the person you thought was keeping you up instead was keeping you down
Your number 1 fan turned to your number 1 stan and now you realize that you’ve been the most realist person on your team that you’ve kept around
Girls be wanting Hakeems from the Bronx but want a wedding like Aladdin in the Sultans Palace
Stop getting married to temporary vibe boosters because once that high is over you’ll be out your wonderland and your name will no longer be Alice
Stop doing joint bank accounts with hopes of traveling the world together because only one of your passports will be the new portable atlas
My PhD in relationship longevity is telling me to diagnose you with takotsubo cardiomyopathy due to an unhealthy exposure to malice
We not together right now but I have faith it’s in gods plans
You falling for the wrong guy but I know you’ll land in gods hands
You should give me a call when your man playing child games
I won’t be your knight in shining armor but I’ll be the one to save you from your depression and suicidal claims
Thick girls don’t need to worry about losing weight
Guys like me love you the way you are and when we say you’ve been weighing heavy on our mind it means you hold weight
Trying to give change to a man who doesn’t know your worth when you’re the whole dollar but that’s for a different debate
Never let the public eye shape how you feel about yourself in your private eye
All those names they call you during the day wash away in the night time
And take my advice when I tell you eating your problems away doesn’t make the pain subside
I should be telling myself this advice but look in the mirror and when you smile at the reflection only then will you be able to go out in the world and have the biggest enemy called your conscience on your side

a storage unit meant for all kinds of arrangements

mostly quilts and toys from residents who didn't want to bother, even with the junk people...

or didn't even really have the money or time to move out properly

they were arranged, all like this...

the quilts, dusty plastic baby boosters..

more quilts and used beds,

and then there was a guitar...

and a pair of running shoes- i opted for the more colorful pair

I depart the unit,

I've got an axe to grind...

Hi! Nice to meet you.. Oh I’m sorry you look confused. Or am I confused? Or are we just both confused? Oh I was supposed to be introducing myself I’m your anxiety… I’m the reason that causes your confidence to flake apart I wrap myself around you like an overly comfy turtleneck. It’s a shame you always get so confident and I’m sorry but I can never help myself it’s like a board game with you. You move three steps forward you can actually speak to the person who’s taking your order at the drive through. You don’t stutter and oh I’m so proud of you. You’re concise and easy to understand… And I let you have these small confidence boosters. They make you so happy and your eyes light up and you get that stupidly adorable smile on your face.. And I’m sorry I am but it’s so fun to slowly come back and chip away at the progress you’ve made. I know when I do it starts small you fumble a word in a sentence and have to repeat or you just completely **** it up and then you start caving in on yourself. Trying so hard to blend in and be normal, but baby we’ve been at this for a while now. You can’t be normal not when it's with me. I trail your steps reminding you about the stray hair that keeps falling out from behind your ear. And what if someone noticed and they said something. I know you’ve never been good with strangers you never approach them. And when they approach you you’re just so small and shy hating yourself because you just can’t speak. I’ve given you everything to do so your trembling hands your frail voice. The slight heat creeping across your cheek bones. And I can’t stand it. It makes me insane when you roll your shoulders forward as if that can honestly save you. I’ve given you time I’ve given you space. Admittedly I also gave you false hope and happiness but dear. I’m honestly hurt how could you ever think I was actually gone? Like I would actually ever leave you alone? I’ve become so attached can’t you see that? I can. When I feel your heart rate go up and see the thoughts in your mind racing. Your fingers are so delicate always trying to pick up the pieces. But you know you can’t not when they shake so much each piece just breaks after it slips through your fingertips. Part of me wants to tell you to stop trying but I delight in watching you too much. But that’s not healthy right? I’m supposed to be supportive but we both know I’ve never been that type. We both know this has never been supportive or healthy. You keep going on and smiling using humor as a crutch. The only time your hands are steady is when you pull out one of your masks and that makes my day which one is it going to be now? The stone cold *****? The “strong” silent type? Or will it be the one that I gave you when we first graced the dance floor together? The one that you fasten over your head and put your hair up behind. While you’re silently hoping that no one notices you. Or is it the one that only shows the truth in those brown eyes of yours? While I take the strings that command your mouth and pull it up into a smile. Your spine bends to my will like a horse broken to the bit and you straighten. Tall falsely proud and it’s the best secret ever. Only between us. Maybe I’m sadistic but I’ve always been able to feel you curl into yourself even when I don’t let you… And no one would know not unless they looked into your eyes. But I know they won’t, you know they won’t. Because you never make eye contact with anyone. Your skittishness is like a free fall with no end. Our whole relationship has been like a dance with no end. I stay pristine guiding you twirling you across the floor watching as your dress flares out around you. An insecurity or a flaw flying off with each turn. Each dance. Each smile I can see your heart bleeding, your feet stumbling over each other. You’re always falling and I can’t help but feel obliged to catch you. Even though. I can always see that you’d rather fall… Because who wouldn’t? When each time I sweep you into my arms the dance starts over. The fun begins the cycle repeats. I build you up, I boost your confidence it's all me. You don’t want this I can see that… And… I almost feel bad for you. I almost find myself stopping. Letting you have a prolonged moment of peace frozen in ice.. But if I do that someone else may come along. And I’m sorry sweetie but ****** to hell I’m not going to lose my entertainment not when I’ve done this much work to get you like this. Hi nice to meet you. Oh I’m sorry you look confused. Or am I confused? Or are we both confused? Oh I was supposed to be introducing myself...

