You: it is 2:10 am
Me:  Eastern Standard Mystical Time, yup...
You: why are you up, writing?
Me: the drugs wore off
You: *** the drugs?
Say it ain't so, kiddo?
Me: yup, I did engage
with some strong stuff
ce soir, the woman too,
and she is drowning in her dreams.
Easy and cheap,
scored some us some................
Asian Fusion
Thai Food, Indonesian small plates...

You: idiot!
Me: just answering your question
You: so where is this poem, shaman?
Me: You!
You: Me?
Me: yup.
You are my early morning poem,
which I have entitled Notification: You!

Notification

I am deeply unsure.

Am I notifying you,
or am I notifying myself?

Lost command of my
native language,
the emotions too strong,
Blue Java
the color of my word blood,
strong swirling,
uncontaminated by cow's milk,
but by cows jumping over the moon,
who have come to give me gifts of
Notifications.

Hey ****** ******,
The Cat and the fiddle,
The Cow jumped over the moon.
The little Dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the Dish ran away with the Spoon

Perfectly clear to me.
I am the Spoon,
You are the Dish.

(Shaman, Shaman, hey man,
you still sound drugged,
we urgent need some clarifications!)

When I wake up,
uncertain about a slew,
a portmanteau
of important life~things,
(Example: when should I
Capitalize a word,
a life, a me, a You?)

there are strangers,
Strangers still,
yet strangers no more,
sending me uncoded messages
intended to decode me,
Notifications,
they are called,

and they
Explode me.

capsules of comments
that encapsulate me,
emasculate my speaking abilities,
reduced to rolling in the gutter,
guttural cries to emit and utter,
man, I got friends I never met,
and that's ok
we just notify each other
thinking of you
and no more words necessary

life is groovy...

The Riddle

One of you has seen my face.
One of you knows where I live.
Stuff. Important stuff,
like the locale of
my hidey-holes.

My email and my
cell disclosed
soon to be
on sale on eBay
for a trifling sum.

So now I must
disburse to parts
more remote,
reappear in a
nouveau identity.

Just a necessary precaution.

Moreover, methinks
you have grown
tired of my waning voice,
waxing ineloquently,
opining too frequently.

feel like a
thick wooly straw
welcome mat,
edges unravelling,
grown raggedy,
roundabout the edges,
or like a
paperback book,
tho well thumbed,
nonetheless,
consigned to the
bye-bye
discard box.

riddle me,
me be the riddle,
when I scribe
under a new
Nom de Plume.

will you recognize,
my signature
hid amidst the
restless words that
still need a home?

are my poems
worthy of a
second glance,
do you predispose
your attentions on
your favorites only,
the newbies squeaking
ignored and unattended,
whose ranks I have
now rejoined?

did you ever meet
a poem
you did not like?
did you ever greet
a poet
with palms
outwardly raised,
saying, no mas,
had enough,
no time for you
and your
clouded clarifications?

need you.
need you to judge me,
without the saddlebags of
predisposition and imposition.

if you need me
just give me a
loud holler
in my sleepy hollow.

tho sadly my
country road,
has listening posts
on the telephone wires,
I will know, when.
you call,
your voice,
I will come,
if you ask,
always.

I'll be riddling
in plain sight,
if you have the taste
for and of me,
you will find me
soon enough.

HOWEVER,
in emergencies
all you need dial,
my digital signature,
911 and
ask for the
Poetry Hotline.

I am wrapped entirely with passion,
the best kind, the healthy kind, the kind adults wave off as naive because they miss the feeling.

"I will never like any girl more than you," he said,
dancing with me in the kitchen.
"We'll see," I told him, and smiled as I twirled under his arm.

Like stones in the pocket of your coat,
or a heavy stack of thick books
in your bag-pack
you are taking it everywhere you go.

The guilt.
The regrets.
The painful chances: what could've been; what should've been.

You are carrying some broken promises in your heart
which were not even said.
Some apologies that are due, some clarifications,
a last talk.
But stop!

Forget it. Move on.
You need to allow yourself life, sweetheart.
Throw away the stones. Burn the books. Inhale.
Exhale.
Life gets better like that.

...kites, roses and apple pie
(A repost from 2014...edited)


In life, in deeds,
You have been, still are, courageous
In your words, in your creeds,
I say you are all so sweet,
Infectious,
You all are contagious!
Just a single line of your words
Would surely, quickly be re-quoted.
You are exemplary in
Whatever you say or do...

