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SøułSurvivør Jan 2015
~~~


is the heart
that refuses to love
unbreakable?

or is it

*broken already?
Never give up on love

~~~
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
i should be handling a champagne flute by now,
i don't know, maybe it's the laughter
that's curbing me from doing so... oh the fizzling
of my shizzle: or whatever's the trend in Campton.

now i'm watching videos on the pros and cons
and i'm thinking: it's really out of my hands -
i can do what Pontius Pilate did, back when
everything political required things to be hygiene prone
- and when there were literate fishermen who
miraculously broke from physical toils
       and wrote anti-Pharisee booklets.
forget Socrates defiling the youth:
it's me and a few old men -
will i become martyred because of it,
am i deluded with an invasion of
Shoreditch coolio across the depth and breadth
of London: who cares?!
       i like a good film, and this one is
always going to be good -
it only takes one word (well, two): the queen;
mainly the logic stuck true to the end
result: it would have been too good to be true...
take that logic and make it into a motto -
        wholeheartedly honestly,
      i have not an inch of my own wet *****
dipped into your ear: that's what
being independent means -
it also means that Copernicus ruined
   all things nautical, sunrise, sunset,
                  and thank **** the earth is
3D, now the problem, what shape is the universe?
   as it goes we're in a fudge swamp -
we aren't going anywhere, we think we are,
but people forgot to twin thought and doubt together,
   instead we have thinking and denial twinned,
which means: no matter how many facts are
spewed and later picked up as golden nuggets
we're not going anywhere.
       that's the beauty of a niche armchair,
      you get to bypass the comforts of crowd and airing concerns -
i'd never miss those emotional reactions
of people slyly: for the world!
    i love how they think that spying is masquerading
and not stating the obvious: which it usually is,
spying is stating that: the opposite has a tradition
built upon using sharpened knives:
                    me and my blunt knives:
i'm tearing into the meat like a vulcher -
what the hell can you do?
   sell the truth for 30 quid, buy it back for 20.
  that's a Homeric certainty -
    no, not the jokey Springfield variety:
the serious Grecian 2000 year old (if not more)
one - and i already asked:
what are you here for?
  me? i'm into writing a 2000 year old chapter
ranging from monkey, neanderthal and man -
     given the obvious disparities
and image issues and ****** favours considering
the pale anorexic Parisian modelling skeletors.
     you know what i found distinct in that story:
Slavs among the Germanic tribalism?
i concentrated on the eyes, rather than admit
a less pronounced *occipital bone
: yeah,
that's almost a tail in evolutionary sprechen.
       all thanks to a girl in school who noted
that "defect".
     i just looked at the eyes and found they were
more ****, and subsequently quasi-Mongolian
and less Germanic fish-eyed fixative of ogling
out as if about to be gouged out, or simply
popping out with a reference to helium.
    once again: a stick has two ends.
         it's the historiological (why the iota in that
i'll never know) demand:
the pendulum simply said: too good to be true -
and it was:
  i'll go one better, better than black and female?
how about native?
   now that would be a game-changer -
      anything less than a native american is
as about as revolutionary or a status quo disciple
or a hamburger for breakfast:
hence the reason why sarcasm and apathy mingle
        and look down at the doormat:
  oh right, only wiping my shoes does it? hell,
i'll wipe my shoes: come in and take a ****.
     thus the misrepresentation of writing on
pixel-paper (or what's called:
       drunk, but still in want of having a chance to
revise, because we're all sloppy when
      staging what the original transgression was);
   i never write with a want to say the things i write,
i just think the misrepresentation comes
when i treat the internet as a punching-bag to think
things through: a voyeuristic-reversal,
        as such a great medium to think things out:
the new ****.
   nonetheless, it's hard not to laugh within
the framework of defending the freedom to sprechen
and leave the defence of the freedom to denken
  within a socialism that never manufactures
    anything: apart from protest marches -
the F. Gumps amid broken vocal chords.
                  you get suspicious about deaf people
hearing more than those able...
                                 to hear a crackpot mantra
and subsequently diffuse it.
                     i wish we lived in world summarised
by the words: all eyes on Mongolia...
            but that's what happens when you popularise
**** and industrialise it:
    a. China and India beat you in terms of industrialising
             it (over a billion buggers by my count, each!)
and b. it's a litmus test of youngsters in the future
              suffering from depression -
now that's really obscure - i don't really have a b.
     point to make... pornographic industrialisation
got me...            come to think of it:
if america didn't industrialise *** i'd be in a transgender
clinic trying to figure out whether i had
    any ego in my phallus - completely bewildered
whether i should accept my ******* as if a dog
accepting its canine extension...
        given women these days
and the fact that i had to pay for the pleasure tells me
a lot...
            i either pay for it and play the genteel role
or i go mad from ****** frustration and ****:
at least we're talking a contract,
like that bubbly Puerto Rican woman in Amsterdam:
                                         **** it... Freud!
so we solved the whole "earth is not flat" debate,
           even though we still require the n.e.w.s.
to go about our daily business... tragic: we now have
to encapsulate the universe as having a shape -
  milestones have been conquered,
  from a 2D earth into a 3D earth
      we now have an infinitely 1D universe -
                because it couldn't have been: a box
within a box, within a box: without an actual box,
or as the people said: hence we having the sport of boxing /
dentistry.
            the Russians put a man and a dog into
space: fair enough...
      we go a step further and end all fairytales
  and turn our children into ambitious astronauts
breakdancing on the moon -
                              then comes Mars...
if we're going with that sort of escapist route then we're done:
   these traditional capitalistic endeavours for
mere competition have turned into a variation of
simple escapism - as i was taught in a catholic school -
imagine yourself in a world, then leaving it -
always imagining the earth from afar, from the moon, say;
all that really was said was the Taoist motto
about not engaging with the world on terms of
rounding up, rabble talking and ******* whatever needed
******* (pervert, i know the slang in the engagement
     of the cultish excesses of skin; rough ***?).
   but that's what it is: escapism -
                         as they said: a message from former
communist countries -
                           a sprouting vogue in western
           societies: with their beards, and chequered shirts,
social conforming hippies know as hipsters:
i don a beard because it's cold around here:
plus i look less of a fat person -
alcohol fat ain't cutie pie fat: it's called being bloated.
       only among an obese population would you
get anorexia - again: historiological logic (the pendulum,
or the Newtonian impression) -
         once Newton was told he was less than accurate
people decided everything was relative:
the Greeks abhorred moral relativism -
   it's not that god died - cause & effect died
in what's modern, and reliably crescendo.          
sure, humanity will go on in any other argumentative suite,
      it's the one thing humanity can't be, i.e.: undermined.
*** is (after all), an existential variant of ******* -
you'd be daft to think that it was or could / would be
  otherwise.
lize kingston Sep 2013
Battle of the two Giants
High noon announced the duel of the giants
Poetry and Hip Hop gunslinging the date was set
One accused the other of ****** the verbal world
As poetry sighted the words of Poe, hip hop did hurl
"Cant you rock these lame %$# words in slow
That dumb %&# Raven needs to be defeathered bro"
Poetry stood back and shook his hands down low
Reaching for his quilt using hip hop as ink he wrote
"The sound of silence is gold when you release your soul,
I need to feel the heartbeat of man so go!"
Hip hop now breakdancing on the floor
Laughed at this poor attempt to show poetrys gold
"You call that soul? I see it as a blind man,
Using fancy words to hide your fears so grand"
As poetry began to write another line
12:00 o clock came up as the sun did shine
Both stood back to back drawing their weapons
As the countdown to the duel approached like a new son
3 steps forward both rhymers turned about face
Two bangs later the smoke cleared both were embraced
The two giants knelt to ground their hearts did bleed
This time not of words but of blood so clean
At the same time both died as they killed each other
Why not write about how we are killing one another
Black vs White, hip hop vs poetry
Same old siht but this time its affecting me
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
what's the difference between
maine **** male cats,
and bloodhound dogs?
minimal, or non-existent: (
colon = i.e.,
much more than the
       mere italic refrain)...
both are clingy, both get
depressed easily,
to be honest, with one inkling
the like of horror movie soundtrack
as if it we're a lullaby and my
hand gesturing caress;
why oh why it was deemed
for me to assert the feline in feline,
rather than feline in woman?
oh well, cats it is...
         sure, i have the bundle of regrets,
then again:
at least, i have some.
damnation: being able to pet a cat,
but likewise unable to "mould" a woman...
crazy cat women, coming your way,
alongside obi wan kenobi's;
grooving in the cave,
with some i.n.x.s. in the background -
   jiggy jiggy orangutan -
the down syndrome kiddo
taking to break-dancing the face.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
.yiddi yiddi: breakdancing via the yod
to establish the mongrel language of
                                     yiddish in german,