So Just Like My Namesake...
In... “ The Great Escape “...

I’m The King of... The Cooler... !!!!!
Kinda Like... " Rick The Ruler "....

A TRUE School Type Mover...
TOP NOTCH Rhyme Producer... !!!

With Tunes That Are Cooler...
Than McQueen In His Scenes...

As Yup... " Virgil Hiltz "...
Showing Nazis I CHILL...
When They Try To Instil...

Ideals That Spread War...
Where Division’s The Cause...

Because I Stay COOLER...
Than Yes... " Ferris Bueller’ ".... !!!

When It Comes To These Tutors...
Whose Thoughts Should Be.....
....... NEUTERED....... !!!!!

That’s Right NULLIFIED.... !!!!!
Just Like Norton’s Guy....
And American Types....
Whose Actions DEFY....

REJECTION of FIGHTS...
Because They’re Still TIED....
To... SUPREMACIST Minds.... !!!!!!

Whose Vibe’s To *** - ide...
Based Upon Colour Lines... !?!

While I Deal In Vibes....
Where Tribes UNIFY... !!!!!
No Matter What Colour...
Or **** They STAND BY... !!!

Because I Am COOLER....
Than... Racist Wrongdoers... !!!!!

I Move With MORE Coolness...
Than Those Who Pull Shooters... !!!!

... MILITANT Armies....
Like Those In Zimbabwe...
Now OUSTING Mugabe... !!!!!

Political Parties.....
Who DO NOT Move Calmly... !!!

So I’m Cooler Than THEM... !!!!!
These Government Heads...
Who Cause Heads PROBLEMS... !!!
As Well As... DISTRESS... !!!!!

Because They Use POWER... !!!
To Use Cladding That Showers...
Like... EXPLOSIVE Gunpowder... !!!

So I’m COOLER Than Towers....
That In Just A Few Hours... !!!!!!!!

Became HOTTER Than Plotters...
Whose Movements Get HOTTER...
Than.... SUICIDE BOMBERS... !!!!!

I’m The COOLEST of Jotters...
About All This NONSENSE.... !!!

ABUSERS Whose Movements...
HOT UP... Certain Collars... !!!!!

Who Took Time To... HOLLA'...
About How They BOTHERED... ?!?

Producers And Movers....
Who Seem To NEED... “ Coolers “... !!!?!!!

To CONTROL Their LOOSENESS... !!!!!

However Some Coolness...
Is NEEDED Like Shrewdness...

When It Comes To The CLAIMS...
That Are Made Nowadays...  

... SO MANY Games... !!!
That People Now Play... !!!!!

The Type That Have RACKETS...
And Strings That Pull Jackets... !!!

On Puppets And Slaves...
Who Seem To Get Brave....

When It’s LATE In The day.... !!!!!
To REFUTERS I Say...
CALM DOWN Now Okay... !!!

I Suggest You Stay COOLER...
Than London’s Commuters...
When TERROR Becomes....
What HITS It’s Stations... !!!!!!

Or Cooler Than COUGARS...
Who Move Like SEDUCERS...
When Their ONLY Future...
Is *** With OLD Suitors  ...
Boozers And Schmoozers'... !!!

Whose ****’s LOST IT’s Rooster.... !?!?!
So NEEDS To Use BOOSTERS...
Like..... ****** Users.... !!!!!!

As I Said... This Poem...
Should PROVE I’m NO LOSER... !!!!!

I’m Just A Producer...
of Rhymes That Are Shrewder...

Than SCOOTER Type Looters... !!!!!
Who’s... SICKER Than TUMOURS... !!!!!

And Like... " Steve McQueen "...
When It Comes To Rhyme Schemes...

Don’t Let The Rest FOOL YA.... !!!!!

