Your the one son being rebellious little darlings here comes
the sun drenching delicious but wait those cloudy days
watch out the hunters run ducking our heads like babies
wetting and water squirting beds getting too saucy
  ten O clock playpen the daring duck gourmet sauce
Orange you glad all her rich creme spread across
her penpals
Do you trust those gals too country slick on Newsweek

Getting paid he is the longest laid egg all grilled we are
not thrilled here is the "Chuckie Duckie" doll those *****
barbie collectors they are sitting duck Graphic Artist
Not one quack doll plastic surgeon duck lips she thinks
shes the hot stuff romantic "French" lips up the
"Eiffel Tower" splash splash she is out of cash
Those hot items presidential poll what a lost soul

Too much blue yes attention swan dancers Springtime
Not  the red attention yellow instead ****** please
I need a  journey not the "Attorney" such a ****** case
When you need them they always duck
When they have a new quack case they are ruining
my image
Duck tapesty Carol Kings youve got a friend

I'm feeling yellow homesick on your feather duck pillow
The same yellow tie a different atmosphere Go- Spa
She's flirting do you know where your going how is
life treating you he's giggling way too wild on her
goose chase
  Losing our grip down to her chicken bone hip
Duck season not much time for love being hunted

The Spa  la la ha have Merci' oh la la 'Disco Duck"
The wild ones the only ones quack- quack the
lonely ones
At the waterfront trip to "Chinatown" they let
them hang to dry but why Dad? They are better
like the delicacy shark finn soup we need a Spa
lucky green group Irish eyes are smiling stories
of ducks

I am  not buying do you see duck climb the
          "Eiffel Tower" yellow as a canary
All talk-talk is cheap lets talk French Mom walks
With her pretty duck handle umbrella we waddle
The penquin what a beauty swan feather pen
  But she's the"Prima Donna" look out!

The slingshot Marilyn Monroe wiggles out
                  The "Spa- Ma"
                 Don't  Scramble me darlings
                    Breakfast eggs cagefree
                     *          *          
My little chickadees organic brown on my gown
Spa duckies traveled the whole Atlantic town
The longest pond sleeping like "Rip Van Winkle"
twinkle twinkle
doublecrossed the street you get one dermerit
Sesame street Big bird how many words in duck
vocabulary quack- quack who get's the duck star

Mars from Men women go to the Spa like the bad
omen and they don't leave tap tap chop chop
I want it now!! Its now or never why does she always
get ugly duckling book delivered
Lazy goose she is the spoiled rotten egg how
do we love those  I apples
Carrots are for the eyes Mom always gets bird eyes

My little chickadees the Alaskan cute puppies
Big salute to the cutest duck feet "God Bless America"
  Visa  American Express Daffy Duck in Disney mess
the real picture "Mona Lisa" getting the duck
         Prime  chop minister
"Parliament Spa" prices so sinister
"Eat Duck and Pray" the  southern biscuits
more recruits

My cute rookies those duckier cookies another Spa day
So prim and proper teatime with "Queen deck"
  Alice in rabbit hole-Santa candycane poles cute chick
is homesick you better sent her money quick
The ducky bib the Chinese duck soup won ton
The feather fan she loves her Sushi roll Hollywood
Style California all duck drama
The best treatment duck made carpet

On the "Disney Hollywood" deck "Epcot"
On the futon what diction for a duck "My Fair lady"
Got the whole fortunes bed
The duck on the hill what a fool but the monk
Is the whole spiritual existence
The peacock's longest wait for lobster tails
centerpieces red bird Robin fly Robin Fly

Disco ball fancy tails she ended up up up to the sky
Her duck sunglasses a dozen ***** spin's the disco
The Duck Pop singer wants him back
High price or a short mack duck shooter attack
Food for thought homesick all saucy duck tie waiter
Cinderella rags to ducklings I went to "Woodstock"
Imagine me the teenager chick the duck split

Fill wing concert sky made a hit
The blues love is strange chick-lets are yellow
Like clock work what a duck work out orange          
        Duck handle umbrella               
 Duckies I pledge to you College Preppies
The chick feeder Ain't nothing but a hound dog
      Elvis heart breaker bird-brain feeder

  Moms duck sugar cookies
******* Jack one prize quack quack
 Huckleberry Finn paper boat old billy goat
  In the drowned mans eye holy ducks he delivered
I will blow you down duck horn the day you
were born
Having a third eye one duck Wendy 4 for a 4

Notre Dame church tragic but saved
   The  Easter yellow chicks
To Rome lend me your feathers no secret ears
Sticky Fingers she lost her writing finger in the
pond  OH! look whats beyond so kind
With her duckling apron dress he ducked
The chatty cat "City Dr Seuss"

Wearing duck boots those duck lips played her
like the fancy feast
The teachers pet the ducklings cute darlings
Spa cream she quite the flabber belly dancer
The ballet swan achiever "Spa One Day tripper"
The ugly duckling changed to beauty witch
Holy-land or duck pond Mickey's ears
                   Disneyland

Stand up daffy duck comedian Las Vegas
Godiva Peking duck soup flapping swishing
mess
The Big Ben red whose been sleeping in my
duck wing bed
The car stops he hiccups cute bebops
The guardian angel quack quack any luck
Yummy raspberry pie someone delivered

Christmas Scrooge all tears
New York lights camera I love my
        Serendipity chandeliers
Those duck tear drops last stop
Or you die__your still quacking
       Just in time said I
           Fly Robin Fly

     Saved my baby chick lovely
     Cradled her to love her
          Dr Seuss read

The atmosphere with your eyes,
Their dreams, the space, the color,
The picture shows
words. Traffic jam,
Disappearances, smoke and society;
service. Lightweight musical instruments
Diesel and submarine speak
Favorite and small script
Help. Cornelius is the largest
Add the Brazilian Robin's clothes
Build Brazil again. the future
Learn about La Lorra from Galicia
Latest address, Jesse's advantage
It will be the Dominican Republic
was gone. Bernard, in other cases,
She has no connection with her.
Your first page is easy to grow. Who
Germany has been arrested.
It's always like blood.
The first two? The director acts.
Dance. Black Life can be a mistake.
When you see lions like lions,
Lion number is the perfect place,
Appearance, from the opposite side,
Still available. He killed his brother;
His weapons were in the washing machines,
Dress, and dress should be worn.
The groom is listening to our ears
Society and our light.
New Sandy Favorite game
And small screens
Cornelius is the biggest woman
Roberts heart touches Brettina's
City. Few futures -
Jesse in Hollywood Love;
Hollywood census information was lost;
system. If you do, then you speak.
The first page of development is easy.
PRIVATE MARKETING ACTIVITIES
Should he give the cherubim? Lakes, rocks,
Blood to Germany and law
Application. The first two? It contains
Caulkerer that may be wrong.
Dark in the dark;
First I decided (one)
[As Eli was already a polygamist,
if not a bigamist, it wasn't
a problem for him to marry Chuckie;
Becky aware of the arrangement,
he'd lost a second wife somewhere,
never quite sure where she'd been
misplaced. He even asked Leonard,
who nodded & grunted telling Eli
nothing; Leonard knew Chuckie, her
name in fact unpronounceable to
the Western ear. He congratulated Eli
on getting himself a real Russian girl.
Chuckie was born in Siberia & had
made it to St. Petersburg on her back.
The Unknowns gave her good reason
to stay that way, then Eli came along.
Tom had literally thrown her at the
diffident painter, who gladly took the
bony ***** in hand & under his
watchful eye, she never choked on her
own ***** & neither did he; it was a
match made on the floor ...

