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At the mailbox, again:
“Who loves me, baby?”
Well, let’s see: there’s a flyer from Mercury Insurance,
Reminding me that most middle-income customers
Save an average of $4 million smackaroons when they switch too.
The Penny Saver USA.com is here,
Thank God, almighty!
So now I know that Thomas Roofing & Paving
Is having a special on 20-year leak-free flat roofs;
"All work guaranteed & insured.
No job too big or small.
Free estimates/Emergency services/License # I8U-69."
And thank you, Jesus,
For another $4.99 Farmer Boys 3-Egg Breakfast
Combo with Coffee coupon, and that
Little Caesars Hot-N-Ready, $5.00 cheese or pepperoni,
Mae-West-“why-don’t-you-come up and see me sometime?”—mailer. And, of course, another technology Siren’s song:
Verizon FiOS delivers entertainment this big,
Dish me up some dish NETWORK, $19.99 a month . . .
Are you ******* me?
For 12 ******* months?
AT&T;: whack me off on 120 channels.
DIRECTV.com - DIRECTV® Official Site‎
Worry-free 99.9%  . . . cue Joe E. Brown,
"Some Like It Hot“ Osgood:
"Well, nobody’s perfect!"
Time Warner/Sprint/T-Mobile;
And ******* Leather, Polk Street, San Francisco.
******* leather?
Must be for my neighbor: that ***** ****!
And here’s the weekly 8-page color fold-out from Stater Bros:
Lowering prices every day, large cantaloupes
(Jessica Lange, are you back?)
10 for $10.00, 32 oz. Gatorade
Or 24 oz Propel in 30 assorted varieties @ 79 cents
+ CRV: California Redemption Value?
Nice euphemistic cover-up for a TAX.
Nice, nice, very nice, CA elected state officials;
Nicely done, Sacramento.
Everywhere else in the country you get real money—
A fixed number of pennies, nickels, or dimes—
For your plastic bottles and aluminum cans.
But in California, the licensed recyclers
Get to pull the market price out of their *** each morning.
California Redemption Value?
What ******* genius government kleptocrat thought that one up? Conspiracy Alert: who gets all that CRV money?
And what are they doing with it?
Feeling plain, Jane?
Marinello Schools of Beauty, want you,
Offer you hands-on training in cosmetology,
Skin care esthetics, manicuring and vaginal deodorizing—
Just kidding, Babaloo.
Food tip for the Third World:
Never try to write poetry on an empty stomach.
Sizzler 6 oz juicy & succulent.
RENEGADE DEAL:
El Pollo Loco guacamole chicken sandwich,
Coupon free, small drink and small chips,
When you purchase a guacamole or jalapeno sandwich,
includes pepper jack cheese and a southwest sauce.
Gardenas sandia con semilla, 7 lbs 99 cents.
GARDENAS: “en precios, servicio y calidad, nadie nos iguaia.”
Bud Gordon’s Quality NISSAN:
One at this price after a $1500 factory rebate.
TERMINIX: get them before they get you!
The Kingdom Animalia, Phylum Arthropoda, Class Insecta
Bug up my *** again.
And a form letter from the VA
Asking me to please update my whereabouts.
And a form letter from the VA asking me
To please update my whereabouts.
And miles to go before I sleep.
Bite me, Mr. Frost!

An outing, at last.
I am going for a walk around the inside of my gates.
I live in one of those gated over-55 lunatic asylums.
There are gates. It is gated. Get it?
GATED! We feel safe here.
Probably a good thing at our age:
Self-imposed institutionalization,
Putting oneself in an asylum to ferment and die.
The fact that so many of us
Need it so bad at only 55
Says something itself about the current state of
Baby Boomer metal-fatigue.
I am now standing at the far end of the golf course.
I wait at the far end of the 18th Hole.
A ball bounces past my head and
Rolls off past the green into the far rough.
The 18th Hole is perched atop a small plateau,
Out of sight, far above the horizon for anyone teeing off.
I am Puck, invisible and impish.
I pluck the ball up.
I scamper to the green.
I pop the ball into the hole.
Which is better than popping a hole in the ball,
Surely, kind of a drag,
As we were once fond of saying.
Deflated Ball.
Deflator Maus.
OPERA can be ****.
Bodice-ripping corsets, whorehouses and naked ******!
Hardly what you might expect from
A night with the Welsh National Opera,
But they found their way into this production of "Die Fledermaus."
Ripe language, contemporary jokes and
Toilet humor thrown in, adding immensely
To the pleasures of Strauss’s operetta.
"Die Fledermaus," or The Bat’s Revenge,
Is all about drunkenness and adultery.
Despite being written in the 1870s,
It remains equally pertinent to today’s pub culture of excess.
Daring; Colorful; ****: PGA golf.
I steal a golf ball on the far end of the 18th Hole.
I pick up the Titleist and stick it in the hole
(Steady Jessica, not yours.
I hide behind your bush.
(Cue up PSA, First Lady Bird Johnson’s 1960s
Nationwide Beautification Campaign:
“I want everyone in America to plant a tree,
A sherrrr-rub, or a booosh.”)
The golfer now searching frantically:
Why is the cup always the last place they look?
Then, wham, bam, he looks:
A legend is born.
A hole in one,
His name forever immortalized
On a plaque over the bar, the proverbial 19th Hole.

