Sitting by this creek
It’s 10 p.m. on a Wednesday
School night
Our 6-pack of Bud Lit being
twisted within the twigs
dying grass rustled beneath the feet of us
Two young eager friends

This is what we do with our memories
Take photos from mind drips
Paint it on paper
Made from the years
“Good Times” carved in my walls
Our walls

Now this ain’t some,
“I’m gonna miss you so much!”
“Please call when you can!”,
*******.
Man you’ll be in my head
In my dreams
We’ll go outside
Pick up my old ball glove
Dust off the smoke
Although I was never that good
Man this is what we did

Childhood friends
Roommates in college
You’ll be my neighbor when I’m 45
And my roommate again at Timber Ridge Retirement Home
I’m looking forward to
Harassing the nurses with you

You’re my friend dude
I do have lots of friends
But you’re only one I ask advice from
I swear if I ever murdered someone
I’d ask you to help me hide the body

Now let’s enjoy this
Count stars like high school gossip
There’s only one thing left to do
“Let’s destroy this beer”

James Corden’s close relationship with Burberry designer Christopher Bailey was celebrated at the 2016 Tony Awards.

On Sunday night (12Jun16) the toast of Broadway were celebrated at the annual awards show. British star James was the evening’s host, winning the crowd over with his warm sense of humour and down to earth delivery.

As well as a successful acting and presenting career, James can now also add style icon to his burgeoning resume.

“We wanted to keep the wardrobe tight and focused with a definite beginning and an end,” stylist Michael Fisher told vogue.com.

“We started with Burberry for the red carpet. James and Christopher Bailey have a long-standing relationship. I wanted a strong look that complemented the roses. The deep burgundy tux had matte black micro sequins on the lapel: very sophisticated and classic, with a technical update.”

Like any good awards show host, 37-year-old James had numerous outfit changes. Two suits from Tom Ford featured; a black three-piece design which served as a tribute to Broadway and then a teal dot dinner jacket, which James chose to wear at the after party.

A show-stopping Dolce & Gabbana look also featured, with the fashion house supplying a pair of “handmade, dark green croc shoes” to complement the green velvet and crystal jacket James wore to close the show.

Another stand out moment came thanks to a red Gucci suit adorned with a bird and butterfly motif.

“The Gucci suit was my favourite,” Michael smiled. “You can’t ignore the influence (Gucci designer) Alessandro Michele has on fashion right now. It reminded me of (musical) The Boy From Oz and in that way was very appropriate for the Tonys.”Read more at: www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses

.one of the great dissatisfactions of life: dreaming... which makes me suspect of the anglo-saxons and their subsequent branches of sub-ethicities... they dream... they have recurring dreams... lucid dreams... i find that slightly suspicious... i rarely dream and if i do dream, the dreams are so bogus or so uninteresting that they make no sense to: "interpret" them via any freud-cubism schematic - that a woman's sun hat implies: the depth of ****** and promiscuity, or some otherwise bogus stretching it mate, really stretching that analogy... but why do the anglo-saxons have such lucid dreams, even recurring dreams? are they descendants of joseph: der traumgehhilfe? last time i had a dream? oh... family invites me to say, three memebers of the family don't like me... **** the rest of the family with a knife, a gun and a baseball bat (somewhere in south east asia)... a few of the killed members run into the street to die... i somehow pick up a kalashnikov and shoot the murderous 3... then i jump into slender boat with a motor with 3 or 4 women... 'jesus'... and i escape the scene of retribution sailing to... cambodia! **** me... even sylvester stallone or jason statham or arnie wouldn't star in a movie as b-movie as this... but anglo-saxons seem to have the most vivid dreams... two good examples: h. p. lovecraft and william burroughs... is dreaming a form of escapism? if so, then evidently i'm quiet content with reality... like today: too much pop psychology, too much self-help guru mishmash, too much advice: not enough stories... video streaming a game being played... etc., so i retreat, even from modern music, into? here's a beginner's guide list to medieval music:

       1. qui habitat in adiutorio altissimi
       2. da pacem domine
       3. agni parthene
       4. dum pater familias
       5. chevalier, mult estes guariz
       6. virga iesse floruit
       7. walther von der vogelweide's
                 palästinalied
       8. codex buranus no. 179:
                     tempus est locundum
       9. non é gran causa
      10. herr holger
      11. herr mannelig
      12. die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft
      13. meie din liechter schin
      14. under der linden
      15. mayenzeit one neidt
      16. mönch von salzburg (das nachthorn)

   why would i have stopped at merely
Orff's reading of Carmina Burana -
                 sure... that's the entry point...
   but the radio only plays o fortuna till
the cows come home in a full-moon lit night...
yawn...
    if only: fortune plango vulnera,
      veris leta facies, omnia sol temperat,
     floret silva, or... or!
   a monk's love song for the queen of england -
were diu werlt alle min:
              were diu werlt alle min
              von dem mere unze an den Rin,
              des wolt ih mih darben
              daz diu chunegin von Engellant
               lege an minen armen.

but no... it's o fortuna or nothing from that album
on the radio...
    i get it, great song...
   but why is auld lang syne only sung once
a year, on new year's eve?!
              
as with women, so with music, one simply tires of
contemporary examples: not exactly the music
but the lyrics behind the music...
                        music will never change to appease
the brute and the beast... but modern lyricism
is just agitating... it exhaust with its choice
of subject matters...
                                and by the looks of it...
    i spend too much time with music to find myself
in needing the comfort of a woman's voice,
a cuddle or relationship or whatever you want
to call it from now on...
           i am wedded to three women that will
never materialize: Euterpe, Sophia and Amber...
and all the better...
                                i could never wallow in what's
currently being wallowed in...
by some who have these recurrent dreams
and are unable to stop them from recurring...
hence my suspicion with the anglo-saxon traits
of vivid dreaming: this cruch of relying on dreams...
of so easily being ***** by celesto-cerebral powers
that impregnate their sleeping heads with
these realities that only exist in the mind and
a sleeping mind at that!

