The heat of the tequila sunrise
On the seashore of Cape Creus
Melts flaccid pocket watches,
Soft as overripe cheese;
The dreamscape's permanence dissolves
Before distant amber cliffs;
On sweet, rotting flesh termites sup;
A time fly lands.
The monstrous fleshy mutation
Across the seascape draped -
Deformed, distorted,
Disfigured with decay;
Centipede shades lash alien flesh
And sluggish tongue oozes
From the snout of the surreal
Self-spectre of Salvador's craft;
Persistence of Memory.

I'm a very cheesy fella
and i love a tasty platter
from stretchy mozzarella
through to cubes of feta

i like them very old
like Camembert and brie
i wait until they turn to mold
to be inside of me

i like them very smelly
crumbly soft or squeaking
at the supermarket deli
my lips already licking

then tasting can begin
with a few red wines
which release my cheesy grin
and cheesy pick up lines

I once knew a lass called Louise
Who had a penchant for smelly cheese
She got camembert
Stuck in her hair
And said 'that'll be good for the fleas!'

Prince Simon, Prince Jason and Princess Sophie lived a regal life.

Slaying dragons and battling witches by day, monsters and zombies by night.

Each day brought adventures new, trips on boats and to the zoo.

One particular day when feeling bored, Prince Simon decided to explore.

Down to the basement, he slowly sneaked, quietly to take a peek.  New adventures he did seek.

A rickety old wardrobe he did find and suddenly an adventure sprang to mind.

Running as fast as his legs would go, bellowing with his lungs as hard as they would allow.

"Prince Jason, Princess Sophie please come soon, I have a rocket to take us to the Moon". "Roll up, roll up tickets please, pull your dress right in Princess Sophie it's going to be a squeeze".

All three were so excited they could hardly say a sound.

Prince Simon reached around them both and pulled the door shut tight, buckle up fellow explorers you're in for the ride of your life.

The Wardrobe began to rock and shake, the Wardrobe began to lift and quake.

Destination the Moon, hold on tight we'll get there soon

The rocket started rising faster and faster, higher and higher.

All three children were delighted, the rocket ship made them so excited.

Higher and higher, faster and faster, they rose into the sky.

Higher and higher, faster and faster, leaving the earth behind.

Prince Simon, Prince Jason and Princess Sophie, all declared. "I hope we'll get there soon, I can't wait to walk on the Moon"

"Walk on the Moon", let me think Prince Jason declared, "I'm not sure that we can breathe without any air".

"No air," said Sophie that's no good!, "I need air, what about a hood?"
"A hood is a good idea," said Prince Simon "an oxygen tank and heavy shoes too". "Let's search around the Wardrobe and see what we can find".

Together they searched high and low, finding items as they go.

"A hood" shouted Sophie "just what we need at least now we can all breathe".

"Heavy shoes" shouted Jason, "thank goodness for that, now we can go walking, I heard the moons flat".

"An oxygen tank", Simon declared "together with the hood and boots we are fully equipped for our trip, whoop, whoop, whoop!".

The items they came in three sizes, small for Princess Sophie, medium for Prince Jason and large for Prince Simon and quickly they all dressed up, it wouldn't be long now before the wardrobe came to a stop.

The rocket started descending, slowly it did fall and the children curled together on the floor in a tight knit ball.

Once the rocket had landed the children all ascended to their feet,
clearly excited not one of them could speak.

Prince Simon was the eldest and took the superior role, he looked out the window and said I will be the first to go.

Prince Simon conjured up his nerve to open wide the door, stepped outside, turned around with a smile a mile wide and set off to explore.

Thirty seconds later he shouted out to Prince Jason and Princess Sophie to join him by his side, "I have an idea" he said to them both that the moon is made of cheese.

Prince Jason and Princess Sophie laughed so much they began to cough and wheeze.

"Made of cheese" they both declared "you really must be mad", but we must be sure they all said, so let's all set off to explore.