As you know, I speak for all mediocrities,
Safe in my 55+ gated-community.
I go next to the Club House,
"The Lodge" as it’s called.
Each afternoon, the usual suspects
Claiming first come/first serve tiered mini-theater seats
Where Netflix matinee gems are screened.
It is two minutes to DVD show time.
I walk to the front of the room.
I stare at my audience.
I count the house slowly,
Making meaningful eye contact with each wrinkled face.
I cup my hands behind my back and speak:
“I assume you are all here for my lecture on Kierkegaard.”
No one reacts.
I turn to leave but do a double-take and smile.
One old woman in the top right corner of the amphitheater laughs, Perhaps the one other human being within the gates
Who has also smoked a joint today.
For an instant, I am overwhelmed with paranoia,
Perhaps I’ve gone too far over the line:
No longer “oh-he’s-a-character;”
I am now “that creep is ******* nuts.”
Is it time for someone to approach my family,
My next of kin, my “who-to-contact-in-event-of-emergency” number? Who will make the call on behalf of the HOA—
The Homeowner’s Association—
The Tsars, the Duma, the Supreme Soviet in these parts?
They are the power inside the gates;
Those who determine the state’s enemies,
Who govern its community norms.
Power within the gates.
Law within the asylum.
Little Hitlers one and all.
Hopefully they reach my sister first.
She’s been briefed.
KEY POINT IN THE NARRATIVE:
The new narrative is non-linear.
We can no longer sustain a narrative understanding of ourselves;
We are each an individual stream of consciousness,
All of us random, non-linear and disconnected.
We grow more and more disconnected from others.
We may be neighbors in space and time,
But we remain deprived of any significant human contact;
Any spiritually significant human contact.
Our social circle narrows to what can fit in The Telescreen;
We become more intimate with a legion . . .
Did someone say a legion? SPQR:
Am I having some sort of genetic-linguistic seizure here?
Am I channeling Benito Mussolini again?
Il Duce speaks to me from the grave,
Still blowing smoke up my Hopi-Jew-*** ***,
Filling in my insecurities,
Plugging the holes in my character
With delusions of classical Roman grandeur, glory and empire. Hmmmm? Quite an appetizing pitch for the average *****,
A message so completely, so ethnocentrically slick,
Olive oily, and so seductive.
A non-Italian would have thought
American Legion or Legionnaire’s disease,
Or The Foreign Legion, The French Foreign Legion.
The French: a virulent, promiscuous people.
Do you want fries with that, Simone?
No, I don’t get out much.
Only an occasional brisk walk around the asylum,
In and around the golf course, around but inside the gates. (LINKS) Bill Gates. Daryl Gates. Billy Bathgate’s Gates? Ghiberti’s Gates? The Hot Gates? Thermopylae? 300 Spartans/700 Thespians:
“The noun causing idiots to think of
Two girls sloppily eating each other’s mighty vaginas,
When they hear mention of someone being an actor.” http://www.urbandictionary.com
Not even close.
No, I rarely venture out.
This is Hemetucky.
There are methamphetamine-stoked
Teenage zombies at the gate.
Note to costume control:
Perhaps camouflage clothing is the safe choice?
No loud red Hawaiian.
No garish Indonesian batik.
Fleet of feet are these Hemet tweakers,
These cranked up Riverside County teenage barbarians,
These Huns & Visigoths,
These amped up, ravenous jackals.
And why stop there?
These Vandals & Vandellas.
A Motown flashback:
“Nowhere to run, baby, nowhere to hide.”
With or without Martha—
They remain dangerously lethal.
Yes, let it be camo clothes for me.
Those **** heads may be young.
They may be fast.
They may be able to run me down
On a dry grass dog-legged fairway savannah,
Tearing the meat from my carcass.
But the sons-a-******* have to see me first.
Besides, we know who are real friends are.
Hooray for our media peeps!
We become more intimate with a legion
Of television personalities on 125 different channels.
Most of these we know by name and context.
We know their families, their friends,
Their histories, their tragedies,
Their favored hyperbole and manner of speech.
Sometimes we establish intimacy with celebrities
Strictly on the basis of universal body language.
At times–in the absence of any other
Empathetic facility of identification–
We connect on instinct alone.
Instinct: perhaps animal at its core,
An animal kingdom affinity group,
Connecting on a bio-linguistic level,
Particularly when the Korean, or Spanish,
Mandarin, or Arabic,
Japanese, or even Hebrew language version is broadcast.
All languages cryptically alien,
A dense boundary, a barrio border wall,
Undecipherable, impenetrable concrete.
But we’ve never spoken to our neighbors,
Nor do we know their names.
Celebrities are the neighbors we know best;
Although the intimacy is an illusion,
Permission to invade their privacy presumed,
Tacit in the relationship between celebrities and their fans.
I am an independent contractor now,
An outside consultant to the NSA.
Try as I might I cannot crack the enigma,
Kim Kardashian remains far beyond my code-breaking prowess.
I repeat myself:
We can no longer sustain a narrative understanding of ourselves;
We are each an individual stream of consciousness,
All of us random, non-linear and disconnected.
We are more and more disconnected from others.
We may be neighbors in space and time,
But we remain deprived of any significant human contact;
Any spiritually significant human contact.
Our social circle narrows to what can fit in The Telescreen; we become more intimate with a legion . . .
Back to you, David Ulin:
“Sometime late last year—I don’t remember when, exactly—I noticed I was having trouble sitting down to read. That’s a problem if you do what I do, but it’s an even bigger problem if you’re the kind of person I am. Since I discovered reading, I have always been surrounded by stacks of books. I read my way through camp, school, nights, and weekends; when my girlfriend and I backpacked through Europe after college graduation, I had to buy a suitcase to accommodate the books I picked up along the way.”
Thank you, David L. Ulin.
I cannot help myself.
I grow more eccentric each day.
My eyeballs glued to that flat screen!

Cosmo Kramer: "The bus is outta control.
So I grab him by the collar, I take him out of the seat,
I get behind the wheel, and now I’m driving the bus."
Jerry: "Wow!"
George Costanza: "You’re Batman."
Cosmo Kramer: "Yeah, yeah, I am Batman.
Then the mugger, he comes to and he starts choking me.
So I’m fighting him off with one hand,
And I kept driving the bus with the other, ya know.
Then I managed to open up the door,
And I kicked him out the door, ya know,
With my foot, ya know, at the next stop."
Jerry: "You kept making all the stops?"
Cosmo Kramer: "Well, people kept ringing the bell!"
(Share this moment with a stranger.)

