Message put on Lady of the Night’s garment, and it changed her countenance
Take this watch, Dragon-Man said, it is the access to the Winged Fire-Lance.
You press this button on top and then the Fire Lance is yours to wield.
This is just a reconnaissance mission and Message curtly replied, If Drozen comes I will not yield.
This Winged Lance-fire is the perfect instrument to pierce Drozen’s chest box.
Dragon-Man shook his head but he knew there was no use arguing when the SheTalkMan talks.
So Message left the Isotrain Mechanism to go to the Logre Market to buy
And also to inquire where Drozen was, because Message also appointed herself a spy.

Legate, one of the Federation is here, the traveler with the Nourishless Caravans said with glee.
I don’t concern myself with a mere mouthpiece, that is a tiny morsel, the Legate replied to he.
Message came to the market, and asked, Excuse me, but have you seen the Drozen creature.
I am looking for Commander of the Numberless Clans who is this high with these features.
The being replied, I’m confused, I thought you were here to barter and watch gladiators?
Message yelled, You don’t sound like a Scimitan, and she drew out her Celestial Blade Saber.
He kneeled with terrified pleas, Please, your Imperial Candidacy, I am a Dahomeyian  who came here to survive.
If I tell you where Drozen is, he will make sure I will not remain soon alive.
Message put the Celestial Blade Saber back in the Estateian Scabbard, and said, Subject follow me.
You will use these Premo-Cartridge Gems to purchase the Federation some elite weaponry.
Meanwhile I will hunt for Drozen, using the Decipherment Charter to receive what you know.
Drozen has been reaping Death across these Realmic spans, and it is time for him to pay what he owe!

Message and the Dahomeyian Subject set off, and soon reached the market with this plan to destroy.
Meanwhile Dragon-Man was waiting in the wings with the Isotrain Mechanism, shielded by the alloy.
The Dahomeyian Subject went to the bartering station, and asked, I would like some fire power.
The person threw back his head and laughed mocking, I am sure you would, this is the final hour.
Help, Help! The Dahomeyian cried out, and Message started running to this man’s aid.
The man stood up and said, Diablo-Robots arise, and suddenly the place was filled with with raid.
So you are alone, Drozen taunted, as Message took out the Celestial Blade Saber and Winged Fire Lance.
Is this the way to treat the suitor you spurned because as an Imperial Candidate you couldn’t handle romance?
I have already sunk an Anvilic Block  into this Dahomeyian’s mind, and if you don’t come he will die.
Message was so shocked at this sheer evil that she, for once, was unable to reply.

Message extended her Celestial Blade Saber into the Dahomeyian’s head, and he fell with a thud.
Lady of the Night yelled out, No! And Message down below said, Take heed this is the first shed blood.
Drozen screamed, Attack, attack, and Dragon-Man said, This is the War the Federation was built for.
So let us go as the Federation to conquer in victory, because Message needs us for this  Battlefare war.
The Isotrain-Mechanism began firing, and Breast-plate Bearer was laughing as the missiles hit.
What’s so funny, Lady of the Night barked, Oh it is amusing the one who speaks would start conflict.
Message was on the ground, and used both her weapons to deadly effect.
Dragon-Man told Breastplate-Bearer to stay and fire, while the Federation went in the Paroah chariot.

The Paroah Chariot rumbled over the ground, hitting Diablo-Robots and rolling over their remains.
The battle was sometime fierce, and those who were dead had a better fate than those in pain.
Message was fighting alongside, and Dragon-Man used the Abyss Sword for deadly lightling.
The Diablo-Robots fell back terrified, because the blinding heat was so frightening.
Drozen cried out, Advance, but they stood by sullen, afraid of this fight.
Then stepping forward to speak and break the impasse was Lady of the Night.
I offer a solution for this impasse, because neither you nor us can win this toil
We will offer you Message for a Claimant joust, and the victor will gain all spoil.
Message said I volunteer on behalf of my people-nation, to save this planet I will be a  gladiator.
Because I left one planet that was destroyed, so this one I can be a savior.
Dragon-Man whispered, are you crazy, and Lady of the Night said Reinforcements are coming.
The Covenantial Project is leading them, but we need to stall for the time being.
This Claimant Joust will give us time, and Message can handle herself.
I just need my garment back, so I could disguise as a Diablo-Robot for stealth.

Message was on the Alieno-Machine, and Drozen said, Now we as brethren are united.
We should have a lover’s quarrel every now and then so that none of us are dead.
It is better to step forward in my presence, then hide forever in the shadows.
Message defiantly replied, I stay there because it is my position to continue battle.
Drozen said haughtily, Battle, how could you say such horrible things and who really sent ye?
Message banged on the door and yelled, I come as the Imperial Candidate to pass judgment to execute thee.
Drozen said, Fine, if that is what you wish, you can lose this Claimant Joust and be gone.
In the midst of it all Lady of the Night was watching in her garment, and wondered what the hell  was going on.

I have nothing of my own with me
My body will go to dust soul will fly
I am a drop in the green golden sea
My wings will take me back to sky

The moment my spirit is in trance
To see the truth in its real shape
I request to my love to give a chance
To take me to her vine to escape

Let me be part of your contingent  
Let me belong to you as a friend
Please appreciate I am only claimant
My love my style is my real trend

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow

because chances are, you haven't heard it
before, i know, in either case
not to my liking either -
but then the olympic flame was passed
between a thousand interlocking legs
that ran from one centre of the games
being celebrated, and onto another -
and if there were aquatic obstructions
along the way, the baton was still allowed
to run, on a ship, in circles, before landing
and unwound, allowed a straight line
once more - not straight in the strict
geometric sense, obviously zigzagging -
but let's say i found cross-generational points,
in each generation there are cross-generational
interests - should my own produce very little,
or of little interests, there's a back-catalogue
to delve into - who'd imagine the youth could
never die like that - but intact - even though
some could be asserted as being ancient -
a revision of their work years later only made
them however the revision was to understand it -
and yes, links, under a million and the chances
are you haven't, haven't heard it, you yet to be
a cross-generational - cronquist stick-seeds might
describe the writers born in the 1910s - and say
a rebellion against Wordsworth took pace -
or some other rebellion, or even an appropriation -
you have those from the 1980s too, minding
the literary output from the 1960s, anticipating a
future, a splinter group of hopefuls anticipating
something more - unlike in the current state of affairs,
where no longer the old moaning and groaning
cuckoo cranks - our's, youth's cultural arthritis -
we too complain, scaled to the nanometres of
metaphysics - our spiritual health has been dampened,
and if the timing was anything, although in agreement
it was: canto LXXXV - rock drill, well a drill assuredly,
a burning that implants a windy vacuum of gravity,
cf. (conferre, i.e. - id est - compare) with an article
in the style magazine (every sunday, religiosity of
newspapers, a weekly event, much anticipated) -
the article in question? generation viz / not to
be confused with viz. (videlicet - namely, that is to say),
rather generation viz as visual, a visual generation,
visuals only, censor all ****** words and have as much
******* and gore as you like, the offensive
u                c                  k               from fathering an oath,
so generation vista print, vista (the all pleasing generation),
no drink, no drugs, aloe vera water and cucumber
extracts - generation squeak - squeaky clean -
mother's failed rebel - generation mind the gap -
it's no longer a stoner, a mary and juan dipper -
'yeah man, far out...'
                                worse, it culminated in post-language,
and due to lack of intoxication, it's supposedly
serious... well... by god it is serious - post-language
is akin to a venture into the unknown acronyms -
acronyms and emotive chinese of :( -
the lesser form of computer coding - the tip of the
iceberg as they say - a champagne bottle splits
in the ratio 1:10 - that's one bottle and ten mouths -
during london fashion week also called an entrée,
in russia it's called a canapé - ah but the sober
eye that can explore further afield rather than raw
memoriam dimmed slightly - a rattler of cigarette
packets - more caffeine less gasoline -
and so, i too a hackelia nervosa, clingy to the past
in some way or other, not to mention attempting
an enticement to my palette - a storage room,
just there, lost & found - umbrellas, books and
other memorabilia - should any claimant come,
it's, just, there.

