Never lived in the hood, I been good
Grew up in Glendale cuz pops did everything he could 
To keep this big roof that covers everywhere I stood
And keep bills paid so the house work like it should
But, that don't mean that I ain't live with no problems
I grew up liking girls and all I tried to do was holla
From 05 to 09 I used to always pop my collar
And walked up to see what a chic would do for a dollar
But come 2010 I learned a dollar doesn't get far
Start asking pops for money, he said what you need these bills for
I said just to have cash so I can buy stuff myself 
He said how is it yo self when it's coming from my wealth 
And in the end he was right so I ain't ask for no more help
Got a job, got paid, getting green, sea kelp
And well, I guess it all turned out great
From 210 to 2 now I been working for the cake
More hours, more pay
Is what I always say
Just to go and motivate
So I can get through everyday
Man I do this for thrill, I don't really need this money
And stop mugging me down, I ain't tryna take yo hunny
But please don't get mad if she like me cuz I'm stunning
And you dressing kinda bummy
Man yo breds ain't even gummy
My high tops get their own box
And my boxes reach high tops
My collection's a high top
You can't even make gumby
You funny
You mad at me for what ? Yup, nothing 
But haters gone hate so ill let you do what you does see
Cuz time don't ever stop, matter fact it's running from me
And I'm tryna catch up cuz less time means less money
So you go do you, and I'm gone do me til I'm done g
Cuz I ain't wasting sand in my glass if you don't love me
And don't be fake now, I don't want you tryna hug me
Cuz you know germs is germs and haters be on that *****
Yeah im nerdy, I'm smart
I'm a walking piece of art 
And I write these rhymes for fun
But it all comes from the heart 
I keep hundreds, yes hundreds of poems inside the dark
And more hundreds, maybe thousands get lost before they start
You know how you at the store putting stuff in yo food cart
Then get home and wonder what you bought all of this food for ?
Yeah these poems fill hunger that resides deep inside me
They are not just fun, they have now become a pride for me
And maybe it'll be more, maybe this pride can make it shine for me
Maybe all these girls around the world will build shrines of me
But now I gotta go, cuz you know how time can leak
Plus I don't want y'all think that y'all know what defines B. 
But I can't stop there, it's unfair to the public
And I know that y'all like it but I dare y'all to love it
Cuz if you love it then I'll keep going
Till it start snowing
And you knowing
Even though it's snowing
It ain't never boring 
Cuz these bars wasn't meant for snoring 
Meant for adoring fans
That'll still love me when I'm old and I'm done touring
I could do this for the rest of my life
I just love it, it takes pain away and dries every eye 
With out poems, I don't know man I just might die
This is real, when I write I just cannot lie
So, you can catch me in my notepad writing 
I'm tryna make this gold, y'all tryna start fighting
And to me that's motivation, I ain't saying that I'm liking it
I'm just saying if it's there I might as well get insight from it
And it's crazy, I just noticed that I can't lose
When it's bad I'm still good, when it's good I cruise
I'm sorry that it all happens at the expenses of you
But you can't stop my grind, imma do what I do
100
I'm tryna make it from the mil to the summit
I heard it's all lonely but the top is my abundance
So I'll bring who I want I don't care what the rules say
Chillin above the competition straight playing 2k
That dream will never fade in
That's why I always stay in
Cuz I wanna see the day where I can say that I made it
And they love me
I see the finish line so I'm running
Got a talent and a dream and you can't take that from me
No obstacles can stun me
I don't care about who judge me
I got my mind set so just tell the top I'm coming
Cause I am

hon-fountain / jigo hudami - googlewhack! by Matthew Conrad
hellopoetry.com/poem/1478415/hon-fountain-jigo-hudami-googlewhack/
2 hours ago - hon-fountain / jigo hudami - googlewhack! among european nations, the poles get self-conscious by comparing themselves as: the cinderella ...

