On  the  border  of
U.S  and  Mexico
someone   saw
                           a    ZULU.




On  the  ice-land  of
                Netherlands  
with  ice area birds
a  team   was seen-  a  team
                                    of      ZULU.



  On  the  sea-shore  of

                       Caribbean
some   persons  were

                     swimming
People  were  saying- ZULU



   A  new  brand  of
baby  foods
which  was  only  on
e-commerce  site,called  
                       - ZULU      


A  coffe  
restaurant   chain's  name
in  Africa  was-ZULU


A  scientist's
research
project's
secret   password  was-
that  has  been  changed
from  'a'  to  double
'u'-ZULU.
It  was  zala
not  zulu

Ingredients for 6-8 people
• 4 egg whites
• 2 egg yolks
• 100 g (1/2 cup) of sugar or 5 tablespoons of fruit sugar (alter to your own preference)
• 500 g (2 1/2 cups) of mascarpone cheese
• 4 small coffee cups of espresso coffee
• marsala wine (or brandy or cognac)
• 400 g of savoiardi or lady fingers (sponge cake fingers)
• dark chocolate powder
Preparation
1. Make espresso coffee, sweeten, and add the marsala wine (or cognac) to it. Let it cool a bit.
2. Separate the egg yolks and the whites of two eggs in two bowls.
3. Beat sugar into the egg yolks.
4. Beat the mascarpone into the sweetened yolks.
5. Add two more egg whites to the other two and whisk until they form stiff peaks.
6. Fold gently egg whites into mascarpone mixture.
7. Quickly dip both sides of the ladyfingers in the espresso mixture.
8. Layer soaked ladyfingers and mascarpone in a large bowl or pan (start with fingers, finish with mascarpone).
9. Sprinkle dark chocolate powder on top.
10. Refrigerate for one hour.

Woke up
With my eyes stuck together
and my lips dry
and my body stiff

I rubbed my face
and my eyelids  almost closing again

i walked upstairs and walked into my room
and clothes laying eveywhere
grabbed a big sweater and brought it over my head
and slipped my arms through

messed up my messy hair
and walked in to the bathroom
and looked myself in the mirror
my mustache reaching the top of my grey lips
and my stubble growing in slowly
  
walked out of the bathroom
left the light on
and into the kitchen
i yawned,it left me  feeling weake
opened up the cuboards took out the coffee
walked over a basket with bread and took a slice
made the coffe and let it  to boil
put the bread in the toaster and let it to toast

looked out my window
and the blue sky moving slowly
with the clouds fluttering along
the trees turned yellow
and the streets wet,for it rained

the toast popped out
and coffe was made

sat on the table
rubbed my face
the coffee steam raveling my nose
and my teeth ready to taste the crunsh of white toast

i thought about the day
and
smiled...

Sticky fingers,
***** toes,
Smelly *****,
Beads up their nose,
          
          PRECIOUS

Snot stained blouse,
Sick stained shoulders,
Work gets harder,
As they get older,

        WONDERFUL

Midnight screaming,
*** in your bed,
Barbie in your coffe ***,
Poor goldfish overfed,

        GOOD TIMES

Money problems,
Teenage tantrums,
Nose rings, blue hair,
Football anthems,

        PARENTHOOD ROCKS!!!!

It was a five finger discount
Just a benign theft
It wasn't hurting anyone
Besides, it was going to look good in my breakfast nook

I put on my "cross your heart" seat belt and jetted home
It was a beautiful coffee mug crafted by Incas
It wasn't like I looted the store

I now refer to it as my stolen-Incan made-oversized coffee mug

But I guess I should have seen the warning label

"ATTENTION THIEF, THIS MUG IS CURSED BY ANCIENT SPIRITS! AND IF YOU DARE KEEP THIS MUG ALL THINGS DRANK OUT OF IT WILL CAUSE YOU HORRIBLE PAIN AND SUFFERING"

Now every time I have my morning coffee it either tips over on to my lap or gives me a sudden case of the runs

A Starbucks without wifi is like a tavern without a jukebox, all fluid no flow.

Coffee shop walls know it all.

My secrets, wishes and obscure fantasies.

I write in the comfort of their arms. I know these walls can do no harm.

I feel protected.

I know I will not be judged.

I feel in an odd way loved.

In the public eye, People pass me by.

Some whisper, some stare.

There are times when I feel like an outsider within the shadows of this city.

These walls have become my home.

Something I can call my own.

My heart pours out freely onto the paper in front of me.

I am safe. I am free.

-Lily P. McLaughlin-

Ah, the sobering cold—
The ice breath of passers by:
a smoke, a calm.

Welcome back! I hear it,
calling and ringing
as if it’s from another;
But I know I greet
my return to self.

How it stings to be digested
by a creature of many needs,
to be a cell, once again:
bustling, scurrying.

What a plunge to relinquish
to the organism.