Well where will we
Wallow
When weathering
Woe
If the one who weeps
With us
Won’t drag us below
Will we find
Sanctuary
In various others
Go run to
Succumb to
The some of them
Lovers
Asunder I’d sooner tore,
Bore out my soul
Before treading the sand
Without your hand to hold
So behold
But a testament
Fragment
A statement
My orphan heart
Lost and found
You are its claimant

well, it's hardly a dostoyevsky novel: this western journalism; there's no elaborate plot, no complex characters, if western journalism deems itself fit for purpose, and by purpose i mean demeaning the poles as the eastern irish, plumbers do all, i dare say they ought to consider the balkan slavs for a natural selection cocktails of augmented purposiveness in demanded bourgeoisie opinion, in the safe abode of having a piano in the lounge; socialists in the framework of ably philanthropic, but penniless by nature.

that's the thing with the reincarnation of the roman empire,
the areas of europe not conquered
due to the romans' fear of icy goosebumps
is hilarious,
not to mention the trick western "philosophers"
(psychiatrists) have give us, us, children of the setting
sun - weight & measures, chevrolet sized wheels & bonnets
in ***** envy over our counterparts -
the conquered lands suddenly feel they have
a legacy to fulfil - if i was ****** the soviet would be neutral
and the belief in the luftwaffe would be minimal,
i would be the anti-thatcher, believing in the dwarf miners
of coal rather than diamond: to dig under the channel
and invade from beneath the breathable earth
rather from the sky on failure of the zeppelins...
i wouldn't follow napoleon from the pyramids of giza
into the realm of the oninion domes of russia...
what fate, what travesty! everything i say seems to
be far right albeit it isn't.
that's the thing with western "philosophers"
(psychiatrists), they think ireland (err land)
is on some strange continent known as eastern europe,
central of the ural mountains,
poland the ireland of the east? i dare say iceland.
amsterdam lost to st. petersburg over being the claimant
of the twin: venice of the north - too many ******,
too much of life worth living without fashion
and what someone else thought, edinburgh stood
still whole while the athenians just talked crap
although thee twinning was accurate:
never mind that, the zenith of travis' musical output
the 12 memories output is staggering,
like in that club in edinburgh i wondered
what the guy was playing, he was playing,
and years later knew it was neil young's old man...
managed to play it with scarce notes resounding...
but i tell you, western society is not the zenith...
syrians over their own... just to look into a loo
rather than a magic mirror on the wall...
loo loo on the tiles... who's **** stinks more than mine?
so before the sun set i had a drink,
i got out from bed on the promise of a drink,
not the goldfish wish fulfilment of passive sadism
watching my mother cry at what she and they did...
i got up for a will of life with a drink,
skimming the ice rink for some cubes in mathematics,
i got out of bed for the drink, and nothing else,
the else otherwise is revealed in people living
fully amused lives...
you know...
we're doubly animate, there's the animate bit of us
that residues animals as your counter-points,
but the doubling effect lies in our thinking,
we can be immobile: stephen hawing on alladin's
flying carpet sort of speak... it's not exactly
the expression via telepathy or telekinesis,
the former being a projection of pathology -
the spreading of mental illness via mere thinking
and the egg throw ogling into another man's happiness
of possessions priceless, like: wife, children, house.
begin with fakes... i'm not sure why it's called
artificial if not simply placebo intelligence to add
to the illusionary spectacle gratified...
artificial seems to only add to the confusion
between synthesis and psychoanalysis...
but of course we're not synthesising souls
(pashtun *sa, breath, a rendering, esp. if only in
afghanistan), we're synthesising replicas,
clone wars tore us apart, the en masse greys
of the daily walk on the land once in bloom
now in square paving, or by masonry spiders
cobweb.
yes, i left my soul in scotland, on the climb up
gleann comhann - with ben nevis the tallest
peak visible through the shroud of cloud seen through,
but i still, i still just, don't, get,
the fact that western society sees me like it
sees itself, with a colonial past that needs self-repression
(prefix self and hyphenate and you get automation),
i was without land for some time,
the four partitions of poland between austro-hungarians,
russians and prussians learned via scolding
taught me... what i learned i'm not quite sure, but
i did learn the lesson...
but psychiatric treatment can't teach me anything,
it can't turn a physical problem into materialising
a metaphysical condition,
but as i said, english existentialism has no human
affairs to be concerned with, english existentialism
is more concerned with monkeys and dinosaurs,
sweet & sour bits of life, coupled together
you only get *** tree fruit pastels: sweet & sours.
i can't imagine a worse off exile...
but i read of one in a book what took to foot
from england straight into afghanistan...
i heard it... literate or illiterate, nonetheless sung...
the pashtun women singing landays (syllable
restrictive songs of 9 or 13 syllables while
cooking or washing clothes in the river),
with the "little horrors", all that mature man
and me attired in wrinkles beneath the niqab,
the parchami (member of the afghan communist party),
unlike persian dari poetry, thus like:
fate brought me a spouse a child to raise
god, while he grows tall & strong, i age and i grow weak.
but the western nations will not be so assured
in fermenting their colonial past among their european
neighbours who weren't colonial... and that i vouch
with an ardency to simply prove them unable to
take a holiday in southend's pebble beaches
rather than silky white sand of the carribean.

i meddled in egypt a third time,
and all i said was...
a. you ancestors will say the same thing
i said, but unlike me
your ancestors will say it unto you, directly;
b. never meddle in the affairs of female
genitalia of poetics of the burning bush / *****;
c. you were given judaism, christianity,
islam... instead you settled for mongol;
d. begin to believe
that riyadh is further east than expected,
as is the warsaw pact closer to the west
than the right blink of the eye of john paul ii,
FOR, I, WOULD, REMAIN, ENTICED, BY, A,
HOMELAND, I, RATHER,
THAN, TAKE, OFFERS, OF, A, SAXON, TO, EMIGRATE,
I’D, DRENCH, MY, HOMELAND, IN, BLOODED, NILE,
TO, SEE, THE, WAKE, OF, MY, THOUGHT, ELSEWHERE,
OTHER, THAN, THERE... HAR COO! JANISSARY OF VIENNA,
signed the he of whom read the book above all other books,
who wrote against the book poetry,
who wept, who liberated the eye from the mind
and endeared it with a heart,
of the slave kept captive in solemnity
for the once thought of encryption of the eunuchs,
of those who read but dared not speak,
who thus was made the claimant of the title:
the bridge over the waters of Bosporus... that kindled
the turkmen with the ottoman and the mamluk sheiks.
indeed what pretty cauliflower for a daffodil in hymn...
but lessened beauty if one should come untamed and hooded
in footstep of being recognised -
then the merchant’s (muhammad’s) price would be less
than that of an antique dealer.