I’m THE KING of What’s...

........ “ COOLER “.......

I.

blankets of mist douse
the garden with bluish tinge
chilly night again

---

II.

another Christmas
plagued by masks and boosters though
brighter days ahead

---

III.

extraction of gifts
from their jackets of paper
hands at the ready

THE MOUNTAINS ARE HIGH
BUT  MY DREAMS ARE SKY HIGH
I WILL FULFILL IT
AND THAT'S MY PROMISE
TO REACH THOSE HEAVENLY SKIES
I NEED TO TRAVEL THROUGH STEEP PATH
CLIMB THE MOUNTAINS OF MY WISHES
AND SHATTER THE UNKNOWN
ENEMY TO PIECES
I HAVE TO  SOME TIME RUN
I HAVE TO HIDE SOMETIME
BECAUSE I KNOW
BY ONLY RUNNING I WON'T ACHIEVE
MY DREAMS
TO REACH THOSE SKY HIGH
OF MY LIFE
I NEED TO WALK ALONE
I NEED TO FACE
FACE THE FEAR
I NEED TO THROW
ALL MY WEAPONS I HAVE
IN ORDER TO SURVIVE
I NEED TO USE MY BRAIN
TO UNLOCK SOME PARTS
AND TO DO THAT
I NEED TO WORK FOR YEARS
WITHOUT WORKING HARD
I WON'T BE ABLE TO REACH THOSE
THOSE HEIGHT
I HAVE TO BE PREPARED
TO LOOSE SOMETIME
AND RISE WITH EVERY FALL
AND REMEMBER THOSE MISTAKES
AND TRY NOT TO MAKE IT IN FUTURE
TO REACH THOSE HEIGHTS
I NEED BOOSTERS SOMETIME
SOMETIME
I NEED REST
SOMETIME I NEED TO WALK
ENDLESSLY TO REACH  TO SKIES
AND FINALLY WHEN I REACH THE TOP
A BIRD WOULD COME
FLYING AWAY
TO TAKE ME TO MY
NEW HEAVENLY SKIES
TO THE NEW LAND WAITING
TO BE CONQUERED

"DÓNALL DEMPSEY INDEED!"




'LLANÓD YESPMED?"
he squinted at my driver's licence.




"It's pronounced CLANÓD!"
I said with extreme exasperation.







"Y'are not from these here parts
. . .are ya fella?"
he drawled dryly




squinting closer firstly at me then
back again to my !D.



"I'm of Welsh/Turkish extraction
but I was born on Venus!"




I explained as if to
a little kid.







"Ha ha...haha!" he snorted
a tiny trickle of snot




yo-yoing up and down
his hairy left nostril.





"Ha ha...if you were to
spell yer name backwards
it would spell:




Dónall Dempsey!"




I was not amused.




"Ya know...that crazy hairy
Irish earthling poet dude!"




"I'm not him!"
I fumed.




"Alright...alright...keep yer
antenas on...geeeez!"




He handed me back
my Id ID.




Tipped his hat.
Wiped his nose across his sleeve.




"Welcome to Mars.
You drive carefully now!"





I stepped on the rocket boosters.



Left him eating my stardust.




"****** customs!"
I yelled to myself.




"Huh...Dónall Dempsey
...indeed!"

Chinese chest-cold got you spooked
Virtue-signaling with your mask;
Flu was flu last time I looked.
How many boosters now, I ask.

What if they told you: Stay at home
And wear your knickers on your head—
Then bow down to the Queen of Rome . . .
You'd do whatever Nanny said.