[PDF]WILD HORSES; 'A DETECTIVE TALKS. - Digifind-It.com
www.digifind-it.com/cranbury/data/newspapers/1887/1887-11-25.pdf
here for ten yearn, having in thnt time two children. Fourteen yeai.-. jigo they, removed to Brazil ...... -thai hu hud ami thuiu breds-at-sca;—for from any laud that ...

the cats seem completely devoid of any fact -
any of the usual seasonal claustrophobia
associated with this month...
let the sane grey days return: pronto!
i'm dying from this... hanging expectation...
4 years of christmas outside of a protestant
country - where: i'm unsure who's who
or rather: who's celebrating what...
civic christmas... throw me back into a catholic
country with no internet access...
with the only entertainment being reading
a book... among the pensioners where:
a chance meeting someone my own age...
died along with the death of the metalurgy
industry... little ol' me aged 8 moving from
one place to another, learning a new language...
fraternity cwy (that, that almost looks like
a welsh word)... baby?
no... i just don't know what to make of christmas...
it's been 4 years in the making...
perhaps i became too used to all the catholics
celebrating this period in a religious sense...
perhaps i could jigsaw my way into these 3 days...
by during christmas eve everyone settled
their grief and beef... they have been fasting...
"fasting"... i.e. not eating meat of the earth...
eggs and fish and... mainly fish...
and christmas eve would be night...
of utmost humility...
i did serve up a circa 15 dish supper...
the prawn cocktail came out of nowhere
when i had leftover prawns from only using
one can of crab meat for the prawn, crab,
smoked salmon cream cheese pate...
trout caviar and dill to garnish...
i made the poppy-seed roulade...
the chocolate coating with sprinkled coconut...
the fish ala greek was there...
the red borscht from beetroots and the dumblings...
but... nothing was really there...
i did all the work preparing the supper...
over 2.5 days and... we sat at the table for...
perhaps an hour... we ate with our eyes
and i didn't even eat a complete slice of bread...
we ate with our eyes...
tomorrow will be no better...
i've already prepared the meat that will be sliced
cold (pork and beef)... i'll just bake the most
perfect tatties... and the pristine sized carrots...
i'll probably bake some peppers and an onion...
and some garlic... glaze it with some honey
and balsamic vinegar... probably sprinkle some
cumin seeds to boot...
and there will be a portion of bigos too...
and... we will still eat with our eyes...
we'll be somehow fasting...
perhaps it's easier... when you have a grandfather,
a former stouch "communist" looking for
god in the depths of dementia and lethargy...
perhaps the superstitious grandmother who
came to the city from a small village where:
farming was still done...
but i guess... family...
they're all ******... but now i see how
the english treat it... in no way different to everyone
else... but i really did think i was going
twice-over mad... when...
classic.fm started it's groundhog day repertoire
bound to a hour on repeat...
if i hear... another ******* christmas carol...
if you play me another aled jones: walking in the air!
i'll flip! so i turned the radio off in the kitchen
becoming soothed with being *******...
somehow irritation became a music that
my body found comfortable...
what a staggering difference between a...
protestant christmas eve and a catholic christmas
eve... 4 years and... this being the 5th...
i have absolutely no sense of anticipation...
in a sense: pst... remember... you're in a protestant
country... in a post-nationalist blah blah...
these are civic festivities... they are irreligious...
i was going to bake butterfly turkey ******* tomorrow...
stuffed with thyme infused butter under
the skin to give the ******* moisture...
but i have already made the pork and beef...
tomorrow will only be the most spectacular
sad day... i can't stomach it...
i couldn't stomach all the presents prior...
thinking about it now...
perhaps until the age of 15...
i can't begin to fathom being so easily let-off...
time and its claustrophobia... 'tis' a season to be
merry... merry about what?
in that civic sense.... outside: even faking
a religiosity is better within the confines of these
3 days that... staging some pseudo-bollocking...
looks like the in-breds are coming home...
the same ones ashamed of their family throughout
the other days in the year...
i can still remember a christmas...
it must have been 1990 - i was four then...
it's a memory but it's more or less a painting...
a round table... the great-grandmother was still
alive... and the extended family was there...
aunts, uncles... cousins...
now? it's either me and my grandparents...
and an uncle... or it's me and my parents...
