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Emanuel Martinez Jul 2013
500 years of conquest
500 years of oppression
500 years of struggle
500 years of resistance

500 years of globalization
500 years of plundering
500 years of capitalism

I am a child, of the children, of the masses
Rising from Latin America
Of the and in alliance with...the oppressed of the world
White brothers and sisters haven't you seen your chains, too?
Because us colored children have long forgotten ours

But I'm tired of the chains...searching...where's my liberation gone?


Afro-Caribbean
Afro-Latino
African American
African
Indigenous
Asian
Middle Eastern
My people of color
Why can't we come together

Because we continue to be lied to
We continue to be denied
We continue to be subjugated
To the fact that we are subordinate
To something that is not us

That we are devoid
That we are empty
That we are workers and masters
With no mind or soul

We are the people without license
No legitimate place, in the periphery
Outside the margins
A threat to the safety of societies

Always the other, never part of we within discourses

We are the black slaves
In your blood and heritage Caribbean children
Your negation of us has been your ploy to secure your servitude to white supremacy in exchange for your economic stability.

We are the indigenous
That harvested and nurtured these beautiful Americas
Pests of conquest, you exploited our black brethren because we were not suitable for your exploitation. Instead you massacred us. Ever since confusing us with your mestizaje fodder.

We are the peasants, the servants, the broken families, the broken communities, the displaced peoples, we are the casualties, we are the unmitigated collateral damage:
Of revolutions, of wars, of conquests, of western civilization, of capitalism, of profit, of misanthropy

We are Trayvon  Martin, we are the 25 million families affected by Texas decision on abortion, we are the masses being left out by the recent reversal of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, we are the LGBT binational couples fighting for our rights, we are the undocumented community in solidarity asking TO BRING THEM HOME, we are the Brazilians demanding to be heard over the government's preoccupation with the preparations for the world cup, we are the everyday poor and homeless

From our peripheral places we are the ones that resist because otherwise we will die.

We are the ones that cannot afford to oppress anyone, because we are the most oppressed
Living in a system that pushes even those who are the most oppressed to mimic the system's usage of oppression
When there's no one else to oppress, still being aware of ourselves, we try

My Latin American brethren don't tell me that Haiti's silenced past does not pertain to you
They fought for the universal rights of everyone, doesn't that include you?
And because of that its revolutionary past has been dismantled within history discourses
So that other colored children of the world like you would not dream to resist their own oppression

My Latin American and Caribbean brethren stop negating your blood, culture, history...Don't you see it has been deliberately silenced so that you cannot understand yourself? Because to understand yourself, is to love yourself, is to realize the potential of you, is to resist anything that doesn't allow you to be you

African, and indigenous historical actors laid down their lives so that you could exist
The puddle that formed out of the rivers of indigenous and black blood is all red. Isn't that enough for you to understand that our oppression is tied, that we must defend each other.

Our tool against oppression is not money or guns.
The greatest fortress of the oppressed is our mind.
History is our weapon.

Our histories are powerful
Granting us consciousness
Giving us bravery
Dispelling lies and shattering the silencing of our power.

Let us nurture our colored children to love their histories
That they may understand the common experience of oppression of the masses the world over
That they will be ready and able and accountable
To the continued act of resistance of the oppression of any human being.

We are the ones that cannot afford to rely on ourselves, we are the vulnerable ones, we are the ones with targets on our backs, we are the ones in constant threat, we are the beautiful middle eastern peoples being targeted as terrorists and extremists, we are the poor with undiagnosed PTSD, we are the undocumented parents and adults with lost dreams, we are the inner city kids who have been lost to drugs, crime, and STDS, we are the ones that let others decide our rights

We are ones that must form alliances with each other, we are the ones that find strength in numbers, we are the ones that need allies in positions of privilege, we are the ones that must create the revolution through the power of our minds, not the wars, tool of the oppressors.

We are the hopes and the dreams that have faded from our parents, and grandparents, we are the revolutions that never came for the slaves, the servants, and the peasants of our heritage

We are the most dangerous obstacle to oppression.
Dormant in us is the promise of the liberation I've lost.
July 27, 2013
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
psiór vs.
                        pśιór "debate".

every area of interests has its cul de sac,
its brick-wall, a dead-end as it were,
a point where transcendence is
welcomed, unavoidable,
but nonetheless: miserable stalled.

philosophers have the cartesian
   cogito ergo sum -
whatever arithmetic of wording
they produce, not even samson
could topple this pillar of foundation
for the temple of thought.

the same is with my example...
it would appear that the diacritical
**** ι with a floating head i
did not translate further, beyond
the same treatment of yot (j) -
(gee a jeep! yodh: serif (י) and
rashi (

yet by oath alone, hebrew orthography
invokes itself in letters...
unlike the post-roman orthography
of words...

                   ι    י      
                      Y         (    .    )
                      ي

                            ­        floating alongside
e...
         if only the greek sigma
   had the tetragrammaton of the arabic "ι" -
the initial σ (يـ‎) & the final ς (ـي) are
indeed there, but what of the isolated
(ي‎) & the medial (ـيـ‎) - unless of course
of course we treat to invoke the
upper-case: Σ - such as is missing in arabic,
and is only a question of: how much
the prolonged line?

p.s.

   why would i ever like the evolution
of gaming?
  well... teenage boy, "trapped",
by a video game,
what were my usual saturday mornings?
strapped to an PS1....
tenchu, metal gear solid...
       i am a gamer,
like most people are readers
on the *******...
      i'm here to play a game,
with indefinite time constraints,
as i am concerned about
  massaging my ****,
to ease my prostate concerns...
wankers.

          i'm still going to listen
to byzantine chants...
    because? modern gaming,
well, sure,
   it's, "free"...
but there are in-built
           payment processors...
additions, etc.,

   like me and my maine ****
cat,
      6 candles....
i know he wants to "escape"
via an open window,
but before he can "escape"
(i will let him put)...
he has to play a blinking
game with him,
i squirm, i close my eyes,
he does likewise...
  the candles are still lit...

but gaming has evolved...
"once upon a time"
you'd run into a games shop,
tongue waggling...
for the next big release...

      i know... i know...
war robots...
           that mobile game...
2 lame 2 blame...
that's my user name...
i haven't spent a dime / cent /
penny on this game...

what i do like,
is playing the game with
a...  ah! - - - - - - - - - -

but times have changed,
it was no longer about RPG games
akin to final fantasy VII,
and cheat books...

or playing Sims 3000 finding
the escape wormhole
of playing a Sim playing
a computer game: inside a computer
game...
            
when you bought a game for
$50 bucks...
and was never told:
it's "free"...
but then have to invest in
******* overpriced additions...

- - - - - - - - - handicap!
        i like war robots,
because?
       i like playing with a handicap!
the people who spend money?
mostly Koreans, Russians,
Kazakhs... H'americans,
Brazilians...
            you know,
what really evolved in gaming?
the chance to play in a non-NPC
environment...
   to play alongside live gamers...

that **** broke the ******* camels
****, sack, and *******...
last time i checked...
women were more into gaming
than the men were:
candy cwash saga...
   men fathomed gaming
via the narrative component...
but what of this additional
payments?!
in the good old days:
you paid 20 quid, you had your narrative...
now, "fwee"... but,
no wait... there are... additional
payments, you see?

i like playing a game,
handicapped...
in a free game environment...
when, your prized asset
is patience?
and all the rich arabs / russians
are spending money,

   and you, simply, wait...
and perfect your tactics?!
while they are buying up all
the "cheat codes"?
        sure... they'll serve the purpose
of staging 4000 battles...
you, eh... around 300+...
but their % rate?
      6... they have a 6% rate of success...
with 4000 or so battles...
while you?
           300+ battles?
roughly in the range of
60 - 50% success rate...
        gaming, has changed,
games were never "free",
as they are "free" now...
        
   hell, i'm not a gamer to be honest...
some people treat taking a ****
as the only time required to read
a book, i treat the same "timed" allowance
to play a game...

                 my mother is a gamer,
we've reached a moment in history where
women will play more mobile games
than ever boys would play,
video, narrative games...

          my mother is a gamer,
that's just eerie...
                   i have a second game
in tow....
   a blinking game with my maine ****
cat, surrounded by 6 candles...
oh he has the garden for the worth of
night...

but gaming has changed...
    i like the handicap dynamics of
war robots...
       like **** will i spend any money
on the game...
  i want to play against
the paying russians, chinese, arabs
and kazakhs....

          ******* - my favourite mode...
team work...
every single time i leave
my rogatka to jump and sprint
capturing beacons
when the battle is almost over...

thank **** i just bypassed
the evolution of PS1 into PS2 and PS3
and whatever else came...
     i missed about 10+ years of
gaming...
   and i hit the beehive jukebox...
of games without NPC characters...

i revised gaming at the right time,
when NPC disppeared,
completely,
and gaming became revised
by the internet live-event
game-membership.
Nota: his soil is man's intelligence.
That's better. That's worth crossing seas to find.
Crispin in one laconic phrase laid bare
His cloudy drift and planned a colony.
Exit the mental moonlight, exit lex,
Rex and principium, exit the whole
Shebang. Exeunt omnes. Here was prose
More exquisite than any tumbling verse:
A still new continent in which to dwell.
What was the purpose of his pilgrimage,
Whatever shape it took in Crispin's mind,
If not, when all is said, to drive away
The shadow of his fellows from the skies,
And, from their stale intelligence released,
To make a new intelligence prevail?
Hence the reverberations in the words
Of his first central hymns, the celebrants
Of rankest trivia, tests of the strength
Of his aesthetic, his philosophy,
The more invidious, the more desired.
The florist asking aid from cabbages,
The rich man going bare, the paladin
Afraid, the blind man as astronomer,
The appointed power unwielded from disdain.
His western voyage ended and began.
The torment of fastidious thought grew slack,
Another, still more bellicose, came on.
He, therefore, wrote his prolegomena,
And, being full of the caprice, inscribed
Commingled souvenirs and prophecies.
He made a singular collation. Thus:
The natives of the rain are rainy men.
Although they paint effulgent, azure lakes,
And April hillsides wooded white and pink,
Their azure has a cloudy edge, their white
And pink, the water bright that dogwood bears.
And in their music showering sounds intone.
On what strange froth does the gross Indian dote,
What Eden sapling gum, what honeyed gore,
What pulpy dram distilled of innocence,
That streaking gold should speak in him
Or bask within his images and words?
If these rude instances impeach themselves
By force of rudeness, let the principle
Be plain. For application Crispin strove,
Abhorring Turk as Esquimau, the lute
As the marimba, the magnolia as rose.

