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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
only a scouse inhabitant could have pointed it out (merseyside english / liverpool) to no better comparison.

i'd love to have the salt & pepper dilemma
between low alcohol sessions and
high ******* session, just did the low
alcohol sessions and laughed, after having
become equipped with marijuana "abuse"
starving / fasting, never gearing for chips
and munchies...
the streets of london look a lot different
walking about high & hungry
rather than jokey and as a jockey of an
imaginary horse...
god made sanity and soberness an ivory tower
that was not worth defending
unless for manual tasks... all other tasks
were never ready for the multipliers of human presence,
not all of us would hammer a nail
for all the scratches of a vinyl disk if all were able.
indeed the scouse lad knew it,
languages that clung to latin were left historically
naked, without diacritical marks,
instead they delved deep as to upkeep the latin
they forced the closure of grammar schools
along with coal mines...
and what they earned was not a sense of categorisation,
english slosh tongue said the 18th century
happened akin to the abhorrence of moral relativism
by socrates to make stab in the eye a ******,
to thus say bronze age was but a hundred years...
keeping latin naked as it was by the abhorred
conquered land of the romans due to its bad weather
may have made a milton or a shakespeare arable...
but because of a certain type of censoring not ever used,
what became beautiful in other european tongues
became the ugly spelling of the english tongue,
what became stress marks of "accent" for the french,
and german, romanian and polish,
there was none of that in english, instead
we became accustomed to aesthetic "marks", that
were "marks" because there were no actual examples
for a clear rubric... instead we received too many examples,
the particulars of why we wrote the and said a sharpened v
in written form v'eh off veer...
there are no unitary aesthetics marks other that words
themselves... rather than what we have in terms
of unitary diacritical marks of akin umlaut...
there's no where else to go... the Minotaur has caught
up with us and our shadow! there's no labyrinth to further
our heaving lung to cheat both silence and breath! there's isn't!
it's the end... not using diacritical marks on units
only creates aesthetics of multiplying units
where they are multiplied: riddle... mirror...
                 keep, kettle, leer, pass, throttle, amiss.

(the syllables are not perfectly connected,
therefore much of "coining the phrase"
with prefixes anti- con- un- sub-
being endeared into your vocabulary,
then again clearly, accenting and aesthetics
compare to reach a parallel,
never leave it naked i say, never leave it naked,
for fear of reprisal of that which ought
be buried still alive, and with clear
acuteness for certain letters appropriating
there is no originality in the british tongue
for origins of the a - z under virgil
who originated the letters to the plagiarism
of grecian theology with the trojans
moving from turkey to italy -
therefore you become akin to other european
nations enacting a parasitic semblance
for the simple reason of ease coupled
with the many "loop holes" of the tongue,
or you reach absolution with the missing diacritic
as reasons for the modern acronyms: l8r, o.m.g.,
b.a.e., i.r.l.... all of this crap is a byproduct.)

but to say latin is dead, you must recreate the latin
alphabet with an ethnic particularity of a modulation
that might be compared to the migration of goths /
huns / vandals... to say 'latin is dead' and keep the
latin a without a modulation to craft an ą,
is a darwinian heresy that demands counter-evolution;
there's hardly one coliseum in london, although
i admit plenty of football stadiums;
still the evolutionary need is still necessary
and consistent, because it's not the case of the three
wise monkeys seeing, hearing saying no evil...
if this phonetic geometric is to survive and the crucifix
not be a vanity shield of artists due to the wrathful lamb,
it will need to specify whether it's gaelic english,
welsh, australian, london based, come home county based,
arizona or texas draw.
Cory Childs Dec 2010
The hole spews out disease and rot
devoid of fleshy substance
Engrossed by such a gruesome plot
I gulp the zombie's pretense

What makes the morbid fascination
justifying obfuscation?

