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"castrato" poems
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant Ain’t got no ****** Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags No uniform, no parts No smack, no drill No partners, no peccadillo Ain’t got no stimulant Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators No titbits, no intimate I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling And I ain’t got no ****** Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic I got my ***** on my face My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs My ****** peckers and my ******** I got my stuck—out tongue I got my tentacle, my proboscis My ***** my ******* My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior I got my *********** I got my thingummies, my talons My ball and socket joints, my forelegs My hooves, my pincers and my snorker Got my crest I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you I got my ***** my pistil My ESP, my knobs My vaginas, my peckers and my ******** I got my stuck-out tongue I got my tentacle, my proboscis My ***** and my ******* My ***** my ***** and my posterior I inseminated my ****** sorbet I got my thingummies, my talons My ball and socket joints, my forelegs My hooves, my pincers and my snorker Got my crest I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my ***** I got *****
0
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
irma-cerrutti
Ain't Got No – I Got *****
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant Ain’t got no ****** Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags No uniform, no parts No smack, no drill No partners, no peccadillo Ain’t got no stimulant Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators No titbits, no intimate I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling And I ain’t got no ****** Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic I got my ***** on my face My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs My ****** peckers and my ******** I got my stuck—out tongue I got my tentacle, my proboscis My ***** my ******* My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior I got my *********** I got my thingummies, my talons My ball and socket joints, my forelegs My hooves, my pincers and my snorker Got my crest I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you I got my ***** my pistil My ESP, my knobs My vaginas, my peckers and my ******** I got my stuck-out tongue I got my tentacle, my proboscis My ***** and my ******* My ***** my ***** and my posterior I inseminated my ****** sorbet I got my thingummies, my talons My ball and socket joints, my forelegs My hooves, my pincers and my snorker Got my crest I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my ***** I got *****
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51
Dear Gawd......I wanna be Pope.. I never ride backwards on train or bus, I never profane, blaspheme or cuss, I'm limpid, riven of diaphanous stuff never been given, to a female **** I'm penitent, contrite – shriven of sin, compliant, reliant, I'm bendy n thin. not quite castrato, gives good vibrato to choirboys mullato with bellybutton fluff.
0
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 2:19 PM UTC
ObadiahGrey
"- Dear Gawd, I wanna be Pope -"
Dear Gawd......I wanna be Pope.. I never ride backwards on train or bus, I never profane, blaspheme or cuss, I'm limpid, riven of diaphanous stuff never been given, to a female **** I'm penitent, contrite – shriven of sin, compliant, reliant, I'm bendy n thin. not quite castrato, gives good vibrato to choirboys mullato with bellybutton fluff.
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17
oh **** off... migrant crisis my *** what with Ukraine happening? East European... how about western women? Manchester mothers? no?   oh well....               watch my face... do i ******* look like i, might, care?! no... no?! well...        thank you... because?                       i don't! i'm thinking: let them **** your harlots... you managed to call my ethnicity, vermin.... RATS....                whatever ally you had... gone... next time you ask, ask a Pakistani to deal with your women... i'll be most obliged... to tell you:                **** OFF! no... you told me once, you do not assert the stature of telling me twice...                  i don't care whether it is or whether it isn't your island... you violated, or at least your citizen, the rules of p4rivate property... no... nein nein nein!          for once i'll turn the volume to a Reading Park volume: **** you!   and your ambitions of a mastering of the races... claiming quasi Boar fixture; ******* capitalists...       with their made in china of what used to be the manufacturing jobs... arbeit macht frei...                            arbeit macht frei...               arbeit ist frei... mein, mein, herr...                                  made in china.. my *** my *** was made in china... your argument for liberty?    hardly comprised in Monaco. yes, those Eastern European women...    pretty much as those ***** whip Western European men... the sort of men: shy of death...               one you almost wish to **** with a bludgeon that might leave fingerprints;                   lesson no. 1... you come after Eastern European women... lesson no. 2: there are no Western European "men" to come after...    sure... *******      little men...                something between petting an in between petting a panda and a koala; totally castrato, just the way Western Women like their men to be... obedient...                        pussy-whipped... leashed. mind you... what are the thoughts of an Eastern European man concerning Western women? and, why, would, i, heaven, and, hell, on, earth, ever, want, to, **** this, exercise, in, making, equivalent, raising, a, ******* brat?! i don't want these women, no more than the women want me... apparently Pakistanis are in higher demand.
0
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
made in china
oh **** off... migrant crisis my *** what with Ukraine happening? East European... how about western women? Manchester mothers? no?   oh well....               watch my face... do i ******* look like i, might, care?! no... no?! well...        thank you... because?                       i don't! i'm thinking: let them **** your harlots... you managed to call my ethnicity, vermin.... RATS....                whatever ally you had... gone... next time you ask, ask a Pakistani to deal with your women... i'll be most obliged... to tell you:                **** OFF! no... you told me once, you do not assert the stature of telling me twice...                  i don't care whether it is or whether it isn't your island... you violated, or at least your citizen, the rules of p4rivate property... no... nein nein nein!          for once i'll turn the volume to a Reading Park volume: **** you!   and your ambitions of a mastering of the races... claiming quasi Boar fixture; ******* capitalists...       with their made in china of what used to be the manufacturing jobs... arbeit macht frei...                            arbeit macht frei...               arbeit ist frei... mein, mein, herr...                                  made in china.. my *** my *** was made in china... your argument for liberty?    hardly comprised in Monaco. yes, those Eastern European women...    pretty much as those ***** whip Western European men... the sort of men: shy of death...               one you almost wish to **** with a bludgeon that might leave fingerprints;                   lesson no. 1... you come after Eastern European women... lesson no. 2: there are no Western European "men" to come after...    sure... *******      little men...                something between petting an in between petting a panda and a koala; totally castrato, just the way Western Women like their men to be... obedient...                        pussy-whipped... leashed. mind you... what are the thoughts of an Eastern European man concerning Western women? and, why, would, i, heaven, and, hell, on, earth, ever, want, to, **** this, exercise, in, making, equivalent, raising, a, ******* brat?! i don't want these women, no more than the women want me... apparently Pakistanis are in higher demand.