Upon these premises propounding, he
Projected a colony that should extend
To the dusk of a whistling south below the south.
A comprehensive island hemisphere.
The man in Georgia waking among pines
Should be pine-spokesman. The responsive man,
Planting his pristine cores in Florida,
Should ***** thereof, not on the psaltery,
But on the banjo's categorical gut,
Tuck tuck, while the flamingos flapped his bays.
Sepulchral senors, bibbing pale mescal,
Oblivious to the Aztec almanacs,
Should make the intricate Sierra scan.
And dark Brazilians in their cafes,
Musing immaculate, pampean dits,
Should scrawl a vigilant anthology,
To be their latest, lucent paramour.
These are the broadest instances. Crispin,
Progenitor of such extensive scope,
Was not indifferent to smart detail.
The melon should have apposite ritual,
Performed in verd apparel, and the peach,
When its black branches came to bud, belle day,
Should have an incantation. And again,
When piled on salvers its aroma steeped
The summer, it should have a sacrament
And celebration. Shrewd novitiates
Should be the clerks of our experience.

These bland excursions into time to come,
Related in romance to backward flights,
However prodigal, however proud,
Contained in their afflatus the reproach
That first drove Crispin to his wandering.
He could not be content with counterfeit,
With masquerade of thought, with hapless words
That must belie the racking masquerade,
With fictive flourishes that preordained
His passion's permit, hang of coat, degree
Of buttons, measure of his salt. Such trash
Might help the blind, not him, serenely sly.
It irked beyond his patience. Hence it was,
Preferring text to gloss, he humbly served
Grotesque apprenticeship to chance event,
A clown, perhaps, but an aspiring clown.
There is a monotonous babbling in our dreams
That makes them our dependent heirs, the heirs
Of dreamers buried in our sleep, and not
The oncoming fantasies of better birth.
The apprentice knew these dreamers. If he dreamed
Their dreams, he did it in a gingerly way.
All dreams are vexing. Let them be expunged.
But let the rabbit run, the **** declaim.

Trinket pasticcio, flaunting skyey sheets,
With Crispin as the tiptoe cozener?
No, no: veracious page on page, exact.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.like i insinuated prior, the English are a people not competent in philosophy, they're the antithesis of what a people, inclined to philosophy represent... schematic, rigidity, like the German... or the frequent cafe bullshitters of the French, the English can't consecrate themselves on the altar of Sophia, they just can't... they're a people that succumbed to too much practicality, egalitarianism... no one attempts to write in Utopia, while not seeking to find Atlantis.

so the whole Greece, Troy,
Rome shuffle is about over?
i'm feeling slightly peckish
and i don't have the time...
i'm about to light the house
up using... light-bulbs...
don't you think that a name
akin to: Paul, Digit,
sounds great?!

don't get me wrong,
the English are a people bound
to other, gifts...
they can sing,
although... Aud Lang Syne
is a Pict song...
and the river-dance is pure Ire...

great sophists,
but philosophers?
they're too practical,
i'm trying to read
Sartre's being & nothingness
in English...
i simply, can't...
      it doesn't make sense...
if you gave me a copy
of the same book
in ******-speak...
i'd butcher it...
   but in English?

metaphor moment:
like catching the testicles of
a mosquito, wearing boxing
gloves...

fiddly ******...

sure... each country has its
career ambition...
russian and the romanians
and the bulgarians have
their gymnastics...
the brazilians and the germans
have their footie...

the English have their singing
and their poetry...
but philosophy?
      nope... not even close...
Oasis' wonderwall
will be remembered,
and even sang along to on
the continent...

                   but thomas more's
utopia,
or thomas hobbe's leviathan...
ever tried to read more than
twenty pages
    of joseph conrad's
         heart of darkness... ?
ever find eating porridge
equivalent to parachuting
   in terms of the level of excitement?

chill... the English have their virtues...
but the English are also
prone to call philosophy
impractical, verbiage, word salad...
because philosophy already
is an impracticality,
an impasse...
          it's supposed to be,
           it's not exactly an Ikea schematic
reading to assemble a *******
table...
             it's Picasso, cubism,
       see if you can see a cube in
the mesh of contortions of other geometric
signatures...

              the English do not do philosophy...
sorry... they don't...
whatever argument arises citing
the "need" for: "reason" and, "logic"
will not cut it for me...
reason? since God doesn't intervene...
well... the unfathomable depth of
human will... reason: the same freedom
as posited prior to: the unfathomable depth...

logic? 1 + 1 = 2...
      a + n + d | s + o = and so...
the English are barons over other traditions
of expression...
music being 1, poetry being 2...

hey, Polacks are decent at volleyball...
i'm not complaining,
it's not exactly a popular sport...

but no... no chance in hell will i read
a philosophy book in this language...
i can't, the language is already too shrapnel
for me... i need to clarify a focus
on an idea...
        language, the English language,
can't entertain the current "transcendental"
logistics of undermining the individual /
plural use of pronouns,
while also keeping a straight face
in other areas of thinking...

     i could have conceded to the whole
globalist liberalism of ideas...
but... looking at the other flank?
attacking grammar... ****... sorry...
dogma?!
                as if... i will bow down
to un-existing before my wedding with death.

that being said,
i think the English are in a dire need to relearn
their black sense of humor,
their islander sense of isolationist humor,
their: bizarre unpredictability...
  since they lost it...
             to a certain degree...
i'd say: relearn to laugh at what is,
otherwise unforgiven in other cultures...
more crass Americanism...
and... well...
                can you ever learn to
cry when experiencing beauty?
musically, that is, esp. in the musical
dimension...
                    i always hated this:
"you're laughing, but actually crying...
you're crying, but actually laughing"
inversion...
        i never came around to fathom this
"misnomer"...
          straight down...
    i'll laugh at a funeral...
            teasing death...
   but i'll cry over a decent piece of music, to boot.
Elioinai Aug 2016
Germans, love to be funny
German-English, love to be friends
Trinis, love to work hard
English, love to talk loud
Bajan, love to travel
Hmong-Americans, love to look classy
Korean-English, love to hangout
Koreans, look good in "gangsta"
Tobagonians, love to give gifts
Americans, love fresh vegetables
Chinese-Americans, love butter biscuits
Canadians, don't know that one guy
Kenyans, love Ethiopian food
Guineans, are the best Arabic teachers
Jordanians, love Kentucky Fried chicken
Brazilians, love Trinidad
Brazilian-Americans, have 5 kids
Puerto Ricans, love Ecuadorians
Ecuadorians, love Puerto Ricans
Peruvian-Americans, love concert piano
I love people from all over the world, and here is a few statements, some anti-steriotypical, about friends of mine. I hate it when people say Germans don't have a sense of humor, I know at least 3 Germans who are great at making jokes. Canadians are awesome, and don't assume they know every Canadian you've ever met :)
Brad Lambert Feb 2014
That permafrost runs grounded,
soil as iced as tempered tundra sands.

I called you when I got to Rio.
There be a savior alight on a mountain top.
Five messages and a cigar. True to you in my fashion.
Fit brown head in the bathroom, goin' a'gettin' ahead and not behind.
Five messages and a cigar. Shoe-shining. Nods goodbye.
Them Brazilians are sure to be shoe-tappin' good–
I leave some messages.
I smoke a cigar.

Ringing rang raw through the apartment's hide,
twice and again. And then twice more.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
.a very prominent interlude of bitterness - something that needs to be drank as an antidote of the aftertaste of a brothel... bourbon - sickly-sweet bourbon of a brothel... otherwise the best beer on these isles: the original stout: st. guinness - second, 13... hop house lager by the same culprit... i don't know about you but a regular IPA doesn't float my boat... stale pale ale of 3 day old sputnik ***** excavation of bio-matter living off of iron shrapnel and termite ****... let's not go over-board with the bitterness of fenugreek seeds added to a curry... but... a hop lager is not an indian pale ale... because? well: because of the excited circumstance of extra bubbles! once upon a time that horrid absinthe period... last time i checked i became the st. peter of the drug details... ***** tells you too many truths come the moral-hangover the next day... but ms. amber in her guise of adele bloch-bauer by klimt: take her for a whiskey, take her for a bourbon... a chanel no. 5... or a brandy or a cognac... please excuse me from drinking the ales... goldwasser: athens, sparta, venice... dan dan Danzig... i'd call the genesis of world war II to be... that envy of the city-state... the little cosmopolitan high-heavens of a concentrated locum... of affairs of both tourism and the subsequent merchant class... that Danzig didn't belong to anyone: not really... does it even matter now? the current city-state model is... don't bother filtering the excesses... it has to become diluted... you'll find pockets of concentration near them... yes... homogenous... therefore solaced by that fact alone... only teasing incorporating outside influences... it's not going to be a replica venice or danzig... for that you'd need a window... st. peter designated the window into europe as a capital with an access to the sea... not land locked... even though i'm pretty sure that moscow has a river running through it... jump-start the window: a capital by the sea... hey presto! a window: the baltic sea into europe... words that become apparent: microcongestion of undigested souls... a schrödinger's cat... one foot in limbo... another foot in reicarnation... lob it or nutmeg the footie: it's a particle when observed and a wave when not observed... an orbit for the schematic... but a cloud when getting into the nitty-gritty details: specifics oblong... misnomer... if my ******* into a tissue, subsequently flushed... then a baptism of a shower... is not a genocide? then... bullseye... the ***** that made it into the ****... it's an abortion mid-week... i'd count that ****** come a certain count of months... otherwise... well... there's that cat of his... one foot in limbo and one foot in reincarnation... wasn't it the western exhausted theological mind: from that god of the omni- litany looking toward the budding-ha-ha? abortion... prized ***** makes it to the egg... ah... ****** from the argument of effort... me and the basic schematics of genocide... otherwise: schrödinger's cat... one foot in limbo... one foot in reicarnation... better still... Farinelli! drop the ******* don a niqab! the muslims and an eye-fetish... mind you... i do have a hand-fetish... "fetish"... i can count five of hers and only four of mine... fingers! unless she is a proper Arab bride with roots of synonyms in the Ukraine... and she has butcher's hands... hot-dog fingers... and a kardashian thick-*** that is just readied for a 12" dung-digger of ******... while at the same time... breaking the floral patterns of a porcelain geisha's... "missing tongue O"...

