.all this is suggesting is: i'll meet you half-way; given that "this" question was always going to hover over "us", given that there's a disparity between English: a people, and English: a language... evidently the natives cannot begin to envision themselves as a lingua franca peoples... no wonder, their language has been "hijacked".... the "xenophobia", but like kevin spacey said: well, i'm here, am i suddenly supposed to, *******? playing the ******* *****-eyed poodle is not on the cards, but at the same time, it's hard to envision this language, as a people... given all the infringing demands of the anglo-saxon economic model into areas, where displacement is rife, subsequently... i can understand the concern of the natives, given that i didn't transgress the base principle: don't **** their women. see what a mild spaghetti-custard blip of history we're getting into? i am expected to integrate, but i'm not expected to integrate. i am somehow expected to be told to do what others want, but at the same time, i'm expected to protect my individual rights... no "parallel" anlogy akin to a catherine perry song? no kitty-*******, just around the corner? i can see islam... you know its prime sense of failure? that arabic would and never will, become given the same lingua franca status of english... you're complaining, or is it me stating the facts? evidently is a language reaches a lingua franca potentiality and subsequent expression, the natives will suffer... i'm not a native, but i can only imagine... what the consequences are... being ram-packed with excesses in ***** purchases... so much for a protected status of international economic ventures... like: i am waiting for the intra-national economic counters... can't see them coming, or i can see them, in a Casandra conundrum variation. there's still the topic of the natives... rarely can the English be allowed an outsider perspective without a sediment of their language being used, by a foreign entity... now, or never, why? you have somewhere important to be at as of: tomorrow? can you blame the natives, given that their language is a lingua franca, and not just, relegation to a national idiosyncracy "pH scale" differentiation? as a foreign entity, you know what i've learned from living on the most outer aspects of London? sure as **** it's not Cheltenham... i speak the tongue, i'm no genius, it's only English after all, it's hardly anything near Mandarin... what i feel sorry for, are the jihadi buggers who were born here, and were never taught their native sprechen... whatever the hell happened to English, and what Islam is jealous of, it came about naturally... arabic was never supposed
to become the standard bearer, the lingua franca of commerce and disinhibiting individuals entrenched... which, implies? i can look at the natives, with a more piercing dedication: excuses... excuses could be had, if, your, language, wasn't as "******" as it currently is... seems like i've reached a status of post-integration... now, i'm asking the language, the sort of application usage cruxes, that a native, simply wouldn't.

                         there's just so much
                           baggage,
that madmen
can carry,
for the "sane" standard
bearers of civilization,
of civility...
    at least some
of these outliers have
the *****
to not cower behind
an insanity plea...
     most of the madmen?
imagine
a tiger in a cage...
after a while...
          the tiger becomes
tamed by
zoological structuring
of its day-to-day...
and everyone's happy...
but that doesn't make
the tiger into a *******
bonsai, a feline "companion"...
beside the point...
  it's when some medical
conditions are slandered,
exposed to metaphor,
misnomer,
             that the madmen
receive the package
of social constraints
"levitating" just above
the state of being dormant...
but in this scenario:
well... that settles it...
now we know what
a level-playing-field looks like...
intellect,
and the debacle concerning
trust...
               well...
i've learned of trust
the upside-down way...
    relationships,
notably with a russian
specimen...
              me, ******,
why was i thinking i wouldn't
be ****** over?
   oh... right...
i can claim all
the responsibility with
what i "did" with a *******...
but when it comes
to the "affair" of a woman:
of free disposition,
i'm suddenly the culprit...
psychic trenches,
there "we" are,
entrenched in some plateau
of what seems to be
Belgium,
   and there "they" are,
entrenched in the same
plateau...
            sigh sigh, one more
for the party...
point being,
   people have not unearthed
the + + + + +
aspect of this debacle...
it's now a level playing field...
everyone is suspect,
everyone is limited...
a true: forensic quest for
democracy...
  all the other incidents
came and went,
always, as if: in passing...
  so this incident can also
come, and go, in passing...
solidarity to what?
to whom?
or rather: with?
            i can deal with this
sort of indigestion
surrounding my day to day,
but before long:
what other sop-story is
supposed to grab my attention?
clarity of intent,
   unlike someone experiencing
a psychotic break-down
of the psychic labyrinth...
a transcendence of
the categorical incentive...
somehow:
  the categorical imperative
was never supposed to mean:
what it meant to begin with...
the categorical imperative
has somehow lost the whole:
living by the standard
of a maxim...
               given that all maxims
are true...
  much harder to "test the waters"
with aphorisms...
            sure,
observable facts,
    then...
               disinhibited fictions...
glorification?
  today i had a problem
killing an ant...
   i was taking a ****
and had a problem killing
a moth that decided to freak
out the inanimate objects
of the bathroom...
       yeah: oh sure, sure,
i'm all for Herod's "conundrum"...
point being:
   we now know what
both sides feels...
         we now know...
       that there are outliers
on either side of the "debate"...
one: i am suspect,
but two: so is the counter-suspect...
no sacred cows...
   no: i think i'll just milk
a muslim in new dehli
for the jyst and thrill of a per se...
- at least now:
s.j.      w?
                or the conservative
mediator crowd of:
      there for the sake
of outrage only on the behalf
of outrage-in-itself?
past the phenomenon,
i can only return to the anti-phenomenon
of the noumenon (per se)...
which is not disappointing,
seeing how the whole "feel"
of it is begs the crux
fathomability of the individual...
just another skim read /
listen to the modern day
                          pharisee...
heavy sighs,
   blinded eyes...
frivolous waggling tongues...
but deep down,
most of the people are
content with having to experience
a revision...
  the revision being:
a level playing field...
   behring just attacked
the elites...
this?
    this dog ***** pile of
media attention?
         good...
        now everyone's uncertain...
i'm not afraid to think it,
and put it into writing...
    after a while:
   you just tire...
   you get tired of hearing
just one side of the story...

