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Daddy D Jan 2014
Riding on a train choo choo choo choo
Riding on a train choo choo choo choo
Picking up some negroes choo choo choo choo
******* ride the negroes choo choo choo choo
Daddy D Jan 2014
Riding on a train choo choo choo choo
Riding on a train choo choo choo choo
Picking up some negroes choo choo choo choo
******* ride the negroes choo choo choo choo
Isaace Feb 21
From the basement we can hear the eternal choo-choo.

These sounds:
Slippy-pippy, slip-slop,
Sniffle-schnort, flap-amusement, choo-choo.

The eternal choo-choo;
Haha! We keep chugging along:

Choo-choo! Slip-slapple!
Turtle! Turtle!
Slippy-sloppy-ploppy!
Flop-clumping!
Choo-choo.
. . . . .s s s s s s s s s s s s s s  . . . .
Choo . . . s s s s s s s s s s s s  . . . .
Choo  Choo  s s s s s s s s s s  . . . .
Choo s s s Choo s s s
Choo s s Choo s Choo Choo
Choo Choo Choo Choo
My tain is moving . . .
My freight train now of love
Chu , Chu , Chu , Chu , Chu
My momentum is gaining
Must make the grade above
Chou-a-Chou , a-Chu
Keep your eyes looking up ahead
On the rail and where's it lead
My train has many cars
Hauling loads so very far
Boxcar loads of lumber sure
For building house of love so pure
Tank cars full of liquid love
Higher and higher I do shove
Flatbeds strapped under cover too
Leaves you guessing what will I do
Load after load of dump cars full
All these I bring to you to tool
The way is curved and rail runs straight
As I pass through your open gate
The boiler is hot the fire is stoked
There's no way now this motion choke
There's miles and miles of shiny rail
Laid down by your smiles , can tell
Following up here comes the caboose
As my train is cut and loose
Pressing hard must be on time
To here you say it's so fine
So there goes my Loco train of love
Delivering loads of love I flood
Whoo - whoo
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
. wolfmother's
song love train?

oomph!

       proper 'ard on!

oomph!

   and a wet snare...

and your typical
army slick

waiting for
the girlie girlie
boys
at the Edinburgh's
Royal Mile zenith

worth of the tattoo!
**** me!

   walking down Cow Gate?
dreams are made of this,
**** it...
who needs dreaming?
i have 3 years worth
of Edinburgh
in pocket...

   and i'm not giving out
spare change.

of all the ethnic tribes
on these cursed isles?
the ones i became loved up
the most?
the Scots...

       shame about the English
swans up north...
not so shy with you know who,
right?
   shame, really...
all the love we could have made...

the Irish, bearable...
if the Welsh didn't speak Cymru,
i couldn't tell them apart from
the English...

       **** sake's a scene from
scent of a woman
beginning with Al...
and ending with Paccino -
yes, there's an extra C
in that name... otherwise?
it's Allie Pakino;

or the alternative to
a cappuccino -
or a kappa puck-in-oh;

right now english doesn't
belong the natives...
  it's not a language i'm to
subscribe to, as a tool for
integration...

   right now?
   it's a *******, toy!
(insert snigger and breaking
laughter):
choo! ha ha! choo choo!
ha ha ha ha!
choo! chow mein!
ha ha!
   choo choo, choo choo train!
******* the size
of bloated elephant
craniums!
David Ehrgott Dec 2015
The comm-u-ter
It go choo-choo
Down the track
  
The comm-u-ter
It go choo-choo
Down the track
  
And if you knew
That comm-u-too
Then you'd yoo-hoo
Yeah, you'd yoo-hoo
  
Left the station
For vacation
Five O' Eight
  
Left the station
For vacation
Five O' Eight
  
On a friday
With no rain date
Ain't that great
Now ain't that great
  
Got the voo-doo
In the boom room
Friday night
  
Got the voo-doo
In the boom room
Friday night
  
If you'd seen her
Then you'd greet her
"What a sight"
Now, ain't that nice?
  
On the new train
The Northern Blue train
It's all right
  
On the new train
That Northern Blue train
It's all right
  
You can catch it
'cept on Sunday
You got that right?
Now, ain't that nice?
  
The comm-u-ter
It go choo-choo
Down the track
  
The comm-u-ter
It go choo-choo
Down the track
  
And if you knew
That comm-u-too
Then you'd yoo-hoo
Yeah, you'd yoo-hoo
Neville Johnson Apr 2021
I can be better
I know I can
Choo, choo, choo
So I am
Trying and trying
One day at a time
I’ve got to be good
If all will be fine
We fight ourselves
Every day
We struggle
We succeed
If we’re doing our best
Bad thoughts and deeds
Don’t get in the way
No, go away!
I am getting better
As I choo choo all day
ODAY ROD TAYLOR DIED, AND HE WAS IN A GREAT THEATRICAL EVENT IN SATURN

TO HELP BRING SATURN SOME FUN, THISC EVENT WAS ORGANISED BY DAD



YA SEE PARDON ME BOYS, IT’S A WELCOME UP HERE ON SATURN CHOO CHOO, OH YEAH CHOO CHOO

YA SEE PARDON ME BOYS, IT’S A CHATANOOGA CHOO CHOO OH YEAH,

WE WILL PARTY RIGHT ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT

IN THE PLANET OF SATURN

AND THEN DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS CAME UP FROM THE SKY SAYING

PLEASE BUDDHA SAVE US, WE DON’T WANNA DIE

PARDON US BOYS, IT’S JUST A CHATANOOGA CHOO CHOO, OH YEAH DUDES PARTY NOW

AND THEN AS DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS SLIM DUSTY CAME UP AND SANG

IT’S LONESOME AWAY FROM MY CHILDREN AND ALL

FROM THE OLD DUSTY STAGE TO THE BIG TOWN HALL

THERE IS NOTHING AS HORRIBLE, AND MORBID OF DREAR

TO SIT IN A PLACE WHERE THE TAP HAS NO BEER

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BAZ BOY

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BAZ

WE DRINK IN MODERATION

AS BRIAN JOHN ALLAN TRIES TO GET RID OF HIS SPAZ

WE DRINK IN THE TOWN AND COUNTRY

WE’RE THE ATMOSPHERE IS GRAND

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BAZ BOY

CAUSE HE IS OUR FRIEND

THEN ROD TAYLOR CAME UP AND SAID HEH HEH HEH I AM THE WICKED WIZARD

I AM COMING TO TRAP YA YEAH

I WILL GRAB YOU AND EAT YOU UP, YEAH I WILL MAKE YOU FEEL INSCURE

YEAH MR SLIM DUSTY, AND I WILL SAY NO MORE BEER, PLEASE

CAUSE IT’S FORCING ALL THIS FUCKEN EVIL, IN THIS GOD FORSAKEN WORLD

BRIAN ALLAN CAME UP AND SANG

I HEARD WE ARE GOING TO BE ALONE IN THIS WORLD

I’M SAD YOUR SAD, WE ALL ARE SAD, THAT

THERE ARE TOO MANY COOL PEOPLE AS MYSELF, WITH MENTAL ILLNESS

IT’S SAD, IT’S SAD UMMMMMMM SAVE THE MENTALLY ILL BUDDHA DUDE

AND THEN THE GREEN METHANE KEG OPENED ALL OVER BRIANY

BY ROD TAYLOR, WHO WANTS TO SAVE THE WORLD

BY BRINGING GOOD THEATRE TO OUTER SPACE

AND THEN GRAHAM KENNEDY, CAME UP AND SAID

TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR, HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU ARE

UP IS THE COSMIC WORLD YA SEE

A STAR THAT SHINES FOR YOU AND ME

TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR, PARTY ON AND NEVER STRAY

AND THEN, A METEORITE CAME DOWN, AND DAD PICKED IT UP

AND GAVE IT TO BRIAN, AND TOOK IT OFF BRIAN TO GIVE IT TO SLIM DUSTY

SAYING, YOUR TOO SHY TO BE LIKE US BRIAN

AND THEN SLIM DUSTY, HOPPED ON THE METHAN SLIDE

AND INTO HIS SPACE SHIP SINGING

WE’RE GOING BACK AGAIN TO JUPITER, TO JUPITER TO JUPITER

WE’RE GONNA BACK AGAIN TO JUPITER BUDDY

IN THE PLANET OF THE HURRICANES

AND THEN SLIM DUSTY TIPPED METHANE OVER DAD

AND SAID, IF YA CALL BRIAN BRIANY, I WILL DECK YA WITH THIS METHANE

SO YA CAN ENJOY THE NEXT LIFE, BRIAN SAID, HOW ABOUT I

PICK UP A KEG OF METHANE AND TIP IT ALL OVER DAD

AND THE METHANE CAUSES A GREAT EXPLOSION NEAR

THE LOVE PLANET, WHERE PLUTO USED TO BE

AUSTRALIA DIDN’T  SEE THIS, BUT THEY HEARD IT IN THUNDER

CHECK OUT YOUR SCIENCE WEBSITES OR YOUTUBE SITES

AND COLOURS OF RED AND YELLOW AND PINK AND GREEN

PURPLE AND ORANGE AND BLUE

IT WAS SEEN IN A RAINBOW, IT WAS SEEN IN A RAINBOW

IT WAS SEEN IN A RAINBOW TOO

AND ROD TAYLOR SAID BYE BYE EARTH

AND THEN DAD SAID, CATCH YA LATER AND SEE YA LATER

YOU GO DOWN AND DO YA TAPESTRY AND WHEN HE GET

THOUGHTS, YOU WRITE THEM DOWN YA SEE

YA DON’T HAVE TO ASK ANYONES PERMISSION, BOO

AND SAM KINISON AND PAUL BERENYI CLEANED UP

BUT THEY STILL ENJOYED THE PARTY THOUGH
Perig3e Mar 2012
Belching choo choo white,
Vapor clouds, shadow-skud
This Appalachian range.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
.perhaps in my company we wouldn't be... opening a bottle of red wine... to let it breathe... or pouring it into a bowl to give it more air to breathe with: otherwise on life-support machine through the bottle-neck... right here, right now, we have... a glass bottle of beer (13, guinness hop lager) and 4 cans of stella artois (the wife beater's lager, so they say)... yes... beer in cans... for all intesive purposes - a good way to transport beer... in aluminium cans... but we're not bums... we don't drink beer straight from cans... we pour our beer into a tall glass and wait... so the beer can exfoliate like aladdin's jinn in the glass... away from the confines of the can... we don't drink beer from a can... we can drink it straight from a bottle... but if it comes in a can... we pour it into a tall glass... just so... so there's some head on top... we're not english in that respect either... of cutting the head (of foam) off the beer... which is probably why i always order a stout in a pub... you can't pull one without the creme de la creme on top... a head on a beer is what makes it look less like carbonated **** or concentrated lemonade... we're not bums... we drink beer from glasses... never directly from cans - the metal gets in the way... a beer like a wine needs to breathe too.

i found that there are only two types of music styles
that are suitable for drinking -
that's... drinking and not going out -
playing a cat with an imaginary fireplace...
the less imaginary fireplace being:
a stare confined to... watching a pillow...
and the general schematic of a bed...
and sitting hunched in imitation: all crow because
no crow doesn't get you far
on golgotha of daydreams: if only i...
humble servant of dusty feet - the tourist,
the pilgrim - would set off...
         on an amphetamine riddled skew into
a messiah complex adventure...

                     but not me...
                once upon a time the only music
worth drinking to was the blues...
            a long, long time ago...
                hell: once upon a time any music
would do if we all decided to go dancing...
or at least waited for the dance to come of its own
volition and not mine: i.e. the me in i would
just be dragged under the teasing waves
and slurped out to sea...

                   a thousand waves are all but the single
tongue of some swindling kraken...
drinking and random shamanic interludes in
the youth of the night-club...
when there wasn't a tally for score or...
the ones shot down by manfred...
good thing he was called manfred...
   and not some swabian helmut! oi oi!
                                             von Richthofen!
and that was when...
           until came the five beers and on
the 4th it became apparent...
                                  the red garland quintet...
soul junction...

   and it's not... a gerry mulligan's night lights...
piano sentimentality and the ode
to all things urban, cosmopolitan...
                        yes... it's not grenadine in that
sulk of yours... it's cranberry juice...
the city and... the sewers and...
                                 jazz for the urban scenes
of: anywhere but the park...
the graveyard... a choo-choo slowing into
a station... and billy joel come:
mid-life crisis and a new york state of mind...
while over 'ere we have...
     teasing the woods: where concrete ends
and mud begins... thus we can have our Adam...
and...