Gee  CK, u hit the jackpot. wht's he see in u?"
slurred Jane, her English learned in France,
Eli says I'm a lost bird what fell on its head;
he's so romantic, ya got ...
The room filled with blue smoke & Jane lit
a joint laced w/ coke & ******. She smoked it
like a cigarette, as Chuckie yank her tights to
her scant hips, & flushing, smiled at her bud.
Jane passed her the joint, & Chuckie smoked
almost gagging, but Jane pushed her finger at
her & said "Gee-CK, u hit the jackpot --
Chuckie started coughing & spit up over the
floor. Jane really wondered
what she had left inside; there wasn't of Chuckie
& what there was had to be empty
except for blood & bones, but Chuckie had Eli --
What's he see in u? said Jane again.
Chuckie replied in slow English, "I ain't got
nothing in me." Jane smiled & never asked
the embarrassing question again. It made
her feel petty & small & she loved Chuckie like
a sister. She couldn't say Chuckie's Siberian |||
name either.

you can undercook pork - a little bit of pink
is rather - favourable -
you can undercook beef - a little bit...
let's go full bleu: which has a name... pittsburg
blue...
but please don't slaughter the cow,
send it to the butchers for the cuts...
and then shame it by cooking it well done...
thrice the cow thus dies...
aside from... fish...
well...
i was never a fan of chicken *******...
because whenever someone cooked them:
i.e. my mother - they tended to be... dry...
chicken drum-sticks and the almost grey area
of muscle flesh close to the bone -
these days? the former schnitzel fan has
become a chicken roulade fan...
because the stress for 165°F - and 5 minutes
worth of rest... for the cooked meat...

Ciara - another daughter of U Kʼux Kaj -
she can still be felt in the early night
when walking the streets...
some storms never reach essex -
and that's probably why i decided to grow
my beard long - to feel it combed
by the wind... this elongating chin to match
the moon's scythe -

point being... cooking chicken is unlike cooking
beef or pork... because...
well beef is born from blood -
in the body of another -
the mother - the pork is born from blood -
in the body of another - the mother...
you can undercook it... most certainly:
esp. the beef...
trouble with chicken: is the trouble
with undercooking fish...

to perfect the cooking of chicken meat...
is very much like cooking the perfect
soft-boiled egg...
you want the yoke to be runny...
and the white to be a: ścięte białko...
a coagulated white...
it's quiet amazing how chicken meat
behaves like the egg - the protein
in the atom -
how you have to mind cooking chicken:
for that juicy chicken breast roulade -
in the same way as minding a soft-boiled
egg...

i've never noticed this...
apparently that's the glaring obvious...
it always was!
beef you can undercook: cook it perfectly:
overcook it...
pork you can undercook: cook it perfectly:
overcook it...
chicken? you can only cook it perfectly
or overcook it...
undercooked chicken is a bit like...
finding a raw scallop nugget kiev-esque
in your chicken -

perhaps because: we can eat a poultry abortion:
the egg -
that i forgot or never minded to think:
the meat will behave like the egg -
the protein is borderline with seafood...
after all.. the birds are fish with wings...
that we managed to domesticate
a wolf and breed it with a dingo
and give it a bark...
how did we pluck the hawk from the sky
and gave it marching orders among
the strutting gehenna-game of the wehrmacht
with the geese...

i have no "beef" with the british and their past...
how many zulus became slaves?
hot topic...
if only a people were as fortunate -
not to be landlocked -
the last known invasion dates back to
1066 - nothing is spoken about the ottoman
empire or the mongol empire at the gates...
perhaps other people too...
could have their idle -
and been left to their own devices...
their high tea and all sort of *******...
but i'll still bemoan that...
this language does not have any orthography...
but it does have: n'dubz...
and a york-shyre from peckham and the rest...

- you simply can't undercook chicken...
you can either cook it to perfection...
or overcook... anything undercook is not going
to be eaten!
an undercooked chicken breast roulade?
that's scallop nugget in a kiev-esque chicken..
but why didn't i see it sooner...
how chicken meat would behave like
the egg when it was being cooked?
after all... what becomes of the yoke
when translated into the full-grown chicken?
the internal organs? the bones?
i'm pretty sure the egg-white translates into
the skeleton...
and the bones? it's not like the egg-shell
implodes...

in my hand i hold a chicken's egg:
a poultry abortion...
in my hand, also... a babushka doll...
this: little matron... бaбушкa...
because who would have thought that...
cooking the perfect chicken roulade...
would be akin to... 15 minutes extra...
when working from a soft-boiled egg...
oven-baked of course...
prior to the skin needs to be butter-fried...
and you can't enjoy
a chicken's neck... if it's not poached...
too many bones: not enough meat...
the neck of the chicken needs to poached...

again: one feels inclined to stress the importance
of curating the meat: curing it is one "thing"...
but it's almost an art...
as long as you respect the meat...
i find that most vegeterians or vegans
become thus...
because they have not learned to respect
the meat they're about to eat...

beef you can undercook... the sooner you do so...
the less chance that you'll butcher a second time
with a well-done: eating sand...
wishing it was poppy-seeds itching at the gums
between your teeth...

to respect the meat is to also bite off the heads
of the bones... for the over-cooked marrow...
i once held 30 or so poultry hearts in a cusp of hands...
hands prior to romeo & juliet's amen and kiss...
before i imagined what 30 hearts would otherwise
look like: if i was given the remaining body parts...

or 30 poultry stomachs readied for the broth...
with groats...
i too would become a vegeterian...
if the only chicken ******* i ate in my life
were: usually over-cooked...
dry... simulating imitation cheese
and chalk... the sort of meat: overcooked...
whereby your teeth start to experience
protein glue... and it's hard to pull the jaw
from the skull apart...

i have mentioned pittsburg blue, haven't i?
you can undercook beef and pork...
but you can't undercook chicken...
now unless you want to encounter
a pocket of a raw scallop sensation...
a chicken has to be treated as well as an egg...

most of the time you need to undercook
beef and pork...
but chicken requires...
oh glory be to the poached egg on toast...
the scrambled eggs undisturbed fried on
some pork dewlap...
when you can tell the difference between
the yoke and the whites...

such a versitile creature - this domesticated
hawk... this chicken marshal...
this would be cannibal... i've seen how one
becomes butchered with an axe -
one chicken, one axe - on stump of wood...
the rolling eyes of the decapitated...
the other chickens didn't mind...
they'd run up to the altar with the running
blood of rivers making letter markings
on the woody crumble...
and drink the blood... peck at left-over
flesh from the decapitation...

"gender expressions"... and... what's that?
leftover grammar from french...
translated from inanimate objects:
as being either endowed with a phallus
or a floral pattern -
but in english almost all objects of worded
interaction are gender-neutral!

native tongue "endowement"...
słońce - sun - is feminine...
księżyc - moon - is masculine -
krzesło - chair - i'm siding with masculine...
stół - table - that's clearly "gender neutral" /
alias: hermaphrodite... alias for the *******...
son / daughter of Aphrodite...
kamień - stone - masculine...
góra - mountain - feminine...

and so the heavens opened and became:
short on breath and soul...
the groundwork of earth...
the earth itself... started to nibble
on the delicacy of feet - the wind whispered...
and the echo: and the footsteps...
and the dutch clank convened and called it:
marriage!

how grammar transcended casual english
usage... how it bypassed orthography...
how it never attained orthography...
oh yes... the russian have it...
but... who would have expected it...

n'est ce pas?

what was once the gestalt primer...
that became a rorschach test...
i say: it's either a ink-blotch of a pelvis or a moth...
but with regards to the selfie:
i always require two mirrors...
i still remember the days when someone
would take a photograph of you being:
oblivious...
as if god: the narrator...
convened and descended upon the scene
and imposed directions of keen: montage...

the basis of gender neutrality of nouns...
it can't be extended to encompass verbs...
an oak: dąb - is male...
but a pine - sosna - is female...
all fruit bearing trees are female connotations...

whatever sheryl crow's debut album was...
wasn't alanaise morissette's jagged little pill -
however the conundrum spins with no
favor for the electric currents passing via
Ariel... give me the wind god...
the daughters and barons of: the lesser involved!

because i'm a far cry the alpha...
kindred of the omega... and all that alphabet
of meaning behind letters...
"self-imposed"... less a ******* and more...
feeble guide of watching others get
pleasured by the mantis
and the black widows of tomorrow...

a cactus would grow in my palm should
i witness germany re-united:
at least that's how the proverb stood its ground...
before common or passed on "wisdom"
learned to gravitate toward...
soap bubbles pop... charcoals smoke...
ms amber becomes a river
when there was no river expected...

the tides are hardly shy: they're buying time...
this one last commodity of the rotten mind
of the gambler...
puny prophet - of fate -
alongside the weathermen of a forgotten
afternoon: come birthday prior to noon...
and the fungus umbrellas chat
among themselves in a premature autumn
cascade...

fungus or just... lungs... devoid of a body?

my god: the kids are going after the grammar
that has already absolved them...
knitting mosquitos and lambasting
gherkins' worth of would-be:
pickled cucumbers...

that herring tartar... with dill and juices...
that baltic sushi never to arrive
at the cusp of the Caspian sea...
Molotov shots;
the Russians will always bring glasses
and ***** with them...
because... they somehow can...