      what could leave someone
extreme: glee "riddled"
just leaves me exhausted...
     but at least the schizophrenics
are off the hook...
at least there's still some
belief in personal restraints...
even with a debilitating condition...
at least these people
are not facing the collateral
stereotyping of someone
with: the clarity of intent...

         there's just me, at this point,
thinking to myself:
and why did "they" drug me
to the point of:
making "them" feel uncomfortable...
clearly my mental faculties
have not been
                 car-crash dimished...

welcome the new hybrid...
soul mongrel...
           what is it about the polacks
that has made them so...
immune?
     i guess only recently
Poland has celebrated
the centenary of independence...
i wouldn't know,
i'm strapped to England
in metaphorical strait-jacket
  (what is metaphor
compared to metaphysics?),
   sober, drunk,
drunk, sober, etc.
               i was given a crash-course
in multiculturalism,
i guess i assimilated...
   back in school there was
the popular irish gang...
and there was "my" group...
of all the outliers...
   we used to spend lunch breaks
playing cards...
but when i heard news that
i would only be fully integrated,
once i gave up my native tongue
which i used to speak in
private?
    that broke the camel's back...
the centenary of independence
of Poland...
i wouldn't know...
i'm in "exile"...
   which is: economic "war"
came to where i come from
after the fall of the soviet pact...
and...
                every time i go back
to visit my grandparents...
i am only associated
with that country by speaking
the language...
and boy, it's not so ******* rosy
on the inside, compared to what
is being pushed to the outside...
Poland is like a: death-zone...
**** me, even the Hungarians
know how to ***** themselves
when it comes to tourism...

    i am, in "exile"...
            come to think of it,
most of the Muslims in the west
have it worse,
but i blame their parents...
i had one Pakistani friend
in high-school...
   now that i succumb to
reminiscence... yep...
he spoke perfect Urdu;
    but all these outliers?
   what their parents did...
****** themselves into
an integration mechanism...
not retaining their mother tongue?
like all these,
western jihadi prospects...
speak about 10 words of arabic,
and they are "attempting"
to compensate...
   i somehow feel for them,
a complete mine-field
of a mind-****...
       like being impreganted
by a virus,
a cancer...
     the linguistic dysphoria...
so yeah: if everyone would please
like to make heavy scrutiny
of the blatantly obvious,
regarding the genital region,
and forget a sobering note of
worthwhile problems,
namely the language dysphoria
of muslims, in England,
feel free to keep looking
at the genital "problem"...
            
clearly there's a dysphoria horizon,
i would know,
given that i have retained
my mother tongue...
but they haven't...
               and all they want is probably
so little...
   i remember that my father
once called me
the bellybutton of the world...
referencing me as
   an english child...
  that's how the Polacks view
the English: the bellybuttons
of the world, center of attention,
yada yada...
                 gender "dysphoria"...
you have to be *******
kidding me...
              what about the language
dysphoria of Muslims
                    in the (v)vest?

jak to się mówi:
            tym co się od razu, ma?

i can understand the language
dysphoria, well,
being a 1st generation immigrant...
i can't imagine being
born to 1st generation immigrants,
not retaining my native
tongue,
   knowing only the tongue
of integration,
   it would feel alien...
   like i was impregnated
by a foreign body,
   retaining nothing of my "******"
natural resources...
so... the problem we've arrived at
is very real...
  more real than gender dysphoria...

hopefully i'm less "schizoid"
at the end of this marathon,
and more: relieved to be merely
bilingual...
entrenched bilingual -
            so no, not a polymath...
or rather: not a polyglot;
my maternal great-grandfather
apparently was,
spoke 7 languages,
disappeared somewhere near
Niagara Falls...

   the plan was: England, stop-over...
via Argentina
   and toward the U.S.,
****... seems i was side-tracked
into remaining,
being shackled to these isles.