Enlightened are those with furrowed brows
Upon reading your works,
Commendations,
And acclamations
Bothered by ideas and words
So foreign and difficult...
Clarifications,
simple explanations
Readily are provided...
One need not ask...

Like well respected, learned leaders,
Actions, words are emulated.
You are sweet...
You are infectious...
You are contagious!

If you were colorful kites,
Soaring up the blue skies
You would have so many tails
Hanging, trailing behind you...
Here in our world
Your followers  are like ants
Trailing your footsteps...
Never straying, not at all waning,
But multiplying.....

In a bed of roses,
Bees, birds and butterflies
Would never stop fussing
Endlessly buzzing
From up above, and all around you...
Taking all their needs,
Not forgetting themselves to feed,
To recreate, from your seeds
these, they are bound to heed...

Now,  
If you were a plate of fresh,
Yummy and crusty apple pie,
With a scoop of ice cream on top..
Oh me, oh, my....
I may not forget these three men,
But....I am bound to starve...
Pardon me, but...
Surely, I would be oblivious
The first one to be ravenous
To the point of being outrageous
Can't stop...can't wait...
This is my moment:
As long as I have a mug of hot brewed coffee
I shall take my time...
I won't feel choked,
Won't even be thirsty...
Voraciously, I would finish the whole plate off...
Til crust and crumbs fill me with too much stuff...

::::::::::::

For the Triumvirate of Bala, Nat and Pradip...

in alphabetical order, no one comes first or last... for these three are
      all soaring high in their respective styles of poetry...

there are many others worth mentioning, a plethora of names and styles, in fact...
    


Sally

Copyright 2014
rrab

i might come off of being anonymous on this site.... with that being said however, i will probably unlink my tumblr on that bio because that's for my own private pleasure, my blog is more secret i suppose. as well as the private and anonymous twitter i have.

in any case, i guess i'll link my youtube where i release spoken word poetry videos and such if you're that curious (i'm not looking for views, i think i'm looking for a sense of openness and less secrecy here, alot of reasons really. but go ahead and check it out if you wanna, if not, that's fine too) and i'll delete some of the darker stuff off of here and make it more PG-13, in the event that i link my youtube back to this site.

also, if this happens, i am going to change my username again to match my other pages so it all links together (sorry i know every time somebody does this, or last time i did this -- i was previously known as "brooklyn baby" -- it's just very confusing)...

i am working on self publishing a book of poetic stuff also and have been busy putting together my Society 6 shop which has other art, but i'm thinking i'll scan some handwritten poems too.

so yes, i realize this is not a poem and it's crap posting, and nobody wants to read an announcement on a website specifically built for poetry, but i guess i needed to make clarifications for those of you that follow along or care about this strange little mind of mine.

sincerely yours,
a girl of little habits **

----
update: i have since updated.. link in bio is my latest spoken word poetry video.

I’ve been thinking about God lately
And whats life after death
Because I can’t get past the idea that my existence is confined to just this flesh  
I need to know if god is real
And what heaven to book a room in
Because I would rather sleep in beds with saints
Uncomfortable in sheets that aren’t my own
Rather than be caught up in the eternal damnation of my very own sins
I want to know god
Know god like I know the voice of my lover
And I want to feel gods love like the promise of salvation he wrote in the bible thousands of years ago
Because 80 years in this body isn’t enough for me
Honestly 180 or more wouldn’t make me happy
Because I want to hear the voice of my great grandpas voice again
And my pops
And
I want to see my dog
Plus all the people that will go in my life time
I can’t live with a goodbye I’m not guaranteed
I want to know if God is just some placebo put into place to bring comfort to our souls
Or if I can out my whole life into the blind faith of a man I’ve never met before
And what would eternity be like?
Is it better than leaving a legacy thats starting out as rocky as mine?
Does every day pass like a steady wind
Or does it move slow like snails crawling over blades of grass?
Will we know what forever is?
In heaven can you look down on the souls wondering around below,
Or are you in the constant worship of gods holy presence?
I need the answers to all of these questions
And clarifications for all of the possibilities
And loops holes like reincarnations
Because I’ve been thinking about death lately
And what people believe is inevitable
Because I’ve always believed in the gray muddle between lines
I can get past the idea of black and while
Life and death
God
Or nothing

what? you seriously gonna row ρ row your boat, gently down the stream? well, aren't you the cherub to my apple's worth of hopes in being my ferryman, replacing charon, when crossing the styx!

