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Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
anyone can be a dritte ***** fetishist... anyone! say one word in german, and the left will deem you adequate for a fist, rather than a lip... or at least that's how speaking german words, with their compound-anti-hyphen "getting together" looks like... the French utilise diacritical marks intended as syllable incissors: but frequently utilise them, unless you're Lacan and say: transcend them... i.e. move them to the side... ensuring that a monopoly on literacy is kept... the only remnants of Saxon in Anglo-Saxon is enclosed in chemical nouns.... the rarity of actually using a hyphen, you literally over-use in everyday sprechen... talk a word of deutsche and you're 1 centimetre away from saluting and to a hymn stating a sieg heil! Germany is originally community building, English, for all it's **** antics, isn't... Germany can have the concept of a zeitgeist tomorrow... German society is as thick as *****... Germans best represent *****... i never lived there, but i have enough instruments to see it... they have a tendency to disregard the individual when the mass is threatened... the Englsih? they don't have that tendecy... they are more into einsgeist than anything else... they are the single ethnic group that cherishes iconoclasm above anything else... i spent 3 weeks in Poland: how many times did i hear the word selfie used? not once, zilch... 0. i know that English is a lingua franca of modern times, but it's so easy to speak, given the fact that so many people speak, that i feel horrid using it... i want it to remain small, the tinniest of tiny in its post-imperial structure... comedy-hysterics prone... debating the question: why are Scots in the Houses of Westminster? making adequate demands? the English will never experience a zeitgiest... they're living in one at the moment, but given the disparity of accents: they''ll never accept it... which is why, whenever i travel to Poland, i have a luxury suite in how i deciphered diacritcal marks... i can't be recognised as a foreigner... but of course the gnat questions in Essex (England) given my Germanic physiogomy... it's self-evident... but why didn't god die in Auschwitz? i believe it to be akin to Jesus having no inkling into the struggle contesting the need to build pyramids... unlike the need for what later became a misinterpretations of Conquistadors seeing the Aztec similitude of Egypt... i.e. the scaffolds... capital punishment... ******* didn't get it... now the entire continent is overrun with them asking for the some obscure demand for a Juan buying them the next round of drinks... the English will never create a zeitgeist... my fascination with the dritte ***** is simply that: to see a zeitgeist... a complete and utter obedient ethnicity... a singular testmanet of a volk... Jews i too could praise, but they're too scattered, too "english" i.e. too individualistic, too disguised... i see them re-owning Israel a bit like some fetish ***** with latex and gimp... what i want to see is the volk, from the mistakes sentenced in Versailles... i want to simply see the volk... well... no can do... i can't see it, history says... it's a natural fetish of history students... American protests don't really do it for me... there's no omni-cohesion akin to a *****-like appropriation of the leader *****... that's the closest i'll ever get with getting to see a theocracy, minus the idiosyncratic psychosis... clear geometry! lines! shapes! regiments! i'm so tempted by it that i can't but lead my narrative with it! the English will never understand this concept... they're too idiosyncratic in their approach... they all think they're unique... or as that motto in school hanged over me echoed, it hanged there in the air like a guillotine, some anonymous dictator spoke to us: you're different... just like everybody else! it was never a concern for keeping a place of origin as ostriches might... ther was always that moral "obligation" surfacing from Hong Kong and king kong... and Timbuktu... which is why i said ω = oo and a pair of ****, or a bottom... and o = +h... or a breath central yielding to an islam of yhwh... versus the need for a macron over the omicron... and indeed the umlaut above the o merely invoked the siamese cut-off of e, so a tongue-curler... but the seeing the volk! we all go mad after a while... i can't see the years according to Adoolf as something worth a romance... it has all the traits of a noumenon about it... but you know why i write this? my grandfather remembers ᛋᛋ-men kleiden im schwarz in my home-town, just before the Russian army came with their youths who preferred to sleep with the animals in equivalent of Bethlehem grottos... he remembered the ᛋᛋ-men, not as kleiden im schwarz: but as.... herrbittebonbon... or should i punctuate that: herr! bitte bonbon! some have a fancy on remembering the romance of the Warsaw Uprising of '44... my only clue into the reality of world war ii was once said by my grandfather... and they gave him sweets... so that he ran home and had to put his hands under the tap, because the sweets were so glue-like, that only water could tear them apart in order that he might clasp something else... it's sad in a way: i ahve no memorial to go to... no need to express a pride... merely fragrant my vocab with a german word or two... to indeed see: that there must have been something human in that ******* embryo at some point... something counter Versailles... i can't feel being touchy about these neurotic spreading their opinions as if their opinions are above the facts that history dictates... and personal memories, however many generations apart... but at least kept... if my grandfather remembers ᛋᛋ-men being herrbittebonbon... i can only wish to have an unlimited amount of ****... given my libido... and the complexity of modern women demanding as they demand: the restrained man, the man not willing to explore easing ******* by having *** while she's in the cyclone... oh well.... thumbs up!

well... looking at it now, i can only see left-politics
without an economic model... or what happened when
communsim was undermined: my grandfather,
a communist party member has a state pension....
so it's not like he's on a 0-hour contract...
   what's missing with the current left-leaning
politics? an economic model...
the left has no economic policy in the west...
it was been weeded out, what with the original
model asserting Marx and Dickens' Oliver Twist
tragedy... the left has absolutely no
economic model, which makes for crude politics:
   once upon a time the workers
in eastern europe celebrated workers
day... and you had absolutely
no protest: i.e. not engagement in
Hegelian dialectics...
    minus: is there really a theological
dialectic? i'm not so sure
given that atheism is populist
in motto, and anti-centrist
and giving up the individual so easily...
i don't trust it...
       so i don't really
respect it, however many intellectuals
take to the pulpit...
   i too ordain myself with a strict rigour
of "religious" akin dynamics:
i drink to excess, daily...
   well... wouldn't you:
given too many wanted you dead...
you'd start to imitate them
and take gambles at your own life,
finally! **** me! they suddenly disappear,
those same people who wanted you dead!
****! gone... blah blah and pa pa much
later...
                i still think i'm more useful
rhyming snipptes i call poetry
and necessarily not rhyme: because i don't
like orthodoxy, whether church or
poetry bound... because it just seems
too much like ping-pong after a while...
   i never knew why rhyme needed rubric, strict,
only identifiable by rhyme...
  never knew why that was the case...
i always thought: impromptu against rhyme...
                  but i'll give Islam
one thing that overpowers the rest...
the fact that "saints'" heads are on fire...
rather than encapsulated in halos...
       i see the item: halo like
the fact that left politics is needy in a care for
anything but a rebellion against an economy...
left-wing politics have no economy to support...
you can't teach people communism
     without being left out in the cold
without Marshall Plan antics of benefits
and left with an idea of Marx...
            the shadow of Hegel looms too heavily
over the attempts...
  the shadow of Hegel is too thick
and coercing... to do otherwise...
                 leftist politics is without an economy:
therefore they have to imitate
  far-right tendencies...
  they have to employ damage...
well: this is coming from someone who's grandfather
was a communist party member...
                        i can't see the left....
i can't see a purpose: an economy as a wanking
hippy commune? really? is that all?
                     smashed windows, is that all?
i always liked the fact that Islamic saints
had their heads set alight... on fire my son,
on fire...
   no halo, akin to the current leftist attempt
at dialectics: by halo i mean: membrane,
i mean: the untouchables... meaning pristine ego...
if only the Sunnis allowed the artists of Persia
to come to their calling, to ease the strain
imposed by Muhammad...
but now... well: if writing is supposedly "holy"
what will the Sunnis ever make
of the iconoclasm of words in adverts?
nothing... are we being temped with a warring spirit,
are we? aren't we?!
   who's waking up the populists?!
you really want germans on the warring path?
of course... let me tell you how *william burroughs

noted the creation of the schutzstaffel
as over-heard:
pet a kitten for month... then gauge its eyes out.
oh i have no care for a romance:
i'm seeing Paris contained in an envelope
citing the address: Hades... arise!
it's not the same Paris i remember, not the Paris
of 2004 or 2005...
       it's really a case of playing with
    an elastic band.... you pull it, stretch it...
but finally it snaps! and yes...
we'll be drinking schnapps in Libya at some point...
i'm thinking: what will ever make a man
relieve himself of using a hammer and a nail
as a carpenter, and take to a machine gun?
there must be an enzyme-point that just festers
in its ability to give momentum...
there must be... perhaps when being global merchants
leaves people too ordained to wait for death
that they start seeking it in the ***** of Mars?
   when utopia nears and merely breathes into
man's ear, and says no word, unlike a god:
that the fatality dynamo begins...
    akin to the fateful comparison of Damocles -
dangling, but at the same time: tickling... teasing...
isn't the Islamic world merely agitating?
  trying to move the Christian world from
fully engrossing the "protestant"-liberal
easy adaptation working from unearthing
the nag hammadi library?
              well... the left is without an economic
model... so it's politics is what it is:
    the original intention of Hegel:
        outlines of the philosophy of right -
what's the genesis of Marx... funny enough
the book is merely a collection of notes on lectures...
      there no thesis involved...
nothing as grand as what could stand alone
akin to the phenomenology of spirit -
they're just notes... just like i'm reading heidegger's
ponderings ii - vi... notes... half-baked scripts...
   so my post-communist inheritence...
just when inflation gripped Polish economy...
and we had the Kantian idea reaching pulpit
1000000zł, i.e. so many denials of a stable 1...
    thus the inner working of modern capitalism...
how certain things are really worth
nothing, as such: £0.000001 -
i can only guess to state, the only class of people
able to experience this counter-inflation    
in western societies are "artists"...
    or artists, in the context of a harold norse
autobiography: memoirs of a ******* angel;
i.e. getting published, giving ****...      
   it would have been easier under Stalin or ******...
at least the chance of martydom
and the holy ghost of censorship...
  at least it would have made sense then...
but the concept of counter-inflation isn't that alien...
it exists for a reason to suggest:
we really don't need so many contestants
in an x-factor show... we don't need so many
artists... counter-inflation is at work already...
   the same sort of inflation that worked its way
to ensure plumbers and carpenters, roofers
from eastern europe at the end of communism
were necessarily exported into western europe...
given the communist work ethic...
    hence the power of money, so inhuman and
akin to an elemental force that man
can contain with pocket-money as a child,
but as a man, can't contain neither forest fire
or tsunami, so too money: with the economic crisis...
money overpowers man, akin to the elements...
the same inflation in poland at work
to shift people is apparent now, but as counter-inflation...
because England can't be known as a nation
of singers... but of nurses and carpenters and
   shopkeepers, hence the counter-inflation:
when a song on Spotify is worth £0.000001 per streaming...
an immigrant plumber from eastern europe is
worth 1000000zł... or how the coordinate (0, 0)
cancels out... and we're left with what's later just
a pedantic fact stated by someone like me: a zzzzzzzz
coordinate...
            we can't control money no more than
we can control seas...
   could we ever not dream of being given enough
money to then not waste them on pointless urges
akin to a lottery win and the easy way, via no
business or syndicate?
   really? there's a reason we live in a time
that's necessarily soulless...
   i can't give it a piquant phrase (only a phrase
as germans put it, chemically, hydrocarbon spelling
akin to zeitgeist - spirit of the times,
and there's nothing holy about it...
   it just moves to the next generation,
and the next poker hand... so **** that trinity
um... person?) - it gets ***** with fashion...
   or as i see it: cannibalism of 20th century trends
as the neo-original basis of fashion in the 21st beginning...
this is the one time i'll get to coin a phrase,
i.e. pick up a penny from the street pavement...
   counter-inflation brought it about...
rather than a zeitgeist where we can share afflictions
and, perhaps succumb to empathy early on...
nein... none of that... let's see what we really see it as:
ebenegeist - or? the levelling spirit...
         ebene-    (level)... ah... even better!
   stufegeist... you hear it all the time!
                         buying a house and getting onto
the property ladder!
                                    stufegeist -
           always that tease, always that ******* carrot
and that donkey... well... that's one way to get
motivational... invert the inflation of Zimbabwe...
  ensure people stop dreaming,
   make a plumber worth £0.000001 in Zimbabwe
and £1000000 in England...
      likewise make an "artist" worth
   £0.000001 per poem / song / painting...
  and likewise make him worth £1000000
in Zimbabwe as a "good" person...
  well... by now completely mentally ill...
   but hey! it's money! look at money like you might
look at water or fire or earth... and it's not
exactly a Monday's edition of the Financial Times...
mind you: given that we're so "advanced",
and given how old the concept of money is...
   is it really not as primitive as it really is
in what it makes people do?
   oh sure, because i'm so not used to it:
i'd rather be paid with the currency of peanuts!
                but then my love for the art is greater
than my ability to buy a brand new kettle...
or a doormat... so... what's the word... m'eh?
Traveler Sep 2018
The man behind the curtain
Speaking loud and certain
His image twisted and blurred
Larger than life
His armies and might
Imperialism is what he prefers