Coffee burnt breath
A Chocolate twinged touch
Strawberry kisses
And this is a bit much

Idle day dreams
A Careless scribbled note
Roseberry glances
And you gave me your coat

Dizzy drunken stares
A table for two
Blueberry whispers
And Its just me and you

Dying old age
A well placed blow
Blackberry wishes
And my love  had to go

Coffee burnt breath
A chocolate twinged touch
Strawberry kisses
And alas it was never enough

the smoke it pours slowly out
my shadow seems to be following a little further behind
I'm loosing my grip on this steering wheel
Swivin in and out of traffic
I see Minivans and 18 wheelers
honking and blazing thier horns
I'm struggling to stay awake
but only 2 more hours and I'll be home
I dig in my glove compartment and pull out
a pre rolled cigarete and my Oney Box
I spark the cig and pack me a little one hitter
puff them both down fast
and drink my 3 hour old coffe I got at some rumie gas station
its cold as ****
but it'll do the trick
I scratch my eyes and my *****
and turn up the radio The Current is a little to Indie for this night ride
So I put on 93.6 The Blaze and listen to some As I Lay Dieing
Ironic I have'nt died yet....
I listen and tune in
and then I tune out as the white dotted line
directs me towards home
where my dog awaits
to greet me
it's been a long trip
yes it has

doing the heavy lifting

picking up my emaciated heart,
letting the rest of my wilting body
tag along qualifies, but is not the
heavy lifting referenced above.

we all have a meeting, the bits and
pieces, the bobs and keepsakes
that constitute my mien, a constitutional
convention of 13 colonies that raucous
write of burdens, of freedoms, with wild
inspirations and cold political calculations

this combining document hoping to topstitch
my reeling mind and deteriorating physic,
to write words of hopeful praise but rising
to a world that is baking in hatred into fabric
and tissue, and that is the heaviest lift of all

Sunday morning, coffe-d, somewhat rested,
a full day planned, and a Mike Message says
it’s me that does the heavy lifting and I know!
he knows! the displaced state of my mind, and
the hardened ache of writing with fresh hope,
when there is so little, that it is lost in the litter
of endlessness of a world gone, not going,
mad~insane and murderers are
illogically celebrated,
and yet here I am punching words on my
AM Morning Punch List of worthy words
available that aid us needy for repair & yet
might move us together to a state of full repair;  
but I am punchy from trying, to find words
themselves that require do not require, a
truth washing,
a new word recleansing
and

    (they put the load right on me),

and naïf-not, see the troubles ahead and get
me more paper to add to the list of lists of
worldly worrisome words that are heavy
lifting of the world as it is but know I weep as
I write this for not in my possess the light airy
words, the wordsmith is crushed neath the weight of

tonnage of human word-lessened-ness

Sunday Morning
Oct 22 2023
9:02am,
writ in a singed single cry

Remember when we first met?
It was the best day of our lives.
Remember when we first kissed?
It sent shivers down my spine.
Remember when we first had ***?
It reminded me that you're my life.
Remember when I forgot?
It got rid of all my strife.

Remember when you yelled at me?
It hurt my ears to hear you scream.
Remember when I dropped my coffe?
It stained your carpet with sugar and cream.
Remember when you met my friends?
You told me you didn't like any of them.
Remember when I forgot?
It showed me that you were no gem.

But do you remember the good times?
Where we laughed and sang our songs?
The times that we would hug it out?
No matter if it took too long?
Remember when we worked together?
And I was always late?
I bet you don't remember this.
Didn't I say forgetting is great?

a cup of coffee in the morning may not satisfy
but here I can see the future for the sake of passing so quiet
my night beaten messy nightmare
in three sips I spend

then that's how I like coffee
Kofein, nicotine, it's all old acquaintances faithful
with which I drank in the serenity
while imagining virtual face in a cloud of smoke
your face!

Coffee is always with me ...

May 6, 2011

Basquiat poetry
coffee grains
in my teeth
and dreams
I wake up to the walls in speech
recollect
drunken journeys
Emma the girl who
sits at your window sill
mourning the death of night's child:rain
and it is September
or either
August
I am lost in a booklet of ancient nobles
Upstairs
reading mythology
drinking
***** brewed by patients of poverty
Piano skin and noises
leak into the fire place
all alone
There is no more Time
only windows that shine
only windows that are dark
only women that lay naked on my bed and kiss me
Do not worry
I am not here
writing these
rusty poems
as I slowly push them into the sides of your eyes
Shakespeare eyeball
Ginsberg Navajo
Gas station clerk
high on
crack *******
I give her money
she gives me
a smile
a pack of
Marlboro cigarettes
that stench up the church
hiding the smells of
sad prophets
cheap wine and
oyster crackers
85 cents for off-brand large bag
Adam and Eve
clock time forget sleeve *** spoon food coffe-table
Death moving in down stairs
room
103
or was that the opiates
crawling into the tree veins roots wooden finger tips of my
body
of my
soul
of my
bulb
of my
Skeleton that is colored like you
Termites
mistook
a dying flower
for a limb of a tree
that grew sideways
too avoid the hum buzz of Vehicle Highway I-435 Kansas
Age 400 and 3
Child at birth
Man at death
oh how the seasons brew into a facade
oh how
the *****
sleeps with me
I make her coffee
3am
we smell of smoke and tired souls
pointing at the color red
as we
take lefts
and rights
into a city into bowels of streets and sighing police men and sighing homeless
I take off her clothes and
she falls apart like pedals attached by scotch tape to a rose
Nothing it Rains
Nothing it is Cold
Hello
We are the Nothings
and we
sit alone
on bar stools too high
and our knees are bruised from
praying to the bartender
to
pour
one
more
Whiskey
Yet we drank it all
and the juke box is broken
so we listen to
Homosexual men ******'

City Cough
Everybody has lung cancer
or is
walking to a 24/7 grave yard
Will I be buried with you?
I ask a mouse
climbing on my walls
to catch a roach

But he says nothing
and the roach escapes
only to reply
with
“Yes, you and I.”
my mouth gutters “And he and she.”
and the Rat complies
“And sometimes Why.”