One by one they found a spot and pulled a chunk off in their hands, looking at each other daring to be first, "altogether" Prince Simon shouted with an enthusiastic burst.

"Cheddar" shouted Prince Simon, "Edam" shouted Princess Sophie, "Red Leicester" shouted Prince Jason, they looked at each other in disbelieve.

They could not fathom how they had all got their favourite cheese, so they moved around the moon, trying different spots, leaving behind them crater pots but that did not make them stop.

Half an hour later their tummies were full, having eaten every type of cheese you can name from Brie to Camembert, Wensleydale to Stilton.

Looking back the 3 space cadets could see what they'd done to the moon, "I think" said Prince Simon "we need to return soon to try to mend the moon".

But now it's time to go they all 3 agreed, we've been gone a long time and mummy will be worried.

They climbed into the rocket and took off all the clothes, set their destination to their home a million miles below.

As they approached their home, the roof opened and the rocket landed safely just in time for tea.

The children all stumbled out of the wardrobe and running through the doors found their mummy in the kitchen serving up their tea.

"Where have you been?" mummy asked, "I've been calling you 3, now you're here just in time for your very favourite tea - Macaroni Cheese!"

The children usually would have been delighted now all moaned and grumbled "Mummy" they sighed "we all have belly aches, can we please be denied our tea and just go straight to bed".  

We are sure that by the morning break we will no longer have our belly aches and tomorrow for our tea we would love Macaroni Cheese :)

Oh dearest
And most beloved
Camembert
Thou art created
By the gods, and goddesses
Of cheese
And shoulds't it so please
I woulds't love to indulge
In your **** runnyness
And seductively tempting aromas
Your perfume
So beguiles, and entices me
Thou art far superior
To the humble brie
Like a bumble bee
You add honey to my taste buds
Dearest, and most beloved Camembert
Woulds't thou marry me?
So we would thus be entwined
For all eternity
Your most humble, of humble admirers
You are the one
I most desirest

by Jemia x

Poem 8
A series of very short poems and non poems about the normal things in life

There was a scrunched up bit of paper
It sat in the corner of a room
It was Tuesday

A rhyme about cheeses
Brie, Brie, I love thee
Please won't you get into me
Camembert, Stilton and craft cheese slices
That last one is not the nicest

At 4 o'clock each day, he ran
Except on the days he didn't run
On those days he did different things instead

With a start, he woke
His vision still blurred from his nights sleep
The dawn had broke
At the end of his bed was a figure
As black as coke
Murmuring the words he dreaded
"Wake up, it's time for work!"

A car drove by.
It stopped at the light.
The Lights turned green.
The car turned right.

There's some water on the floor
I should probably mop that up
But doing that's a bore
So I'm just going to leave it

I just picked up a *****
When I rotate it in my hands covering both ends the thread seems to be coming out of my fingers.
But it isn't
And I need to fit this door handle

It's tea time
I was going to make salmon
But I'd don't have any in
So I'll make gammon

The sense of loss
Remorse
He's dead
The end of a long cold winter
His batteries are finally flat
I'll have to call the RAC

Building a wall
Don't let them fall
You need to overlap them all

There was a cat who sat on a mat
In the middle of September
The cat walked lazily from the mat
It was still September

The miracle of growth
From nothing to something
The surprise when you haven't seen them for a while
Then, there they are. Big heads smiling up at you
Then you squeeze the head between your forefinger and thumb and wipe away the **** with a tissue.

On
Off
Colour
White
Up
Down
Light
Dark
Night
Day
"Timmy,­ stop playing with that light switch! You'll blow a fuse!

Hiding in a corner of a darkened room
Eyes covered hoping he can't see me
I hear the footsteps growing closer
A shudder down my spine
Is this excitement or fear?
Then I hear my fathers voice outside
"Coming, ready or not!"