manícorona: peanut-crown!

               in between the hype and...
in between the trough...
and the happy pigglets of prop
and grandour...

little charlie little dervish of
a dar: gift...
                        win-win scenario...
i'm worried about...
constipation...
           terribly bothered...
                    
         but there's also the fact that
i haven't seen a dentist for...
a donkey can count a decade:
at least that's my hope...

my tooth filling has become lose...
having finished with yesterday's
etc. i tried to fall to sleep...

the pain came as a blunt object
in need of sharpening...
it wasn't a sharp object per se:
to begin with...

the radio was off...
the dream of falling asleep to the sound
of rain like it might be
a song off the cure's disintegration
album: lost...

                 i concluded:
it must be a dream...
how else explain this trivial pain
of a tooth when all the bones lay
intact in a body in an impeding grave?

to have been lullabied by a trivial
pain of a loose filling...
                   i'll give it until monday
to check a dental clinic...
i'll wait... because:
god only knows i am bound
to learn something new from
this crazed - infuriating pain -

          but at least that has
constipation covered...
    fear not: ****** **** of the golem heights!
no chelsea smile up your alley:
any time soon...

        the crown virus...
sooner or later: yes my liege...
yes my sire...
i'm sure the africans will... jump the queue...
we've been raising money for
a malaria vaccine...
i'm sure they'll be quick-on-the-mark
to raise money for the crown-virus
epicenter! europe!

oh... come come... komme komme, meine liebe!
it's true!
the europeans will be fundraising
money for malaria...
while the africans will be fundraising
money for the peanut-crown virus...

or... i like that one quote i heard,
"somewhere"...
   a stewardess asks a mother whether
or not her son would like some peanuts...
the mother says... he's allergic to peanuts...
he's allergic to maize... air...
glutten... ******* haribo gelatin and all...
he's allergic to hiccups...

                           there's a winking match
involving imitation chess between
the very sick psychiatrists
and the mildly sick schizophrenics...
a bilingual comes along into their foray...
and asks: who's multiplying
and who's in charge of division?
all a splendid metaphor... wouldn't you agree?
there... metaphor...
already the focus is gone... splinters...
some go to metaphysics,
some go to metaphors...
some go to orthography...
some go to: telepathy...
        some go down the para-
hello, my name is Norman...

         it's natural then... darwinism in action...
hold a peanut to a crowd of
people allergic to peanuts...
the joy of cashews...
the joys of pecans...
   cashews, pecans, brazilians...
macademians... hazels and waldorff's...

no other feeling...
like a ripe hop lager in between
a bourbon's drip drip drip...
      
                   horrid breaking up an already
comfortable ideology... isn't it?
when something like this speaks for itself
and the "lamm von gott" is brought before
the altar...
                           darwinism sings!
sings! like the brian jonestown massacre...
this is my body... my peanut...
brought to a cult of peanut-allergy-riddled
anemics and haemophiliacs...
        
the darwinian ideology fizzles out...
when it's not longer looking up through
the telescope of a primate's ***...
but looking through the form most primodial...
i've been gardening for the past week...
i've watched an earthworm here...
an earthworm there...
        life without eyes without ears
without music... but this idiotic god-given
impetus, imperative, "will": "freedom"...
virus... crown virus...

sooner or later we'll all be kings and queens,
sneezing and waiting for the entire
small intestine to come out of our noses
like glue: glut and gelatin pieces
wobbling where once bones stood
to be later broken...

a beer in between these slugs of bourbon
will do just that...
all good when it concerns
of apes and men...
           the similarity greatly helps...
but of course we'll borrow from other
skeletons...
                  no one ever heard of a headache
from having "too much"...
i.e. od przybytku: głowa nie boli...
o ale boli boli boli...

      constipation...
            the peanut crown virus...
and a loose tooth filling...
                ***** blondes and "how many"
light-bulb jokes it would take
for a tsunami of bleached ***** hairs to turn
into a happy cousin itsy-bitsy:
a spider cravat... what else?

otherwise history...
   either a wet-dream or a castration...
              or the bull wrestled by the horns...
or a dog wrestled by either kicking it in
the ******* or wrestling with its mandible jaw...
echoes of warriors...
warriors and pirates... the lesser muscles
of a farmer? a blacksmith?
              either a wet-dream or a castration...
lost avenues of "heroes":
all leading to: up my ***... otherwise known
as my original churchill's V...
the welsh longbow men: ditto the fwench...

such a shame that so much of history
is to be filtered when the children learn of it...
and whenever returning to it...
it's as stale as an antique's roadshow...
or it's: skimmed over...
whatever natural selection gave...
i don't know whether it's natural
to witness this historiological selection...

some would say:
too much of a congested toilet: n'est-ce pas?
too many of the dead are still haunting us...
natural selection contra:
historiological selection...
                             the ape versus the virus...
it is over-inflated...
where are the boils, the blisters...
the glutton spew of ****?
                              
                     this is... it?
panic riddled neurotics?
   so... so... twiddle-thumb-twiddle-toe...
where are all the psychotic:
airing of the soul examples?
smoke and mirrors...
   if i see a *****?
   i'll let you know!
          we'll huddle and watch
tom hanks win an oscar for
Philadeplhia...
                          show me a *****
******* a zombie...
         this, this grand disguise as flu...
it's almost a precursor
to a greater joke...
       of... phantom limbs that
had grenades worth of champagne
bottles being uncorked as
the origin of the demise of...
if only they named the ship Prometheus...
Titanic is so general...
     Atlas... Hyperion...
                  Oceanus...
                                   you can't expect
to keep an adjective as a noun: afloat...
or could have... could you?

but about time you listen to all the darwinists...
when the seas are: a'rough...
ask them about not looking up from
that telescope via a monkey's ****...
about the darwinism of a...
very original... very basic: a first...
first in line end result...
that might have been us...

                 tough luck bringing
no wine and no bread...
to the congregation...
nut-allergy riddled whisperers and soon-enough
to be drop-off counts of: the sieve...
the peanut! crown - and:
if only it was as simple as a reconquista
of what the goths left behind having
stalled spain's worth
and having died off in north africa...

now's the time to stop looking through
a darwinistic: famous detail of:
the peeled banana on the inner-sleeve...
the root or yellow...
teasing you unpeeled for all that was
the velvet, the velvet and the underground...
a very pushy bladder...
i mean: fickle bladder little gremlin
with a yappy-yappy for a mouth...
and it's not the sort of mouth that echoes:
hungry! hungry!
the sort of mouth, though...
give it the plumber...
                          
        how very pedestrian of me.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
when i heard about it,
when i heard of “free art:”
i thought of free bread and wine,
and celtic sirens,
i laughed though... you made the earth
so ******* boring we all wanted to become astronauts.
when art became free we tried to moralise
drinking wine (as a portent of richness)
and eating bread (as a portent of the russian revulsion),
i bought my art.. and waited for the ones who
discouraged it complaining buying their bread “well fed.”
the celtic sirens hung on though, singing softer and softer
but more prone to the acid tongues dragging the democrats into
a hope of kings and village kindred elders,
but i still didn’t hope for free artistry that was akin to circus,
caged the gypsy have i?
i have, but i did not warrant free food or free aquas of variation,
i simplified freeing the demands with the demands freed into excess,
well... if i were kingly i’d still have provided free bread and wine
rather than music and the curbing the excesses of lyricists;
making music free just discouraged all originality, all creativity,
it just became a realism of a struggled acting -
i feel cheated having missed the antics of britannia in
the 1960's and '70's like it was greek and roman without
the epileptics of watching a documentary on trans-sexualisation
of brazilians and ******* disco to gag on an excess of flashy lights
just to sell lipstick... and have these quasi-epileptic shivers
without having an opposing opinion to counter the freely stated & fluxed.
i guess my convulsions were due to the fact that the men
didn’t call it either homosexuality nor trans-sexuality,
and that i was actually looking at two dodos talking, meaning
i was seeing the extinction of the human race through the ****,
meaning i was watching the knights templar idol, baphomet,
realised 2000 years after the crucifixion in that crown of thorn dreams,
perfected in thailand... of all places;
that actually beats the identification of ibn saud as the dajjal,
moving further east of mecca than riyadh and
the assassination attempt within the framework of muhammad’s hadith of ‘no entry’ into mecca by the dajjal.
SE Reimer May 2014
~              
the language of love,
it has no equivalence,
we speak what we hope,
we seek what we love;
vacillating? perhaps,
but there is no ambivalence.
lovers whisper, lovers shout;
alternating between holding it in,
or getting the words out.
whether sweet words of friendship,
or letting the heart go,
each tells a tale, a heartbeat,
one the spirit only knows.
is it the “shemomedjamo” of Georgia,
the “overindulgence that
cannot stop this appetite;”
or “lagom” of the Swedes,
who speak of moderation?
where what i have and what i see,
is perfect, just right!
the words, “koi no yokan,”
from the culture of the east,
Japanese speak of the instant of knowing
a love that’s “meant to be.”
there is “mamihlapinatapai,”
used by those at the tip,
of Tierra del Fuego’s windswept cliffs,
a lover’s wish they can’t set free;
further north Brazilians speak,
of “cafune,” the sweet tugging
at her long and flowing hair;
a love that reaches,
strokes, so tenderly.
the Thai use “greng-jai,”
for love that defers...
and to sacrifice refers;
the French have “retrouvailles,”
a love that sparks rediscovery,
where distance knows no separation;
“onsra,” is a love
soon to be a thing of the past;
used in Burma and India when spoken of
a love that cannot last.
the “saudade,” of the Portuguese,
of love that can no longer be,
though it may have been consuming,
is now but bittersweet.
and then... there is Arabic’s “tuqburni,”
a love that says so gently
“without you i am dying!”
each, it has no English equivalent
yet somehow we manage...
we find our true love,
in relationships, in marriage,
for love is a catholic language;
even when there are no words,
where touch, where tender looks,
translations of the unheard thoughts;
where pillows hold the notes of longing,
empty bars and stanzas filled;
oh love, oh boundless one,
under steeples pledge your troth,
to death’s door you take your oath,
to forever sing your universal song!
post script.

http://malaysiandigest.com/frontpage/29-4-tile/485098-6-romantic-words-with-no-english-equivalent.html


Words with no English Equivalent

-Over indulgence-
Shemomedjamo (Georgian)
You know when you're really full, but your meal is just so delicious, you can't stop eating it? The Georgians feel your pain. This word means, "I accidentally ate the whole thing."