I speak for all mediocrities.
I am their champion, their patron saint.
Boom Chaka Laka. Boom Chaka Laka.
Boom Chaka Laka. BOOM!
Isn’t it time Salieri tempted Constanze–
Frau Mozart–with a plateful of Capezzoli di Venere:
“******* of Venus.”
You had me at hello, Kidman.
I know you too well, Nicole.
I knew you from before,
Way before Tom’s Oprah couch freak show.
Listen to me, Nicole:
We are face to face
With the most profound question in American literature:
"What is the grass?
The flag of my surrender?
The flag of my disposition?"
I resort to Socratic maxims: Know yourself;
The un-****** life is not worth living.
Is it stress? Is it lack of conviction?
Everything Jeff Lebowski neither wants nor needs in his life?
I watched you *** in "Eyes Wide Shut," Nicole.
Now I know you with my eyes and your legs wide open.
Thank you, Sidney Pollack.
Sidney knew.
Sidney dealt us cards
From his Hollywood Tarot deck.
We are intimate, Nicole.
I watched you squat.
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret,Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)
This year has had plethora of public worries in Africa over broken English among the young people and school children. It first started in the mid of the last months  in Nigeria, when the Nigerian government officials displayed public worry over the dying English and the strongly emerging slang known as pidgin English in Nigerian public offices and learning institutions. The same situation has also been encountered in Kenya, when in march 2014, Proffessor Jacob Kaimenyi, the minister of education otherwise known as cabinet secretary of education declared upsurge of broken English among high school students and university students a national disaster. However, the minister was making this announcement while speaking in broken English, with heavy mother tongue interference and insouciant execution of defective syntax redolent of a certain strong African linguistic sub-cultural disposition.
There is a more strong linguistic case of broken English in South Africa, which even crystallized into an accepted national language known as Afrikaans. But this South African case did not cause any brouhaha in the media nor attract international concern because the people who were breaking the English were Europeans of non British descend, but not Africans. Thus Afrikaans is not slang like the Kenyan sheng and the Nigerian pidgin or the Liberian krio, but instead is an acceptable European language spoken by Europeans in the diaspora. As of today, the there are books, bibles and software as well as dictionaries written in Afrikaans. This is a moot situation that Europeans have a cultural leeway to break a European language. May be this is a cultural reserve not available to African speakers of any European language. I can similarly enjoy some support from those of you who have ever gone to Germany, am sure you saw how Germans dealt with English as non serious language, treating it like a dialect. No German speaks grammatically correct English. And to my surprise they are not worried.
The point is that Africans must not and should never be worried of a dying colonialism like in this case the conventional experience of unstoppable death of British English language in Africa. Let the United Kingdom itself struggle to keep its culture relevant in the global quarters. But not African governments to worry over standard of English language. This is not cultural duty of Africa. Correct concerns would have been about the best ways and means of giving African indigenous languages universal recognition in the sense of global cultural presence. African languages like Kiswahili, Zulu, Yoruba, Mandiko, Gikuyu, Luhya, Luganda, Dholuo, Chaka and very many others deserve political support locally as well as internationally because they are vehicles that carry African culture and civilization.
I personally as an African am very shy to speak to another fellow African in English or even to any person who is not British. I find it more dignifying to speak any local language even if it is broken or if the worst comes to the worst, then I can use slang, like blend of broken English and the local language. To me this is linguistic indicators of having a decolonized mind. It is also my hypothesis that the young people who are speaking broken English in African schools and institutions are merely cultural overtures of Africans extricating themselves from imperial ploys of linguistic Darwinism.
There is no any research finding which shows that Africans cannot develop unless they speak English of grammatical standards like those of the United Kingdom and North America. If anything; letting of English to thrive as a lingua franca in Africa, will only make the western world to derive economic benefits out of this but not Africa to benefit. Let Africans cherish their culture like the way the Japanese and the Chinese have done, then other things will follow.
Dreams of Sepia Sep 2015
The house is chaka chaka
the guests are due tomorrow
but wi hab di ting lack, Mon
a Tap a di Tap is a comin'
n' we nuh live nowhere
but wi hab di ting lack, Mon
now a storm's a-brewin'
& the Babylon, they outside
but wi hab di ting lack, mon
but wi hab di ting lack
A poem written using Jamaican expressions..
P.S I'm not Jamaican

wi hab di ting lack - we're in control
chaka chaka - untidy & messy
Tap a di Tap - respectable person
nuh live nowhere -  to have nothing or little
Babylon - police
Mon - man/woman/child
Arcassin B Nov 2014
By Arcassin Burnham


I use to love your hair,
I use to love your shirt,
I use to love your walk,
I use to love your eyes,
Your eyes,
I love your eyes,
I swear those eyes got mind control,
But my heart you can not hold,
If you searching for your soul,
Enough with those soulless eyes.
Humm lol
sip on your wine
come kiss my fat behind
now stand in line
run to the ocean where you could do some fishing

licking the ***** with a wooden spoon
got junk in my trunk take some time to take a dump
Boom Chaka Latta Boom
go clean up your ******* room

got clothes upon clothes
and saving your crystal dish
playing up your nose with a rubber hose
Goochie hand bags for my lady

working all week saving up for my lady
we move to soon &we'll get jumped
took a ****** in the back room waiting to get pumped
***** ain't nothing but meat on the bone

I'll **** it, I'll **** it, I'll leave it alone
(Hook)

kiss me in the shower its my hour of power
kiss me in the shower it's my hour of power
suicide is no solution stop all that noise pollution
put your hand in the hand that stirs the water

(Hook)

Blinded bats with eyes of sulfur
viscous fangs that bite dripping blood off side
viscous fangs that bite dripping blood off side
go walk away or run and hide

Boom Chaka Latta Boom
the renegades have sealed their tomb
watch your rhymes as you go in for the ****
late night party can't pay the bar bill

look you best be taking a chill pill
so see ya on the flip side cheese
can't praise the Lord until you get down on your knees
working this rhyme just as busy as a bee

got to keep up with the law &order
look how she swings that bolder holder
six gun salute &this rhyme is over
yet its still all good cause I'm wearing my 9 on my shoulder
CH Gorrie Apr 2015
On this tan cutting board
You earn your corrupted name:
“Alligator pear.”

The serrated blade
Punctures your hide—a balloon
Under a pin’s pressure,

Shades of green furling out.
I’m sure you’d prefer
Vegetable status if you developed

Self-awareness; or maybe
You’d withdraw from knowledge
Of the human type.

I trust my cooking songs—
Slowdive and Chaka Khan—
Can’t hurt you anymore

Than your predestined obliteration;
Mastication via your domesticators:
It all ends in fertilizer.

(Where you began!)