suddenly... my skin
"feels" freckled,
or that ginger is abhorred,
or that orange is
queeny -
                 leisured at -
a bat-haven.
poetry is words
         philosophy
only punctuation -
take to fathom a Norwegian
acid bath...
               murmur of marrow -
then the chemicality of Hermes -
what exists:
globally under ****
sloth: lo
                          so
dough
                     cop
                                    eerie navy
and  nazal -
                              i,
am, centrist.
                   blister
scold...
                 b l i s t e r
s  c  o  l  d
     b   l    i   s   t   e   r
   scalp and the mustard:
  khaki khaki khaki!
coca cola khaki!
                      father says otherwise,
****** and puritan pirranha -
Warsaw subway girlen -
              frozen, minus bowtie + yurt dover -
         ****: closure and escapism
from war, entry point: *****, your culture.
as the joke goes:
   the jews spoke more zion than they spoke
yiddish: baalam - donkey-riddle -
but at least jesus entered jerusalem,ioe
or the tool-forge of alpha blo blo Indi.
Nikita...
                 cobbler smacker...
shoe fits fine...
                   now you juggle GDP
against cabbage... and horse-radish...
iron eagle no hail mary, no iron,
no golgotha... as intricate be:
american coca - lobside Xican milken -
NIKITA!
if i have my regrets... then i have my
love-letter... art... Juliet...
thus you have your politics....
   if i have my regrets i have a chasm
to overcome,
         in yawn as to conquer depth -
thus with wind, adjoin weaker slav -
german... german...
who said german inclusive anglican-sax
and svab-frank in Lorraine -
Iblis in Matador crimson quake,
numb Paris, numb Paris...
                          Elba...
               goat,
              geiß - gąś - goose - stratum!
           kindred SS man
or the ****** joke in Auschwitz -
100 years... then szkodliwych...
  rekindled... at least what took place
in Auschwitz was also said: Eva Braun...
5 years... not 100 years and fake,
and almond culprit...
    5 years and the gas,
a chemist suffices...
            100 years of ******...
the jokes coercing Auschwitz with Hastings
are but candle-glamour for what
nimble in wax, be turned to enshrined stone...
              memory: was never to be a Disney.
     i'd prefer the uncanny - Schubert bound
high-class death,
  that this horse-bound harking a phelgm
to no rebuilding founding:
Pilate washed his hands of Yehu
       Pilate washed his hands of Ishra;
                Solomon is
     placed  in the House of Saud -
                           and a quarter - toward the tumult
a desert of white fog,
                  a *** fetish...
   and you jogging after Honolulu in bone, gene
and lava...
                     sunken lung, shiva's "star" of anise -
that spoken of eye -
           said green, said envy,
said but once in absent-mindedness - an absinthe -
crystaline in milk -
                     heaving the ache of mind
and the heart as copper in a lacklustre of
former hope of nurtured hearts' gain:
with painter as kindred and unison with a plumber's
  to the death toll chime: an eon worthy
               a sneeze, if that be a sneeze to
rekindle colour in spring, and moor in auburn
   lazed...
                               and between extremes:
the two deserts -
    and that i be bound to the tomb
               and the stone,
and the fox tornado tango of the trial
that would never be a Friday of what would
always be: a revealing noon:
be it orb, or be it scythe -
                           be it Everest, or
be it the flute in the dough of Nepal as enshrined
                for the arithmetic of shadow:
pauper plato... pauper plato...
                                                       pauper
                                  one and all...
                     if we all but possessed the luxury
conversation...
                                    but none of us possess the
capacity to treat conversation as a luxury...
                          conversation will never be a luxury,
given the fact that we decided thinking to be primo,
the luxury... to re establish conversation as a luxury
we have to prevent thought from innovating...
from invigorating...
   but since conversation cannot achieve this paramount...
the only achievable parallel suggestion is to talk about nothing:
and think about everything;
likewise to think about everything:
and talk about nothing -
and as Heidegger expressed:
   we are non-being in number,
                               because nothing negates
a quantity -
                        how then to rainbow into a presitent
continuum? chameleon culprit?
    only via an elasticity of language...
             thus 10 am gives gallop toward horizon
and sun, and i am furthest from staging a continuum
of what i am an example of:
man, husband, father, partner, son, cohort, cohesion...
i feel no reference point in having to demand from a per se, the nearing-claimant pejorative antidote, other than the one i have aspired to as merely a sand-castle, rather than the bombastically-fuelled pyramid.

may i too see the exponential
splint ering of a tree
into branches with the foremost
awareness of the tetragrammaton
as keenly as i swore to recount
the stump made into duo
of alveoli made exampling
and thereby exponential to a gratifying
mystery of the unsolvable y (pin-point,
your self - and as many girls
in the green Ukraine as those absolving rites to
a marriage, beyond? then i too eager claimant
of a bachelor status! i too the stature of exampling
the bachelor status and hopes of polygamy
for the beggar women who can't be left
bereft of materialism of any kind
since the dog, since the dog, since the leash).

apparently we have to go, bypass the easiest crowd of the capital, the easiest crowd of the capital, the ****-pants girlies waiting for a fake ****** in idol worship... artist like wine bottle... bootleg us... they’re bootlegging us i tell you... we can only be considered when the young suddenly disappear with depressive suicides and the grey tide of mechanics of the conveyor belt of antics of the supposed ease - never mind the thrill of hunting the mammoth... first came the form of the four legged animal (cat, dog, lion), then came the square... after that... to exasperate us came capital H... or k... x... offshoots i say... allowances of photosynthesis nodding into the light... but first came the four legged animal... then the square... then the lettering to abbreviate the once wild animal now staged in domestication.... but still we’ll have to ferment like wine... to ask a bridal ****** to occupy a whitewashed house we can return to on the vector finitude of that claimant word home; so what are feminists waiting for? the chinese stole our jobs... we’re eager and waiting house bound males... like your grandmothers used to be being housewives... eh! came feminism a playground of fairness... come on! i’m not going to juggle torsos for entertainment of the decapitated head talking about flapping flippers / wings in frankenstein’s pose before the stampede of revenge. what’s that? ***** got wet and no one wanted to photograph a sell for the **** industry? it’s almost like the child slavery act of exploiting children by regina victoria. ooh ooh give me the gay gene so i can expect robinson crusoe rubbing a palm tree so fast as to turn it into fire up my ****... i might just **** a smoke signal big enough to be rescued from this corset tightening for “respectable speech therapy” coming from the asylum of the parliament of yank-a-doodle-do-nothing... but take a cabbie for a bus-driver in irish... ye gaz’d a per mill lon up the shore n ditched d per, eh, in via bear? shire rickety rickety cricket and the irish bigfoot known as an ‘obbit! god... where have the stereotypes gone to? switzerland?! my murky luck... yodel yodel yodeley michael jackson yo the who he hoo!