-Moderation-
Lagom (Swedish)
Maybe Goldilocks was Swedish? This slippery little word is hard to define, but means something like, "Not too much,
and not too little, but juuuuust right."

-Love at first sight-
Koi No Yokan (Japanese)
The sense upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love.

-Love that cannot be-
Mamihlapinatapai
(Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego)
This word captures that special look shared between two people, when both are wishing that the other would do something that they both want, but neither want to do.  a look between two people in love that expresses unspoken but mutual desire. It describes a look shared when two people are both waiting for the other to make the next move. As long as no one caves in, it can be an endless source of ****** tension.

-Love so tenderly-
Cafune (Brazilian Portuguese)
Leave it to the Brazilians to come up
with a word for, "tenderly running
your fingers through your lover's hair."

-Love that defers to sensibilities-
Greng-jai (Thai)
That feeling you get when you don't want
someone to do something for you
because it would be a pain for them.

-Love that sparks rediscovery -
Retrouvailles (French) — Literally translated as “rediscovery,” is the happiness a two people experiences of meeting again, after a long separation. Long-distance relationships really could not survive without this and when or if too much time passes, this could mean regret. (Potential English equivalent: reigniting the flame, or on the contrary,
letting the flame go out.)

-Love that knows it cannot last -
Onsra (Boro language of India) — There are several ways to love in Boro, and onsra is the bittersweet term for “to love for the last time.”
(Potential English equivalent: Last love.)

-Love that knows it cannot be-
Saudade (Portugese)
a strong feeling of missing someone you love;
a bittersweet sense of a relationship
that will never be again.

-Love that says, I cannot live without you-
Tuqburni  (Arabic)  a love so deep,
you can’t imagine life without your partner.
Literal English translation: “You bury me”
or basically saying,
“I cannot imagine life without
you"… or  "I’d die without you.”
Standing in the crowd I was
Surrounded by strangers
In the dead of night.
People from across the globe
Connected through this single
Experience. Sharing tells
And their walks of life.
The ball drops
And confetti springs
People look around in awe
As I look to
My right,
My left,
My front and back
I'm not surrounded by strangers
Anymore.
The Portuguese behind us,
the Brazilians to my left,
The 7. Foot New Yorker in front
The spaniards to my right
N in my group two new friends
From 2 hours away.
The crowd disperses
As we all say good bye
Carrying with us the joy
Of new life, friends and
An experience that connected
Us all.
Overwhelmed May 2010
sitting in my room on this
cold, dark night
I see that we humans,
are all one

and all
brothers
and
sisters
in this
ride
we
call
life

we have been measured throughout time by
the amount at which we separated ourselves
or
how much we overcame that and brought ourselves
together

on this cold, dark night
I have realized that I am
human, we are humanity,
and the whole of our
species is more than
the parts we have
made separate

may my sister rise,
her arts bringing new meaning to the world
may my father rise,
his wisdom sharing with a new generation
may my grandmother rise,
her love fostering that which I believe in

but also

may my brother rise,
even if he is not my blood
your talents are meant to help all of us
may my mother rise,
even if she is not my blood
your wisdom is necessary for my survival
may my grandfather rise,
even if he is not my blood
your love is needed to show the light in
all this black night

may every man and woman and child rise,
for you are needed somewhere,
by someone,
and for your strengths I will love you like my own
even if by all accounts,
we are opposites

We are Humanity

we are the blacks
we are the whites
we are the arabs
the chinese,
and the indians too
we are the austrailians,
and the germans,
the nigerians,
and the brazilians
we are the thinkers
and the builders
we are the helpers
and the leaders
the keepers
and creators
the holy
the unholy
the vague
and the defined
the me
and the you
and the they
and the us

we are all humanity

I sit in this room on this
cold, dark night
and I see that we humans,
are all one


we are all equal
in the end, the
final end

and it must be understood
that I am human, and you
are human, but we together
with everyone else, that
then is when I declare:

We are Humanity
One of my older pieces (At time of writing). I always felt the concept was grand enough and most of the words right but at the same time I never got the magic I felt about the subject into the poem. Critiquers, what do thy suggest?
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
this isn't a time for nostalgia aimed at the times of the 2nd world war, only liars and cowards attack anyone except their enemy, to ease their sentiment at thinking they're liberal leftists... somehow the Cartesian formula doesn't work for them... odd... thinking doesn't magically precipitate into being... they're only liberal leftists... they'll never be conservative leftists (communists)... they value the anti-solipsistic stance of individually too much, hence their karaoke outpouring on X-factor - we need nurses! we need doctors! no! they're saying we need the next Frank ******* Sinatra to lullaby us to death. too much national pride aimed at reminding people of the past is degenerate in the presence, the future by such historical arithmetic is always bleak.... who cares for a Faraday is a light-bulb works, who cares for a Newton given the mechanics of rocket-launchers... and who cares for Shakespeare in the age of omnipresent literacy providing us sonnets?! in the age of desperation, former fame was revised, creating the backlog of fame into a single measure of being current, when once a man slaved for a lifetime to achieve it, modern fame is nothing, in comparison on the merit of utility and productivity - fame is hardly a concern for any of us given Orwell and the c.c.t.v. (or holy ghost), that will never materialise into a person of the Paraclete; best assurance, the famous donkey, the stick and the carrot... democracy only works within a sensible number to express it... applying democracy to insect methodology of plumbers, electricians, personal trainers etc. is merely an illusion... a moment in history where the weak attack the strong... and to cite Darwinism? we were already too intrinsically overtly bio-diverse to merge with the diversity of nature surrounding us... we were perfect chiral chimeras, non-super-imposed images... thus Darwinism and snippets, or crossword clues... i can't believe the English banked all their pride on an Aristotelian footnote... but then miracles do happen... not always a welcome distraction from the nuances of mishandling politics - or was that always a b.d.s.m. affair?

i too could rage at the belittling English society,
well... i might as well...
i'm not in Manchester, the Hackney populace
was relocated to the outer-suburbs to make
the "nation" proud - never seen so many
black dudes strolling near the countryside -
but that's another zoological matter -
what?! with the new dating show with all knit-grit
bits exposed you'd think that all Darwinian
comparison made it to the ten quid banknote -
the one objective language that has no zombie
adherents - poets' strike... oh wait, i forgot,
you prefer the ready-meals of song -
the English do, lazy ***** the whole lot of them -
i won't be making many friends and i don't intend to -
after the ridicule, the slander, the jokes -
i'm heading east! east it is - i'll leave a **** with
my signature in England - let the Scots find it
and shredder the ******* islands into snippets from
some novel; so you think you're not Soviet fated?
Jack will become Jackson - etymology is all about nouns -
you think i'd stay in this ****-hole? i got the message:
VERMIN GO HOME... i'm looking for a place
to relocate to... i don't like the Irish playing the prißed
puppets of the English... Michael Palin seeking
Europe in 2007, found Bohemia, found no litter,
vermin living in beauty while English outer-suburbia
rots? Euro trash? more like Benidorm suntan -
you started it... you little "not in my name" will not sell
me your phobia currency of Herr Censor -
odd, the colonial past was somehow erased because of
the Beatles - odd, isn't it? cultural contribution
erased the shackles... funny how things work out in
the end. i have been a complete and utter integration
failure, i blame the Irish and a catholic school -
i rather go home among the other rats -
i don't belong here - but at least home is where i left off,
aged 8... 22 years into analysis English and using it
i can preserve tact - Bangladeshi will write you a next
Shakespeare... just so it all looks pretty... and convenient...
i rather live there, i have no fake psychiatric history in
the country of my birth... the west ain't all that after all...
i'm with Snowden on this one, but i have the cushion
of speaking the tongue... the almighty west is nothing
but good music and charcoal films -
propaganda omniscience - the west asks for media
transparency, but i end up reading a tabloid newspaper
given the opinion section of *the times
Monday to Friday -
some ******* mogul mongrel trying to be a Martin Luther -
it's basically a tabloid newspaper, i don't trust it -
the ultimate freedom corrupts - if revising foreign
governments is based upon media freedoms, then i think
the west did a ******* job with its own media -
without restrictions you get a box of chocolates and eat
all the best dimwits out - or a box of mixed nuts -
the Brazilians are the first to disappear.
plus the west doesn't like poetry, it prefers music, as in
the passive ingestion of art - never your own,
always someone else's - so you can be filled with
unexpressed egoism to occupy a space worth a cubic
metre or two... fun & games fair enough...
was i ever stereotyped? pushed to a limit,
am i one of those Chinese 2nd generation immigrants
that play the koala bear role in poetry who prescribe
the origin and figurative forgotten for a prize?
i don't think so... if i ever escape this ****** ****-hole
i'll be the king-rat, to my liking the Polish government
is being inspected by the E.U. about non-democratic
agendas - god i pray for an E.U. invasion reprimand -
i really feel like shooting someone by illusion defending
my conscience imagining simply throwing a pancake.
and why? because, at least, in Poland i talked to a
neurologist and was diagnosed sane -
while in England i was given to the dogs (psychiatrists)
and was diagnosed insane - at least i'll be
with the sane people and not some perverse form
of paedophilia of Alice in Wonderbra...
leave these agony aunts aside, leave these perverts
to their own demise - and if truly my friend,
as i did staring into my killers eyes,
if he only took me to a hospital to prove it was
a genuine mistake of misinformation about a certain
Amazonian plant... then i wouldn't be writing this verse...
but he didn't... he took me home...
as ever, i write this letter without pseudonym but under
the acronym: the misinformed (which really isn't an
acronym, i just liked the rhyme);
so if after 22 years spent in England i head to my vermin
abode, i think i'll be happy... unless Scotland beckons
to liberate it... otherwise? **** this ****-hole.
regina Apr 2017
Dream big! Reach for the Stars! The world is your oyster!
The worth of a woman is measured by the size of her dreams, not her dress
Independent, validated, empowered, accomplished, worldly
more than a man
more than others
more than herself
she is her dreams