Get another drink
April Angel casting a shadow into a lake of bass and crawdads
“Geh me ahnothur dreeenk” drunk lingo speech
***
***
***
Fill your bucket mind
with spatulas
Broken television screens
the toe nails of angels
Piano Keys

Spit into a well
Spit into the wine
500 dollars a bottles or 6,154 pesos
make a wish
make a diamond
make steak
make wool
make love

My starving father filling up on the apples of Vice

Number 3
lights a cigarette in the dark
and the shadow glimmer dance of her
Eyelashes
cheekbones and
Eye bones
and
lip bones
are projected onto the cement wall
an art show
a Ballet suicide attempt
a winter experiment on the Indians of North America

Ride a Train
Rise of Tides
Ruthless Killer
Ruthy big breasted girl in my dreams dancing about a fire that I built from
old paintings of my
Grandfather
as Kansas was spilled like hot chocolate milk

“Get up”
“and where are you”
“can't you tell it is 1am”
“why has the clock mistaken me for someone who cares”
“lover”
“where are you going”
“the river is too cold”
“you will die like Hemingway did”
“you will die”
“i will die”
“Hemingway will die”
“but not tonight”

Shakespeare.
Tapping on my window.
He gives me.
A pill.
We take a bus too New Orleans.
And visit the grave of William.

Cold coffee
Caramel popcorn
Southern Cut Marlboro
Telephone
Lampshade crooked
asking
attempting

Under my eyes
engravings of a crescent moon
from gazing up
on so many nights

You know what i'm tired of?
I'm tired of mental abuse..
No one understands, cause no one ever sees.. There a no visible scars, no proof, and no one has seen.
I am a target of angry outbursts and sarcasm.
It piles up on me, day after day, month after month.

"You just wanna make me look bad!" He tells me
"You brought it on yourself" he laughs
"I treat you like you deserve to be treated!"
"For a smart person you're really dumb"
"Your friends will start to hate you"

And when i say i've had enough..

"You make me madder than anyone ever has!"
"You're such a liar!"
"You're so ******* selfish! You think the world revolves around you"
"That's not what you said, did or felt."
"You just try to make me look bad"
"I didn't attack you! Your mind is really messed up for thinking that"
"You are welcome to leave at any point. There's the door"

  -i'm sorry daddy-

"I have your best interests at heart, if you would just listen to me more.."
"I can't stand to look at you right now.."
"You'll never change"

-yes daddy-

When my brother asks me why i'm crying
"Your sister is crying cause she knows she did something wrong"

-i'm sorry i dropped the cup of coffe on the floor-

"You've got to be ******* kidding me!"
"You will be the death of me!"
"You had to mess things up again didn't you?"
-sorry Daddy-
"Too late, i'm done with you never thinking!.."
"This is all your fault!"

I hate how i can't do something without instantly thinking -was that okay?-

"How dare you eat that taco without asking!"
"You just keep pishing my buttons!"
"This is YOUR issue!"
"You can't do anything right!"
"You need to be careful in how you respond to me"

But the ones that hurt the most..
"The house is peacefull when you're gone"
"We can't sleep when we know you'll be home soon"
"You'll never change"

I try my best.. And i can't just leave, cause i still love him.

Can you still recall
the days that passed when you were young..
playing pirates with wooden swords,
the adventure of a six years old
Hide and seek and climbing trees
those days when we're free..
Be smart inside the class,
or just a shy nobody
where you find friends
whom you thought that will last..
Life in slow motion
vivid color of days..
world on high speed,
every moments we chase
they're long gone..
Running on the streets all day
on summer days and month of May,
or sitting by the window
watching the rainfall
paperboat, coffe cups and matchstick flags
walking  on tiptoe
feeling the earth's warmth..
cheap marbles on sight
watch the kite takes its flight..
as it flew away, so high
it will be ok if we try..

And wished Mary was Juana,
and wished my cat was Hendrix.

Comb every strand of hair,
Clean every part of your body
And look at them
Appreciate them.

2.
Dress up.
**** society's expectation
Wear your FAVOURITE colour
Wear your mood.

3.
Always prepare for rainy days.
Bring an umbrella,
Bring your sweater
Bring some money,
For warm coffee/tea.

4.
Go out and explore.
Visit cafés and treat yourself,
Visit book shops & libraries
Inhale the aroma of freshly brewed coffe,
The nostalgic smell of old, yellow papers.

5.
Be okay with what you do,
Say things that are on your mind.
Who cares about what people think?
You are who you are
And you're perfect.