- and that's because...
sheryl crow's debut album wasn't
alanaise morissette's...
but never makes the cards of a...
poker-match-up to better not earn
money if all that money is a gambler's
Eden...

- there are better ways to get away with
cooking an egg...
there's this entire myth of...
no poultry sushi...
mein gott! how the meat agrees with
abortions...
you can undercook beef,
you can undercook pork...
but when there are poultry standards...
they're just as risk-aversive as when...
a soft-boiled egg is required...
same with meat...

this direct translation of the atomised meat
in an egg white...
how it needs to coagulate to pristine juice
and all that perfect *******...
and... ****** via the runny yoke...
because i believe there's a puritanical
aspect of all life in general...
when hard-ons are sold
within the quarantine confines
of a viagara episode of: ***** into a hard-on...

chuckles and whittle charlie chaser says:
no man was ever ***** into a hard-on...
no?!
when charlie met chuckles and chuckie
and charles...
it must be a russian "thing"...
they have them... and hide them better...
there's nothing to hide in english...
just bad grammar and trans-grammar....

i.e. чa-чa-чa
            believe me... they managed to fold...
hide the caron in that alice through the looking-glass
of greek mu: μ - or (h)atches open!
how about hiding...  (letovers: č              č
the caron, in russian?          č č             č č         č)
or the H and the Z in english and polish
respective - whole - attached to the S?

epsilon lying back... the toil
of Sysiphus is a bore: шit...
****... and... шarp...
and... mateuш...
    
maybe people... or so we at least,
have inkling to hope to be receptive of...

щ: twice the hiding caron...
it's not that the russians don't use diacritical
markers - they just hide them differently...
the self-exposed vowels...
last of the reminders...
because there's the carpenter's obligation
to chisel a Y into an I...
or at least a J...

to add this currency of momentum is...
to... leave without a memory spare...
whipped along the trail via
a maine ****'s finicky worship of
air that will never translate itself
as being: breathed...

and yes: i drink... i drink to relax
my lexicon from the everyday strict: rules
and obligation of formal mr and mrs
and what doesn't fit into
a metaphor tuxedo...

over-cook pasta: we'll never talk again...
over-cook beef or pork: ditto...

it's an art to treat cooking poultry meat
with a quasi seafood status of scallops...
to curate a soft-boiled egg -
not quiet the abortion portioned
within the confines of a lost shell when
thrown into the dead-bath of
a lobster's litany when the neither alive
nor dead is cooked...

some bloos is necessary when it comes
to either beef or pork...
but you can't just have undercooked
poultry...
the grounded clipped wing marshall:
the decency of cooking poultry has
to be equated with cooking
a soft-boiled egg...

otherwise the common saying:
one apple a day... keeps the doctor away...
well...
one poem a day... keeps the psychiatrist away...
no? who are the circus freaks
the pseudos and the quasis of what...
has to be compensated by mr. rather dr.
surgeons and... the better half of whatever
becomes the butchering degree:
a degree in: what's not to be eaten...
but what has to be left intact
and reused?

less the homosexual yet still la la land...
not quiet cuck...
but still... every time i visited...
and never managed to peer at
the sort of first-person doom shooter experience
that otherwise third party sources would
allow me when...
the best fallatio is done in third-person...
talk about having someone to sit
on your face like...
never the literal metaphor translation
of ****** acts...
face-grubber from alien and...
performing oral *** on a woman...
no... none of it is true!
******* and winding archaic clocks...

some would even call it electricity should
it come from a burning candle!

Growing bored, Chuckie took off
for the nearest big city, making
a splash in the tabloids &
drawing the paparazzi to the Simple
Homestead...

Eli Jr. was ready with a country-honed
huckster's spiel picked up from wandering
carnies & road weary traveling salesmen;
modern day patented medicine men...
Junior was Chuckie's favorite of her
three or so stepchildren. He had his father's...
money. So did she & they got along fine.

No wicked stepmother, Chuckie was
a happy--go-lucky lush, having kicked H
for the sake of maybe breathing another day.
It was a high hope, but the field scrubbed
kid, who'd been selling **** to passing
bikers & truckers for years out of his horse-
&-buggy hot rod, basically a model-T
on wagon wheels; but t suited Junior fine.

He'd completed fifth grade twice & was
ready to take on the world. Eli was also proud.

.h'america.... the last theological playground of... whatever the mind left behind in the decrepit bulwark that's europe... oh... and those mid-western died-hard hitchcock platinum-blondes in a-waiting... my typo pristine dutch-girls-go-to-church mantra... otherwise? no b'ooh'y'ah! chugger-chugger-chugger-chuck-cherry-choppy-chops-you-*******-cuc­­k-chuckie! quasi-whitman wannabe... billy was a butcher... a thematic long lost gun... billy was a butcher... and all the ripe choppers of pork... gave us a belief in snow; and what some heaved with a falling-of-a-star of dis-.belief: i too was bound to glorification of: what was expected to be known! and the subsequent: wow! i have met only the most limited of men... i have therefore met all men... the "all" men of this rubric of a year, a decade... all that's bygone of a yawn; swear it sn't so! a so! that's not be be sown! i am here too: upon the whim of expectation... merely... waiting... a man comes to be born come his 30s... his 40s? his nostalgia "moment"... former known name of: Jack Lil Lick 'Em Boots... and the crescendo of pauper's black lining of the Wall St. "better oiled"... scalp the ******! and send him unto the rabbi's true blessing... in the cusp of the scalp of the kippah!  and now... you take... your anglo-spreschen-tangle... into the salt-wounds of your h'america! first born: young... i don't like your revision... looking toward Europe with a hope for a sensibility... this pseudo deutsche: pseudo dutch, anglo-; this is no loss of the French or the Slav! this is our celebration! does one have an irish phrasing in uns to be at in it or one? beyond this grip boyo bound glue? this clerical spare of the otherwise leftover skivvy? we have made barons of these minutes.... as if we were to be kings of the coming years... and how we didn't become gods of the atoms... and the men of the suns and planets... that is our... most worthwhile conundrum in a da pacem domine bound; you're going to Beirut on me... or something?!

in my haitus away from this canvas:
naive me thought: perhaps a surge...
again proven wrong -
albeit not disappointed -
so i had to look elsewhere -

i had to look for a clarity of diction...
i had to move away from
the western lands and their:
death of god and their death by metaphysics...

even in this barren english...
i could not figure out:
why are these people,
apologetics from the central leftists...
these liberals...
ditto: i will butcher this name...
i will butcher the pronunciation
of this word...

if there are "questions" regarding
what's being phonetically encoded...
so much for me "learning to code"...
i too once wrote a html encoding...
with all the < and < and > toys...
spacing... {[( gradations... etc.,

i had to look east, after a while writing
schlechtdeutschegrammatik...
bad german grammar...
again: it's posthumous "Latin"...
it might be...
bad grammar german...
or german bad grammar...
deutscheschlechtgrammatik...

spelling is the mathematical equivalent
of... arithmetic...
but grammar? you need a ping-pong
table...
you need something cymru-esque...
a scandinavian-esque bilingual cushioning...

english alone will not solve the matter...
it's not french, it's not german,
it's certainly not spanish...
spanish and how post-colonialism was
settled with a post-racial attitudes of
Brazil...
england has taken too much time
looking up and out of the h'american
*******...
no grand satan 'ere...
no silk road bazar of fruits exotica from...
Teheran...
something more... subtle...

i had to go back to the "tsar"...
and the цэркйэв: 'cerkiew'...
and there i was amused how...
well apparently...
there are a lot of words
that do use the sz'cz...
enough... to deviate from
the Latin bollocking represented via
шч = щ....

that's perfectly logical...
i'm done with "perfectly logical"
if it exists outside of the realm of
orthography...

szczypta soli - pinch of salt...
in russian...
щ... that's a bit of a "question"...
yes, yes it is complicated...

szczery / szczera (he's honest /
she's honest)...
szczerość (honesty)...

no it's not... you german fickle-wit!
you forget the ы!

ah! well then... щыптa....
**** me... disorientating...
they could do all that with greek and glagolitic...
but they still had to keep...
latin: roman: holy roman empire: GERMAN...
lowercase lettering...
akin to a... e... c doesn't count...
since that's a greek cedilla "missing"...
ç... or... sigma... ς -
otherwise known in english as that S
after the apostrophe...
when something is called being:
the possessive article...
a (indefinite) the (definite) - some -ism to mind?!
no... but 's is... a bit like the SS...
in greek...
all in lower case: stephen's and...
στεφηνς...
σtephenς: that very much desired: ha!
ridiculous gag... the "much desired"
alternative to an apostrophe S ('s)...

it's Stephen's! it's Stephen's!
it's Sylvester's!
three articles in english:
the indefinite article (a)...
the definite article (the)...
and the possessive article ('s) - apostrophe S...
eS eS!

russian accents...
ъ, ы, ь...

but i only know of one "hard sign" example...
and that disqualifies the J ever needing a lower-case
"dot"... ȷ... namely... зъ: ż... alternatively
also: rz... and ж...
żuk! beetle! somehow the caron makes it...

szczyt! zenith!
щыт!