Well, of course I like chocolate, *****
But I'm waking up and realizing that my dream could involve falling asleep next to this man

No, Grandma, he is not a pastor
but he makes me believe in God
he maketh me lie down in Green Pastures
completely different than the city sidewalks that I wanted to own like a Runway
now I'm okay with wearing flat shoes and cotton flower dresses
while still vocalizing what I want as a woman because ******* he actually wants to hear it

There is no valley of death here
this is not the valley of death
I am not bereaving myself
I am becoming myself

If I said it was perfect I wouldn't be taking it seriously
For example, he's so terrible at planning things
But he makes up for it by making me plan things that I never knew I wanted for myself

You think you have it all figured out and then someone comes along and they like the way that your hair curls even when you haven't washed it
And you can't help but wonder why

This Is A Love Like the Wind but not the kind that blows you away
This is a love that determines weather patterns
Like that butterfly who ***** his wings in Baltimore
and it causes a tornado in Topeka

Your ship is built to sail through life
And then you invite them on board just for a little while
because your quarters are cramped and you don't have a lot of money or items to trade and barter
And surprise!  There's a storm they help you weather through
And you look around and suddenly you have all the space in the world for them

Date someone who says you're beautiful when you first wake up in the morning
Did someone who makes you cry... Tears of happiness
Did someone who looks at you like Brazilians look at Beyonce
Well ****.  I got all of this and I got a man who makes me feel calm
He makes my neurotic *** feel calm
Like I can fall asleep while God floods the Earth and I'll wake up to a rainbow and a dove

Your dreams are not currency
The best part about them is that you get to determine the value
Nothing is lost until you say it is
Nothing is gained until you say it is
The world is my oyster? Well I hate oysters.
But that won't stop me from making a ******* pearl necklace
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2022
i don't remember how i went to sleep last night,
i remember going home, catching the 103 bus
from North St. at around... maybe 11pm...
i remember opening my drawer
of my writing desk...
sniffing the marijuana and thinking whether
i should smoke it...

but i don't remember where i put my trousers:
or for that matter how i hanged them...
i don't remember how i took off my shirt
and how i took of my socks or my underwear:
where i put my shoes...
i don't remember... there's this black hole
concerning all these minor details:
all i know is that when i woke up this morning:
nothing was missing...

mind you: two days ago i tried to go to bed
early... i had to wake up at 4am yesterday
for a 7am shift start at Charing Cross Station...
ol' Lizzie was being moved from Buckingham
Palace to a hall in Westminster...
lucky for that i was supervising 8 stewards:
well... 4 stewards and 4 SIA licensed badge
owners...
they gave me the role of supervisor
based on my performance prior: nothing to do
with any qualifications: no NVQ level 3 required
of me whenever i'm needed to fill these shoes...

Charing Cross Station was our castle...
i was on the forefront of the whole affair...
at one point i had several police officers under
my obligation to direct the traffic of people:
we only had one guy jump the gates...
one... and we're talking Wednesday...
not the actual state funeral that's going to take
place on Monday...
30 crowned heads of state: **** me: imagine
how many will come from the republics...

it's not your everyday occasion: i know it "feels" stupid:
but there's a reason why Charing Cross St.
was managed in the way it was...
the crowd couldn't enter Villiers' St. just by
Charing Cross St. on a whim:
all the "window-lickers" could: obviously:
they were hindered... by their lost accessibility
practices of the two peddles of feet...
directing them to Adam Street just off Nero Cafe...
yes... round round... just an extra mile...

oi! mate! stop being so rude! you're the supervisor!
does that make me a *******, saint, mate?!
this is ******* stupid!
just walk round: loose 4 grams of your fat!
******* plebs, turnips! beetroots!
i wouldn't say donkeys... but i can insult
a vegetable, comparing the intellect of those:
self-serving habitual ***** of solipsism!
the queen is dead yet you're still acting like spoilt
brats!
mourning my ***!

at least we now know that one of the supposed
horsemen of the Apocalypse isn't actually a horseman...
death rides on a donkey...
or if it's not riding on a donkey it's walking its horse:
death either rides a donkey or is walking beside
its horse...
all these people: a fountain of youth will drown them:
while the tide of mortality will swallow them...

there is always a reason for something being
arranged when it comes to controlling crowds...
i don't need qualifications to know that:
the best way to keep morale is to approach
supervision with a hands off approach...
i had two fellow female supervisors working with me...
on the spreadsheets given:
let me tell you: there wasn't enough speadsheet
space for them to write comments...
and they wrote: ******* Charlotte Brontë snippets
of comments: oh this guy took 10 minutes more
on his break... blah blah this... blah blah that...
*****-"bosses"...
but did they keep morale? did they upkeep
respect?

of course they didn't traction respect:
they were too busy being busy bodies:
they warped the hierarchy...
me? when i was filling out the spreadsheet
for those "under" me?
they wrote paragraphs... me?
i just wrote: good, good, excellent,
   good, good, o.k., o.k., excellent...
i later started talking to the two guys who
i submitted as "o.k."... scribble the o.k. out
and put them down as good...
why? they "enlightened" me concerning
the difference between how the Portuguese speak
and how the Brazilians speak...
even though one was Bangladeshi / Sri Lankan...

the Brazilians sing... they elongate their speech...
blah blah this... blah blah that...
breaks? whenever you feel like it...
blah blah this... blah blah that...
i wasn't standing behind them as some sort
of authority... just because i had a different
coloured bib to them...
i was manning the ******* barrier along with them...
as a man should do...
but obviously women have this hierarchical
fixation whereby they think: comes centralised:
from the top to the bottom...
no... aha ha ha! authority comes from
the bottom up!
you make everyone feel equal: not everyone is:
but if you can make everyone equal...
you showcase what you're supposed to do: by actually
doing it... rather than simply telling them
what to do... guess what?! they'll do it!

why? because you're also doing it!
people remind me of when i used to ride horses...
relaxing the reins and gently strutting...
straining the reins when galloping...
hell... if i managed to get a few Greater Manchester
police officers under my umbrella of
"authority" just because i had the word
"supervisor" on my bib and it was
a different colour: i don't take the role i'm elevated
to all that seriously:
it's a bit of a *****... i have to be "there" early...

but leave women in the role of supervisor?
you'll get disorder in the ranks...
they take it too seriously: it's not the army...
one guy had his umbrella confiscated...
i comforted him: you won't be needing it today...
yes, you will get it back at the end of the shift...

i remember the first time a woman said to her child:
mind the man, girl... was it my height, my beard,
or my age that prompted: MAN?
i was also gob-struck-mute when one of the stewards
addresses me as: SIR...
the first time he uttered the word in my direction:
sir... X(blah blah)... huh?! i'm a sir now?!

the second time he rephrased himself...
Sir... so what do i call you? Sir or...
mate mate... just call me Matthew... and your umbrella
is just fine and dandy...

from experience: it's usually a female supervisor:
a role that should never be given...
it's basically a cull-call...
some variation of the abortion right of who
ought to be employed-living
or dead-unemployed... women are *******
savage when given the wrong sort of authority!
March of the Little Hitlers...
what was my summary of the people working under
me? good good, excellent, good good, o.k. o.k.:
which i later scribbled out into good
when we were talking about the Portuguese language...
i hate women in a hierarchy:
they're power-trapped: strapped to a level
of competence they exact too much authority over
people that need to be reeled into a comfort zone
of respecting you detailing to them:
you have no basis for authority:

aren't you supposed to learn from the best?
who just died?! didn't she... confront this metaphysical
conundrum with a master plan of expertise?!
of course she ******* did!
women aren't leaders...
Joan of Arc... an exception...
Boudica... an exception... hardly Helen of Troy...
i can't... maybe i'm wearing a ****** on
my head... or maybe some aeroplane "plastic"
of aluminium... sorry... sorry girl...
i'm... quick to forget.. what was the plan?
me? being cucked?! in favour of your pencil-neck
am ambitions?!

**** me: you send one more of these security staff back
home because they're: "not up to your standards":
you'll have a crew of about : 2!
women are: "supposedly" expected to work with
children... to be honest? i wouldn't leave
a woman alone with a child of mine even
if someone paid me!
i don't know where these FREAKS come from!
they already branded themselves with tattoos...
nearer to a HOG than a BABE...
they're not communists... not Slavic communists...
not economic minded people:
they are ideologue  numb-skulls and half-wit
sort of retaining ******* remnants of a remaining
masculinity... basically the SOYO BOYO BUILD UP...

i still have to write... why: i don't remember how i sent to sleep
last night...

women can't control men...
  they're too: CONTROL FREAKS...
men don't respect women in power...
women respect men in charge of men...
and who is respected: as a "man of power":
a man who is akin to his fellow man...
man for the like of man...
women... don't understand this!
while women are selfish: men are selfless....

i don't remember how i went to sleep last night,

it's the best suffocating *** i ever had....
***** bit me! ***** BIT me
she sq: nibbled on me!

i don't remember ever being nibbled on!
i could slap a girl's ***...
but? being bitten!?!

    sq? she: sq? what the hell does that mean?
well... i guess the whole Kama Sutra is coming to
a realisation... she likes her *** getting slapped
during *******... and thighs...
she slaps me back...
      i gently bite her chin... she bites back:
with such ferocity that i think i'm ******* either
a vampire or a leech...

mind you: i did manage to pet a cat on my
cider walkabout before entering the brothel...
sitting on a brick wall... the ****** purred
and as i extended my hand: maybe it was
the smell of tobacco or whatever it was...
he hissed and started biting me...
then we played a game of "paws":
i tried to tease it while he struck me...
hmm... now it makes sense...

it's all geographically sound: like the butterfly
at X and a tornado at Y...
chaos theory... nothing makes sense yet
at the same time: everything makes sense:
if you're aware enough...

just like my idea concerning...
if there's an equation akin to:
   E = MC²

                 if there's the speed of light squared:
then there must be an equation with
the speed of light, CUBED, i.e. C³...
                    if we're not talking energy...
if we're not talking mass...
we must be talking about an equation with
the speed of light cubed and... gravity...
i still don't understand why the speed of light
has to be squared... but it has to be...
but surely there has to be some sense of the speed
of light cubed: contained as it is within
the form of the sun...
there has to be some cubic stability to its speed:
something akin to it being contained by
way of it being uncontained...
the principle of synonym-antonym follows suit:

red is also crimson is also a hue very much pink...

hmm: come to think of it... i like being bitten...
i don't think i've ever seen a pornographic flick
where either actor bit another...
obviously i tried to avoid all the Western: STALE
kinks of hierarchical brutalism...
come to think of it? no... i don't think i have:
have? i haven't seen a pornographic flick
where people bite each other during *******:
like dogs during play...
it wasn't biting: biting... it was a sexed-up
antithesis of eating...

as some say: man is a political animal,
or man is a social creature...
                   me? i'm just the next fathomable outlier
that's sexed up and getting it and wanting
even more...

because you can't just have one love interest...
since at that point: what some deem as love:
others start deeming it sport...
no wonder i have such a narrow scope
of interests... all have to come back to: women...