O, avocado, phantom “fruit”
Born of the self-same Life Source,
Schopenhauer’s Will,

My transient enjoyment of you
Within this vegetable salad—
An Achaean enclosed by Trojan blades—

Suffices for a life of sanctity.
Poem for day 5 of National Poetry Month.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
The moon's virginal silvern lustre
drapes over the navy blue curtains
There is a sacred power that the moon has,
for it is the Left Eye of the goddess, Bast
An Eye of Ra, Great Lady of the East,
She Who Earned a Crown of
the Orisha

Her silverfire grants the felines power
to turn the simple black cat into a
panther at night

As black, swift and silent as a raven's wing
With eyes as green as a meadow in Spring
Stalking the jungle with the darkness
as her cloak

But with darkness dawns a new and bright light
For she is a Orisha with the sun in her heart
For she passes the flame into the herb
shaped like a heart, swept and burning
with violet glow

That burns through every vein of yours
and then you rise,
born again new

Consume that flame, eat Her heart and
she will meet you in the Ancestral
Planes but take great care,
as she grants you her
presence and power
on if you are worthy

Under the glimmering borealis
Flickers of violet and pink and white
becoming moving flames with kisses of blue
that stroke the various crests of clouds
Lights that dance, ride and raise with  
winds of hope and change though
the infinite skies

Hearing murmurs and voices
the wind will blow around you,
a changed spirit
It is then you will know
It is then you will see
That Bast is smiling directly at you

Come and meet the Panthers who molded
the past in order to make sense
and build the future

Come and meet the Panthers who united
the tribes,
turning war to peace

And now here comes the new King
Who knows there is strength in unity
For tribes divided can never stand
And through learning that he possessed
a naively closed mind, scrutinised
the words spoken, not the ones
who were speaking

He was not his father but now with the
Mantle passed, he must learn from
his father's mistakes

Prince T'challa of Wakanda
Son of King T'chaka
Rise from cub to the
Panther on the
protective prowl

Seen worthy of Bast's blessings
carries her Eye that is never blind
He will remember all that his eyes have
scene from his successes and struggles
but also his heart

The Heart of a King
with the fire in his spirit
Sprint o'er the sea towards the horizon
The Black Panther who reigns
over Wakanda

How he stands proudly
with a coat of black
with his heart rooted and mind
conscious of the mistakes of the past,
has his eyes of the sunrise
which has the world and beyond
singing to the Sun, the Moon
and Wakanda's sacred tune
Real late but this poem is one I dedicate to Black Panther Movie.
There is so much I have say about this film, but I'm just gonna summarise my personal opinion of it (Again, it's my personal opinion which I'm entitled to.
No-one better get ****-hurt over it.)

Though I personally found the narrative to be a leaning a little towards the weak side, I can't deny that the representation of African culture and the concept of Afrofuturism was beyond phenomenal. That in itself was a masterpiece. That is what made Black Panther really stand out for me.
I'm very happy and proud that it did so well and for that, Black Panther will always have a special place in my heart.

It took me on an adventure that it's a film that can connect anyone and everyone to their own Motherland. It warmed my heart greatly so much so that anytime I think of it, I can't help but smile.

Yes, yes, I know all about Bastet being an Egyptian Goddess (She's one of my favourites). I know my mythology! Here in the MCU, she becomes one of the Orisha, apart of the African Pantheon of deities.

I needed to write something happier seeing how my Father's Day poem was a tad depressing for me lol.
I wish everyone happiness, love and joy!
Be back soon!
Wakanda Forever! *Lyn does the salutes*
Lyn ***
© 'Eye of Ubasti, Sun of Wakanda' by Lyn-Purcell
Sally A Bayan Mar 2015
(Haiku x 7)

Ears are blocked...deafened 
Conversations are ignored
Disconnected.....though

Weary mind needs rest,
Wary, half-closed eyes make sure
  World...still exists...while

Aerosmith rocks me!
AHA takes me on...Go West?
Yes! Hall & Oates, too!

OMD's Secret
ABC sings Ocean Blue
All my dreams came true!

Eurythmics sings dreams
I love how the Bee Gees ask,
"How deep is your love?"

Chaka Khan pledges:
"For a chance at loving you...
Even through the fire...."