David Cameron goes to the loo
He doesn't suspect a number 2
He ends up with trousers covered in poo

A Christian man and a Muslim woman sat on a train
I question, why do they not speak to each other?
Is this about race?
Colour?
Language?
Religion?
Gender?
Personality?
Coincidenc­e?
And who is at fault?
Who is ignorant? Who is afraid?
The answer is neither.
They were in different carriages.
On different days.
In different parts of the country.
There was no realistic possibility of conversation.

Many people dislike violence
The pained screeching puts many off
But if you're brought up with it from a young age
You can really start to hone your use of violence...
Sorry, stupid autocorrect!! I mean violins!!!

He enters the house
She watches as he walks past without speaking
Just like every day
He does not offer her a cup of tea
He does not offer to cook for her
He doesn't even look her in the eye
She looks down at her food
A meal for one
Again
She is alone
So she tucks the food into her pouch and goes for a spin in the hamster wheel... Wheeeeee!!!

There's a surprise on the way
A bun in her oven
I'm scared it might be mine
She's crap at cooking

What light through yonder window breaks?
Tis the garage light of the neighbour opposite
I hate that c**t

when i'm around you
       i feel the slow   paced    bass   line of the universe moving....

i can hear the galaxies turn
      and the atoms cascade as waterfalls in my mind with your electric fingers tracing my spine.



I am lightning without thunder, but you are not thunder nor the rain.

But a swift wind accompaniment to my silent flashes,

Wrapping the electricity with invisible peace .

*Do you know how beautiful it is to have someone that want to work with you? To take you for all you are and still manage to find the beauty in what you dreamt to be your ugliest scars...

showing beauty in the dark....

( yes, it seems  you too are another good one who knows the value of darkness...it seems many of us who seek this path do these days) *

---


We are
     the shimmer of light that reflects in the deep hollows of flute pipes      
echos around the womb like space of cosmos microcosm .

(I've felt love before , but this....this is not love as i used to know it..

This is a slow boiling , stewing and ripening with age mulled wine with toast and Camembert kinda thing )

----

Did you know coincidentally , your name is in the number 2013
and if i recall correctly ,
13 is the year  i met you in.

It's charming how these clever little signals appear when i'm around you -
contemplating you they emerge , another experience.


........

But in my space , i see the purpose here too -

perspective.

Because when i'm with you , it's pretty much just you.

(and whatever room we happen to be in ) - sometimes other things do appear but they are easy to dissolve.
---


we put definition on the imagination , sharing and the quest.... and that's one of the things i enjoy the most.

Peace x

Wild Dreams Of A New Beginning**

There's a breathless hush on the freeway tonight
Beyond the ledges of concrete
restaurants fall into dreams
with candlelight couples
Lost Alexandria still burns
in a billion lightbulbs
Lives cross lives
idling at stoplights
Beyond the cloverleaf turnoffs
'Souls eat souls in the general emptiness'
A piano concerto comes out a kitchen window
A yogi speaks at Ojai
'It's all taking pace in one mind'
On the lawn among the trees
lovers are listening
for the master to tell them they are one
with the universe
Eyes smell flowers and become them
There's a deathless hush
on the freeway tonight
as a Pacific tidal wave a mile high
sweeps in
Los Angeles breathes its last gas
and sinks into the sea like the Titanic all lights lit
Nine minutes later Willa Cather's Nebraska
sinks with it
The sea comes over in Utah
Mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles
Coyotes are confounded & swim nowhere
An orchestra onstage in Omaha
keeps on playing Handel's Water Music
Horns fill with water
ans bass players float away on their instruments
clutching them like lovers horizontal
Chicago's Loop becomes a rollercoaster
Skyscrapers filled like water glasses
Great Lakes mixed with Buddhist brine
Great Books watered down in Evanston
Milwaukee beer topped with sea foam
Beau Fleuve of Buffalo suddenly become salt
Manhatten Island swept clean in sixteen seconds
buried masts of Amsterdam arise
as the great wave sweeps on Eastward
to wash away over-age Camembert Europe
manhatta steaming in sea-vines
the washed land awakes again to wilderness
the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets
a cry of seabirds high over
in empty eternity
as the Hudson retakes its thickets
and Indians reclaim their canoes

everyone has them
their ***** underwear,
their skeletons in
the closet...
      i too have mine,
well, one in particular...
and it goes like this:

- somerset (not cornish)
           camembert cheese
- a dash of cinnamon
- honey
- butter
- on toasted tandoor
           baked naan bread...

   come on! it's cheese!
it's not exactly a comparison between
a ferrari and a porsche!
it's cheese! cheese!

i don't even know whether to call
it a dessert or a starter...

why am i being pedantic
           about the cheese?
cornish camembert is harder
than its somerset cousin...
   and naan bread?
  you really expect me to like
the putrid dough of an english slice
of toast?!           *******!
they just discovered sour-dough...
i'm not toasting this load of
    pigeon droppings, moulded
into something resembling
a decent slice of chew...

how many times do i have to say this,
i would not eat in a restaurant
where the chef smoked marijuana...
   as i wouldn't trust a skinny chef...
you need palette numbing additives
to explore,
   alcohol for the carousel lottery
of ingredients...
   and a charred tongue from smoking
cigarettes...
   i'm trying to figure out
how french toast came about though...
the recipe was passed down
to me from the film
    kramer vs. kramer...
     i haven't dared to explore the classic
further.

every time i cook,
i think of being an inquisitor of
anorexia...
            last time i heard,
anorexia was like *******...
well... something akin to eating
through your nose...
            imagine an inquisition
of anorexia, far away from spain,
and then, start cooking -
i'll say, that's better on
the imagination than
the christ metaphor of bread
and wine...
            just imagine an anorexic
strapped into a chair
while you start cooking
spaghetti bolognese (e.g.)...
    if i see an iron maiden, i'll tell you...
it'll probably be the chattering
jaw of the anorexic
   telling me in tongues:
            feed the pigs this ****!

I was
presumed missing on
an angry afternoons walk
across an ocean
of bitter pills
that swallowed themselves
in brown bottles
labeled caution
keep away from
me
and I feel
the scream of an angry after-blade scraping
across the glass that
keeps me
in this cell
you listening through
a telephone
grown surgically
from the hand
of providence
longevity
switching tables
when the waiter
wasn’t looking
to eat the camembert
the cream
and all the opportunity
that was supposed to go around
like loaves and fishes
but I only see
an empty pond
and you floating
fat belly
full of everything
except the guts
to come clean
and to even give
a good ******
but you don’t
and now I’m out
and you will
‘cause you’re *******
razor blades
and I understand
because
I would be to
if I were you
but
I’m not
don’t say I am
don’t ever say that
you know
that makes me feel good
when you’re on the floor
like
the ****
I ****
saying
“fark man
you’re free
you’re out
you’re clean”
and I’m all over
you
forever,
I am so over you
I’m all through you
I am you
I’m the lane
in your vein
‘freight train
to the brain’
I’m the reason
the mirror
barks back its bite
I am the only reason
you're out at night
I am your only ******* reason,
don’t forget it or
good night!


MChallis © 2015

I ate cheese late last night

So ive only got myself to blame

That i suffered such scary nightmares

Life will never be the same!


by Jemia

This time the French have gone too far! This will not stand, you hear!
The makers of “Méthode Champenoise” are suing Miller beer.
For years their spies have regularly infiltrated in the States,
suing all who dare mislabel bubbly made from grapes.
(We cannot call the sparkling wines produced on our own shores
“champagne” according to long, well established, laws.)
Fines and penalties are paid for breaking those mandates
Although to me it seems to be a case of sour grapes.
Today their spy was shopping for a piece of camembert
When he spied a Miller ad for “the champagne of bottled beers”
“Sacre Bleu” the Frenchman cried! “what sacrilege is here?.”
How dare these “Millers” to compare our drink with bottled beer.
They seized the product off the shelf to (ahem) do some testing.
I hear it knocked Jacques on his *** but he claims he’s just resting.