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95
*no wonder i watch *********** it's a moral struggle these  days  downing a whiskey trying to down america 1930s. al capone would  have  laughed with me i'm sure, and shouted: cuba! cuba! fiddle  castrato!  well, there was the violin to mind in tao when the  castratos  masturbated;. oh look... the pope! where’s my bishop purple  and cardinal red? down the toilet, with the goldfish i’m assured: bobs  the necktie password concerning the onomatopoeia the bubbles made when  appearing: bubbles are called bob... ok?* it was only an old man attired in the usual monochrome of gray, so i walked, scratched a stone wall, and by the 2nd gesture similis i pulled my hand scratching toward my chest to resemble a stone heart: equivalent chinese? small is european stone: writing this i missed six knuckles and felt the rest.
0
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
**** merchandise niqab tiara tapas migraine siesta... tango!
*no wonder i watch *********** it's a moral struggle these  days  downing a whiskey trying to down america 1930s. al capone would  have  laughed with me i'm sure, and shouted: cuba! cuba! fiddle  castrato!  well, there was the violin to mind in tao when the  castratos  masturbated;. oh look... the pope! where’s my bishop purple  and cardinal red? down the toilet, with the goldfish i’m assured: bobs  the necktie password concerning the onomatopoeia the bubbles made when  appearing: bubbles are called bob... ok?* it was only an old man attired in the usual monochrome of gray, so i walked, scratched a stone wall, and by the 2nd gesture similis i pulled my hand scratching toward my chest to resemble a stone heart: equivalent chinese? small is european stone: writing this i missed six knuckles and felt the rest.
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10
Well hello, all, I’m your maestro ceremonious they call me Lokonious, purveyor of the odious so sit back, relax, and celebrate the… atonalness? A: Andante con fuoco We’re goin’ a cappella so let me say first your style’s ba-roke, now let’s get on with the verse you’re all up in the scale with a falsetto pitch hittin’ soprano like a castrato ***** my mind is sharp, while you’re stuck outta key my rhythm’s all natural, you can’t find a beat you need some help ’cause you’re out on your own find that ****** on a subway, the metro-nome B: Allegro con brio throw down the fermata and hold up a minute your ***** a cacophony, no way to spin it and son, i ain’t broke, my style’s all classical you just can’t register that my words are magical I spit rhymes in fantasy, can’t you see that you’re beat? And they thought an allegro was unfit for elegy A: Moderato col legno well as for your girl, it may sound corny the ***** loves my brass ’cause she’s: oh so ***** dispel your illusion, i got one more your girl’s like a crime show… easy to score B: Allegretto grazioso your intellect is minor and your insults are bassless your composition’s hardly a harmony: graceless your cymbalism’s trite, and your motif’s unknown an unfocused opus full of dissonant drones A: Affrettando agitato get out my face with your unnatural rap you spit cold air and your lyrics are flat you’ve got no harm while my canon’s a gat so work on your refrain, ‘fore I bust da cap-OOOHHHHH B: Coda pull your weak crap, ’cause you’re outta your mode such imperfect rhymes that we’re calling a cod-a no time for the fanfare, you’re trying my patience an end to your requiem, bring out the cadence So that’s their story, best not get involved their fight’s an augmented fourth: difficult to resolve
0
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
djr
La Battaglia
Well hello, all, I’m your maestro ceremonious they call me Lokonious, purveyor of the odious so sit back, relax, and celebrate the… atonalness? A: Andante con fuoco We’re goin’ a cappella so let me say first your style’s ba-roke, now let’s get on with the verse you’re all up in the scale with a falsetto pitch hittin’ soprano like a castrato ***** my mind is sharp, while you’re stuck outta key my rhythm’s all natural, you can’t find a beat you need some help ’cause you’re out on your own find that ****** on a subway, the metro-nome B: Allegro con brio throw down the fermata and hold up a minute your ***** a cacophony, no way to spin it and son, i ain’t broke, my style’s all classical you just can’t register that my words are magical I spit rhymes in fantasy, can’t you see that you’re beat? And they thought an allegro was unfit for elegy A: Moderato col legno well as for your girl, it may sound corny the ***** loves my brass ’cause she’s: oh so ***** dispel your illusion, i got one more your girl’s like a crime show… easy to score B: Allegretto grazioso your intellect is minor and your insults are bassless your composition’s hardly a harmony: graceless your cymbalism’s trite, and your motif’s unknown an unfocused opus full of dissonant drones A: Affrettando agitato get out my face with your unnatural rap you spit cold air and your lyrics are flat you’ve got no harm while my canon’s a gat so work on your refrain, ‘fore I bust da cap-OOOHHHHH B: Coda pull your weak crap, ’cause you’re outta your mode such imperfect rhymes that we’re calling a cod-a no time for the fanfare, you’re trying my patience an end to your requiem, bring out the cadence So that’s their story, best not get involved their fight’s an augmented fourth: difficult to resolve
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41