The Federation stood around stunned because they did not know what to say
Message was the heart of the Federation, and now she was in Drozen’s fray.
Lady of the Night appeared to them and said Message is ok, Drent you have explaining.
Because it was like they were Romeo and Juliet the way they were complaining.
Drent rose up and said, no it was more like Romeo and Juliet were like Drozen and Message.
My father tried to warn her that as an Imperial Candidate she should spurn his vestige.
But Message did not respond, and as Headdress Prince I tried to get together a decree.
That no barbarian could associate with an Imperial Candidate or die painfully.
Message would not speak to me, and Drozen left in a maniacal fury.
Little did I know that Drozen would come back and this time not as a loving suitor.
The Imperial Candidacy went on, and it was between me and Message to be ruler.
I thought Message would win it, but the Brethren never got to pick.
They handed the Advocate Council the paper with their choice, but she never opened it.
Drozen interrupted the proceedings, and captured us both to his Alieno-Machine.
This is what happens when true love turned into violent vengeance, I would never forget that scream.
He destroyed our planet, and took Message to a load to lock her inside.
And as for me he said, Drent you will be a Teremi Mercanary, and if you fail Message already died.

So I came to Earth, because that was my next assignment.
But I did not know that Message was already there, and had broken out of confinement.
I resented Message for the destruction of our world, but I realize love cannot be forbidden.
I guess Message became a courier of the Dragon Power to become better hidden.
The Federation sat there stunned, and Breastplate-Bearer said, This explains so much.
Dragon-Man groaned and Lady of the Night asked, Tell us, how did she get the Death-Touch.
I think the load was so strong that it had a Gretian force-field and in the process of breaking free.
Some got onto her hands, and over time it evolved to become the Death-Touch on her fingertips.
I could never let go of the fact that I let down my Dahomeyians as a Headdress Prince.
Lady of the Night said, No don’t feel that way, and Breastplate-Bearer said, you really dropped the ball.
Boundaries, Lady of the Night and Dragon-Man both screamed, but Breastplate-Bearer continued, Good thing this is like boxing with gloves at all.
Dragon-Man then turned to Lady of the Night and asked, So did you get any intelligence that you heard.
Lady of the Night said, You can use your disembodiment powers to free her, and Dragon-Man replied, I gave Drozen my word.
Lady of the Night said, Well, there is nothing I can do, because Message just has to fight to victory.
Drent replied, I think now that how Message feels about Drozen, victory is not enough.
Breastplate-Bearer called out, Hey, should I take the cloaking mode off the Isotrain Mechanism?
Dragon-Man shook his head and said, No, this is our base we don’t want Drozen to know where we are living.
The Claimant joust was come, and Drozen and Message were both prepared.
But Dragon-Man was shocked for the first time in a while to feel fear.
He knew Message could fight, but Drozen was the Commander of the Numberless Clans.
They must be Numberless for a reason, but at least Message has the Death-Touch in her hands.
Message took her position on the Centaur-Raptor, its wings were spread out to its fullest.
Drozen also mounted a Centaur-Raptor, but when Message looked closely he was sweating bullets.
He seemed to be out of breath, and Lady of the Night taunted, What is wrong can’t get enough air.
Drozen fired back, After I am done with Message I will end all of you who have come here.
Message and Drozen head together each other Message had her weapons ready for combat.
Suddenly Drozen fell to the ground heavily, without Message making First Contact.
Message pulled out her Celestial Blade Saber, and yelled Surrender or die you fiend.
One of the Scimitan referees said, That is against the rules, and Lady of the Night retorted, Hush, you don’t know what you’ve meaned.
Don’t you realize that Message has saved your planet and many countless more.
I don’t think I did it, Message said as she stepped back with Drozen lifeless on the floor.

Can I have his head, No, Heart, No, Kneecap, No, Message and Dragon-Man argued.
His hands, You have hands, stop trying to be greedy and eat this splendid food.
Message huffed, He did not even have the courtesy to die by my hand, how rude.
Drent called out, So what do we do with Drozen’s lifeless body without power.
Dragon-Man replied, Put it in the Acider flames and let them have a feast to devour
Lady of the Night asked, Dragon-Man, don’t you have a pending court case?
Dragon-Man smacked his head and said, Oh yeah, we better get back to Earth in haste.
No don’t go to Earth yet I want to fight you all, the Legate said in the background.
And in the Voidful Midst the Covenantial Project was gathering the Federation without making a sound.

I am a beggar who is bound to praise and request
Who  is untiringly, relentlessly opts for his quest
I don't hide myself whatever I am that I manifest
Against my well wishers I just never ever protest

Being beggar of beauty when I ask for the charity
My beloved being blunt never ever show solidarity
Even if there is no one like her in the town or city
But she refuses to be my beloved with more clarity

When I want to see her she becomes seriously blunt
Being full with tricks she remains ever ready for stunt
Since I am claimant of her so I just bear the real brunt
At times being nasty it seems that she is devil's agent

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

Dragon-Man and Drent prepared to face off, in a fight one would not survive.
Breastplate-Bearer was grinning from ear to ear, because in these environments he thrived.
Lady of the Night and Message took their positions, and listened for Dragon-Man’s signal.
Then Drent cried out, I want all of them wiped from this forsaken planet, and Message giggled.
What’s so funny, Drent barked, and Message laughed, You will never be good at a Battlefare Intonment.
Brother you were always the one to take the good and turn it into Drent.
Brother! Lady of the Night and Dragon-Man asked in utter shock.
Yeah he is a Dahomeyian and a useless, spoiled chip off the old block.

The Bracti took out their Howitzer-Rockets and Drent said, **** everything that moves!
Lady of the Night fought valiantly, as if she had something to prove.
Message reached out with her Death-Hand and put it into a Bracti’s chest.
By the time she reached the other side, he was a bloodied pulp of a mess.
Dragon-Man tried to get close to Drent, but Bracti were always interfering.
Meanwhile Breastplate-Bearer was fighting strong like a warrior apparent.
Suddenly everyone heard a voice to stop, that was so strong they fell to that command.
Both Dragon-Man and Drent tumbled down together, but they were so weak they could not stand.

Who are you, asked Dragon-Man in a tone enfeebled by this noise that did not destroy.
I am the The Covenantal Project, it replied, The masteress of the Chyrsanium Alloy.
I am the Marshal who presides over the Dragon Power, and called you to the Federation.
Drent, you will be head of the Patriot Knight Way, and fight alongside Dragon-Man.
And why should I obey you, sneered Drent as he got up off of shaken knees.
It is a choice, said The Covenantal Project, but this time choose wisely.
Drent snarled, How can I fight alongside someone I always wanted to decimate?
And Dragon-Man replied angrily, It was not just you, I too fought a long time with hate.
But if this is true, we must put aside our differences and fight as a Federation to be free.
We will either bury our enemies together, or our enemies will bury us separately.
                  
Drent said, See this face, how could I lead a Knight Way of the Federation with these features!
The Covenantal Project said, There is a Nectarskin with healing balm that cure your Injury Fevers.
Message was smiling, Lady of the Night was frowning and Breastplate Bearer was talking to Bractii.
Drent said, Okay, and Dragon-Man whispered, It will be alright, I too would have fought me.
The Dragon-Power were watching the proceedings, and most of them could not have more glee.