Haiku
Camembert she said
Smells like a ***** on fire
Catnap near the grate


Haiku
Not in stable born
Jesus a middle class dude
Didn't need a manger

Haiku
Shielded from the law
Under a park bench sleeping
Big Ben and New Year  

Haiku
Moonlight in rivers
Downstream a wizened face floats
A New Year Begins

Ma Chérie!

I somehow resisted
Purchasing Camembert
As she tried to ****** me
Whilst i was standing there

Her wit, and charm
And divine perfume
Enchanted me so
There was little to assume

I envisaged her melting
Succulently onto my tongue
Which was by now
Hanging out long

She was oh so beautiful
And such a seductive queen
Yet as i walked on by
I could almost hear her scream

"Take me home
Ma cherie"
And delight in the taste
"Of Camembert, not Brie!"

That moment
Haunts me still
But this coming Thursday
Bring her home, i will!!!

by Jemia

The Americans like it with macaroni.

The Welsh like it rarebit, that's on toast to you and me.

The Italians like it Quattro Formagio Pizza topping.

The French like camembert with poached pears of course.

The Brits  like it on cauliflower served with a Sunday roast.

How do you like yours?

comes the love, that loves to hate: then comes the hate, and the camembert; just like they do korn's a.d.i.d.a.s. and bryan adam's summer of '69.

headphones elevsate the "idea"
of past girllfriends,
the exes, the *** ss, ss, sassy
*******...
  one?
   i just keep laughing and grinning
till me cheeks hurt like
someone completing the tour de france...
believe me, everyone seems
to hate phil collins -
but that song *sussido?
she's her...
     you really think i was going
to yong-yong twirll a yoyo
   when citing her name?
   all she said:
   you me, & my younger sister...
a desert island...
              **** me she didn't
throw her mum into the mix...
1980s twice over...
                   i couldn't be happier...
the mere idea shakes my bones
to a moondance...
i know phil collins
is some sort of target practice,
some sort of bulls-eyes
to reach toward the indie heights
of mogwai...
        or whatever you want to call:
keeping it just appropriate
lonesome...
                 and that means, what?
candy crush saga with prozzies?
ain't you the classy buck!
    never mind that,
every time the headphones
are equipped i know i'm
at the house where the party is at...
please forgive my phil collins
like...
          you only get ****** trans
music in brothels anyway...
   and that's only the bulgarians
transitioning to romanian babes...
but this one girl...
forget it... she's gone...
mother of three, and all the more
readied to be done aged 80...
i'm actually praying for the end
aged 45...
                come on...
given the 80s: sussudio?
               the only make-up i wear
is yesterday's hangover...
flanked by rugby puffs under the eyes...
so i am,
"technically" seeing doughnuts...
        and yes, the shrunk bladder...
why is it that no more adventure
comes from travelling to the land
of thai... than it is,
having found adventure in the land(s)
prescribed?
         but there are the giggles,
rather than the moans...
and there's her younger sister,
and thank **** not her mother...
that would be thrice as weird...
                  but there's the smile,
a lost, and ever forgetful claim to
a memory...
          lost in the tract of passing time,
and chasing ambitions,
of ******, through to girlfriend,
through to lover, settling in
companion / mother, the retired aged...
how gracious,
   to be fed lost ambitions
as a persistent narrative
  of any if not every lack of
                                         "thought".

those that savour the upkeep of spring
and the eternity of it,
stretching into both spring & autumn,
care to keep their hearts
as patrons of atlantis:
the ice-bergs:
        so little above the water,
                yet so much below, in the depths;

only those born as the sole inheritors
can claim an understanding of solipsistic
endeavours...
               that the kindred of the chinese i am
and by that: worth of a certain zeitgeist:
i am too...
                   how can solipsism be explained
by people who grew with brothers
or sisters?
         how can it be, and then degraded
into a psychiatric embrace?
      who are these freaks, these western
socio-political-pathogens?
                         these diseases?!
i don't like them...
                  i'd only think once
concerning exterminating them from
the temple of thought:
they just stink the ******* place out...
   i don't want them here...
they belong on the crucifix of rhetoric...
they really require their tongues
to be crucified, mutilated,
        chased, and extinguished!