it's one of those *edgware road scenarios,
you're walking down it,
popping into a restaurant for a shisha pipe...
and then street preachers prop up...
your girlfriend is half irish, half indian,
and they ask you: you german? you german?
no... wait... am i?
                  i guess there's a physiognomy
aspect in the way i look to others...
        am i german?
                   i ask my girlfriend at the time,
do i look german?
                 i don't know the ****** language...
should i learn the language?
               so these muslim street propagandists
keep egging me on...
       look at the jews... blah blah...
            and i'm thinking...
             my native tongue is polish,
and i'm trying to settle myself in english...
     what's this german bit?
even at school, i hate reciting this, but a history
teacher talking about the second world war
singled me out from the rest of the class...
                "blonde" hair... she didn't spot
i had green, rather than blue eyes...
             this is freaky deeky deep ****,
unconscious forces working against me...
                               the **** did i do?
turn into michael fassbender?
    fast-bartender, or simply futurama's ******?
shoe on head is not enough, when
you're asked to don a stilleto as an earing
dangling on your ear... not the same ****,
and certainly not the same cover...
       my paternal great-grandfather?
spoke 7 languages, was in the MP (military police),
moved to america,
      my mother tried to get in touch...
      i think my family owned portions of the steel
factory that would have allowed my city of
birth to grow into a county-like-capital...
that failed...
                       if i did a gene test
i'd be least surprised to have some german
or mongol, or swede in me...
                                         read the history;
it's just the idea that muslim preachers at
edgware road (where's the edge, and the wear?)
         giving out free korans decided to
consider me german?
    they didn't call my girlfriend at the time
an australian, even though she was raised there...
i was suddenly german...
   i ****** well hope this is not some form of narcissism
that requires: being written about...
         well then... i must be then!
still, what bothers me more is edge-wear rho-
             -and the missing -ad.
                                       ro-                -ad?
    i swear people just establish there is no oa
        or an ao grapheme borrowed from latin...
               they just say: row'd;
     as in the past tense of: i was rowing in a boat,
down the thames.
          clearly you need to gulp down an oyster
to make clarifications to the slight differences
in spelling, to make grand strides in what you mean.
     it's also edge-ware... as in... the edges are
being worn... ware & tear ring any bells
                                          via st. mary-le-bow's?
a bit like saying: quacks? or quakers?
that's the same doctor?
     no, you ******* ponce... it's a play.
on what?
                                                         words!
i really, really either need to start learning
braille, or sign language; people are exhausting
with all their functioning senses,
       and i don't feel like subjecting my tongue
to the treadmill of conversation;
       ****... there's no chance of talking the earth
out of orbit!

Eden happens now
Adam in me
Right here with Eve
Named everything
Straightened out my illusion
Millions of years ago
The thought projected
The Word sent forth the knowledge
Quantum time schemes carried the myth
For all to hear and learn
Today, this moment
We want to be like God
Knowing the knowledge of
Good and evil
Taking a bite to keep us alive
Disobedient diners
Each morning naked as a sparrow
Shame metamorphoses into sin
And only God can do anything
To bring us back together
It's cold without the warmth if His sun
So he made pelts into coats and leather into pants
To get us through the cold windy season
The first sacrifice
Blood flowed in rivers
But it never covered all
Heaven happens now
Leaving clues and reminders
For time travelers to discovers When they black hole sends them
To the generation inspired to write the myth
To add some clarifications.
We eat the fruit of the tree
Every moment and are cursed for it

The crucifixion happens now
Our souls have already passed this paradigm
The second Adam hangs bleeding on a tree
Of His own choice
It's at the foot of that cross
We hear him say the word
"Forgiven"
We won't even remember what the fruit tasted like ,

You say you love me,
You say you understand,
You say you will follow,
You say many things,
And i trust you !