The little people do his bidden
On the senate floor of Oz
With pockets full
Of yellow brick gold
Their children live like gods

While those outside the castle
Have fallen fast to sleep
Trekking through the ***** field
Light upon their feet

The witches rise
On the centrist floor
The Wizard of Trump
Will have four more

Where are the ruby slippers
For it's time to go home
There's no place like...
Traveler Tim
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.penta - come in: like i said, horror movie soundtracks, i fall asleep listening to them... they're so atmospheric i, simply can't resist their inherent allure.

the infamous Croydon cat killer...
i'm not buying what the media is selling...
i'm currently in the possession
of a quasi-pet...
  a fox...
comes round my garden for food,
leftovers...
which i give to him with overcooked
rice...
      no... i'm not buying the police report...
two reason...
you know where Croydon is...
and when the next incident happened?
north east London...
   did the fox... ******* swim?!
a fox is not a migratory animal...
   it's niche...
   it's local...
   if it has a sustained food source...
scavenger that it is...
omnivore like a petted dog...
  no...
i don't buy it...
              why would it transverse
south west London and strike in
north east London...
    did Herr Fusch
and why were the bodies left as evidence?
this fox has a *******
fetish for cranium meat or something?
i'm no Mr. Softie for the company
of a fox...
     but on the outskirts of London...
cats and foxes share a strange
   symbiosis...
   ever walk the dark Essex roads
at night, and peer into the fox
and the house-cat look at each other with
curiosity?
      like all serial killers...
it begins with animals,
there's always the audacity with animals...
most of them would probably become
model citizens, if they were allowed
a job at a slaughter house...
   so the mainstream media explains
the Croydon cat killer as a fox...
a fox that decapitates a body...
   and doesn't eat the torso?!
******* magic!
that's not how mature nature of
the wild works: you either eat...
or you're eaten..
        my neighbors owned ducks...
you think that when a fox
dug a hole beneath the cage...
there was a duck torso and a missing
duck head?
ha ha! good luck!
       why would a wild animal **** something...
and not eat it?
    a Swizz fondu makes more sense
than this explanation!
no cautionary animal,
that is primarily a scavenger,
travels from south west London
to north east London...
             BULL...****...
       BULL... ****!
           i don't feed my Brody because
i think he's cute...
   i feed him...
     because i randomly feel like it...
do foxes even own the concept
of a head terrine delicacy?
   my little ******* will eat
rice mingling with off-cuts of meat
and fat...
           so... he bit the head off...
but left the torso for evidence?!
BULL... ****...
oh i'm pretty sure a shy, a very shy
bored Jimmy is lurking in the shadows...
shy bored Jimmies need
a canvas of innocence...
animals are their primal choice...
  well... considering that Cain
was a vegetarian and Abel wasn't...
          he's lying low...
he needs to wake up from the adrenaline
rush...
   he needs for it to cool down...
a fox doesn't leave torso evidence...
and what would be the point of...
   did they say whether the heads
were guillotined, or chewed off?
no ******* animal chews off a head,
unlikely for an animal
to decapitate another animal...
   only human imagination provides that
sort of ingenuity...
         crock ****... basic crock ****...
blame the foxes...
     ha ha!
find me this shadowy little Jimmy before
he boasts about
the human sin of being gullible....
thank **** i'm not a campaigner...
   what i do with "my" fox is concerned
with ecological advantages...
also something akin
  to a Monday morning...
and how my neighbor's trash isn't littered
over the road... because
the wolf was fed, and so the sheep
too...
                 there is no logic to
the claim that a fox made methodological
killings of pets...
   if you ever walked
the streets at night,
and watched the stare-off between
a fox and a cat...
   last time i checked:
   cats have claws and a ferocious bite...
foxes? no claws...
just the bite...
oh, right... what am i listening to?
    penta -            come in...
   i'm still thinking of little Jimmy in the shadows,
collecting his decapitated
   cat heads... and stuffing them
with fiddles of a post-scriptum
to the Hollywood movie genre...
   oh believe me...
from what i heard of Eddie the Gain...
20th century alternative culture
was basically him
being covertly cited...
            no...
a fox wouldn't do it...
   if it was a a duck / chicken affair...
sure...
   but cats being decapitated...
and the torsos left as evidence,
i.e. not being eaten?
         little Jimmy is taking a break...
given that: i'm pretty sure a Bonsai
tiger knows a few tricks about
how a predator defends himself...
          then again, the explanation
could be:
  too many cat videos...
             cats aren't cute...
they're bogus critters who are in
the potential of biting and scratching...
come one...
all the way from south west London...
to north east London?!
foxes don't travel that far,
and the closest route would be
by a hypotenuse vector...
   sooner proving Santa Claus
exists...
    and...
              it couldn't be the same fox...
wild animals are analogous...
but they're certainly not original copy-cats...

coming from a newspaper
like the times:
   i'm vaguely allured to claim them
left-leaning... right-centrist for sure...
but they're still quasi-Guardian
types...

the topic at hand came,
thanks to no. 10,154 sudoku puzzle...
and the narrative...

1    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    5
0    5   ­ 0    0    2    0    0    3    0
0    4    0   6    0    5    0    1    0
0    0    2   0    0    0    8    0    0
0    0    5    4    0    3    7    0  ­  0
0    3    0    5    0    2    0    6    0
0    6    0    8   ­ 0    1    0    9    0
5    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    1
­0    7    0    0    6    0    0    4    0

ut 10,153 was a mess...
i can only suppose it was too simple...

let's just say i had to think
of something,
esp. little Jimmy...
    
                        and the scapegoat fox...
after all: it's the easiest route...
   pretending that a wild
animal is to behave in a civilized manner...
but even wild animals
do not behave like
meticulous killers...
          and decapitation?
it an example of a civilized
meticulousness of a killing...
        
i sniff a rat, a see a rat...
             mainstream media is a load
of *******, and hardly an outrage
of der stimme...
    
foxes don't assert methodological killings...
little Jimmy... whittle Jimmy...
taking a break...
having made foundation
in the first membrane of audacity...
sooner or later...
little Jimmy is moving from cats,
and into the territory of humans...

they all do...
  "they"?
        serial killers!

          that wasn't a fox...
i'm petting a fox at this moment in time...
well.. petting is a lose term...
otherwise strapped to:
"petting"...

           but as you do... solving a sudoku...
here's the linear
narrative:

   (b) 8 8 1 1 3 4 7 9 7 7 9 9 4 9 7 9 4 7
(a) 1 1 5 5 5 1 6 6 7 7 8 2 3 4 9 6 6 6 8 2 3 2 4 4 8 3 9 3 9 2 3 2 2 8 8

and you do think up crazy ****
while you're at it...

1    2    6    9    3    8    4    7    5
7    5    8    1­    2    4    9    3    6
3    4    9   6    6    5    2    1    8
4    1    2   7    9    6    8    5    3
6    8    5    4    1    3    7    2  ­  9
9    3    7    5    8    2    1    6    4
2    6    4    8   ­ 5    1    3    9    7
5    9    3    2    4    7    6    8    1
­8    7    1    3    6    9    5    4    2

but then the everyday newspaper
you read on the everyday
from Monday to Friday....
and there's a newspaper magazine...
ah...
   so that's the problem...
i'm not bundled up in a demographic
nearing retirement age?!

the Croydon cat-killer is still out there...
  a fox wouldn't leave a decapitated
torso as evidence...

as the one simple rule of nature suggests:
NATURE DOESN'T BELIEVE
IN LANDFILL SITES...
IT BELIEVES IN RECYCLING...
a fox that chews off a head
of a cat, and doesn't drag the torso into
the forest to eat?
   well... let's just suppose
that idiocy doesn't exactly permeate
in the wild...
              less a stupid animal...
more a selfish / slothful animal...
  foxes are neither...

             little Jimmy is still out there...
with his love for souvenirs of
cat heads...
           and he's buying time...
so a scapegoat emerges...
  
        if a fox did what was "supposedly" done...
i'm pretty sure there would be
no evidence...
          left...

you get the picture?
  Michael Myers began experiments
on animals... as did Jeffrey Dahmer with
road-****...
                can't someone make an outlet
for these people to work
in slaughterhouses?!
                    they'd be perfect!

decent human beings:
in the most indecent human conditions -
and i'm pretty sure these guys
would love working
in the slaughterhouses...

  i could, for some reason,
forget vegetarians akin to Adolf ******
by then!
Cedric McClester Apr 2015
By: Cedric McClester

She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Which means - she’s beyond contempt
Someone to be loathed
An anomaly?
Well if you’re askin me
She’s what every one of ‘em
Pretends to be
A centrist
Who might go either way
On any issue
On any given day
She likes to calls it
A winning strategy
But it’s still selling out
As far as I can see

She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
But with the right pedigree
As everybody knows
She’s very bright
That’s obvious - it shows
Though you’ll find her
Wherever the wind blows
I often wonder
Who she really is
Behind the mask
I’m talkin ‘bout square biz
It’s hard to tell
With the naked eye
How she really feels
Though some of us do try

She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Her popularity
Is always in the throes
We love her one-minute
Then hate her the next
She brings out feelings
That are that complex
She’s very hard
For us to get to know
How much is real
And how much is for show
That’s the question
On many people’s minds
What’s goin on
Behind those closed blinds

She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who’ll run for president
One day I suppose
She’s very suited
For the life she chose
A prodigy
Who won't be unopposed
There’s so much baggage
In her sordid past
The kind of thing
That usually tends to last
She’ll ascend
But then she’ll drop so fast
Say what you will
The dye’s already cast

She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who has a war chest
That grows and grows and grows
She’s courted equally
By the rich and poor
With the kind of access
That many would die for
But still she’s baffling
To say the very least
It’s hard to tell
The nature of the beast
And to add insult
Along with injury
Is we don’t know
How she's gonna be

She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who lost my vote
But that’s just how it goes
When one has trouble
Being who they are
It doesn’t matter
That they’re a rising star
I can’t support her
Under any circumstance
It would be foolish
To even take that chance
Though I do like her
I have to admit
I’ll vote against her
Or maybe I’ll just sit

© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester - all rights reserved.
Sam Bowden Mar 2014
If corporate Dems tell me about how 'We all do better when we all do better'...
Or about how 'It's not about class, it's about coming out for Dems'...
Or about how, 'No one identifies with the working class' or 'nobody wants to identify with the working poor'...
I say to you, WE ARE THE WORKING POOR.
Look at the stains on their clothes, listen to their words, look at the rugged callous of their hands, who amongst us can last a job loss, or wage cut, or a car blow out?
None of us, cept the 1%.
We are the precariat class, the proletarian class.
I say to you, the working poor and homeless are the 'emarginati', the literal marginal ones, the ones at the edges of society.
But who, honestly, isn't at the edge???
The Democratic gubernatorial candidate turned carpet-bagging Congressional goon, Bank of America executive turned-state-CFO Alex Sink embodies the centrist-right neoliberal dogma of 'business-rules', who cares about immigrants besides those who 'clean our hotels and do our landscaping'.
Brand-imaging, quaffed corporate Dems are why the two-party system in broken.
Both parties are sell-outs to capital, and they think we don't know.
We know, and we remember.
Neoliberal capitalism of 'Washington Consensus' imposed on the rest of humanity will fall.
I just hope we wise up as a republic in the mean time.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
why didn't existentialism every take off in England?
fair enough, the Poles aren't exactly saints, but they'e not
exactly  vermin... one Muslim should have learned
his history better: two naked swords, against the Northern
Crusaders - but, n'ah ah, he didn't, i told you,
never trust an Egyptian with monotheism,
he'll bury the artefacts in a desert for
2000 years... and then we'll
have the cult of Baφoμet and
the prickly skinned crusaders saying:
better the extra-**** and **** than
the headscarf... and they burnt at the stake...
got crackly pork skins with them
as if it was a hoax to remember: that's what really
happened. μι or qui or any softened
carrot: yellow gets van Gogh, blue gets
Picasso... i guess orange gets O'Hara...
it is the age of Baφoμet and the Knights
Templar... you sorta think that
agitation with amateur terror will slow
down the process of coherent and systematic
far-right activities? i swear you shipped those
Syrians into Germany for a revision
of the holocaust... i'm ******* sweating with
anticipation while i swipe left for a
kippah scalping and get a Syria monk
out of it... perhaps a date... but you know...
i'm not that much of a talker...
my mother spent 3 months in 40 degree heat
that kills... the arabs are heating the cauldron up...
soon, you'll be wishing you'd have lived in
Siberia... and i'm not kidding,
global warming is debatable in Iceland, Britain,
and New Zealand... not on any continent
we know of... 40°C... **** the **** old me!
i'm not even wishing for old age...
when this thing we cal an orb and relate
it to only one Grecian element: earth
isn't air... and we call the vest godly Venus
and Mars and Juniper -
well... why bother even thinking
about keeping up-to-date
when nothing we write will be written into
stone? i like the delusion it will be,
blame Chinese employment of youthful
unemployment in countries where beauty
is fixated on tourist vomiting down your wedding aisles,
the existence of european communism
curated the beneficiary of competition
capitalism gagged for like a sad gimp clad
in torched and fetish leather...
but that went, went to the chinese...
or a russian Babushka said: democracy, whaaaa?
ca Ching the Chinaman...
                    n'oh h'oi! thirty thousand
eyelash strokes to a pictured idea per second,
all i have is Mongolian far way, in Kazakhstan:
chum Chou chew - juggling out the dribbles -
                     hey, you're on the verge of
equipping the cinnamon men their potency
to breathe a billion ***** in a square mile...
   of hillbilly... i'll bet you a 100 to 1 and say:
               pucker blow-lobe chips are on the house:
hence the cheesy smile: anthropoid digital tunnelling
        all the way to Palestine, and the new U.N.
                  and that fake thing you have:
no matter how many billion dollars,
it won't equal a single spoon, or hammer.
it's that sort of thing that's meta-metaphysical -
or some other benzene variant prefix -
get smart, live love, hurrah Marquis de Sade!
patron of old age; while your granny said:
lessen the lesion by probing it darling.
       Tokyo tribes? the weirdest film i've ever seen,
the **** aren't even Asia... stop telling me the
sun is too bright... Buddha walked with excess squint...
and he managed it without a tap-tap-boom stick
to mark out 2 square metres...
   happy are those living in a greenhouse,
  surface mirrors, and sea,
but on the continent, they joked that palm trees
would be grown in the Baltic circumference...
hello dodo... but then the amateurs appeared...
   beheading, blowing themselves up,
a library of one... what they have birth to isn't
as spectacular as giving your voice to Cabaret Voltaire...
   they are creating a new breed of khaki stiff-necks -
ostriches and the gargantuan plan of over-easy -
i know the ***** ones, the ones siding with the left,
they think they're political, only in the sense that
their politics is a proton-neutrality,
the idle life... the life worthy of no political involvement...
the easy life...            the life of respected repudiation,
centrist silent populist party name and manifesto
combined: status quo.
     the only generation that might talk of old
age as a zenith, an ultimate goal enshrined in
the furtherance of mankind's potential is the generation
of my grandparents... only my grandparent's generation
can boast about achieving old age...
   which means no artistic profit -
      only my grandparents won the lottery that's lasted
for donkeys' years... my parents haven't,
i haven't... my parent's, and yours, haven won
the mortgage lottery... so communism was a failure
because it was deemed to be a failure
   in the span of not even a trans-generational decade?!
   trans-generational decade?
   me... father, grandfather, great-grandfather,
  great-great-grandfather... etc.
               it was a failure because i inherited a bicycle
that didn't have two wheels... how am i supposed
to join the ******* circus in capitalism on a monocycle?
this ain't ideological warfare... this is 1 billion Chinese
we're talking about... and they're not going anywhere.
but my grandparents are the only success story of
communism reaching its potential -
                  sadly, you ought to know,
i'd rather invest in euthanasia than in retirement plans,
given the fact that most of you, don't even
have a potential to begin with a mortgage.
the reason why existentialism never took off in England,
is because Darwinism got mingled with history,
a timescale crushing next week's Monday -
and gone to hell the whole joy of routine -
routine the parachute, routine the sloth of time -
existentialism in England never took off
because current affairs in life were too problematic
to be thought of as boring: the canape of / for philosophers...
come on, Heidegger: being and beyng? obeying?!
Darwinism sorta of gave history a quantum dynamic:
a scratch of 19th century, a nibble from Hastings...
bish-bash-bosh... 19th of September 2016...
existentialism never took off because of the dichotomy
between the synonyms: life and existence -
as if the two differed so much -
well, the Pope knew how to deal the theological
*****: death and the after-life - same ****,
different cover. where these words ever so despairingly
coupled? life: no mention of: out of every instance,
and existence: out of every instance - rekindled
fetishism of avoiding mortality's river of set-out
change? it looks like it's just that...
                               currency of political correctness
these days?   the grand implosion:
    Ritter Templer und Zeit βaφoμeτ.
Julian Sep 2020
DISCLAIMER: READ THE WHOLE THING IT IS MUCH MORE GENIUS TOWARDS THE END