Roman Virgil, thou that singest
      Ilion's lofty temples robed in fire,
Ilion falling, Rome arising,
      wars, and filial faith, and Dido's pyre;

Landscape-lover, lord of language
      more than he that sang the "Works and Days,"
All the chosen coin of fancy
      flashing out from many a golden phrase;

Thou that singest wheat and woodland,
      tilth and vineyard, hive and horse and herd;
All the charm of all the Muses
      often flowering in a lonely word;

Poet of the happy Tityrus
      piping underneath his beechen bowers;
Poet of the poet-satyr
      whom the laughing shepherd bound with flowers;

Chanter of the Pollio, glorying
      in the blissful years again to be,
Summers of the snakeless meadow,
      unlaborious earth and oarless sea;

Thou that seest Universal
      Nature moved by Universal Mind;
Thou majestic in thy sadness
      at the doubtful doom of human kind;

Light among the vanish'd ages;
      star that gildest yet this phantom shore;
Golden branch amid the shadows,
      kings and realms that pass to rise no more;

Now thy Forum roars no longer,
      fallen every purple Caesar's dome--
Tho' thine ocean-roll of rhythm
      sound forever of Imperial Rome--

Now the Rome of slaves hath perish'd,
      and the Rome of freemen holds her place,
I, from out the Northern Island
      sunder'd once from all the human race,

I salute thee, Mantovano,
      I that loved thee since my day began,
Wielder of the stateliest measure
      ever moulded by the lips of man.

.so there's this scene in the B.B.C. drama series, bodyguard, when the home secretary, with the help of the intelligence services, uncovers several cover-up stories, which include ****** assault and addiction to substances, namely? alcohol... the report reads: 50 units per week... hmm... ****... what's mine? 2 Heineken pints... that's 3.3 units x 2... oh... and that liter of whiskey... 40 units... but that's in a single day... what's that by week? (well... sometimes it's not 2 Heineken pints...) so we're talking ~326 units per week... and i haven't been to rehab... and however much i am, drunk like a skunk... i still have the literary decency to spell correctly... even though at that point, i'm sometimes seeing double, or find myself doing cross-eyed to even out the carousel; go figure.

ah the centenary, of sorts... all sorts...
in the west...
  the mourning, sombre sobering
about the pointless war... sorry...
the "great" / "war to end all wars" world war uno...
basically just a family feud...
between Queen Vic's grandson
and son...
               bravo! b'good day ol' sport...
*******... the whole lot of it...
on the world stage, very similar
to Vietnam...
         so i'm eating my Haribo
tang-tastic (yes yes, spastic fantastic,
ha ha)
             jellies while perusing
today's newspaper...
    i almost choke...
Poland made it into the western press...
extremist try to hijack polish parade...
the far right threatened...
oh for, ****'s, sake!
   in these post-colonial countries
everything right of *****-up-your-***
and a gag-ball-in-your-mouth
is "far" right...
you get you little poppy appeal...
your little Ypres moment...
      give these people their celebration
of something meaningful...
not everyone who goes to a metal
concert engages in a mosh-pit...
savvy?
(insert snigger):
        bet those wankers in H'america
with their tiki torches are scratching
their heads, right about now...
           wankers...
                FLARES! FLARES!
                              the red serpent...
200,000 majority...
             ****... i almost want to...
                  **** it... i wish i was there;
to celebrate what?
             the end of empire(s)...
       why is nationalism so bad all of a sudden...
the British had theirs,
uninterrupted for... how long?
  if the British waited with their media
coverage...
and figured out how it could possibly
be that they were enslaved by a foreign
power...
                    hmm...
how's that consolidation compensation
working out, with the mothers of Manchester?

p.s. well... if you watched more soccer
than the ******* interlude between
halves filled with cheerleaders,
you wouldn't have that ****** tiki torches
fiasco, would you now?
you'd have the 13th warrior wendol
fire-worm...
                       but then again i guess
you need all that padding...
to throw a miniature sized rugby ball...
hence the audacity...
the best defense is an attack...
   and i am part of the hive...
export...
            singled out...
          i'm exerting what is
the required pressure...
  so how's it going with compensating
the mothers of Manchester?
good? good good.