But how can i be so sure when you escape all fights, all clarifications of situations ?

i will never not associate the bicycle
with my grandfather
and those many summers:
many a summers ago
when i'd go back to the "old country"
and spend the summers there...
mostly... fishing... cycling...
reading books...
etc. etc.

acronym... what's u.a.s.c.?
   i know how prepositions shouldn't
be involved in acronym building
so i left one out...
since there's only one: of...

unconscious arithmetic
<of> spatial coordination...
it's the "word salad" approximate of what
i feel when i aggressively cycle
through urban traffic...
as much as country roads are worth
the otherwise mundane perspective flatness
of Roding Valley: from the teasing
of the A406 through to the sq. mile....

up-hill is interesting not because it is:
a generic interest...
it's interesting because
i poker my mind...
and wonder... will i give up somewhere
along the climb?
plus... hills imply: off-loads...
off-load periods where there's no
peddling involved and you swoon down
a hill in some aerodynamic fashion...

it's not like riding a horse...
because... well... with a horse there's this
whole: "symbiosis" spectacle...
but... the horse has gravity covered...
you're attached to the legs and torso
and there's only the head to fiddle with...
but at a gallop?
in this sort of symbiosis?
what's a pumpernickel to a ******* windmill?

cars are too stable...
the gravity is punch is too centred that it's
practically non-existent...
and having been in a car crash before...
that probably the only thrill...
loco-motion: crazy when everything
has to be compared to walking...
dare i say: i abhor running...

if loco-motion isn't etymologically
rooted in the spanish word: loco...
and... i will not deal with the origins of motion
then it is: crazy speed...
no?

but it's not like i'm a bicycle doing math
in my head... unconscious arithmetic is
not a prefix to the compound of the phrase
(in acronym): u.a.s.c.:
unconscious arithmetic of spatial coordination...
but when any sports is involved...
a soccer pass... a hockey flick:
it's "thinking" the unthinkable...
because there clearly isn't any thinking involved...
not by the Cartesian res cogitans standards...

how would automation and
all the sporting "clarifications" fit into
the res extensa: i can only think of writing:
when having res cogitans as genesis...

obviously i had to come up with...
my own... res vanus: the empty thing...

it's just so: i tak to jest:
zapierdala litera po literze...
he's ******* around with one letter at a time...
notice how some of these words
have pronoun inclusion parameters...
i.e. if i were to say he drank...
i'd say:                 pił...
if i were to say she drank...
i'd say:            piła...
although piła is somehow synonymous with
saw: literally: war-saw...
not: i see, i saw...
that would also invite a pronoun
to an otherwise pronoun-free word: (to) see
widzieć...
i.e. he saw:               (on) widział
i.e. she saw:               (ona) widziała...
the brackets are optional...

- you can go through a whole book of Prus
and maybe spot the pronoun JA once... twice...
but in english? it's almost unavoidable:
always with the *******: i i i i, aye, i, i, i...

- perhaps Nietzsche can be cited as "saying"
something along the lines of...
'all the best thoughts come when one is walking...'
i once carried a notepad like...
like that kangaroo pouch of mine...
settling for the night's parade of stars
usually settling with some strong
lager and some citric acid sprinkle in
a churchyard of a graveyard...

- the great aspect of cycling is that no
"real" thought: comes to mind...
all the concerns for moral oughts:
ploughing the concern for traffic
comes primo...

minor incident at the local library...
picking up recycling bags...
the very unforthcoming librarian
consumed by a "conference"...
knock-knock... who's there?
cycle round and speaking through glass...
if i'd like a confrontation over
a surgical mask...
no... the expectation of being english
rubbed off on me in ways
that i utilise my own interpretation
of "it"...
the old lady imploring next to me
was scolded by the librarian...
why they won't leave the bags outside...
because some ethnic pauper story decided
to gobble a stash of 'em oranges for not
good reason while me and her only wanted
two bundles...

how i refrained myself from ushering in:
*******....
                       busy-bodies...
a life that screams:
why wasn't i born rich... instead, happy?
what will the busy-bodies do when all
these restrictions are fall-out boo boo?

that i did cycle past a gavin mcinnes doppelganger
up to collier row mount is no excuse:
but how often can someone mistake a doppelganger
for someone famous?
probably often... i was once stopped
in the street being some supposed Richard...

kinks - living on a thin line...
it has a nice "twang" to it...
like nazareth's hair of a dog has a "nice"
cowbell: broom-broom...

unconscious arithmetic (of) spatial coordination...
Leibniz was also a librarian...
i could be a road-sweeper...
i'd apply myself to the duties of the body...
but then make a quick-exit with my brainzzzzz...