Bypass the circumlocutions of elementary rhetoric and the obvious bulges into the ethereal realm of supersolid supercalendar emigrations of the wednongues of vogue emigrating into a new frontier of boundless awakening that blisters the sore solid metaphors of a crumbled bricolage of articulate history becoming a reiterative gabble of entropy that curdles the blood-boiling hatred of those envious of those that capitalize on the true girth rather than the flaccid otiose etymology of differential physics becoming a denatured figment of prideful imagination on a frolic with desuetude in the normalization of the wernaggles of ewnastique that defile the ridicule of even the most astute aspirations of those that despise history rather than reveling in its subtle ironies that swelter in connotation rather than suborn the cadged bridewells of those that are estranged by the Dousk Remix rather than the Voulez-Vouz Danser populism of true urbacity expanded upon a national stage as an anthem not for profligate saturnalia but rather an ode to the odium of the reckless titanism of titanic intellects clashing with the dudgeons of intermittent eye-rolling irreverence double-dealing a stacked deck of pleckigger on an intellectual stagecraft for bandwagon apostasy that leads to solidarity among tentative allegiance. We barnstorm for a grift in the grimace of an alpenglow winter to lead to the salvation of all people united under the banner of neat nexility rather than long-winded elocution reserved only for notched caliber against the nativist diatribe that serves the subservience of the engineer of the white chattel indoctrinated into turnstiles of professed irreverence for demarches of solidarity that is gainsay for gain rather than pittances for pitfall. Rhetoric should be duly curtailed against the overcomplication of hypertrophy and trimmed into the sweet success not of saccharine fads of foofaraw but engineered resistance that galvanizes albatross intellectualism into a revved engine without purpose that mobilizes because of estranged impotence in the revelry of the subtle rather than the cordial tethers of emergent entelechy of the esemplastic orthobiosis that we should all strive for not just as pioneers of the socially engineered harbingers of a remedial society but also for the trendsetters that communicate with the canvass and the celluloid rather than spelunking dormitage of drifted anomaly perceptible to everyone but heralded as prominent by the rigged ambeer of a toxicity of a plumage of city over state and country over planet. We need to provide the verdure of the verdant forest that survives the conflagrations of rage indoctrinated by systematic attempts at stilted ignorance that is engendered more by Leftism than Right-Wing thinkers because in general when observed in organic settings we notice that the Right-Wing escapes the sloganeered jaundice of limited bounds for otherwise boundless thought and provides more seminal pathways that reconcile normative virtues with entrenched inveterate harbingers of economic success. The faulty deadstocks that propel the retinoise of the anomaly among Leftism to disregard the girouettism of a world that is so piebald with dishonesty that it elects a patronage that seethes with passion but aimless in its curiosity for deeper embedded candor because the popular might count themselves among the aristocratic Left but the truly Promethean belong to a centrist tribe that borrows the ingenuity of spurned but never spurious interpretations of a sputtered history that remarks with revelry  rather than disdains with #CancelCulture irreverence that seeks to deracinate all context for insipid utopianism that is a shared prerogative of the delusional Left against their complaints of Sebastomania among right-wing zealots that are equally invalidated by the frogmarch of a dilettante history curbed in storms of a pure tempest rather than a banal reiteration of novelty phrased with participant intonation rather than blathers of whispered arbitrage ennobled by hypocrisy immune to criticism among those that crusade for economic justice without understanding formal flombricks of the true gnomic riddles of alchemy fundamental to global panoramic pleonasms becoming the aleatory vagary of admonished warning that spars against spartanism. Instead of pilfering from the exorbitant defalcation of immunized partisan bromides against the ratcheted warranty upon defective obsolescence we must coalesce around the imperious ****** of divinity bequeathing the living water of a fully-lived life that qualifies its felicity not by junctures but by an overall harmony that conforms to the finicky demands of an overly polarized complexion of dimpled conformity founded on girouettism that earns more traction than the deasil sundial emergence of brimstone rejection for alabaster limelight we must urge others to ditch the conformist utilitarian usucaption of the usufruct of manipulative sports for domineering talents suborned into inclement straits because of unwitting albatross that replicates into a fission of uniformity encapsulated in the half-assed witticisms of attempted belletrist succeeding only in alienating the noxious fumes of alveolate diminutive reduction rather than expansive detritus that scrapes the wreckage of a turmoil to build masterworks out of broken sculptures themselves indemnified from a categorical judgment by the panoramic oversight of proctored civilized ambition. We need to exhort self-education that hinges upon not a listless acquiescence to a second-exit impulsive barnacle to the urchins of brimstone because of an insipid blather of flapdoons of brittle banality because the hackencrude is an outmoded entity to the vast resources of the sizable capital of the growing power of the intelligentsia over the weakened grasp and wrangle of terminus meeting consuetude weakly enough with pleasantry to appease but ultimately a complete witwanton persiflage of sizzled destruction rather than the savory contemplation of the cotqueans of majesty derided but never derailed by terminal revivals because the generativity of the titanic original might not be a popular indoctrination but the liberated thought of the untethered is ultimately more decisive in world affairs than the synergistic hive of bees building an imperious defense against dynasty built only upon provincial hatred of hidebound illiteracy combustible into the brazen bravado of a reckless intrepid effrontery against civilized chains into the ******* of complicit interconnection rather than dissolved dissolutions that solve global problems more fundamentally rather than driving through avenues of wide pressures gilded with expansive growth but ultimately bereaved by the ultimate succor of the youthful exuberance of captive audiences rather than the wily connivance of genius unbounded. God is obviously a benevolent provider of all bounties and despite the conspiracies that predicate heterodoxy the uniform mannequin of a mascot Democracy ultimately becomes a fickle bandwagon allegiance to relationship rather than a true witness to authentic ******* to a subservient relationship to a creative God synergized with energies that should exceed all galloped windlass into demarche and expose rather than rundles of ridicule interminable because of the permanence of kitsch memorial rather than living sculpture that breathes a swiveled light that beckons preened self-accountable responsibility to a dutiful matriotic duty of optimism rather than a contrarian futility of those that despise the unequal suave crackjaw dementia of the temulentia of derangement among crowds that provide fewer bounties and more deprivations calculated to indenture need rather than motivate want. We must motivate want by fueling ambition rather than quelling dissent in defensive posture because that strategy of antinomian discord is a dead-end street against an inveterate enmity that can never be fully deposed but only opposed with nominal futility raging with violence rather than seething with the motivation to reform because reform is an efficacy mobilized. Novelty of wednongue propriety grown through the heirs of drastic impertinence gilded from the siphon of lavadero hypogeiody blasphemous in bletonism that guards a piebald scrivelo because the sought dementia of an overwrought alacrity is a purpose without a terminus but an ambition soaring through scraped ice cream stratosphere that marvels at the minutiae of the civilized anthill that becomes a beehive of industry when the rationale of moral reform becomes insuperable rather than suborned into effete recursive cycles of pittances of pitfalls obsessively pondered but never solved because the fustilugianation of a forever tampered travesty is the esemplastic rejection of a categorical aim that leans of windlasses of elegance that surpass the levy of hatred and achieve sizable filagersion to squirm above the squawk upon populace rather than the consternation of an urbane but cloistered metropolitan arrogance contravened by the historical emergence of happenstance locales fostering the most well-guarded treasures of bohemian pedigree rather than dimpled resolve faffling on ergasia in bromidrosis rather than cavorting with a skeptical indoctrination by default evaded by those that equate an improbable scenario with a definitive solution to acatalepsy quandary because by reckoning with indeterminacy we grow in historical lineaments and solve global detritus by recycling the rattled brevity of promontory preens of plumage into a recursive ostentation defalcating heavily from sturdy macroeconomic proofs of the trendsetter rather than the trend and therefore grapple with profound personalized disdain rather than cordial harmony. Essentially by the logical positivism of proof we remind ourselves that obviously a chattering blather swims in tentative irony as long as it is a penultimate relativity because the lack of capstone ensures that the relevant treads beneath the mountain of rapprochement in benign endeavors to survive and thrive in definitive conclusion rather than intermediary conclusions of amnesia in jaundice. By the gnomic apothegms that guard the fortress of the demassified we have quantulated that the preposition of continuance is in fact a guarantee of the fickle supremacy of the recent and even more preponderantly the supremacy of expectancy of latent junctures that never manifest becoming a dictatorial rule of driven alacrity of wastrels that should fast from conclusive opinion and rather favor the primordial fabric of the inveterate truths rounded by the conversion of alchemy solidified by calculated canon converging with esoteric apartheid against the simultagnosia of the simpleton drivel of primordial myths bowdlerized from history neither lewd nor depraved but moribund because of the conclusive ****** of a peremptory intermediary certainty predicating a more precise foresight. The lackluster luster of numinous foghorn subliminal graft is a nativist confusion of legionnaire mettle swaddled by the cosseted grasp of interminable boundaries that demarcate linear time even when supersolid filigrees of elemental confusion erratically swerve into oblivion that becomes a forestalled happenstance so hapless that the connivance of alveolate synergies necessarily precludes event from becoming indelible because the tentative judgment wallops the tributary incontinence of the warble of axiolative jaundice materialized by crystalline fabrication neutered by soundbyte sclerotic calculus inveterate in summations of conclusion only because of peremptory weights upon geometric certainties rather than logarithmic dampers of attenuation that spar against spartan priggish epithets upon the flamboyant grit of grisly specter of speculative sepulchral venal vanity. The timberlask cineaste irony of the partisan usucaption of sapwood is a pirated timber of startled alarm becoming a useful or useless cacophony of barnstorm for the deadstock of past cadasters of rigmarole in the docimasy of pretense in impartial circumstance in specialized oratory bounded by a hemmed bailiwick of verdure denatured by the flombricks of subtle persuasion that ignores minority fringes of opinion that occupy that majority that cowcatchers brush aside rather with cruel contemptuous unkempt slippery agenda for drivel that spawns ingeminated redoubled explosions in participle bias rather than conglomerate arraignment of arrayed brooked swamps turgid not with the pettier travesty but the charade of a brokered ceremonial calculation against the wrikpond spurious by degeneration into corruptible complicity that thrives in obscurantism but never obscurity when the omnified owns a capitalized swiftboat of never a temulentia but always an optimism in the curvature of lineaments into the self-educated shepherd of the ultimate autarky rather than insubordination in the scrappy schlep of demographic ripples of swift enrichment at great personal flops in the floppy disk of a Democratic enrichment rather than a parched rectiserial hidebound tome. A quirky time stanched by tomes of patricide against family ingratiated by parrots to anthem but lacking the lettered verve of ignoble but parsed parsecs of finite light captivated into prismatic conscience we launch the demerited ploys of foible into the heralded controversy rather than the unheralded mercenary hands behind dogmatic ripostes livid because of the suave prestidigitation of the sublime mastery of the syncopated irony of mismatch attuned to radical rhythm we become bloated slaves to a rich lineage decried widely in attempts of covert coup raxes of a largesse of continual primipara perversions of courted cotqueans of uxorious justice that by defalcating from tributary orthobiosis in specious conjecture esteemed by rattled martexts aspiring for fraternal solidarity with the ****** esteem masquerading as the auctioned flivver that the merchandise of fluminous optimism cannot be an effusive blanch of blarney bolstered by bumptious bromides of brunt blackmail but rather the artform of subterfuge needs the insidious and invidious traction of creepy Thriller subtlety to garner the vapid traction of immobilized discontent foster to malcontent rarely abridged by even the most polite courtesy of diplomacy because of inherently insatiable demand that it skulks in undetected quarters flexing in the shadowy penumbra of transparent crackjaw enigma becoming an obvious blister or a gabble of raw jaundice sweltering into thermolysis by the eventual convergence rather than the improbable divergence of fissile time beckoning its own flashy revolution while denaturing the very presence of delusion as a herald more of the authenticity of animadversion rather than the sclerotic carapace of ragged asphyxiation in the aplomb whisper entombed forever by milquetoast inefficacy in hypersensitivity rather than a flourished malfeasance of a predatory grip upon seizure among catatonic graves of incontinence braving tribulation for crucibles of the most prosodemic surgeries of the furtive froward recalcitrance of deliberation in ignominy that enables that transmogrified skyscraper of Titanic lies to become a sunken vessel of harbored prestige lost on penultimate dice rather than winning pokerish villiany. Essentially the jeer of Morel Under a Disco is a winning brandished authority to chug the capers of inscrutable difference in blandishment imposture to cavort with an elegant plot twist that enthralls abiding decay to revert into a primordial confidence of livelihood to deter the frogmarch of time into the despairing quagmires of a livid balkanization of a simultagnosia of ageotropic monoideism fomented on fervor that leads to the paralysis of privacy and the expedited furor of moribund depraved proclivity so that the offset of morale and rationale can outfit civilization to brave the tempests of cordial divisions cemented by courtesy in order to safeguard against the yeggs of paranoia seeking ultimately the craven caper of disillusioned subconsciously felt retraction of indelible deeds into evaporated constructs that vanish too quickly to spawn the vigor of a cadged and utilitarian expanse of reiterative generativity that sustains the spanned sapience of primordial alacrity to ensure that brevity in outlook becomes longevity in subsistence because without a logical positivism grounded in unshakable tenets of God the demoralization of the vast majority is ensured and entombed in aimless squalor that leads to sheepish temerity compounded by wistful latency in regretful regression rather than a spandex bluster of a bravado of obesity to weather the persnickety wednongues of perdurable badges of instinctual shame slandered into prima facie denatured transmogrified cultures seeking cosmogony out of ordinary bricolage because the eventful triage of the nimble eludes parochial sight while the vastly capable outfox and outpace with such frenetic verve that they fasten against accident and transcend against heterochrony in ridicule that the unseasonable but seminal sauce flavors better the partially indentured optimism of a curated matriotism better than it serves the obviously interminable cycle of listless demiurges of malcontent that fuel conflagration rather than reformation to their own remorseful peril. Thereby, it is obviously concluded that to micromanage a society you must exert the capacity of a selective magnetism obviously predicated on demassified capacities for oaths of gratitude to endear and endure in the humane heart for the majority that sway few but encounter many that they find proper scruple grounded on axiomatic God to sustain not a lifeless priggish inclination but a bounded felicity that is not a carapace of an indigenous and insidious decadence to the extent pursuits of happiness swelter among the marginalized majority bereaved in powerless squalor slave to temptation not to derelict fascination but to provide aim to aimlessness and predicate their worldviews not on Racial Identity Theory which postulates too many counterintuitive pessimisms that are essentially neutered fustilug predicates of a world that requires such drastic seismic reforms in societal dynamics that the earthquake capable of such a realignment would exceed a 10.5 on the Richter scale which is 32x more powerful than the biggest earthquake in recorded history that would be so catastrophic in its implicit implication of the pretense that the consummation of the theory achieves the traction necessary to jostle every crowd into alignment that the collateral damage would endanger the very integrity and vitality of the Republic itself while exerting a tremendous existential dread of radical permutation that enables many travesties that abnegate the prerogatives of a privileged society in search of a facetiously engineered impossible utopia that could only be achieved by a dictatorial authoritarianism working in concert with benumbed sloganeering to engineer pessimism and malcontent rather than nurture the fair-natured optimism of a society that flourishes because it assumes naturally that the universe conspires in the favor of prosperity. If any hint of casuistry is evident in these postulates I wouldn’t be surprised but for rhetorical sanctity it is necessary for a nation bereaved of national icons not to despise the captive imagination of tyrannical transparency but grow from the liberating and partially liberal parable of a life maximized in limber for romantic enthralled growth that heralds with due consideration the paragons of time with reverence rather than soundbyte enslavement of parochial interminable twinges of a newborn and widely shared collective guilt of a decisively antinomian and pessimistic view on the evolution of human societies beyond catchy kitsch verve nexilities of bravado mutilating thirsts for inclusive mandates that are Boa Constrictors prowling with serpentine vitriol to vastly over-represent extreme fringes to dissuade nuclear families in an overt ploy of depopulation because the truer pathway to liberation is one that feeds the hot hand in the casino and bets that the winners will always win by deregulating their ability to bet large sums because of a transcendent supersolid mastery of time that the march and demarche of a boundless prosperity gouged by the fair demands of egalitarianism enables the card counter to achieve such a decisive advantage that his indentured socially coerced eleemosynary inclination to feed the flock endures throughout all epochs because of the necessary and incumbent scruples of God-fearing men to distribute their winnings won by cheating time to conquer time itself.
JoJo Nguyen May 2016
A blond girl walks in front
and I fall in love
not with how she jgiggles
(that comes later walking home)
because she doesn't
in her neat two short
French braids,
petite flat black shoes
and a rolled up, no
it can't be no one reads
printed media anymore
but it's there, in her purse
as she walks fast
fading into the future
I can't catch up with even if
she doesn't turn left or right
while I'm a centrist so our future
diverges splits into
parallel universes identical
except our minor chord variation
in the Music
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
suddenly... my skin
"feels" freckled,
or that ginger is abhorred,
or that orange is
queeny -
                 leisured at -
a bat-haven.
poetry is words
         philosophy
only punctuation -
take to fathom a Norwegian
acid bath...
               murmur of marrow -
then the chemicality of Hermes -
what exists:
globally under ****
sloth: lo
                          so
dough
                     cop
                                    eerie navy
and  nazal -
                              i,
am, centrist.
                   blister
scold...
                 b l i s t e r
s  c  o  l  d
     b   l    i   s   t   e   r
   scalp and the mustard:
  khaki khaki khaki!
coca cola khaki!
                      father says otherwise,
****** and puritan pirranha -
Warsaw subway girlen -
              frozen, minus bowtie + yurt dover -
         ****: closure and escapism
from war, entry point: *****, your culture.
as the joke goes:
   the jews spoke more zion than they spoke
yiddish: baalam - donkey-riddle -
but at least jesus entered jerusalem,ioe
or the tool-forge of alpha blo blo Indi.
Nikita...
                 cobbler smacker...
shoe fits fine...
                   now you juggle GDP
against cabbage... and horse-radish...
iron eagle no hail mary, no iron,
no golgotha... as intricate be:
american coca - lobside Xican milken -
NIKITA!
if i have my regrets... then i have my
love-letter... art... Juliet...
thus you have your politics....
   if i have my regrets i have a chasm
to overcome,
         in yawn as to conquer depth -
thus with wind, adjoin weaker slav -
german... german...
who said german inclusive anglican-sax
and svab-frank in Lorraine -
Iblis in Matador crimson quake,
numb Paris, numb Paris...
                          Elba...
               goat,
              geiß - gąś - goose - stratum!
           kindred SS man
or the ****** joke in Auschwitz -
100 years... then szkodliwych...
  rekindled... at least what took place
in Auschwitz was also said: Eva Braun...
5 years... not 100 years and fake,
and almond culprit...
    5 years and the gas,
a chemist suffices...
            100 years of ******...
the jokes coercing Auschwitz with Hastings
are but candle-glamour for what
nimble in wax, be turned to enshrined stone...
              memory: was never to be a Disney.
     i'd prefer the uncanny - Schubert bound
high-class death,
  that this horse-bound harking a phelgm
to no rebuilding founding:
Pilate washed his hands of Yehu
       Pilate washed his hands of Ishra;
                Solomon is
     placed  in the House of Saud -
                           and a quarter - toward the tumult
a desert of white fog,
                  a *** fetish...
   and you jogging after Honolulu in bone, gene
and lava...
                     sunken lung, shiva's "star" of anise -
that spoken of eye -
           said green, said envy,
said but once in absent-mindedness - an absinthe -
crystaline in milk -
                     heaving the ache of mind
and the heart as copper in a lacklustre of
former hope of nurtured hearts' gain:
with painter as kindred and unison with a plumber's
  to the death toll chime: an eon worthy
               a sneeze, if that be a sneeze to
rekindle colour in spring, and moor in auburn
   lazed...
                               and between extremes:
the two deserts -
    and that i be bound to the tomb
               and the stone,
and the fox tornado tango of the trial
that would never be a Friday of what would
always be: a revealing noon:
be it orb, or be it scythe -
                           be it Everest, or
be it the flute in the dough of Nepal as enshrined
                for the arithmetic of shadow:
pauper plato... pauper plato...
                                                       pauper
                                  one and all...
                     if we all but possessed the luxury
conversation...
                                    but none of us possess the
capacity to treat conversation as a luxury...
                          conversation will never be a luxury,
given the fact that we decided thinking to be primo,
the luxury... to re establish conversation as a luxury
we have to prevent thought from innovating...
from invigorating...
   but since conversation cannot achieve this paramount...
the only achievable parallel suggestion is to talk about nothing:
and think about everything;
likewise to think about everything:
and talk about nothing -
and as Heidegger expressed:
   we are non-being in number,
                               because nothing negates
a quantity -
                        how then to rainbow into a presitent
continuum? chameleon culprit?
    only via an elasticity of language...
             thus 10 am gives gallop toward horizon
and sun, and i am furthest from staging a continuum
of what i am an example of:
man, husband, father, partner, son, cohort, cohesion...
i feel no reference point in having to demand from a per se, the nearing-claimant pejorative antidote, other than the one i have aspired to as merely a sand-castle, rather than the bombastically-fuelled pyramid.
Ciel Noir May 2018
When you're a centrist
Everyone agrees
Cause everybody thinks you're wrong