6.
Even if you can't love yourself
Always remember that there's a greater God,
whose love is boundless.
Hey, even the birds in the sky,
The flowers on the ground
Fishes in the sea
Have been taken care of by "him"
What else you a human being!

.had i not come across the tironian ⁊... my my... what is a 7? did tiro invent a counter to VII? it was not all borrowed numbers from the sankskirt wielding hindus?! tironian... now that's someone you don't hear of much these days, it's all aesop and spartacus... if even that... tiro formerly a footnote in the life of cicero... for a B and a III - stenography's 3... Q and R or IX - stenography's 9... yes, we europeans didn't invent the current numbers... but just imagine... the details of +, - x, ÷ hidden within the jazz hands and counting with your fingers and the abacus... and how you will not find roman algebra... or that the discovery of calculus took both: numbers, and letters... etc. etc., but that we didn't invent numbers... as the slave Tiro... and his stenography of letters... i ascribe stenography as the original proposal for modern numbers... perhaps they would have "thought": II (+) III (=) V... or... oh i forget the cliche of Rome and the seven hills... i see: I, V, X: L, C, D, M... seven hills or what? who needs 10 digits when you can do just fine with... 7? the seven headed beast of revelation... i call that bait... but they built a... ******* coliseum working with: a year is bound to "spelling" rather than counting... CCCLXV... then again... with letters as numbers perhaps all of mathematics was once upon a time only practical, practical architecture... beautiful architecture and what not... glass shards would fizzle out: because of their proportions... imagine geometric-algebra with: letters and letters rather than superscript numbers: yet to arrive from the Raj of india... or otherwise found in ol' Tiro's stenography of letters... tender waiting buds of welcomed may... because we really borrowed numbers from: what was not already in letters, bound, waiting for a steographer to revise the matter of "counting"... all of ancient mathematics was without a hypothetical... without an algebra.... concrete evidence suggests that: a mathmetician was someone who had enough spacial awareness... numbers drafted for taxes and building coliseums... beauty marked by IX + XI = **! quiet odd... i see the 7 headed beast, the roman numerals beside the seven hills of the ancient resting place of papal bones: I, V, X: L, C, D, M... that numbers came to us from the Raj, from Persia? we had a 7 in the form of the greek gamma Γ... all that was required was codifying a looking into a mirror... might i stress the importance of narcissus in this affair? the unconscious of narcissus: Γ | ⁊... aren't i the lucky one... with a leash on the baron of the talk of shattering of mirror: never sounds like the shattering of glass!

as ever, opening a bottle of ms. amber and sitting down
to a sudoku...
to ensure this sponge of a brain slurps up
some wet concrete...

//
   \\
                      __   (⁜)      "oop" □ here
                      ⁁  †               ‗
"oop" □ over
here...   focus points...
the kaleidoscopic eyes...

words to abstract words are not enough...
anagrams are: "abstracts" of words using words...
i'm too tired to play games of this
nature... i want to return to...
VI + IV = X... somewhat daringly... return to...


a box over here: ◰ (yes, like so...
with the isolated number missing,
e.g.
or an ◲...

                     a line of 9: ――――――― here and
now "there" |
                      |
                      |
               ­       |
                      |
                      |
        ­              |    in vertical
                      |
                      |

i've seen how people lock their smart-phones...
•   •   •
•   •   • and whatever ✭ pentagram "zigzag"
•   •   •

   opens it up... a sudoku puzzle, can very much
be a bunch of stacked pentagrams:
                            ✭
                       ­  ✭✭✭
                      ✭✭✭✭✭
                   ✭✭✭✭✭✭✭
the eyes will always wander to-and-fro...
again... what sort of i.q. does the darting eyes?
i'm not that good with crosswords...
as a bilingual i already have a crossword
in my head...
i don't play games of anagrams...

you want to write a cascade poo'em... write this...
otherwise peer into...
this will never make a study of geometry...
this is a 9² "problem"... more like a canvas to
relax in... sudoku says the hiroshima pundit...
i say... it's a 9²: niner squared...
in the UN approved phonetic alpha-beta...
why isn't it the alpha-omega...
choicest of wordings...
i guess an alphabet implies a cascade that...
cascades?

          A                  B                ­  C
   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

but what if the following narrative...
took place... with the numbers being replaced
by letters... better still, something more simpler...
what it A1(1) - the bracket implying
the number placed in the square A1:
which consists of 9 numbers...
0 is never part of a puzzle... nor should it be...
0 is a number that acts as more a function
of (x) and of (÷)...
you can deem 0 to be involved in addition
and subtrtaction...
but... not really...
0 acts as a prime multiplier and divider...
it's so clearly omitted in addition and subtraction...
that... ancient romans... said 1 = I...
3 = III... while 10 = X....
while 9 = IX and 11 = XI...
and 20 = **...

but what is a 9² (sudoku) puzzle was to replace
numbers with greek letters?
why not greek letters?

however much i put into these scribbles...
maximum effort... minimum return rate... so i will not
do as i anticipated myself in doing:
reaching into a dimension of ambition...
i'd only say... it was much easier calling it a...
A1(1) rather than a Aa(1) narrative...
don't ask me why... perhaps the whiskey has...
"muddled" me...

but...