(nb. not proof read, apologies in advance for any mistakes, upon rereading will correct if any appear - or i'll just keep them...)

look at these two slogans: let's make America great (again)!
complimenting the English variation
let's get our country back! ring any bells? i guess you must
have heard one or the other as an English speaker -
it's hardly surprising - the English Prime Minister singing
a little toodeloo then uttering the word right upon
reentering number 10 - shambles ahoy! every rat and
mutineer bailed - we're in free-fall, Trotsky had it coming,
this guy hasn't - hardliner but a bubble-gum tongue -
it stretches like a joke my English teacher said:
how was copper wire invented? hmm? two Scots
tugging and pulling in opposite directions a two pence coin -
for all their worth, they joked the blond quiff of
both Boris and President Donald Yeltsin - where one
gets drunk on egoism, the other just gets drunk -
even though they don't like him in Scotland, they sure as
hell bought the slogan like a Big Mac - the problem is
there's a zenith, and then a necessary decline -
you can reach the zenith of breaking the 100m sprint,
but then a stock-market dip (necessary) -
much of Britain's exit from the European Union was due
to the campaign trail of the Doodle T - the best politician
i assume is the one that enjoys the most prodding jokes,
which also means the majority of votes,
jokes and votes walk hand-in-hand - people don't want
leaders, they want caricatures - after all, the little existences
have to matter with a joke in the Oval office.
i can't imagine the unholy alliance of feminists running
the place in the west - Theresa May in England,
Hilary Clinton in America, Angela Merkel in Germany,
Ms. Le Pen in France, the Polish prime minister
Beata Szydło - it has to look like a 2nd Cold War scenario,
a break from World Wars... Putin and pukka Tyson Trump
on the other side, macho v. macho - man talk and
the ultimate bromance. i know that Nietzsche referenced
genius too much, assuredly i hear that a lot too around
here with child geniuses storming around for silverware -
children geniuses and not original? so technically you're
talking about data storage in porridge - trained monkeys,
right? those children will be scarred for life as if they
saw their parents ******* - what sort of genius is a genius
if he doesn't work from blank but is there are a memory
gimmick to boost hopes of curing dementia?
philosophy doesn't do geniuses, it does things like Spinoza,
solitary wanderers, loners - outsiders and mesmerisers,
there's no genius in philosophy - there's only solitude -
granted that an open-minded psychiatrist is a modern subplot
in not reading philosophy - where is the ultimate source
of compassionate solely theory based (anti) psychiatry?
in reading philosophy books rather than exercising authority /
abusing it - R. D. Laing is a perfect example -
who wrote after reading philosophy books - i mean read them,
in the English speaking world i recommend reading
the works of the anti-psychiatric movement of the 1960s,
which was much bigger than the Beat Movement - obviously
not as dazzling, but with poetry you're imitating Philippe Petit
(film, the walk) - i watched it and my legs experienced
needles, and a firm assertion of gravity and the location
of the floor - films like that are worse than horror -
you share the heart of the original, but given it's Plato's cave
we're talking about representing the events, you realise
that no matter how much you want your shadow to be
Philippe Petit, you hear from the outside world, your legs
are firmly on the ground - basically: **** that - men are not
born equal, they have to live by principle to be at least moderating
their excellence into a respectable cohesion (democracy) -
quiet simply juggling their strengths with their weaknesses -
man is not born equal, he was to strive for equal measure -
when subduing their strengths and when exfoliating them -
no man is born equal, as no man is an island - the two synchronise.
(i'm deliberately masking what's coming)...
but there is genius in philosophy - but only in one area of
interest - religion... we know that popular beliefs are
grounded in plagiarism - the Trojans became the Romans
via the accounts of Virgil, and we know the Trojans in
becoming Romans plagiarised the Greek polytheism -
Zeus became Jupiter, Poseidon became Neptune,
Cronos became Saturn, Hera became Juno, Aphrodite
became Venus... etc., it was done to mimic the Greek heart
from the defeat at Troy, to invoke a heart that overcame -
every pauper and every king would identify with
this pluralism - but a second plagiarism had to come -
it was prophetically echoed from approximately 2000 years -
the Greeks later plagiarised the Hebrew concept -
the monotheistic concept, yet because their thinking
was so advanced (or so they thought) they dismissed the
sects of the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Essenes and
the Zealots... their hero was their antagonist - and nothing
of their learning was actually work their concerns since
they boasted of their Aristotle and their Plato and their
Socrates - the peddle-stool effect appeared -
but what if a Latin man (well, these letters are Roman) were
to say - never mind the son, how about the father?
in Christianity the father is rather anonymous in his
omnipresence etc. - but let's assume on the biological tenet
that we are referring to the old testament god -
would we want to plagiarise the Greek plagiarism of
Hebrew? i already mentioned the four prime canons as
imitations of the tetragrammaton - of course they're
intended to not be identical accounts, but there must be
two that are mirror images - i.e. referring to h      &      h
of the tetragrammaton - if there are no two mirror images
then we are bothered - i can see why the Greek mind thought
that Y refers to a convergence, a mother, a father, a child
and the entry point to the gospel: a genealogy -
Y being representative of a convergence - past and present,
following through - this is all about first impressions,
from what i can remember and regurgitate back -
in Catholic school we were taught by majority the gospel
of St. Mark - the others were discredited -
i can't tell you if there are two identical gospels (or at least
with very little variation between them) - what comes after
them is what comes after all essences of religion,
bureaucracy - imams and priests, yoga teachers and
whatever it is that comes with religion for the common man,
but in the new testament this is the essence, a shady
reinterpretation of the tetragrammaton - but a Latin man
who didn't bother to attribute symbols with nouns,
but made his alphabet musically orientated for the
castrato and the choirs to come - a (alpha) b (beta)...
o (omicron / omega) it became obvious that the four letters
arranged as so with missing Adam and missing Eve
would provide more than just four interpretations of
the same event / person - for when a Greek has to cut off
-lpha from a to attach it to another letter to create meta,
the Latin man has only to cut off less, perhaps dentistry's
ah, or otherwise cut off -ee from b... the world is full
of such possibilities, and this is the only area where
genius can be applied to philosophy - the genius of
philosophy is within religion, and nowhere else -
of course mind that i don't identify myself as one -
i treat genius as an angel or a demon, that fairy-tale
race of creatures that whisper into your ear - markedly
geniuses are more powerful in demanding an individual
rather than clones of the individual, e.g. Mohammad
and Muslims, Jesus and Christians... which is why i suppose
the genius of Moses also allowed others to write on sacred
paper, but of course excluding Malachi for falling into
heresy with a polytheistic concept of reincarnation, not
oddly enough Malachi's was the last book before the two
major strands of his heresy emerged like Behemoths.