- and since i'm no longer writing:
i'd be writing if i were monolingual...
or... if i was animated by
the sort of Knausgardian bilingualism
of chop of swede: marker norgie...
but... i'm painting...

i forgot how to write when i could
see "synonyms" of sounds...
entombed in two different phonetic
encodings, namely elevated latin
and "pan-greek": cyrillic...

the variations between:

й and ы...
i.e. via е - "ye"
ё - "yo" (there's an umlaut in russian?!)
"у" - yew and you...
the gamma subscript...
ю - "yu"...
and... я - "ya"...

with regards to this rubric...
i am in the middle...
i can see a distinction between
a "y" (whine why and no I)...
hardly a jotted anecdote...
and yes... the closest the russians
ever come to Cracow is with ы
to a western slavic y...
ask me: toй - ask me: toȷ...
who needs a dot above the J
in the lower-case... if...
if... there's no absolute need for it to
be there: unlike some greenwich mean time
focus?
it ȷust so happens that...
the better clasp of the equator is
married to Greenwich: London...

dr. who time lords:
bellybuttons of the world: the english are...
again: i have to remind myself...
ı am not wrıtıng... ı am... paıntıng...

1(one), l(el)... I and ı(ıota)...
i guess an apostrophe would suffice...
ıf it's not an "ı"...
ı'ota... ı: oath...
sure as fıgurative "****" it's not...

ı must wrıte some more examples
in russıan...
to get me off me mark into
some "wax lyrıcal"...
ıslander mentalıty of the hen'glısch...

see how "the dot" can appear...
and disappear, as one see fıt?
and ıt makes: no little bıt of...
"dıfference"?!

i need to sleep on thıs "exercise"...
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold...

w­­ıll eyes gets it?
hardly...

the rest of these cosmopolitan *******
focused on gwaffiti awt...
which is welsh for: GRA GRA...
when was the last time you heard
an englishman trill an R?
ı can't remember...
give me a night to soak up the pickling
juıces... i can't remember the last time
i heard an homest trIll eıther!
pauper me...

it's probably because of the welsh:
GWA GWA! gwadleıth cowonew...
or coroner row row row a rombat into a rue:
or a woo...
rhyme: contorts...
shapes and disappearing: oopses...
a whole multıtude of 'em...
come like the tıde...
leave... lıke a tilde... quası N:
it's a... H is a zeus...
and J is a Ha Ha Ha wrap-up rap of
laughter: in spanısh: of course...

i don't wrıte... ı paint...

impromptu interludes, quickened:
i'm a marriage of two continents...
and one island...
east of moscow...
asia... west of warsaw and...
these gloomy island pits of
idiosyncracy... never quiet the icelandic
answer to norway...
or greenland's answer to denmark...
but an island... nonetheless...

- to hell witth cascading linear cascades
of narrative: i'm blind to the optics
of "the narrative" in the paragraph
format...

i will look back east...
i will look at the russian script...
i will look at it as a time in ******
history equivalent to:
why didn't you just think of it as Greek?
but "my people" didn't...
and i'm not exactly a "why / didn't"...
i'm part of the excavation machinery...
i come with what was served...
i will leave without
leverage...

and here is the russian icon translated
from the Babel...
the following are orthodox letters
shared by one and all
to the western lands...

а б в г д e з и й
к л м н o п р c т
у ф

a b v g d e z i j
k l m n o p r s t u
f

now we leave: łen łill that be?
we should all somehow know...
to łork out a When a Where
(notably with the "h" being but a surd)...

mother how should i further this?
herbata
hasło (ha-s-woe)
hołd (**-**-w'd)

to no other: otherwise only in scotland:
the loch of tipsy work...
albeit: orthographic distinction...
хęć - a whim a desire...
a loch is no: cheat of a lake...
latching onto the otherwise boredom caron
exposed...

дух (ghost) with a душa (soul)...

else there's c dissociated from the s...
and more so with a kappa kaput...
the drumstick slick on a wet snare of: tss...
ц - almost...
then morphing into a ць -
yet in my version: no so silent...
ćma: moth...
цmokaць / cmokać: to click with the tongue...
to kiss smackingly -
to ingest food via a smoczek...
a smoчek - a smoček... the baby soother...

this is my third day having to return to
this canvas...

first thing's first:
palatization (palatißation)
is not... a name of german crusader song:
palästinalied...

this is one of the main reasons why
i can't imagine myself as being able:
to write a novel -
i can't bear this birth of words into
this pseudo-Kandinsky -
it would be much easier with painting
something for a year -
than writing for a year -
the same thing, over and over again...

if i write a "poem" or, rather, a poo'em...
i expect the concept of
ensō: a circle has to be drawn with
a single uninhibited stroke...
when the body is set free and the body
merely complies...

comparison... if one were to draw
a most pristine ensō...
one would never achieve an ouroboros
depiction... it's quiet impossible
to use one volume of ink
attached to a stroke to complete
a circle... let alone a depiction
of an ouroboros...
what starts off as concrete soon...
fades away... thins out...
until there is so little ink left
on the brush that individual hairs
of the brush start appearing...

a pristine depiction of life...
but never the hardline ouroboros
depiction: this cerberus of reincarnation:
i never would have believed in it -
given that: there would have to be
a limited number of souls...
the thought that i might be introspective
enough as to be one of these: "elites"...
and the rest... were "n.p.c." drones...
zombie-esque drifters...
that had no psychological infrastructure
to have memory and rubric of learning
bound to them to be: invested in?

i am still going to write this Kandinsky...
one way or another...
but i can say only that:
i can imagine myself returning
to a painting - and painting it for a year...
but a book?
if a poem can't be written in one sitting...
it's not a poem...
this is not a poem: this is a novel
equivalent...
the best to my ability: which is none...

all i will ever manage with this
is a pedantic scrutiny of russian orthography,
how i don't follow metaphysical arguments
of the germans, the english or the french,
because i don't dream that often,
and when i do dream?
i dream up nonsense...
last time i dreamed that a hiena was
biting at my arm like a corn-cob...
but it wasn't biting to draw blood...
it was biting and cackling in order
to tattoo me... it bit into my arm and detailed
indentations akin to braille...
a pianola roll...

and that's the only details of the dream
i can remember...
perhaps i strained memory...
perhaps people who dream...
are fond of forgetting...
perhaps i don't dream because i can
remember being 4...
a shadow (my maternal great-grandfather)...
a large piano, a small piano...
he worked a retirement as a security guard
in a kindergarten...
i once spent an afternoon with him...
i have seen pictures of him...
but i don't remember the face in the photographs...
he sat me before a bonsai piano
while he sat at the large piano...
and i guess: we were going to be the new
Chopins or something...
he's still a shadow... a grey form...
perhaps a extract of memory that reaches
back 29 years is the reason why i don't
dream... then again...

what if i were to have recurrent dreams?
i've heard people have recurrent dreams...
i just have details of dreams...
i'm not complaining but...
it has become exhausting to simply sleep sometimes...
to replay that lullaby of the void...
yes: yes... i will return to russian orthography:
give me a moment!

well, on my "haitus" i had to look beyond
"conventionality"...
there was a period where i found
the glagolitic script - i said to myself:
there must be an equivalent alphabet to match
the runes...

there must have been a way to encode
without the romans and greeks...
after all... there is the St. Cyrill alphabet
and that of Methodus...
how many ethnic groups are there
on this old, yawning continent -
minor point: old age is not plagued by
yawning - only youth yawns...
old age is cured of yawning -
hanging over them the yawning death...
when father - when father - will this old
ponce come into my *****?

glagolitic and cyrillic?
well Ⰱ Б...
Ⱂ and P... which is not exactly lent-greek...
i guess it's only "wise"
to go back into the modern scribbles...

there are so many branches
to be plucked off a pine
to reserve yourself with ending up
to owning a pike...
so what would it help me:
if i had to reverse and ezra pound
my way forward...
bubble bulging roma notations?
i see: when that chisel in marble
V is not supposed to be a U...