You told me once that I am your favorite writer.

I was hesitant and unsure. Your innocence might jinx me this time. Then you laughed, as you always do, like a child giggling while waiting the rain from the summer sky. Everything becomes clear. After all, whatever comes from you is never you.

Of course, you are as always an empty being.

Your emptiness tells many stories. Your emptiness fools me. Your emptiness is the real vessel of soul. Your emptiness is a parchment for budding thoughts. Your emptiness is a magic.

No wonder, I fell in love with that emptiness. I just do not know if emptiness loves me back.

Or, was it me who stares at the abyss long enough that a centenary gone by.

1900: The Boxer rebellion begun. Freud published his Interpretation of Dreams.

1903: The Wright brothers marked their first flight. In turn, Curtiss decided to invade the sky.

1912: Titanic anchored to Atlantis, to its final resting place.

Two years after, the first World War broke out. Horses galloped to the killing fields.

1925: The first among many trials of the century began. That day, Darwin risen for the second time.

1934: ****** became Fuhrer. The world becomes a theater. “Absurd,” says Beckett. “Cruelty” for Artaud.

1939; 1941: Second World War broke out; Pear Harbor bombed. Asia Pacific meets its infernal fate.

1945: Three mushroom clouds seen: New Mexico, Hiroshima, and Nagazaki.

1960’s: Humanity becomes obsessed with multiple wars: cold, space, nuclear, music, universities; not counting the mutants who played major roles in between.

1986: Itay wrote a letter to Inay. The letter reached Manila after a few days from Jeddah.

1989: Capitalism won. Berlin wall fell like a paper plane after its victorious flight. My parents met for the first time. Months later, they decided to cut the cake and get married.

1993: The World Wide Web saw its day. I was born.

Twenty two years later, I met her. A year after, Phil Collins sang once again Separate lives.

That time, I know, I will never be your favorite writer.

We are the boys who go out and party, and get into trouble, oh yeah we're bad


You see I went to the club to watch a really cool band
For starters it took a while to start and when it did
I was the only one dancing, you see I was the only cool one there
And I went to the Brumbies and I yelled when they dropped the ball
Saying we stink we stink we stink
Then after that we went to an old house in Wanniassa
And I knocked on the door and this lady answered and said
How are you little cool dude, I am the evil white witch of Canberra
Who are you, you fine gentlemen, who are you
I said I am Brian Allan, and I am the head cool boy here in Canberra
The evil white witch said, not for long, I have Mark Marlor and Brendan Schultz
Both captured in my den in the backyard, yes it looks like a chicken coop
And I want you too, because mate, you are a little brat who hangs around witch's houses
I tried to escape, but the witch before my eyes, zapped me in chains in the den
With Mark and Brendan, and this was going to be doom for us
The white witch wanted to feed us, because he wanted us to fatten up
For the big feast, which was in about 2 weeks from now
And these three Canberra kids are the Canberra kids who will bring peace to the city
For the centenary, yes the white witch was sitting in her chair saying I have the cool kids
Mark, Brendan and Brian were saying, we are the boys who go out and party
And get into trouble. Oh yeah we're bad, cause we end up being chained in an evil white witch's backyard den, and we are by all means doomed
The witch came down to the den and said, have you boys gained fat yet
You 3 can no longer be muscle boys, cause you are my prisoners
I have you forever, kiddies
The white witch made sure that Brendan,Mark and Brian were securely chained in so tightly, and then went on a little walk around Canberra trying to find more Canberra crowd kids to catch, and he walked past the Duffy shops and the white witch saw Luke Salvorg who was. Under 12 for Weston Creek and he was riding his bike down tbe road, and yes, like all sports boy, he thought he was never going to be kidnapped, because he was too loud and too fit, but the white witch waved her arms and suddenly Luke found himself in the witch's den chained up, he was scared and Mark Marlor, who knew him, said, we must eat, because we are going to be the food at a dinner party, you see we all are kidnapped by an evil white witch, and don't worry she only wants boys, because boys are tough
You see, we are the boys who go out to party and get into trouble, oh yeah, we're bad, cause we end up being chained in an evil white witch's backyard den, Luke said please mummy rescue me, please, and I want you to do it now



Sent from my iPhone

It's the centenary of the proclamation – we shall lift our glasses,
not to Guinness or to Arthur Diageo's dream of the Emerald Isle,
distracted, appeased, quelled an' ****** on the tainted black stuff,  
designed to keep us inferior, pig-carriers - at arms with ourselves,
but of Irish craft, guile an' the rising of Irish spirits, the creation,
of a dream long suffered for, long wished for, celebrated in private
for shame of the austere reflection of a country and its people lost,
We shall lift our glasses to the beginning of todays sour ending,
A'sure twas' a good Easter that year.