and at a time when... you're still not sure whether
your mother is having adverse side-effects
to the anaesthetic after a hip-replacement operation...
in god's given everyday-grey-mantra-of-monotony:
this would be a walk in a park...
but given: what's to be "expected"...
i was once told a proverb:
you look best with your family: in photographs...
perhaps that should extend to friends too...
oh i do remember what life ought to be...
a weekend in Paris circa 2004 and 2005...
summer and... once in autumn...
it's but a figment of my imagination...
introspection without anger...
my unit of thought that has not succumbed
to a psychological scrutiny -
a gimp suit and some pickling juices...
well... it's hardly an anger when the romanticism
of depression: melancholy is so ripe...
but to the cats it's just another day...
and here's me... with predicates...
celebrated christmas: matthew "celebrated"
christmas by cooking a supper on christmas eve
that everyone decided to eat with their eyes...
a meal that... has matthew a wife,
a daughter or a son?
does he want a wife and a child?
would that change - the otherwise overshadowing
impasse of existential "problems" that
could never mature in their...
mainting a sense of: a problem...
if such problems were replaced with...
not buying a daughter / a son a gift they'd want...
not earning enough money to treat a wife
to something?
problems and... problems...
i guess i should be content with my problems:
"problems"... i should be happy wearing my own shoes...
even though: i wish i could have seen this
food disappear, today... hollow bones left:
even the marrow ****! gone...
perhaps then i'd be happy... if i cooked and what
i cooked: disappeared...
that would be a thrill...
but then... "beggars pride"? is that even allowed?
murky waters of everything that...
i remember that look...
timing... a beggar woman outside a supermarket...
a man giving her spare change...
oh he wasn't looking at her giving her the money...
he was looking at me giving her the money...
the guilt-tripping...
i can almost imagine: in a cashless society...
she suddenly takes out a debit-card payment
machine and... i give "charity" via...
what already is a cashless society...
does racial distinction have to be minded -
you're expected... hell... i expected all this food
to be eaten by ghosts of my dodo cul de sac
family... last time i heard:
the worst gift for christmas is a card filled with
money... i've received those once or twice...
i have to agree with myself:
this should not have been written...
but given that there are no typos bound to it...
i did something that tradition required...
which is a real shame that...
it can: that so many things will die...
before i actually die...
and for some reason...
there's nothing of despair bound to it...
only an irritability: cookie-coating it sweet...
it's irritating that something will die before
i die... tradition... social norms...
cultural cliches... call it what you like...
autopsy: to "blame" a "at-no-one's-expense of fault"...
a chair is a chair...
a moon is a moon...
today is just today...
tomorrow is just tomorrow...
2am is just 2am...
a glass of whiskey is just a glass of whiskey...
there are no consequences...
just detours...
perhaps somewhere a mind less preoccupied
with writing this little something...
tending to far more important problems:
to life's problems... not de facto problems...
nothing existential... nothing continental...
nothing associated with: jean-paul sartre
did his autobiographical stunts...
lived with his mother... was given a state funeral...
beneath which there's that english pride
of country and estate...
you've made it son... being freed from all
familial ties... at least...
or perhaps: i was given the wrong first impressions?
come to think of it...
i don't know the english...
i went to a school in a perdominantly irish
neighbourhood...
last time i checked... the irish went back home...
why the **** i didn't go back "home"...
perhaps it would have helped if i was born
here, in england... perhaps then i would have this
urge to go back "home"...
and almost every time i visit... i do...
but only because the grandparents are there...
no... no conclusive wisdom here...
it's christmas and... there's no church presence...
and i'm not comfortable not sitting back
in a secular malaise of my own reading
some Knausgard...
becaused this secular malaise is everywhere...
and i don't have a bunch of catholics
surrounding me... gesticulating the point
of these festivities.... that's mighty bothersome...
which is an exagerration on my part...
why there's a chritmas tree in this house...
well it's there... almost monochrome...
silver and gold...
and it's just there... and... i'm starting...
frankly the period of anticipation is more rewarding
than... whatever it was that was being anticipated:
but never came.