EVROPA... etc.

i need to bring to the fore my own
distinctions...
spread: universally within the confines
of the people that speak it:
i even had to made balkan additions...
like the caron S and caron C...
to hide the english gimmick
of SHarp and CHeat...
evidently we use the Z to replace
the H when stressing our "demands"...
Šarp and Čeat...

so back into russian?
i almost forgot that i said...
their orthography is not worth the dog's
bollocking of a lick...

i was wrong, obviously...
but even the russians are supposed
to be allowed their idiosyncracy -
their orthographic pedantry...
russian orthographic pedantry?
ah...

when е met э...
was also the time when э didn't meet з...
this is pedantic...
another russian pedantic "detail"...
how many Y's or J's do you need...
to detail: the elongated-iota?
before... "****" becomes confusing...
within the confines of gamma...

i'm pretty sure the russians have
fixated their attention on the Y/J "debate"
working from their central premise of
the english AYE... I... the pronoun bunker...
der deutsche affirmative: ja!
yah in the hebrew respective for: wisdom...

let's see... i'm pretty sure the russians
have all the vowels bow to this mecca
of Moscow, cite me: and please reiterate...
that i use J and Y interchangeably...
i don't imply: to jot - to "dz"ot...
or Joseph in Ypres...

otherwise: a yeti climbing a yew shouting: yes!
it's not exactly jargon -
but... a prefix y- in english...
is not a suffix -y in english...
which just... "out of the blue"...
demands to be associated with the iota
of: ply... and yet: it's no i.e. e'et...
it's neither ate or the fwench and (et)...
it's a yeti... but not a jetty!

never mind... back into the fussy russian...
i'm pretty sure you will find all
of the pentagram (vowels) bowing before
the altar of pseudo-gamma:

                                     ю (yu)
                                    /
(details in) й ------ я (ya) -- ы (oh look, solo!)
   the above"rant")  |
                                  у (which is a u)
                                /   \
                     e (ye)       ё (yo)

almost... but i'm far from learning russian...
i find these orthographic details...
coexisting...

зъ = ж = ż = rz = ř / ž...

eastern, mother slavic...
beginning with a western slavic translation
"innovation"...
central / western slavic...
balkan slavic...
oh we are such famous clarinet players!
because what happens
when the caron is sliced into two...
and an acute ****** pops out?!

hence the зъ beginning...
yes... it's not "silent"... it's simply not
palatalißed... the tongue doesn't tip-off
the palette... the sound escapes via
the gritting of teeth...
with it: the tongue can rattle and a trill
R is heard...

зъ (ż) contra зь (ź) -
życzenia - well wishes| źródło - source...
now to only write these words
in russia - without knowing the russian
noun-denotations...
for orthographic purposes...

жыченя... or is it... жычениa?
зьруд... problem... can't find the english
W in russian... or the ****** Ł...
there's the english V... the ****** W...
but russian doesn't translate (Вв)
so vell into wery: not so weary but
nonetheless very not so, so...

my problem is not about that though...
this poem this poo'em this:
a pigeon drops a zeppelin-****
on your top-hat implies good luck...
no 13's or black cats crossing your path either...
i could most honestly spend
100 years of each of the 100 individuals
bound to the salt mines in the vicinity
of Beijing... and i would still find myself...
without tears...
because this is the most inexhaustible
crux: it's really bugging me foundation stone...

i won't even mind the modern greeks
at this point... they do use diacritical markers
too... but over-do it... as if compensating
or trying to compete on level par
with their metaphysical dittos...

чaхa: czacha... almost slang term for:
czaszka... чaкшa...
and this is by no means "smart"...
i can't solve crosswords puzzles...
well i can: but i need to find myself
in the company of my grandmother...
in the morning...
i would have had to drooled over some novel
from 7am until she gets out of bed
come 9am... we'd drink coffee and i'd
smoke cigarettes...
and it would be a month prior to christmas
or easter, or the interlude...
and... i'd be freed from writing or
reading anything in english...
either me looking at diacritical distinctions
in the realm of orthography between:
russian, ******, balkan...
or... me never learning french,
or attempting to: ever, again!

******* suffix-eaters...
dyslexics in reverse...
say one thing: write another thing...
this is probably born from my frustration
at being unable to learn french...
perhaps after having acquired english
i was given german to learn...
but no... first hurdle... french...
flop!
now it's a diet of no crosswords...
some sudoku from time to time...
and my new hobby after having found
"too many" googlewhacks...

so there's nothing smart about this:
this is in no way useful to anyone -
being the sort of person
to "mind" whenever one's being asked
to spell their surname...
it's hardly that difficult but...

would i go for the echo sierra charlie
hotel lima echo romeo tango...
or go out full greek with it?
perhaps the greek...
since that would solve the problem
i've had for a while,
concerning the eta / epsilon "debate"...

how does a greek laugh -
what is the crux letter via which
a greek laughs?
you see a H shape on the horizon...
but you... hear the noun: eta...
you later see the name eta...
but that's eta: without an apostrophe...
the apostrophe 'eta being the "surd" H...

in greek then...
epsilon sigma... **** it... there's no "sch"
of a german worth in greek...
let's cut it out:
epsilon lambda epsilon rho tau...

otherwise in russian...
once more:

ś(lub) - wedding - сь(люб)
"soft" sign - ' - apostrophe -
or ACUTE elsewhere...
why not сьлуб?
i don't know... it's not like сь is even
minded in russian...

ah! my favorite!
goń! gonitwa: a race -
the verb impetus: race! chase after!
гoнь!

since ы is the "odd" one out between
the application of "ь" and
and "ъ"...
come to think of it...
ы gave birth to: ю (yu), я (ya),
у (u), й ("y"), и ("e")...
i... i.e. and... in ******...
akin to those languages that use e...
to also imply and...
ё (yo)... how did i miss the umlaut
infiltrating the russian 'bet...
i blame catherine the great!
and... е (ye)...
is that the pentragram?
u, a, e, i, o... yes! we have it!

i truly had better days when sudoku was
the better puzzle to fill a day with...
not this... from glagolitic, to greek,
to roman, to post-roman to russian
and back into...

if we are all "supposedly" literate...
begs the question why: why oh why the emoji...
the *******-wanking hieroglyphics...
the :) and what not...
i guess to better escape this sort of
headaches... minor chances of everyone
becoming a bilingual:
but what's there to brag about
being bilingual!
i guess the polyglots do not have such
headaches of detail...
they just... bypass these rules and regulations...

to better guide me:
if i managed to sift through james joyce's
finnegans wake... and didn't find any
diacritical markers in it?
can't i compensate?
i'm compensating right now!
if the 2010s as a decade was a decade
filled with... sisyphus titans akin
to kant, hiedegger, kierkegaard,
knausga(a)rd, joyce...
beckett - yes...
again that hollowed "y" distinction!
it's not a sisi: yes yes problem...
hardly me being ***** either...
e'ver... i'ver...
ain't that a *****...

clarity of diction... the best motto there is...
crab-bucket-intellectualism:
alternatively the focus away from
any ontological stressors of "example" -
ontological and its variant of
a priori:
perhaps, given that the ontological
is an a priori argument...
here's my crossword puzzle -
ref. thesaurus rex...

and by no means... at all...
etymology is the better variant of any known
history...
when this bundle of words:
that an ontological dialectic can be achieved:
that ontology can be given within
as much as an a priori: bigot! focus...
with as much as an a posteriori:
wizened unicorn quid pro quo tanz!

hamsterwheel loopholes or:
crab-bucket intellectualism...

now: i really could have put these words
to better use... to make them linear...
less cryptic... but how can i?
i'm solving a crossword puzzle in reverse!
i don't expect the easily scared moths
to entertain this fire...

i expect midgets to be dancing...
before my eyes...
whenever i listen to
faun's tanz mit mir
or in extremo's rotes haar...
when the bagpipes and the flutes
kick in...