**** me... she's pushing it... but she's pushing
it in the right sort of direction:
i don't remember the last time i had
unprotected *** with a woman:
esp. a *******...
she changed her number... she gave me her new number...
the first picture she sent me was showcasing
her ***... pretending to wear heels...
i.e. on her tip-toes...
wearing this glorious lingerie: red...
her skin tone doesn't match up well with red...
i was thinking: pale green... pale blue...

when i'm with her i think: oh **** these western,
Anglican prunes of women!
they're there for thirsty Muslim women to
****: i don't do timid: i don't do shy
(forced tautology)...
i need experience... i need sorrow...
play that timid game long enough
you'll probably be sitting opposite me on the tube
starting to pretend to be a drummer:
with a fidgety tapping of the leg...
like this one beauty: and i mean: she was a beauty...
features unlike most Spanish girl...
she looked gorgeous without make-up...
but she was showcasing her locked screen of
her phone: with make-up... i knew it right
there and then: but i was half asleep coming
back from a shift: i was in a *******-mood
not in a romantic mood...

she had that classical beauty about her...
enlarged eyelids... but enlarged eyelids
and the perfect proportion of them being enlarged
between the distance between her eyes and
eyebrows was pleasing to my eyes...
tangled hair... and that Sumerian tangle
of side-burns: pushing her into a category of
a woman from the Raj: the highest caste...
mar-ve-lous... it's a new sport for me...

watching out for nervous women: lip-reading...
some men turn to trainspotting...
me? i turned to... ******-spotting:
i'm oh so curious to see at what point
a woman's sexuality wakes up...
when she realises that she has potency and legality
to attract the opposite ***...
mind you: i did start ******* prematurely:
aged 8... i was even so bold as to teach
one proselyte circumcised **** to *******
with me... in the bath... while my mother was
ironing a shirt...

squeamish? me? no no...
it's still only 11:30 in the morning
and i've already put on the washing...
done the stewarding chores of the household
(mum has arthritis...
i'm a stauch propagator of Japanese
*** culture... if not a brothel? then?
a love hotel... simple)

Khadra, Khedra... Khedija robbed me that one
night...
this one's birthday... that one's birthday...
this one's name day... that one's name day...
keeping up with a harem is not exactly "fun":
well, it is...
if you can keep a hard-on...
during ******* and in between biting me
she inquired: why haven't you ******* yet...
being self-conscious (from time to time)
i tried to figure out the "plumbing":
oh... you know why?
i pulled out... went over to the sink...
turned on the water... waited for the hard-on
to disappear: one "artery" is clogging another
"artery": a man breathes through the same
hole he eats from...

a man propagates from the same hole he ******
from... i turned on the water... waited
for the hard-on to *******...
water, water: everywhere: but not a drop
to drink...
ah... i squeezed out the bothersome ****
that dissuaded me from climaxing from
a "lost uncle" of a "long lost muscle" of tease...
but that's the thing about the right
sort of woman...
you do turn into a Duracel Bunny...
it's switch ON / switch OFF...

i remember times when i was completely undermined
by women: thinking i had an ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION...
apparently not... the wrong sort of women
give me erectile dysfunction: i'm not willing to correct
that "problem" with any chemical cocktail of
"improvement": ******: at least they're not shy:
they know what they're doing...
at least they know that emotional investments comes:
post-scriptum, not: pre-scriptum...

how do i know? i paid her for half an hour...
she notices i have more money in my wallet...
she sieves through the extra £60 on me...
takes out a £20... half an hour turns into an hour:
or so it feels... feels is better than what's actually
apparent... she tells me her birthday is on Saturday:

buy me a present! o.k.: what the ****?!
ring?! no no... that's *******... book?! i gave her
a copy of my poems... what then? what then?!
Matthew? didn't she send you a copy of her standing
with her *** showcased and her legs...
her arms seemingly tied her raven hair across
her back?                Matthew?      genius!
lingerie! i'll buy her something **** to then
**** her in!

right... Matthew? what?!
did you notice that when you last saw her...
her bra was too big for her *****?
yes, i did...
do i buy her a lingerie in secret or do i ask
for her measurements... gamble...
**** it: i'll ask for her measurements...

- what is your lingerie size, bra? too big?
i want to go shopping for you
tell me, so i know.
- M
    36B 85
      You tek M better...

i don't remember the last time i went shopping
for lingerie... she's not 36B... no chance in hell...
she has petite *******...
my hand is half full when i grasp them...
she stands... while i kiss her forehead...
eye-sight in line with my *******...
but that's what's so glorious...
she's Turkish... and i'm...
if it wasn't for the Northern Crusades:
the Polacks defending the last remnant of paganism
of Lithuania against the Pig-Crux...
i would be nothing without a history
i have the luxury to explore...

Casimir the Great invited the Hebrews...
who was that Schtad-Mein-Feuer
in command of Auschwitz played by X
who uttered the same words?
maybe it was an exalted plan to excuse the Hebrews
from Europe... surely the "invitation"
of Muslims into Europe will be painful at first...
but perhaps it will: less so...
hell: i'm already in favour of ******* Muslim
women...
even unto Khedra i uttered my favorite saying:
bound to Rumi:

la illaha il allah...

   as anyone living on Malta what the noun
for god is... all will utter the noun: allah...
all? ah! what a sigh of relief!

monotheism is one massive cesspool of globalism
to begin and end with...
it's a massive joke on the people:
the prophecy of the resurgent tower of Babel...
the language is already in place: English...
but the good news is...
at least we'll have a second "chance":
it's not really a chance... it's a waiting game...
i'm telling you: the cull is going to be massive...
it's already in our unconscious: collective:
which is why you see it in the popular culture:
**** always floats to the top...

globalism one way or the other...
after all: dinosaur juice is not as infinite as the sun...
there's philosophy and there's pessimism...
philosophy doesn't look too far ahead
to be unrealistic... stupendously slow
on revising itself: there's no pin-point of "departure"
in philosophy: there's only the "game"
of the build-up... philosophy is preparation...
it's akin to cooking in that:
cooking is everything that is...
the technicalities...
while philosophy is: how much ingredients
are needed, what is the process of preparing a meal?

if anyone should accuse me of being pompous?
i'll start writing about ******* ******!
****'s sake!
even my mother, once upon a time,
called me an: intelligent, BEAST...
and i am just that!
i know what i am!
           when i was ******* Khedra she uttered
innumerable blasphemies...
i was little **** at one point... then slow at another...
she wanted to cuddle: complained that
i showered myself with cold water...
she called me mad... she couldn't stop looking
into my eyes... and i into hers...
brown for green: sold!
   biting: my god... i'm starting to love the biting...
tongue licking lips...
still those eyes: and the way she uttered:
*******... yeah: you are, ******* me...
or is that the other way round?!

at least we, i hope "we" didn't take it personally...
then again... she did send me a picture
of her and her daughter...
she's asking me for a present:
i chose lingerie... because i want to **** her
when she looks all the more sexed up (****)
but then she sends me pictures of her and her daughter:
so what? you want me to foster this Frankenstein?
gladly!
              why? oh you know why...
just read Marquis de Sade's magnum opus of a novella
that's ******...
i'm not that stupid to know what urges
motivate my virility and lust for life...
it's always the forbidden "things" that give man
the purpose for life: and that purpose is bound
to those forbidden "things" and the ability to restrain
their realisation!

it's the restraint on realising taboos:
taboos that come into fruition are... rotten...
but? restrained taboos? that rot the mind,
or rather: exfoliate the mind into bloom?
my god! the temple of the gods!
the eyes of Oedipus! right there! on the altar!
everything entertained by the mind
is sacred: even if extended on the privy
within the confines of script...
sacred upon the moment it is made
sacrilege and exacted against the mind's
entertainment: whereby the cognitive restrains
are bypassed: and said taboo is exacted...

we all want healthy ***...
impersonal ***... *** that money best allows...
transactional ***... clarity ***...
but this is one ******* level up:
she's asking for gifts... she's getting emotionally attached...
i'm starting to think about finding a new brothel...
all those pictures she's sending me
of her and her daughter: yes... man missing...
she's even showing me pictures of a house
she's doing up in Turkey...
she needs £180,000 and then she'll be happy...

i do have a certain banknote... well... several...
that could be worth just as much: if not more...
Tsar Nicholas II is a familiar face in a painting, no?
but on a banknote?!
by now ****** or no ****** doesn't bother me...
a ******* with a beautiful girl like her's?
it would be much more easier to foster a girl
of a single mum than it would to foster
a boy with a single mum:

oh! no ******* way! single mum with an only child
boy?! THAT'S ******* DEMISE!
that's not happening! that's Oedipus!
that's patricide! that's infanticide!
i'd want to **** the mother as much as i'd want
to **** her pup!
a single mum with a daughter i could handle:
it works just fine... Ancient Rome gave us lessons
about the abnormality of fostering *******:
fostering sons never works out "just fine"...