come the end of the year, i finally feel fatigued, a complete burn out, all the excess of calorie intake from whiskey doesn't help, not even caffeine / nicotine boosters help, i'm usually so invigorated by winter, come to think of it: winter always invigorates me: so much that's the cold so much concerning the hibernating insects... ah... yet another thought... i wish i could love a girl like a teenage boy might love a girl... nuanced... androgynous, i remember quiet clearly, i used to don long hair, clean shaven... we were in Valentine's Park once, kissing on the grass, a dozen colts walked past and joyfully screamed: lesbians! lesbians! we had our giggle... in South Park we clashed teeth when kissing, we kissed so much that our lips became numb, another time in South Park she pulled out my phallus and rubbed it admiring its size... me... i thought it was tiny... big hands, can hold a basketball in one hand, could hold one in one hand since i was 16... i wish i could love like that, innocently, naively, whole-heartedly, romantically: with a heart as soft as an oyster... now... i wake up with a hardened skull... i can feel another oyster... my brain trying to escape this body, pulverising my forehead... i sometimes feel a sharp pang in my chest... i think that's where that old labyrinth of feelings use to be... now... it's merely a sinking sensation, a thrill no less, but hardly any reason to explore attachment... to a place? sure... to an animal: all the more... but... to give up the thrill of reality to being bound to a woman?! to give up, my passion for music, hell... even share it?! i'm growing old, at 35 i know i'm still in my prime, but i'm looking much further ahead, i'm preparing myself for... at worst, "worst"... a sacrificial suicide, at best the Dutch approach of marrying death via euthanasia... or... not yet, not, just yet... but i wish i could love as i once loved, so naively so child-like, mind you: i can still **** women like i used to love them in that pageant of innocence... but... beyond that? i'm sorry... that boy left... this man is not here for some mediocre soap opera novella of a love... above-point to consider... why are cats getting all the nagging, cat-lady associates etc. cult of the cat?! eh?! what about william burrough's love of cats? only women own these: bonsai tigers?! why do i have to own a dog... dogs are great when you're a boy... since usually you run around with them, freely, care-free, climb trees while they bark with concern: you're too high up! dogs are great when you're a child, a boy, someone older usually takes care of them, you just run around with them... but as you age... ****'s sake... a dog requires a leash, a dog requires a systematic: walking to take a ****... routine... sometimes even a muzzle... almost constant attention... bonsai tigers on the other hand?! what's with this ******* cat-lady meme... where's the warlock from Warsaw meme? no leash, i can ******* and do my thing, the cat can ******* and do its thing, we sometimes meet up when eating, they usually eat when i eat... the toilet? they do it secretly, or... when they really have to: in the cuvet... i wipe my own ***: why wouldn't i scoop up a doughnut of **** of pseudo-sand?! point being... no ******* walkies... no leash... i can ignore a cat... it can ignore me... if it really wants attention: i'll gladly give it, but it has to ask for it, i'm not going to simply: give it some unncessary excess!

it began with... four letters... very much unlike
the Hebrew letters of their deity...
it began with... ∇ (del): an explosion of Y...
it began with delta: Δ...
therefore it must have begun
with the keyhole and the key being turned:
the iota bound to
Θ & to Φ...
           we'll end it there... although
we could consider... Ψ (psi) -
there's an iota in that too...
but i'm looking for the Greek equivalent
of the Hebrew tetragrammaton...
why ignore the psi? the psychology emblem /
totem... the back & forth of the tetragrammaton
"we're" looking for a name of the anti-God...
starting from YHWH...
we have the fist letter...
∇Δ: del or delta... st. peter being crucified upside
down... hey-zeus hanging upright...
the combination carves: the star of David...
it doesn't matter... in terms of how
Greek letter operate, since: the letters are also
nouns that are used in science as constants...
it makes no difference where the cut-off point
comes... we'll still get a D at the end of
d-el / d-elta... but El... is a real word in
qabbalah... in the Sefirot...
wait a a while... i'll take a sip of some whiskey
while i write down the schematic of
the tree of knowledge... bear with me...

                               keter (cown)

binah                                                 chokhmah
  (understanding)                                   (wisdom)

gevurah                                              chesed
(strength)                                               (love)  EL

                                 tiferet
                                  (beauty)
hod                                                      netzach
(splendour)                                          (victory)
                                  yesod
                                  (foundation)

                                  malkhut
                                  (kingship)

surd H, vowel-catcher H of the tetragrammaton
in all the vowels: throughout...
not the prime, vowel-spawner of
laughter present...

obviously i can't simply use H: that's a vowel in
Greek... the shorter variation of epsilon...
name... H(η) eta...
sure, in the Latin script that's...
the genesis of laughter, the Hebrew definite
article... thank god we laugh via ha ha
and not by any other syllable combination...
that would be... simply... weird...
the first "hatch" of the tetragrammaton is
source of laughter... the second "hatch", H,
of the tetragrammaton is...
in English... a source of silence, of meditation...
sometimes... the H behaves as a surd...
usually an apostrophe replaces the H...
that's as close as the English folk come to
diacritical indicators...
    'atch... 'ate... they're not as bad as the French
with their letter-eating / phonetic cannibalism:
but they're up there...
e.g. is ****- offensive? did i say
Iraqi-*******-STANI?! you, ****?!
it's just lazy speech...

  *******, read the Quran or something...
sound offends you... good! you should start
listening to people talking with a lisp...
the missing trill of the R offends me,
good & proper...
who told people a trilled-R is somehow...
unfashionable, or whatever was "wong"
with a trill of the R? rolling a ******* stone
up a hill, the myth of Sisyphus?

but i have a replacement for the H...
the laughter based H: hatchet + a-lpha...
i also have the surd H... like...
the gamma in GNOME is a surd...
you could... write that word the following way:
'NOME... why bother including the gamma
in a word that... doesn't use it?!
English isn't difficult... it's just *******
pedantic... write one way, speak another...
not exactly evolved... sort of lost between
****** speak and Japanese katakana...

a sort of an ugly merging of tongues...