- since if i were to write a coherent sentence:
succumb to a linear narrative...
i'd people reading this to be also found:
easily talking about it...
perhaps i don't enjoy freedom of speech
as much as i enjoy the freedom to think...
perhaps i haven't written anything
worth speaking about, regurgitating,
making vogue, working for some intellectual
period-piece of "vogue"...
perhaps this is a shared problem,
hidden in a cipher...
of: how i can't heave this tool...
this tapeworm of existence,
this medium of god...
to later trash it, to have nothing better
to do with it other than play-games...
worded games... crossword puzzles...
perhaps i need a crossword puzzle to imply:
neighbour's share some words...
together... but then write them differently...
perhaps i require a crossword puzzle...
to read into some russian...
on the praxis base of english...
flying past Warsaw toward the itch
of the edge of Asia...
breathe the air - the heart of the continent...

perhaps i would have never managed
to escape this world if i ingested
mind-benders of the h'american 1960s
revolutionary schematics of the:
new-humanists... crash course in literature:
only one magic mushroom trip away!

фoрк ин дэ рoaд (fork in the road)

ИN...

some shared words, of etymological
curiosity...

(fork) вилка - wilka -
polish? wilka? that which belongs to
a wolf... widelec...
видэлэц...

(knife) нож - nóż -
well... orthography comes into play...
while people can have their...
ahem... in-the-meantime metaphysical
playground...
the ground, the word,
the geology is already here...
written alternatively?
нузъ...

i take a different stance to the common day
****** back east...
when russia starts slagging you off...
you put on a Boris Yeltsin mask on
and dance the drunk panda dance...

(spoon) ложка - łyżka -
in polish? ah those russians... ло ло...
лож: lorz...
lo lo and behold the translated
quasi-russian into the borders of europe...
ł.w.(ызъка)...

black and white (черный и белый):

czarny i biały: rho-si-ye!
char-nee-ye! bel'ye)...

perhaps the timing is a bit off:
the proper wording would be:

czarno na białym -
not: in black and white...
чaрнo на биa-wh-ым...

knocked-out to be honest...
the russians use ый like that?
YJ? oh right! i use it too!
in the prompt:

tyj! tyj ty grubasie!
hmm... -asie...
it would do me a lot of good...
if that iota didn't have a decapitated
head of a halo hovering above it...
why? so i could introduce the acute
slant over the S and surd it...
i.e. -aśιe...

тый! ты груб... exactly...
grub-               -aсьие
тый! ты грубaсьие!
to grow fat: тый!
              "problem": -aśιe vs. -aсьие...
well... it's there: сь...
but it also isn't there: и...

but it isn't: but it also isn't...
i just managed to find out that...
in warsaw (if i lived in warsaw)...
we have that conjunction: -ый-
however rare it is: it is there...

any more delegations from Moscow?
tyj! tyj ty grubasie!  
and i will write these last few words
and know why i don't really feel like
solving crosswords puzzles...
or doing those i.q. schematic tests...

**** it... the welsh should know and help me
out... concerning?
how it's YN and not IN...
how it's Y and not I when referring to THE gwyll:
dusk...
y gwyll o hywels: the dusk of powells...
only the welsh would know my "pain"...
yn y gwyll o y hywels:
in the dusk of the powells...

taking a step back - a step back...
yes yes, apologies... if my punctuation...
is too much of a ******* arithmetic!
too bad!

p.s. and yes... don't leave anything lying
around in the drafts or as private...
chances are... with a 2 day delay...
this will never be fed into the LATEST feed.

Sitting seated on a seashore full of trees
and writing in the thick paint of the French district,
Ditko Bond Leo's List Genuine Ladies
Women Ironing American Girl Kenya / Amir Simetat
[Collective State ornament] Joseph President,
First Dog President and President of Kenya,
First Dog and President of Kenya, Joseph Mantar:
Dr. Sugar Disease, Dry Supplies, United Nations
Travel Patterns of previous free travelers.
Gregor Lars, American singer, 21: 00
Australian Folk Music, American Wear One test,
George Washington 200 200 American Show Test,
American singer, 21: 00 abroad popular music
in South Africa sometimes gray, green, red, green,
pink, red, green, Iran, a bad friend without hesitation,
Einstein, Cowboy, Kennedy, Vitamin,
Cane Tennis Master in Italy, etc. Talking about
discussions about women and leaders.
In Canada I have 100 problems.   Mark Arthur,
Douglas Red, "Red Violent",
Cotton Jaw Guitar, Iran are among
the 200 most beautiful high school students.
Greece, USA UU., Better Latin Americans,
victims and expensive services; A good CIA
op in Georgia, Georgia, a home in the United States,
your gay friend, Einstein, Vitamin D,
American singer, black, black ballad, romance,
Islamic love, Theaters, embassies, red carpets,
stones, languages ​​of the Titanic, the history
of power and the price of the first dog,
Latin and Latin American and Kenya,
Eric, La-la, La-la, Hari and La Laugh
show four women and showgirls. World,
Sunday, President, Jack saw it, the most
popular animals of Kangra Mata, Kalka
Grew, Lal Kenya, Natural Landscape, Italy,
Justin Odyssey, USA. EU., Travel, Singing
A, Musician, Sea, Tree, Civil Union.
Australia, USA, USA, Akki, Kentucky,
Aston Eden, Los Angeles, Australia 4487/5000,
Coffin Club of Australia, Kenya,
Song maker or Greek movie, Daughter of Union
Curls in silver coins in Australia.
Student Cottage Hot and cooked cooking,
Cooked beans Intelligent Sodium Kasi,
District Small sitting Shared session.
White room Hairdresser, Hairdresser Home
with style, Gunhurghar, American Muslim,
Kenya / Amiri Directions, USA UU
[D] Australia Movies, First Dog and Kenny,
Magicians Four, four musicians
and four students, the mother of Canada,
granddaughter of Kalkia: four, four students,
four students of the Lady of America
and Gray, Gray, fat, 4487 / red, red, Kenya's
red nature, nature, Italy, 200 Justin Odyssey,
United Kingdom, travel, music, singer,
silver thong, wood, eclipse, waves,
the most popular animals fell. As of the
Kenyan night at the United Nations,
we have 30 pages of Greek including
the Greek masters, 448/5000 Australia,
United States, Kentucky, Aston Edwin, Los Angeles,
Australia and Australia, Greece and Latin Greece.
There are many programs like John.
U.S. It was about 13 hours in the life
of the country, do not worry about the revolutionary
sacred club to find a movement of deep
and wet wind with a broken spoon on broken
skin. You can see in Kenya, the daughter
is a smart cat-dog with a silver gun.
On the real love list of the sitting person
sitting in a sleeping vehicle sitting
on a wooden skull sitting on a wooden
skull on the real love list of the person
sitting in the session, the Muslim woman
of the Muslim women, the American
woman in Kenya / Emir Man Joseph
Mantar, Australian Film, First Palki
and the United States with Kenya [Jewels,
Jewels], President: Dry Gold, President of
the US State. UU., Derry Cold. Kenya
Natural Red Natural Italy ODC 2020 EE.
UU Free Travel Greeting, Fat Greetings,
Drill Bit, Gray Gray, Greece, 4487/5000
Photo Australia, Kentucky, Australia,
USA UU Three Stone and Australian Glow,
Erica George, Washington 200 200
US summary test of UU, Additional
American Proof, American Song, 9:00 pm
Australian Leah's Folk Music is popular.
Sometimes at funerals in South Africa,
I am red, green, blue.

Eli had no reason to hang around
while the band shaved their skulls
& went full-tilt Nihilism, singing
about nothing at all. Normally
immune to Strychnine, Jane was
spontaneously bleeding from the
face; seeing his opportunity, Ivan
pulled her onto the stage.
Thereupon the crowd erupted in
furious moshing;
The Band revisited DEAD POWER,
played Brutal Church & songs from
the ***** Tour, encore after encore
while Jane was brought to the Hosp.
Knowing Eli Simple was a known
collaborator with the riotous band,
the Russian Police, informed that Eli
had flown to Montenegro, the police
tried to extort a bribe from the
feckless poet-musicians; It was Ivan
who suggested a Benefit Concert for
the police. Of course, everyone
agreed. Instead of shutting the band
down they were plugged into the City's
power grid & blacked out Eurasia ...