MP3 takes me...
To dip...to wade...an escape
~~~ imperturbable ~~~



Sally


Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***hits play on...the list doesn't end ...the haikus would never end...***
I listen to the sound of my fate as it pours out of the bottle. At last the pressure can escape. Breathing a sigh of relief that would meet the clouds with gentle licks. I am seated at the edge of my own precipice and at the bottom is a river. Ready to carry me down a tumultuous pass to the sandy peroxide foamy waves that exfoliate my sins.
Scout the bottom of the ocean for my heart,
You will find it throbbing like your eardrums in the auricle of a conch shell
You will hear the sound of my voice
And feel the grit of sand as you clench down your teeth
The water dries around my knees as I float atop the surface. Exposing my holy flesh to the contenders of will power. Will power my will to engage the mighty rock. And burst and bleed and eviscerate to form, to mold, to sculpt the golden stool of my consciousness.
Feast your eyes upon my crown
Adorned with the corpses of my victory
And collateral damage
Feel its weight as heavy as mercy
The blood pours into the ink as I dig these verses from my soul. The goal, my raison d'être, ikki *** and my modus opernadi is to excuse the agenda pushing glitterti when they tell me what my life should be. I should be, cruising the milky ways and the galaxies that my being exists in. Infinite space, infinite time leaves way for infinite possibilities to truly be free. So don’t mind me.
Standing as the revolution
The testament
Revolving around your disillusion
Thicker than cement
My empire was built on dreams, schemes occupy my reality and place you next to me. And the rest of me I will give to you as I pull you inside of me. So that when my eyes close you sleep and when you are sad I weep, deep is the colour of our passion beyond indigo. More fierce than the might of Chaka and his legions and yet as quiet as snowfall and you are
Beautiful. A shock to the senses that
dissipates the fog.
This concludes
the prelude.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
how many decimal points would it take to create
                                                                ­a 2 = 2 scenario?
maybe the cultured swine in me asks such
questions, or perhaps i don't have
enough practical, matrimonial and
heterosexual worries in my life to ask
such a question in the first place?
would it take 2 = 2.00000000000000002?
how many denials
             then?
       maybe i'm asking a question like this
to start trending a nuanced vogue
amidst
            the most discriminated form of
humanity, namely white heterosexual men?
hmm... perhaps.
      last night i watched a movie adaptation
of a video game: can i just say that
Mario Bros. worked, but
the intricacy of game becoming movie can
only work when you get sore thumbs...
can these people: who play or design such games
ever write a novel? nearing two hours into
the movie and i was chanting with a variety
of onomatopoeias a zombie apocalypse
best summarised by the words: agony drool...
well d'uh.. e ragrammaton is a sneaky ******,
pops up everywhere in language,
      while looking for the post-Heraclitean logos
within the framework of phonos
  i came across the surd dynamic of four:
well, three, the H-twins and the trigonometric W
of sine and cosine, leaving Y as the tangen
and a focal point of convergence...
    and Jesus paid no respect the name -
i could tattoo pharisee on my *** and burp
    through it... there, four prime surds...
in Sanskrit: dhaal... you sort of jump over the h
and add a macron: dāl... but let's face it:
the aesthetic is sorta missing, what you hear
and what you see are cued combatants...
              why am i writing this? i just received
Monday's newspaper... could i be less
reactionary about the world inviting itself into
my pleb-bound world? can someone please
usher these gnats from my halo?
no... well... hence the reaction.
          and so much more vitality comes from
self-loathing than from self-love...
   life is more colourful, and so much less
lies-fudge-packed-between-the-sardines-to-an-ideology...
     catch you on a Friday night when it's not
so pristine? sure thing babe... sure thing my
tweaser plucked runny-mascara piglet...
we'll be snorkelling in mud by then.
could anyone think of a reason of mixing mayonnaise
with horseradish?
          but seriously... when did people forget
the concept of polyphony that Bach (ich?
see, the phonos already retracts the polygamy
shared by the same spelling) - say chequers and
cheese in german... chaka demus & pliers
and venting out a tension in the Caribbean quarter
of London, postscript August:
and it always rains... rains daggers and lip-kissing
anger of: ******, not enough scotch-**** chillies.
      and that's saying enough before Shaggy Dry Fuss
came on the scene with: wozzin' me.
   the real whizz kid right there... question is:
alter Paris? Jim Morrison's grave is taller than the Eiffel,
well, all the bums go there and steal the naive
    groupies leaving bottles of wine and joints at
the grave... but yeah... they called it cut-up post-Tzara
with Burroughs,     a zillion things that crept up on me
while i wasn't thinking about Juliet...
                and the reality of a shopping spree,
and all the cliches imaginable...
        perhaps truths too...
                    but even the writing said it was originally
theirs... Bach was already prescribing polyphony...
        let's say multilayered convo....
                       let's say: vogue of millennials'
distractive tendency... and that's so so so much clearer
than what poetry can become:
       a deaf man's tapping to a jazzy / hip-hop beat...
   a tenacious d's   one note song: ******* too,
rhyme... grr...         why do people write poetry as
if they're talking to Muhammad's Aisha prior to
skinning the grape?
                    why don't they talk to poetry as they might
talk to a *******?
                     who are "they" (yes, not paranoid, just
an obscurity with no vectors or index pointy pointy
*******
           the oyster)
                              which brings me to the controversy...
do you think rapists are masochists? or sado-masochists?
there was me on a date, i brought the movie and she
brought the bed and dinner...
                     see, i ask because something odd happened...
first of all was the Victorian practice of *******
under the bed-sheets rather than on top and all bulges
in full view like serpentine lizards (fat? i tend to
see it as seafood)...   yeah... but in the brothel
she would fake arousal for my eyes to see and slobber
her oyster in butter... or l'oreal cream...
   fair enough... but i'm wondering: this one time
she felt so so guilty after getting a genuine ****** on
the job... obviously that's hard... but on this one
authentic anglo-saxon date i got ****** by a dry ****...
       so either rapists are self-endorsing masochists
and all the women they **** have dry ***** due
to fear... or... yeah, that glistening or...
             is this a prescription piece? no, i'm just curious
why prostitutes smother their foreskins with
beauty cream so it doesn't hurt, and this one
pristine puritan babe was all Saharan pouch deepfryer...
                which is why i'm wondering...
   if a ******* can cream-up, and a good upstanding
girl with a decent job in a grammar school with