****'s sake... i studied chemistry at university
to end up... suckling up to...
something resembling a resurrection
of alchemy, a romanticism associated with
the science of chemistry that can only
be translated into... a new kind of wording...
Na: sodium... because... Na is not merely:
n'ah... it's NATRON...
Fe: iron... because... it's not f'eh: it's ferrum...

so beside the instigator crux of laughter...
the surd machinery... the second H of
the tetragrammaton is also a:
vowel-catcher... at first you laugh...
then you... ah... sigh...

how hard it is... to give birth... to an antithesis
of a God... esp. if... the supposed God
is a linguistic parallel... originating in the Hebrew tongue...
being part Greek... part... instigated by
the Latin script...
i need to see the antithesis lettering... prior...

i already conjured up a missing link in the
Greek pantheon... namely?
the god behind: the phenomenon of solipsism...
Solipsus...
that placebo affair: thought experiment...
with real life implications surrounding
autism...

clearly i'm becoming a burn-out...
excessive drinking, writing almost every night...
once i could get away with scribbling
this down in one nightly session...
now it takes two nights...
two drinking sessions...
i just invested 50quid's worth of *****
for the seasonal "celebrations"...

fatigue hits me like a **** tonne of bricks...
i start caving...
better me cycling for 40 miles
than... standing, stewarding a football match...
meeting & greeting the public...
creative fatigue... this sponge of  brain is
a Brian and somehow:
Brian is "missing"..
i'm spent... maximum effort: minimal results...
well... at least as a poet one
shouldn't concern himself with cancel culture
that's affecting comedians...
i hate those monologue *******...
esp. that Carr guy...
it's funny... but it's also irritating:
makes me nervous, half-baked nervous...
just ill...
so, i just ignore him...
i try... but then popular culture
keeps pressing the wrong sort of buttons...
hey presto...
that face, i'd love to punch...
for tax-evasion schemes...
maybe that's why i feel like...
itchy-knuckles... those pursed lips...
some people just have a physiognomy
you want to either: slap or punch...
can i do both?
i feel like doing both...
no offence: joke... ha ha...
am i the only one laughing?

     i've been having problems with digestion
of late... apparently i've become intolerant
to milk... will i be drinking this almond ****
for much longer... the usual stuff gives me the *****...
does it require it being doubly filtered?!
do i need to drink goats' milk
to ease eating a marzipan cookie, & dough?
please tell me, oh "lord":  i can't be away
from not driinking milk: straight out
from the profanity of life's secondary "mother"...

digressing... no more cow milk foir you...
great... if i were a Hindu...
i can eat, beef, now?! no?!
the mother load of measures conscripting me
to not eat beef... has... fizzled out...
cow milk gives me constipation &
diarrhoea...
ergo? beef's on the menu, boys!
goat though... almond... tried oats?!
i need... milk!
cheese and ******* yogurt will not
cut it for me...
goat then... can't drink beef juice...
eat beef... or... wait a little...
perhaps the juice hasn't been
double pasteurized... doubly filtered...
i, never, quiet: essentially...
expected this...

now for the red-blooded meat!
bring it!
if the cow won't give up her milk...
for my digestion...
she best give up her red...
fission of blood... fleshy discards...
scaphism...
truly: eating sometimes... somehow
becomes a torture...
as Socrates is cited to have said:
some... live to eat...
while others... eat: to live...
i do enjoy the spices...
i do enjoy the... smoked salmon
with lemon juice & a creamy cheese...
the bagel! rounded... glutton...
like a *******'s buttocks rounded up
to metaphor a peach! ha!
or the raw herring in a
creamy sauce aligned with a dill sauce...
my preferences...
not yours...