the pro-anti-abortion argument: so the tissue argument doesn't count? so...    once the ***** leaves the body of a male.... it is the sole possession of a female?" sign me up for euthanasia... please! send me to gaßkammern! might as well cut my testicles off! employ me as a ******* castrato for holding the harem ***** free... so i can't ********* did i forget my napkin, or did my bride forget her ***** just asking...               so... as long as my ***** remains in my, or on a tissue, flushed down a toilet... but them she takes over the ownership?            she gets the bigoted bargain and bias?                        **** me...             i'm sure a Rabbi would argue that a 16 year old is always ready... because... given the current secular year p.s. a.d. that's always true...                so i can't... **** off...    wait a minute... but i haven't been circumcised...             look at me! woo woo! next time i ********* into a woman... i'll secure some wolf ***** into a syringe... and then implant a Frankenstein experiment into her... my... didn't a woman, epitome... make a case for desiring vampires & werewolves?        **** it... let's make josef mengele 2.0,                          i'm ready... i'm craving for the laboratory...      but... clearly... you're not... given...    can a woman really claim such ownership?                  i must make an equal claim... whatever i ********* into a tissue and flush it down a toilet... has to become a pseudo crocodile child of the deep...      if only i was born in the end of the 19th century... my Auschwitz would have looked much more differently... i would have attempted less twin experiments... to curate a cure for the Siamese... i would have injected women with wolf ***** such a mild, childhood fantasy...                    and people worried about the treatment of           heretics by the church in         the Renaissance; if i were the primordial evil of the 20th century... i'd pocket my concerns... where i began the 21st century with.
0
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
gaßkammernscheiße
the pro-anti-abortion argument: so the tissue argument doesn't count? so...    once the ***** leaves the body of a male.... it is the sole possession of a female?" sign me up for euthanasia... please! send me to gaßkammern! might as well cut my testicles off! employ me as a ******* castrato for holding the harem ***** free... so i can't ********* did i forget my napkin, or did my bride forget her ***** just asking...               so... as long as my ***** remains in my, or on a tissue, flushed down a toilet... but them she takes over the ownership?            she gets the bigoted bargain and bias?                        **** me...             i'm sure a Rabbi would argue that a 16 year old is always ready... because... given the current secular year p.s. a.d. that's always true...                so i can't... **** off...    wait a minute... but i haven't been circumcised...             look at me! woo woo! next time i ********* into a woman... i'll secure some wolf ***** into a syringe... and then implant a Frankenstein experiment into her... my... didn't a woman, epitome... make a case for desiring vampires & werewolves?        **** it... let's make josef mengele 2.0,                          i'm ready... i'm craving for the laboratory...      but... clearly... you're not... given...    can a woman really claim such ownership?                  i must make an equal claim... whatever i ********* into a tissue and flush it down a toilet... has to become a pseudo crocodile child of the deep...      if only i was born in the end of the 19th century... my Auschwitz would have looked much more differently... i would have attempted less twin experiments... to curate a cure for the Siamese... i would have injected women with wolf ***** such a mild, childhood fantasy...                    and people worried about the treatment of           heretics by the church in         the Renaissance; if i were the primordial evil of the 20th century... i'd pocket my concerns... where i began the 21st century with.
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79
*where cello was semi-colon, where violins (always plural, no one's weeping or playing to beg) are colon, where Bach's (church pianos) organs / castrato livers kidneys hearts... where comma was the trebling silver triangles... where full-stop was the composer turning into a conductor, to detach himself from the act of composition and into a drama, a staged drama, a Sisyphus ram against the stable coordinate of perpetuated slam dunking bullseye for only a: knock knock. who's there? knock knock nowhere. nowhere where? here. where what? knock knock open the ******* door!* i lived to the age of 70, i loathed hating people, and i loathed loving them hence the reason i never married, i could have lived alone but the monetary system absolved that wish... tribalism would never give us mozart's symphony no. 40 because we would be exchanging favours instead of monetary funds... via solipsism and the ugly synonym autism... ****** instead of wives... well, there you go... her eager libido explains much, as a teenager ****** eager (rhyme rhyme rhyme) explains her escapism into outliving man; her satan's bargain truly did favour hair, oh **** her, while he died a splendid death aged approx. 30, she with a **** salute saluted him: i'm worth 90 autumns! yeah, 90 autumns and arthritis.