          A                  B                  C
­   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

was more simple to solve than

          A                  B                  C
   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
a x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
b 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
c 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

  borrows from puzzle no. 11,337...
to solve and explain puzzle no. 11,341...

but in between... let's watch the optical
schematic: ▣, ▤ / ▥,
              ▦ / ▩ and ▨ / ▧...
while at the same time: squadron-✭
                       mein gott:
this over-inflated nihon squat and square...
as donal rumsfeld said: the known knowns,
the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns...
because he's not just like...
the bullet-point and the next target practice
of: **** bad... **** all good...
the war criminal Slobo Milošević from
Yugol you-go...
the english isles would know know...
as to why... a mongol invasion would never
set them back a century...
or as to how the ottoman turks teasing...
was only a romance in romania...
because... even if Finland is the quirky odd
kid in the whole bunch of the Scandinavian
sandwich of rar herrings and gherkins
and rye bread...
well sort me out oh please sort me out...
tell me that listening to
these debut albums... or near misses...
silverchair - frogstump...
everclear - sparkle and fade...
stone temple pilots - songs from the vatican gift shop...
it also made sense to be a pre-teen...
listening to these albums
with an uncle with a car... eating cheap
chicken wings while he washed the car
from some next-or-no-other *****-circus date...
after that... it didn't make a sense to own
a car... if there was the bus...
and a dream of riding a horse everywhere...

this little moi: this solo experience...
of the long hair of gods
and the long beards of men...
and the of the sikhs and the devils...
and how it didn't make sense to grow
both at the same time...
long hair in my youth...
while playing, slumpt in...
catch-up-baghdad...
i too thought it was going to be that
simple... a demigod grows long hair...
a demi-imbecile of the most basic
infernal hides the scythe moon
and the chin behind a turban of a beard...
the god with long hair...
the devil and his... beard and itch...
eden of ***** having migrated from
the cushion of underwear:
fully exposed to... not tended to...
or the scrub of stubble...
or what's not... the venus glory sheen...
smoothed or smothered skin
that still belongs to the buttocks of the newly
born...

yes... in between the songs strawberry and
heartspark dollarsign - from everclear's debut...
i too wish i took drugs...
fortunate as i am unfortunate: words and letters
are in x-ray black and white...
what good would licking some mushroom
do for me, or for you?
excesses of colours, among these dams and bridges?
among these sputniks of  precursor numbers?

even if the blanks, were to replaced with a 0
for the other algebra unknown...
tier above... hyperscript a 1 - 9...
i.e.

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     1     0     0     0     0     9     1
a 0     0     0     6     9     0     3     0     4
   0     0     3     0     0     0     5     1     7
   9     0     0     0     1     7     6     0     0
b 3     5     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   7     0     0     0     5     4     8     0     0
   0     0     7     0     0     0     2     9     8
c 8     0     0     8     2     0     4     0     6
   0     0     2     0     0     0     0     0     0

mirror, mirror on the wall...
who isn't a charlize theron 0 = negation
of them all?
abigail mac is not a *****
doppelgänger of alicia vikander?

no better need to drink...
nonetheless the sun still shines on the question...
sudoku 9²: what it the cardinal numbers
were to be replaced with cardinal letters...
notably greek...
the alpha male the beta male the gamma and
the omega are all covered...
so is pi... given xi (11) is 0...

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     1     0     0     0     0     0     0
a 0     0     0     6     9     0     3     0     4
   0     0     3     0     0     0     5     1     7
   9     0     0     0     1     7     6     0     0
b 3     5     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   7     0     0     0     5     4     8     0     0
   0     0     7     0     0     0     2     9     8
c 8     0     0     8     2     0     4     0     6
   0     0     2     0     0     0     0     0     0

thus? Iota = 1, A = 2, B = 4, Γ = 7, Δ = 3,
rho (Ρ) = 9, Π =...
B should equate itself to 8 in the stenographic
origin of numbers...
depending on which stenography you decide
upon...
Iota = 1, A = 2, B = 8, Γ = 7, Δ = 3, P = 9....
no lower-case, please...
intuitively: zeta: Ζ = 5...
what's missing? we have: 1, 2, 8, 7, 3, 9, 5...
4 and 6...
                     Η = 4 and Σ = 6...
rubric, please!
1 = I
2 = A
3 = Δ
4 = H
5 = Z
6 = Σ
7 = Γ
8 = B
9 = P...

and how would a sudoku look like... thus?