- i hate my mother, then again: i love my mother,
my fatheer ws abandoned by his,
his father...
she's currently doing my father's nails...
i showed her a Botticelli's Venus & Mars...
the one were Venus is an amputee...
the leg dynamic...
i thought it was funny... my mother thought i was drunk...
i am drunk...
come on though... can't get a joke?!
sober people... blah...
about as interesting as Brussels Sprouts...
boring rigorous little busy-bodies...

oh... right... that inverted tetragrammaton...
here:

∇ΘMΦ...

   now, your choice of vowels to impregnate
the consonants,
the Hebrews hide them like some Europeans
hide the H... via the diacritical method
of the stupendous orthography...
Charles Dickens might have cited "orthography":
i.e. a spelling mistake...
you get orthography, when you apply
diacritical distinctions... otherwise just some
"flavoursome fancy"...

niqqud:  which implies...
kametz / patach (a ****** way of saying Ah or... Ą)
tzere / segol (again, the ****** way
of saying Eh or... Ę)
sheva - well, that's not ******...
that's Ing-Leash with the apostrophe ':
akin to 'nome... some "g" or other...
cholem - that's for O(micron)
chirek - why i, i y i not j(aded),
kibbutz & shurek - upsilon for the Greek
while an acute cholem for the ******... ó)

an appellation on behalf of the Hebrews from
a Latin man inquiring about the original
investment of the Greeks in
crafting the New Testament...

can you please... come up with an "Exodus" book,
or thereby equivalent to match up to the
"Genesis": new, thus stated...
thank you for the stated genealogy "study"...
you think you're ready? has Rome died?
has the Roman alphabet imploded,
died, like Cunieform?!
i thought the Hebrew diety either:
ate up foreign dieties and made them demons
(odd show, Beelzebub)
or... smashed the phonetic encoding systems
of other people...
so, i ask... why am i still typing in Roman?!

****'s sake, i can still give you the basics of
how the coliseum was constructed...
they constructed it using VI + IV = X!

hasn't the greatest Exodus happened,
after 2000 years... Israel was returned...
lazy ***, ****'s sake... camel jockeys!
no one is going to write about your trials
and tribulations for future generations
to understand?!
how the Hebrews returned to their homeland...
almost, lazily,
do i need to spur one ******* on
to conclude the New Testament without
managing to haggle the book of the Apocalypse?!

whales that beach themselves...
what... they'll spontaneously turn into
monkeys?!
sure... they're mammals... but it's not like
they'll spontaneously grow the sort of limps
that'll enable them to climb trees!
suicide among men makes so much more sense
when whales perform the act (of suicide)...
i'm on board...
it's not even pathetic, it's just... ******* weird...
i too don't feel inclined to belong...
we can all be jokes: ha ha... banter blah
a few minutes longer... but truth be told...
this sort of ******* has a life-span that:
i'm not too sure whether i want:
to see-through fully, to a conclusion...

best be on my bicycle and block out the world;
the world can burn...
hey... if you want... i'll even involve myself
by giving the burning some ******* jazz-hand /
applause...
because these are the times...
a comedian is self-conscious of comedy
via CANCEL CULTURE...
the poet... they ignored you, they ******* on you,
they already cancelled you...
right... so, now what? i'm supposed to stand
up?! defend comedy?!
oh believe me... this is the greatest gag around!

you didn't defend the poet...
i don't think there's a need to defend "your"
sort of sorry state of "comedy"..
must have been a very bad joke to begin with...
it's the ideal returns policy:
i give out as much love as the love that was given
to me... seems fair, seems...
equilibrated, n'est ce pas?!

We were high like satellites
As we roamed the back streets
Chasing a stolen dream
With holes in our stream

We roved for miles
Dead but alive
Falling out like meteorites
Splitting a half-life

None of this was right
Still boosters would ignite
To disintegrate academy book
And their hard-earned flights

Down on The Palms
We heard meteor psalms
Ringing in our ears
We couldn’t help but hum along

Bad Cosmonauts
Searching for life support
There was no hope to be found
At the local space port

We were high like satellites
Always like satellites
The dust on our shoes speaks of a past life
Lightyears from here

melting cheese on the train tracks
or hunting for a kangaroo
perhaps dissimilar to also compare
a pumpernickel to a windmill

but let the cheese ooze when
i write a slogan machine

= is love in the algebra of pronoun
equations
while ≠ is hate

therefore i ≠ you
is unlike i = you...
at least that's how i get all fuzzy
because i finally reached the reality
of calling both sensations
a fuzz in the fuzzy brain
antics
i really want to scratch my brain
i want to thread it with
needle junctions
to where i am looking out across
the Pacific to find you
dearest plump plumb of an ***
dog in the mirror
dog in the mirror
ravaging from behind...

which sort of reminds me of the Q
above homosexuality
i understand **** eroticism
in literature
and how **** this ring finger
feels and looks
and i'm all weather-jovial in this Scandinavia
land of Denmark and England
and how glorious to see Europe
congregate in Germany
rather than Belgium in swim no swagger
Judas attire of suits
this congregation of a people
i could definitely feed off feeling on Kauai
let alone in my bedroom shack
in the Grim London to a Reaper: ask -
posit a question:
to ask for something or to ask for nothing

currently it's Turkey 1 and Gruzia 1:
that's Georgia
Gruz: i: a
              not ja?