free accommodation on site can't....
                       you might as well shove your prometheus
        into a tube consisting of sandpaper.
                                         some also call it
    scratching your 5 o'clock shadow.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
reinvention of the jazzy period? 1920s, don't tell me!
1930s ****** and Capone and the Pacinos - chi:
   or cha cha: capuχino - hence the missing c -
   truant Capote wrote a bestseller meanwhile -
grizzly ra - and some bling to boot: always a favour;
oh i don't mind - it minds itself:
philosophers are removal van people:
boxes wherever you look: per se a,
per se b, per se c, per se d. i grew a beard because
i thought: might as well fiddle with it, get itchy
with pretending violin playing - always better than
counting money - grew one to counter the fiddler on the roof:
meaning? fiddle of the chin - you lucky people are so funny,
i got university education and can't laugh -
it's hilarity multiplied by Clinton: sure, the rich can do
anything... but nothing publicly - attention span of goldfish,
keeping an image or brushing your teeth to a routine:
hello dentistry, o'la chemists with toothpastes!
plus the deficit, plus Gorbachev and a hungover.
well, you do look like the generation that spawned
the first world war - cocktails and chandelier champagne
popsy-turvy - hunched burp - ****** warfare;
jazz poker or jazzy blackjack? you look so ******* familiar
that it isn't even funny... the populists are goose-marching
but you still need a partying excuse
to **** at a reed to breath under the blood-bath
waters of minimal exertion -
       Fritz Ferdinand also said:
                      fry 'em up, the young will
become un-bored - savages of the dance-floor
will need but one excuse: the airy-fairy one...
then the Zeppelins and the donnerkrieg -
or the thundering prior - rather than pre-,
  tropismuskrieg - alternative the compass read alter
N - north - the revisionist segment that's
a compass to mind: the equivalent of north
in human dynamism: K - krieg - war...
somehow potassium too -
                                 war
  
         peace                                  modernity

               ­               antiquity

           the model moral movement: krieg -

                                       krieg (K)

         frieden (F)                                        zeitnah (Z)

                                      antike (A)        

the fakz - the facts - and nothing else - sure
i was limiting myself to a skew, or a rhombus -
not exactly what you were thinking of:
chaka demus & pliers - tease me tease me tease
                                         got a spare cup of sugar
                   and a screwdriver? oh no... till i lose
   my t.v. license and my zombie soul;
are these the same ******* that got shifted to America?
don't blame me for what the ****** royal did
  to the ****** pauper - you have a basketball team,
and a dozen rappers - what's the... ahem... problem?
Martin Bailes Mar 2017
Bad ...
bad like Vasquez from Aliens
all strut & ******
balancing on her
heavy Latina hip
a friggin' phenomenal
machine-gun thing,
& then sharing the grenade
with that **** of a lieutenant
& blowing themselves
& the alien
sky
absolutely
high.

Bad ...
bad like the little officer
in Master & Commander,
only about 12
at most,
along the way
loses an arm
& at the end
rallies the men
as they board
the French vessel
all shouts & "at 'em men, 'at em"
with his one arm
aloft,
his fancy hat,
just fitting.

Bad ...
bad like Chaka Khan,
Neil Young rockin'
All Along the Watchtower
backed by
Booket T,
bad like Ali, Jimi,
Patti & James.

Bad ...
bad like the Irish guy
in Dead Men's Shoes
who gas-mask wearing
& so merciless
runs them down
one by one
whilst chatting gently
with his younger brother
who we realize
near the end
is actually
already dead
& he's avenging
for his brother,
with his brother,
in his heart.

Bad ...
bad like Bela,
***** Riot,
& the Isley's
playing
Machine gun
live
in 1973.

Bad like panthers,
tigers,
leopards & pumas.

Bad ...
these aren't just words, I mean it.
Skyy Blu Sep 2016
I need you.... Like I need a hole in-my-head but here we are again, doing us in my bed. You don't belong to me and I can't deny you, all I want to do is satisfy-ya! Like, Chaka---- you're my sweet-thing---- and it doesn't really matter what tomorrow will bring. I need you---- Like, I need a hole-in-my-head.... I love the way that, you make me feel in-and-out my bed. You make me feel strong.... courageous....even warrior like---- that's why it drives me crazy---- thinking about you and him alone at night. You're his wife and I know that, this is wrong----I can't help-it...With you I feel at home. I Need You----- Like.... I Need A- Hole- In-My- Head!
yeah I ****** kiesha cole
that's why she said "I shouldnt let yo go"
but I had to flow
to the next ***** hole
Monica didn't "wanna be alone"
so i let her play with my bone
and I can't forget Ashanti
I was "foolish" but then I got "mesmorize "
by her pretty eyes thick thighs
got **** got my **** in a rise
n don't let me see Sade
cuz I'll "cherish the day"
in the same way I'll lay
my pipe in any bad chick
next on my list we gotta Meagan Good
yeah I'll **** her "waist deep"
she'll call me Tyrese
make her a "nasty girl" like vanity
yo im reaching for some sanity but the man in me
ain't done huh
I'll **** Remy Ma just for fun huh
what about Mariah Carey
hit the ***** from the rear
it's hairy, Truman never been a. ***** man
but I'll only gut **** Iggy in her **** dumb ****
even though you ain't black
give her that real BBC
down with OPP see me
running through these "freaks a leeks"
like petey pablo swift flow
back to the **** though
I got dibs on angelina jolies mouth whoaa
**** it good girl don't waste my nut
I got SWV to share it with
and watch the "rain"
fall on thee like im peein'
***** see the little demons
tap dancing I'm Just reminscing and scheming
but things ain't what it seems
yo im just in a dreams hmmmm

Yosef Amaryahu
I got a call me from tweet
she left a message after the beep
on the celluar she
"oops my bad"cuz I had
her fiendin' for the **** cuz I'm slick like Rick please girlies
calm down there's plenty of **** to go around
next I hear a doorbell sound
it's my baby girl mc lyte I made her "cha cha cha"
cuz I put hits on her like Chaka
made her feel good like "Hollywood" then out the door and on my way
I ran into Roxanne Shante
**** she drop the bomb on me
she told me
she was the "real Roxanne"
And said nobody
could **** better than me
I said really? politely I just be me chillin' smokin' Phillies
like playas do Missy Elliot ain't been the same since
I hit her with "the rain" bedsheet stains of her ***** drains
and traces of *******
yeah I'll admit I was a little insane
but not as insane as Lil' Kim
she looked at me grim
told me she got a" crush on me"
and go above the rim
I ain't leon ***** I'm the don
make like flex and I got one on one with these hoes smokin' octimos
one more to go
and last on my list
I got this chick name Mya
"Ghetto superstar"
***** fire heated her like a dryer made her retire
from the bedroom cuz I drilled her thrills sent her
body chills now she
rubbin' my chest beggin' I was ill
sick with it but
I'm just coachin" my teams
chasin' my dreams huh
Yo tdogg, ya know what I'm about to, oh, jam on that *****,
Yeah my heads been loose, troubles cleaned with the goose,