0
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
tribalism par excellence / kentucky finger licking good
*where cello was semi-colon, where violins (always plural, no one's weeping or playing to beg) are colon, where Bach's (church pianos) organs / castrato livers kidneys hearts... where comma was the trebling silver triangles... where full-stop was the composer turning into a conductor, to detach himself from the act of composition and into a drama, a staged drama, a Sisyphus ram against the stable coordinate of perpetuated slam dunking bullseye for only a: knock knock. who's there? knock knock nowhere. nowhere where? here. where what? knock knock open the ******* door!* i lived to the age of 70, i loathed hating people, and i loathed loving them hence the reason i never married, i could have lived alone but the monetary system absolved that wish... tribalism would never give us mozart's symphony no. 40 because we would be exchanging favours instead of monetary funds... via solipsism and the ugly synonym autism... ****** instead of wives... well, there you go... her eager libido explains much, as a teenager ****** eager (rhyme rhyme rhyme) explains her escapism into outliving man; her satan's bargain truly did favour hair, oh **** her, while he died a splendid death aged approx. 30, she with a **** salute saluted him: i'm worth 90 autumns! yeah, 90 autumns and arthritis.
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22
drinking heavy,    boxing partner of the liver like it was always   a spar with wladimir klitschko... listening to    edwyn collins' girl like you, one hit wonder... drinking heavy... but minding the grammar, and the spelling...   now what?        ******** pinching, castrato,    and what's his name?     mickey Tyson?     hum hum hummah hum hum...       i sometimes wish i could treat a girl like i might treat a dog... donning a leash...        crazy cat lady contra crazy cat boy...   i just ignore the little ***** can't be bothered...    they do their own **** i do mine...       anything else consists of a woman's in between. how can you learn from the autism of cats, owning counter felines?    it's either the ******* bonsai tiger...   or it's the Hiroshima atomic paranoia!
0
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:10 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
fidgety on a hoof (gallop to boot)
drinking heavy,    boxing partner of the liver like it was always   a spar with wladimir klitschko... listening to    edwyn collins' girl like you, one hit wonder... drinking heavy... but minding the grammar, and the spelling...   now what?        ******** pinching, castrato,    and what's his name?     mickey Tyson?     hum hum hummah hum hum...       i sometimes wish i could treat a girl like i might treat a dog... donning a leash...        crazy cat lady contra crazy cat boy...   i just ignore the little ***** can't be bothered...    they do their own **** i do mine...       anything else consists of a woman's in between. how can you learn from the autism of cats, owning counter felines?    it's either the ******* bonsai tiger...   or it's the Hiroshima atomic paranoia!
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38
*it's just a selfie... don't forget my face is mandible and is non-representative of whatever idealism you have of dundee / glasgow. you ever noticed it's only paris that's mentioned in 20th century classic literature? oi! **** why not oslo schweggenladder stockholm or edinbrugh? so 20th century of you to mention any place south of london.* when i hear modern poets wheeze and ooh and ah and climb the everest... i think of the bee gees or michael jackson, not one wrote the illiad... but it’s still memorised - what’s the point... poetry begins with the thought: i can rhyme bling with bee sting... **** i’m in! heave of relief interlude with abba’s super trouper in the background to breivik’s slaughter... now that’s taking satire to the extreme of absurdism: you know that french thinking movement that changed hammering a nail in with the elbow rather than the hammer. ‘orchestra!’ ‘ yes maestro?!’ ‘play me the divination of vivaldi in #strauss for winter!’ ‘yes maestro!’ ‘ah the autumnal leaf waltz via psychadelia of femininity given to the beast of feminism of lost ego, what splendour... and the reindeer, ah... it’s only missing the alcohbolic reindeer of the puffed-up cheeks and red noses of burst veins to hue the canvas of red with streaks of blue.’ as benny hill said... it’s not called black english humour for reasons that might suggest it was the oxford rowing team losing against h.m.s. belfast that made the cambridge rowing team sing the chritmas carols in halloween costumes: the wise pumpkin, skeleton and hybrid tarantula sang in soprano: the shepherds put on castrato opera for a reason that became apparent with roman authorities despising celibacy but turning quiet fond of castration for the pope's opera: plus the **** orgams sounded more feminine with guilottined ********
0
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
maestro!