- i could have been a father...
but then i did just perform self-genocide on
a mia khalifa clip and i'm filled with: (a) swell(-ing)...

levellers - carry me...
anything to drag me awaay from norse
mythology and tongue-in-tow...
from anything superior germanic...
i was close to scribbling a doodle
on the window-panes: hyper-glass...

of the isles: the celtic "jingle":
it's not that morose Scandinavian loop of
artefacts "leftover"...
but it's truer than towing-twos...

you can't expect a footballer to make
a cross via "thinking"...
what narrative of moral ought i:
ought i not congests the ******* custard?
unconscious arithmetic of spatial coordination:
is verbiage: i know...
but what else do you call it...
a cyclist feeling comfortable
when a truck passes him by...
a ******* walrus too...

        i like working my way around objects
that might **** me... it leaves me with
a sense of respect... for the time when i might use
them to pass a roundabout...
****'s sake...
looking over one's shoulder
igniting the "normie" manufacture of
indicator concerning a choice of direction...

- i re(a)d too much of Heidegger...
i read too little, esp. the newspapers and
within such confines?
who's fudge packaging the proper sort of goods?
i'm blind-rage-drunk from time to time:
here we are... lingua franca bullshitting...

that there was somehow an empire:
insomniac...
the sun so clearly borne:
that the moon started pulling clown faces...
and now... reducing assets to something prior
to... before the Angevins?

Phillip Augustus... primo... source...
why wouldn't i start to feel
disgust for the mythological blonde...
i'm more in favour of arab spring...
concoctions wtih Aztec...
basically i'd **** anything that wriggles...
savvy?
i'm so tired of feeling:
beside this square: squat... solo...
i can marry bride death:
legally... via the jurisprudence of
a Belgium... i can marry death without
having to execute  (a) terrorist plough...

- by drinking i'm numbing  my senses...
i'm also numbing the excavation projects...
tow-two-tying....
but it's a lot more interesting to grovel
onto a hill with a heaving:
when will my mind... "give up"...

grieving: ***: the stirrup...
it's not like a ******* pizza-esque
"reinvention"...
wankers Tod of Milan:
spaghetti fiddlers...
by some... the best hoard of 'em.

from the depths of a drunkenness that's melancholy:
the most sobering truths...

co to jest: świadomość -
to jest... narodziny pamięci...
i nie-pamięci tzn.: akt zapominiania...
w tym że człowiek się rodzi
w stanie pierworodnym:
a pierworodna świadomość
to "jedynie" najczystrza imaginacja:
co potem staje się:
zagmatwana, jako taka "druga"
za pomocą zmysłów:
nie jako ta piersza:
          czerpioną z świadomoś ci
samej-w-sobie...

nonwendigkeit:

not wrtten... but how a German might say it...
non-vendish-kyte...
or... sharpening the caron of the invisible S
entrapped in the G...
to a... nonwendiśkeit...
non-wendiś-kajt...

like... ich is also isch... which is also:
iść: to go... to walk...

NOT WHEN DIG KITE...
digging for kites?
or... Keats?
    
   no one serious, no matter of seriousness...
just sounds... encoding of sounds...
Hangul or hieroglyphics...
most certainly too much drinking...
oh: and a translation...

ha! if i were a Milan Kundera and wrote in Czech...
right... even if i wrote in German...
how many years later would
a translation arrive?
writing in ******...
ugh... the etymology... Slav...
the English imply the origin of Slav...
is labouring under a "lost" E...
hmm... should i start calling the Russians
for clarifications?
let's see...
   Slav has an etymological root in Turkic...
which Slavs? the Yugols?
the southern... Slavs?
you're all ******* Franks?!
Swabians?! are you? last time i heard we
ref. to ourselves as the remnants of
the Sarmatian inquisitiveness...
some... Iranian tribe... Aryans...
  
******* sputnik historians...
makes my blood boil...
little things... always the little things make one
into a ******...
punctuation marks... displaced...
i'm a pedantic beast...
Slav is derived from Slave for Turkic...
really?!
Słowianin... word-smith...
słowo: word...
     ANIN: you want to know the meaning?
having no master...
word without a master...
slav(e)... the English approach...
let's suppose...
secretly i'm rubbing my hands waiting
for the Scots & the Welshmen...
why? why... because i can...
because i will not be subjugated to
etymological dunces!