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     I     0     0     0     0     P     I
a 0     0     0     Σ     P     0     Δ     0     H
   0     0     Δ     0     0     0     Z     I     Γ
   9     0     0     0     I     Γ     Σ     0     0
b Δ     Z     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   Γ     0     0     0     Z     H     B     0     0
   0     0     Γ     0     0     0     A     P     B
c B     0     0     B     A     0     H     0     Σ
   0     0     A     0     0     0     0     0     0

notably when the following narrative unfolds
and

          A                  B                  C
  ­ x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

becomes

          A                  B                  C
   4     8     1     5     7     3     9     6     2
1 2     7     5     6     9     1     3     8     4
   6     9     3     4     8     2     5     1     7
   9     2     8     3     1     7     6     4     5
2 3     5     4     P     Σ     8     7     2     1
   7     1     6     2     5     4     8     3     9
   5     4     7     1     3     6     2     9     8
3 1     3     9     8     2     5     4     7     6
   8     6     2     Γ     H     9     1     5     3

via B1(1) C1(6) C1(8) C1(2) C1(9) A1(9) A3(9) A1(5) A1(6) C3(7) C2(7) C3(1) A2(1) A3(1) B3(5) A3(3) A2(6) A2(2) A2(8) A2(4) C2(4) C2(5) B2(3) A3(5) B1(5) C3(5) C3(3) C2(1) C2(9) C2(3) C2(2) B2(2) B1(2) A1(2) A1(7) B1(8) B1(4) B1(7) B1(3) B2(8) B3(9) B3(6) A3(6) A3(8) A3(4) A1(4) A1(8)... post-script in greek numerals...
B2(Σ), B2(P), B3(H), B3(Γ)...

and if this is bingo... then bingo more... B2(x) and B2(y)...
and B3(y) and B3(x)...
my god... the fun time i'm missing when having
to raise children...
esp. among those superior intellects
of men... who... upon being married...
upon raising children...
return to the manosphere and talk to other
males without harems as if they were:
either constipated... circumcised...
or needing a father figure for that all encompassing
shorthand:
i didn't go to university to study chemistry...
i went... to the university of life!
a supermarket cashier clerk...
was the sort of cocktail shake-up required
for my bottled shampoo!

a ring a capturing a female is enough
qualifications to overlord the conversation
whether by topic or "feel"...
among ones... the la's nostalgia regret...
that would never arrive at blur or oasis
when it came to growing up in 1990s cool
britannia...

coming home to little town Poland...
is a carnival better than landing in Warsaw...
i can't say the same should i come,
and arrive in Loon'don's queue...
or the tubes under tarmac...

but of course drinking would get in the way...
to raising children...
perhaps drinking will allow...
a cameo father-figure role with a ******* child...
akin to: john wayne oscar winner for hard grit...
or: i'll **** my trousers because it's:
gonna be a rainman sort of day...
to start licking windows...
because: fear... prior to the mirror...
and the tongue that would no dare
to usurp the phallus in the serpent analogy...

yes... i noted "wrong"... i made a siamese blunder...
a siamese *** myopia...
two puzzle boxes... "the same" postal box...
the same university level education
of a non-high-school tier drop-out...
esp. because there's still no honda civic
worth a 33 year old to user the tinder app
to bother the wasp hive / harem... or some whatver
future of: this scenario never made it into blade runner...
or the inspiration for blade runner...
the one twin dead talking from the grave about
the future...
perhaps it was original for philip k. ****...
but perhaps... like any poet...
he's the host... and it was jane charlotte ****
speaking playing peek-a-boo from the grave?
there's no future in my writing...
i guess if this isn't "me"... then it's my
maternal great-grandfather and me talking about
shadows and dentists...
last time i had the foggiest...
i had a tootache...
so it's settled...
senior "chopin" and quasi "chopin"...
an internal joke...
how's the family?
family beside the atoms and the period table?
oh fine fine...
after all i heard the myth:
he didn't have any of his teeth pulled out...
but he also threw a tonne of coffe into the river
because certain people in europe even in
the 20th century didn't know what to do with coffee beans...

the spirit of adventure and exploration...
notably prolific in a landlocked
experience of the czech republic or moldova...
or... idaho... or...
i see water i want to see waterfalls...
i want to turn the anchor in a pumpkin carriage
and call the waves my horses!
to call an island a ship!
to call a continent a yawn and backward peoples...
and branch out... like a phototropism...
leaving all these continental europeans
living the nocturnal life of:
growth on **** sort of fungus of a past...

there's certainly a mistake in here...
but... unless you're just watched: shock & awe movie...
or still retain: the times weekly subscription...
what's a pedantry's "safe space" of automated
complications:
oh the joys of not having to cling to passing
a telegraph of genes and keeping it a minimum
of: two adults ******* better produce at least
two replicas... rather than that chinese
1 child per couple failure of ******-short-circuits...
oh the burden of reading some french thinking,
some german thinking...
nothing of a locke mea culpa as
the current phrase: pilate washing his hand
like a o.c.d. sufferer...

Tiro the new Aesop!
🙉 🙈 🙊
           monkey branch, busy cousin
of the follow-through deviation from gravity
in the upsillon - the parabola of a banana...
called the canary dip...
otherwise: my! what a treat!
what greater ambitions to write...
in order to write something
that would never become so quickly screened
like a stephen king novel...
obviously the contra comes from...
the loitering dean koontz...

it must be a curse of the surname...
i have a ****** surname...
well... unless you add... no...
adolf had a surname...
that germans must have found funny...
stalin had a surname...
that the russians must have found funny...
ghenghis simply could: in a present-participle
of: can...
and future present as a pop. surname
in pakistan: khan...
which sorts out the "problem" as to why
there's a stephen king and a dean koontz...
the answer is self-evident...
as i'm sure every smith and handy
becomes a plumber or the better part
of anyone day when he's struggling
with sightseeing and tourism...
of what might become...
the better part of a Thursday burrowing
from Hades into Tartarus.