- it's like with this one record i recently found:
HASLINGER - FUTURE PRIMITIVE
a rare glimpse into 1990's culture...
from 1994...
rarely do you get anyone bold enough
to say: **** is ****... all those muddled waters
of fiction... and crisp-crass methodoligcal
poetic: hiding behind ******* RHYMES
and structures...
never anything worth talking over: or for that
matter: talking into...

there are about five fingers on each of my hand:
no, there actually are... ****...
WONG FACTION, i.e. wrong fraction...
too much TAOISM in me...
first i'll cycle to recycle the empty
whiskey bottles... then i'll cycle to
peep at some vinyls: will i find the "one"
i want? probably not... then i'll walk into Anne
Summers and pretend to be all shy
all paedophilic choosing out the bra
and *******: suspenders...
does the nylon come free?

   i'll play a game... i like: gay-mmmm's...
god:
i don't care for those insufferable wastes
of men thirsting at the fountain of ****!
i'm having my fill, i don't care
whether my writing is elevated from
the sewers into the mainstream:
my writing is merely an accompaniment
to the life i'm living...
and i love my life more than i could
ever love my writing...
after all:

res cogitans "vs." res extensa...
i write by extension:
not by thinking...
i never think about what i'm about to write:
writing is as extension of me
elaborating twiddling with my fingers:
i really have itchy finger-tips...
i sometimes express that by rubbing them
on coarse items akin to bricks:
before moving them to the oyster flesh
of a woman's body... tenderising them...

yeah: and i know what EUTHENASIA
is... when i get too old: and less useful...
i do know where the "fire exit" is... plonker...
you know where assisted suicide is?
or are you too ******* frightful?!
death is my ****** ******!

mind you: who the **** dubbed the likes
of X X X X and me?
hellraisers?! we were simply workaholic-alcoholics...
we liked to drink, we HAD to work...
******* women was a bountiful: BONUS...
the eager ones... we left the "virgins"
to the beta males...
i get the itch whenever i think about
all those celestial nuns in their stupendous
salvaging of virginity:
each one and every one waiting to be greeting
a "****** birth" of a "god": b'ah b'ah bad:
it's probably more true that Hey-Zeus was
Jesus-ibn-Snow / *******!

i lost my "faith"... a long time ago...
from the explosion of the Atom Bomb
and the unearthing of the Nag Hammadi Library
and the accounts of the Hebrew historian:
Josephus ibn Mattheus...
the FALSE PROPHET FROM EGYPT...
north America can falsify a lie...
i don't care... i'm more interested
in upkeeping the decency of Russia...
and what remains of Europe.

                     nope... i'm lost on the concept
of conversion... Islam seems more politically viable
to make choice: on... than... this: pseudo-polytheistic
sputnik of a plethora of doubt:
faith: i' will sooner **** on the cross than be bound to:
what?! pray before the image of torture!
you're no god! you're simply a sadist!

this god didn't deserve a death!
this god didn't deserve a, life!
******* Moloch Spawn!
Big Virge Dec 2019
To Become English Citizens It's Been ... " Alleged " ...
Some Women Are Willing To ... S P R E A D Their Legs ... !!!    
      
I Guess You Really Can't Blame Them ... !?!      
      
" Lunar House " ... Down There In Croydon ...    
  
A Centre Used For Immigration ...    
Has Got Some Staff Pulling A Scam ... !!!    
UGLY Folk DON'T Have A Chance ...    
Their Passport Photos Get NO STAMP ... !!!!    
      
They're STUCK On Walls ... !!!    
So Staff Can JOKE About Their Hopes .....    
of ..... " Coming In " .....    
      
While ...  
PRETTY Faces Get Their Places ...    
Visas YES ... For ****** Favours ... !!!!!    
  
Europeans and Brazilians ...  
Are Dealt With ... BEFORE Indians ...    
So ... Heaven Help Poor Africans ... !!!!!      
      
Unless They're WHITE Then They're ALRIGHT ... !!!!    
Once They're Prepared To ... S P R E A D Their Thighs ...    
      
DON'T Be Surprised If Some Are Guys ... !!!    
Gay People ... Are Now NOT SHY ...    
      
Security Checks ...  
Come ... SECOND To *** ... !!!!!    
      
It's NOT Just Men In TERRORIST Sects ... !!!!!    
      
BNP Man Like Those Within The Ku Klux **** ...    
Are NOT ALL Gay ... Some Like Woman ... !!!    
      
That's Bound To Get Racists ... UPSET ... !!!!!    
      
But ... " American History X  "...    
Showed ... Who They *** ...      
When Those Within Start To DEFECT ... !!!!!    
      
So Mister McNulty ...    
Something SMELLS ... FUNNY ... !!!!!    
      
He's ... " Home Office Minister " ...    
      
Your Staff Are ... " Allegedly " ...    
................. SINISTER .............. !!?!!    
      
WHO Told Them To Administer ... ?    
Their Duties ... Based On Double D's ... !?!    
Or Basically ... For ****** Deeds ... ?    
      
I'm Saying What's Your Policy ... ?  
To Simply Spread ****** Disease ...    
If Girls Like These Will Spread Their Knees ... ?!?    
What Will They Do To Make Money ... !?!    
      
Lapdance In Clubs And ... " Such and Such " ...    
Girls Like These You CANNOT TRUST ... !!!!!    
      
****** PLEASERS For A VISA ... !!!    
PROSTITUTION ... Is Their KEEPER ... !!!    
      
Or .... Is IT ... !?!    
      
Once They're In ...  
Will They RESIST ... Using Their Bits ... ?!?    
      
"Not likely mate !" ...    
      
They've Found Their Trade ... !!!    
Getting Paid For Getting Laid ...      
      
So ... "WHERE THEY AT ... !?!?!"    
      
I Hear You Say ...    
      
Where QUICK CASH Is ... !!!  
    
Turning TRICKS For Mister **** ...    
And Licking ***** For Mrs. RICH ... !!!!    
      
Just For CASH So They Can Live ... !!!    
How Could Your Workers Be SO SICK ... !?!?!    
Have Things Now REALLY Come To THIS ... ?!?!?    
      
Or Is This How It's ALWAYS BEEN ... ?!!!?    
      
Well His -  Story ...  
Proves ... " Colour Screens " ...    
Have Clouded ... Immigration Dreams ...      
But Now Because You're Deemed ... UGLY ... !!!!!    
      
WHO Makes THAT CALL ... ?!?  
    
She's Beautiful And Usable ...    
And Then Decides To Spread Her Thighs ... ?!?      
WHO On Earth ... Recruits THESE GUYS ... ?!?    
      
"GIVE US A JOB, I'LL GIVE IT A TRY !"      
  
That's A JOKE ... !!!    
I'm NOT A Bloke Who Would COERCE ...    
Just For *** With ... " Pretty Girls " ... !!!?!!!    
      
Girls Like These Have S.T.D's ...    
And Nowadays Are Spreading A.I.DS ... !!!!!    
      
So Minister What Do You Say ... ?    
      
"An inquiry of course, yes, RIGHT AWAY !"  
      
"Okay, that's great !"    
      
Isn't It A BIT LATE ...    
To Ask HOW MANY Have Been Laid ...      
And ... WHO In Your Crew ... DISCRIMINATES ... ?!?!?    
      
You'll Do The USUAL ... " Cover Up " ...    
      
UNLIKE These Women ...    
With NICE CUPS And **** Bums ... !!!!!    
      
And Those Who've Made ...    
Your Workers ... " Ummmmm " ... !!!!!!!    
      
Comply To Try Guidelines Designed ...    
To KEEP The ... UGLY Ones In Line ...    
And KEEP Your Country's Race ... STREAMLINED ... !!!      
      
By KEEPING Whites ...    
At The ... TOP of The PILE ...    
      
That's NOTHING NEW We Know Your Style ... !!!    
As These Girls KNOW How LOW You'll Go ... !!!!!!!!    
      
CAN'T They Just CHARM A Pretty Girl ... ?!?    
WITHOUT The Need To ... TWIST Their Arm ... !?!      
      
Well ... As I've Said It's CASH They Want ...    
Immigration Staff CAN'T Be On Much ...    
To FORCE Women To Give Them FUN ... !!!    
      
But As I've Said ...    
What In Turn Happens To MEN ... !?!?!    
      
Do They End Up In Bed With Them ... ?      
Those EMPLOYED By Government ... ?!?!?    
      
That's A ... DANGEROUS Question ... !?!    
      
So Let's Leave THAT To Your Newsmen ...      
And See What's SHOWN On .... News At Ten .... !!!    
      
This Poem's DONE  ... !!!    
Writing This ... Has Been Quite FUN ... !!!    
      
But NOT As Much As Welcoming ...      
****, Pretty Young Women ...    
Into Your Bed Cos They're IMMIGRANTS ... !!!!!    
      
Who Having Kissed And Slowly Licked ...    
DESPERATE Workers ... For SICK KICKS ... !!!!    
      
Do This To Hear ...    
      
" COME IN, COME IN ... "
On the basis of BREXIT, and BoJo's election win, had to post this poem, as this not only made me chuckle when I wrote it, but even moreso' now ...