only today i was walking past his bride...
doing my odd citizen duty of recycling glass...
and buying the amber sedatives (carbonated)
for an evening with some cannonball adderley
or some donnie byrd... or a horace silver...
that's the beauty of jazz...
the music is all there is... the names come and go...
sonny rollins and the story behind
the bridge... and how he would pretend to
but not pretend to... retire and go off and practice
on the bridge so as to not disturb his neighbours...
all the details are there: on the vinyl sleeve
from 1963...

now that's jazz... i don't even want to mind
how pretentious this might sound...
but... it doesn't in that: jazz is jazz in that there
might come some great improv. -
after all: it's all somewhat improv. -
   but you can't really make such basic
generalißations...
        speedy-shoom-of-a-choo-choo whizzing past...
schematic!
   classical music is all a priori...
                              jazz... it's all a posteriori...
how? when people phone in between
1pm and 5pm to classic.fm and they make requests...
they sometimes ask for something specific...
but usually... they vaguely allude to... a feeling...
something "uplifting" - play something "uplifting"...
ergo... there's this... a priori "item"(?)
in the music that's... an expectation...

          i do know what jazz sounds like
a quintent: drums, bass, piano, trumpet, sax...
yes... the guitar... asking the algorithm:
a quintet is five - what is six?
        sixtet - d'uh... sextet... well that's the basic
"i know what jazz sounds like"...
but with jazz there's always this lag...
it's this lagging behind:
    i don't exactly know what i'll feel until
only after i've heard it and in the meantime too...
jazz is all a posteriori -

while classical music for me is all a priori...
given that... it's not exactly improvised:
there's the orchestra, the movie, the script...
   and it's such a music that doesn't worship
itchy fingers of improv. - the stale or rather:
the head-about-to-explode of scoring the music like
a dissected **** of beef...
the cuts for the violins the cuts for the woodwinds...
more so: the almost shy drumming...
the wet-drumming... like rain playing
rattle fingers on tin (roofs)... or what rain would
sound like... if it was made from sand...
either way... jazz is a baggage...

hardly any sort of envisioning a journey from
(a) priori through to (b) posteriori -
and at least with jazz... you never have to really
cite who's playing... in a passing gesture
for all necessary bookmark purposes
of: where i am in the library of jazz...
unlike in classical music... where...
it's either Mozart, Beethoven or then again...
some obscure composer... perhaps ola glejlo...
but it's less about the music per se:
it's about the music of THE composer...
bonus marks for keeping to a rigid diet of one
and completing the herculean task of digesting
his entire oeuvre...

-       so i was walking past the most usual scene...
a car stopped... and she got out...
she must have been no more than 16 pushing 18...
the heavy make-up hid her otherwise boyish
contorts... a short black dress...
and as she got out of the cab...
she had her high-heel shoes in her hands...
   she was walking the cement barefoot...
i peered into her eyes... the lights were out...
perhaps her soul was screaming - perhaps this was
her first disappointment - and it was only... what...
not even 10pm on a saturday night...
my nights of youthful regret usually came after 3am
having to wrestle a berserker...
or how a dog looks like when it takes
to beer with a fond heart and only three legs...
god forbid but "they" would also cut my tail off
to further throw me off balance...
the walked passed and i looked into the cab...
a very, very nervous asian was looking at me
and then her... this didn't exactly look like...
she was ***** or was fighting to escape...
           aren't those scenarios usually stage in and around
woods - without any pedestrians walking past?
call it a trainwreck a carwreck...
                      or just running mascara...
that bad, eh?
at this point... society is a cruise ship...
and i'm stuck with ottis and none of that sentimentality
of the dock: running away with a bag of
chips wrapped in newspaper away from
seagulls... who... are apparently prone
to kleptoparasitism - a real thing... i swear to god...
the animals that want to eat in the realm
of trans-species... dogs have had their
kleptoparasistism repressed: crumbs from the table...
the chicken bones with hopes for
cartilege and someone who... is bad at
cleaning the flesh off the bone: pucker up...
move aside leech... watch this slurp...
ol' hank mobley and wayne shorter...
        one cascade after another...
5th beer in and...

yeah... so that's what a carwreck looks like...
for a girl in her late teens...
the cute black dress...
   getting out of the cab holding her high heels...
walking home barefoot...
she wasn't crying just yet...
but i could see puffy tender demon baron
of the soft cheeks readying to turn into
medussa's stare-grip... but not there yet...
this must have been her first time at "life"
and the night life and saturday...
         the cab driver looked scared shitless...
as if frozen in time... about to have his photograph
taken by a more sensible shadow of his...
i did think she just escaped a bad
session of prostitution...
but not even prostitutes look so ******* gloomy
as she did...

the ******* ***** it up -
the pundit ***** it up - the show goes on...
stage or no stage... an audience or no audience...
those eyes though... not yet crying...
but they felt... like wheeping oysters nonetheless...
you know when eyes are like that...
teasing bulging out... they appear dimmed
at first... but that's a dimming before
the sparkle of tears...
it's the 29th of febuary - yes...
mr. zodiac wasn't kind to those who still believe
in the horoscope but never tried
gambling on a winning team or horse...
it's still winter and those poor feet of hers...
she must have told the cab driver to stop...
hell... half a mile before she would get home...
a 6ft2 115kg sore thumb up with a beard
up ahead: stop! let me walk past him...
that's why i gave an inquisitive stare at the cab driver...
the cab driver was looking at me...
aren't the **** victims the ones jumping
out of the cab as it speeds off or whatnot?
so this was... staged?
              i read the "situation" wrong...
well no... i didn't find a lancelot in me...
there was no door to be held open...
           not tonight...
                                           i was in a mood for
beer and jazz... and luckily for me...
marvel of all marvels...
     haig club (1627) was sold at a bargain...
                        down from 25 quid to 16 quid...
goodbye excessive drinking the cheap *****...
hello: clubman haig... is it whiskey...
is it ms. amber... or is it chanel no. 5 -
                   is it whiskey or is it a perfume?
a snapper of a dinner standing-up...
   the scent of the last bite still on my moustache
even though i had washed my teeth...
the beer bottle opened - a drizzle on the hand
and then the hand smearing the liquid all over
the stinking hairs from an unwelcome scent...
i don't mind stinking like hops...
                  but hops is better than smelly food...

- regrets? ah yes... the "what if" universe at large...
that "whaf if" this and "what if" not...
"what if" yes and... when a man takes to walk
the street at night... he's only looking for empty
streets and... the hope of not seeing his reflection:
which is never about abruptly stopping
a cab and taking your shoes off
and walking in a tight-knit black dress
having met the world and...
                     was it heartbreak or just...
disappointment that... there are no unicorns
and she isn't daddy's precious?

any of the rudy van gelder editions...
                      "what if" i had more than just these
words... a barren wasteland of a flat
with no furnishings, not a book to call it a genesis
of a private library... not a single record
to play... no bed no curtains...
and she was the: honey-catch and snare and...
what if i were still in my late teens and
didn't have these invisible tattoos of historical
dates and the tattoos that riddle bones
that are... "habits of hygiene"...
      by hygiene i imply: ontological fixtures...
immoveable objects of accumulating my mortal
years for this formal circumstance of
the worst magic trick of all...
                   transient and... packaged elsewhere...
apparently going nowhere...

if this was a truly urban scenario...
but we're talking essex...
the outskirts of greater london...
if i bothered myself tonight i might go
to a place where i'd sit on a throne of a stump
of oak and listen to owls...
spot a rabbit, spot a badger... the foxes would
come of their own accord...
and perhaps even a deer or two... or three...
there's no glit of a picaddily circus romance:
when a girl decides to get out of a cab early
and put her porcelain toes on the wintry cement...
as if: supposing she be enticing me...
as i was thinking about the scared-shitless
cab driver...        

to have once upon a time believe in love:
the sort of love you'd see in movies...
but that's of course...
before you'd get a chance to see love...
in opera...
blue pill red pill... spiderweb of fiction...
blah blah...
watch the sort of love in movies...
then go and see an opera...
most notably verdi's la traviata...
  the movies fizzle out and you don't really
need to read this to begin with...
        i was in love once...
it was a love that was in love with itself...
          a mirage a carrot on a stick...
probably something akin to this sort of impromptu...
rescuing a girl walking barefoot home...
oh sure... happens almost every other saturday...

- the beer is for these musings, for the jazz
and for... cleaning the kidneys and a work-out
for the bladder... the shot-at-a-crescendo
will come with the haig club whiskey...
is 70cl really worth 25 quid?

- there's a difference between food with a USE BY date
and food with a BEST BEFORE date...
most notably goat's cheese...
once the best before date expires...
which is way way down the line from
the use by date... the cheese starts to taste
like... ash...

i should know since i know of the alternative
to doing shots of tequilla...
the salt is replaced with licking some cigarette
ash...
the tequilla is replaced with *****...
and the slice of lemon is replaced with
black peppercorns...

so i do know what ash tastes like...
piquant tastes: this omelette of an octopus and
of tongue...

- society is a cruise ship and i'm waving it goodbye...
welcoming a sunset of a sea as calm
as a mirror... telling my feet to take root
and stand... inaccessible...
otherwise... i am barren when it comes to having
some (h. p.) lovecraftian sensibilities from
maine... aloof and anemic... anemic with bloodshot
eyes...

- of course she isn't a mystery...
the narrative would run: the little match girl...
hans... hans! hans?! hans andersen is drilling
a hole into my head about... a woman walking
home barefoot...
yes... but she is walkig home...
unlike the little match girl...
and unlike the little match girl...
this girl was carrying a pair of shoes with her...
it's not my problem whether
i'm the sore thumb that "got in the way"...
a fork in the road: like any other fork...
like any other road...

do you have to reach being 34 to see these
teenage break-ups and regrets come and bump into
you after you've done...
that most spectacular feat of towing a backpack
full of glass for recycling?
where is one to recycle bones?!

- right not all the ***** in the world is...
something of an adhesive... a hitchhiker pollen...
a hard-on of: ****** yourself for a hard-on
just because even flapping a pancake will do right now...
to ease constipation whenever necessary...

- it's a torilla... but it's wrapped like a burrito...
well... it's a torilla... kultur shock -
sarajevo - the entry level shock-awe and
blitzkrieg of drinking from the fountain
of the Haig...

- second tier... to treat pornographic movies
like... early cinema... silent...
otherwise a return to the magazine form...
and the ripe imagination readied for:
improv... or... when was the last time
my left hand didn't feel like an oyster...
and an oyster didn't feel like a leash...
and a woman's ****** stopped being
an hour worth 120 quid? -

             - third tier... the haig club whiskey
is not worth 25 quid... it's over-rated...
you're basically paying for the bottle...
i'll stick to my guns...
only the irish know how to make whiskey
on these isles... bushmills: mellow, tame...
the picts have decided to lodge
a smoking salmon into their barrels to die...
i'm supposed to have an aftertaste of vanilla...
with all that smoke... i'd be happy to taste
hungary and smoked paprika! that would
be a bonus to boot! -

- i can appreciate the picts for trying...
but let's just leave brewing whiskey to the irish...
and let's keep the english away from hops...
they'll make an undrinkable ale from it...
never the lager...

   - armed with balkan rock... standing before
the h'american monolith of tongue and culture...
or... just before what's filtered for the export...

- no... of course i don't think h'americans are dumb...
i just think there's only a naive majority...
i'm going to find the vermin and huddle among
them...

- sooner or later we'll be calling the germans
come spring... for winter provisions...
"keeshond" or: hund... i much prefer the latter...
from under the iron curtain forged from
a broken jaw when biting the curb of:
under the silicon veil... nowhere else to go...
beside Ishrael...
                        
          remains of the ottoman - which is hardly
me put into an iron maiden of akimbo...
where's the geisha and the samurai?!

- is your beard long enough?
      like mine... i tease it... catch it with braille
cardinals: the thumb the index and middle fingers...
twirl it... wait for some thread to tie it together
into a hanging ******* of a bundle...
while at the same time:
          before you... a throng of vermin...
this beard... a magic flute!
the zenith of my thinking...
and ultimately: the nadir of any narrative
that might be inclined to escape and
not become 3D...

- i listen to songs in german...
i put on airs of pride - my chin starts to contort into
the moon's scythe and sickle...
even if the night is overcast with beard,
or cloud...

- then i put on a record that's 20 years old...
deftones' white pony...
and i remember being a teen...
hungry for hormonal diet...
a diet to stop the bones from aching
as they grew extra sprouts:
adverse to the skin and photosynthesis...
bones that were expected to grow
entombed... not in flesh...