We were sleeping in our sleeping bags
as a noise like a finger snap
did wake us and break
our dreams into shreds
and someone did shout:
"This is the night the heater went out!"
And no time was wasted, it was a riot in fact
everybody was leaving
not leaving the place intact
the curtains blackened
and there were screams and tears and hours of horrors
all inside seconds
and apocalyptic schemes were suspected in every can
of canned beans
there were prophets and saviors falling from the ceiling
2 for every human being
shouting madly:
"The heater needs healing!"
But no one was listening
because the terror was whisteling
and walking very casually
with his hands in his pockets
ripping the copper wires
out of every socket
there were trains of doom
at the station
and a man with a silver harpoon did ask for your ticket
and if you didn't have one,the handcuffs clicked
and clacked and out-clocked
the time that made sense
There were houses in flames
and extended familys were just moving in
and the undead were asking the living:
"Where have you been,
i was worried sick,
now go ahead and die,
i want you at home before sundown kid!"
the tv's were glaring and swearing
"******* humanity, look what we found!
it is, yes, a heater and god the almighty, it went out!"
and evil thoughts went through your head
like swarms of bats
that flap their wings blindely
bounce of the walls
and fall
like leaves fall in fall
and only this one lonely boy, kept dribbling his basketball
in the schools abandoned gymnastic hall
getting his kicks from the imagened ghost cheerleader chicks
who were dumb, dead and gone
like weak old twiggs on a tree
when a heavy wind blows on
And the lions escaped from the local zoo
and were keen to know
what it would be like, to drink coffe from your cup
and take a bath inside your bathtub
and take your girlfriend to latest movie about cleopatra
in the next drive-in theatre
and the skip of a heartbeat was the longest unit to measure
and your in the mist of mystery lost love
was a grain of sand and even lesser
and you couldn't prove gravity
with the fall of an apple
it would float right up, explode
into razorblades that would settle
into the boiling water inside of your kettle
and the shocking shopping malls
were selling shock-collars and chopping knifes
and socks for the afterlife
And under your homes paranoid roof
you found goofs doing spoofs to proof
how bad you could rhyme
and they would always leave but never in time
the icecapes were melting like a single raindrop in hell
so that the turtles would jump right out of their shell
and fly like cannonballs that are as fast as no one could tell
and the bees were humming but only bluenotes
taking the honey and also your money
thinking it's funny
the highways were lowdown
and the deepsea was wadeable
and your one and only favorite thrill
would knock you right back and make you ill
your favorite song would disappear
in the cracks of your ceiling
and would leave you with only one feeling
none feeling
and your favorite word in your favorite sentence
of you favorite book
would jump right of your hook
ending up in the water
getting cought by a trout
that would finally end up inside a whales mouth
"why bother" you say to yourself, but you feel like a ghost
"why bother" you say
and those two words bother you the most
it was the heat of the moment
the beat of a fear that is still unexplained
that made the heater a mountain
of all that you dread
in your head, hands and heart
and now we shall part...

I don’t believe in reincarnation
But if I did
I wish to be reincarnated in the grass u lay on and that star in the sky
The same star you wonder at every night
Or the soft breeze that blows by your window first thing in the morning
Your dark coffe mug so I could be as close to your lips as I can be
Ur mirror so u could see yourself through my eyes
The tree that sits in your  backyard so you can trace our initials on my skin
And I don’t know if reincarnation is real but I know our love is

We’re alone, together,
The rhythm of the coffeehouse swirling around us,
A quiet cacophony of colliding ceramics,
flatware, and the splash of coffe hitting cups.
Each lost, writing on legal paper
I buy in daisy yellow in a small attempt to brighten my day.
The couple to our right aren’t anything spectacular, really.
Even though they did talk about
The drug market when you left for the car.

Even farther right, at a table you suggested, I sat with josh.
We came in early on a Sunday morning,
Stumbling clumsily upon a place he really wasn’t too fond of.
Funny, as he complained of the coffee and décor, I wanted to stay more and more.

It irritated me: his lack of knowledge or the willingness to gain one.
With you I’m comfortable,
And secretly, I wish he was sitting there,
So you could butcher him with words.
Chop off his 70’s ***** hair, with one swift cut,
Because you always seem to peg him,
Exactly where he deserves to be hit.

I love the contrast of the moments,
With him, I struggled to see, wished for more, and searched for an end.
With you, skin is velvet, voices: harmony, memory a beautiful cacophony.

Coffe-shops were closed
when we arrived
Our baggage was lost,
our wallets empty
You asked me if I wanted
to dance
I said "Yes!"
You smiled.

I light the gas
put on the kettle
You like tea, don't you?
I'm a coffe person actually
But you like tea
and I'm hopelessly lost
I'm grabbing things
from the refrigerator
left right and centre
What do you eat for breakfast?
I'm inhaling memories
drinking sensation
dining on your touch
not remembering much
Your form of sensual chloroform
is sensational
The kettles boiled
the cups are still empty
your touch on my lower back
is heavenly
I'm not sure
I'm where I need to be
the kitchen you say?
*Shall we?