As it looks like a multitude of things, will have to be done now,
by foreigners wanting the right to stay in the UK !
Butch Decatoria Dec 2017
in my quickstep i dodge pessimistic paranoia,
to make a B-line with a convincing smile
not to show you my insecurities,
since three nights dog tired

i search your listlessness, those detoured eyes,
trampoline thoughts of yours
elsewhere
which i innocently ask you where
they are, you say -in explaining-
  
    (as if to some enforcement officer or
     probationary agent in an interrogation room,
     a single naked bulb dangling in shadows,
     save for teeth and baritone accusations)

-in explaining-
you are weary .. "fati~gay" you say -having
worked out
(your *****' leisure given away,
in my head i say...
to someone else yesterday, last night...)
today-

i fix my carnivorous gravitation
on carnage with our usual
routine of euro-**** or latins
    ripped from torrents of unknown webs
that our downtown pal gifts us
regularly, having now
figured out our tastes and styles
of types of boys
or men we salivate to... he figured it
somehow

i force myself to shoot,
unload my bullets with a glass *****
inside - as i grip the handle like a ride -
my vices escape with the voices inflated,
questions to understand you
muffled by choice, not getting any
closer to...

in the release, no answers,
only music of muscles and erections
emitted from the Magnavox's shrills...
my hole seems to still need
to be filled

where once i was frequented
by the real-deal holy-meal
of your beautiful member; both of us
silencing our ordeals
with slumber now
and surgery with sugary
well-wishes

kisses don't do it for me any longer

since your energy's spent
elsewhere

(i don't seek it out
-why, or who, or even
when -did you have the time to spend?
in between the calls checking in)

it's an empty ******
when
the one you love has his
when
you rinse off the boy butter
to the noise of amateur directed scenes
Brazilians in their jungle brilliance
or the cocoa skinned of Ipanema, Egypt,
or some ******' place
where anything
and everything’s
hung black...

i don’t care if this angers you,
i know you're reading it now.

still, it's a restless sleep
when i can't stop wondering
if your dysfunction is
caused by me...
     that i'm the reason why
you disappear to complete yourself
Meet your needs
Elsewhere...
Cedric McClester Oct 2019
By: Cedric McClester

Facebook defends
The unjust ends
Of their political friends
Especially those who spend
Untold millions
Cuz they make gazillions
Like land-hungry Brazilians
By misleading civilians

In the name of free speech
The lesson they teach
Because of their reach
And the ethics they breech
Is that Mark Zuckenberg
Is more than absurd
With his every word
Guess he hasn’t heard

Twitter will no longer do it
You see they now eschew it
While he just says ***** it
How come I knew it
He's a greedy *******
I see that he's mastered
How being elastic
Makes him feel fantastic!

So he keeps counting his money
Like their Easter bunny
He may think that’s sunny
But it’s not very funny
So a word to the wise
Stop trying to disguise
How you aggrandize
Those that you balkanize


Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
don't get me wrong: i like to drink... the moment when you're just about to finish a 70cl bottle of whiskey and you get the cold sweats.... i never like to drink for mere taste... to excess or nowhere... that's why i own two bicycles rather than a car... you can get away with running against a red light at a crossing... but... the love is not so rife as it might be Siberian youth who... might **** their mother for not buying them a bottle of detergent... or some cheap Romanian fakery of: perfumed animals matter... some alias i have: i don't like to keep company when drinking: i either get doubly drunk on conversation: if i'm allowed... or my mood entirely sours... and i'm sort of buying fake mortality with... imagining the contender for companionship dunking digestive biscuits into... hot milk...

i asked for a shot of Jameson and half
a pint of Guinness...
she asked me whether i wanted ol'
McFaferty: Mr Whiskers and Ms Amber
in a glass over some ice...
i said i'd much prefer it in a shot glass...
i needed to make my lips into a pucker...
****... i also ordered half a pint of
Guinness... obviously i was going to wait
at the bar for the Guinness storm to settle
and two clear layers emerge...
ha... i went to university to study chemistry...
but the best chemistry experiment
i did in high-school...
its simplicity: pinching the event horizon
of how: polyethylene is created...
or was it: polyester?
hmm... it didn't smell like an ester might

now i know there's a perfectly sound
scientific explanation...
but i still want to be in awe:
i want to be ignorant...
bluntly put... less Luddite and more:
the rustic bear...
concerning?
how... you have yourself a cold glass of:
paddy does the best whiskey...
sorry Macfarfarferry Pict...

       the Irish blend a more subtle whiskey...
the Scots: ****'s sake...
they went one step further:
smoking salmon was one thing...
inventing golf another...
but... i hate Marmite... i love liquorice...
Laphroaig...
same ****: different cover...
while the:
paddy paddy: you one-arm bandit:
care to lend me your... ******* paddle?!
create the most subtle accents of a whiskey...
sort of shy hues...
nothing... akin to what a handover ****
looks like: concentrated amber trickle...
the Irish don't like their whiskers smoked...
me too... although...
i'm a bargain when it comes to a waggling
tale of a tongue on the topic of hops...
then again: where's the mead?!
it's always funny walking into a supermarket
aisles entitled: spirits...
well... ha... plenty of... ghosts?
like me: from yesterday...
frost instead of stubble... where the Turkish
barber made sure... i'd have to scratch some stubble
off the otherwise pristine line of beard...
i'm veering off even touching *****
because: it reminds me of how the English treat it...
lukewarm... and mixed with orange juice...
sorry... what?!
so not chilled until it resembles a glucose syrup...
and drank straight... usually with a bite from
the Spanish kitchen?
ugh... unbelievable barbarians: these Ing-leashed
when drinking *****...
shouldn't you people settle for warmed up 40% ers
like warm whiskers and Brady: the Bard of:
a load of *******?
lukewarm *****... orange juice...
it's a headache...

so you pour yourself a glass of cold:
i forgot to pick up a glass...
a teacup with have to do...
and... magic... water starts to condescend...
i'm pretty sure i haven't used condescending
words... on the outside of the cup...
have you perhaps noticed...
this has a perfectly scientific explanation:
it can be explained:
but... i don't want this to be explained...
it's my own little cosmos where
i'm entertained...
why would i want to know:
how a magic trick works?
   isn't it... magic: once more?
once it has been explained and is by one:
about to be reinvented with someone
like me...
reinventing alchemy in the culinary
       department...
i don't want the sordid explanation
that might leave me: completely...
sober & diatribe... shouting at a chair:
move! van Gogh! move!
****... this telekinesis isn't working...
pet names for inanimate objects...
i call my bed...
             dreamless jezebel...
what would i call the chair i'm sitting in:
hunched like a crow a pecking
at: even i don't believe he's perusing for...
coal?! it too was thinking: a nugget of gold...
but...
it's not like gold will give you
what coal arrives at...
to prove a "point" of not being the next
to last Nietzsche "incel"...
i went to the brothel and felt happy...
one hour at a time...
just one hour at a time...
it would make sense to tempt the bisexual:
to spread one's ****...
it would make sense...
            i purposively cycle into Soho
to have the impossible happen...
gays want me...
not old queens...
my... contemporaries...
i leave the girls and... they are girls:
on the ferris-wheel...
all glitter no **** of a baby in
prospect...
why wouldn't i take up prospects
of "game" among the gay community?
it's nice to be seen to feel wanted...
even if one is the *******
plumber... sort of speak:
made: available...
but i'm not giving up my **** virginity...
so easily...
not as a moral compass trajectory...
simply...
out the the fact... if i take so much
pleasure emptying my bowels...
******* out a 12" ****...
from time to time: sometimes
**** miracles happen...
why would i want to invent in...
"ingesting" through the same wind-pipe
an agitating presence of a phallus....
or imitation?
water... gripping the outer layer of a
glass of water...
since... there's cold water & ice-cubes
on the inside...
it can be explained by science: FACT!
boring little bothersome reality...
no witch-burning...
everyone so primed and sensible and
almost English... having just invented
cricket... making the Pakistanis feel
they're the ******* Brazilians at some
sport beside fools'-feet: spaghetti twisted...
hey... here's an 11's imitation of
kicking Jupiter about...

while dogs outright bark at alcoholics...
cats... on the receiving end:
perhaps they just: expect them to: crop up...
each day i wake up and i'm reminded
of the banality of life with its lack
of responsibility: however less teased with
homosexual excuses...
but i'm happy to not have a female
counterpart that might... esteem me as nothing
but a hoarder of screws... bolts...
a shoe collection...
i'm happy to be... relieved of the responsibility
to: SPEND...
can you even begin to envision a life where:
trading one set of inanimate objects
for another set of inanimate objects
stops feeling like... this... telekinesis... ought to stop!

sorry... what the **** are we doing?
trickling down a joke
as to how... or why... a monkey deserves to be...
barbered?!
last time i heard: the Taliban was asking
all the right question...

i can see it... almost...
it would feel so great to explore... have a second coming:
first: choosing...
turning bisexual...
but i have so much pleasure from an imitation
tapeworm coming out....
that: i honestly don't feel like...
have to want: to be expected to want...
some erected: wriggly bit...
being... inserted in... for me to:
pretend not to cough...

the concept of the week... the year?
sort of... dissolved over my head
when i tried to incorporate it...
8am seems fanciful... don't you think?

i burn a candle: so as to sit on a windowsill:
in order to... see my fat head being...
found: casting a shadow on a wall...
the end...

       summer is almost over; ergo?
the moon was bound to return to the night sky
over England... well...
Essex: if the rest of England is so inclined to think
so little of Essex...
i think so subsequently less of what's
England: on offer...
petty ******* moralist junk-in-betweens...
one bemoans the placing of Essex:
once...
the rest of England?!
eh... ****** pseudos: sort of English...
sort of Bradford... Rotherham...
your *******: ******... proper... by ****-
prishtine... INGLEASH...
at some point... you might want me to care?

i want to drink and sleep: the gods granting:
i might dream!
so much for miss pretty white girl anti-racist
having one of her anti-racist ***** with
a black guy...
sorry... beside Calypso...
i don't want to **** black girls...
i don't want to be homosexual...
i much prefer the Turkish ol' raven haired...
Ottomans teasing the Caucasian womb...

you tend to "forget": something important...
living on these isles...
the anglo-saxons were a people:
were...
as an anglo-slav:
sorry... distinguish me from the Russian
BRUTE...
the serb & goat...
Islamic sorts can confuse me with
having a face of a German...
i'll allow it...
i like it...
               i lick my wounds:
there aren't any...
my ring finger my pinky are numb...
i can't clench my index to
make a proper fist...
i dream of the Faroe Isles...
           i dream of ice...
i dream of water...
i dream of fire...
no wonder...
i dream of such wants that...
i can't dream of them!
let me eat: fog.
There is a big "no"
Dividing, mutilating
The feelings of a fatherland,
Turning a home into
A sum of rooms.

There is a "no"
To the fundamentals of civility
Whenever it is said
Criminals must die,
Queers must be content,
Whenever racism is defended,
Although hidden into lamb's costumes,
Of the paladins of Order and Justice.

A country cannot be built
Under so many tearing premises,
We, more than ever,
Need to rescue
What it means
To be Brazilians,
To be Us, again,
Not the imbecile crusaders
Against a self nightmare
Of the enemies dreams.

Underlying all ruins,
All chaos and all lack of trust,
There, untouched,
Stands an indian-african-european child
That, without any comprehensible words,
Will present the chromatic yarns of our fabric
In which any shred
Dissolves everything.

For union, never unity.

— The End —