Dear(?) Hello, Editors!

For the longest time imaginable I've been writing under a gratification of being able to bypass any and all editorial scrutiny by deploying my content on "platforms" - seeing how certain flukes were managed over history by public appreciation: without the need for an alignment of critic & / editor - I thought I'd try this approach... i.e. throw a loaf of bread into the circus and wait for the furore.

Yet I have also learned that, bypassing the editorial scrutiny process, of being somehow, "miraculously" graced by publication also left my, publications without... editorial authority from any *****-nilly reader who might object to the content... proof of this lay in me being censored on some "platforms": hell... if you can't settle for multiple rejections and the editorial scrutiny... at least appreciate mob rule of "platforms"... the rubric: wattpad, poetfreak, hellopoetry (although I have been reinstated), my-poetic-side... kicked off by some Stasi vegetable brain-snooze button... although... I have to admit... I was waiting for a site that would allow me an editorial membrane:  scrutiny prior to publication... in defence of the author... rather than the usual details of my postings gone awry... settled in kangaroo courts and sometimes left with... poems that I didn't save onto a private hard-drive...

What does one include in a covering letter? I'm a University of Edinburgh alumni - bachelor's degree in Chemistry - 2007... I dropped out of a History degree at UCL around 2008 when I experienced a psychotic dislodgement from "reality": imagine me, now... given the past year... what "reality"? The reality of busy-bodies? I was working part time as a roofer on industrial scale projects... the Scottish Widows HQ roof (near St. Paul's) is partially my doing...  come to think of it... since even the HRH the Queen mentions "mental health" in her address of opening Parliament as one of her points of interests... that film about concussion... why should a bout of psychosis... psychosis, osmosis... it's not a strict obligation to suddenly be / become sociopathic / psychopathic... rarer than a cold... but most certainly nothing self-aggrandizing - disorientating and building up a membrane of self-depreciating humour is one possible leftover...

- Yet do I want to focus on that? One part of me whispers: the editors want... all the "unique" voices to come together in a democracy of fair-representation... 31.1k · Jul 2018
cameo cinema: memory: view-count, date of publication, title of the poem... and this is without me doing much about this poo'em... this sorry doodle that would never be allowed to grace the temples of prose... I just... left it... abandoned... and how it built up momentum over time... on this one platform I had the most view counts in the circa of over 10,000... then, what? The Streisand effect? Of being dragged through a kangaroo court where my "defence" was: in absentia? Ha!

I have also managed to print my own book... yes, it's small press... P.U. COMPUS in Starachowice (Poland) - that I am native to that land and that tongue is sometimes a subconscious momentum... to... say... discourage myself from "taking the knee" or putting crisps in my sandwich... almost like me adding: I feel no inclination towards... p.c.s.d.: post-colonial stress-disorder... the Polacks jumbled up with the Irish... the least distressed people in the world of grievance Olympics... reparations blah blah... thank you very much... the only time communism worked was when a nation & it's people on its knees were... manage that... circa 1945 through to 1990... before the iron curtain (skirt) bonanza took over and hey presto... plateau history... everyone's the same, everywhere's the same... everything's the same...

I understand what a cover letter is, but in the context of... there's that not-yet famous quote I've heard... poets get paid every 50 years... so Bukowski's time of earning is up? Will the already ****** please be more than already dead? Major influences... Ezra Pound, Louis Zukofsky, Miroslav Holub, Tristan Tzara, Horace, Julian Tuwim... E.E. Cummings... I'd mention so many more... I will not go through the philosophers I've read... well... 2 years worth of reading and thinking and the everyday thought-experiments using up Heidegger's Sein und Zeit... but in all honesty? My personal library is missing one major artefact... Charles Olson's Maximus poems... I've attempted to get a copy... I'd steal one from a public library if I had to... it's not like I didn't steal a copy of Stendhal's the Scarlet & Black from my old school library... I did... eh... the burnout digital is not like... teeth... skin... ink... blood... pages... words... tattoos...