- sketches from the gasoline additive when
it comes to a beer, starter...
otherwise: elite... gonna breed on top
of the general... pucker up the tremor for a vibrato
kiss and leech her lips off...
to expose her most pristine:
todlächeln -
                           not a chelsea grin...
the joker lapse... i mean... extending the shaving
lines and just, completely, forgetting there's
any botox involved to grow a peach
from a duck of the reinvention of
the deflating balloon...

   leave no selfie without it...
                   herr grinsen: die / das / die / das...
i keep forgetting the definite plural and
the definite singular... feelz... feels...
maximum impromptu: das bösartigwimmern...
anything in german at this point...
sounds better than...
wenigbruder englisch...
                       dies, mein krawatte beste...
alle schwarz alle weiß:
      say to me... nein pinguine willkommen...

anything to keep these mosquitos these
zeppelins away... alt vater großartig Schwab
from this... herd of minor dicta
of the children of the house of ßaß...
translated nomad from the high pressure
***** basin of:
later, trajectory... later... the yawn and canyon...
and the sky above...

- beer first... whiskey after...
shrapnel... and gasoline... no car... no speeding...
fast but otherwise still walking...

            - a hurrah and the cohort of a hum...
to match the echo of the centipede...
         the silence and otherwise the simplified
complications of a conversation...
the bed torn between *** and sleep...
between saturday sunday and monday through
to friday...
   and the need to drink with someone else...
"the need"...
          
the skulls breaks at the sight of sea-riddled-and-*****
cliffs... daggers persuaded to be forever sharpened...
the fiddly parts of ***** as accountants when
it came to the pennies, copper, and granules
of sand... seized: the rivers of time...
constipated shock value elevated...
                            
                                am i to find a lover when
the orchestra tells me...
these words will never find a dear sir / madam
or circle round for a yours sincerely...
                godzilla... the theme i remember from
the days when the japanese still had control over the beast...
otherwise... an overweight t-rex with...
arm extensions... the lotus feet of the chinese...
which also includes...
the savory diet of... tendering dog meat...
i.e. beating the dog to a plum softening...
which is: then again... not curing the already dead
curated meat...
life aware needs to be involved...
brick by brick brick on brick...
the status quo: made in china...

         cheap whiskey... although in an expensive bottle...
that is the haig club whiskey...
        so much for ezra pound admiring
the ******* ideograms...
what's to admire... when...
it ends up being a crude...
current latin emoji-infiltrated grafitti
equivalent to: CUL8R...
               chow-chuckle-mein-hong-shui-chew?
all that intricacy into the ideogram...
and all that remains is...
bat soup... and an advantage at playing
poker... omnivores...
you'd think that Islam would be...
more geared to break ranks among the omnivores...
like all the fickle gods... a good joke...
they abhor / are told to herd sheep
because: what sort of pig would survive the desert
and not become crispy bacon...
camels are fine too... as are their testicles...
never mind the pork leather shoes and pork
leather belts...
but the chinese omnivores are fine by
Allah: Muhammad & Co....

                               khadijah **** khuwaylid..
wrote the first surahs of the quran...
she was the literate:
the stephen vizinczey epitome:
                          in praise of older women...
last time i heard... muhammad was illiterate...
pray! that i've exhausted sympathy on
him being an orphan...
but not a ******* oliver twist thrown into
an orphanage! b'ooh h'oo...

                     the end... the whiskey isn't going
to drink itself;
as i have exhausted the patience of my bladder...
while there's the remaining concern
for a bewildering and a simultaneously
bewildered peacock... on the hunt for coy;
which is not exactly the darwinian daydream
of the short-hand greek alphabet...
the α-β male thermodynamic...
          the Σ-Δ female harem...
salmon swimming up-stream to spawn...
                             and... Ω-man / unicorn...
                     sha! schtil!
Jeremy Duff Aug 2012
A boy named Jake was so obsessed with finding a different reality where he was truly himself that he created it in his brain and entered it through a doorway while he slept.

He knew he didn't need to knock but thought of it as polite.
The door wasn't answered with an opening, rather
an invite to open.
So the boy opened.

Inside he found himself in a desert. It was almost time for the sun to begin its setting.
He realized that his hand was still on the door **** so he released and then shut the door.
He turned back around.

There was a small house a football fields length away. He could see a well just to the left and a stable holding no animals on the right.
He began walking over.
He was thirsty.
And hungry.
And full of questions.

Arriving at the house he found water in the well.
Cold, dusty water.

Inside the house he found a pantry full of corn, bottled sunflower seeds, and a odd yellow grass wrapped in pouches.
He ate sunflower seeds and walked outside.

There he looked back to where the door is.
Or was.
At first he was alarmed
but then liked the idea.
He was stuck here.
He was free.

He slumped down against the house and began to doze off.

His dreams were filled of memories of this desert. Of growing up in this house and occasionally visiting the town some miles away.
This became his reality.
He was himself.

A man dressed in black approached.
He pretended to sleep.
The man came and went.
There was no food left in the pantry although the yellow grass was still there.
There was no water in the well.

He waited for nothing for days.
He slumped against the wall and fell asleep again.

He awoke to find a new man approaching him, from the direction the other man had came.
The direction of town. DOOR, his conscious screamed. He pushed it aside.

The man came.
He was on a quest for a tower.
He was nice.
Jake grew fond of him.
The man said he would stay, only for a little while.
He was pursuing the Man in Black.
He was pursuing the Dark Tower.
Jake knew the man would stay, however.
And he was happy.
He was *himself.
"Childe Roland to the Dark Tower come."
John Feb 2012
Ahh-choo, ahh-choo
Don't have a clue
Ahh-choo, ahh-choo
I don't like you

Blast through the door
Snap your fingers to the trigger pull
You want some more?
Got some lead, give you a belly full
Eat up, yum yum
Nutritious like a vitamin
Gonna give you one
Or two, three, four - Seventh deadly sin

Tasted the **** at the bottom of the well
Tried too hard in case you couldn't tell
Heard you mumble something under your breath
So I beat you mentally 'til you got nothin' left
Waiting for the inevitable
Ding, ding, times up, now you're moldable
Crash, bang
It's all the same
You've always been the one to blame
Sarina May 2013
I lived for twenty-five months, have been dead for five
still obsessed with how dirt in my cuticles
collides with a blood-stream like the train that took me –
my baby was on board and hid in a cubby
because he knew why, why, why I threw off my
conductor hat right then even before I could have guessed
he knew, knew, knew. Choo choo choo
I lived for a week and have been dead for twenty two.

Twenty-two, twenty-two,
twenty-two weeks and pounds in a giraffes’ big heart,
collections of key chains in my baby’s room
I will never see, and wild animals would adore me better
than any man could reach at just under six feet –
choo choo trains keep me dead better than I ever could.
if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. **** Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda  Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson ******* Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson  Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones *** Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren  Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton **** Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson  Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i'm just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah
Cloud tendrils Jul 2022
Been t’other side,
Came back I did.
Dunnae remember much
Besides a cold sprung trip.

Heart now fixed,
Breastbone unsplit to.
Meds make it better,
Besides side effects like.

Whadda I know,
Just happy still here.
Those trained people though,
Keep going choo choo.

Up a steep hill,
Thru a dark tunnel.
We all end up,
Same place like.
Have been through heart op and read billy liar during recovery.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
why did i ever go out on a friday night?
drinks with "friends" and hitting the essex
club "scene" -
well - no much of a scene -
there was never the music you'd want to listen
to: come friday or saturday -
even mid-week when all the rock kids
were "hanging out" -
what would be chances of being your own d.j. -
catching something really new...
POIZON - church is poizon -
cool mom - something between a crossbreed
of cage the elephants and nirvana on blew -
3rd view - moi -
but i used to: and i remember that gehenna of
a sobering walk - alone after a night out -
like some furious son of sam -
when youth still had the adrenaline with it
and a sense of anger ******* around with
disillusionment -

those were the friday nights: bon jovi highlights
and long hair and milking a somewhat androgynous
look - sometimes the mascara would come out...
those were the days of having milk skin
and a proper shave -
the long hair and the waistcoast and cravat: semi-,

the lonesome story before i met my beard:
fwyday mordaithceirch -
i actually have a name for it...
i forgot what's already the designated
whittle pecker mr. pritchard of the down down:
below...

oh, oh so what...
rough friday nights in my youth -
on the clubbing "scene" -
and always that moral hangover when it came
to drinking with others -
ever since i started drinking by myself:
i forgot the mirror and that bucket
of warm water beside my bed to put my hand
in before going to sleep...
once or twice the company was worth the drink -
but most of the time you only kept
such company: because you were drinking -
drinking was never an afterthought -

now... i like drinking alone -
at least i can keep fact-checking the company
and the odd vocab peacock taking to the catwalk
of a ruminating free-fall tongue waggle
and rummage - the needle in the haystack
adventure - or... the ******* bucket
of deshelled oysters...

there have been some awful friday nights -
but: seeing how i started to give my beard
a welsh name borrowed from a willem dafoe
novel - and how it simply became pointless
to wake the dead with the angry tantrums
of youth: and how i seem to have
forgotten where my 20s "went" -
somehow rooted in: da-sein and how
i "wasted" 2 years on one book by kant -
2 years on one book by heidegger -
and: how i didn't have the time to "catch-up"
on the greek classics -

oh these island dwelling people -
i try to imagine them not being a seafaring:
and their messiah / superiority complex -
with their breakfast that could hardly
be digested come the hour of noon -
or no messiah / superiority complex -
the traffic: indeed - works like clockword...
from left to right...
sidenote: what of fahrenheit and
the feet and inches - stones and pounds?
ounces?
the metric of: baseline 0 here,
baseline 00 over there...

no... Michele Campanella piano solo take
on wagner's das rheingelt: entry of the gods into
valhalla - it's hardly anemic -
it's... the last leaf of autumn falling -
because the crescendo has already happened...
a befitting closure...

the superior island folk and their...
hyphens and germanic loan words -
how almost all names in chemistry are still
in their germanic: intact form of: no hyphen:
broken leg or broken arm...

woodwinds... perhaps... the violins providing
the humming of birds:
chirp chirp: no chirping -
and of course the horn - but the horns never
as prominent as those drank from...

something has happened today -
but i am... left without having any english
sensibility / egalitarianism -
somehow i always equate egalitarianism with
the english - the islanders -
a firework went off in the background -
mr. sloth awoke mrs. slouch after 3 years
for a firecracker celebration...

because who would want to be ruled
over by unelected: chocolatiers...
esp. after their trial run in the Congo -
but i have certainly had worse friday nights...

it can't exactly get much worse than...
say... listening to the siegfried idyll...
multitasking: drinking a cider, smoking a cigarette,
balancing act of folded leg sat on
perched on a windowsill solving a no. 11,289
sudoku from the 27th jan. 2020...
otherwise prior to:
imagine my disbelief at the pleasure -

with numbers to somehow escape thinking in words:
no grand arithmetic linear gymnastics -
of the end result -
certainly no logical statements -
just a whirlwind of numbers complimenting
these few words...
and what a fine friday night it has become:

the pizza was made - god save me from the perfume
of yeast... or checking on the rising dough
from time to time -
the leftover yeast gave me the opportunity
to bake an imitation sourdough crust pretty-as-a-picture
loaf that: would make any mushroom blush
and shy away from unfolding into an umbrella pose...
or a Y... curling outward-inward into an upsilon Υ...

because how could i forget the pleasure of
sifting through numbers?
by the time i attempted puzzle no. 11,290
i had to write a "map"

           a             b             c
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x  
1)   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
2)   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
3)   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x

come to think of it... where's a subscript?
if i'm going to use 1, 2, 3...
to tier the allocation of squares...
tennis and sudoku...
tennis: a game of 7 rectangles -
and how many judges and ball boys / girls?
sudoku - a puzzle of 10 squares - perhaps...
if i'll use tiers 1, 2, 3: a1, b2, c3...
what if... sudoku invoked letters rather than
numbers?

much later... oh believe me...
this is the antithesis of knausgård
writing about using googlemaps...
        
           a             b             c
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x  
1)   x   x   x   3   x   x   6   x   4
      x   x   x   2   x   4   x   8   9
      x   1   9   x   4   x   x   6   2
2)   x   x   x   7   x   x   x   5   x
      x   x   2   x   x   8   x   4   x
      x   2   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
3)   x   x   6   1   9   5   x   x   3
      x   3   8   4   x   x   x   7   x

it's still a schematic - the narrative is yet
to begin... otherwise...
there's nothing smart about this...
i have tired eyes sometimes:
i succumb and have to allow myself
to no acid-bath these eyes in words...

esp. since i speak so rarely -
imagine... in england and i spear
the bare minimum of english -
i can: i have to: i will - when being prompted -
but i can't remember the last time
i had an honest: informal exchange
of letters... lapped up by the glutton
tongue... i looked and looked
and with my silence i can attest:
there's a speech-impediment -
a stutter that's not born from nervousness...
but... an allusion to a "stoic" through
my lack of conversation...

at least on paper i can exfoliate -
enough cider and enoug whiskey and i'm all
sparrow McDermott!
ugh... the devolved scots and the likewise
welsh... devolved nations...
only this aspect of Brexit is... well...
imagine the "evolved" status of post-Yugoslavia...
Kosovo...
this is the only aspect of an otherwise:
fair enough that's... well...
if you lived for 3 years among the scots...
you'd get to appreciate them...
this is the only aspect of this whole affair
i will ever appreciate...
i would pour blood and **** into
the Welsh continuing their...
preservation of the iaith...
forever and the more - i would love to see
scotland start to dig trenches and
forget trainspotting gaelic -
parading like ponces and humpty dumpteys
with "harkccents"... glasgewian bull-runnings...
cousins aye and wee -

a thing of beauty: a thing of union...
but this... they were bullied in brussels...
they came back and started to bully the scots...
if you have lived -
the betas of cardiff - but they tongue: remains!
look far back and wales would encompass
cornwall -
ignorant i of a 26 year "servitude" on these isles...
quiz me on outside of London:
no point...
perhaps i too would wish for the lost
theta in Dublin - towing: to t'ink...
as any sanskrit H-surd does matter...