Gray day, mayday mayday, always see a payday cuts by klay,
Thompson, always into somethin, catch the 10s bumpin,
DVDs with the 30 TVs, in my Benzie caught many frenzies,
In the clutch, doubt dutch, what thefuck is going on,
Yo all went wrong, so I gotta play the sad song, funeral home
From the black and silver chrome, now ya buried alone,
In the center zone, earth's now ya manger, faced with danger,
Ever since I seen a stranger, all facts no fiction, crucifixion,
Mayne listen, devils had me by my neck, close to hells kitchin,
Dodge the pitchin, of a heater, slide out home Derek Jeter,
Clean cut with the Caesar, lyrically I beat em all, rise to downfall,
Like the sunrise to sunset, shut down empty threats, so much regret,
Beggin, from my foes on they toes,expose armageddon,
Ain't no letting, up my guns see slash for fun, yo I'm bringing 'em
Catch the runs, ***** dripping, diarrhea style, from da rippin,
Mics crushed like Pippen, yo stay slamming them I'm dipping,
Out the scene,mad machine, mean as Gene, can you see the beam,
From the flash light,souls shining like a million lights,
Gass that, pass that, lyrical content I blass that,haters maskthat,
Hide ya face, what a disgrace, catch the cans of mase, oven
Tough loving, smooth hovering, ghost in the flesh, test
Ya will, you ain't got the heart to ****,yo I'm so real,
MJ thrills, from the bumps of my jeep you'll feel,blood spill,
See his body windmill, thrown in the Hoffa fields, stone cold deals,
Haters better chill, **** bout to get real, man ya steel,
I'm handy as randy, savage like my girls sweeter than candy,
On the hunt, like bonnie **** and stunny, now ya runny,
Bloods I bleed that, cant count that, money in too many racks,
I bomb with flows, octane remains, the highest in *******,
Prices, spit the nicest, flex the Lexus the hypest, who out ripe us,
Plus,the guns is a must, the reign cant stop mayne, flex the range,
Rove word to domino, put that on my nino, word to pastor Jenno,
I see more notes than Ben franklin, got em blanking, shankin,
Mack daddies, caddies 70s long body, move like an Audi,
Engineers these reindeer, games light my flame,my names  
Golden, chosen like the purest calf, these suckas make me laff,
Master my craft, of many of sweet nones, *** weighs a ton,
Still number one, public enemy sons, scope thru the media dons,
Used to wanna feel like Hollywood, Chaka khan and I'm gone,
**** songs, is what I do,freestyle near a theater, or a hood near you,
I spin too, donuts peelin', three sixty wheelin', shake heavens ceiling,
Keep the block hot, without touching spots, it dont stop,
Top ten gallon hat, while I'm in the stinkin' Lincoln, girls blinkin,
Cuz I'm looking so fly, ostrich seats, with the baddest beats,
Naw ya cant compete,I complete the madness that sweeps,
Like a broom, let off the scent ya perfume, up in the zoom,
See the vultures, pecking at ya skull culture, violence ultra,
Kin to the styles of capone, black Italian mafioso, oh so,
Clever, however I'll still endeavor, money over riches, kiss this,
Felix watches, catch the blotches, on ya spotless, for goodness,
Sakes, watch for the jakes, on the break, for hells sake,
I'm guarding even my own wake, see my funeral, with criminals,
Wild style, tiny gs to youthful juveniles, dont cry now,
Just shed a gun, blast itat the sun, so I feed my holy ones, cons
Cant step to the real reaper, let my wings fly by, now im in ya eye,
Stimulate fear, like its last day here, dark images will appear,
Hovering over the sinful lands, plot the plans, soul stand,
Amongst the loss, city of peasants, slave become pleasant,
But I'm the master waking up the presence, futures past,
Check the blast, dock ya by the rivers, once I delivers,
Magic, make em tragic, zipped the plastic,I'm  a *******,
Daddy should of had meplastered, bed sheet ruckus, ****** us,
Now I'm rushing hours like Chris Tucker, *******,
Derivatives my narrative, gangsta, so the check the carriages,
I laid on, many girls hyped up, when they hear the songs,
This brother stay flexing, nesting,my chariots at the Marriott,
Hoes loving it, exquisite,  watch the foes kiss it, gun mystics,
Class touch, like Melle mel, on the cell, ring the liberty bells, Marvelled the marvelles, always excel,
Never see jails, no story tales, take ya on a shipment, that never fails, dressed with the purple sales,
Growing on ya mind like nails, untouched check the dutch,
Not much,you can do, once I come through, ****** as a piru,
Shoot you, now ya see through, my villains will bleed you,
Evil loves to take a stab, mismatch vocab, see me up on the lab, caught cab, caravan of a goetia strand,
Never been a fan, of fake *******, ride out the glitches, riches
Pitches, sugar pie honey buns, yo big yosef signing ya puns,
Check my worth my flows gettin' mucho networth
Similiar to new birth creatin' girth yo who's worse
Than these chuckie cheese emcees talkin' like they
Killin' the industry but they under me
Like they sneaky keep killers and rukas with me
**** a street credibility I even seen a homeless man catch a body
In Little Italy another tally tossed in the alley now he walkin' in the valley
In the Shadow of death holdin'  my clips I bust til.its nothing left
Then reload if I gotta got more magic than Harry Potter
Burn you with my lyrical lava meltin' all seven of ya chakras
Fools swear they Hollywood like Chaka
Khan this one's for big pun puttin' holes in one
Like a swing from golf club linked with a holy cherub
Rollin' herbs to calm my nerves so my rhymes can reserve
The beat down comin' next to the MC that tries to serve
Me with the weak bars I'll leave em with stars
Wreck em like a car collision see my visions
They lock up mentally into a prison
From my rhymin' aligorithm

Not from Nueva York I be an iron man like Tony Sparks
Suckas scared of the light cuz I got the Dark
Forces around me nothing but energy
Suckas magnetized by my mental Infantry
Gunnin' with grande ammo never wear camo
Knockin' out Uncle Tom's to ***** I be the true culo
By nature hate fakers
and ******* who ain't nothing but **** shakers
Picture takers flashing ya death soon to see the undertaker
Now ya back to creator
Lyrics bashing ya puttin' fear in ya heart
None could part I'll gassed you like a ****
Body stinky rule the world like Brain and Pinky
The rights a genuis and left is insane
Comin' with divine bars that soak like polyurethane
Got the strength of ten Banes simple and plane
Get my flow through puffin' that spiritual cane
Angels knocked on the doors of my mental out pours
Nothing but bars from Galaxy afar
Look up see me naw
It's a bird a plane naw it's Yosef with words that gain
No losses boss of the bosses fools hangin' on rhymes
Like tree mosses