Sitting in a bar.
A beer with perspiration.
Its raining outside.
Hear the shuffleboard shuffle.
Intoxicated poetics.
Sober state of mind.

Stools shrouded in mystery.
Double doors leading in.
Bartender’s creations. (chemical concoctions)
Saloon of slumlords and hipsters
Open mic night.
Hippie Howls.

Don’t worry we got this under control.
Malboro reds, cowboy killers.
Don’t spend you life wishing,
Spend it living.
Better yet, spend it drinking.
Liquid courage. (men becoming beasts)

Awkward rages.
The best is coming.
Shielding secret shame in this scene.
Hidden in a pint of pilsner.
Free thinkers in a haze of hops.
Lets get drunk.

Make shift graveyards on the walls.
Honoring the dead.
Rest in peace.
Nothing less, nothing more.

Old Heidelberg.
Before my time.

The stalls scrawled with graffiti.
For a good time call.
Scratched onto the stall.
“Spread love like butter on a hot bun”
Sherlock and Watson.
Bromance.
This is a bar of friends.

What is this bar?
Drunk off this atmosphere.
Window panes with neon signs.
Disillusioned.
Concealed.
Unfinished.
The moves fast and goes right by.
Springing forward without a shadow of a doubt.
Members of the Great Unwashed.
The signs of our time.
I think we’re going to split.

Can I get another drink?
One for the road.

Don’t cut me off quite yet.

So they hacked some computers.
"No big deal" you may say,
"Since their influence steered things
toward the right way"

"They just didn't respect us,
that's why the attack.
So I place all the blame
on the Dems and Barack"

"So we'll get nice and cozy,
Vladimir and me,
since there is just so much
upon which we agree"

"We want to be strongmen
who'll shape history
and we're both such examples
of virility"

"And we'll handle the media
through fear and attack
to ensure truth and balance
shall never come back"

"Admiration and power
is what we adore,
it's the one greatest cause
that we truly live for"

So, Mr. Trump...

When you're there in the Oval
and Europe's alarmed
'cause in Prague and in Warsaw.
the Russians, well armed,

have crossed o'er the borders
and come to reclaim
their former domininons,
then who will you blame?

So why this great bromance?
What's your motivation?
Why would you align
with Vlad and his nation?

Could it be business ties?
Or maybe high debt?
Or maybe dark secrets
you wish they'd forget?

I do not want to think
that it could be such things
but the Russians sure look
like they're pulling your strings.

Death descends like the statement of a credit card;
life goes on in eight columns, sometimes six,
dropping out should have been an option, instead my
world is turning pages while I am just sitting here
listening to atrophy whisper through a megaphone:
“It’s better to fade away than to burn out, let
champagne supper turn to bile by breakfast, bark up a
fake plastic lemon tree till she hurls pomo grenades at you.”
The streetlife serenade is recklessly tempting,
in the club the girls in ***** shirts come and go,
talking of Felu, Neru, Derri… da, what inertia!
Sitting in a club with so many fools(,) playing to rules,
Hell is a blank generation with no vacancy,
I’m doubting Thom: meeting people isn’t easy,
Them clones in rubber souls from fab India
try to impale me right next to the paintbox,
In she walks, head going nowhere close to the oven,
eyes me like a Pisces riding shotgun on a WAG,
says growing older in the rain ought not be done all alone.
Bring on the moonshine, dancing days are here again!
Happiness was Scotch Mist, now it’s suddenly a goal,
It’s past AM on a holiday, do I wanna know if this
isn’t, like always, just un-certain platonish bromance?
Or will she journey with me till the end of the night?
Optimism is fleeting, afraid to commit, tends to elope,
Pray that she lingers long enough: I need a feel-good poem.
There’s a restaurant at the end of the universe,
I’ve heard the well-done steak they serve is actually rare
but their awesomesauce can make us live forever,
we can make it there in time if we slide away right now,
and if in the morning we don’t know what to do,
I’ll toast the bread, I’ll make the bed, she can make my day.

Anywhere in time and space, where do you wanna start.
Saving people, hunting things, the family business.
High functioning Sociopath.
You're a wizard Harry.
Divergents must die.
New Directions won nationals.
This is what happens in fandoms.


The feels
The crying
The laughing
The dying
The OTPs
The NOTPs
The romance
The bromance
This is what happens in fandoms.

The Tardis
The Impala
The scarf
The trench coats
The wands
The factions
The singing
The dancing
This is what happens in fandoms.

Your OTPs aren't safe.
No one is safe.
Don't try to run.
Don't try to hide.
Once you are in
There is no getting out.
Save yourself.
Save your sanity.
This is what happens in fandoms.

I'm here today to talk about love and all its wonders
so take a seat kiddies
Let's see...where to begin
Well theres that just got your drivers license, so your parents bought you a whip,
And even though it's a ******* you get the "I Love this car!" Love
And there's definitely a few of those 3 for 1 at echo Love
Men be men admit it...ya thats right, bromance guy Love
Or that "so happy I could cry" Love
That's the right Love the girls in white Love
Followed by that trip to hawii and the summer sun Love
And we all Love to have fun Love
Or how kids Love to run Love
There's the "I gotta go back to school but we'll always have the lake" Love
And everyone Loves to like on facebook Love
And there's Live, Love, Laugh  Love
Or how about that first hot day in spring Love
Girls you know you Love that Love
And us guys Love that you Love that Love
Cause we got that Love for the Lovelies that you wear Love
And we Love that you let down your hair Love
Theres friend Love and Lovers Love
And new Lovers Love
You know... that Love that you Love the same Love they Love, Love
But my favorite Love of all
Is the Love I have for ya'll
That's the Love that I Love to Love