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

but if i will replace... the side tiers of numbers...
the numbers in the puzzle will have to become
letters - greek... probably iota, epsilon and upper-case
gamma...

the bullied have returned from the palance
of the chocalatiers and: back to their old ways
of bullying the rest of these island folk...
because: it's infantile for me imagine
a resurrection of the crown (poland)
and the grand duchy of lithuania -
the commonwealth -
but somehow the united kingdom is not
fated to become the next yugoslavia -

i can confirm - up in edinburgh i was
confirmed by having the hat of Knox having
scalped me -
never is always metaphor: vaguely -
as in literally - in these quasi-paragraphs...
so it's not... infantile to even "think" that
the british empire can be revived?
zee window-licker spezials of
cross-breed h'americana postcards sent?
i nibble to attempt a joke...

oh i can bulldozer this whole narrative...
turn into a berserker -
i've saved enough money to deal
with the label loser...
all it will take is me having drunk enough -
sightseeing the slums of london's east end
and then hitting the brothel:
like an iron-head... to the pillow
and the ***** of a *******...

because i have had worse friday nights...
terrible company...
if i were not a michel de montaigne or a knausgård:
me me me, me me, me me me me,
write enough of that and:
to meme to grafitti... or to...
why are there no diacritical markers in
the english language worthy of recognition?
why would i...
rhoi fy **** y Cymraeg enw?
give my beard a welsh name?
and why is that not a cedilla C but a ******* K?
why not... Çumraeg?

on foreign shores i have made it adamant that...
this sense of foreigness does not
peppermint my presence with hopes to:
add to - an integration -
just borrow what the local have made: left-overs...
and work with that...

(insert snigger) - the neu-vikings of
northumberland...

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

this really does have a linear narrative...
here goes...
3(c1), 9(c3), 1(c1), 2(c3), 2(c1), 2(a1), 9(a3), 8(c3),
4(c3), 8(c2), 8(a2), 5(b2), 7(c2), 3(b2), 3(b3), 8(b3),
7(c1), 5(c1), 7(b3), 5(c3), 1(c3), 6(c3), 1(c2), 3(c2),
9(c2), 9(b2), 6(b1), 6(b2), 6(b3), 2(b3), 2(b2), 1(b2),
1(b1), 9(b1), 9(a1), 8(b1), 8(a1), 5(b1), 7(b1), 7(a1)...

and then a "gamble" in the narrative...
the (7a2 and the 5a2 - interchange)....
it's a pleasure - not a chore -
5  9  4
2  8  7
3  6  1
8  1  9
6  4  3
7  5  2 - this line... what if it was 5  7  2?
1  2  5
4  7  6
9  3  8
if i want to solve this puzzle - i will solve it
and not read a tabloid article /
whatever the hell has become of youtube...
my diamond jukebox...

otherwise the "narrative" continued from
7a2 and the 5a2 interchange:
7(3a), 4(a3), 4(a2), 6(a1), 4(a1), 5(a1), 5(a3),
1(a3), 1(a1), 3(a1), 3(a2), 6(a2)... end result?

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

because i can imagine this not being:
the most difficult Finnish sudoku...
i can almost imagine this puzzle
to be in greek...
where: 1ι, 2ζ, 3ε, 4χ, 5Σ, 6δ, 7Γ, 8β, 9ρ...

in the background all i hear is:
corvus corax' la i mbealtaine...
the greek version of the japanese puzzle...

           a             b             c
      Σ   9   χ   6   8   ι   ζ   ε   7  
1)   ζ   8   7   ε   Σ   9   6   ι   χ
      ε   6   ι   ζ   7   χ   Σ   8   9
      8   ι   9   Σ   χ   ε   7   6   ζ
2)   6   χ   ε   7   ι   ζ   9   Σ   8
      7   Σ   ζ   9   6   8   ε   χ   ι
      ι   ζ   Σ   8   ε   7   χ   9   6
3)   χ   7   6   ι   9   Σ   8   ζ   ε
      9   ε   8   χ   ζ   6   ι   7   Σ

half-way... i just wanted to "selfie" what
will become of this... i no longer write: i paint...

            a             b             c
      Σ   9   χ   δ   8   ι   ζ   ε   Γ  
1)   ζ   8   Γ   ε   Σ   9   δ   ι   χ
      ε   δ   ι   ζ   Γ   χ   Σ   8   9
      8   ι   9   Σ   χ   ε   Γ   δ   ζ
2)   δ   χ   ε   Γ   ι   ζ   9   Σ   8
      Γ   Σ   ζ   9   δ   8   ε   χ   ι
      ι   ζ   Σ   8   ε   Γ   χ   9   δ
3)   χ   Γ   δ   ι   9   Σ   8   ζ   ε
      9   ε   8   χ   ζ   δ   ι   Γ   Σ

going... going... gone...

            a             b             c
      Σ   ρ   χ   δ   β   ι   ζ   ε   Γ  
1)   ζ   β   Γ   ε   Σ   ρ   δ   ι   χ
      ε   δ   ι   ζ   Γ   χ   Σ   β   ρ
      β   ι   ρ   Σ   χ   ε   Γ   δ   ζ
2)   δ   χ   ε   Γ   ι   ζ   ρ   Σ   β
      Γ   Σ   ζ   ρ   δ   β   ε   χ   ι
      ι   ζ   Σ   β   ε   Γ   χ   ρ   δ
3)   χ   Γ   δ   ι   ρ   Σ   β   ζ   ε
      ρ   ε   β   χ   ζ   δ   ι   Γ   Σ

i don't mind a people being right...
but the overt-gloating...
without having to work around the sort
of paranoia associated with:
how the russians are not allowed to glutton
themselves on gloating -
because they are always made
to feel suspcious - the russians can't gloat
like most of the anglo- speaking world...
always suspect: russophobia evil genuises...
tip-toeing goliaths - less the blundering
fudge-packers of "global ****"...
and i kissed a boy and i liked it...
my genitals started shrinking
and my *** started to exfoliate with:
welcome all! welcome all hard and on!
and that tongue in my mouth always helps...
but imagine my surprise when
i started to navigate my hands
but the reply came:
timbuktu and mt. kilimanjaro will not be found
attached to this sort of torso...
wrong dog, wrong tree...

some things really do require numbers...
i once had a mathematics teacher in high school
bemoan the origin of modern numbers
and how we once: upon a time used these letters...
but did our arithmetic with visual aids
akin to the abacus... because...
you'd have to "read braille" when counting...
to differentiate the already: lettered numbers
and the letters being letters -
and all arithmetic functions
were "spoken of" but never depicted...
i.e. there was no VII + III = X...
there was no XV - XI = IV...
eh?! arithmetic was cat-intuitive...
not spoken of - done by either the visual
aid of fingers when haggling
in a market place -
or by the abacus aid in a bureucratic office!

i said this was the most perfect friday night...
what did i have to offer?
no clickbait title - some gems of wording
in between?
the patient reader - as ever - most rewarded -

but... oh my god... the sensation of
changing the bed sheets...
it's friday night and you're... changing your bed sheets...
and they are more crisp and clean
than any political event that the journalist leeches
are milking -
and you do it with a saving private ryan precision -
you will sleep in this bed: well into
11am of a today to come...
believe me: that you will...

- in that i am still walking among the germanic people -
if the germans will sing a: bretonisher marsch...
then the two peoples are alligned by
their sentiment for the crow as their godhead:
alles menschen totem...
what could possibly make me feel welcome?
french grammar is polish grammar...
matin de printemps - poranek wiosny -
spring morning in reverse in germanic...
how many more examples would i ever wish
to give?

there was a moment in my life where...
i realised my faults... i should have read
the Pickwick Papers... anything by C. Dickens to be sure...
instead came Stendhal, Voltaire, Balzac...
because if you said to me...
BBC radio 4... the archers...
and... thomas hardy: madding crowd?
you'd accuse me of being ignorant of:
London is a bustling cosmopolitan in-waiting
from the busy-body industrial proto-Beijing
it was of 100 years ago?    
the French had cosmopolitan intellectualism
100 years prior to the english...
100 years later and it's still not much...
is anyone about to cite me william hazlitt?!

the trouble with the english is that they hold dear
to that one old 19th century idea -
this waiting for: awaiting a revival of darwinism...
the "blatantly" obvious needs a resurgence!
because a michael faraday must most surely
be forgotten!
how many times will this already painful reality
need to be emphasised once more:
intellectually - via a darwinism?
no one stresses the copernican "upside-down"...
or what is copernican "west" up in space?
how does acknowledging the sphere
of the earth - ease you reading a flat map -
moving from point A to point B?

earlier this week - for once in my life i was
ashamed of what i wrote -
so i wrote for scribli per se: scribbles for
scribbles themselves -
the darwinian germanic folk who say:
alles von afrika...
how the hebrews debased themselves
in both aushwitz and breaking their bones
on the emoji hieroglyphs -
alles von afrika: ja... so sicher... so wahr!

ask any slavic person among the germanic
peoples...
where from? wir (ar) sind lesen und schreiben
"afrika": i.e. Indu...
if the african challenged the hebrews
with... "the best they had": egyptian emojis...
why would i not stress my birth
with pseudo cedilla Ş / इ... ☦ -
this indo-european is not... at home with
these african-germanoids...
pseudos and quasi -
these chocolate frenzied busy-buddies!

from the caucasian and further still from
that whittle sub-corinthian quote: continent...
somehow, "somehow" this part of this story
is read: south to north... always a grand
marker missing when the people went
east, squinted... learned skeleton existence,
atoms... and the frenzy of letters:
owls and ******* **** flinging beetles
back in the north eastern tip of
africa: in that egyptian haemorrhage of "idea"...

i assure myself... perhaps the form came from
africa... but sure as **** the tongue only arrived
in the lap of the Dalai Lama...
as did the "thinking" and the music
across prior to the Mongol's curiosity
over the tundra of Siberia...
something had to be placed on a loan...
and coming back to the cradle and the crux
had to happen like so...
not this current: ergo: so...
quickened and: what news from Damascus?!

first impressions count...
i made my bed... it's newly washed...
as crisp as falling onto a bed a prawn crackers...
without the crumbs' itch...
like listening to some german:
juggernaut... this will do... i can fall asleep
with this: grab hören zu der winderhall...
mehr flöte - weniger violinekratzen!
schlechtdeutsche? alle deutsche ist gut deutsche...
erwarten etwas isländisch zu sein
gesprochen insel von insel: auf diese inseln?!

to make a crisp bed of freshly washed sheets...
to sleep in them alone...
given the grammar is not that far removed...
are the french even remotely translated
as a germanic "sort of" people?
"they" or "we" share the same grammar...
and there are celtic freedoms that would
never be allowed to exfoliate under
strict anglo-ßaß obligations...

oh sure! great people! steam engine: choo-choo!
newton et al...
shakespeare: when they taught us shakespeare
they should have taught us bernard shaw...
when they forced jane eyre down our throats
we should have been reading
the pickwick papers...
the music will remain german -
because as much as vaughan williams...
holst and händel were "were" english...
esp. latter with his umlaut that spread over
toward i-and-j...

why wouldn't you **** at the pillar of the empire:
a past most assured - dust, books and moths...
like hell will i come to correct my ways
to state the: pish-poor Elgar... this poo'em too...
himmel... sky...
leerenhimmel - empty sky -
nein sonne während der tag:
das englischnebel: bedeckthimmel...
nein mond während der nacht...
nur so...

i of the lesser men of this world duly bow
my presence before the altar of the higher men
of these isles...
and hope and pray that their wisdom
will not bestow upon them any major calamity...
with not irony or ridicule i wish upon
these peoples... the right sort of oars
to turn this rooted island
into the people's imagined langboot...

there are only one british people a people
who will pursue to gloat having been
conquered by the romans...
being raided by the vikings...
integrating the anglo-ßaß...
a second viking coming via the Normans...
the push-over remains of the celts...
that somehow translated itself into
the: empire...
ideal: to compensate...
the islamic fervor for the... resurrected
caliphate...
jokes about the dritte ***** and the vierte *****...
that's pretty much the precursor jokes
surrounding: ein zweite ***** -
auf welche die sonne nimmer setzt -
ever wonder how that translates with the increased
cases of insomnia?!

again: bad german is better than
no german.
Josh Aug 2017
I was on a train out of Chorley
Happy to be sad to be leaving
Smalltalking strangers with a great accent
Hot and uncomfortable because my super cool leather jacket wasn't breathing.