*it's just a selfie... don't forget my face is mandible and is non-representative of whatever idealism you have of dundee / glasgow. you ever noticed it's only paris that's mentioned in 20th century classic literature? oi! **** why not oslo schweggenladder stockholm or edinbrugh? so 20th century of you to mention any place south of london.* when i hear modern poets wheeze and ooh and ah and climb the everest... i think of the bee gees or michael jackson, not one wrote the illiad... but it’s still memorised - what’s the point... poetry begins with the thought: i can rhyme bling with bee sting... **** i’m in! heave of relief interlude with abba’s super trouper in the background to breivik’s slaughter... now that’s taking satire to the extreme of absurdism: you know that french thinking movement that changed hammering a nail in with the elbow rather than the hammer. ‘orchestra!’ ‘ yes maestro?!’ ‘play me the divination of vivaldi in #strauss for winter!’ ‘yes maestro!’ ‘ah the autumnal leaf waltz via psychadelia of femininity given to the beast of feminism of lost ego, what splendour... and the reindeer, ah... it’s only missing the alcohbolic reindeer of the puffed-up cheeks and red noses of burst veins to hue the canvas of red with streaks of blue.’ as benny hill said... it’s not called black english humour for reasons that might suggest it was the oxford rowing team losing against h.m.s. belfast that made the cambridge rowing team sing the chritmas carols in halloween costumes: the wise pumpkin, skeleton and hybrid tarantula sang in soprano: the shepherds put on castrato opera for a reason that became apparent with roman authorities despising celibacy but turning quiet fond of castration for the pope's opera: plus the **** orgams sounded more feminine with guilottined ********
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33
the day near finished and the night aglet as if day; what came first - cliff richard's devil woman (chicken) or the eagles' witchy woman (egg)? cockerel via ****** already took the opera seat, and the soprano slit open the larynx of the castrato... just so the chandelier and windows shattered in practice... if your poetry isn't musical, not rhyming, just write about music, that's what bukowski conveyed... make poetry an interest in music, don't make it this trollop-cod-whipped-turd self-interest... if you can't sing because an elephant stomped on your ear or you never had enough money to buy a saxophone, don't make complex musicology of symphonies cute with "adoration" using the rhyming technique, forget it, it's not cute, it's damnable... true virtue isn't afraid of critique... write about what you love so i can look it up and share it, don't write self-love walking sticks of decrepit fidelity of marathon runners that wheeze out after the 100th meter in goldfish dollops of addictive lungs gulping for breath... no technique in poetry will ever be music in terms of actual music... ever heard tenacious d's one note song? most poetry sounds like that: sound around             orange peel             foot massage that turned into zest of extra sound around             a tambourine tabernacle             with st. thomas ********* a rib cage kangaroo pouch cunt's ouch                              five multipliers mono ******** softy                      doughnut                                                peach; 'bitch where's the cream?!' 'oh boy it's coming, coming with the flying scotsman's                                 steam;                                                choo choo!' puff up you puffing puffin ************ well, i was always going to be an extension of her doing the triceps choo choo dangle motion; morph into a church bell uvula morph into a church bell uvula... of a-ding-along-for-a-ding-dong of st. ursula's interpretation of english police officers deviation from the standard: 'allo 'allo 'allo.... n'est-ce pas pas ce comme ce?
0
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
scarborough fair conveyed
the day near finished and the night aglet as if day; what came first - cliff richard's devil woman (chicken) or the eagles' witchy woman (egg)? cockerel via ****** already took the opera seat, and the soprano slit open the larynx of the castrato... just so the chandelier and windows shattered in practice... if your poetry isn't musical, not rhyming, just write about music, that's what bukowski conveyed... make poetry an interest in music, don't make it this trollop-cod-whipped-turd self-interest... if you can't sing because an elephant stomped on your ear or you never had enough money to buy a saxophone, don't make complex musicology of symphonies cute with "adoration" using the rhyming technique, forget it, it's not cute, it's damnable... true virtue isn't afraid of critique... write about what you love so i can look it up and share it, don't write self-love walking sticks of decrepit fidelity of marathon runners that wheeze out after the 100th meter in goldfish dollops of addictive lungs gulping for breath... no technique in poetry will ever be music in terms of actual music... ever heard tenacious d's one note song? most poetry sounds like that: sound around             orange peel             foot massage that turned into zest of extra sound around             a tambourine tabernacle             with st. thomas ********* a rib cage kangaroo pouch cunt's ouch                              five multipliers mono ******** softy                      doughnut                                                peach; 'bitch where's the cream?!' 'oh boy it's coming, coming with the flying scotsman's                                 steam;                                                choo choo!' puff up you puffing puffin ************ well, i was always going to be an extension of her doing the triceps choo choo dangle motion; morph into a church bell uvula morph into a church bell uvula... of a-ding-along-for-a-ding-dong of st. ursula's interpretation of english police officers deviation from the standard: 'allo 'allo 'allo.... n'est-ce pas pas ce comme ce?
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60
Or Why I Left Medium.com Sing, Muse, the futile war betwixt genders. Hate, stupidity, intolerance, PC ******** Femmes Afeared of contradiction. Shout. Their castrato sycophants. Here, ***** Nannie and her harridan hyenas. Attack. On Medium you will be well done. Fried. Hordes of Harpies hurling lightening. Petulant little girls. Stamp feet. Pull hair. Free to agree; otherwise, shut up. Hidden behind PC barriers, they snipe. All men are potential rapists. Factoid. All women are helpless victims. Fact. Millennial milquetoasts. Everywhere. Do exactly as you are told or take your evil ***** and fold.
0
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
mike-essig
None Dare Call It Reason
Or Why I Left Medium.com Sing, Muse, the futile war betwixt genders. Hate, stupidity, intolerance, PC ******** Femmes Afeared of contradiction. Shout. Their castrato sycophants. Here, ***** Nannie and her harridan hyenas. Attack. On Medium you will be well done. Fried. Hordes of Harpies hurling lightening. Petulant little girls. Stamp feet. Pull hair. Free to agree; otherwise, shut up. Hidden behind PC barriers, they snipe. All men are potential rapists. Factoid. All women are helpless victims. Fact. Millennial milquetoasts. Everywhere. Do exactly as you are told or take your evil ***** and fold.
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16
Fully ambulatory with onanist wrists, neither whig, nor tory, nor communist, he's loose lipped loose hipped quite well equipped, he's bendy n trendy, he's buff, n ripped. not quite castrato and gives good vibrato to choirboys mulatto - with belly button fluff. Obi.
0
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
ObadiahGrey
Jezzer,
Fully ambulatory with onanist wrists, neither whig, nor tory, nor communist, he's loose lipped loose hipped quite well equipped, he's bendy n trendy, he's buff, n ripped. not quite castrato and gives good vibrato to choirboys mulatto - with belly button fluff. Obi.