The morning sun returning sleepily
to the gilded old city, no arrests had
been reported the entire night; all brawls
broken out in the spirit of jocular fun,
black eyes & bruises notwithstanding.
Jane was the talk of the town: "Like an
American Horror Movie!" they said.
Chuckie's stick figure had been fitted
into a red bikini & she sat smiling,
tanked up on coffee in the day room.
Eli handed her his glass of whisky &
lita cigarette. The head housekeeper
also greeted the man of the house
with a hearty smile; "Oh, MIster
Simple, I am so happy you brought
home Miss Arzhaiana. My gransparants
are Chukchi." The newlyweds took
turns drinking from the glass.
Chuckie was already thirsty & Eli
inevitably bored. The News was filled
with multiple contradictory reports
of the St. Petersburg Policeman's
Benevolence Society Fundraiser,
which raised no money but the city's
overall morale was greatly improved.
Every citizen had an unflinching
grin on their face, as if overnight
they'd been purged of the vilest
demons of their country's centuries
of violent repression & persecution.

Hello everyone
Since I saw others make writings of themselves here's one about meself....

Well first off
I'm Brandon cory nagley
26 years old born September 23rd 1988
I'm a Libra
Which I believe is honestly most important sign in the solar system lol OK it may sound cocky which I'll tell you about cocky me in one second lol... Anyways I believe mine sign is very important the Libra sign because it is the scales... The scales have always represented good and evil or God and the devil in many cases!!!! Which is like mine life I'm a sinner I won't lie.... I've done much wrong and much good. Though ive Learned we must have good and evil with it to trust God more and to learn from our mistakes... That's a fact!!! Anyways I always know prophetic info I've been posting on here which is coming I believe around mine birthday or on mine birthday.. Yea I'm a Christian BTW. Don't care if anyone likes it or not!! I respect all religions and cultures BTW!! Actually we can all learn from another but there is alot of hate greed and separation from not wanting to learn from one another!!!! So yes lol I'm off track I feel me birthday 9/23 is very important ... Numbers are everything biblically spiritually and in all world tools we use in all ways and religions... See when I was a kid I used to be a good baseball player ! I was a pitcher all way til sixth grade even Maby seventh. But I was an amazing pitcher I won't lie that's cocky but have many to back it up. I was also first basemen. And was so good had scouts look at me from Toledo mudhens and from a school called start highschool ten mins from Toledo Ohio...I also played basketball young and football!!!  I have been a musician since really like 11, 12ish.. I used to hang around a bunch of rap artists and hip hop artists... They'd rap and sing I'd write lyrics for some of those rappers....  So they gave me the nick name white chocolate LOLLL!! No joke.. I was there white buddy... Anyways one of those frends who rapped named Devon Bailey aka chuckie Bailey now is doing big things with bone thugs and harmony and Rick Ross... I played piano since I've been fifteen.. started off playing piano by watching a guy in !mine choir I was in. I was a tenor!! I can sing high or low lol.. Anyways there was guy named Turner ferrara.. He looked like Paul McCartney which I love Beatles. Turner played Beatles tunes on piano daily and I watched him like a ****** in the stands play.. I learned a few keys from him that caught on! Did music lessons for few weeks Than played meself... I started playing me fav song imagine by john Lennon on piano along with other Beatles tunes long winding road so on! Also played lots of zeppelin stairway to heaven alot!!! Lol people I think started just tuning me out . though I did have lots of girl fans lol...
Of back to me and sports lol. I always wore number 9 as jersey number I never knew why but me and !me numbers 9 and 23 me b day numbers have importance to me . well Micheal Jordan favorite player was 23 me b day lol and nine was mine fav number and b day month which I always used to see on clock btw I'm not crazy I always saw so did me mum saw 9;23 on clock.... Me b day so I know this number is of big meaning to me and to not just me the world period because ironically this year something big is coming astronomically...

Chuckie was drunk, throwing up
on herself; Eli sitting across the
room watching her bury herself
in buckets of dribbling wet *****.

He wondered where it was all
coming from. At last as her thin
body deflated even more so, he
arose, crossed the room & taking
the stick figure in brawny arms
flipped the stick upside down,
& whipping down her baggy tights,
squeezed her flat belly. It tooted
like a piccolo & he carried her
fluid torso to the master bedroom.

Ivan came in hours later & the
whole place smelled like someone
had been turned inside out. He
grabbed his nose & ran to Eli's
room. Trying to **** the soggy
rag doll, Eli hadn't gotten so far.

The room reeked of sour *****.

Chuckie was an anorexic, alcoholic
drug addict Eli treated like diamonds.
She didn't drink any less & was passed
out most of the time. He didn't change
any of his habits, finding time now to
walk along the beach; Chuckie was
Mrs. Arzhaiana Simple. It didn't sound
simple.

Chuckie wore a see-through negligee;
she was barely even there...Eli ******
the journalist and staggered in drunk..
The mountains of Montenegro were
pristine like snow-cones; Chuckie
didn't mind Eli ******* the reporter,
as she sat smoking, too wet to light up.
Her cigar was a thick roll of crack
******* but sweating so hard &
huffing the damp glass hose until dry
heaving & falling to the floor. "Chuck,
sit upright a-for ya choke," said Eli,
lifting his feathery wife by the hairy
ethereal armpit. "Uy, you're too wasted
for drugs. You needa drink somethin,"
he slurred helpfully. Nodding, she fell
into his arms, or against his chest &
also back to the floor but throwing her
over his shoulder, he went to find the
kitchen. The reporter was still naked,
trying to sneak out on tip-toe but he
caught her. His face glowed red beneath
his spiky shock of natural ***** blond;
***** because he'd been rolling in puke
& sweat & ***, his & hers. "Oh, you
ought to be my brush!" he cried, setting
his wife across a glass table & leaping on
the girl knocking her off her bare feet,
& dragging her through the carpeted house
to a spare back room filled with industrial
drums of various shades of enamel house
paints. Aware of what was coming, she
stiffened preparing for the artist to use
her scrawny body, all 4'8" of it, as had
previous generations, when Yves Klein
& Ann-Margret, her childhood idol,
created memorable masterpieces utilizing
the nubile **** female body as a living
paint
brush

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
one glass of Ovaltine- oops,  I had three
can we fix it? yes we can!
a plethora of beanie babies always at hand

no play-doh or silly putty on the couch
remember the smell of York patties when you opened the pouch?
Teletubbies is on, I hear the nu-nu
my beloved game boy and Gremlins; Gizmo's my booboo

come along and see what's new
it's me, you, and Zooboomafu
remember when Emily wished on a dragon scale?
that's what started the Dragon Tales

I'd drop anything to catch the Rugrats show
Tommy, Dil, Angelica, Chuckie was kinda slow
Cinnamon Toast Crunch in my bowl
Soccer Boppers and those little ugly trolls

Jell-O pudding and Dragon Ball Z
I knew the Fresh Prince song when I was only three
I still watch SpongeBob and now I'm in high school
just because you keep it real doesn't make that you're uncool.

Chuckie's distant cousin EC,
a devoted tanner came to the
villa for a long vacation; the
sun beat down on her like a
boulder & she turned dark
brown & then purple; Eli was
compelled to paint her portrait,
as if driven by a demon toward
the sentient darkness; Chuckie
looking the other way through
their affair; Eli's Israeli baby-
mama taking a second guest
house of three. EC laying
on the sunny private balcony;
Eli lathering brown paint in
thick impasto on the open-air
easel painting...thinking not
all brown women are black, the
woman before him was blacker
than that and steadily growing
blacker, beyond deep purple, her
skin should have been erupting
in fiery melanoma but she sat,
old-fashioned reflecting visor
beaming the rays to her underside,
tan lines a mere myth as she
rose and stripped her thin string
bikini...her bright blazing blue eyes
catching his, she smiled, lips red as
the Goddess Kali & poured herself
an ice cold tall mohito from the
pitcher...Eli was mesmerized...the
sun seemed boring compared to the
dark light of the girl, tall & willowy,
lanky like Chuckie; hair burned
blonde long ago, EC was a human
black hole, a living vanishing point.

As the painting melted in the summer
sun, Eli got on his cell & called NYC
to negotiate a lucrative modelling deal
for the clueless Russian trendy.

Penelope was angry with me,
earlier this week I had ripped up
a story that I’d been working on for
a long time.