Lancashire, you've made me think!
Actually, trains make me feel pensive.
Or was it Mrs Barton?
Bumbling and hypersensitive (in a nice way)

"Remain vigilant through your journey"
"Do not leave your heart unattended or it may be destroyed"
We'll get into Cardiff at zero zero six teen
That's technically Friday; there'll be drunks to avoid.

We're past Crewe and I know
Younger me made the right decision.
The path I sometimes hesitate to follow
Is bold, beautiful and scenically inefficient.

It twists and turns, trees stream
Past the train's windows
The sky looks lovely tonight
A candyfloss cloud for each of my woes (only three or four obstruct the sunset and they make it shine all the softer)

Mother of a lover, you said
You thought you'd never see me again
You often think of me, and will "follow me".
Facebook makes it easy to pretend.
I wrote this down on a train journey from Chorley to Cardiff,
Robin Carretti Feb 2019
The London*
underground
Shoes Chatterbox
Choo Choo train
Mr. Earl Gray
Greyhound
Doing cartwheels
Head over heels

Milk the Cow
"Going Moo" in her
Jimmy Choo
Yahoos
Kickapoos
The Odd Mom
Cocker Doddle Doo
Goody Two shoes
'Peekapoo"

The women living
in her shoes
All Mighty God
  
The dog to chew
Her most expensive
shoe
Lasous
The genius
La Cruz

Goody two shoes
That's show biz
Vacation Dr. Seuss
John Hughes
The master of clues
La mousse
Love truce X-File

Instagram, please smile
In her ballet slippers
He's at the Hub
drinking beer
In the London Fog
Her wooden clogs

Ladybird chirper
He's down to his
goulashes?

Got sidetrack hot
fever lovesick
La muse shoes
Cozy at the caboose
Playing golf in the
Gulf of Mexico

You ain't got a thing
if you don't have
the shoes to swing
Kick up your shoes and
start to sing
This is a comedy of all Goodie two shoes tied into one find you we all own a pair of shoes and have some fun
Jim Sularz Jul 2012
© 2009 (Jim Grant Sularz)

With my first soulful breath,
it was mother’s eyes I saw.
She counted my tiny fingers and toes,
leaned gently, to kiss my brow.

Announcements sent out right away,
my name chosen, so carefully.
The name, I think, a famous general’s claim,
was now the name, I’d call my own.

My first birthday gift,
sweet cake smeared across my face and lips.
The first steps I took, outside mother’s reach,
she sprinkled fairy dust, to help me fly!

Each year, with each measured line,
mother made my mark along the door.
But, I always tried to fudge a bit,
with tiptoes on the floor.

Bumps and scrapes and crying soothed,
some ointment, she’d kiss away the pain.
Everyday, I’d come running back to mother,
for hugs and kisses, anyway.

First day of school, anxious cries at home,
an endless day away from mom.
“Draw me a “choo-choo” trains,” she said,
and I drew them - all day long.

It was through mother’s eyes, that I glimpse the World,
both good and bad were explained.
But only good would make it past mother’s eyes,
and the bad was chased fast away.

Warm summer days, family picnics at the lake,
corn dogs and ice cream on a stick.
Cold snowy nights, white frosted windowpanes,
making snow angels, with half-frozen fingertips.

First school date, first Christmas dance,
where cinderellas and princes pranced.
But, the eyes I noticed now,
were no longer just my mother’s.

Long years of school, drills and rules,
a foreign shore, a sweetheart missed.
And through it all, there was always mother’s voice,
calling me home from a war’s abyss.

Wedding bells rang out crystal clear,
those other eyes I noticed, were now adored.
The years flew by, our children grew,
and mother grew older, too.

Thanksgiving feasts around the table,
children born, toasts, and loud celebrations.
Birthday gifts, songs, proud graduations,
and mother’s bright eyes, began to dim.

In her quiet manner, with a solemn look,
mother smiled and held my hands.
“Upstairs, there’s a jar behind my easy chair,
go there - when the time is right.”

When death arrived, in wait for mother,
with a chilled silence, on the darkest night.
Mother reached out for her last embrace,
then was wisked away, bathed in light.

Mother never washed off my marks along the door,
saved a flower from my first Christmas dance.
Framed her collection of my “choo-choo” trains,
next to a portrait of General Grant.

Grand children loved to dress up at “great granny’s house,”
where cinderellas and princes pranced.
And upstairs - mother left me her fairy dust,
to help them fly!
I wrote "Soldiers Called" to honor my father , Henry.   "Through Mother's Eyes" is for my mother, Virginia.

Jim Sularz
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
any reading of a philosophy book, outside of university, is mapped without the sort of strategy to receive a grade, for a "correct" interpretation (rather a regurgitation) of said work (mentioned below); to say it in simpler terms: i do not ever think that understanding a concept - in concreto - is worth some sort of "passing on the genes" (memes) of one individual to another - given that a meme has become pop culture, and as the french would put it:
        ce crasse et petit irritante chiotte valeur de merde
                                                                ­                        (i.e. un cliché) -
truly written like and englishman -
   a meme is that crass and small irritant bog's worth of ****
                                                            ­                                           ( " ),
   at least that's peckham french, del boy french,
                         i was well informed about this french dialect.

- and to even "think" why there are so many blue
indians, and so few piggies; perhaps it boils down
to the fact that the blue indians believe in
   burial within fire, rather than earth,
  and they prefer to surround themselves with the living,
rather than with the dead; and piggies do,
  graveyard upon graveyard,
    and that constant "nostalgia", idol-worship
of the past, where nothing greater can come again;
for those who surround themselves with the living,
their existence rages akin to the elemental
tomb of their burial... but for those who surround
themselves with the dead,
   their existences decompases akin to the elemental
tomb of their burial, a heart-broken: nightmarish
earth. -

for some reason, i always get these
"revelations" (for lack of a better word) -
as one might receive a signature
of a thunderstorm in the form of
lightning upon the sky -
           and it usually predicated by
listening to a few pop songs -
   and then listening to the
    *cantos of templar knights
-
            but then again, you sometimes
really need extremes,
     as the canadian sayings goes -
we only have two seasons,
    one's winter, the other is construction.

but this is about technicalities,
one could even cite the following as
the part of any contract, the terms & conditions
written in the smallest possible print,
   lodged in hardbacks worth over 30 quid -
not your cheap bestseller paperbacks -
   those too could be appreciated,
   but akin to pressure to keep a worth's of
expression in sanctum of a hardback?
   take the year 1996 for the cantos 1st
on toilet-paper (paperback) - but in brick?
take the year 1970...
  and where do the technicalities come in?

   - heidegger's ponderings V, aphorism 41 -
technicalities akin to the rules of
a game of cricket, or at least the pointing system.

but count it nonetheless, half an hour to scroll...
12,700+... till i got to april the 8th
  and resurrect a memory?

.  ע   ‎
יהוה ‎‎‎
א‎
                  sighs from on high...
      and laughter into the depths.


let us just say, that digital is
the new hardback edition -
    to condense my works into toilet-paper
till take more years and more pushy-pushy
tactics, to transform
     a hardback into something affordable...
but in reverse...
               what comical inversion,
   30 years will become 300 years to come
  about for someone to wipe-their-***-to-mouth
fathom of what went on at the genesis
of the birth of the internet,
   in some obscure location,
                  like a catholic school in england.

now the germanic pilot-plotline (regarding
aphorism 41, ponderings V):

    promo enigma-alchimia in vivo lingua,
             anti ipse (dixit) in lingua vitro.


(we're not in posh-boy grammar school,
the language is dead, it's become play-dough,
a malagrammaton-monœgo:
for a man's tongue is to his befitting desire
to state the terms of play).

da / ein-da / die-da          vs.                hier   vs.
                                      die-hier / ein-da


( there / a there / the there        vs.
                                                ­                 here    vs.
  the here / a there    -
                                
                               ­ atheistic scissors of
definite/indefinite articles/articulation of
    what's near, and what's far away,
     the dualistic-dichotomy of here&there,
  then&now...
           as far as i am concerned i cannot narrate
this akin to a vampire romance page-turner
bestseller... too many organic chemistry diagrams
concerning electron migration, sorry) -

   but given the "blank" slate genesis, starting
with articles... they go beyond being categorised
as definite or indefinite...
    namely... am i, or can i be assured that
      there's no X variations?
    i.e.
                da     ein da
                      X
       die hier     hier            ???????????????

               isn't ein hier merely "being"?
imagine being forced into a there -
                  without being the there,
akin to a zeitgeist, akin less!
      zeitgeist = a there (communism),
  but the there? that's what hegel
said of napoleon entering jena:
       "das ist ein weltgeist!" (capitalism).

and who are the anglophones?
  i cannot respect these "peoples" -
they constantly stutter when it comes to
  their lack of diacritical application,
they stutter... i might as well call them
the strabismus race...
    and if darwinism is to be the vector-catalyst
(hollywood was thrashing american cities
for decades, what damage could this
observation could possibly do?) -
  if darwinism is to be the prime historian,
that darwinism replaces actual history
and becomes neither in vitro, nor in vivo,
but in situ? why do scientists wonder why
universities are undermined in their
humanities, when scientific populism of
biology (i.e. darwinism) has undermined
papa historia? am i... missing something?!
     if you undermine a credible study within
the humanities with enough darwnism?
what do you get? inertia...
     you can burn crosses, but you can also
burn an image of a monkey into a man's mind,
the same result occurs!
      personally, i'd rather burn crosses,
i might end up drinking beer and joking with
a few skin-heads around an unsual campfire.

the other side just... "debates" loud-mouth
******* who haven't learned the gymnastics
of looking up those grandiose black-holes
of blah blah.... blah blah blah... blah...
     i'd like to ask them... does your **** of talk
ooze a perfume of.... strawberries?
   and the punk-fist fields... forever! ooh...
****** *******' salsa! shwing yir hips
ya bunch of conclaves (p.j.w.) - privacy
                     justice warriors).

        taoist's foregetfulness

grounded in maxim primus -
  to allow the world a breath, allow the world
to let you breathe as you deem fit,
   never too soon to be bound to genealogy,
esp. that of the genesis bound to
the new testament -
  for if the old testament begins with poetry,
and if truly metaphorically chained,
then how pitiful is the genesis of
the new testament, which begins with
  something as sorrowful as the nadir
of greek culture, the expired logos,
   a genealogy, with the greeks ransacking
the jews under roman rule,
  just like the ransacking of constantinople
by the venetians in 1204 (4th crusade)...
who'd start a "holy" book without poetry,
but a ******* geneaology?!
          no wonder poetry these days isn't
a rare appreciation...
    but cheap and as tsunami natured
   in its "production" as tabloid press,
  toothbrushes, toilet paper,
                        toothpicks, among other
                                               paraphernalia;
the new testament is such a massive turn-off...
if you don't begin with poetry,
esp. that of metaphor translated into imagery,
and instead begin with a branch of logic
that the new testament begins with, i.e.
genealogy... and then expect latter poetics
in the text to be taken literally?!
          clue the keen me into the clamours
of the poly-schismatic version of events...
    sure, christianity is a "polytheism",
                           in that it's poly-schismatic.

and of the garden, should adam have approached
first, as he would have done in asia -
         he would have talked with
the serpent sæwelō -
           perhaps that same serpent of
   caucasus - first, to have a thirst of
knowledge tamed - although never really -
  for the serpent sæwelō would have
tempted adam: eat of this tree, its fruit,
  and your thirst for knowledge will be
forever satiated!
   so said the serpent of order
   so said sæwelō (ᛋ), the sun-snake...
the serpent of illumination -
                            the golden serpent.
and so adam bit into the fruit,
   and such thirst as never before filled him,
a thirst for knowledge that hasn't
as of yet seized -
     for the fruit, which adam imagined
would be sweet - was actually filled with salt.

  and we are initiated into the myth
of how the other scenario took place with regards
to a woman approaching the serpent first,
       yes?
                and for the woman, the serpent
of chaos, known as ansuz (ᚨ) - the siamese -
who said both truth and lie simulatenously
  also known as the god who's name begins with
yod, in the roman tongue (Y),
                          and he said:
  you will know the difference between
good and evil -
    ah indeed he said so, but that said, it would
imply acts being simulatenously both,
rather than either / or -
he continued: you'll be like the æsir (gods)!
      knowing such distinctions,
                   and will know the meaning of fate,
and justice, and due recompense!

as etymological mutations occur,
   and translations into other tongues
go, let's begin with:

sieg heil - old english - sigel - hail sun!
       if ever a führer (the few, the rarer),
                        so too the sun's eclipse -
   louis xiv wouldn't have minded,
    but at least he ****** to his
         cockerel's content to praise sunrise -
but as it stands, an etymological
           "mutation" in translation: hail sun!