Hand shakes warm, clean an' orchestrated with restrained sincerity,
A Kingdom reborn, a Republic divided by the maths of peace-makers,
The brave sacrificed for the sneering survival of these eels of politics,
Landowners who owned more than just land - the people's will,
Testament to this abortion of values, morals, history and desire,
is the wholesale pawning of the Irish coast – to support our captors,
the constant glance over our shoulders with panic in our quiet eyes,
as the money men, smug with irresponsibility laugh safely inside,
A'sure twas' a good Take that year.

Swarming in the incense, this part  of “The City”
looked like a Turkish bath, and the books, old & cold,
shivered in trays as they awaited their faux leather,
While a wet winter wind whistled in the keyholes.

By the fallen, balmy cloud the fruits of cactus
lay in a red cart like porcupines colored, tired
of being on guard all the time. Their hues stirred
the hunger of the centenary walls, so their fissures
oozed and their latter-day hieroglyphs began
to crumble.
(c) LazharBouazzi

Springs of infinite eternity
Centenary faith but immortal love
Bubbles of idealism blew away
Viscous spirituality rose in his heart
Elevation of selfishness and attachment
Detainment of worldly desires
Medication through universal panacea
Knitted in the same fabric of cohesion
Cohesion of his lively soul
Droolworthy negation
Fusing with the Lord of the Universe
He attained salvation..

the nobles cut off Rasputin's head, while the two in command of keeping Rasputin's head drunk multiplied and cut off the Romanov family's heads - and it snowed a serene symphony of snow as it did on a mime's piano - and Russian felt fed, and alive again... and those closest to the pigs' trough still bemoaned the events, on the centenary pinpoint in St. Petersburg.*

i was in an Athenian brothel...
i know what ethnicity
entertained me... national pride?
if there ain't any kept with the
women... just forget the football
team performing to a gold standard
that might inspire families to stay
together or keep the children dreaming...
but of course... the Irish still have
their qualms about 3rd class on the Titanic
and the potato famine... and the English
asked Aladdin for a carpet to brush
their colonial past under it -
the Welsh? don't know, don't care -
the Scots? y'ir a haggen hag hag
dabbler in Yiddish and hang the lamb
gush of intestine as edible? pardon me
deep fried friend, 'e's from Mars...
no wonder it took him Colonel Cook
and some wacky Portugese Columbus
to create the global empire, upon which
the sun, never truly set, but upon which
the moon did settle from time to time,
to reverse it's fascist priority with a pinch
of panic that had no systematic authority -
or as the venom said:
the only thing worse than fascism is panic...
proof via Pompeii.

The age of the tomahawk of idle and useless talk
and we talk of progress.
Unless I'm mistaken we are all being taken for a ride,there's no pomp or ceremony,it's a circumstance,projected,directed,sometimes deflected and I'm tired of it,tired of being hit where it hurts,tired of seeing shirts being torn from our backs,
Relax?
what's the use?
If I don't stand and deliver I might just as well be back on the juice.

To demonstrate against the state at a rate of knots,take my shots or get shot down, and let's face it, we are all being put down on some list in some office somewhere,where they don't even know us let alone do they care,
we're just fare for the cannon,fodder to be spat out at our brothers and sisters of whatever colour, religion or race,
and it's a race against time
today
Palestine,
tomorrow some other place,another race,if you don't get your say in you might as well stay in and drink blood red wine.
A centenary is here and we learn nothing,I fear
for the future.

CCP Turtles Grassing Line
China’s virtual hotline
Report online remarks
Slander Communist Party history
Crack down “bygone nihilists”
Party’s 100th centenary July

Grass line allows society report
Netizens “twist” Party’s history
Attack governance policies
Denigrate national heroes
Deny superiority radical socialist nation

Clandestine motivations old nihilistic parodies
Malevolently garbling
Denigrating contradicting Party history

Internet operatives administering people
Devotedly report dangerous info

“Historical nothingness” public doubt distrust
Chinese Communist Party’s earlier dealings

China’s net forcefully censored
Overseas social media networks
Search engines news outlets forbidden