йa
           as much as я

carnival central in my head with
NFOMO: no fear of missing out:
got the acronyms all wong in wok
i mean: acronyms are without
vowels

with exception to USA the grand central
#genesis of acronyms
but not from this Federalist
this post-Republican anti-Democrat
i believe in a coherency of the compactness
of individuals
now with this ring i'm freed from
the ******* of Satan the soloist
and in God's honest ****
i do to my wife
what i would never do to a *******
hail Mary Hail Mary

i paid for my infidelity a labor of
£130 for an hour massaging her
i needed touch
but i needed to give touch
and not receive it
that's how dishonest i can be
flamboyant rude boy ginger
yes i cheated: on my wife that's not my wife
just yet
i have a project ahead of me
four women
my mother
not my grandmother or my great grandmother
not my father's mother
who i have to image of
instead i have
Edie Reyla Lydia
instead i have
Edie Reyla Lydia...
Puerto Rico on the sun flaring up
with teenage angst
with **** firestarter
with my woman my exlusivity
so much good that did me
going to the brothel like that
i was thinking about a Thai massage
parlor but i thought the world
is tense and relaxed at the same time
people are congregating in Germany
in the political arena of football
because the Coliseum is
both Parliament and Church...
the inseparable dynamic of High Secularism...
the Coliseum is both
Parliament and Church...

       ROM EWIG!
HAGELZEIT!
        zeit heil! really? that's how you salute
in Sardaukar Mongolian
i'm pretty sure we've been through
this already: the dampening
are you ******* twice over staff sergeants
all protruding like that
like i'm your suckling octopus baby
wrap or what?! ha ha...

in the **** of god
this goodness of ***
now i see
now i don't want to leave
the singing blessings
i don't want to leave:
take your homosexual liberalism
and leave my CIS non-conformist
stance of: just about right
when it comes to the existential imprint
of lagging 18 years behind
the **** librarian me *******
my imaginary mother
this is not a tiger in a bed photograph
to liken mole to cougar
but once i had the opportunity
of holding a rabbit in my hands:
a blind little beggar without a hop
but then i remember what
humanism layered onto the brutality
of nature looks like
as all children squeak ferociously: UNFAIR...

i also saw two kestrels or perhaps
hawks circling
above me
and then i realized: what good of nature
with man's indentation to make
shape-shifting deconstruction
post-modern very acutely parallel to paradox:
heightened a narrative
for the dead-ends of nature's ability to evolve
as there are dead-end avenues
the ant will not change into anything
beyond the zenith of adaptability as ant
and man can only gesticulate
with a blind man's wand to conjure footsteps
echo and footprints
like diamonds in water and in sheen
of metal in the Lung of Sunlight

            i believe in the biochemistry
i once articulate aloof by denoting
it a meaning, love...

           das biochemie ist liebe!
this metabolism this eradication of thought
and spirit like breath
likened breath for breath
how distance
sour **** sour **** bad taste in the mouth
but that's maybe because you drooled
from the excess in your mouth
O perhaps i was wrong
this Godly **** with Wife
this antithesis erotica just plain Vanilla Sam and Sally
Sam and Sally having a romp
don't understand perhaps
that decade in my 20s spent pasturing
in Celibacy La La

        or perhaps me and English women
are incompatible: period: periodically...
perhaps too much Afro Boosters required:
i see the future as mixed race
for a time
before the splinters come out again
and there's bleeding from beneath the fingernails
like drowning men aching
to breathe grabbing at the razor's edge...

but at least now i don't have a voyeuristic downer
but like i explained to mother:
atheism, liberalism, anti-communism
anti Pan-Slavic
whatever
i wish i could tell you it's love: blah blah
and this high meaning: blah blah...
but it has truly, simply come down to the metabolism
of emotions
and the dispersing of thoughts
thoughts regardless if articulated to the gravity
of words
all better for some frightened onlooker: a reader:
but between you and me:
this is biochemistry
and i'm not afraid to say there's no "god" behind
it and i accept that my body is responsive
to: he said: she said none of us
thought to ought it for correction...

love is biochemistry but science doesn't have
to be anti-religious
but complimentary to it
after all sport has somehow stood alone
from what the sober poll, politics:

the Coliseum is the Parliament and the Church...
shame on anyone writing
anything these days and not working
in a Coliseum... or Coliseums...