A second is
A second is
A second
Is a minute
Is an hour
Is a million years
Is a piece of camembert
Einstein watched melting
We say we
cannot bend physics
While we will
the clocks to slow
And **** on honey-sweet
seconds
Like ants lapping
up sugar
How we twist time
like saltwater taffy
And break our
hourglasses
to scatter seconds
like sand
I do not tick tock
I would rather talk
about how time
will not fit into my
crystal frame
So what good is a clock
I say we let them liquify!
If memory assists me,
if memory persists
it’s all relative
So if my mind is on Mars
you cannot say I am late
I’m actually quite early!

M: You so petty like Tom be
Roaming around the earf like a zombie

P: You so petty like Tom be,
Roaming round the earth like a zombie clad in Abercrombie
Shut up, Fitch.
Pitchin a fit like a tone-deaf finch singin out of pitch, lickin a wack *** riff
Lost in space, trippin tha rift
Ya'll won't dig what I spit, but you could at least sift through the remnants

M: Here's your penance for the Cubs winning the pennant
Shut up man, you're no John Lennon
If you was a car, I'ma say you'd be a Lemon.
Here's my lime, it's a rhyme that I wrote in no time
About how crime can pay well if you do it right

P: It's time to plunder and plight, I'm full of blunder and spite
The Boy Wonder, I'm a robbin and I'm about to take flight
The crowd be clappin thunder all night
I'm slinging lightning, that's right
I'm Zeus, you're Hades and we'll be warring for the spotlight.
I may be a hater, but you're my hatee and the boss' order is:
Don't quit your day job, just keep on workin your nine to five.

M:I'm deep in the slime call me a Muck raker,
**** taker, but I never really give em though
Not a nice dude, but I've never really hit a ***
Kinda wonder why I ever really spit a flow in the first
Flow is absurd, crow is a bird, and they're murderous.

P:The rhyme is evolutionary, **** man, but what's a Muk to a Grimer?
Ya'll amateur rappers are just slappin paint on the canvas without a primer
There's no substance to your "art", I'll see your Trap and raise you a Hip Hop, cross the streams and blow up like Slimer.

Ya'll just some nickel and dimers tryin to hold up a dime store so you can pick up that dime sack that you're trying to afford.

The kind of fools ain't nobody got time for.
I've ascended Mt. Olympus, you ******* need to learn how to climb more.

M: Climb up, climb down, or don't climb at all
Don't listen to those try-hards,
Watch Die Hard again and then give me my vengeance.
You ever do penance? If not that'll cost ya six pence
And I need that **** quick since I already spent it.
Rap Game Tom Selleck.

Tom Hanks is a real person
Celebrities are real people.
I wish everyone would just feel people
Not like corporeally, but emotionally worth it.
Sober immaculate cut the tension with a hatchet.

Black people hate me cause I say I'm not racist
So I guess they just hate cause they faithless

P: Do not mistake the faithless with the tasteless,
But before I screech all my beliefs, let's just sink back into the cool relief of giving praise tot he great King Nostalgia.

Welcome to Good Burger, hey remember Hans Gruber, let's watch re-runs of Law & Order?

Your girl gobblin up my junk, call her **** Wolf.
More sinister than any Stallone villain, call me Mister Dolf Lundgren
Nerdier than any dragon or dungeon.
Dirtier than any old man askin his waitress for more sugar packets so he can drop em on the floor and watch her bend over.