Penances persons conveyed
Netizens prison lawful punishments
Placement content acute
Nation’s leadership procedures antiquity

Legal amendments folks
“Slur smear invade on” memorial
China’s national heroes’ martyrs
Face three years gaol

I touched water yesterday white and cold,
purposely hardened by pugnaciously low
temperatures fighting to withhold
the solid fluid against a thieving star, roaring

sweltering rays to melt, moulded men
made of snow, as the girl grew disappointed
expecting whipped cream texture, lack of softness,
digging deep with fingers covered in gloves,

to make ***** to throw at others who will smile
at the jovial play, insensitive to the endeavours
of the eroded mountain modelled by many million
years of scorching suns, blistering winds,

blizzards freezing falls as they cascade, sculptures
made by nature crossed by bridges, so heavenward
drivers succumb to overwhelming giddiness
before entering an endless claustrophobic tunnel,

where science laboratories hide secrets
of the universe under a three thousand meter
elevated rock. The Great Rock of Italy an immense
park, where protected species graze unscathed,

farmers’ labours engender culinary delights
for an imprisoned dictator, while
physicists discover neutrinos beating light
at a dashing race, and Ladyhawke mutates to fly

over a nocturnal vagabonding wolf. I touched
water yesterday, white and cold, and I could
only imagine the enthralling moment when
spring will come and all shall liquesce

to replenish rivers and lakes, irrigating soils
for centenary trees to blossom once again
granting life to living creatures witnessing
the grand spectacle of perfectly attuned cycles.

it only dawned on my yesterday,
watching a Peter Jackson movie
about the first world war...

in the way that the English
soldiers described the events...

(more soldiers died in
the first world war than
in the second world war...
that's because the second
world war tops the list
via the newly invented
guerrilla tactic of targeting
civilians, or rather,
akin to the Warsaw ghetto
and the Warsaw uprising...
militarizing civilians)...

****... what was i going
to wax into a Tussauds
  ****-bunny?
oh... right...
the comments...

  the British soldiers noted
disparities among the Germans...

Konrad I of Masovia
invited the Teutonic order
to fight off the Prussians...

the British soldiers noted...
the Saxons and the Bavarian
(yes, that's non-plural,
a definite article identifies
this "phenomenon")
         are people akin...
but the Prussians?
masochistic *******...

because the Prussians are not
Germans!
   the Prussians are
akin to the other Baltic ethnic
backgrounds...
akin to the Latvians,
Estonians, Lithuanians...
they're Prussians!
   an independently recognizable
ethnicity...
  that's why Konrad I of Masovia
implored the Teutonic order
to instigate the Northern Crusade
against them!

think... the remnants of the vikings...

mind you, there's another
sub-ethnic group of note...
the Kashubians...
less the Baltic peoples and
more the Pomeranian peoples...
cute puppies...

but who can do a better
pickled Baltic sushi's worth of
herring other than the Danzig folk?
the Kashubians...
Kashubian raw herrings?
munch munch munch...
kudos... much kudos...
yeah... i know... the Picts' smoked
salmon...
   different waters... different fish...

but the Prussians aren't Germans...
the English soldiers in
the trenches noted that,
given a Bavarian and a Saxon
comparison...
Prussians are Prussians...
i don't understand them,
although i share a history with
them...
          the Masovians
                asked the Teutonic Order
to suppress their paganism,
which later extended
to Lithuania...
                        and then:
power corrupts...
                               so there...
but from the looks of it...
back "home" the independence day
march in Warsaw accounted to
around 200,000+ people...
            world war what?
          the celebration of the futile dead
while elsewhere a story of liberation...
  i write "home"... because it is just that...
by now, having lived so long in England...
a mental tattoo...
                       once my grandparents die...
i will have no affiliation to that nation,
other than a bilingual tourist.

you only partake in the centenary once, better make the most of it! it’s only a grandmother’s worth of care, queen celebratory and a cup-cake!*

the philosophical basis is, ideally, and classically
a height or width outside of space and time...
but as jesus said, and this is seriously being
revised and rekindled, given unto
space and time a sexuality -
this primitive stance was about standing outside
sexuality, pairing or patent,
there can never be a monotheism,
a duo-theism i agree too...
a woman's god will never appeal to man...
a man's god will never appeal to woman...
then, what, the, ****, is, going, on?!
oh right... i can rub one rock of flit against
another to make a fire... now some wise-guy
created money so that i can write at leisure and write
what i've written now with ease and a lack of morals
(someone is bound to hammer in a nail)...
both mortals and immortals were brought down
onto insanity's levelling as altogether curious without
a democratic response adequate for this zoo...
i know my futility, like an aerobic agility on the matter -
framework: gymnastics;
whatever literary escapade... i still only eat, ****, repeat;
we really did **** someone off prior to this
to have to endure this.