Rome Eternal...
                    Rzym: WIECZNY!
ROMA ÆTERNA!
    ROMA ÆTERNA!
                    ROMA ÆTERNA!

i think that's the only tattoo i'd get:
on my wrist...
although one further would be a hummingbird
on my neck just below my ear
in homage to the god
or at least get that tattoo: ROMA ÆTERNA!
where all Holocaust survivors received
their "bar code" of a number...

Huitzilopochtli... proper **** LIFE scenario
should she see me next...
and a driving license... my my...
what plans for the next months
caged on Kauai
otherwise: not caged in London?
you can't be IN Kauai
like you can't be ON London: how can you?

6pm the rumbling of a hunger
sure: there is a stomach
and there's also food
but i don't really require digesting something
right now: more like i've been
presented with an *** and either
i'm eating that out or
i'm ******* it... regardless...
eating a non-edible
like *** is cartilage: my Carthage -

          is not from a symposium denoting
who isn't going to say that:
Cato didn't say so:                    again...

et hoc mihi: ad hoc tu es! amica mea cor meum!
it seems to me that:
for that you are: my love! my heart!

cheese! jeez! so much stinking cheese
of ***: raucous *** sounds
like freakish pigeons on hyperventilation
suppression machines of
******-torture
like there was never any age
difference to speak of when these two
got together.

R u assuming that
Human kind in it's entirety
In a synchronic psychosis
Spurned from your legendary
munificence
Surrendered in a volitional
Symphony
Arm in arm
Keeping  perfect cadence took
Your ***** backwood bathroom lobotomy
And we'll why wouldn't we? After all who can resist being
Ostracized,and labeled as
"The bad guy"
Red flagged , blacklist and blackballed
No work, no money ,fired
No travel for you locked down an then flushed out
Bereft of dignity
forced to retire ,
no pension .
Or here's an idea !

Take the panacea !
This make believe vaccine to protect you from ........
Uhhhm ?
Well just take it or else and don't forget the boosters and for heaven sake
Whatever you do
"AVOID THOSE WHO HAVE NOT HAD THIS BECAUSE ......
THEY WILL GIVE YOU WHAT WE HAVE VACCINATED YOU FROM ....
LISTEN YOU GET THE VACCINE
THEN YOU SAFE ......
EXCEPT YOUR NOT SAFE
FROM WHAT YOUR VACCINE IS FOR
...
WAIT TAKE THIS AND YOU WONT GET THAT ......
UNLESS YOU DO AND THATS
YOURE FAULT

why cant covid go away once again it wants to play
omicron to make it worse bringing back the covid curse
get the boosters  leave some space
where a mask upon your face

rules are here we must obey
keep your distance stay away
will they ever find a cure
or make more jabs cause there not sure

until then we must wait
let the covid decide our fate
hope that one day it will mend
get rid of covid in the end

"DONALL DEMPSEY INDEED!"

'LLANOD YESPMED?"
he squinted at my driver's licence.

"It's pronounced CLANOD!"
I said with extreme exasperation.

"Y'are not from these here parts
. . .are ya fella?"
he drawled dryly

squinting closer firstly at me then
back again to my !D.

"I'm of Welsh/Turkish extraction
but I was born on Venus!"

I explained as if to
a little kid.

"Ha ha...haha!" he snorted
a tiny trickle of snot

yo-yoing up and down
his hairy left nostril.

"Ha ha...if you were to
spell yer name backwards
it would spell:

Donall Dempsey!"

I was not amused.

"Ya know...that crazy hairy
Irish earthling poet dude!"

"I'm not him!"
I fumed.

"Alright...alright...keep yer
antenas on...geeeez!"

He handed me back
my Id ID.

Tipped his hat.
Wiped his nose across his sleeve.

"Welcome to Mars.
You drive carefully now!"

I stepped on the rocket boosters.

Left him eating my stardust.

"****** customs!"
I yelled to myself.

"Huh...Donall Dempsey
...indeed!"

*

Without any intro I would tell a class to take a blank piece of paper and exactly and neatly write their name in the very middle of the page. Then I would go around to look at them and go "No...no...no!" They would look at me in great surmise. "I meant...backwards!" So painfully as if it were a hard maths question they would backward themselves and ask me how to pronounce themselves. And then with their new "selves" I would get them to invent who they "now" were. They went at this with great gusto and characters born purely form pure sound would be created right in front of me> They're "I" had changed into a hee hee hee "HE" and suddenly there were all these different people running around in their minds. They even drew these new "thems" and the playground resounded to the new sounding Nairbs and Yrams who had sloughed off their usual monikers to be born anew as an inventive character.

I would never not do what I would tell the kids to do...so I became this LLANOD YESPMED who had problems with a border guard somewhere in the 25th century.