and i'm watching this couple, this: bromance...
  and i'm wondering when the time
comes that the other tells
the former: you can't talk
physics wearing a cowboy hat,
wasn't the 20th century the time
they lost habitual need to cover their heads?
monks shaving, the kippah...
indians and the Martian act of scalping,
my donning a beard and fiddling
with it like payots / sidelocks...
can this... cowboy talk seriously to me
about what is and what isn't a stance
on pragmatism?
      let's just say, that being attired
with so many scientific facts, moon lading
and all that, i'd be most perfectly sound
in stating such facts, such attire,
without looking, rather ridiculous...
   it's nice that someone can go to the moon,
and in having this susbjecitivty enclosed in them,
and how that won't translate into something
i might share... how i will never experience
someone else's subjectivity, and how that is
the sole basis for having objective opinions...
but you have to admit that donning a cowboy
hat is more ridiculous than putting on a sock
or a shoe...
                       and then talking
looking like that genius gremlin...
    men age, they enforce being boring,
they're too nostalgic, they love to re- re-
  a care for st. pete... hey! pedro! what do women do?
they're just become weird...
   like that wasn't the case to begin with...
love is... whether expressed by a pensioner
or a teen... a bit... mmm... whatever.
          it just gives me the idea of being
a host of gnats when people have to dress themselves
with these "serious" facts... and then they later
talk donning cowboy hats and boots...
  who's the serious monkey to be given
a radio show? who the serious bobo?
          even i know, given the phonos,
that dżin is an orthographic transgression...
        dzin would suffice...
yes, you've been to the moon, that's nice...
this is where you deviate from telling other
people to keep it to themselves...
              i'd prefer to hear more about the brothers
Grimm sound asleep, than hear of american astronauts...
but yeah, thanks for the invite,
      so few people care or want to be astronauts,
the emeritus americans and the emeritus russias
ego-tripping is so, so, so so boring...
       and i'm sorta in the custard of it taking place...
ethnicity and abstract identities of succumbing to
nationhood... cut it open... dżin... it's also called
the fake graphemes of sh and sz and dz ch and cz...
those are graphemes...
            there's a reason you don't **** around
invoking too much distinction in the realm of grapheme...
they really could have just said: dzin....
or jinn... or aladin drinking gin.
    sure, they call them aesthetic bits and bobs,
when in fact they are nor aesthetic in a + way,
they're chiral, hardly natural,
gin             jinn              joke                              egg...
   gaug                                    chase,
      glee jeer... game, jam, gammon,
     jammy... gaming... the near proximity!
they're so close!
           - i sniff... (snout noises)... an existence of a graphame...
     if one was to listen to humans talking,
one could clearly see they are bound to cheat...
they have too many symbols for the sounds they make...
and for the deviations in making sounds
they ******* chiral twins of the same sound...
and then sometimes deviate from it...
ensuring that Latin graphemes, those linguistic siamese
rule the river of diacritical mark,
suffocating them, until the river becomes an
artificial lake...
            when diacritical marks was given to
the "deuteronomy", (e) missed in the original...
sometimes spelling mistakes can reveal much more
than the words themselves...
          the 2nd e... for the te-,
t-ah, tao...
                 i can feel winter ending,
i can feel the loss of limbo, fatigue,
               or what comes as spring, namely insomnia,
increased productivity,
but such that diacritical marks were the heavenly
based descents to mark distinct syllables,
  like hailed original use of pucntuation marks,
but more within every word, than among words
in sentences...
   i could just as well call for a genocide of linguists...
i just don't see why they need to
complicate the matters with some wacky
anti-copernican alphabet
akin to writing hope, (consciousness),
[hohp] (american, spaghetti, nasal
akin to echo: oompf! ergo subconscious:
insinuation, panicky, puppets and the empire),
/həʊp/ (british, origin, ergo unconscious) -
why do we need this linguistic alphabet?
you can reach a perfect argument
using the same language, with one
that has adopted the use of diacritical marks
akin to punctuation marks...
and have the only avaliable canvas that
english is... there really should be a russian
counterpart of me dealing with how the greeks
are so paranoid in over-using diacritical marks,
like me, but speaking russian and looking at greek
and nodding, insinuating the word
on a broken record: aha, aha, aha.
it would be nice to talk about people,
but then i graduated from the optometric school
of having to look at migrating electrons in
organic chemistry... i think i'm relaxed these days...
so outside the failed translation gimmick
of chemistry, mainly german, mainly
hyphen orientated CH3-CH2-OH (alcohol, numbers in
subscript) - ****... looking at that "fingerprint",
why is my vision of the world so pink?
you try to teach the anglo-saxons that they're saxons
again, and not orientated around building an empire,
imagine teaching them the proper way to be
saxon, that, some words, like german,
desire, complexpunctuationstandards.
there you go, a real life example, let's see you cut that
word open and extract a heart,
  and a lecture on having a heart,
    let's wait for Frankenstein's monster to groan
into the vacuum, and the no actual vacuum,
but merely the night.
- yes, a hyphen at a beginning of a sentence plateau
almost means a stance to take to paragraph;
even though it shouldn't exist, as a p.s.,
***** into existence by, nothing more than a bias
to endorse whims, cravats, Monet,
and tantrum fits of little girls that dreamed
of being princesses... but instead became ******;
yes, those working parts of you
                           that are quiet, edible.
to write, and see, rather than write, and hear;
that sentence will not actually require
the existential ambiguity of the zoo,
of the enclosure of "     "...
                    i look at existentialists as i might look
at zoologists... prison guards...
      pontius pilates.

I.
I lean my head on your shoulder after reading
one too many sentences from my history book
and it tickles the back of your neck and you laugh
which I love to hear and you don't
move away so I'm hopeful that maybe you like
the way my head feels on your shoulder or
the way it tickles or the smell of my peppermint gum
that reaches your nostrils because of our closeness
or the fact that I chose you over the table in the purple room
to rest my head on.

II.
I ask you to dump out the bucket of dingy mop water
because it's too heavy and the storage room is small
but not too small for two that want to be close
and you almost don't want to but I give you a smile
with hints of seductivity so sweet that you can't resist
so you agree with just the traveling of my fingertips
across your chest and the unmistakable look in my eye
and we are comfortably cramped in this broom cupboard
but we hear keys so we keep closing.

III.
I walk out into the parking lot and the initial breeze cools
my sweat-kissed skin fresh from cleaning and I look
for your car and you smile with your adorable dimples
from behind your dashboard and I get excited
because there was tension we both felt but
once our manager drives away we can be alone
and you can prove you could win in a fight
that we know will lead to something else.

IV.
I walk up to your window
and your bromance enveloped best friend
is burning your hookah in the passenger seat
and at first I contemplate just returning the name tag
you let me steal and driving down Harvard to go home
but I'm hesitant because the promise of something
of anything is better than nothing so I ask to sit next to you
because the breeze is biting more now.

V.
I start to pick up hints after listening to talks
of football and strategies for fifteen minutes
and that certain promise becomes more like a facade
but I wait for you to tell him you're gonna get going
but instead you whisper that to me
and ask if he wants to go get food
as I'm getting up from the seat
so I ask for a hug as I'm leaving
and you ask if you can let go now
and I get it.