When you're a centrist
Everyone agrees
Cause they all say you don't belong

But if you talk to one person at a time
And bring them just a little toward the middle
One step at a time
Before they know it they're on your side

Take your left hand
Reach as far as you can
But don't give up your ground

Take your right hand
Reach out to the right side
Don't let them pull you around

And then connect two hands at a time
Make a chain that snakes its way across the middle
One link at a time
Before they know it they're all entwined

There is so much
Space here in the middle
All of you can stand with me

There is so much
We can do together
Without this dichotomy

It happens one day at a time
Shifting just a little toward the middle
After enough time
There aren't that many sitting on the sides

Why not get up and move around
And mingle just a little in the middle?
One big fabulous party, we'll be
Dancing in the aisle
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
well.. i wasn't wrong... England made it to the European
championship final... coming against Italy...
but wait a minute... wait a minute:
in what style!
                            oh yeah... it's just screaming:
Gieves & Hawkes!

how can this English team win against all
that's gusto that's STYLE: that's ******* Gucci...
once upon a time growing up in England
i managed to spot a few pedagogic
pillars...

everything has to be made fair for everyone
partaking...
meritocracy is key...
racists have smaller brains than non-racists...
ha ha... these days i don't know
how to tell apart racists from anti-racists...
which is always fun: ethno-masochism is
going to stick to me like a leech...

what style?
if all that's English is all Locke and not Rousseau...
the team that plays for... scoring goals as flukes...
and later with no imagination...
has a runner dribble the ball into the penalty
rectangle and... win by... not a penalty shootout...
but a penalty in extra-time?

the "home" of football where:
it's not about playing football... it's about winning...
whatever the hell that means...
cheaper wines have more sulphites...
i can taste the smoothness of
my laughing bird cabernet sauvignon...
naked after the kookaburra...
2016 vintage...

this team for all its passing prowess...
the dull football that is better known
as the north sea derby...

you can't win a championship while the entire
throng of support
is... gasping for air with the words:
IT'S NOT FAIR! PENALTY!
PENALTY!

it was almost amusing to watch the entire Danish
team stand firm and clap at the English team
"taking the knee":
i once went to catholic mass... since
i went to a catholic school:
lo and behold... i am yet to be confirmed:
since i read a little bit of the Gnostic texts....
like Źιźek once made the observation:
****** spoke... waited... and engulfed all
that came with the people subsequently clapping...
he wouldn't clap...
Stalin... subsequently: clapped with
the audience he addressed...

it could have be seen that "taking the knee"
was a good-luck charm?
for what... ethno-masochism?
you can't win a football match playing
without a hunger for a goal...
you can't just run into a penalty area
dribbling dribbling: drooling at the legs
playing for a penalty...
without... say... shooting from outside
the box for the Gucci glamour...

when i look at the Union Jack
i think about... Elizabeth I...
i have to...
what weight of the world on this woman's shoulders...
that woman's shoulders...
what genius...
she instigated the union...
she was playing the role of
ol' aunty Lizzy...
so that her cousin's son would become
the future King of England
and have leverage to craft the union...
whether she lost her virginity:
i get to **** prostitutes: i'm not too bothered
about the body...
but like i noticed: reciprocally...
self-hygiene is important...
now wouldn't be apprehensive
having ****** ******* with the freed
women of Fred... sorry... the Vest...
if i might catch a ******...
or gonorrhoea?

at least in the brothel...
i'll put some acacia confusa bark in my mouth...
i'll work at an *******
then pinch off the excess *****...
then i'll shave the whole region...
i'll shower... i'll slobber on some mint-cream:
ah, refreshing... on the barely touched regions...
i'll shower... shampoo... squat...
stand-up... squat again... bench-press my body-mass
with press-ups... cycle up to the brothel...
i'll scrub my hands with some
fenugreek seeds...
a total **** of scents...
she'll make sure by wiping my working part
completely clean before turning
into a liver-eating nymphomaniac ******...
i'll be fine with that...
i'll ask her if i can photograph her
face in the mirror...

perhaps in the olden days: there was this fear
of visiting prostitutes and catching...
syphilis... where is that... at? these days?
you have more chance of catching "something":
from the freely available flesh market
of dating / hook-up apps...
prostitutes are harem born...
cleanliness is: a white linen niqab...
if men of...

oh we know what the Arabs have become...
docile ***-mad perverts:
you give an Arab a sip of wine...
he turns the entirety of the desert
into... something manageable...
you give an Arab too much of what he already
supposedly has: subsequently imports from
the core of the mythological blonde persuasion:
the same of the same old...

how else doesn't it "work"?
madonna's la isla bonita: the mythological blonde...
coupled up with either Tarzan or
King Kong...
blonde Danes are excluded from her fantasies...
good... this bartablondine is looking
for a Turkic ol' raven haired mystery
of the orient: this is where we part...
a woman's fetish for the exotic can be
matched... i'll be looking for my Constantinople
brothel beauty...
i'll be rummaging in Romania alongside
Dracula...
anaemic beauty to begin with...
slugging white and all that's timid toward
the sun... copper-skinned serpent come summer...
i too can reply... Turkic ol' raven haired
tinged with a tease of black-blue...
to hell with these hypocritical-nuns!

i best keep them as the mythological blondes
that they are:
African ****-leeches...
toward adventure! bring the crab-bucket to the fore!
i'm not going to go as far as
as the English skins preference
for the Thai-surprise... nope...

you can't win a football match with the sole
focus of ballerina tiptoeing
via herr stiletto Grealish or:
"dupka": pristine buttocks: RA'HEEM...
SH-terling... running into the box
for a penalty:
the worst way to win a match...
not lasting to the penalty shootout is...
is making a grift..
the proper:  "English" way:
it's not about the football:
it's about the ******* silverware!

if they win: they only achieved being
in the final by: a fluke...
not chance: by fluke...
fluke is: plumbing per se...
not chance not fate
not luck: if fluke is plumbing per se:
then all the other nouns
and noun-stressors exfoliating
within the designation of adjective
are: foam like ****...
there's no style... let alone: honour
winning a football match
by having the crowd pressure you
to pressure the opposing team to
subsequently pressure the referee to
give you a penalty:
play should have been stopped...
there are two footballs on the pitch...
i must be ******* blind!

oh... the English can fathom preaching
to the choir...
come to think of it...
they don't care about the beauty of the game...
they care much more about
the queen's jewels...
it's not even about: how you win
this championship:
it's only about: winning it...

i cling to the elder gods: surprise me with
something more profound than:
oculus per oculus...
seems thirsty enough... thirst is all there is:
and the many tiers of hunger...

you can't win a football match without
scoring goals...
running into the box hands extended:
taking the knee:
screaming: IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR!
isn't going to cut it...
for ****'s sake...

i like watching sports without chanting...
watching sport allows me
the only: perhaps the "lost" avenue
of exercising objectivity...
i can measure out what's: fair...
contra... what's blatantly itching me...
England "won" the game against
Denmark... not because they played
better... the English just want
the silverware...
they don't want to entertain the crowd
with football: they want to WIN...
they might be playing footbal:
no... i think they're gambling on a curriculum
of teasing poker...

that wasn't a penalty... it should have been
a shootout... plain and simple...
Italy will make England
want: a deserved: thrashing...
i look at sports: esp. teamed events
and i think about
whatever happened when
the Judgment of Solomon happened...

the English: so centrist so middle of the world
so: sensible: so awe-inspiring...
can't ******* win a football match
without having to pressurise the opposing
team into making a defensive pseudo-
"faux pas"...
             if silverware is all you want...
**** it...
throw as many pearls into the mud
for the pigs to screech while gobbling 'em up!

i've made my peace...
i've just said it...
         England does not deserve to win...
amore! amore!
JC Feb 2016
I can hear it clearly
now
more than yesterday or before
the winding down of the clock
and the bills coming due
for a past
of centrist decisions
of self
of failing
of the idiocy of immediate satisfaction
with no regard for the obvious.
All these years and all the battles
turned into a war within
and begs the question,
"How do you lose a war
with your own desires?"
I did,
and bleed from the cuts
made by my own hands.
I hear the winding down
of the clock
but have lost the key to redemption.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
even i didn't expect Heidegger's VII - XI
to be so centrist on account
of pedagogy...
a reading tedium... sure...
i wasn't expecting so much concern for
pedagogy in the 20th century,
but i guess a concern
for pedagogy stems from
the 20th century,
and the 21st century is rife
with pedagogy posits of
notable interest...
no...
it's not easy...
it takes weeks,
months,
perhaps even a year or two..
to finish reading
a book of said genre...
unless it's Kierkegaard...
then it's butter to
a warm toast...
     Kierkegaard is perhaps
the most readable philosopher
to date...
     the rest are a tedium,
because they have to encompass
the replica of the tedium of existence...
per se...
          akin to:
you never listen to Wagner...
you listen to Wagner,
in the sense...
  there's only Wagner...
and no other music exists
outside of, Wagner...
               i guess that's how
solipsism implodes and is
made rational...
                    i guess inverted solipsism
works akin to:
Wagner...
      it's not that "you" believe
that only "you" exist...
that's what a child might expect
to experience...
no... when appreciating
someone's work...
   a text, a painting...
   a piece of music...
   what doesn't actually exist
is a "self"...
but what does: are two individuals...
a twinning of the selves
that nullifies both within
the conceptualization
of both individualistic concerns,
for, a, "self"...
              i listen to Wagner
minus the orchestra...
  and i have no nationalistic
allegiance to Chopin...
                 there is none...
**** me...
  i'd forsake my bias for Händel...
     akin to that time i missed
Messiah as the Royal Albert Hall...
where i went to the brothel instead,
and kept hearing the opera
in my head while i ****** her soulful
yet silly embrace...
   i'd forsake my bias for
Händel:
  if it only be:
               Wagner, minus the orchestra!
the bare minimalism of
a once encountered doubling
of effort!
                    and always, always,
said minimalism,
exposed on, a piano...
             no violin...
                  the foundation is different...
Wagner works pristine
assumptions within a piano confines...
Strauss i'm sure will doll dance
the Vienna waltz on merely a violin...
          
but there will always be something
haunting about exposing Wagner
to nothing more, than a piano...
an unsettling: stillness...
   a harmonious marriage toward
existence, and post-existence -
minding the artifact that is death...

i can't look elsewhere for culture than
in the pseudo-genesis story
incubating the Germans as
source material...
                 dritte reisch or not...
   even the Yids bemoan a sour taste
for Schubert...
given the historical artifacts...
               after all...
the Hebrews invested the most in
assimilating into the German language...
for ****'s sake!
terrible Polish accents...
but spoke northern Hebrew:
a mongrel of Hebrew and German...
Yiddish!