Segril of the Dragon-Power was saying, the Federation is fully formed, and now we can Battlefare.
Etil was silent because he did not realize the Covenantial Project would arrive over there.
Dragon-Men asked Drent, So, where is the Logre Markets I heard so much above
Drent said in a hushed tone, They are closed for this Quadrant Rotation because of the Clamant joust.
They take beings from other planets and turn them into Paridiate Gladiators.
We would have to lay low until it is over, because they might take us for later.
Message chirped, O Brother, are you afraid of a little Claimant jousting  because of your youth.
Drent was silent because he knew that his sister’s words were the absolute truth.

The Diablo Robots arrived to Drozen, and one of them asked Please master have mercy.
Drozen snarled, Mercy is for creatures who win, and deserve that right as worthy.
I will not **** you, but you will go to Lavaic Mines to make my weaponry.
Perhaps in the future I will take you and you will be of some use to me.
Etil and the Council of the Faceless Tongues were arguing over the next plan.
Drozen said, I will take care of all of them, Drent, the Federation and Dragon-Man.
The Legate said, I sense a presence that I have not seen a long Realmic span.
Is it Drozen? Asked Dialect, No, it is the someone I actually respects.
The being who spans  against rotations and against spans,  the Covenantial Project.

Simple life, lived as a vintage television set
Ornate, one of the few luxuries exclusively for the well off
Useless.
Kitschy
A banal dream with pleasures devoid of an iota of venom
In a construct, a forsaken place, a planet without form
A perfect encapsulation, almost a replica
Of status, a microcosm
Head in the clouds.
Soul in the blood and bone
Desperate, claimed slowly by unrepentant chunks of flesh
I see the breeze on the horizon, sweeping through the fields

So I
Wake up

I never expected. It's not something I asked for.
But I rise all the same.
Once more, one more story to add to the pile

And as it turns out, I found the cure
Deep within the growths sprouting, and the sick smell
To rise once more
In the conclusion of it, I was an island to myself, but I felt at peace.
As my boots strike the sand, and my heart sinks a little lower
The pinch doesn't feel quite as real.

I could take some dedication to the facts that remain, as a claimant
Vigor worn to a shaggy pulp, my lungs crumble in a wave of synthetic dust
The scorn faced, the harsh lights shone on me, the blistering heat...
Unforgivable, as any reasonable man might conclude
I absolve no one of anything, but it all slips further from my mind, day in and day out
If I want it too or not.

To be so sure I'm awake...
How crazy am I?
The whole world breathes, exhales, in a layer of grey smoke, that soon condenses into clouds to shade me personally in my inaccessible fantasy.

The whole world's slipping further into those muted, docile gray shades.
A whole symphony of colors for these starved eyes
So hollow now...
Along barren halls, I'll run my fingers, across the faces of dead, rotted saints and take my gratification
In simple motions, drinking in the vibrancy, all the intricacy bleeding through the mock notions of simplicity

It didn't feel real then. I remember it all, in vivid detail
In those few moments, though branched and snaking through the tunnels of my fleshy wiring
I didn't feel anything.

The pinch doesn't feel real anymore
I can touch the sides of the sink.
My fingers, with gentle pressure applied, can sink into my skin
It only seems to matter when I touch it...

I stopped bothering doing it, a long time ago
It slipped from my memory

Said the sword as the eye,
"My edge is the sharpest,
Quickest maker of greatest numbers."

So the squid said:
"Oblivion is the lip of my beak,"
And he was the sharper.

The eye, as the sword, set to the forge,
Forfeit to visions of keenness,

And became claimant to a wicked edge
Which shaved him of shame;
Which loved most the whetstone,
So he set back to sharpening,
Growing so fine as to slice the stone in twain.

In recoil, he knocked upon his plane
And cut himself from his steadfast cradle,
And was pulled silently
Into timeless unbecoming.

My love when in your  company fortune pays tribute
My passion blooms like spring to kiss you to salute
Please do not ask me about the taste of my love pursuit
Let's go together when we are passengers of same route

What my love aspires to keep you  my eyes keep in front
I will never ever allow any one else to be  your claimant
When you are with me I become prisoner of that  moment
Do appreciate my love and your beauty are in agreement

Let me love you, my sweetheart till the time I just breathe
Even my eyes will take your image when you lay wreath
I will give my heart in  inheritance when I will bequeath
You cut my love when you took out sword from the sheath

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

i once stated:
my allegiance to the tongue
overpowers my
allegiance to the body...
sir...
(insert snigger
out of repose
being able to laugh at
oneself) -
      and this remains true,
the rest? truant.
the tongue remains with
me beside a need for
a body...
             i no longer need
claim of claimant,
i am here for
the claim of ownership,
it's a part of me,
you'll get this tongue when
you cut off my tongue
prior!
that's, how, i, will,
part with it,
  under do Irish circumstance
unless it be spoken
by a Gaelic!
                 *******
Broonie...
               wow!
slang!
   and from the lips that didn't
even pucker up the courage
to kiss a trumpet /
modestly aimed at the sax...
a ******* Broonie...
fancy that...
                  i think that's
called Irish in the royal
household....
               sometimes a  broom,
other times a Shamie...
****!
         a second slang term!
                   you had your turn;
my turn;
god, watching her dance...
who?
       Alexandra Burke...
got a hard-on for ebony...
had to **** one off..
                       never in my life
the desire for contrast!
              that age old fascination for
******* black chicks...
        it never abides to sit
quiet and become the teachers' pet...
loud mouth always has inkling
to the fetish...
                   ivory beauties the
whole lot of them,
no wonder Solomon was compelled,
given that Sheba was African.

world I’d like to break
the glass that seals him in the scene
neat and clean. Is he a fairy-tale
I can't t enter into? Or is he

a display that provides me
visual entertainment? I can touch him
with my eyes, not my hands. I can touch
the glass, but not pass into the place

he stands. He's close. But
distant as a star. And as a star, I must
leave him behind the transparent
sphere.  Here, he can hold me in a stare,

but not in his arms. I can hear the whoosh
of the butterfly rustling on the pavement, no
claimant to the stars or moon. His sparkling
world leaves me pruned.

On January 25 of this year there was a awful occurrence that did happen. I called the police to do a welfare check on my boyfriend. It was during those freezing temperatures. I have video of the whole occurrence. I was arrested that morning due to simple assault, but was later let go and was told they didn’t want anymore calls. But later turned to be untrue. There is more video, but as embarrassing this is I don’t want to show it until the authorities of my case have seen it all. The officers that were called are on the video as well. They arrested me that night, but decided not to. I did receive a knock at my door on Friday 1, 2019. The same male officer along with an unknown black female officer came. They had an arrest warrant on me. It was Friday night and everyone was asleep and I was about to go off too. I answered the door and they came in and to my surprise they said they were there to arrest me. The female officer asked many times if we were smoking drugs upstairs and if I was on something. Anyone that knows me, knows I don’t do stuff like that. The arrest warrant was taken on the 26 of January. Signed by a judge in high Point and the claimant is unknown, but says SL stark of Greensboro police department. They got me on a Friday night because of statue G.S. 15-A-534. Meaning that they will try for a real judge to decide on a bond instead of a magistrate. They can’t hold no one for 48 hours legally without a bond. Injustice was done. I do have more evidence of this.

thank you very much
for letting me clutch
your attention courtesy
sharing following thoughts
thru reading my poem analogous
to invisible electronic,
fantastic, kinetic... touch.

Manners work like a charm
equivalent to abracadabra to disarm
truculent nasty shortish brutes
who thrive causing harm.