VI.
I hand you back your name tag
and you tell me to get home safe
and I don't even bother to sigh or look back
because I already hear your car running.

*February 13, 2014 2:39:47 PM

i had a kind face, and the kind of smile
only a brother could love
and read beyond the teeth,
biting back bitter amusements
of a broken, brooding boy

you were mine; not in blood but in love,
and we were too small and too young
with too much and not enough
of everything.

brother.
“brother”
bromance.
the lie of the year,
and we had many.

i had chronic denial and you had chronic rejection.
if we said we saw ourselves as siblings,
it would all go away.
my brother from another mother
not a brother at all, but a lie
the hidden gay.

i had a kind face, but you were kind
and i wanted to be that
for you, a light against the shadowy history
the trajectory from ruin to wholeheartedness

you were already wholehearted,
and wholeheartedly in.
brother, i ruined you by calling you brother
with my fear of our friendship: the trajectory from friends to more

now everything between us is gone
and it still feels rather sore
even though i don’t love you anymore

I Think I'm falling upside down
into the chains of bromance

We're not gay, but I have to something say
You fill the hole in me in a pure way.
Believe you me, when the sun goes away
Or we have our bluest skies together
With splashes of sunshine and wisps of haze
As some entree for the starlight flavour,
Even when one of us fades off the Earth
And decays like old memories, you'll say
Something stupid and I'll have to traverse
Across the universe to call you gay.

here in the little wee hours
on the night so cold
my toes ache
i sit pondering
life and such
by the light
of fire and tablet

wrapped in blanket
threaded with memories
i think nonsense and ingenuity
and watch cinders fly

on the hearth the dog and cat slumber
wrapped around each other pretzel-like
defying with casual snores,
both physics and laws of natural enmity.
there is an ease to their bromance
that both confounds and humours me

behind me spreading on the couch
like slow(very slow) moving lava is
the surf god, encased in flannel and ugg
he gargles breathe like an old Harley
soon I will escort him to bed and leave
him to the embrace of his new lover
Madame Cpap...and they can share
a night of slumber in a wind tunnel
then in the morning , he is mine once more

the golden boy sleeps elsewhere tonight
having come into the season of sleepovers
he resides in a tent,  in a bedroom
half a suburb away ,oblivious to
the sound of stretching apron strings
he too shall return to me tomorrow
older and with new cultural references
to share with his increasingly
dim witted parents

for now, in the wee hours
i stare at the cinders
and see the old man as younger
and the boy as babe
as my toes ache
and my eyes leak
just a tad....

77 years ago, I was born into
this world having but one
sibling, a brother three years
my senior and perhaps not
all that happy to greet me.

As sometimes happens, for
most of our parallel lives
resentment and derision
seemed to rule our relationship.
We appeared to have nothing
in common but say for decent,
loving parents and place of mutual
residence. Arguing, fighting the
norm of our shared existence.

Not an uncommon state of affairs
in many families for all the normal
sibling rivalry psychological reasons.

As we have aged and matured it
is only in the last few years that
most pleasantly, we've discovered
how truly much alike we are and
how much we always had in common.
That we are brothers in every sense
of the word. Spending hours each
week on the phone and computer
gleefully unearthing and exploring
those many similarities and memories.

Finally living an actual for real Bromance,
a long time in the making. And most
assuredly rewarding.

The road was winding it was something it never had
Love like a pedestrian came across telling me to leave fads and clads of Harlem Renaissance
Clutches of the evening cars were watching the scenery like the emollient evening sanctity
Clasps of the automobiles catching the stars too lost to fall from the cliff of subliminal fantasy
Gladly, I'm clapping forward untoward tomorrow is today
The story never ends, as long as it has a road and changes like flat tires like fickle women
Bouldered on the broken arrows of Cupid's quiver, stealing a glance across her shoulder
Changing the tears into wine, changing gears from behind such is the work of backstreet bromance
Street romance is full of plastic love, polluting the heart and the road too
The road was killing me and you, like a Scotsman in his kilt singing from hailing hills elegies
Snowstorms  and memories of lonesomeness grow cold when love brings the luminous light to the numinous ones
I wake up after all these dreams are put to a conclusion with drugs
Dinner sleep comes after afternoon, noon lies with the dawn
Drugs dawn on me, and it's already dinner
I've slept in the anarchy and chaos, afraid of my own thoughts
Sleep comes like a pacing sea, which you can hear in the darling darkness
Puerile cries, mewling, and puking follows life, or it can
I'm unsure and that makes me confused with sickness

the way i see it, Islam is in an existential crisis, the sooner we get through this 2nd schism of Islam the better: since being exposed to western secular traditions and antiquated Marxist cognitive dissonance the better, this Islam teasing at both Marxism and fascism... this modern Islam ***** without any Sufi integrity... how does Islam even function by ostracising the Shia branch? my guess: like western seculars ostracising Russians... Christ's passion is who's subsequent lament? there's no room for apathy here: not direct antonym - because reincarnation is impossible in monotheism, therefore? oh: what could i be possibly insinuating, hmm? i went through my lamentation: and how glorious it was, yet impossible to be reminiscent concerning (it): having met the antonym of Xanthippe... who has allowed me to become... a play on masculinity is that which does, while women are: beings, men are the doings... yet there is this transitional grey area of: becoming... i am becoming; in Edie's own words - once finding: giving love and being loved... in my own words: since we can give closure to half of the war waged we can focus on the other war: that we have to battle mortality... but how easy was it to so easily write about it with hindsight... my god: was it worth all the trials and tribulations... i will posit that my lamentation was as glorious as that passion on the cross... if people will want to dangle an instrument of torture around their necks: i'd recommend dangling iron maidens. also (of due note, nota bene, appropriately) - does anyone not think that Islam is in a crisis? NOT... heresy heresy blah blah blah... so who wrote the Quran? last time i heard Muhammad (ha ha... funny knowing two tongues... mucha... fly... mad... mad fly Muhammad, frenzied Beelzebub) was illiterate, so who wrote those **** words and why do they spiral out into nuggets, haiku sized verses at the end? my guess is that Muhammad's first wife, Khadijah **** Khuwaylid wrote the **** book, the dutiful wife senior to ol' Mo... drown in the empathy of the orphan? my own father was "technically" an orphan... more or less abandoned by his mother and father, although with a father-orbiter... messy stuff this glue we call family: easier to dangle individualism on a stick of otherwise perpetual conformity to adhesion toward a "something or other" that is civilisation: to ensure that our ontology does not revert to the supposedly pre-history pre-civilisation of that Edenic glorified working appendix: i dare you talk to someone clued in on biology as nutrition and how we "evolved" to not have the biological capacity to digest plant foods for their fat etc. - those adhering to a carnivore diet - no one can be stupid enough to not think that poor Muslims don't see the degeneracy in the United Arab Emirates, Qatar or Saudi Arabia and think... where is talk of the "ummah" and Afghanistan and Palestine? i know of the "arguments" when it came to Poland and the migrant crisis circa 2016... all those ******* glorious instances of multicultural injections of "progress": but who the **** took the majority of the displaced Ukrainians? Poland did... not diverse enough? too, ******* white? if i can ask a question: rhetorically, can i hear an echo of the same question: dialectically? it's like that analogy of the tree falling in the forest: if no one hears it falling: does it actually make a sound? i'll ask a question rhetorically: in good faith... will i hear the same question (or thereabouts), dialectically?