-------------------------- p.s. p.p.s. p.p.p.s. p.p.p.p.s.
    f(p.s.) ad infinitum: borrowing from
mathematics, i.e. f(x) - heidegger
invented the algebra of writing in a certain style
that's only worth a neurotic / autistic pedant's
worth of bother...

   let's just say, in terms of style,
                                        it's purely hellish,
   you can only go as far with a text
when the variations
  range from dasein, to da-sein
   to da-sein to da-sein (i.e. da-ßein) -
    to whatever else is enclosed in the book...
i haven't got the time to write
an expansion of these milimetres
            and a litre of *** waiting for me...

   inverse stress on being
              detached from a "there": da-ßein:

   with regard to the world and its being
   constituting beings (heidegger's style
of expression, i know, can be a muddle)...

all i wanted was an antonym:
   rather than the world and its there,
   i wanted the world and its nowhere,
or rather, a pure form of being: a here,
      being detached from beings,
   the infinite dance of "solipsism",
    mono-direct articulation /
   plural-direct articulation (a march) /
mono-indirect articulation (a thought) /
plural-indirect articulation (a commute home)...

in terms of dictionary ref. to oppose da (there):

ist da - is here
                hier - here
komm her! - come here!
           hier & da - here & there
                  auf der stelle - here & now

stelle:
       schnellen - quickly
   schwellen (ich bin) - i am swelling
schelle - bell
   bruchstelle - break

                            da-ßien = hiersien

i.e. stressor on being,
             which morphs into a reconstruction
of the original equation:

     i.e. "da"-ßien = hier-"sien" ≠ nichtsein...

    and the point being?
    the simple f(x) translation into philosophical
jargon... f(p.s.) ad infinitum...
                      this had to run into a cul de sac
at some point, given all the technicalities
and stylistic disparities between existentialists,
if any remained to live into the 21st century...
but the buggers ****** off
              let's just say the new wave
of concerning italics remains the still
unexplored territory of missing diacritical marks
in the english language...
    as much can be said about writing
            chair    as can be said about
   writing                  krzesło...
           (yes, a consonant grapheme, err-zed)...
funny, in grapheme terms...
   that the german grapheme ß
  never became a replacement of -sch-
     in english -sh- in slavic -sz-,
             seems to be more t'ss... wet snare...
          another example?
    (choo-choo) train / pociąg -
  and yes, that's not implying choo-choo,
   since it's obvious, the verb ćwiczyć:
to train.
Payal ki chaan-chaan se chaanke
khanke ban kangan
oos ki bunde hai hum ladki
man hai ek darpan,

Humse hai ghar baar tumhara
humse hai aangan
oos ki bunde hai hum ladki
maan hai ek darpan,

Ladke hai wo prem ki jisme
hum tasweer sajaate
Haatho ki khalirekhao par
hum kishmat ban jaate
Humshe mahkata hai bachpan
aur sajta hai yowwan
oos ki bunde hai hum................
.........................................darp­an

Kabhi geet hai  kabhi gajal hai
aur kabhi angaar
Hum khubi se nibha rahe hai
apne sab kirdaar,
Chand sitare choo aaye hum
tood ke har bandhan
oos ki bunde..........
....................dhadkan

Hum hi wo maa hai jisne
iss dunia ko hai banaya
Patni Bhabhi Bahna Beti
ke rishto se hai sajaaya

Mat raundoo hum kalio ko
Mit jaayega Uppwan
oos ki bunde hai hum ladki
maan hai ek darpan....

(DEDICATED  TO EVERY GIRL)
Copyright© Shashank K Dwivedi
email-shashankdwivedi.edu@gmail.com
Follow me on Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/skdisro
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Dragona Radic hated her name for as long as she could remember. So obviously different than the Mary Butlers, and Ginny Gormans she grew up with in Flavor Town. Even Myrtle Feinstein seemed to be given a more applicable name to live in Flavor Town to Dragona’s mindset. Life was hard for Dragona in Flavor Town. Especially, when at twelve she began to grow a moustache. Living in Flavor Town wasn’t easy for anyone really, but to Dragona it was shear torture. Susie Choo became her best friend for more reasons of default than likeability. Being the only other girl with as much a non-conformable name as Dragona, Susie Choo’s distaste for her was equal. Still, Dragona Radic and Susie Choo formed an alliance, for what else were they to do living in Flavor Town. Flavor Town was a brand of the most delightful 56 flavors of ice-cream ever made, as well as the name of their hometown. You would think in Flavor Town diversity would be celebrated as much as variety. This sadly was not so. In America, you can find all 56 flavors of Flavor Town’s delectable frozen concoctions at any Buck Shops Here grocery outlets. Yet, little may you know of the atrocities occurring in Flavor Town, and what Dragona Radic and Susie Choo were about to do about it?
HI DUDES

THIS IS THE MANY SIDES OF DAD, FIRST HE WILL BOP TEACHING US MUSIC

OF HIS TIME, AND THEN TELL US TO EAT NICELY AT THE DINNER TIME

HE WOULD SING, OH ROSIE, LET’S DO THAT FOR THE BOYS

COME ON SUSIE, ROCK AND ROLL

AND THENN AFTER WHEN I ATE LIKE A SLOB AT THE DINNER TABLE

DAD WOULD CHEW HIS FOOD, LIKE AN OLD GRUMPY MAN

I WAS A BRATTY LITTLE KID, DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS

HI FROM LADY, IN A LADIES VOICE

HI FROM SNOOPY IN A BIG MAN’S VOICE

HI FROM FLUFFY IN A POXLEY LADIES VOICE

YA SEE FLUFFY WAS THE CAT LIKE MISS PIGGY

I USED TO HAVE ARGUMENTS WITH THE CAT, SAYING MY BROTHER PUT ME IN CHARGE

AND HE SAID, SNOOPY, HE CALLS ME SNOOPY, YOU ARE BOSS OF YOURSELF

WHEN I AM AWAY, AND I WANTED TO BE THE ACTING MASTER, AND HE SAID

NO, YOUR BROTHER SAID SNOOPY, YOU ARE THE BOSS

AND DAD SANG THIS SONG WILD BILL HICCUP, OR SOMETHING WEIRD LIKE THAT

AND MY BROTHER SMILED AT ME, CAUSE, THAT LADY’S VOICE SOUNDED LIKE FLUFFY’S VOICE

YA SEE WE HAD CONVERSATIONS FOR THE CATS ALL DAY, BUT WHEN DAD WAS ANGRY

HE LET IT SHOW, I LIKED WHEN DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS, BUT I HATED GETTING ANGRY TO MAKE HIM ANGRY

YOU SEE DAD WAS A BIT OF A STICK IN THE MUD, TELLING ME TO EAT NICELY

I HATED THAT, BUT I WAS LIKE THE KIDS AT THAT STAGE

BUT I TOLD DAD, TO GO AND **** A LEMON, HE GOT MUM’S FRIENDS TO DANCE

TO HIS VERSION OF SINGING IN THE RAIN, YA KNOW, CHOO CHOO CHA CHOO CHOO CHA

BUT I TOLD THE WORLD THIS, BUT I WANT DADS HUMOUR IN THE WORLD

DAD’S ADVICE NEARLY GOT MY HEAD PUNCHED IN AS I COPIED THAT

LIKE IF SOMEONE SAID, WHAT AM I LOOKING AT TWIRP, DAD TOLD ME TO SAY,

DUNNO HASN’T GOT A NAMETAG ON IT, BUT CANBERRA COULDN’T EXCEPT THIS

MAYBE, IT IS OFFENSIVE, TO THEM, BUT I ALSO DIDN’T STAND FOR THE ANZAC DAY

I WAS GETTING MIXED MESSAGE OF DAD AND THE YOUNG DUDES, CROWDING MY HEAD

I DON’T MIND THAT, CAUSE NO KID WANTS TO BE TOTALLY LIKE THEIR FATHER

MY BROTHER WAS A LITTLE COOL KID, WHEN HE USED TO TEASE ME, AND THEN USED

TO GET INTO FIGHTS WITH ME BY THE POOL, I MAYBE HATED AT FIRST

BUT I AM NOT LIVING WITH PAST TEASING, I USED TO THROW STUMPS AT MY BROTHER

HE WAS SAYING, I WASN’T A COOL KID, I SAID, HE WASN’T A COOL KID

WE FOUGHT, WRESTLED, AND PLAYED BACKYARD CRICKET

WITH ALL OUR NEIGHBOURS, OH YEAH THAT’S COOL AS

DAD LOOKED LIKE DADDY LONG LEGS, AND MUM WAS MUMMY SHORT LEGS

AS THEY WERE HAVING A HIT IN BACKYARD

I HAD MY VERY OWN FOOTBALL LEAGUE, AND I PLAYED FOR BRIGHTON

AND DAD PLAYED FOR CCAE, WHICH IS NOW UNIVERSITY OF CANBERRA

AND DAD SCORED ABOUT 1000 GOALS SITTING IN THE FORWARD POCKET OF OUR FRONT YARD

I USED TO GET SICK OF DAD LOOKING AT ME, AT BEING A LITTLE SHY BOY

I HAD MY PLANS TO GET ON TV, THANKS TO MY BROTHER, FOR MAKING IT EASIER

I AM SUFFERING, BUT I FEEL POSITIVE ABOUT HITTING THE BIG SMOKE

BUT MY BROTHER AND DAD’S SENSE OF HUMOUR, GOT ME THINKING

WELL, MAYBE A LITTLE TOO IMAQGINATIVE, BUT IT MADE ME THE COOL PERSON I AM TODAY

I PERFORMED IN TWO PLAYS, URBAN DREAMINGT 2003, AND MOVE SPEAK ACT FOR MINDSCAPES

IN 2014, I HAVE TO SIT TIGHT, BUT THERE IS TRUTH IN THE FACT, THAT BIG THINGS HAPPEN TO THOSE WHO WAIT

EVERY BLADE OF GRASS TO BE SOWN, MOVE SPEAK ACT HAD FUN WITH MY EVERY BLADE OF GRASS THEORY

IN A THEATRICAL WAY, MADE ME FEEL GOOD, DAD ALWAYS SAID, TO START SMALL

DAD GAVE ME A COMPUTER, SO I CAN BE FAMOUS ON YOUTUBE, WELL, HE WAS GIVING ME THE COMPUTER

CAUSE I NEEDED TO LEARN, BUT DAD USED TO TELL FUNNY JOKES TO FAMILY AND FRIENDS

THEN HE STARTED TELLING HIS LIFE STORY

I HOPE, IF DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL GET CATS OR DOGS, YOUR FUTURE TWINS IS MY DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS

TALK FOR THE CATS, YA SEE ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE ALIKE, IF YA LISTEN TO THEIR HUMOUR

IROBIN WILLIAMS DID IT IN HOLLYWOOD, DAD DID ITWITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS, THINK ABOUT IT

ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE THE PERFECT TWINS, BUDDHA DID THIS, SO THEUY CAN CROSS PATHS

LOOK OUT DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL, YOUR  TWINS ARE FUNNY

**** ANY MAN OUT OF YA COTTON PICKING HEAD, I PREFER DAD MATURE

I LIKED HISV FUN SIDE, **** HIS BIG BIG MAN, I WAS SITTTING ON THE COUCH

CAUSE OF THE FUN DAD HAD

BUT I HEAR VOICES NOW, OF ME GOING TO JAMISON SLIDE

AND SPENDING 2 HOURS ON THE SL;IDE, ATTENDING POOL PARTIES

DAD PROBABLY THOUGHT THIS WAS COOL, BUT I WAS NOT A LITTLE PARENTS BOY

I WAS A FAMILY PERSON WHO LOVES LIFE

BRING DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS TOGETHER JIMMY BARNESY’S GRANDCHILDREN

BOBBYE DAD, ENJOY NEXT LIFE WITH RW
******* chugs through my mind
Like a steam train pregnant with coal
Please let there be a bend
A turn, a curve up ahead
*******.... *******.... *******....
One track, one goal
Fuming out, straddling the sky
A giant smoky black serpent
Burying my reality in soot
FuckYouFuckYouFuckYouFuckYou
Piston pumping momentum
Doubling with every breath
Until the train is a bullet
Breaking the sound barrier
Aimed at my chest for maximum impact
Hitting the anatomical muscle
I call the heart....
Perhaps now I can rest
mark john junor Sep 2013
got the flu..like flu-man-chu...its bad voodo...this flu...its like flu-boo-hoo...this bad flu....my head is flu-yahoo...

oh man its so im ryming...its ryming flu...im not gonna give it to you....this flu-man-choo...blue-moon-woman-choo...