If this is a "covering" letter: i expect that it's not to be filled with: veneer... no? So when I'm prompted to write I as the question: quo vadis? Just as I asked an aesthetician (when I had my wisdom teeth pulled out)... I guess I'd reply with a: qua vadis - as "being" going... i.e. imagining myself via some "elsewhere"... the per se prospect of momentum... of my lift of readers' "digest"...Will Alexander is the only living writer I've yet to admire... well... having bought copies of the Sri Lankan Loxodrome, Compression and Purity & the Kaleidoscopic Omniscience... just as much: I abhor rap music and am half-way sold on the mantras of spontaneity of jazz that came after the period of the: "pretty young things" of the 1920s and 1930s...

currently I'm looking into, well: sorry not sorry... ethnically exclusionary expressions of identity... Norse myths, Norse music... if I were Russian... I wouldn't be gravitating toward having such bogus slack on expression, I'd just: "plough the field"... and... "bulldozer the rest"... how much of a hope in the concept of the universal man is there? the man to fulfil the role of: experiment... not that man can be transcend... rather... sampled... incrementally... toward a whole... for me there's not super-man... no over-man... for me there's a nuance of the sigma-man... the totality of man... and how... well... my shortcomings of not becoming a father... right, "shortcomings"? I would have more beef, about, "shortcomings" should I leverage the tiresome pinnacle yet existentially unsound years circa 25 - 35 as a genesis story of a patriarch...

I'm still writing a "covering" letter aren't I?
Who's who and who's not, naked... no?
Otherwise the crass: where's the ****?!
Everyone is "thinking" it: insinuations aside
the obvious still stands: who built those ferk-king:
pyramids!
Slave labour of gorillas from the yet
invested body-parts that could understand
brain-undermining toward
a construct of supra-hierarchies
worth of crown, pandemonium and peacocking?!

This supposed "cover letter": is this that
quo vadis / qua vadis question?
well it's not like it's unusual to not be paid for
content... slavery... ah... ha ha...
oh... apparently the mind doesn't acknowledge "it"...
what is it that the mind doesn't acknowledge? eh?
in the past decade+ I was paid...
em... ****-all for my outpourings...
I'm starting to to think ll my scribbling is biblically
protected as important... gratifying prank...
if it's not: hail the in-breds!

        something though, otherwise...
enough to pass into: an allowance for plumbing...
for ****'s sake...
the tabloid press gets more for stirring up:
"confession"...
yes... because what sells...
is what's looked at and not read...
how the Chinese countered the myopia of hieroglyphs...

the editorial scaffold still stands... no?
it has to be impossible to wake the vectors...
there's nothing to sell...
there's nothing of a ordwde umjebl
to jump-start?
                no genesis in the zunge
of the Faraoe Isles?
        nufffin- a great ******* muffin of sort
to begin with, then?
nothing to animate this clamour of
servitude toward a comforting third part...
"reality"?
nothing adventurous? just this... "platitude"?

If this was supposed to be a covering letter...
I know i failed... death's more pleasing...
when one's a failure in the eyes of the other;
it's a hard-on... this inconsequential scrutiny of the dead
of the living.

Yours Readily Available...
    hardly the Editor...

   is that's how covering letters are coerced
into existence?!
i said... i also said yes...
50 bucks is by no means:
certified... soy.

Okay, more about our farm animals.
Our horses, last but not least.
We have three: two gentle creatures
And one majestic beast.

Jet leads the herd
He thinks he’s the boss
Yet, with even the slightest, strange noise
His judgement is lost.

Ona, the Appaloosa
Has such a kind heart
Totally blind, yet a gentle steed
A sweet horse and incredibly smart

Lilly is the youngster of the pack
temperamental, and at times, even cross.
Yet, she helps Ona find her way
She leads a blind horse with a simple head toss

The horses on my farm
Are something to behold
All amazing animals
With enormous hearts of gold

So, those are my farm animals
Few pure breds, mostly mutts  
The horses, the dogs, the cats
Make up the farm we call Wiggle Butts

I won’t qualify it
My dogs are my babies
There are no doubts
No if’s, and’s, but’s, or maybe’s

First Alex, as big as a horse
Then there was the barking of Emma Lou
Quincey also loves to make noise
Gracie Mae had her loud moments, too

Abbie is the latest to join the family
And Layla is the youngest of the lot
None of them really pure breds
Mostly just mutts, a true melting ***

Gracie couldn’t jump
And, Layla is a klutz
They were all very unique
A bunch of cute wiggle butts

As people go,
My dogs are all very smart
Each one has worked some magic
And won over my cold, hard heart

I really can’t qualify it
When I say my dogs are my babies
The statement is absolutely true
No if’s, and’s, but’s, or maybe’s