                           such is the graveness
of the lament...
   a mere killing is what it is...
but undermining creating a new mongrel
language?
  devouring...
                   even with 10 million dead...
a quasi-language,
  a marriage of German and Hebrew...
****! gone? within a span of 6 years
if not longer?
          
i know how i feel about language...
sorry, i'm not french,
i don't push it outside the realm of
reasonable logic, so i refuse to "i" my way
out some sort responsibility...
    
perhaps that's why i'm not fond
of either French philosophy schooling:
too impracticable...
or the English philosophy schooling:
too practicable (pragmatic etc.) -

assured, as i am:
there were only two "schools" of thought:
Greek... or German...
and i can't be dealing with
outdated cliches concerning
the Greeks, in order to get laid...

yes yes, the live not investigated:
Socrates...
yes yes, the theory that only your self exists:
solipsism...
  ******* yawn...

but i'm not ashamed to have
to read a philosophy book unlike a novella...
technically you're not
supposed to...
   if you do: you really haven't read it...
where's the interlude of thinking?
the footnote non-existent in
the book, but much existent
in your head?

   frankly...
  i'm disappointed at Heidegger's
    ponderings VII - XI...
i never anticipated so much
pedagogical stipulation...
    
                  but then again...
the most daft, sour, most dry writing
by a German in this genre...
out-competes this sickening
English mockery of realism -
this... pragmatism...
       this... over-insured posit from
the focus of biology...
           it's like i want to
spew my intestines out,
and then ingest them in sushi
bite-sized mini-horrors...

                 i can't read an English
philosophy book, nor
the French...
i tried...
       i really tried...
                   vague success with the French
ascribing philosophy to fiction...
but the English?
they're ******* islanders!
   what is a philosophy of islanders
other than the two tenets:
isolationism and eccentricity?!

         not much...

          i'll die sooner than find myself:
soon... reading a book by Locke...
can't stomach that ****...
  
great poets! Milton over Dante:
any day...
              pretty ****** thinkers, though;
and don't get me started
on the "supposed" genius of
Elgar...
    ******* wombat...
                      an elephant stepped
on one of his ears, in which he related,
constantly hearing a jazz
trumpet which he could never pen
down...

   different story with
ralph vaughan williams...
  *******...
   EVERY, SINGLE, TIME...
i cry like a baby with the right spike
of bourbon when i play
thomas talis...
            but philosophy?
the English don't know philosophy...
never have, never will...

unless you impose
something relating to monetary exchanges...
hell... they assure other
Germanic uncles and aunts...
that they're not inclined to
the stereotypical *** mentality;
which of course... they are...
and yet... of lately...
very ****** when it comes
to managing money.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
i get the monkey from the argument, but she gets the mantis and the black widow spider; darwinism ought to be as fashionable these days, at a leopard print dress, or a leotard, or pikachu pyjamas; i'm tired of **** similis arguments and the pseudo-darwinistic retardation of history, true or not, there has always been a huge geological overlooking of history in terms of darwinism (the saharan mountain range)... i can't allow the monkey and the mantis in the same melting ***, only yesterday i ate a spider, and realised: these legs are inedible... they have the texture of ***** (******) hair... i have absolutely no idea what fluids i ingested last night, but i did, and i feel like i was close to stating: pol *** was this close | |, to staging an authentic bingo game, and a legit charity raffle... then again, that just might be the spider fluids talking, and the fact that i spat out the spider's legs.*

oh, right, the new normal
is the "new" television?
          i've been wondering
lately, why the internet isn't
all: let's bypass the powers
of publishing at bay,
     and more:
   claustrophobia centrist -
boa mothering,
   i.e. constipated, non-dialectical,
necessarily rude and
implosive comments section
akin to a film's end credits.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
both sides bore me, both the atheistic, & the theistic, because they both express only one aspect of the cartesian "equilibrium", namely the sum, rarely the the cogito; namely both sides are reactionary to each other, never exlusive of each other, always the two confined crude formants of antoganistic contras, never the middle-duality, always the polar-opposite-dichotomies... never congregationally dialectical, but always the disfunctional solipsistic, mono-exclusive, never the mutally-inclusive... this farce can only succumb to the "idea", to a "truth" for so long; after enough time passes, the former will seek the other for support, for some unison, to be forced into agreement... why? i find that the cogito aspect is the plataeu representation of the seemingly divergent sums... when one side claims to be a mountain, the other side claiming to be a valley... both come to the same conclusion: there's a plataeu... as some of us struggle uphill, some of us struggle downhill... we share the same struggles in comaparative "literature" on a plataeu.

well, **** me! if i had the same curry-tooth
for spices, as i might have a sweet-tongue
for spices, and i had enough
pointless rhetorical learning:
i would stack up a decent  harem...
  either that, or i find both atheists, as theists
equally boring... both being rigid in
their arguments: with one citing
their sacred word: reason! and the other citing
their sacred book: bible!
   i shwear, i just shwam
the length of a marathon...
sank a few u-boats in
between with torpedo farts...
never mind... i get the idea that not everyone
likes poetry...
and how poetry is really
a citation of pomp...
but not many scientists like philosophy,
and philosophy being
the first "science" didn't
like poetry...
    harsh man,
discrediting the power
of poetry,
you know you're spawning
more bad poets,
that you are spawning
convincing atheists
or theists?
you know that, don't you?
there are more poets
in the "centrist" ranks
than there are convincing
atheists or theists...
all i can see are grand
regurgitators...
   is bulimia in fashion
once more? it's not?!
you sure?
           you start to slack
of the power of poetic
"p.s." - the ability to turn
language into a "mathematic"
of allowing an abstract...
short-script...
people these days don't even
recognise diacritical marks!
let alone punctuation marks!
you're seriously talking
atheism / theism to me? really?!
you are speaking in
a language that's
exclusively noun-orientated...
e.g.: i am an atheist...
because? i think... think what?
who cares what you think?!
who gives a ******* toss
about what you think?!
you already told the other side:
i don't care what you feel!
brain in a pickle jar, are we?
judo yoda master, H, are we?
bomb the goon in green.
like one famous english atheist
said: oh yes, i was confirmed,
and i like christmas carols...
so you're not into byzantine monk
chants, not into your templar
cantos?
           what a shame... you're
missing on the "anti-scientific"
subjectivity...
sorry... mate...
                go 'un, scower among
the rats, in the sewers...
you know what your people named my
ethnicity... this is king rat talking;
the ******* waiting for?
another india as colonial prone
fertility?
                 i am just wondering:
will america, will canada, will australia
be so welcoming...
    i'm dying to know...
    i'd love to see, but frankly,
i'm a little bit occupied with this
taste in my mouth...
   it feels as if a tarantula bit me,
must be the star of anise sensation...
i'm "seeing" an eye in my mouth,
and two tongues waggling through
my eye-sockets...
                  it has just become boring
listen to one side cite a book, holy,
and the other side cite a word, also holy...
both sides seems the same as
was originally thought about poetry:
we best fill this space with as many bad
poets as possibly imaginable...
      and when i mean bad, i mean:
all to eager... esp. the english-teacher types
who require the labels of technique...
rhyme's dead... think up another
easily spotted technique...
if you ask the atheists or theists,
they'll provide you with an answer:
word salad, jargon, nonsense...
                  you think that sort of answer
isn't on their tongue?
    they prefer the idea of god / no god
within the framework of dear mr. smith,
yours sincirely of an automaton letter...
   both sides bore me...
thankfully, they can never really find
the likes of me, since finding me would
invoke a need to read me,
and that's outside their effort-zenith of
passive effort bound to the easily digestable
video... reading: ah! the evolved "chore"
of playing hide & seek... thank god...
or no god... they won't find me, because
these on the forefront of an "argument"
seek a passive audience...
   they need the *feeders
...
they never appeal to the scrutinisers -
who watch them...
   huh? i'm deaf... you hear someone knocking
on the door?
       finally! reading takes effort!
    thank god i'm standing stark naked
in a field, and yet no one can seemingly
see me...
          then again, if i made a video of
myself, standing stark naked in a field,
or took a selfie... i just might become
a visible person... n'ah... can't be bothered...
this approach is easier to stomach
and take joy in.

*dare the devil to laugh...
but then the devil dares you back:
            i dare you to believe,
believe to answer the question:
who wears the trousers,
and who the skirt -
never mention the kilt;
ask me, ask "him",
when asking about  
the existence of my counterpart
of either "thought" or "being":
i too foresaw the void,
                and the counter: non.
some said god wore a skirt
and the devil the trousers...
others just said:
god wore a kilt,
        and the devil a kippah;
i beg to differ,
all genitals, circumcised or not,
wore the niqab of underwear;
i'm not mel brooks...
    i wasn't laughing writing that!
one of those dry, mug mongrel
bitten shoe jokes -
             dry-laughter akin to
a gin & tonic mixer...
        makes no difference whether
angels laugh or cry...
     good enough, as long as the devils
can conjure up a decent curry
and a blackbeard sharpshooter...
     feckled me...
   hell just seems just like a such nice
place... akin to what was just stated...
and a parisian cementary revised loop
bound to the earliest of what was
to be made of the 21st century.
Megan Sherman Aug 2021
In modern times that boast of reason's rule
Still vulnerable we are to elect a fool
I wakened to bad government, remote
After England's masses pledged a vote
Shrieks of a slogan of three measly words
"Get Brexit Done" did dupe the voting herds
Piteous brave Corbyn in decline
Tasteful, precious as an ancient wine
The fearful onslaught of Tory policy
Which sought to purge the masses by degree
Did find no opposition in crooked Starmer
Who represents another centrist drama
But for Desire of the left we battle, quest
As Tories lady liberty ******
Their tyranny doth inhabit rotten space
Alien to compassion of human race  
I dare not take a look at their cruel schemes
That crush and burn our heart's cry, its fledgling dreams
There's wealth enough in England to children feed
Yet Rashford have to fight establishment greed
His fight put warmth into my broken heart
Which lost all faith, the Tories ripped apart
Ignoble are our leaders, lack in morals
Who with the bonny rainbow take up quarrel
Rise up ye workers, thou hast been deceived
The left of Labour by treachery bereaved
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
krzesimir dębski - husaria ginie...

a mirroring of a sensation...
the british overtones of levelling:
what we have, not made former,
by conquest, but the russians have...
we will exact... as being the best wishes..
of: and each citizen...
will be allowed... to have his egocentric
trip; minus the hindu psychadelics....
his crown.... i who have found
and bound... a freedom
and ******* within the realm of:
the formal and the informal zunge...

you are holding onto a house of cards -
my friend; and when it comes crashing
down... there... will... be...
no echo... when this folds...
there will no stop-off of the soviet empire...
no grand duchy of lithuania...
no "belarus"... no "ukraine"...
no tricklets of moldova....
not "grand" duchy of prussia...
the people have become... solvent....
darwinism-copernicanism:
no wittgeinstein will help:
what is vogue, was vogue,
will remain vogue, until: bra burning...

i don't know... i guess this esarly stage
of double-crossed exercise in libido is
too much for those modern...
darwinian... chimp-aardvark utopia
seekers... it's never a "solipsistic chimp",
"problem"... "suddenly"
it's a ******* animal farm affair!
stress it once more!
when it was darwin and some greek
uttered the phrase: **** similis!
then "they" unearthed "history"...
"they" looked backwards/forwards
in the heliocentric dynamic...
except on the Faroe Islands in that
geocentric guise... the earth does move
around the earth...
but there's no Louis XIV...

subsequently there's no Alexander Dumas...
there's no Athos - the drinker wise;
Porthos - the sancho, the goat, the ***..
Aramis - the priest... the philanderer...
the don juan in disguise...

what if darwinism was nothing more than
that copernican vogue...
to have to borrow from a hierarchy of
lobsters... of ants...
yet somehow having...

really? are we contesting an ego's hard-on?
prokofiev's troika vs.
prokofiev's lieutenant kijé?
is there really a "vs."?

bones will shackle themselves to:
disowning shadows and
rattles and rumblings...
and... the sort of poverty
of broken into cookies marches...

poliushko polie:
nothing ever said as much as this says:
"we"... the "people"...
out of the window... the babe and the bathwater!
gone!
last remnants of what came part
of the story that constituted:
the two neighbours of europe...
somehow the greeks juggled...
the hebrew: please can the hebrew juggle better!

i don't need cheap british socialism
pseudo-communism:
from under the iron curtain...
where next?!
this? this brixton break-up of
some black whip over a white ****?
let the whips dry up among themselves...
i'll still be looking for japanese gravure...
the bull... the tender girl
in a porcelain shop...

or some "other"...
nonetheless: we'll all be left better off being
all confused...
such as now...

all becomes apparent:
when being guided in the kingdom
of the blind by the one-eyed man...
the dajjal... perhaps a one eared man would suffice...
after all...
i can see... pakistani-pakistani...
and i can see pakistani-english:
slush-puppy centrist...

my eye does not differentiate the two...
even if i have but one...
but it's worthwhile to know at least
two tongues... in this modern global age...
it's not enough to know but one:
abide by one tongue...
the dajjal is not one-eyed...
he's one-eared...
he will be the one to end this current
arabic ****... of sitting on oil beneath
the sands...
he will revel in speaking only one tongue...

next target! no target...
darwin is my new copernicus...
until our next meeting...
when all this sort of regurgitated neu-vogue is
no longer a rasberry beret.
Big Virge Nov 2020
Now I Have To Say...
That In These Strange Days...
My Use of Wordplay...
Is In A RICH VEIN... !!!!!