since he always would speak with pronounced
  slavic accents that even, without a kippah...
   payots' worth of the rastafarian dread:

the ethopian connection, that's settled! applause!
what about that spaghetti drying piece?
  the tzitzit... spaghetti drying...
   or a collection of tapeworms...
i grew up above an estate agents
                     overlooking a synagogue...
21b beehive lane gants hills...
i'd notice the rat-imitation come yom kippur...
the orthodox would scuttle for a sly prayer...
in nike sneakers...
being unable to wear any animal leather:
whether shoes or belts or hats...
i watched, and i watched... sha! schtill!
come to think of it...
i like to think of the bastardißation
of hebrew via deutsche... yiddish...
i guess the hebrews began to blossom:
making themselves comfortable!
sha! schtill! as if, "as if" borrowing from pop culture:
ein botschaft von der taufel:
haben sie je getanzt mit ein rabbiner
                              im die blassmondlicht?!

    hobn tog
        zayn oyser aher...

                  that's the beauty of the jews...
nomads... or gypsies...
            casimir III understood this...
lucky parrots...
or parrots in general...
                    but i can't imagine
that much of yiddish survives in modern
hebrew...
israel: he who struggles with god...
of course i would be drawn to judaism
away from christianity...
   why would i succumb to islam if
the only plus is the antithesis of usury?
as a proselyte i'd be treated by the muslims
in the way that the janissaries were,
and the mamluks were treated...
bangladeshi slave labour in the u.a.e.?
        for every rabbi a guardian devil...
  
   un oyb em horav tantz?!
                             ikh tsu veln tentsl!
   (mirtseshem)...

cheap joke:
   a jew a nomad and a gypsy walk
into a bar...
'we're not going anywhere,
anywhere but here,
all that anywhere is is this everywhere
that's already bound to a carousel...
and is less a people,
a people with bureucracy...
a nation... we're here for the folk...
the people can do what
people do when they need to be
people and when
being a people is not enough...'

                        loyt neyn farshribn din...


out of the 2 slaps i received on
                                                           my face:
                       one was justifiable...
at a party, drunk,
        showing the *******
at the host...
  (i remember sharing
music tastes with her only two years
prior...
            big into mortiis,
   and that german guy who
made an abandoned warehouse
                    his home)...
                              fair enough:
that sort of slap you appreciate -
like a coffee in the morning...
but the first slap?
           that was the jealous,
   suspcious one...
                as if i had another woman
on the sly, in a different country...
and there i was thinking:
this is the thanks i get for all
the *******, home-made dinner
                                 and what not?
beside the point...
   so i wanted to tell the two apart...
two nights ago
   i started pounding my face
                              with 20 punches...
only today has a slightly plum eye
emerged... (when you're doing it yourself
there's less velocity) -
    sorry it's not a proper bashing
in a brawl:
                 apparently the hand moving
back with an intention
of a clenched hand is not as effective...
    i wanted a line-them-up
argument...
                        the ******* had to be
found somewhere along the way...
20 punches and a black-eye later?
    the slap that came from:
probably my best ****-and-****-with
anatomy of a woman's body?
   20 punches later:
   the slap still stings...
         like drumming in the rain...
    snappy...
          pulverising with a resonance
that only raindrops and the drummer's
sticks might
                   rekindle, to the effect of:
                       simultaneously.          
nothing's changed...
   in a bowling alley we used to run
into walls...
until one of us pierced the plaster-board
(me)...
                   but how
desperate do you have to be...
to make amends for a slap in the face
   with 20 punches of your own
mea culpa...
                                   circa 11 years later?
not to mention:
you have to ease the knuckles
              into being bruised...
                    before an honest face
mash-up?
                            comes a brick wall...
to level the knuckles...
     meaning that the 4th is slightly bruised.
that one slap, from Eleanor i
can understand...
                  that other slap from Ilona?
hence my 20 punches...
         and, my my:
    how the world is -
      without any "why" -
                              and this mishmash of hows;
hard not to join the queue
            of addressing painting on
                     an already painted canvas!

perhaps with the muslims...
we could explore... like we did with the jews...
we all know what happened to
the muslim population of europe,
once upon a time...
in the Balkans... when the Serbs (sleeping
Nazis) did with the muslims...
but these current mulsims?
  aren't they trying to find the short-cut?
they're going for the short-cut...
the jews never lent themselves to shortcuts...
me learn rigid arabic?
  look how hebrew adapted in german:
it became yiddish...
  maybe i'm blind...
but i don't see arabic bending the knee
to mongrel itself with some
european language...
  all i see are pseudo-arabic speakers...
english accent and one or two words
of arabic...
             if the arabs adapt...
mongrel bastardise themselves like the jews
did to become yids...
and create yiddish...
    no problem!
                       but these puritans won't...
where am i? in england, or saudi arabia?!
hell... might as well be talking to turks,
after all... they were the only muslims who
figured: it's best to adapt the latin script
if we are to control the balkans and greece...

the rest of the camel jockeys
should look into learning some mandarin
to compete for the most complex phonetic
encoding with the most:
   displeasing aesthetic of resulting speech;
arabs and the chinese:
sure... it looks amazing on paper!
until they open their mouths...
the beauty sooner than soon
fizzles out.

— The End —