Being well mannered
worthwhile to employ,
(whether Semite or goy)
if feeling surly
can supplant mood with joy,
the perfect spock
(to kindle camaraderie)
just ask Leonard Nimoy
milk of human kindness
if lactose intolerant

(such as yours truly) substitute soy
popular among gentile folk,
whose genetic pigmentation
low on melanin
hence snooty learned logophile
introduces the word Xanthochroi
for other linguaphiles
out there voyaging in cyberspace,
whose mindfulness clamors for etiquette
which nowadays encompasses

the webbed wide world,
where online netiquette
practiced by ne'er do wells, who bet
their bottom dollar
courtesy sinister motives fuel zest,
where he/she, they/them can wrest
every red cent
from an unsuspecting victim
seducing yours truly
for instance highly stressed

to the max exhausting,
marauding, and yanking nest
egg, now one wordsmith
at large hard-pressed,
which misfortune of mine addressed
in previous poems,
whereby I mentioned
desperate plight, hence
gofundme page titled
implacable ill fate battered wealth

bombed checking and savings accounts
with professional ruse and stealth
robbed me at ATM point,
whereat varmint found
compliant and obedient participant
able, eager, ready and willing
to buy the Brooklyn Bridge
which got "sold" a staggering
4,160 different times
between 1883 and 1928.

Haint no more gullible traveler
reduced to a lilliputian
than he who didst write
this poem and claimant
professing money suddenly tight
got myself in quite
a pickle, which penniless agony
grips me most violently at night
when stowed away
in my rook re: a forlorn knight

whose psyche took a tumble
from immense height
knocking me senseless
and cents less readily
admitting 20/20 hindsight,
a spectacle framed as laughingstock
courtesy ignoble trumpeting derelict
swaggering with bravado
trouncing former
savvy wise guise

i.e. mine acutely aware
regarding the ways
of pervasive wickedness
proliferating across
webbed wide world
sixty plus shades of gray matter
painfully pinched, where "gotcha"
forever chiseled, emblazoned, inked,
lodged, notched, stitched, tattooed...
within the windmills of my mind.

the phantom: the opera: the walking out: furious! Deutsche Opera: in English?! (Mozart's magic flute in English?!) shoot met in the head and promise me a slug's death of brain trauma! later her the island her with the two sexiest names: SASHA and NIKITA: if Islamophobia is so fake: why all this sober not sobering Russophobia?! so no: Islamophobia but all this Russophobia?! RUS! RUS! RUS! RUS! RUS! RUS! RUS! RUS! RUSZ! RUSZ! now the demon in my sleeping hour of ego: spawns! if Islamophobia was not so... irresistible... then why Russophobia so tantamaunt... but the Mongols are no longer feared: or the Christians... remains to be said: ones burned the library of Baghdad while the others burned the library of Alexandria... RUS RUS RUS RUS! row... by any and all scrutiny of allegiance: alliance: RUS RUS RUS! i stormed out of the opera like the phantom... took my respite in the Spanish wine cellar... i, have, had... enough!

fog of ego:
or how:
people personify:
leverage:
their dementia
their bipolar their their
them us we us win no win
this transit:
these cages of psychiatric
allocated: loss of soul
as if it's: something:
"personal"...
that it requires personification:
like e.g. schizophrenia
needs a humanity beyond:
beyond humanity:
a face: a personification
a presence a justification of hope
for lessening the ordeal
of parasitism...
  the fog of the ego...
which always bestows upon me
daydreams and lackluster
and bogus parodies and some ghosts:
it i
i it

       it i
       i it...

   it i
        i it...

            delving into the potentiality of experience:
which is: on a scale:
"preferred": the subjective: suspect quack
or the objective: soap and fringe:
i had a word on the ready just now...
objective... not soap: soap sort of unhinged me
from balancing my vocabulary...

subjective: suspect and quack...
objective: surprise and apathy: a dog's bark...
because i suppose imagining ducks:
but there are just so many red flags
concerning her:

last time i made a woman ****** and cry
simultaneously:
last time i made a woman ****** and cry
simultaneously...
i had to write it twice because i might
have forgotten the: huh?!
the last time i made a woman ****** and cry
simultaneously...
and all this: to erase the peaceful abode
of stretching out in my garden?
seriously?!
i saw Jesus in the clouds and the hell he brought
with him...
i implored for guidance
i implore too frequently:
there's that dynamic of PAREIDOLIA...
which is not something pagan which is not
a creed against:
not something the Church or Islam would
wage war against: what? loose geometry
association?

the fog of ego:
somehow there's a mathematics of:
the reflective inspiration:
to employ consciousness to destroy the ego...
to stop, not think... not think is a doing averse
to keeping with the Joan and John and the Ss...
to reflect is to employ a tactic of
the antithesis of verb: not think...
pause: but then the world spins out of control...
then comes the reflexive inspiration:
which is no inspiration at all:
considering that: the ego cannot be utterly
destroyed:
any attempt to do so implies:
the ego resurrects itself and becomes
spontaneously active: quantum: a potentiality...
a magical disappearing act and re-enactment...
in out
in out

            i and my it of i
which is that: id...
    it and of i within it
that, which is: alias: i...

                candy pop saga just listening to:
Taylor Swift
long gone at the nights spent la la in
Scandinavia myths
no antinatalism:
but i killed the father and now the orphan:
my duty my freedom
perhaps i want to make divinity
a form of contending:
perhaps i want to make divinity a form
of contention...

i find no uses in life or people
i just find: circumstances...
and people so sort of punctuate the in between
like 1 + 1 = loo...
kappa: sized: floating happily dead
the belly of a cat...

but base: i'm happy to escape the world
the antagonisms and the blue verve... of the blues:
i might as well haunt
the concept of guitar
so life is this vernacular of the jealous
paternity
and maternity
so now i'm going to get my ***** wet for a decade
before you creep in
no creeper: dying off with my parents...

like i'm 22... funny things happened to toy me
and mayonnaise and
i can be freaky and 13 all of a sudden:
do i want a child?
how can i break up with you
so that i can still "be in love with you"...
do i have to write like teenager girlie
seriously?!
seriously?!
              i will do it a third time:
seriously?!

      pooh biscuit brunch: salt on butter:
perfect combo: why not a pinch of salt
in milk, then?

      if one is claimant of destroying the ego
then one might as well:
deduct:
the reflective reconstruction practice:
a satisfying venture into the realm of failure...
then the...
reflexive construction "prejudice":
of spontaneity my ego appears: then disppears
then nothing
and god and ego
one and something dissimilar...
females as drugs: femininity in the eyes of women
AVATAR:
femininity in the eyes of men...
shoving the suffragettes down ***** rabbit-holes...
but i have this calm
and this garden i have
the quest of Candide and Schopenhauer...
am i...
for the frivolity of the anticipated life:
then the fates disgust themselves and alternate:

it's nice to get drunk and high
and look at life with a sober see spoke spec said
i think i need to take care of my
mother and father before
i really want to *******...
sorry the Bible is just one book
and please, don't invoke the old testament...
i wanted to be least cruel
when you told me that i would
not leave ghosts in things
the books i read:
the records i played:

there! where were you when i was my
despondent and lost
until who?
until i found i again!
   again i and and i and i and i not YOU
NOT YOU...