Red Rover, Red Rover, this verse should already be over, but I cant stop reading this Buzzfeed article telling me the 5 best lines from Crimson and Clover


M: Prolly skips like a *****.
Worth the risk.
It's curious, facts
When all I spit are spurious raps
I'm furious, Jack
Like I am jacks unbridled sound of fury since my patience is tried but with nobody on the jury
It's hard to define if I should be
Calm or Worried

P: My destiny is sittin right next to me, but I can't pick it up cuz it's too **** heavy.
I get a grip, my muscles rip, it's stuck tot he ground because I am Unworthy
How unfortunate that I made it all the way here, just to find out I can't lift up Mjolnir.

Or maybe it's a trick of the mind, I'm a victim of fear.
Maybe it's time to let my senses unwind and focus only on what is near.
It's time to make a profit off of what my prophet holds dear in his lockett, instead of settling for a Stepford Career.

Gouda is good, and Cheddah is bettah, but I'm to to make some of that Gruyere.

M: Gruyere, Camembert
List the cheeses til you're Jesus man,
Talking like you even know a lil piece of the Jesus man's plan.
I think if any of us knew it wouldn't even really please us fam,
Cause absolute knowledge is pain,
Actually growing is lame, and all we are is ever in between two planes of existence
So find the path with little resistance.

P: My prophet ain't Jesus, do you capiche this?
God's plan ain't nothin but a back-up like a clogged drain, or where the food came
that hadn't been chewed enough by the backward's spelling of the man himself.

D-O-G

Lookin for his bounty, but I'm a gatherer not a hunter
So you best expect that I'll be laid to rest in peace while you're still suffering from the disease of lying through your teeth.
Best BELIEVE!
Of my Philosophy, you can not conceive.
Whether or not you've thrown away your virginity doesn't decide whether you're imprisoned or free.

To be free costs a fee, but the sinnin is free.
It don't make no sense to me, so I consult my sensei who says to **** down a sasparilla, smoke some sensimillia, and tuck my head between my knees
Until the atomic wind has passed and I'm left to enjoy the cool breeze.
*******! Literally.
What if God was one of us?
He'd probably sob because of what he's done.
But with no consequence his reign will run.
Check the mic, make sure it's not a gun

M: Nuclear winter is chill boss
As your lawyer I need to tell you to lay off the pills boss put them ***** back in the pill box dude
all theology is toxic really and western ideology is very jesus-centric even though dude was basically just a fasting eccentric

Oops the mics been a glock this whole time and the safety broke long ago prolly round the time the patriarchy spoke up and plotted the embargos

P: Oh, well, I guess we gotta ditch the stolen cargo
Form something new and see hor far it goed
Don't be distracted by the hard blows, I mean, the blowhards
Look no further than your own hand to see if your success is in the cards.

**** WE NEED TO DO THIS EVERY DAY
WE'LL BE UNSTOpPABLE

I mean you're alread nine million miles ahead of my ***,
I've been cruisin in coach and blah blah first class
Similies and poetry are base to me
I want to talk about philosophy in non-interpretable terms make the common people squirm in their nikes
Only a capitalist society can bring true revoltion, but the truth is no one really wants it even the revolutionaries are scared of what change do they want enough trainers so they can change shoes and listen to the blues to feel like feeling is real when it's really just a memory of something unlearnable.

P: Hey Nike, he likes it
Oops, I blew it,
I meant Just Dew The Dew it.
Obey the corporate propaganda, don't see through to the blue skin dudes n ****.
Throw them Locs on

M: Someone ******* **** me already cause I can't do it by myself
Cause I don't do illegal ****, I keep my trophies on a shef
In the basement in a house that nobody but the bank owns
Let me get some dank loans so I can open up a bank, holmes

Don't burn me, I'm tryin earnestly to fix ****
I don't believe in magic but I believe in possibility
which I guess is really just the same thing as magic when you get down to it
I'm trying to draw a circle on a chalkboard and jump right through it
I went t the school of truant bibliophiles the curriculum:
wild the teachers were posters of feral beasts with logos and copyright laws
I bet Gandhi quotes are trademarked, you dumb Marxist

P: Holmes, like the detective, but people never give enough respect to the perspective of the Watson.
Just give me that watch son, and keep on walkin
Betta hope I got all that I want, son, and don't decide to shoot you in the back and split you open like a sidewalk crack that'll give your mom a spinal tap when you cross it.