While four hauled on ropes
with all their might to heave
the vessel the rest of us pushed
as hard as we could for it to slip,

over rolling wood stems of nearby
centenary trees, cylinder boles cut
collected and positioned neatly
on the beach. Feet sinking in sand

scorching skin for what could have been
the last time, ingenious procedure
to ****** the mended old ship
at sea, once more to sail where winds

would blow her, hope would lead her.
Little did we know the two would take
us far into nowhere abandoning tars
to the mercy of blistering quiet.

No gale no direction other
than sudden calenture affecting
all the crew the captain miles
away from any coast under

hallucinogenic revelations
delivering abreactions
unexpected introspection
resulting in acquaintance

with self. Until storm was greeted
with joy mouths wide-open
like kids sticking tongues
out to seize drops of unsalted

fresh water after seven
days of compulsory ***
depletion. Invigorated a new
battle introduced its imminence,

waves as high as ancient temples
were the rival faced
while lowering sails to survive
unwilling to surrender yet

searching for land
through reluctant biting lashes until,
the last billow we saw captured
us and closed our eyelids,

forevermore.

might as well join in the celebrations -
coming from a place that some
might consider to be the Israel
of the north -
                    lost for some time -
    emerging with a centenary celebration
of independence -
did you know?
   it took the Nazis less time to conquer
France, that it took for both the Nazis
and the Soviets to conquer Poland?
    so the Jews left Europe...
   but... then the nag hammadi library
was unearthed in Egypt,
  in 1945...
   and along came the phantom of Samson -
shaking the pillars of the states' foundation,
namely the church...
          the dead sea scrolls?
   as the name denotes...
   more a Judaic mind-boggle -
    i was baptized, thankfully read some
gnostic literature, and refrained from confirmation,
luckily for me, i'm outside the Catholic
jurisdiction -
    i can't entertain the idea of a Church
wedding...
             the beauty of Catholicism -
its limitations with regards to someone
avoiding the whole, pomp & circumstance...
someone should write this sequel
to Jane Austen's book...
            but she's still not going to get
the same sort of respect, and the 5 quid she's
on... it's a non-contest,
with Mary Shelley...
     that bomb of imagination in
                       establishing a genre...
far better than Bram Stoker...
                      no...
    with the emergence of the nag hammadi
library, and the somewhat
pseudo-historical account of Hey-Zeus!
well...
    have the Byzantine fantasy...
               this... Mediterranean delusion...
us Baltic folk... different story...
             **** it, have a crucifix forest...
but i had to evolve,
       tickle Judaism to give me something
to believe in...
  turns out!
         i managed to tickle a phantom rabbi
just well enough, to watch
him either lose his kippah from the tickling...
or enter a moshpit
               with his payot...
         i'm no Spinoza...
                 and i wouldn't want to be,
esp. a Jew in the Netherlands...
            perhaps a Jew in France...
but then again...
   my dream... to visit the Faroe Islands...
so doing my usual sudoku...
a wild idea emerged...

(clockwise)

           □           □
                  □
           □           □

                                  (anti-clockwise)

and the following, of this imploded
pentagon,
this humble legionnaire,
playing dice beneath the shadow
of the crucifix...

enclosed, within?
oh, you know, the ha shem...

     W     H      Y     H    

     H      Y      H     W

     Y      H      W     H

     H      W     H      Y

supplement the Semitic lettering
on paper, yourself...
Semitic isn't exactly
built for ctrl c / p
   in html

Y - י‬
H - ה‬
V - ו‬
H -  ה‬

     ... and, oddly enough...
   there's a sensibility behind this strand
of Judaism...
     being irreligious -
actually enjoying a pork head terrine
(the most tender meat) +,
   isn't pig, the most economic animal
worth human consumption?
      who the **** would eat
lamb kidneys?
   or lamb liver?!
                  
what a ****** critique of the one animal,
which, other foods are in short supply,
could fend of the sort of
Ukrainian cannibalism at the height
of the 20th century famine...

         and about the meat being impure...
last time i heard...
   the scenario in England...
clearly stated -
    mad COW disease...
               and you're equally likely
to ingest a tapeworm
   from lamb, as from beef;
oh god... the sleeper tapeworms
in fish?
   even worse, apparently twice
the size of the mammalian exponents!

Celtic Karma over the
the backstop.

The P.O.M.S  never forgive
          
But, The Paddy's never forget.