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15
and i thought the slavs had a bad taste in music, what with new Greek alphabetic suggesting that Russians were natural chemists... but seeking Karaoke incorporated into western culture as the accepted Pearl Harbour, i'm having second thoughts on Latin being the alphabet dissociated from names and associated to pitches as the proponent of music, given Gangman Style - man in the high castle (philip k. dick's novel, blade runner guy) is a reality, 1984 is in the making while we ensure everyone is docile; the day the Vatican abandoned its practice of castrato singing as anti-anal: don't know which is worse, getting anally penetrated or having my ******** snipped; i guess of the two wearing a niqab is better: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
0
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
lettering to a musicology
and i thought the slavs had a bad taste in music, what with new Greek alphabetic suggesting that Russians were natural chemists... but seeking Karaoke incorporated into western culture as the accepted Pearl Harbour, i'm having second thoughts on Latin being the alphabet dissociated from names and associated to pitches as the proponent of music, given Gangman Style - man in the high castle (philip k. dick's novel, blade runner guy) is a reality, 1984 is in the making while we ensure everyone is docile; the day the Vatican abandoned its practice of castrato singing as anti-anal: don't know which is worse, getting anally penetrated or having my ******** snipped; i guess of the two wearing a niqab is better: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
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17
this really has become a really bad greek joke, i knew that the romans could sing, **** me, they gave us castrato sing along, but i never knew greeks knew humour, perhaps too much emphasis on their philosophical prowess... 'so you're telling me we've been basically lacerating ourselves and kneeling just to get the puzzle's end result, a ******* clock?! you have to be ******** me... thanks to this device we're more prone to insomnia, news channels of 24 ******** global trading & global warming...' i say, the greeks really know how to tell a joke, first they philosophise so everyone takes them seriously... and then the punchline... christianity! and indeed first, simon (peter), a name for simony.                                                                               simon (peter)            andrew                                           james ibn zebedee                 john ibn zebedee                                                          philip                                                                           bartholomew                         3^                                          thomas         matthew                                                james ibn alphaeous               thaddaeus                                           simon the zealot                                                        judas and indeed judas, last, meaning the son of judiciary. ^but look here, a clock emerges, the trinity of the hand of the hour, the hand of the minute, the hand of the second, and twelve names as sentenced to 12 (simon peter), 1 (james ibn zebedee), 2 (philip), 3 (thomas), 4 (james ibn alphaeous), 5 (simon the zealot), 6 (judas), 7 (thaddaeus), 8 (matthew), 9 (bartholomew), 10 (john ibn zebedee), 11 (andrew); **** this greek contraption! back then the zeitgeist ("holy spirit") of humanity stated that it was both α & ω, and indeed this was true, look at the past 2000 years, we know so much! but in the current state of affairs, the zeitgeist of humanity changed, since it states a shortening, a dried up river, it states that the zeitgeist is shortened to α & β, the whole alpha / beta male dynamic, sex-fuelled ******** gladiators with electricity bills, Odysseus with a dilemma over carrier pigeons postage stamps and email... but aha! don't forget the ω male, who seems to be walking into the freezing plateaus of mirrors, for whom the α & β dynamic means life is too short because it's too quick... it means the α & β are competing, the former is a billionaire / banker, the latter is probably a journalist... and the ω male is a pedestrian... remember that guy.
0
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
αστειο ελληνικα / 3ω / α & β v. α & ω
this really has become a really bad greek joke, i knew that the romans could sing, **** me, they gave us castrato sing along, but i never knew greeks knew humour, perhaps too much emphasis on their philosophical prowess... 'so you're telling me we've been basically lacerating ourselves and kneeling just to get the puzzle's end result, a ******* clock?! you have to be ******** me... thanks to this device we're more prone to insomnia, news channels of 24 ******** global trading & global warming...' i say, the greeks really know how to tell a joke, first they philosophise so everyone takes them seriously... and then the punchline... christianity! and indeed first, simon (peter), a name for simony.                                                                               simon (peter)            andrew                                           james ibn zebedee                 john ibn zebedee                                                          philip                                                                           bartholomew                         3^                                          thomas         matthew                                                james ibn alphaeous               thaddaeus                                           simon the zealot                                                        judas and indeed judas, last, meaning the son of judiciary. ^but look here, a clock emerges, the trinity of the hand of the hour, the hand of the minute, the hand of the second, and twelve names as sentenced to 12 (simon peter), 1 (james ibn zebedee), 2 (philip), 3 (thomas), 4 (james ibn alphaeous), 5 (simon the zealot), 6 (judas), 7 (thaddaeus), 8 (matthew), 9 (bartholomew), 10 (john ibn zebedee), 11 (andrew); **** this greek contraption! back then the zeitgeist ("holy spirit") of humanity stated that it was both α & ω, and indeed this was true, look at the past 2000 years, we know so much! but in the current state of affairs, the zeitgeist of humanity changed, since it states a shortening, a dried up river, it states that the zeitgeist is shortened to α & β, the whole alpha / beta male dynamic, sex-fuelled ******** gladiators with electricity bills, Odysseus with a dilemma over carrier pigeons postage stamps and email... but aha! don't forget the ω male, who seems to be walking into the freezing plateaus of mirrors, for whom the α & β dynamic means life is too short because it's too quick... it means the α & β are competing, the former is a billionaire / banker, the latter is probably a journalist... and the ω male is a pedestrian... remember that guy.