my new favourite word, coming all the way
from a mouth in Malasia... no: Malaysia -
i should (maybe?) have known it,
but no: i didn't... until now...

etymology and the extinction of languages:
soft machines - computers and the inner
dynamic: unlike hard machines
those associated with hammers and cars...

i made the mistake of drinking three coffees
in the morning,
to **** off the buzz and nausea
i had to resort to a downer: a 8.2% strong
cider: which, unlike the alcoholic's
go to with 9% strong Carlsberg
is rather refreshing: since that low alcohol
sickly sweetness is lost
whereby a cider becomes a better alternative
to wine...

Christianity: i have no problem with it
surviving: as long as it is a religion
of women: for women...
Christianity doesn't appeal to my masculinity,
Christianity is not a religion for men...
i'll be frank: the best lovers are Christian
women...
i am not a Christian man...
i can parody Christianity with my ******
catholicism: which, like Irish catholicism
is an ethnocentric gimmick for...

heathenism, mingling with Judaic occultism...
i problem solve with a demand
for pareidolia... now i will have to use Greek
(and i blame the Greeks for this,
"blame"...
i'm more inclined to the heathen philosophy
the ancient children of Greece
that conjured up atoms without microscopes)....

παρειδoλια

    ah... that word i was referencing:

πετριχoρ -

              petrichor: the smell of rain...
from stone the golden fluid that was mythologically
the "blood" of the gods...
sunshine up my ***...
        i only "love" god out of fear...
i couldn't possibly fear him out of love...
sometimes i get these glimmers of hope
for the destruction of my ego:
i already know it's a nuisance and unreal:
the ego...
just as much as i known that
our consciousness is born out of memory
yet our memory is a faulty faculty since
we don't remember everything
and what we "choose" to remember
is a bit like...

the veneer of civilization, yet this constant
bubbling of Darwinistic principles...
we pretend to be civilised
yet when the ontological buildings blocks
of 1 + 1 = 2 come into play... hmm...

maybe because Reyla is not my child...
that i don't feel my testosterone levels being somehow
diminished...
for the past few days i've been calling up
Edie and checking on her...
poor girl hottie Aztec chickety is down with
the flu and flutes of sneezing and
baritone brass of coughing
but still: in sickness and in health till death
do us part...
i've become OCD "clever" all huffing and
disorientated with: i need to be there...
physical barriers... transcended...

   a seemingly infamous concoction
of a raw egg yolk generously beaten together with
a teaspoon of honey...
milk with a tablespoon of butter heated...
the warmed milk and butter
poured over the yolk and honey: cured...
thus drank...
     some people break into sweats... others don't...
but who, ill enough... is getting enough
calories to battle a virus?
whatever the "magic" of this concoction...
day two of me trying to make her return
to her former self... well...
maybe it's just lining her throat...

mirrors... mirrors on ceilings...
mirrors on floors... mirrors mirrors...
mmm           mirrors in woods mirrors in the sky
mirrors in water...
              a mirror for a mermaid
a mirror for a minotaur...
                a mirror for a mirror for an eye...
by that i'm implying:
how far can i make the private public
or rather: how best can i disguise the private
with the public...
i'll say no more...
so instead maybe i should "talk" about
my bromance with an ex-police officer went
off on such an assured footing...
why he quit the police force?

PTSD... he still visualises the scent of two rotting
corpses he found hanging in a room...
he visualises the scent
of rotting flesh that was dangling for circa 6 months...
now that i discovered the word
petrichor i can fuse search engines
and A.I. steroid and...

        hey presto: σύν- + -αἴσθησις = συνεσθησια...
as i've learned...
the diacritical marks in Greek are variations
of meaning: ask a Greek about Greek
and he'll tell you that there are at least
4 gradations of the language...
i didn't get a classical education:
    philology:            or rather: it's something ongoing...
and to think...
i do have a historical artifact from the 1960s...
England: how rotten pedagogy has become:
the first sign of a culture in decline
is always brought back to pedagogic demands /
standards...
back in the 1960s Latin was still actively taught!
shame...

  quis es: quo vadis?
who are you: where are you going?
   ha ha: clarity: A.I. is equivalent to search engines
on steroids: more like customised,
personalised search engines...

- me: how do you say: who are you? in Latin,
  Google, as a search engine is being terribly
  inconsistent.
- chatGPT: in Latin, "who are you?" can be translated
   as "quis es?"
- me: so not: quis es tu?
- chatGPT: both "quis es?" and "quis es tu?" are
  grammatically correct in Latin and convey the same
  meaning, "who are you?". the inclusion of "tu"
  (meaning "you") adds emphasis but is not necessary
  for clarity. both forms are commonly used in Latin
  literature and conversation.

well well... and it's not like Polish isn't
an imitation of Latin, grammatically speaking:
of note: you can obliterate the use of
pronouns in a conversation: completely...
just like in ancient Latin...
i never understood this Hebrew pride on continuity
citing that Latin is somehow dead:
no... Latin is still alive: it just mutated...
it's alive: grammatically in Poland
and... well... in script pretty much everywhere
else in the world... in computers...
in preserving Greek ideas...     still ticking:
tick tock tick tock...
                                   oh but i understand the Hebrew
pride... i've even succumbed to Kabbalism...
but obviously Judaism being an exclusive
club: i would never actually become a proselyte:
i was handed the ****** hand of
catholicism and that's that...