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.well i could give you plenty of jazz examples or... mahler? big difference between schubert from schumann (i prefer the latter), i drawn the line at penderecki - i don't have the stomach for him, yet somehow i don't mind philip glass - but of the moderns? Górecki: symphony no. 3... the bolero-esque build-up, when it begins you actually check whether the volume is up... and given those hours between 1pm and 5pm on classic.fm 101.7MHz... when people chose songs for the d.j., em... mostly film scores... "intelligent" people listen to classical music... so... why do they need to listen to in reverse? i.e. they need images before the sounds, like watching aeroplanes, which drag their sound behind them? ever listen to classical music without any images involved? isn't that how you learn to abstract? the sound precedes the image... since... the image can be almost anything you want! but since i'm audio-slave / radio-head... a sucker for pop music once in a while... well... before dj rebel & mohombi feat. SHAGGY, altogether before shaggy... there was a decent "pseudo"-reggae duo... chaka demus & pliers with the album: tease me... hey, it's music... it's not a ****** orientation or any ***** preferences, but as i've pointed out this before: people are more embarrassed about their music tastes than whether strap-on ****** are in play... which is extremely funny... because it's so innocent... not phobia-related funny, that's irrational funny... but with regards to a taste of music? might as well have an eclectic attitude.

here's your heroic past,
*******:

battle for france
10 May – 25 June 1940 (46 days)

yeah...
german nazis,
soviets,
how's that for a tatsy bride
you ******* irish mongrel?!

    i've been given the lot,
via a "hallucination":
with the voice
name, them, just name them:

PZL.23 Karaś,
    PZL.37 Łoś...
                
1 September 1939
       28 September 1939

heinz guderian...

               jawohl...
but that still implies...
two nations' worth of invasion...
          haben...
       this deed...

bad ****, good ****...
          erwin rommel...
   salute, coffin march,
das ende.

          hälfte-geschichte

als bergwerk...

it took both **** germany,
and soviet russia...
to invade poland...
        
        funny, eh?
      it took two superpowers
to overpower a resurgent
strut of power...
  really?
                  
oh i don't need to be tattooed...
i know my dates...
they're burning on my skin,
akin to punk rock tattoos...
they burn,
they have managed to turn
acid and erosive with
the set requirements...

       i'll make you a *******
tattoo...
oh i will...
one which i will not forget,
and once,
which you will never turn
into rubric!
a m a n d a Sep 2020
i know better.
i know not to listen to songs like this,
   when i feel like this.

but i just do it anyway.

because i can't decide which
procedures, if any,
ever actually work.

reevaluating my
  traditionally avoidant behavior
  towards things that
trigger an emotional response,

i decided to just flip it completely
   and do the opposite.
   (i don't believe in much
   but i do believe in experiments.)

so when i suddenly hear
  that haunting viking-like
  gut wrenching solitary horn
  instead of diving for the
fast forward
i decide to focus on it instead.
put all my attention
into listening.

i try not to think,
just feel. let the words,
the music, the silence,
the bass,
all of it just hit me in waves.

(i think that might be the key.
because if you let it come
all at once,
and not in waves,
you would surely suffocate)

waves lead
to crying when it's
a song like that.
because you know
| it's love |
some kind
of love.
it couldn't be anything else.
there is no off-brand
or substitute. it just is
whatever the **** it is.

i mean, what possible meaningful
defense can you have
against something
  you don't even understand.

like chaka khan,
please don't do this (sweet thing)
because my heart can't take it.
Yo let me flip the script walk with a limp shot gun crimp
Exercise my skills as a **** flows to hoes check the shows
I'm stacking no time for slacking **** zigzagging
Toe taggin' suckas bragging no stagging false flagging
American the bold and the beautiful it's so pitiful plentiful
Rhymes I break off pennies on a dime sublime one time
Can a **** **** trick check the hits from the ******* up click
Stay popping six seven go to heaven you ain't my brethren
So save the talks for Tevin Campbell I ramble
Through the valley of skulls sticks n stones may break bones
But bullet will hurt thee make ya sleep eternally who burnin,? Me?
My style to wild to copy no smiles rusty screws I file
Stick it who's the wickedest big yosef the lyricist
Spinning this 3M scotch tape ya mind stuck on stupid
Heart my foes like Cupid bang for the west like Snoop did
But the south is where i first fed my mouth leeched to *******
Since a baby no ifs ands or maybe it's crazy lazy
Folks cant groove to this computer love let the doves
Cry til ya soul magnify eying the eyes of a sparrow
Welcome to death row these flows couldn't hold on Jericho
Bledso make the mics sore explore like Drew Ali moor
Feel like Shakur against the world standing on the floor
Straight shaky they tried to bake me with the heat flaky
Getting my walk on hawk on so long gone gongs
Sound of the bongs ring ding **** hits like Chaka Khan
Through the wire improvise wiser like mcygver liver
Than the rest I say it with my chest Texas is the best
Linked with west mic check one two rendezvous juice crew
Pre-Ice age mammoth
Gottdamn it haters can't stand it as I band it hand it
Down to a better emcee make moves like Stoney
Jackson flexing on suckas Ronnie Coleman show man
Radios in high demand request from undercover fans
Saying man his **** jams I'm poppin' hotter than spam
Chica Baca laca maca....et cetera,
Where the lady sunfish are gold,
And  are truth tellers,
And the chain pickerals are bold,
And truth be told,
Those chains could not hold,
For Chaca Baca laca maca... whatever,
As Lake Unabash is known,
Was more humble when it was cold.

Baca daca lacka Baca Goo,
In the native or Lake Unabash will do,
The green male sunfish had electric gills,
Like neon lightning went up through,
But now wear a pumpkinseed coat,
So fall color is always new,
And the lady bass jump in the boat,
To tell the skipper where to go.

Shooka booka lacha nooka....
Or just Lake Trudeau,
The old catfish still fly their whiskers,
But only at night in bubble whispers,
For all the show is during day,
When a mother musky eats a duckling on its way,
Then to a fisherman turns to say,
I am a truth teller,
And you men have had your time!

Chaka ooka alla moola,
Or just Lake ****** truth be told,
Was more humble when it was cold,
Now the water recedes the lake,
And with summer lasting later,
"Hey how ya doing" from a stranger,"
And now new to Lake Annoy,
The alligator fills the void.
He is most Beatles’ songs
He is Chaka Khan
He is that feeling you get on the swing, when you go so high and your
stomach takes a second to spin
He is homemade pizza cooked by a man named Nunzio
He is the perfect blue cheese dressing on fresh tomatoes
He is the warmth that starts in your heart, and winds up in your toes
He is the sneeze you been waiting for with a tingly nose
He is, finding your kid in the kitchen washing dishes unasked
He is the fresh air you get, when you finally take off your mask
He is the clean taste in your mouth after you brush your teeth
He is the end of the day, when you put up your feet
He is the smooth on your legs, directly after you shave
He is, the blissful feeling of the couch after a long day
He is finding your house clean, with no idea how it got that way
He is the sun
And the rain
Depending upon the day
He is the moon at night
He is also dawn’s first light
He is the reason women pray
He is brand new car smell that never goes away
He is the house that gives full candy bars on Halloween
If you happen to drop your lollipop
He is the only place that is clean
He is a surprise rainbow when you thought it would be cloudy all day
I’ll share this, but I’ll probably have to edit
Because I can tell you right now
I’m not giving him enough credit

— The End —