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38
well, because bunnies don't come out eggs, do they now? that bunny is a thief! where did you get those eggs from? huh? he's running, a flock of angry birds flying after him; and i forgot my slingshot to smash those three piggies into smithereens (like in the folklore story: house of glass (hay), house of wood, house of stone). i never understood the tradition of easter, until now, i get all the sweets and treats and opulence at christmas... but the way easter is celebrated is quiet fascinating, chocolate eggs of a castrato, and the easter bunny must reflect the size of irish families and strict laws prohibiting contraception, listening to bbc 4 and this actress spoke of being 7th in the lineage of 11... eager bunnies all around and sweet choc testicles of a castrato... well, so i decided to celebrate it too... fasting... and walking around saying the word: barabbas... barabbas... it goes really well with all those gothic cathedrals adorned with gargoyles.
0
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
chocolate eggs of a castrato
well, because bunnies don't come out eggs, do they now? that bunny is a thief! where did you get those eggs from? huh? he's running, a flock of angry birds flying after him; and i forgot my slingshot to smash those three piggies into smithereens (like in the folklore story: house of glass (hay), house of wood, house of stone). i never understood the tradition of easter, until now, i get all the sweets and treats and opulence at christmas... but the way easter is celebrated is quiet fascinating, chocolate eggs of a castrato, and the easter bunny must reflect the size of irish families and strict laws prohibiting contraception, listening to bbc 4 and this actress spoke of being 7th in the lineage of 11... eager bunnies all around and sweet choc testicles of a castrato... well, so i decided to celebrate it too... fasting... and walking around saying the word: barabbas... barabbas... it goes really well with all those gothic cathedrals adorned with gargoyles.
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22
man will have no true love for a woman, if he cannot be given a brotherhood, and instead be forced to embrace philosophising... *man will not have a true love for a woman, if he should be left barren without an outlet of brotherhood, to be instead forced into solipsism and subsequent thereof philosophising*... **man will not have a true love for a woman, if she should be left without a chance to encounter the brotherhood of man as if a Hemingway novel... and thus be forced into only encountering the love of Sophia: the abstract woman; a woman in name only; himself a quasi of a woman, goosebump tickles on the testicles: licked by castrato widower swans: St. Thomas' doubt enigmatic in the breadcrumb gospels of Nag Hammadi with its stupid Chinese whispers                                                 and musical chairs!**
0
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
three tiers
man will have no true love for a woman, if he cannot be given a brotherhood, and instead be forced to embrace philosophising... *man will not have a true love for a woman, if he should be left barren without an outlet of brotherhood, to be instead forced into solipsism and subsequent thereof philosophising*... **man will not have a true love for a woman, if she should be left without a chance to encounter the brotherhood of man as if a Hemingway novel... and thus be forced into only encountering the love of Sophia: the abstract woman; a woman in name only; himself a quasi of a woman, goosebump tickles on the testicles: licked by castrato widower swans: St. Thomas' doubt enigmatic in the breadcrumb gospels of Nag Hammadi with its stupid Chinese whispers                                                 and musical chairs!**
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20
Light pours in through vaulted beams, golden sun streams on darkened oak, whilst soles echo on the mosaic floor. A chorus rises, and flies amongst the eaves where starlings coo and spiders nest. A stained-glass tear rolls down Mary's breast, hot candlewax pools like the spent love of a ***** Castrato lilts fill the heady air, winter chill banished by glinting lamplight that catches in the eyes of sinners, a memory of some distant hymn once heard before.
0
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
authorofautumn
Evensong
Light pours in through vaulted beams, golden sun streams on darkened oak, whilst soles echo on the mosaic floor. A chorus rises, and flies amongst the eaves where starlings coo and spiders nest. A stained-glass tear rolls down Mary's breast, hot candlewax pools like the spent love of a ***** Castrato lilts fill the heady air, winter chill banished by glinting lamplight that catches in the eyes of sinners, a memory of some distant hymn once heard before.
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11
the **** euthanasia scheme would suit people like me with a dermatology problem, wouldn't it? i'm up for it to be re-introduced with those nappy-soaked tears of motor-neuron-disease wheelchair bandits... **** you not i'm all up for the hospital beds to be serving Panzer brigades... they can claim the god of warring for all i care... just get me off this aquatic asteroid pronto! **** your little excuses for slip-ups, get, me, off, this, ******* asteroid! i've seen women begging for a curb on their reproductive capabilities after Chernobyl, don't entice me with *** changes you ****** entitled: supra-feminism... eat your foetuses after they passed capital punishment against my life in the bedroom of some egyptian peasant... as i'll say only once: if you're going to **** me... **** me properly, so, that, i'm, dead! i don't have time for living it out as a ******* what now? no ***** yep... the man is gonna sing an opera à la castrato to the tunes of Michael Jackson.