              i'm not going to be another Barry from
the Four Lions...
that film has aged so so well...
about as well as: As Good As It Gets...
some memorable lines by Barry:

Barry : *******, I'm a liability! I am the Invisible Jihadi!
They seek him here, they seek him there, but here's not there,
he's blowing up your **** sister!
Omar : Invisible? Right. Like the time you got
on the local news for baking a Twin Towers cake
and leaving it at the synagogue on 9/11?
Barry : That is part of the plan! Hide in plain sight, you mug!
   (credit to chris morris, sam bain and jesse armstrong)

such oddity... destroying the ego by talking
silently before going to sleep...
who in their right mind would think that
the ego resides in the brain?
i speak by an extension of me thinking
therefore the ego resides in the mouth...
the audibility of soul: is that what we call
the "audibility" of thought?
my brain is my eyes...
              no: my brain are not my eyes...
i was just wondering for a tick
               my brain are my eyes?  no...
my eyes are my brain...
                        i can do away with all that 20th century
Jungian Freudian schematisation of man
boiling the secular trinity of
ego (consciousness)
   superego (subconscious) and the id (unconscious)...
i'll just **** it... it's a nuisance to begin with:
how much of my ego i need to filter out
is staggering... i swear it's a hindrance on
consciousness... feeding that yap-yap-yap
not-I of Samuel Beckett...
                                     people can talk about
viruses and biology all they want...
but what of the cognitive viruses: bad ideas...
like the preservation of Marxism
                             and its marriage to radical Islam?

Friendship Epitomized
Friends Eternal
Ballad Born
Bakshi and Burman
Duet by Dey
Kishore in the fray
Nib and Number
Single on Vinyl
Jaidev and Veeru
Reel Names
Amith and Dharam
Real Names
Acting during Shooting
Convey Male Bonding
Bike a Bullet
Sidecar and Harmonica
Motifs memorable
Dharam and Amith adorable
Shrine the throttle
MYB 3047
Number to remember
Sanctum of Endearment
Projected on Projector
Song a rollercoaster
Riding on the Highway
Changing riders Midway
Soulful lyrics
Reflect Soul
Rider and Pillion
Are but one
Camaraderie reality
Translates beautifully
Sizzling Chemistry
Status immortality
Bromance on Wheels
Amitabh and Dharmendra
Names mentioned together
Body and shadow
Amigo and alter ego
Billion hearts
Recite by - heart
Every word and note
***** and Whistle
Interlude exotic
Audience Ballistic
Depiction realistic
Symbol of friendship
Till today remain
For every Indian
Yearning the same
Lucky we are to
Live in the Era
Of Amitabh and Dharmendra
On or off Camera
Live by example
Loved by all
Integrity of intimacy
In thoughts and memories
Made the song become
India's Second  Anthem

the UMRAH: not the HAJJ... squeeze some melons for the Muslims of Pakistan: wonder upon wonder: so anti-climatic when people move up in hierarchies, while i'm still stuck talking about the disparity of quest: between the UMRAH and the HAJJ. i'd love to see Rome, having seen Venice...

and a girl who loves stones
  and such big ***
but beside the big *** and watermelon ****
i guess that if i stop ******* her
i'll get to talk to her and that's like BARCELONA
      HIM HI HI HIM HIM anti-dementia...

i don't man: i'm getting bummed out
completely bummed out
by the focus on me this great yawning
void on the train
just managed to play the commuter
chess right
and sat down after standing up for
12h
and this guy
this ginger blonde 70 year old
drunk or pretending started talking politics
and religion
and he said
i had better chances of being
a priest than a politician
and then he uttered those words: pointing
at others on the carriage:
then to me:
you're a "good man"...

am i, a man?
i feel in this ******* revolution
i'm a mind in a jar
and an ego of a pickle
in *****
i feel unsafe talking my mind
in England
i'd feel less paranoid in China
and Russia
talking about nothing
and God respectively

i am actually scarred, mentally:
i feel unsafe with the BIG ****
BRIGADE
desecrating the Rainbow:
i've seen a rainbow arch above
a soft prison in Kauai
when i was leaving her
to then be reunited with her...

watched some French **** today
and...
well also took a **** and ****
simultaneously
then had a baptism
in the shower
the plumber ****** up the veins
of the hydro channels
a2 aq
aqua

bromance...
Qais
he sneezed and i said bless
you then he replied
with: thank you
i had another Pakistani
in the classroom
who stunted the universe
and the classroom
when upon sneezing
his ISLAM was STRONG
upon sneezing
BLESS YOU
no reply...

  the ISLAM is STRONG with this ONE
a Muhammad Salmaan Khan...
one ****- to another -stani
i don't get it

then my "manager" got my cognitive
wrong
i had a flick-switch
innuendo:

i abhor:
people glad with life
what did the devil say:
T.S. Elliott: juvenile Sylvia
Plath but not the former...
reading poetry depresses me
i get into this melancholic mood
like a member of
my family is drool and doom
O
roll!
rolling O: oooooooooo

i have no time for a typewriter
and being an all female
cast of cinematic casters...
no sugar, baby, no sugar,
i just thought about the trinity
of kissing you while
also ******* you

i felt bummed out about not working
a Pearl Jam shift
and the whole traffic cone
work hierarchy dynamic
became an inflated
Collective-Ego courier Da-Sein postage stamp
: stamped:

the work dynamic i asked
if Lisa was there
but instead Quebec Romeo
and Quebec Yankee:
were there:
but over the radio no Quebec Sue and
Bravo: Gravitas: blue:
zone:
              muddle in my brain:
hence enforcing the cryptic:

   YHWH cf. not vs. LLH

    A E                         A A

and little serpent: a - little - serpent

but i just spent £40 on a Green Day t-shirt
i was not supposed to be
the man listening
to the commuter drunk Dutch:
a male primary school teacher
met his wife
in Glastonbury
festival
have a picture
of the girl's friend taking a photograph
before he walked up and
chatted her up
the Q: uestioner:
math prodigy:
a data analyst
currently unemployed
looking to become an AIRPLANE PILOT
where has my middle leg
of the dream-moth
of middle class in England gone to?

cordon 11:
alley of the Zig Zag
i hate working Wembley
externally:
air of Nepotism
i'd feel safer in China and Russia
right now...
the dogs are barking
and the birds are safe
from all the serpents they once
were: dodo: transition ERASING
TRANSISTOR
UNIT
process: like electricity:

insomnia bound daydreaming
of the purpose of night
to sleep

let me just catch the rhythm
again: no classical no flutes
air benders
just music working around a heart-beat...