      this love is like faking cleavage:
***** hiss fit of cats....
better and i courtier the dogs barking?
you want woof the same
**** different cover...
BIG flag...
not even RED...
you speak of Jason and Geoffrey and "Timothy"...
i don't remember
speaking about
Ilona, Promis, Isabella that much...
then again:
i'd only talk about Ilona and Promis:
but i try to not talk about...
but you you you you
you keep talking about your pasts....
as much as i love you
i don't feel enough love
in order to leave my father...
i don't mind venturing into aloneness
and philosophy stature: of status...

but you mention your exes so much so many times
i feel conflated:
sorry: you interrupted me:
sorry: who's the surrogate of learning
about geography?
your teddy bear girl is getting
her teeth checked?
sorry: the age is showing: already:
sorry to disappoint:
but to your relief:
i'm not going to go after a Taylor:
gun and teen...

                  youth and beauty is a sickness
of watching snails
regardless of whatever the hell it is they're
able to do....
but i'm feeling 22...
i just can't imagine the hurt that will
come Sci-Fi's way come Swifty's way...
when her
i'll remain the loser Poet
until i did: bad journalist... blah blah...
when her songs dry out and the momentum: shifting:
sizing up: dry...
                   when she languishes
from the perpetually immediate
until crowned: de-crowned...
throne: -ed: later entombed...

         that's a welcome experiment...
to imply the ABJAD
with LATIN... drop the vowels...
expose the consonants...
like already happens with keeping to
the strategy of
Chemical Nouns...
the toys are already in the sandpit...
but... it seems...
no one wants to play with them...

                 H₂O...

              meanings with ascribed lettering
in the alternate:
              hyper-:         a² = b² + c²

    ABJAD it already in place: to fall apart
geometrically and chemically...
into place...
Prometheus says my blues or not because
of you...

like we're 22...
dress up like hispters
and make fun of our exes..
ooh ooh so much arithmetic not worth
the plunder...
        
i am reminded: of my duty: of my concern:
that it cannot envelop
a gratification for the sense of purpose:
for man to love woman
is the greatest defeat
to have to avenge: with a victory
over nothing...
i cannot:
i have: restrained myself:
twice now: for worth of day:
masturbated without
claiming release: the ****** a world born
around me...
but i refrained...
and you were to: entice me with all
that: antagonism?

there's a point to aging and being mortal
and stopping grieving and hierarchy
moral authority
turn the other cheek
i say so anti-what's-supposed-to-be-alive
therefore the highest man
in example:
anti-

      in place of: not against:
in place of: instead...
like: oops?    not against:
to correct monotheistic logic:
which began with the Jews
******* things up with
the promise of the reincarnation of Elijah!

monotheism gone bad:
bad in the hands of the Hasidi
the anti-warring faction:
but remind me:
what other President of H'America looked so good
in order to pause and fist bump
the air...
regardless of conspiracy theories
the right righteous and suppose they could
be with the leftist and the "sanity projects":
control freaks on the LEFT:
not Islamic etc. blah blah..

                if not psychiatry qualified:
then lobotomy cursory: detail?
must meet mr. ***** Martin...
            you won't, please, forget:
the detail: that i implored you...
to come to me: all from you...

      but god forgive me if i still want
the girls to have all the fun...
i'm still 22... yeah...
like i need bus-drivers and plumbers
and that's not even my ego speaking:
ooh ooh i still need bus-drivers and plumbers
and you're the pop-out juice juice!
fountains of sunsets ooh ooh ah ah!
like my girlfriends give a ****
and won't later complain
and compete with all that materialistic bogus woegus...
like the prom queen:
i seriously wish she was born
in an Islamic country and was genitally mutilated:
rather than genetically improvised: as improved.

who said that? i hear voices...
i... who's i?
i didn't what the **** are you talking about?!
i hear voices...
i'm playing the wild-card...
there's... sometimes:
a joke without: a joke to give:
clarifications of impromptu.

Heavens's Accolade
Rare is the moment that my dreams don't deceive..
     the pinnacle of hope I wish to achieve
Science, value, yearly drastically held truths of the state;
immolation of the corpse grind of my souls of hope lays on the plate
I am drunk from the wisdom of years that I strived and struggled not of abundance
When suddenly celestial tales and frail parables claimed my wish to exist and my loudly held beliefs...
I am not a claimant of grace and not of  sin; I am not an avenue that lets grace faire begin
Yet moments of denial and foolish trials of unending martyr efforts...
Lay  lost in the grave- thoughts that once were lore,  may only be in morose efforts
Lay still every loss, from my sins; for the sentient realms in which life begins has hurt me even more
Lashing against plague and stolid in the face of virulent paths that pave our futures
I send my zenith... my haste for great significance to the deigns of the...
Angels that lay in wait for the godless ones that deceive whom they are set to embrace
Because inside the endurance and faith I have made they shall bring me past the doors of heaven that once denied
That ascending morality with effort and torture won't be a divine effort of life that can be denied!

That was what the simple days
of past found about mirrors of hope
Implicit deliverance now imp lusting
  hulking GMO farmland and droves of young bearing trees

Please floods of Hecate and shadows of river Styx
  leave me and my crops alone

Was this just a way, a path, an easy step foot shuttle
    one two
left before right
you know. how you do!

Is essence of valued shores of the brave
new redemption some claimant golden faux pas?

For I am believing this deliverance
and the safety with ending
what began with fortune and truth

Yet sturdy feeble traces have denounced
Once again... though one being
can simplify soul spirits cast
One can not pray of strongholds and blitheris
   castle dreams confused stammered on cities black

I alight the free destiny
I claim a son and night avowed
Yet I live in blasphemy
And I have only hope as I pray to all dreams
And forces that may determine fate from above

no broken thread:
just telegram telepathic:
short:

don't keep looking
for the bogus
of self-belief:
the motto: of:
just believe in yourself
*******:

such a timid death
of god
no god no self
read about the Devil:
only two philosophers
danced with
him:

Spinoza and Kant:
and i adore these two men
like Hamlet
or is that Vader: Darth:
or is that: no:
no Macbeth...

find your: self-worth!
man!
find your: self-worth!

  forget about self-belief!
forget about self-belief!
don't believe in yourself:
no cogito ergo sum phantom
rolling inside your brain
thinking yourself
more than rock
sea god and mountain:

but reflect upon the face of you
in Poseidon:
the ancients might have believed
Titans ruled
like Autocrats
and...

              Quality: of one
rather than one: as a quantity of indefiniteness
pleasure: no pleasure
she became involved in my life
yet my life is still somehow public
but as i microdosaged
and was asked sober to exchange
money

and spent the weekend with father
and you talked about moving
Martin nearer to the sea
to Danzig by the Sea not Clackton
or Clacton:

                     i'm going to an AcDc
gig while she was having spaghetti
monsters of conversations
by a bonfire
a date night
longing out I know
Reyla wanted us to have a date night:
i need to pay my cats for
baby-sitting: i really do...

confusion creates enlightenment:
funny how:
i can't see a traffic cordon
in the fog
enlightened by concusion
and hitting a tonsure of blood on my head:
perhaps i need
to get out of this gig economy
people are not seeing human to human
interaction

QUALITY:
half a joint
and half a 70cl bottle of Welsh whiskey
talking about sport

that England vs Switzerland match
but then that
Netherlands match vs Turkey
and i'm about to talk Olympics:
tis the season to by ****** holy
and Japanese pederasty
like so got me involved...

kettle?
pan?
kettle-pan
cups-ahoy: one is for a lesbian: i'm sure:
let's get technical:

i was actually looking up the Architect
of the Third *****:
Third ***** history is so rich
in its mythology and genocide that
it's a fetish
that i only acquired having acquired
the English language first...