0
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
pronto!
the **** euthanasia scheme would suit people like me with a dermatology problem, wouldn't it? i'm up for it to be re-introduced with those nappy-soaked tears of motor-neuron-disease wheelchair bandits... **** you not i'm all up for the hospital beds to be serving Panzer brigades... they can claim the god of warring for all i care... just get me off this aquatic asteroid pronto! **** your little excuses for slip-ups, get, me, off, this, ******* asteroid! i've seen women begging for a curb on their reproductive capabilities after Chernobyl, don't entice me with *** changes you ****** entitled: supra-feminism... eat your foetuses after they passed capital punishment against my life in the bedroom of some egyptian peasant... as i'll say only once: if you're going to **** me... **** me properly, so, that, i'm, dead! i don't have time for living it out as a ******* what now? no ***** yep... the man is gonna sing an opera à la castrato to the tunes of Michael Jackson.
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23
*żar nal girsz-ghee-oh-baksyl; dar gisz kubteel, wła di koph teal?! ki goor kar yam... ba ga knee!* he who instils fear in others... instils the same fear in himself, as the shaky knees test to see whether instilling fear works, and loving in return becomes a shadow of a pebble when the shadow of the mountain illuminates further than the footsteps dare print onto it into the helium sphere of expression sounding depressed: pipsqueak & chipmunks don't make you laugh? but they'll make you buy an output of civilisation of the no. 1 single sung in that ultra-soprano: i almost wished to have written ultra-castrato... but then i realised, the popes loved eating scrambled eggs for breakfast... so there was nothing left to squeeze.
0
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
azog's linguistic deciphering
*żar nal girsz-ghee-oh-baksyl; dar gisz kubteel, wła di koph teal?! ki goor kar yam... ba ga knee!* he who instils fear in others... instils the same fear in himself, as the shaky knees test to see whether instilling fear works, and loving in return becomes a shadow of a pebble when the shadow of the mountain illuminates further than the footsteps dare print onto it into the helium sphere of expression sounding depressed: pipsqueak & chipmunks don't make you laugh? but they'll make you buy an output of civilisation of the no. 1 single sung in that ultra-soprano: i almost wished to have written ultra-castrato... but then i realised, the popes loved eating scrambled eggs for breakfast... so there was nothing left to squeeze.
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19
well, aren't we all oh so well acquainted; everyone favourite of the dating scene but not the brothel adventure? well, i do admire: saint and castrato! the one eagerest to educate himself on the altar of mommy **** ooh it's like suddenly spaghetti curdles: here the dough... here the kneading knuckles... oh my my!
0
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
hmm
well, aren't we all oh so well acquainted; everyone favourite of the dating scene but not the brothel adventure? well, i do admire: saint and castrato! the one eagerest to educate himself on the altar of mommy **** ooh it's like suddenly spaghetti curdles: here the dough... here the kneading knuckles... oh my my!
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17
.*when i drink, and sometimes entertain walking through the dark, and i find myself, freed from the ownership of a shadow? i don't drunk walk... stumble... i find my balance... in a quasi-comic dance routine...* otherwise?     have you ever found ice-cubes behaving like leeches? you put a hand into the refrigerator, take a handful of ice-cubes for your ms amber and mr ginger, and... yet, there are still, some ice cubes clinging to your fingers? i call them the cold leeches... is it me, or was the d.c. comic universe created for adults, adhering to mature themes... while marvel got away with all the money,                      but all the kiddy stuff? it's not as much of a blatant schizoid divide, should japanese comic culture ever become involved; because it wouldn't...          oh i tried ****** once... resorted to those glorious exponents of fine art classes... the solo girls and their playthings of... ghost enunuchs...              not much worth of ***** when there's a limp **** in the form of               rubber, is there now? clearly: castrato choir boys of the vatican are not wanted...    not quiet enough to cut the ***** off of a man...    the whole "thing" has to be snippet friendly...             believe me... the inverted play-thing, stag-do, blow up sheep, blow up doll, elevated into a dummy **** toy... n'ah...               i might be crazy... or...                 this is the sanity report of a crazy world... care to put that statement to a roulette, or a draw of cards? well...    when i don't gamble...                                i always "gamble"; here's to making monsters! sláinte mhaith (slan'ch'eh m'haif!).
0
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 8:22 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
comic book critique
.*when i drink, and sometimes entertain walking through the dark, and i find myself, freed from the ownership of a shadow? i don't drunk walk... stumble... i find my balance... in a quasi-comic dance routine...* otherwise?     have you ever found ice-cubes behaving like leeches? you put a hand into the refrigerator, take a handful of ice-cubes for your ms amber and mr ginger, and... yet, there are still, some ice cubes clinging to your fingers? i call them the cold leeches... is it me, or was the d.c. comic universe created for adults, adhering to mature themes... while marvel got away with all the money,                      but all the kiddy stuff? it's not as much of a blatant schizoid divide, should japanese comic culture ever become involved; because it wouldn't...          oh i tried ****** once... resorted to those glorious exponents of fine art classes... the solo girls and their playthings of... ghost enunuchs...              not much worth of ***** when there's a limp **** in the form of               rubber, is there now? clearly: castrato choir boys of the vatican are not wanted...    not quiet enough to cut the ***** off of a man...    the whole "thing" has to be snippet friendly...             believe me... the inverted play-thing, stag-do, blow up sheep, blow up doll, elevated into a dummy **** toy... n'ah...               i might be crazy... or...                 this is the sanity report of a crazy world... care to put that statement to a roulette, or a draw of cards? well...    when i don't gamble...                                i always "gamble"; here's to making monsters! sláinte mhaith (slan'ch'eh m'haif!).
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