LOL send help quick or

the flu-man-chu will overtake u
horrid-thing-i-do...this flu-man-choo...blame-it-all-on-you...flu-woman-choo...chase-you-round-the-apartment-choo...im-gonna-tickle-you...flu-woman-choo
katrinawillrich Mar 2015
Lime charged locomotive
Engine full of pulp
And peel
Iron clad rails
Choo ******* choo
Choo choo.
Im hippin’ , but not as
The graffiti sweet grit
Covering the carts
Hoppin’ leaders onboard thisphucka,
I'm taking the stairs.
Its madness I know
Im crazie
But,
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
the day near finished and
the night aglet as if day;
what came first -
cliff richard's devil woman
(chicken) or the eagles'
witchy woman (egg)?
cockerel via ****** already took
the opera seat, and the soprano
slit open the larynx of the castrato...
just so the chandelier and windows
shattered in practice...
if your poetry isn't musical, not rhyming,
just write about music,
that's what bukowski conveyed...
make poetry an interest in music,
don't make it this trollop-cod-whipped-****
self-interest... if you can't sing because
an elephant stomped on your ear
or you never had enough money to buy a saxophone,
don't make complex musicology of symphonies
cute with "adoration" using the rhyming technique,
forget it, it's not cute, it's damnable...
true virtue isn't afraid of critique...
write about what you love so i can look it up
and share it, don't write self-love walking sticks
of decrepit fidelity of marathon runners
that wheeze out after the 100th meter in
goldfish dollops of addictive lungs gulping for
breath... no technique in poetry will ever be music
in terms of actual music...
ever heard tenacious d's one note song?
most poetry sounds like that:
sound
around
            orange peel
            foot massage that turned into zest of extra
sound
around
            a tambourine tabernacle
            with st. thomas ******* a rib cage
kangaroo pouch
****'s ouch
                             five multipliers mono
*******
softy
                     doughnut
                                               peach;
'***** where's the cream?!'
'oh boy it's coming, coming with the flying scotsman's
                                steam;
                         ­                      choo choo!'
puff up you puffing puffin *******!
well, i was always going to be an extension of her
doing the triceps choo choo dangle motion;
morph into a church bell uvula
morph into a church bell uvula...
of a-ding-along-for-a-ding-**** of st. ursula's
interpretation of english police officers
deviation from the standard:
                       'allo 'allo 'allo.... n'est-ce pas pas ce comme ce?
"Beep-beep.
BANKERS TRUST AUTOMOBILE LOAN
You'll find a banker at Bankers Trust"
Advertisement in N.Y. Times

When comes my second childhood,
As to all men it must,
I want to be a banker
Like the banker at Bankers Trust.
I wouldn't ask to be president
Or even assistant veep,
I'd only ask for a kiddie car
And permission to go beep-beep.

The banker at Chase Manhattan,
He bids a polite Good-day;
The banker at Immigrant Savings
Cries Scusi! and Olé!
But I'd be a sleek Ferrari
Or perhaps a joggly jeep,
And scooting around at Bankers Trust,
Beep-beep, I'd go, beep-beep.

The trolley car used to say clang-clang
And the choo-choo said toot-toot,
But the beep of the banker at Bankers Trust
Is every bit as cute.
Miaow, says the cuddly kitten,
Baa, says the woolly sheep,
Oink, says the piggy-wiggy,
And the banker says beep-beep.

So I want to play at Bankers Trust
Like a hippety-hoppety bunny,
And best of all, oh best of all,
With really truly money.
Now grown-ups dear, it's nightie-night
Until my dream comes true,
And I bid you a happy boop-a-doop
And a big beep-beep adieu.
Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
You take an hour
to do it the way
it should be done,
and I listen in
shocked delight
to the moan
of the train,
calling me away.

I can't stand to be without you
but if you were here,
I wouldn't remember why.
Ders Jul 2018
I got a lil buzzed a lil ****** but not enough and not in time I’m covered in oceans of emotion I can’t keep up with these tides anymore pulling me out to the brinks in my mind I’ve never been afraid of drowning but it’s the lifeguards putting my head under why did I think I could swim I never should have trusted the ones who taught me should have learned how to breather underwater but I’m no mermaid I’m no better I’m not equipped for this please just let me burn burn burn
I don’t want my turn to win top trophies I never even wanted in the game who told you to put me in I cannot out play you cannot withstand this heat I talk like I like it I don’t mind it I just don’t want to be the center of the roasting *** I’m blocking kicks and getting punched I’m throwing fists they hit the heavens fall back on me liken frozen fury a storm I’ve been living in a game so sick you never make it out alive I try to die don’t choo know the rules I try to die who put you here don’t choo know I’m the underdog that hasn’t won yet
Tommy W Sep 2016
A forest of green
Bamboo stalks surround us
With long thin leaves
Before they were taken by thieves

Tasty bamboo
Growing out askew
The sky is blue
It’s a wonderful view
A-choo!

(Short pause)

A-choo!
A panda has the flu
As I look in the distance
I see the end of their existence
Humans and machines
Destroying their land by any means
Their Bamboo has been taken
And replaced with smoke

This is no joke
No humans spoke
Until they finally awoke
To see the pandas are dying
In what was once their land
All by our hand

Not quite what we had planned
Maybe we should’ve thought of this beforehand
In my Creative Writing class we are supposed to describe a mind of someone, real or fake, as if it were a place. I think I did that, and added on a little bit.
Anyways I really liked how it turned out. Hope you guys do too!

Also, if you read through my poems lately they're meant to be happy then result in death. Jeez my mind must be very dark haha. I wonder what it'd be like to write a poem about my own head as a place.
David Ehrgott Nov 2015
I fell in love
with a ghost/witch/mermaid
The prettiest girl in the world
In any century
Atlantic City
Nineteen Eighty-five
  
I'm not sure who to point
or blame for the how or what
that led to change
the level of my dimension
Don't know why
  
But if I ever get to her again
and if it doesn't lead to sin
Not sure if I'd grab
the bargain or the Bible
  
I gave her just one kiss
to dare and tried my best
to not to stare
at all her hard shell/hard sell
Custom Homemade Ocean Jewelry
  
Tried so hard to hide my fear
of dying could not take the cold
hard facts of life's blatant destiny
Desire hurt my soul
  
I had to come back here
Again just to see your face
I bet that someday we will
Finally be friends or so much
More than that I don't pretend
I warn you Sam my
One and only friend
  
And if you knew my sister sue
She stunk
The world then had her due
I may
Not never
Know what door she would have choosed
  
And if you stick around
choo-choo
You'll hear a song/can sing along
about some trains
that I pretend I knew
  
The turtle and the snail
They ride on tender ground
I miss you girl
I'm tying this old country
Song to you
  
I was way to young to
let my burning ash exist
Had much more yearning
to do learning
what was asked, I just forgot
Don't know if I have that
much more to counter
  
No lady
bug would ever sing
about my blues
I have no ring
to give I even lost my broken teeth
  
I lived a week
Four Million years
or somewhere in between that
Dear you can
not preposition end a sentence  
  
And if you know that I'm a tease
won't be surprised
But I won't leave you
Hang around
I'm sure there's plenty more
  
Well look at that I'm tired flat
I wrote two pages how 'bout that
I guess it makes no sense to further carry
On again I could just turn
  
the page
hey now, see that
I got more space to write
more facts about my life
and why I am so crazy
  
Her fins they flapped I followed
Her a million laps
from old man-
hattan lower end
I mixed it up my friend
No really
Hope there is no more confusion
  
I don't no life
I just exist
I tell no lie
I swear sweet miss
So don't you try
to get me into trouble
  
The turtle and the snail
will ride the earth once more
go where you go
I've been there
So I'm ducking in again
  
I think I'll have a beer
This ends I'm sure
it's not one of my gems
But what more do I need to say or do
Then sit here and songwrite again
or write haikus that never end
on this lazy Sunday afternoon
  
The turtle and the snail
will ride the earth once more
After we're gone
They'll still be here
Go bang a gong
They're two slow pokes
One's soft
One's hard
You figure out which
One's made just for you
  
An oyster clam or
Lady bug would get eat up or  
Just get stuck
No more eating that much
Pasta without salad
  
And now it's time to
Get on board
Hey you Choo-Choo
Four-Fifty-Four
I'm gettin' out of here
Hear what I promised
  
I don't know but I've been told
The Redding Railroad dropped its load
Go take the B&O; to someplace new
'Cause California outgrew you
With double headed 2-82s
Canadian Pacific calling you
No B&M;?
Rutland will do
with RS3 and 2-8-2
to Lake Champlain the 201 with you
  
Delaware & Hudson call
'ol Henry Stewart
from Whitehall
he's steering Alcors3; the engineer
But don't look here
'Cause I'm not there
That bobby fooled you/disappeared
and lookit
where'd they go?
that's all the words!
Robin Carretti Feb 2019
Screaming
What's the use----??
Flower of the Graces
"The Tenth Muse"
"Everyday Use It"
The earth revolves
Around the sun

Minerals Love it
Drink it vitamin C
Mass of energy A-B-C
The gravity every day
We cannot use it_
Became the play money
Copied tainted not the
Bee's honey here's
The everyday economy

One lick of hope the
envelope not much
company
Everyday- Einsteins
Big profit scope

The brainstorm Reign
All signs detour cabin
Choo Choo train caboose
You nailed it the moose
One footloose
The one-man show

Two women know
The odds to their
advantage
Someone is the traitor
Mom is the Tailor
The zigzag lines
Crazy cat felines 

"That's It"  punctuality,
Use your capability
"Technet Technology"
take a walk favorite park
Shiba Inu rollover
The bad ones the
Millionaires homes
flip over the do
or dare

We cannot pay
NYC token fare
Words are our power
For Sale quick sales
Being sold
Too hot whats cold
Those emails trying
to delete

(More casualties
Tombstone mummies
Democracy leading us like
dummies chewing Bear
Valentine gummies)

Like the "Elephant Stampede"
New Orleans parade
Every day please donate
We never know about
our fate too early or late
Every day new Providence

Demon computer virus
Love comes with confidence
Love yourself and Venus
Apples and oranges minus
Use it You have a voice!!!
City clean up cockroaches
Swap your fake Rolex

Watchtower index
Trump tower complex
"Eiffel Tower Use It" to be kissed
Every day we need to cleanse
The "Godly Shower" be blessed
Practical Everday Use It
Magical write poetically
Precisely the right piece puzzle