The Boomerang has done
a centenary circle.

Brits are Brexed
Irish <>  <> are smiling
             ^
             O

And we are singing
The Fields of Athenry.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jwt3IYAaimA

i want to let my eyes fall down
till i see red veils i stand often in dim light chin up
with my legs small and kneeled
oedipal slits never eroding
a little sage across my bed solely an ode to cleansing

serpent valentine
forever blinded and biting its way through
two layers of black cotton
venomous overtime king with scepter
my neck ornamented almost a warning for casualties

a mindless centenary every second written down on paper
falling notes a rhythm difficult to follow
a corner unfolding metaphysically
toothless symbolism softly smelling of super mist

grey magic
conch shell
chest floored
binary pair of hands collapsing ten seconds at a time
pentacles carved into city-clogged skin
reconnecting to fire almost within reach of
combustion

A joyful noise resounds in the alley behind a centenary remodeled creole cottage occupied by a pair of long friends. On an unusually pleasant late fall December eve. Between Rue Deauxfeine and Escalante Blvd, there is blaze burning in a what can only be described As four-alarm fire-hazard of a backyard the residents of this domicile called “the crack yard.” It more resembles a patch of clearing in a wooded public park you’d likely find a body in than the coifed cultured greens of old growth Azalea’s, trimmed Boxbush hedges, and biweekly mowed zoysia (if you have money), or St. Augustine (if you have class); but the body there wasn’t buried by the people who live there now.

A couple of 20s-something bartenders just off shift have made it a semblance of home, and every now and then these buddies are drinking Takka ***** or Bartons gin, and a two liter of dime store lemonade they paid a dollar and change for, on a “poorman’s patio” as they like to call it- a concrete slab poured poorly by an above-ground-pool installation company that Devin worked  for after high school, when he was nineteen and broke and drunk. Typically they sit around a bespoke fire pit made of concrete garden pavers, errant bricks older than they are, and cinder blocks they stole from a construction site not terribly far from where they are right now. The impetus to build “the *******,” as it was named, was just “somethin’ nice to do,” and with all the newly available fuel to fire it, they figured they could throw the landlord a bone and bolster the property value a little, gratis, as a “thank you” for being prone to leniency about the late fees and the due date for the back rent they still owed; because so long as the front rent was covered and they weren’t getting the cops called all the time, like they used to, Mr. Deavers really felt like being a **** about it was unnecessary, and thus nothing to do.

So they stacked the raw materials in a round a couple years back, to make a safe space to burn the unwieldy amount of timber fall they had to clean up just to go get groceries^1 after a hurricane came through town and took most of region’s tree limbs, and good many of the trunks down to the ground.

One of the largest limbs it loosed landed heavily with its ragged broken-end down, thereby impaling itself nearly upright probably four feet into the torrent softened ground, with only a brittle crack during the howling winds to indicate the new residence it took up when it fell.^2  If they were to be honest about it, The boys didn’t even notice at first, or for the rest of the year after it happened, for that matter. It wasn’t until spring that it “appeared.”

To them, it looked just like they looked to it; something that had always been there growing up and hanging around, of little consequence or focal interest and camouflaged by similarity to it’s surroundings, made doubly effective by its stillness derived from a sturdy reliable foundation which allowed it AT FIRST to go unnoticed, but there was something off about it when the cold seasons softened out: it never turned green. It just stayed dead and brown. But by then they had no idea how long it HAD been there so they just accepted the miracle appearance of a new tree, ****** on the property, as a gift from the universe for… something, and never  considered it was just a tree branch, and so they never bothered to cut it down.  


(1. If beer and Oreos can even count as groceries, even though they’re the only things regularly consumed. That one’s still up for considerable review, and the juries hung thus far, so we might not see the answer anytime soon)


(2. this sound could hardly be expected to carry through the door, much less above the deafening heavy-metal playing at a level most simplistically described as Loooud)

We come from a galaxy far far away.
It's time for our centenary survey;

We travel across the universe – an exciting cosmic ride.
Observing, learning & listening – the ultimate scout guides;

Oceans & rivers cover 70% of your planets surface.
Essential for your existence – no longer fit for purpose;

Short-term acclaim & fortune for your environmental villains.
One flew over the cuckoo’s nest - planet earth asylum;

Your existence is so fragile – mercury rising, ice shelves falling.
Wake up earthlings no more gas lighting or stonewalling;

Space toes being dipped to observe you’re neighbours.
Once thrived with life, be warned or prepare to meet your makers;    

We will glide by again in another hundred years.
Intelligent advancement - or your species disappeared;