From Reflecting On Things...
That Are Proving To STING... !!!

Like Corona Pain...
And Societal Strain...
Due To Deals About Trade...

To Election Campaigns...
And Debate TIRADES...
From Names Now Displayed...
That Seem To Have NO SHAME... !?!

There’s Much That INFLATES...
IGNORANCE AND WEAK CLAIMS...
That DEFINE What’s POOR...
And That’s Fa’ SURE... !!!

From Provisions For...
... A Corona Cure...

To... Media Views...
That Seem Far From Shrewd... !!!

From These Journalists...
Who Lack Balance So Twist...
And Then FLIP Scripts...
Like CONTORTIONISTS... !!!

To... Right Wing Fascists...
Whose Views Seem RACIST...
To These Centrist Leftists...
Who To Me Are Now Visceral...
Liberal... CRIMINALS... !!!

While Words I Use...
Are Those That Peruse...
Todays’ World Issues...
Without Getting Confused...

Like Those That Ensure...
That Tough Times Are In Store...
For The Poor And More... !!!

Because of Those...
... In The Commons...
And Those In The Lords...

Whose NONSENSE AIN’T Shocking...
To Me... Anymore... !!!

And As For Those ABROAD...
From... American Shores...

Their LACK of Thought...
And ABUSE of Laws...
Is A Thing SO POOR...
That They Shouldn’t Be Ignored... !!!

Because I Wouldn’t Advise...
Ignoring Their LIES And Political Ties...
In These Days And Times... !!!

From The Left To The Right...
Their Talk CONTRIVES...
To Feed Bias And PRIDE...

That Is POORLY Used...
To Keep People Confused... !!!

With... Election News...
And POOR Interviews...
From Political Crews...
Who Choose To Allude...
To NOT BEING TRUE... !!!

Or To... What’s IMPORTANT...
Like Being Straightforward... !!!

What They Do Is TORMENT...
The Truth To Feed Falseness...
In... What Their Reporting... !!!

So Proceed With CAUTION... !!!

Cos’ It’s A CIRCUS Show...
That... Constantly Flows...

That’s POOR Beyond Belief... !!!
When You Hear Most of Them Speak... !!!

These Media Teams...
That Are TRULY WEAK... !!!

It’s Like Watching A Scene...
From Some Kind Of Movie...
Where The News Is Just USED...

To Sensationalise And SKEW...
Somewhat Like... PREDATOR Two... !!!!!

I Guess It’s Nothing New...
From NBC To Fox News It’s TRUE... !!!

Their Crews Have Got More Letters...
Than These Alphabet Genders... !!!!!

And Their Crews Are Those...
Who Have Them As Presenters...
That’s Right Women And Fellas...
Who Are FUELLING Agendas... !!!!

That Try To Play BOTH Sides...
of What’s... Now In Sight...

... Political Fights...
Everyday And Every Night... !!!

They Just POLITICISE...
While People Now DIE...
From... Corona Vibes... !!?!!

I Wonder Sometimes...
If What They CONTRIVE...
Is What They TRULY Believe...
Or Do They Just Deceive...
Every Time That They Speak... ?!?

There’s A Lot That WREAKS...
In Their Daily News Feeds... !!!

of... HYPOCRISY... !!!

That’s POOR And Sustains...
SO MUCH That Is LAME... !!!!!

That I’d Rather Not Name...
Those Now In The Frame...
of Today’s News Game... !!!

As They’ve Already Gained...
... FAR TOO MUCH FAME...
And... Rates of Pay... !!!
For Their POOR Displays...
of What They... “ CLAIM “...

To Be Reporting That’s Straight...
That DOESN'T Make MISTAKES...
Or INFLATE What's FAKE... !!!

Well While They Play...
Their DODGY Games... !!!

I Stick To What’s RICH...
Wordplay Through Lyrics...
That... DO NOT SINK... !!!!!

Like... TITANIC Ships... !!!

That Now Seem To Exist...
In The Media Links...
That Are Now Being Shipped...
ALL OVER The WORLD...
That Now Need To Be CURBED... !!!

Because They Seem To PERVERT...
Rather Than... OBSERVE...
  
... Engaging Brains...
With The Type of Thought Waves...

That Like This Piece...
of Big Virge Wordplay...

Are CLEARLY Those...
……….. of A ………..

...... “ RICH VEIN “..... !!!
This years election news, has truly been something to behold, and much like the first debate, has been far from great !
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
what social stigma about wearing masks?
well... in all honesty...
i do feel kind of stupid wearing
latex gloves and a surgical mask...

i am, not, a surgeon...
     where's the body to find an atlas
of my arms?
    nowhere... exactly!
       i was almost punished into wearing
a mask outside...
i started thinking of halloween...
where is my devil mask...
where is my... madre muerte mask?

but what of the social "stigma":
the conspiracy theory and tin-foil hats
and waiting for the sputniks
of the whittle green-men?

social stigma...
                 ha! i quiet like it...
i can what all the women dodging
physiognomy affairs have done...
since at least 700AD...
   i can't look this "affair" as a social
stigma concern...
i just... pretend... there's a niqab vacant...
any distinguishing features...
oh yeah: that beard will just not fold
in under a surgical mask...

then again: what i wouldn't...
but otherwise do...
with a devil's mask...
               right about now...
             suffocating in...
               or rather... exfoliating with...
show me the proper gimp suit!
the old halloween should have
mattered...
       oblitarated by...
caughing... everything looked so serene
when Chernobyll didn't have a will...
but at least...
there are no side-effects...
akin to lilac mushrooms growing out
from under armpits and between
toes...
a hideous affair...

                          otherwise...
one almost wishes for there to be symptoms
more potent... more visible...
not this... shy flu...
  this: headshot and dropping dead...
like those victims of john allen muhammad...
i'm not hearing anything about...
bubonic plague blossoms...
leprosy flakes... mushrooms willing
to grow in man's armpits... lilac...

the evolution of a virus... well...
let's mind the aesthetic...
and let's mind... the evolution of the virus...
of not exposing itself as immediately...
evident... there are no apparent...
"facts"... only subversive narratives...

       i don't mind wearing a surgical mask...
i do mind that there is no surgury for me
to undertake...
i promise you: even Dickens could
waste a paragraph on this sort of:
self-congragulating... pompously formal
language refrains...
or what-not...

        all i'm saying...
if death was baptised with: the great anonymity
of the communist gulags...
no numbers even to date... to unearth...
then "the virus" was giving into
the great aesthetic of turning into stealth:
covert...

           in that self-replicating perfection...
by god: to have only a tsunami to see...
or an earthquake to feel...
or follow the herd nihilism and fatalism of
Pompeii...
         but there are no lilal mushrooms
growing from my armpits...
no bogus pillows of fuss
when pierced turning into... sparkle of
the communication highway of...

      the next lick of the post-stamp...
the stampade of: clickbait: sent sent sent...

"how soon is now?"
  well i've been using female deodorant...
and reading poems by colts...
16 year old boys in first time loves...
and i'm beginning to become...
very... fond of female deodorant... dove...
esp... since it equips me with
a scent of soap... under my armpits...
which is such a neutral scent...
and there's nothing sporty...
or masculine about it...

             i'll just baptise my hands
in the earth... as i garden...
and feed into the concept of: esq. as borrowed
from the victorian period...
and... forget to read the newspaper...
most probably the times...
that centrist... right? i guess right...
magic-"thought"-machine...
but the weekend comes and the opinion
columns come in...
and there's this restaurant critic...
with two houses...
one in London and one in the Cotswolds...
and i am...
                     there's no...
     basement or a single mother...
            there's no attic...
i would love to have an ed gein little brother
handy to go... kite-running...
or chasing mice...

     this is the newspaper of me being...
"best... best-of: besting" a crowd of the...
ahem... "well-informed"...
     i am a restaurant critic...
        i am not...
                    i much appreciate the old halloween...
if they could see us now...
i see the devil... and he's... only a dumb...
irritating b'aah b'aah... trembling at the gown
before losing it... knee high...
to a ****-it-all-carousel ride up
an imaginary everest...

            i will have to think about about
squandering handshakes...
but of course i will not...
i'll see it an acre ahead of me...
a possible suspect...
so i cross the street...
and in all this glory of british idiosyncracy:
i can become as weird as i want to...
what... with stories of people purposively
coughing... sneezing... spitting...
on key-workers...
  and all the other workers...
the idle... membrane caste...
the office paper-parasites...

                    of the work most terrifyingly
viable... and... necessary...
oh the woe of insinuation that...
they can indeed stay indoors...
because: such is the demand for them being
preoccupied with "professions"...
such "important" very "important"
hobbit-people...

      the surgical masks are go!
i've been so... so ******* jealous of playing
Batman every time i saw a niqab strolled
casually... i can finally be what i've always
wanted... a ***** of Muhammad's harem...
i can... start considering a tortoise shell
like a... like a... stained glass fraction piece...
to fit it with burning embers of replicated
quest for: gesticulating devotion...
fit the riddle with singing chandeliers
and... calcium... a pouch rock of the most
necessary fiddle-with...

the ****'s up with american-english...
and a surname...
i hear it... first time... probably the last time...
'coal-bear'... o.k. i type it in..
coal.... bear...
   wait... no... wait... this is not a joke...
this is not some 16 year old's love... frenzied fancy...
it's gavin mcinnes...
coal... bear...
      must be a canadian "thing"...
it's still not a joke...
keeping up appearances...
   it's mrs. beau-kay...
            beau-             -qay...
McfuckingQee...
     one of those nookie incidents...

is that the one where...
the H is a surd...
and Bill gets the preferential roman
empire treatment of: m'ah: air...
or "mayor"... or... mÆr?
           marr... merr... myrh... fff... fff...
   "coal-bear"...
mrs.: bucket(t): yes the added T because...
hell... samuel... beckett...
        col-bert!
                  col........... bert-rand ru-ß-ell!
ha... the germans will never see this one
coming... sure sure... the... digraph of S und Z...

what about the digraph or R and Z?
in... oh... the e.g. of schwarz?!
i'm no german but... the ß is a little bit: "devoid"...
looks like we need a russian roulette...
schwarц!

             w'ah w'ah... volkswagen:
                 woo... wearisome: verily though...
why this... pandering to the francophones...
coal-bear... am i... DEAF... or something?!
colbert...
              ah... if it's not coal-bear...
but... simply: colbert...
it's like someone with a surname...
smith... or: kovalski...
          what cow?
                   ******* excesses of anglo-saxon
immigrant leftovers of phonetic
schlomo slang...
                     what's wrong with a distinct
and pristine... crisp piece of paper tow
of an ending with T...
oh forget the R... the tarantulla bit you:
you tongue is numb... you will not find the trill
of the R, ever... again...

- and the trouble the punk is that...
the cool kids: the gatekeepers...
and... what's "allowed" and what "isn't":
that mojo ****-fest of...
come before the court of the crimson king...
can-do...
C = K...
            but... calipathe isn't exactly a (k)nife...
since... the latter is a surd...
a greek rubric:
                            ψ = π = σ = "sigh"...
but not really...
              ψychology...
                      in that... ψyχology...
"C"overt... and a chimera...
but not a... CHeat!

                  i could never fall in love with punk...
sure... high fidelity...
and... stiff little fingers... the end...