taxidermy - oh wow! the correct
spelling: but what was the incorrect spelling?
daxidermi_                    maybe...

habibi UNK'L GANDU
i just want peace
i just want peace
but i know there will be a great upheaval
in that Classical Liberal Leftism
has failed
and it's so miserable to watch
a second
best hide the vowels?

nd t's msrbl wtch... that: took concentration
can speed up the process
in Hebrew among the gods
given that people
speak more two animals
than they do
to their own imaginings:
but were the gods ever so denegrated
desecrated in the Temple of Dyslexia
and girls learning to speak Arabic
but not understanding Arabic

i've only watched 2 matches from the Euros...
maybe i can get the athletes on my side:
project: hip: anti-hippy
i am sad because i bought a Green Day
t-shirt
i was supposed to buy a Pearl Jam
t-shirt for Martin, St. sort of cucumber
and amnesia
like all *** is gone
and there is only conversation:
how we lusted:
wasted:
wanted: waged wars
WARC and WARX
these crucifix incursions:

and look where that left us:
          
   BUT DO YOU N'TAKE
INSTRUCTIONS:
it's a ****** job i told the three black
youths:
i'm not rummaging: yes i am:
a sketch pad...
but i couldn't just:

help me out: dark cloud...

        some powerful with mind
in bed
better than sunshine and surf
and tongue on the glee tempting sea
all rot in sun and skin
performance ******...
  like people junkies esp young girls
i just don't under-
-stand
why get druggie with little peeps
but somehow discourage Reyla
from the bloom...

                        got bummed for buying
the Green Day t-shirt...
i don't even like then
but it had the dates of touring
and i was working
that terrible Green blacker
than the greenest courget
and i was talking to this West African
and about slavery
and island vs city life
and the unavailability of reference
cursors:
with people left behind:
scared of the world:
and STASIS and TIME

           and like i came over when i was 8
year old and
didn't know a tooth from tongue
in terms of speech:
ridiculed for P'UH M'AH
instead of PYOO M'AH...
and that still rubs when someone's
a no one telling you their yours of
the usage of tongue:

that: sends me: SKYROCKETING
that **** makes me summon DEMONS!
then i want as much
carnage in the world
to counteract the Buddhist perfection:
of concerning oneself
with the Oceans
Mountains
Deserts....

            forests and plateaus...
the wheat that is...
         are not my concern: a concern for the people:

Lyndon: you got the timing wrong!
i was about to take down
those rucksacks
when you weren't supposed to:
do a walk around...

    i just wanted to amass at least three
so that people would get "the idea":

prophets of June:
Qais reminded me
something i forgot:

Judaism is a religion of cosmopolitans
probably high achieving couples,
Christianity a religion of females
Islam a religion of males
Atheism and Buddhism
a religion of Eunuchs

i don't like what i write
i don't like what sometimes passes
through me: but like digestion
until improved the improvised
lactose intolerant
then...                        mmm'heh'heh...

       ­      to the echo of demons
gearing up for war...
              only war will salvage me
in the hyper-conscious realization
that life:
is:

                                       SPECIAL:
spatial: spazz:            

                                          **
­
leverage the time-spatial
and the space-temporal...

              as a coin flicker on the kicked
by thumb to flick and late fate:
decide: no rigid dualism:

just rigid, random: chance: fate
an unwilling: luck.

would have never thought that the gods became: also, so bored: with the intelligence of human life, that they would resort to being the Lesser Privy: and settle for gambling: so bored thus current upsurge of Psy Hack Understudy like the deviation from breeding Lawyers: this the breeding ground for Poetic Anti Journalistic Efforts...
           could it please be reminded:
not to look at me so weirdly:
when i'm at work
because i do my work elsewhere
and no manner or matter or hierarchy will
ever, disrupt: my origins of CONCERN:
which, unlike Heidegger: i mumble
because: covertly:

        NOT, CONTEMPT:
CONCERN:
        that's the whereabouts:
whoever thought Heidegger was X...
here's my: ******* nein nein nein
ADOLF ****** HEIDEGGER
SEIG HEIL!
i wil not live, under, the pressures,
of a, pseudo-democratic: GAY: FEAR!
PRIDE: up your ***...
and your *** alone...

               I WILL LIVE IN PEACE
AND QUIET
UNDER GOD AND NOTHING

i will live in peace in China
and in Russia
but i: will not!
live with peace in my heart!
in the western world-culture: ETC!
i have had...

                         ...enough.

it's not a fun thought to have
fun to die with
but not to fall asleep with

read some TS Eliot
didn't think him American
took the Ezra
pounding

so...
to compensate your age difference:
i am:
Reyla's Grandfather
if by age disparity you
are my Mother:

i am Reyla's grandfather
sort of Jesus no God
Premature in :ooks of aging...

i get funny looks at work
i get funny looks at work...

i'll scribble for you to get the jist
i'm psychiatrist
i am
talked for hours on end
with Qais
about the difference between
the Hajj and the shortened
version: the Ummah....
the 7x wandering around the Kabah
and seven times reading
of the Quran....
two asian girls on the train
one rubbing her hair into my naked skin
one rubbing her hair into my naked skin....

i'mk riding a rift of a Bromance:
i'm having my Lawrence Digital Arabia
Sands like Silicone...
Ahmed the Somali
Qais the Pakistani
Hamas the UNCLE
ha ha: Saudi Blah Blah
Gandu
Uzair the ****-
-stani...
goggle eyes my god so short sightened
cake fake of eagle: too!

so we talked desert in concrete
jungles:
mooch mooch much later
smooch of talking tickle
of talking mushroom godheads of crows
and magpies
like the positive cancer
of cognitive growth of a Scotch cancer:

Qais: humus was listening: fidgeting...
the drunk on the drain just sat down
and called me a priest
not a politician
a priest
i am a priest
i was giving confession on a train
and everyone seem bewildered
by a painting of a pointing finger...
weird...

i am Reyla's grandfather:
grandma...
mummy bear honey bear i ****
you like a teenage girl
i ******* like a teenage girl
baby
my 56 year old whale; blubber
mother: *** so dearest:
i'm implosion:
correct grammar:
i implode:
i'd implosive: a double-be

i love your dearest,
i love you
i love you
i love
you