All you hear is a cocked back gat and then a BOOM BOOM BAP like the bass drum got brought back to like 2011
While your soul decides if heaven is really worth it,
Then your spirit will snap back into your body like nothing ever hurt it.
Rebirth it.

M: Like D.C did that
I'm post P.C. syntax
I bet I'd be a great dad screaming **** WHITEY cause white people hate that.
But that was actually a bad move making white folks uncomfortable
Cause more than half them reverted back to their most basest racist tendencies like two fold
Like who really holds the reigns really,
The work force is the horse and I'm a philly
Green is the universal race. Do you feel me?

Greed is the color of your mother's eyes while she hears the news on the phone of how your brother died cause otherwise it's your corpse of course you knew this already.

Anyways whatever man it's all pretty whatever man
Just be nice to people cause it's just better man.

To be a seagull
Soaring through
The silver blue sky
Clouds looming
Darkening
Yet the sudden earth
Remains dry
Yet sly
Snaking along
In a quickening breeze
The seagull
Flutters
As it sees
What it sees
As the splintered remnants
Of daylight deftly dims
The seagull hesitates
As it espies
Breadcrumbs falling
From the faltering skies
And wonders
As to how this can be
Then notices brie
Floating on the sea
Then realises
As the misted sun dies
That it was merely a dream
The seagull, at first laughs
Then cries
Screeching in a rage
It much prefers camembert
Of a certain age

by Jemia

We lay there
Like ripening Camembert
With our most gorgeous
And seductive smiles
And our 'come on' eyes
Twinkling temptations
In deep anticipation
We melted
Into a river
Of pleasure
We screamed
As we streamed
As we dreamed
Our delight
Was now a deluge
In full flow
The Cherry Blossom
In full bloom
Blew along
As a gentle zephyr breeze
Caressed our supple thighs
Seductive
As as soft serenade
Whilst our hearts
Were on fire
Soon
We became like
The ebb tide
Running through the shingle
Calmly embraced
As our soft, and tender lips
Were lost in a sweet
And gentle
Kissing caress
Happy, in our happiness

by Jemia

When first logging on
Why?
In the year 2020
Do i still have to
Double ****** click
Quite often
I panic click once
In fear of clicking thrice
It's like an unnatural
Twitch
A double click spasm
Nothing like
An ******
But the joy
When i double click
On my first attempt
Is like melting camembert
by Jemia

"Stranger things happen at sea!"
Said thee, to me
As we ate more Brie
But i, quietly
Wished for Camembert
(So there!)
Thought i, to Claire
As we drank white wine
(I prefer red!)
Then we made love
(Not on the bed)
Whilst hanging from a Chandelier
(I'm scared of heights, tis my greatest fear!)
We then fell to the ground
Without a sound
Apart from screams of pleasure
(As we came at leisure)
Luckily landing on the bed
Our cheeks were blushed
(And slightly red!)
The colour of a pale red ink
More of a rosy pink
(Or so i think)
We then fell off, onto the floor
And then made love some more
After which slept (without a snore)
Such sweet dreams we had
As the big wide world
Seemed a little less mad
by Jemia x

i took my love out walking
along the river Rhine
i gave my love a picnic
of camembert and wine
i read my love a poem
her head upon my knee
i sang my love a sonnet
beneath the shady tree

i gave my love a flower
a budding rose of white
i gave my love a warm embrace
and held her o so tight
i gave my love a token
a simple band of gold
i gave my love my open heart
for her to have and hold

i gave my love a promise
of my eternal love
i gave my love a wish I sent
to all the stars above
and in return my love she gave
a simple loving kiss
and that was all it took for me
to want to do all this


Gordon Merritt