**** Architecture is still ALIVE...
just think of the hands that did
the work of laying brick on brick
and you can still see ghosts
like jazz hands applauding
those still living...
of those who constructed Wembley
to now those who work in Wembley:

what a disparity:
CONSTRUCTION ARMY > WARFARE ARMY
you only realize that
when working in the security industry:
the military personnel became demoted
while the construction army
became promoted to the status of ACTOR
poet...
SUPERVISOR...

today my father said that supervisor
in the construction industry:
but a supervisor in the security industry:
i demoted myself
wanted go back to the roots:
unhinge myself from the shackles
of a profession: no career
a job is money...

    if i were a rich man... phantom of the opera
and fiddler on the roof:
somehow mashed up mashed up mashed up mashed up!

of this world i only ask of three
things:
not the father the son and holy ghost:
as man to man and then
translating to woman:
tortured by a blockjob
kept this one ***** chick dear mummy
got a new fairstyle
and for all the Gardens of King Solomon
just my me and David and the Lute
and Swan Song: Monogamy of the ****
*** ***... donkey cure of carrots..

just seeing these ex military men
work in the security industry alongisde
ex construction men
and how there's work in work
there's absolutely work in work
i'm doing overtime
playing actor psychologist pingpong...

three things:

A GOOD WOMAN: WHOLESOME
               AGRARIAN:
                   PARADOXICAL:
        DOGMATIC:
                 (looking: looking: for
a word: working agrarian:
hubris: hunting blues...
                       tip to tongue
tip to tongue... RUSTIC!)
SOME GOOD WHISKEY
A SHERBET *****
& good music
that's the 4th goldfish:
for you to hide like
a dragon
and that's the 1st wish of my 3
and that's 4...

                  as a fan of football
of sport
how is England supposed to compete
with the national furor of
both Netherlands where interrogation
integration worked:
where Turkey there's integration
of *** apparent Turks looking more like
Europeans rather than Middle Easterners
and that's because i count the shift of Rome
and no longer the Ottoman claimant
of Byzantium:

best reading encyclopedia history
when watching a football match:
best thing to do!
best: thing! to: do!

Pan Zastepow i Pan Podstepow...
prawda?
cztery serca ma!
cztery serc ma!

when i drink and when i smoke
i don't want to lose my autonomy:
my automaton ulitmatum
and the counter argument against
free will...

there is no free will but
there's the freedom to think
and my Cartesian mechanisms
of res cogito
and res extensa:

in that: there's no ergo sum
when you propose
a res cogitans
and a res extensa:
you get schizophrenics that way!

the extension of thinking
becomes hallucination
whether welcome or unwelcome
whether you can command
the voices
to give mould a second mold
for this earth:
these stones:

let me understand you better:
god, because jesus will not aid
me trapped in strobe light paparazzi
of getting crucified:
walking the red carpet:
authentic? was it?
yes:
but can it be translated from the depths
of god's uncle:
the Solpisus: the grand magician of
solipsism...

i need two diacritical letters:
then i'll explain myself...
my uncle Martin is talking to me
talking to my father
he is the horse of the plague...
and he has 4 hearts:
he has 4 hearts!
i'm finally talking to the dead
among those in hell
among those in heaven and
those in my mirror of Purgatory:
my grandfather is crying
and my grandmother a killer of both
father and son...
so that makes her a forthcoming
Medussa ****** Poseidon's trident...

ah... away from political
and family matters...
the stairs are staged: there's Jacob
with a timer:
stairs into an eypical English
abode
of the houses and the gardens:
like hanging: Babylon style?

***** is a *****: look up: i said Medussa
****** Poseidon's trident
because Poseidon didn't want to ****
as much as Zeus
and Hades was an choir boy ******:
and pharaoh...
since he asked of the living:
to build a temple higher than the mountains!
and made of sound and sand!

i levi with you: as a priest, a rabbi: not exactly a jew:
you enchroached on Poland
when waited...
let's see about the Baltic States...
ooh... ooh...
i was thinking about south east Asia
and China as the Russia
of Europe
and i was thinking Japan is England
i'm... thirsty...
i still need those two diacritical letters...
Korea is like...
**** knows what Korea is...
given it's split and splinters from the north:
North Korea is France and South Korea
is Italy?

no no! mop up the blood and guts and brain...
south Korea is Greece
and north Korea is Turkey...
but England is certainly bronze age Japan
and Russia is the iron age China:
current year...
get with the ******* project!

Pan  ZASTĘPÓW
  (Herr)
Pan  PODSTĘPÓW
loosely: a lord of reincarnations
as father:
and the satan son
of tricks...

a hellish dualism of still waiting
for the zombie rebellion:
a zombie crusade against the gods of monotheism:
because it would only take one god
from polytheism:
to conjure up a tree and it being chopped
up into toothpicks
to conjure angels and demons:
but forget about...
that third faction of heavenly beings
like the geniuses...
and the faction of the closest
prioximate hunger for knowing
planetary movements:
Earth is the daughter of Atlas...
Venus is the daughter of...
Mars is the son of...
Jupiter is the son of...
Neptune: Uranus: Pluto...
we call Saturn a: satiated orbit:

beyond the concentration of water in body
animate:
there's the long lost and gaseous
as grand as the planets in orbit:
like feminism when digging trenches
and tunnels to reach Darwinism:
because feminism thinks that Darwinism
is a philosophy:
but merely an observational weight...
there was only Darwin and no counter claimant
of Darwin's observation came along
to decide upon the rigid strcutures of
bio-society:
beyond mere architecture
but how people interacted with each other:
how technology like ants would
impact the Gregorian mind of the grand ape
know nothing...
i can move away from serpents
and imagining dragons because
then came unearthing thos dinosaur bones...
my mind is filled
with pacts of mosquitos with flies
and the archaic outlandish history according
to Darwinism
not because the dinosaurs  and the meteor
and is that a subjective: instinctive:
god given narrative proof and probe?
the one night the moon fell asleep?
or just because the moon is the daughter of...
****: either Pluto...
Pluto... Neptune is also the former, current:
name for Poseidon...
a planet given a name of one of the Titans:

not of gods: gods in proximity:
but Titans beyond...
the moon will tell you:
she will...

now i have technology like ants crawling on my mind
and tapeworms for all that's alive
and this world fear:
away from the serpents:
i looked in:
and from:
popularized pschology:
the chaos of Ouroboros
that came the order of Caduceus...

like the focus of the other ancient man
with the crows...
Huginn of thought
and Muninn of memory...

Ouroboros of chaos depicted as order
and Caduceus of order depicted as chaos
of discovery: from that the DNA helix...
and hex: upon you all... and hex hex:
upon you all; a sweet dream:
the sweetest of dreams:
falling asleep with a cat and a wife
0000000 miles away...
when it's raining: lying in a tent...
with the sound of rain...
cradling and nudging the sleep...
tender sleep:
tenderest of babes.