You are the one
World it's you to dazzle
Every day there is always something lets not complain we were born to earn
Use it you know what to do go for the things that made you who you are today every day you are worth it
Life is hard, as I travel through outer space, in and out the cosmic pubs, first of all there is
The Neptune pub, where you get an atmosphere, like the rough pubs on earth, and then you
Get singers like elvis Presley doing the dancing styles, like with songs like don't be cruel, and
Then every Saturday night, we play return to sender, which is sang with a very fine voice, and
Then Sam kinison, does the wild thing, and the way he says you make your blood come out, it makes you wanna bleed, and Sam kinison on every Sunday night, USA time, has a meet and greet with any children who have been taken from this earth, Sam teaches these kids how to
Look after their current earth bodies, and he does that by checking on earth TV, everything that
They are doing and then after they have finished with them, they give them the cosmic voices, saying things like, go to the pub, go to the shop and tease the men, and better still go and buy
Your groceries, but sometimes it feels like you have to be careful, what you tell the cosmos, because bad spirits like ted bundy and ed gein and also Steven Bradley who kidnapped Brian
Allan's last life, is mainly making sure Brian doesn't be a cool kid, mind you Brian's current family are putting a cool kid in the itch of his toes, trying to protect him from being kidnapped, to show, Cronus, who is Brian that people are still wanting what Brian wants, rather than what
Other people want, you see Brian has a mental illness now, and would like people to like him, but the only mate Brian had as an adult was a schitzophrenic dude, who was cool in a very uncool sort of a way, and every holiday that Brian went on, he heard voices from his old mate
Saying that he was a worthless heap of ****, and Brian ran down the streets of Sydney saying
Leave me alone, leave me alone, why don't you leave me alone ya ****, and as Brian was yelling he heard people look at Brian and shove the gears up, saying you fucken ****, you are,
Meanwhile back in outer space at Jupiter moon, Brian's dad, who was Barry Allan was performing that version of singing in the rain, with words saying Cha Choo Choo Cha Choo Choo Cha Cha, toes together and hands together and go cat go, and then sang a song that
Brian's brother Chris would remember, where at one stage dad would yell out, dreamer, where the hell are all the sheep, and Brian and Barry went on a trip to Saturn, where they went to Saturn club rings or rings of Saturn, and, man, this was happy hour heaven, all the young dudes say happy hour is better on earth, but I can assure you that happy hour is much nicer up here
Because if anyone fought you, you don't feel pain, so instead of fighting, they would chuck a keg of methane on you, so your earth life will improve, but there is no such thing as improving
Really, and maybe you need to be careful, but Brian feels that itch of his feet, for him anyway
Is a way, of improving, like if it's itchy, you are in harms way, and if you are stepping away from bad spirits, you feel it in your toes, if you feel safe, and you are working, you don't have the itch,
And, lately Brian Allan has been feeling that cool kid coming back, because when Brian travelled around civic, ya know, showing them all how to party, but instead of doing that, Brian
Discguises himself as Briano Alliano, to perform music about what Brian really wants to do, and that is write his problems out of him, and Brian's nanna from his fathers side, is John Robert rimel, who is a young singer, who me, who is Cronus is trying to get him to come to Australia
To perform in a concert, or maybe sing Christmas music, you see Brian's nanna says, I used to
Call Brian my old sweetie pie, but now, I want to **** that stupid part of her, cause I remember
When she told me that she got robbed, one day, said Brian but Brian was unaware of when that was, thinking that it was the other day, and nanna looked at Brian as being her cutie pie, despite Brian tying himself up cosmically on nanna' bed by the evil Stephen Bradley who
Has Brian's stinking soul, but now nanny, who wanted to die in 1997, to get away from my smoking and drinking caper, to leave the Allan clan, and become a professional singer, she could do that if she puts her creativity skills she used in her Allan life and write songs and perform covers, and my nanna will fly around making sure the Allan's never lose their touch
Toward creativity, because, the evil goblin who had got rid of stan burns and Ray pocock and
Barry Allan and all the nice men that lived closed to Brian and Brian wants to keep everyone safe from this evil goblin by preaching the word, like if you wanna live, be creative, but some people want to die, said a man at ACTEW in lower molonglo, but that could be, that there is a lot of suffering on earth, and not everyone gets to accomplish their dreams, so the best way, is
To die, and accomplish their dreams in future lives, but that isn't supposed to sound negative,
It is supposed to give an uplifting approach to dying, as to say, that there is no such thing as
Negative death, I can tell you Brian's dad Barry who died in March 2014, was getting tired of
Brian coming in, ha know running and looking stressed, decided to die, so Barry can check out
Why Brian is having problems, or why the voices are in his head to begin with, and since Barry died, he has performed in a few cosmic pubs, like Neptune pub and Jupiter moon, and Brian
Who discguises his body as Briano, with long hair and a mo, and Barry sort of knows it's Brian
But he is enjoying Listening to Brian's cosmic style and really enjoys the keg of methane Brian loves to throw on Barry, to improve and add a bit of cool to Barry's next life, Betty Campbell.


Sent from my iPad
Thinking of You Aug 2015
She always had a way of standing above her circumstances.
Even in the way she dressed, it was like she was going somewhere better later. Yet above her logic and even above her poise she held within her a jar of emotion locked inside for the one worthy. The jar was hidden and no one knew just all that hid underneath the soles of her Jimmy Choo's. And my God she was brilliant, and my God she could make it on her own; but she didn't want to.
kiryuen Jun 2015
we will always say we are not ready
for fight, for flight, or for anything
wanna feel “it can’t get any worse than this”
wanna feel risk and adrenaline but make it out alive
civilians fleeing for their lives
the world is small and bodies get weary
there is only so far you can run and so long before your body gives
not to mention your mind
when minds go, people break
life has a limit; when it is time, we go
is time supposed to flow linearly
I continue being flippant
when it comes down to it, some will lash out at me
some will feed me medicine
and some will shake their head and leave me to the wolves
I play with my beads and taste the air
not yet, it’s not time yet
haha
lately I’ve been contemplating the reason why I’m not willing to commit to colour
I think for people like me, when we try to assign ourselves to a hue,
we end up more colourless
somehow
I see three different places when I know it’s one
an hour feels like a day and
a month feels like an hour
sit tight and buckle up
we’re catapulting headfirst into the last hour
did anyone tell you
it’s a dangerously fine line between fight and flight
literally
shall I fight or shall I take flight
we take cover in shades of grey because the less colourful we are
the less we stand out
the less aggressively we are pursued
in the end we are still defined by our lack of colour
as I type, people murdered because they are branded by colours
or lack thereof
I don’t enjoy thinking about it
I pull at the grass and observe cloud movement
not yet, it’s not time yet
yay
there are arrivals, and then there are departures
when they arrive, they arrive here where people are
when they depart, nobody knows for sure where they go
maybe there are many destinations
like hell and heaven are just two of many
maybeeee
I hope we all just perish into a void
chugga chugga choo choo
on my way to departure
one day we’ll be at death’s door knocking
“little pig, little pig, let me in!”
or attempting to smash the door in
“or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in”
as some people already are doing at this age
what if we broke in hoping for the void
but instead landed ourselves in hell
“thanks for nothing” “thought this was gonna be good” ” ugh”
I return to pondering petty problems
like rice weevils in my rice
choo choo
“We have arrived at Death’s Door. The fate transfer is about to commence. Please do not miss the transfer if you wish to come aboard.”
if this were a book, I’d be the character who fears death
and funds research for life-extension or immortality
just that I’m kind of broke
if only I could—
snip snip
cut a bit off someone’s life and paste it on the tail-end of mine
haha
when it’s my time to go,
I will say I’m not ready
as I have been saying every other day of my life
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.i might have been an *******, on many occasions and with many instances of it being true... but attempting to take someone's life? even i couldn't be such a ******* in the worst of probable instances; no, i'm pretty sure we were doing the "sleeper game", and like i once asked myself cognitively, 'what will be the last song i'll ever hear?' well... it wasn't good morning, or godless, or muhammad... it was... sleep... from the 13 tales of urban bohemia album; befitting, don't you think?

there's no point investing in
the current narrative,
given, that, the moderns
do not entertain the notion
of a dialectics...
    personally i don't see
the point...
or a, point...
          how can there be
debate "concerning",
a, "freedom" of speech,
when one side speaks,
the other side listens,
and then exercises authority
over the former side,
that abolishes their,
"freedom" to continue discourse?
that's not a, "freedom"...
that's... taunting
for the sake of taunting
and subsequent obliteration...
this?
  this particular piece?
i'm not talking...
    i have a cat sleeping
in my bed, in a fetal
position like an alien embryo,
and i'm taking?
who's talking?!
hearing voices in your head?
oh don't worry...
whoever is in charge
will gravitate to moving on
the one politicized medical
condition, schizophrenia,
as an excuse to cage you...
i know... i was also uneasy
when it came to making
a protest...
and guess what...
i made the right accusations...
but i hear of no law suit...
kinda figures, if i'm not being
sued, "merely" labelled
mentally ill...
  hence the... perpetual silence
surrounding my claim...
i can eve give you the details...
he said it was Salvia...
  a south american hallucinogenic...
and he said he hallucinated
riding an elephant,
in India...
         and he also encouraged
the driver of the car to smoke
**** which included almost
veering of the road...
and prior to that fateful day,
we went to a party,
and he made marijuana brownies...
and i donned a cowboy hat
and posed for a picture
like some Buddha with slit
eyes...
         and his friend encouraged
me to do a, "sleeper" while listening
to some Dandy Warhols',
song?
coin toss:
either Muhammad,
  Good Morning...
                    or Godless...
  "sleeper"?
when you get high,
lie down...
  and have two speakers on each side
of your head
blasting music...
a gimmick, a revision of
the concept of headphones...
where?
Canterbury... with a good view
of the cathedral...
the next day...
   spring frost... lovely tinge on
the cathedral from the sunrise...
also went to a bookshop
in Canterbury...
lovely atypical market / cathedral
town narrow streets...
what book did i buy?
inevitable revolutions:
the united states in central america,
by walter lafeber...
so i guess i must be mad...
given that i remember so many details...
regarding the day
i experienced a psychotropic
poisoning,
experienced a brain hemorrhage...
with my face...
melting on the...
here's a problem...
was it the left hemisphere or the right?
i'm not sure...
left?
or right?
   but the sensation of being ingested
by the sofa, and having
difficulty breathing...
with his friend...
as i drowned...
    imitating riding a
Lego-land choo-choo train...
and the fear in his eyes,
the eyes of: someone who failed
to ****** someone
but at the same time fearful
of the intended act?
      i should be dead for...
oh... 21... i'm 32 now...
11 years...
         i might be an alcoholic,
but i have a memory like an elephant...
and i'd believe all the crap
i've heard over the past years...
but if they only drove me to
the hospital...
   out of a simple human empathy...
instead, i was driven home...
i'm surprised they didn't smother me
after witnessing me get up,
and get 4 shots to the head
of my consciousness retracting
from the hemorrhage...
as they recalled back to me,
i said: i'm looking for the 4 other Matthews.
but i'm not a rat...
i am waiting for karma...
i played happy birthday on
the guitar on one of his birthdays...
and i'm guessing...
my sweet sweet love...
Ilona, that russian *****...
hey... she proposed,
she chose the engagement ring,
and then she broke it off!
is behind all of this,
i'm guessing, thanks to social media,
they ****** and she complained
how she was planning to enslave
me by becoming pregnant...
baby... i was so going to propose
you donning a latex **** suit
to extend on the ******...
and he being a Muslim...
and all things quasi-Irish
with regards to my advice to her,
poor thing, only 19...
hey... get an abortion...
   was the Mullah in a bright
white turban, ready to save a damsel...
but i thought that abortion
was legal in England?
oh hell.. pro life and ****...
but a 19 year old?
so why didn't she move to London
with me?
  i had a job here... there was no
prospect for me back in Edinburgh!
   ah... two flats in St. Petersburg...
but i guess that's how law & justice works
in England...
i'm a ruined drunk,
he's a son of a radiologist
             and a mother working
in the perfume avenues of a John Lewis...
my father is a respect industrial
roofer,
   my mother is a housewife...
i guess... i guess me being a boorish
drunk and he becoming an esteemed
corporate lawyer is karma...
   i wish him all the best...
but his children?
   what my parents experienced when
the circus came to town...
all the possible misery,
in the whole, entire, world.

but coming back to current affairs...
there's no point,
absolutely none,
in expressing a, "freedom" of speech,
since expressing such
a "freedom",
is not met with an engagement
in dialectics...
none!
   so why bother...
let's join the four horsemen,
with ***** on either side of our
eye-sockets...
and just charge forward
like a hurricane might,
mindless and in perpetuation
of complete, and utter,
destruction...

i'm up for that explanation
with regards to an exit
policy,

mind you,
happiness could savor
a peace of mind...
but sarcastic humor,
once upon a time...
also could;
as it does...
dutiful to expecting
the final closure
of relying
on the uttermost,
relief.

— The End —