The coffee is cold
Bitter flavors meet a ceramic dream
I can't remember if the coffee was bitter
or if it was supposed to get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth
an empty page in front of me
filled with everything I've spent today doing
this is cup number five
this isn't the New York apartment we dreamed of
this was never the life we dreamed it would be
but if we could see how our life would turn out
we would be miserable before we started
still, for all the ups and downs
I never once thought that my life would turn out like this

I must be talking to you
About these past few days thats been rough
About how the blue skies become strange dark grey unknown
About the suddenly lightstorm breaking my body
About those stars who shines darkly often

I must be telling you
About our songs became a death march very instantly
About the roll of mixtapes out of the line and playing badly
About the lovebirds suddenly gone hatebirds
About how naive she is whos writing these poems lately

I must be watching you
About how you have fallen for the beauty and ditch the poetry
About how your long black coffe turns out to be a sweet lylac tea
About two lost souls meet at the wrong time asking somebody
About how i drunk on tears after you watch choose and dancing with the beauty.

Saw this girl I said "**** what you doing down here?",
She said "Uh excuse me? Could you be more clear?",
I said "Did jesus come back and bring you along?",
"Because girl when I saw you all my composure was gone!",
Lost for words so I spoke with my heart,
I said "God must of used his paint brush on you to define masterful art",
She giggled a little with the cutest shinning grin,
So I marvelled at her beauty took a pause and then,
I took a leap of faith and asked "Coffe sometime?",
She replied "That would be lovely so I told her "The pleasure was mine!",
She kissed me on the cheek just to seal the deal,
My knees got weak I wondered "Is this forreal?",
Last thing I remember is her gorgeous green eyes,
Wrote my number down quick but to my surprise,
She slipped hers in my pocket,
I was on top of the world flying in a rocket,
I wore that smile the rest of the day from ear to ear,
But she never answered my question what was she doing down here?

I can hardly bear this
tension of my lips
as I fall for the silence
in your hands
I remain silent till
the coffe gets cold
the streets get slippery
because of a radical darkness
somewhere there is a first
breath, a first kiss,
a last breath

I want to forget all languages
except the language of whispers
a rumbling cascade this feeling
of my quiet fingers
such a wonderful paradox
within a broken world
innocent dreams can envision
you

I usually wake up very early during mondays,
Open my window and wait for the sun’s rays.
Smell the morning dew and feel the breeze,
These things calms my mind, puts my anxiety at ease.

During this cold rainy months,
All I need is your warmth.
Coming deep inside your heart,
And this day will have a good start.

You know what’s good early in the morning,
A hot coffee that smells great after brewing.
But what’s better? Drinking it with you,
I guess I need to learn to make coffee for two.

I look into the sky the sun is not up yet,
But with you beside me, and when our eyes met.
It feels like this yet dark sky that fills my day,
Suddenly becomes less gloomy, when you smile at me.

And there, and then did i truly realize,
That it’s really the simple things in life.
That matters most and we should treasure,
Since in this world these things can’t be measured.

A new day. A new opportunity.
Today I will. Today I must.
I've let her walk many times before,
but not this time. Today we'll talk.

I'm still very nervous. My heart is racing.
My palms are sweaty, and my body shakes.
Here she comes. It's now or never.
I walk up to her, and say hello.

-I have something to ask you.
Would you tell me what is your name?
-Martha.- She says. Ohh, what a beautiful name.
-Nice to meet you Martha. I'm Alex, by the way.

-I've got another question, Martha.
What are you doing Friday night?
-I'm not doing anything, really.
-Would you join me for coffe, and a little bit of jazz?

-Sorry, I don't like coffee.
-Ok, we can do something else.
-I'd rather not. I'm sorry.
She keeps on walking without looking back.

My heart falls and breaks. My body feels numb.
So much for courage. I got one more "no".
Maybe there's a reason. Maybe I have a chance.
Should I try again? Or should I let her go?

Wake up in the morning streatch and yawn
After last night I didn't think I'd see dawn
I fought my demons all night long
And with morning light nothing can go wrong

With half closed eye's I stumble out of bed
With sleep still heavy in my head
I sway my way to the coffee ***
A brand new day a brand new start
With no idea my world would be torn apart

My cat weaved himself between my legs
He's still there as I cook my eggs
All done cooking I turn and stumble
Right over my cute cat bundle

With hands full of coffe and breakfast
Slamming my head into the table was not expected
Who knew today would be the day
Who knew I'd die this way
I fought my demons all night long
Just to be done in with my cats purring song

Wake up in the morning streatch and yawn
After last night I didn't think I'd see dawn
I fought my demons all night long
And with morning light nothing can go wrong

With half closed eye's I stumble out of bed
With sleep still heavy in my head
I sway my way to the coffee ***
A brand new day a brand new start
With no idea my world would be torn apart

My cat weaved himself between my legs
He's still there as I cook my eggs
All done cooking I turn and stumble
Right over my cute cat bundle

With hands full of coffe and breakfast
Slamming my head into the table was not expected
Who knew today would be the day
Who knew I'd die this way
I fought my demons all night long
Just to be done in with my cats purring song