                 Calvin Klein...
                      if... once upon a time...
all it took was a ****** to woo
the spontaneity... now there's a blue...
chequers and chase?
can i please become
the next... "next": Garrincha...
and become a ****** again:
and lose "it": to the goat... like he did...
or to a cow... standing upon...
a peddlestool?
or the stone that... Sysiphus rolled up
that vanity avenue of a...
hill?

the intricacies of a fly biting:
but first regurgitating its juices...
to slurp up the digestive puddle first...
i say... who would need any exposure
to bone: to later wither in a proclamation
of a shmile... better the puddle of
the stomach: intuitively...
laid before you...
all that's required is the milkshake...
and the slur(r)-p'ah!

******* ideologues of darwinism...
so worried about their hard-ons...
they shun the alcoholic goldfish...
for... a ditto-head paradigm...
     to boast about the ape...
always with those apes...
there is never... any... mention of
the nobility of swans or of rooks...
or the motherhood of whales...
it's always with those... ******* apes!

i like the sound of mimic...
involuntarily conscripting the volume of...
bugs... i like the sound of...
toasting... crunching...
"slimey"... yet... "satisfying" sushi...

ha ha... mr. colbert... no no... apologies!
coal-bear!
mr. colbert, n'est(-ce) pas?

again: to reiterate...
no... nein nein nein...
one of those "et tu" scenarios?

tout de ce?!
                 arm-band... a dragon
for the yield:
           Çymreag...
       as i am past looking up...
the h'american *******...
because i've been regurgitating its...
cultural "woke" with so much...
so much of what's otherwise...
the whittle oasis of europe...
this chinese libersation
army of microbes...
has allowed "us" to...
put a... sinking sensation of the last
h'american export enterprise...
youtube videos...

           because i love each and every
language: so...
that comprise... this... well...
established... lack... of... egoistic...
cuckerry (with viagara aids)...
lucky for me...
the brothel: bei der bereit!!!!!

any english is better than the english...
spaghetti twiting its way out
of the confines of... h'america...
   yes: dear citizen leader...
yes... citizen king... yes yes yes!
yes: before we get to speak to the president!
there's a membrane of mcdonald's to
sieve through!
yes... mr. here: yes mr. right!
oh yes: mein mein "j.f.k." my raynold:
reginal... raymond and knline and keagan...
and my... reagan!

              yes my wall in berlin...
yes my: eisenvorhang...
ja: meine siliziumpäpstin!
ja! ja! wunderbar!
                   beifall! gründlich beifall!
teufelzirkus!
perhaps... the essential gratification
could have come with...
the slowed down blitzkrieg of
the blitz cloud over London...

                   aber...
                                     what zeppelins?
this borrowed tongue...
and its host...
    to speak... so freely a whittle bit of german...
a crumb of it... in this... peacock garden
of the inverted satellite state and...

i was alone as i walked past
the union jack and i aided my shadow to
concern itself with a reply...
you wouldn't want to think it...
but i think it, nonetheless....
there is no more brilliant concern for
the entity of flags...
in this world... beside...
the union jack...

             what a keeper this ol' jack o' all
trades!
               i'm sorry... my venture from
Galicia teasing ends... here...
on the unionist parade of an ol' 'ipper...
because: god forbid i would become
an albino: integration sensation under
the 'tars and 'anner...
or whatever the name is...
'tars and 'tripes: no?

              vivid... the... insult served upon
the... whereabouts of the wind-hunters...
the Persians and the Greeks...
it's almost like: breathing backwards...
or finding carbohydrates in choking!

because the gravitas is there!
it's not enough to simply allow zeppelins
to drop bombs...
so much more: soul infuriating
a counter-blossom:

that white is: weiß
that black is: schwarц...
         burden my soul for this avenue of
the egomaniac saxon...
the pauper swabian lot of... "Überbleibsel"...

and unlike "our" h'american counter-parts...
we do feast on a "good fight" with...
hands... and the arithmetic of knuckles...
rather than egoism and ******* measurement...
and that long-forgotten backbone
of the... "weltbürgerwahlspruch"!

so much... "arbeitnotwendig" in...
the... vicinity...
  arbeit?! was arbeit?!
         ghost buses?!
                    "necessary"...
parading uniforms?
        that's... work... yes?
                     by the looks of it...
3/4 is not necessary... work... as work is
to be exaggerated...
        abflusseskapaden...
or poaching the seal that... claps...
for the future of the already emptied
theatre!

social stigma...
surgical masks... no surgery apparent...
well i just look at the good sisters of islam
wishing us the 11th plague of god
and all those concerns for the righteous living
through this "tsunami"...
and i'm... given the sort of solace that shouldn't
be required... as i... pretend to imitate
donning a ninja-niqab!
Remember me Jul 2019
I might be a devout atheist
I might be an extreme centrist
but as a senior minion
it is my unbiased opinion
that fun poetry is like civil war
if it was popular there'd be more.
Written for U3A poetry group on the theme 'Fun and Games'
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
I get it
That you're broken inside
You type with your centrist
Typist and ghostwriter
It's just the very
Thing
That makes my day, like all the broken soul
That makes my night
Beginning in the dream that I seem to become a writer
"I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life but that great consciousness of life."- Jack Kerouac
Lawrence Hall Jul 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     We are not Adjectives

Hemingway says we should eliminate adjectives
(I really have a thing against adverbs, actually)
And, yes, Mr. Hemingway is correct
(But I’m very sure I am too, totally):

Conservative, liberal, democrat
Republican, fascist, reactionary
Communist, progressive, socialist, green
Centrist, radical, neo-this or -that

Noise, all noise through the television night -
But you in your wisdom are peace  
      and light
A poem is truly, actually, surely, wonderfully, interestingly its cerulean, bright, shining, touching, delightful, wonderful, happy, iconic self.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.god, a bottle of 70cl Jackie Boy goes down so quickly, esp. since it was bought on discount...

what the hell was that?
there i was, fine throughout the day,
and then it hit me...

i don't even know what it was...
my best assertion was that it was:

the fear of god...
  
    anything else is out of the window,
it wasn't a nausea,
it wasn't dizziness,
it certainly wasn't high-blood pressure...

watering eyes...
it almost felt like sea-sickness,
but since i've never been prone to
sea-sickness,
i couldn't tell...
   but...
     i could find a comfortable
to sit in, tilt my head forward
or back, or sit in a Turkish akimbo...

hot sweating running down my head...
was it because i didn't
excuse the right of feces from my body...
or? ah... sober...
        
so i cut out the second half of
the UEFA nation's league...
the Netherlands are already 1 - 0
up on Germany...
and they're playing the sort
of football like i remember they
played, when clarence seedorf,
and dennis bergcamp
and mike overmars
   (who could dribble the pall and
run like an Olympic sprinter)
played for the orange side...

funny how the concept of Europe
is misplaced when it comes
to the application of football
festivity...
  
what, what exactly, is Eastern Europe?
Poland, Czech Republic etc.
so... why are Western countries
playing... Israel, Armenia,
Georgia.... Kazakhstan,
Azerbaijan... Turkey...
                        what's "eastern" about
the former, and "european"
about the latter?

not much...

       so the feeling set in,
and... yes, i do blame it on alcohol  
withdraw...
but... i also managed to pick up
Friday's and today's (Saturday's)
newspaper,
   (i still think the times is
centrist right)
   and... well... i began to feel queasy,
or rather, uneasy with
such an array of articles...

- Friday:
1. charities gagged by ministers:
   agencies working with universal
claimants are barred from
criticizing secretary of state

    (Esther McVey the"dame" in
question),
2. unforgiven: now students ban
cowboy outfits
:
    university of Kent....

- Saturday:
1. BBC staff told to use non binary
pronouns
-
refer to non-binary colleagues
as "them" or "they" rather than
he or she...
     so... they're all schizophrenics?
beyond gender "neutrality"
they're hearing voices in
their head, or in the vicinity?
i am supposed to think of 1,
as a 10?
i'd still prefer to call someone
zoo-zoo if he she or it
begin to confuse my knowledge
of a language...
mind you... i acquired
this language...
    no wonder the natives are
going: what the ****?!
2. we're in a dark age where hearts
rule minds
:
why experts ignored and
universities cowering before student
mobs, the gains of the Enlightenment
are imperiled....
  
so it dawned on me...
**** it...
    two ciders down and enough
to cram an hour's worth of brisk walking,
and i was feeling much
better... watching a lightweight
boxing match... all 12 rounds...
missed by a margin of only 1 point
between Lewis Ritson
v. Francesco Patera...

feeling? well... relieved?
  opened a bottle of Jackie Boy...
and figured...
ill swear as much as i ******* please,
and all that comes with it...
but i will not utter:
asher shem...
yes, that name...
               i will not usher into vocal
ha shem... the name...
since... as i've noticed...
the Arabs... tend to:
   utter their god's name: in vain...

allah'u akbar... all the ****** time...
me? i like the "inconvenience"
the Jews adopted,
in hiding a name inside a name...
to speak the overly-generalized
concept of deity...

   **** i will... i will curse & pound
all i care against this blank
punching bag of pixel paper...
and i guess... that's that.
nyant Jan 31
Wickedness or weakness?
I should probably not tweet this,
Nearly slipped in to an abysmal depth of despair but read and heard of an heir,
the grim reaper sewed me a ragged garment but i traded it for a glorious cloak i never deserved,
Gave me solace when i seemed stressed,
I felt my soul less with each step,
To be or not to be?
Neither left right nor centrist,
box me at your peril,
living with the most hopeful omen,
killing fear by the day,
The only way to drink the cup is to keep my eyes up,
Icarus: you can never get too close to the Son,
Part of the cure or disease?
don't know how many seconds till the clock stops,
sprinkle some joy in to this cold play,
imperative is change the narrative,
first to find the path to match my claim,
the freedom attained must be sustained,
Am I free?
Quod Erat Demonstrandum.
Yenson May 2022
So I'm richer than you

Yeah, but you didn't rule a whole Nation
and anyway I'm also a multi-millionaire

But Dad, aren't you a Socialist

Shush sonny, don't even go there
do I look like some envy-ridden
under-achieving, psychopathic
semi-illiterate blinded idiot to you

but Dad I could swear you said you are

No, no, no I am a centrist, you know
the sensible ones, the Realist, we drink champagne
and shop at Harrods and make wealth, and yes we
do tax the rich but also show them how to avoid
paying too much, we are not politicians for nothing

hey Dad, what about all those millions of poor people
thought you are working class and have these peoples
backs

Listen sonny, I am nothing of the sort, how dare you
I am middle-class, went to Oxford, practised Law,
worked hard, aspired, have great leadership qualities
and I amcharming and personable, working class my Rolex  

Listen, let me tell you, those mugs are cannon fodders, they
beg to be led and told what to do, they cannot think for themselves
its a sad fact of life but true. They actually enjoy being mediocre
and blaming everybody else for their self destructive lives.
If your mother and I had let you grow amongst them you wouldn't
be the millionaire you are today.

Dad, do you think they will start harassing me and giving me grief
everywhere, calling me posh and intimidating me.

No son. they wouldn't dare, they are all cowards and really easy
to brainwash and manipulate. I've done that for years, they never wise up. Just make sure you buy your rounds at the pub and call them mate.

Dad, I don't go to the pub, I go to Nobu or The Ivy!







It’s an unfortunate fact of birth, forever being referred to as the son of former Prime Minister Tony Blair.

But perhaps Euan Blair’s latest achievement rather takes the edge off: by ignoring his famous father’s education policy, the 38-year-old is now not only three times richer than his dad, with an estimated fortune of £160m compared to his father’s reported £44m, but now also owns a grander house. By quite a way.

According to reports, the Yale graduate and former Morgan Stanley banker has just bought and moved into a £22m, five-storey townhouse in west London, featuring an “iceberg basement” with a swimming pool, 50-foot reception room and a lift for his fleet of expensive cars. The palatial seven-bedroom pad is reportedly more than double the value of his father’s £10m London pad.
In his maiden speech in the House of Commons on 6 July 1983, Blair stated, "I am a socialist not through reading a textbook that has caught my intellectual fancy, nor through unthinking tradition, but because I believe that, at its best, socialism corresponds most closely to an existence that is both rational and moral ...

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