******* Western sling-shot targets...
Bristolians...
Devonshire pompous *******...
what are you... some ******* proto-German
with ambitions to make a history with
Anglo-Swabians?
the winged hussars of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth: no... didn't... no... n'ah...
didn't come to aid Vienna...
well... i was told to learn the history
of the Norman invasion...
& the life of Edward the Confessor...
whom i very much adored...
i can't bring my history to these isles...
my "tattooes"?
in the script it states:
black-African... black-Carribean...
but not anglo-slav...
sorry... ha ha! i "feel" discriminated!

******* English ***** thinking all Slavs were
slaves of the Turks... yeah... maybe...
the Serbs! the Balkan Slavs!
us western Slavs waged wars with the Ottomans...
now my barber is a Turk & i thank god no
ethnicity touches my ****** sprout...

see! the English stress their values...
i managed to call them: universal
on a ZOOM call...
sure... "universal"... but hardly without their own
fault... come... come one...
who's kidding who?
labouring under the strict obligation of discovering:
DISCOVERING... not learning...
history...  sure... up in Edinburgh...
the local are... ******* up in arms
with standardised Elizabethean English...
*****...
     pompous Derbyshire whittle boys!
toffs or wigs! either of them!
        i want to bark in a way that i might
spew a spare tooth!  ****'s sake... hark! hark!
i want to bite! i want to bark!
no... you don't spew etymological spoofs
and get away with it...
i'll just round up some Ukrainians...
some Russians...
Tartars & the Cossacks...

        it insults me... "thinking" that...
there's this clue of a... oh... "merely" a "missing" E...
to arrive at Slav from Slave...
blood... is... boiling... & i'm not even on the side
of the imbecile surrogates of marzipan C4
explosive vest quests...
my grievance is... eh... more personal...
no Iraq or Iran invoked...
    i like to watch...
i need to watch...

           i like... still life... decay...
     what once was fruit is now cider...
  you don't confuse etymology though...
i.e. where does the term German come from?
the man with the germs?
the sickly **** bring-along?
******* Anglo *****...
broken bonkers on their audacity...
always the prideful wankers...
they were & are... pandered prideful wankers!
i ****... but you couldn't tell...
these ******* stick of ***** wasted!
ugh!
  as much as i love them as much as i hate them!
hey! hey!

so... what's a windmill to a
pumpernickel?

pronoun neutrality in the plural...
what the **** happened to the ROYAL:
ONE & WE?
did that simply... "fizzly" put?
one might,
we were expected...
to hell with trans-gender grammatical rights!
what next?
trans-physics! then state it!
metaphysics & metaphor is a load
of *******,.. as is the thesaurus...
let's do... trans-physics...
i'm clueless as to how we'll begin...

i'll just check with the Russians...
the seem to be the most informed people...
i stopped looking at the setting sun...
when i started up a conversation
about... tortoises...
reiteration... between Tamil...
Hindi... you can speak perfect Hindi...
& Urdu is not some superiority zunge...

to the steppes with you!
tam! dalej! wio!
huca! tym rze! dawaj!
fio!

       pampered Englishman...
when were you last invaded?
ha ha... oh... right... your beginning of history...
so... Darwin was a... ahem.. a...
"mistake"?
ancient Rome knew of the **** similis...
they paid enough attention to it...
but not as much as might not be required...
sorry...
you might right: but only on the sly... with a slight...

i drink the DARK WATERS... the sharpshooter
liquid... whiskers without a cat! hey! you *******
meow i'll turn you into a ******* pear! face first! hey! hey

if animals can orgam in silence,
then there are already, in place,
innate, rules,
         intuitive, silent,
understand of what is needed,
what is desired...
   why bring god into a brothel,
why bring the word
into the whole affair...
you either **** like an animal...
reducing yourself to the least:
an onomatopoeia...
or...      
              you do the ritual
equivalent of prayer whole *******...
there's no surrogate inhibition
figure to "catch you
unware"...
            you either apply
the snippet of the *******...
but also have religous rigour
to comply with this:
revisionist ease...
            or you have the snippet...
and all the clarifications
of a secular world,
   and some:
one in a million chance of
a clown, who ends uo securing
his critique focus,
with nothing more than an...
oops;
play maestro! play!
        some of us already know
the roots of the cause...
a spike in paedohpilia is in no
way associated with
an increase in the aggresiveness
of women...
   no... completely unrelated...
once again:
if i'm right or if i'm wrong:
oops.

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.