The story was about an ex-con, with a heart of gold,
he wandered around Nevada and righted a few wrongs
along the way.  

The coolest thing about him was his name and the fact that
he was a little banged up.

In my head, he was kind of an older guy, a ***,
kind of greasy, you know, shifty, reckless, a guy
maybe you could relate to, and he walked with a cane.

Big deal, right?

Penelope didn’t think so; I mean she was smart enough
to know that this story wasn’t my ******* magnum-opus
or anything, but she got ****** because I flipped out, started yelling
about how I was a no good sonofabitch, couldn’t write for ****,
and should give it up and take up ******’ basket-weaving or something.

She tried to tell me that I was being a ******* and that I was a good writer;
pointing out that I’d made it into rags like “Clues”, “Dime Detective”, and that once
I’d even been published in “Web of Mystery”.

But I wouldn’t listen and I told her that she was full of ****, and a pain in the ***,
and that she could do better than a hack like me, and I told her to get the hell
away from me or I might lose my ******* mind and strangle her.

So, she did.  She packed a bag, got in my car, and took off for her cousin’s house upstate.

Now, here I was, without my car, without more than maybe twenty-five bucks to my name,
and without the girl of my dreams.

I was just about to throw my typewriter out the window when the phone rang…

“Penny?”
“Nope.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s me, ya dumb ****!”
“Who the **** is ‘me’ and what the **** does ‘me’ want?”
“It’s Dale, ya *******!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!”

Dale proceeded to tell me about how he’d just been picked
up by both “Amazing Stories” and “Tales From The Crypt” for a
six month run of short fiction in each and he then tells me that
they’ve seen fit to advance him two-hundred dollars each.

“Eat ****, Dale,” I say, and hang up the phone.

About thirty minutes later there’s a knock at my door.
It’s not Penelope, unfortunately.
It’s Dale.

“I don’t wanna eat ****, Chuckie-boy.
I wanna eat a steak.”

I tell Dale to go get a **** steak and that I’m not planning on going anywhere.
He won’t take no for an answer, so the next thing I know, we’re loaded into his jalopy and heading downtown.

The first place we go is Rico’s.  

Rico’s has pretty good food and they know what to do with a KC strip,
so Dale’s pretty jazzed.

“Chuck, you getting’ a steak?”
“Nah, I was thinkin’ about the club sandwich.”

While we ate, Dale told me about how he’d gone about the writing of the pilots
for his two series of short stories, about the correspondence between himself and the
editors, about sending in edits and revisions, and about finally getting his acceptance letters,
signing the contracts, and getting the checks in the mail.

I listened, sure, but mostly I let my thoughts wander to how Penelope and I had done, and been doing, much the same for the past several years.  
I would mail manila envelopes back and forth to “Mystery and Suspense” and she would do her monthly allotment of sentiment scribbling for The Renaissance Greeting Card Co.

Neither of us were hacks.  We got some checks in the mail, same as Dale, and more often.

What chaffed was that Dale had gotten a contract for a run of stories.

Dale had gotten what I wanted. And, I couldn’t handle it.
I had forgotten about all that I had done, all that I had achieved,
I had dismissed all of those manila envelopes, all of those little checks, I had forgotten how they’d added up, how they’d kept me alive, fed me, sheltered me, how they’d sustained me.

And in the dismissal of those envelopes and all the good they’d done me, I’d managed to dismiss the only other things that had done me any good at all.  I’d dismissed myself as a writer, and I’d done the very same to Penelope.  

What a fool I was.

When we’d finished, Dale paid the check and asked if I wanted to go to Auggie’s *******
and have a look.

I said that I didn’t.

I thanked him for the meal and asked if he’d mind dropping me off at home.

I told him that I had a lot of work to do on a rewrite,

and that I had a telephone call to make.

*

-JBClaywell

©P&ZPublications; 2016

"Guest for supper?" asked Chuckie.
"Yeah, this is Anke. She's a student."
"What is he teaching you?"
"I don't know one end of a brush
from the other," the girl admitted.
"In other words, everything he knows."
said Chuckie, slyly grinning.
"Your English is coming right along."
"Y'think? Drink, Anke?"
"May I, Professor Simple?"
"Don't call me simple. Call me Eli.
That's Mrs. Simple."
"Arzhaiana."
"Arzhaiana."
"There you go," said Chuckie, the
second Mrs. Simple sweeping out like
a pink silk pj clad 30's movie-queen...
"I like your wife," said the girl, with a
smiling overbite. . . "Don't try to steal
her," he joked. "I like her too.
Let's get drunk."
"Okay."

Eli & Chuckie didn't want to fly into a snowy Montenegro
after the show but the venue's walls had seemed to turn ||||
to pulpy flesh. Chuckie immediately heaved, upchucking her
liquor. Eli followed after, seeing her enjoy it so, then they ||
left to find a room with a bar. Ivan was naked, for no reason,
& stood declaiming his UK inspired verse. Ivan was drunk ||
& would remember nothing, but the cops wouldn't even kick |||
the poet's ***, so out of it they'd be wasting their boots & fists.

Eli brought Chuckie to Paris where
she OD'd in the suite; he saved her life
with Naloxone, sold under the brand
name Narcan among others, a medication
used to block the effects of
opioids, especially in cases of overdose.
Naloxone may be combined with
an opioid to decrease the risk of misuse.
When she was fully recovered
her vacant smile told him she could
use some fresh air and perhaps a little
something to eat. She'd thrown up
on herself & he waited for her to shower.
The hotel maid came in to change
the bedding found it covered in *****,
the shower running & Eli having
a cigarette staring out at the Eiffel Tower
in the middle of the city.

Eli made a portrait of Chuckie
consisting of a single red line
down the middle of the canvas.
The canvas was huge, the line
bright red; Chuckie had posed,
& so it was amazingly lifelike.

A  tricked out American Double-Wide
as a rolling recording studio;
the band parked in the Simple's driveway
to cut their next few albums.

Eli, busy covering half the mountainside
with canvas, went up in a Cessna to paint it;
not getting close but dropping bags of
liquid acrylics & dry pigments
onto the billowing mass of thick cleanly woven
material. Color negligible once the rugged mountain
tore the canvas to pieces & it had to be
reassembled through a painstaking process
with the 'help' of several of his student assistants
while the band recorded the double album.
The following concert would draw millions of fans
from thousands of miles away & the Simple's
had to move. Not for the tribe of ***** clueless
dropouts that parked on the estate like Canadian geese
but Leonard, tasked with security
had turned Montenegro into a virtual police state.

It just ******. Becky welcoming her polygamous
husband back to the farm stateside. Chuckie polite
enough a wayward stepmom not to flaunt
her surgically enhanced sagging physique
& for that everyone was grateful.
The cat & mouse between the skinhead gangs
& the cops in Montenegro making worldwide headlines
about guns, drugs & hookers all drawn to rock and roll.
In that it was indisputable, it wasn't illegal. It was also Eli.

Tamping a straw boater, Eli headed toward the barn
perhaps to find an old skull of something wild to inspire
him. The Mountainside hadn't taken much out of him
emotionally so he wanted something more intimate
as his next subject. The large patchwork canvas would
hang on campus before touring to its final destination.
Once the cops were paid off, peace broke out
& Montenegro once again became a covert haven
for the affluent & disaffected. Igor & Ivan running
the show from Eli's villa like their personal fiefdom.

Igor's Hollywood produced film of the scene would cost billions.

Success meant paperwork
& Eli had bills. Chuckie
had taken Jane shopping in
Abu Dhabi, where the UK
was banned, still they were
mobbed by screaming
burqa clad teenage girls. ||

| What do see in me?
asked Chuckie wearing
a ton of professionally
applied make-up; I like
what you have inside. ||
You mean my guts?
Exactly, was his reply.
|

The Art critic from the Times Eli
once had a fling with showed up
in Hamburg sniffing for a story on
the new underground conceptual
art movement; She'd badger him
about the initials, of which he knew
nothing: Was it a secret society like
the PRB r Skull & Bones or worse?
Eli couldn't answer one question
but he knew who could. Chuckie
had stayed Montenegro with Jane
entertaining his two teenagers &
Becky taking a relaxing break from
the big but oddly claustrophobic farm.
no one of three could say 'Arzhaiana',
& Mrs. Simple sounded customary
but ridiculous. Chuckie it was;