Now, I see there is no sense
in coining truth that's hardly grown
One thing I've come to understand:
exploit their fear of the unknown
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
it comes from casual phrasing of / off something, the known pride & joy of any intellectual: coining a phrase. most stick to the cliche zeitgeist, i invented zeitreich (empire of the times, rather than a holy ghoul)... anyway...

so i'm reading this article about the L.A. dating scene,
it's better than a binge on horror movies
in a thunderstorm - the pictures aren't there,
but the words are, words, such is their nature,
the awkward silence amplified with encoding -
pristine ****** and any other -ism you can
think of - amateur psychology for starters,
Nietzsche made psychology so pop as if
it were the once despised arithmetic reinvented
that the calculator looks grim reaper-ish
(and everyone's a psychologist these days) -
writing extended maxims (i.e. aphorisms)
is a chance to avoid dialectics, i trust the rigidity
of the systematic approach, limited vocabulary
and the act of juggling, set parameters, known
formulae, and off we go into the labyrinth of Hegel
or Kant or some other German and his morose boozed-up
persona of a Minotaur - but this article, it just poured ants into my
underwear about the iceberg conundrum (i misspelled
that first time round, the English language, due to
its lack of diacritic marks and too many particularities
cistern, cat, crow, kettle, camomile... chamomile...
cheap... has an inherent dyslexia in it, very natural, this,
it's the least bit surprising, never mind mentioning
text English as written by one girl in the news
at her English G.C.S.E. exam - i can't write it properly,
but it involves the Pandora of U w8 4 me @ th-     -θ
school gates - oh right, the ****? chew but you say ski
resort paraphenelia, paraphenalia, paraphenilia, para
**** **** ****... dictionary! paraphernalia... thank you!
nwt the origin of the negated-ease (disease), what two
compounds am i not remembering to use? etymology,
scalpel nurse, cut open the syllables, technique:
para-     -phernalia...     well from chemistry para-
using the benzene ring is a location, i.e. para meta ortho-,
medieval latin! of course! no wonder i'm dyslexic with
this word, if the origins aren't pure Latin or Greek
then i'm sure to be dyslexic and burn witches at the stake
and believe in omens and hell... this is hell, resurrected,
-phrenalia: cut up further into a derivative of
pherein (to bear, modulated into a dowry), and
the ς-suffix of -al, like et al. i'm guessing, but this is
kabbalistic territory right know, -al doesn't exactly make
aqua sense unlike Al (aluminium) - that's when
chemistry picks up language, and other sciences, picking
up from the little nits (knit, gnome, knife... hush the first letter),
in the end paraphernalia means:
to have bearings side by side, or beside, at one side...
daydreaming? having a meal in a restaurant on a Saturday,
but realising you have mortgage obligations from
Monday to Friday? well, i guess something like that.
anyway, literary coinage, coining a phrase, a catchphrase
moment, so this article about the L.A. dating scene,
horrid mothers of artefacts in the woman's psyche,
the unflavoured Freudian theory of the Madonna-*****
complex... and all the ladies say... it's easier for us
to call these men schizophrenics and shove them into
the hyphenation than acknowledge either Madonna
or ***** in us... i get it, men watch too much *******,
but... here it comes... women watch too much
romantic tragedy (romtra), men go out there and they're
like... this is turning out to be an R.E.M. song
the one i love* - props! too many ******* props!
it's not exactly **** culture, that's about five minutes
simulating an **** with your hand (or if you prefer a
bony ****) and a tissue but no tears... it's not exactly
RomTra culture either... it's the dating culture per se...
and this whole self-profiling like we're all F.B.I. agents
spying on ourselves with either authenticity or lies.
so there, you have your literary coinage, a phrase, a word,
the most belittling quest to some El Dorado ever
invented.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
a. aristotle's nonchalance in comparison to his other ideas when investigating the lagoon (although wrong on the no. of teeth in a woman's mouth and the origin of flies from rotting fish - two jars, one open, the other covered - he treated his theory of adaptation of an animal / in humans on an individual basis - with less concentration of necessity for the theory to be expanded than his logic or poetics) - i.e. it was not good enough to be made dogmatic, like darwinism, therefore aristotelian darwinism does not exact a necessity to put the theory akin to a theological standpoint.

b. 'the darkened mind, whether that be by illness or some other cause illuminates in reverse to the mind of the plateaus: the stark difference is that the darkened mind attracts light like a moth into it, although it does this attraction without ever revealing the pin-point, the last revealing point of what the light has to illuminate, it's no good providing this point in a reference to psychology searching for the "ego" of that known existential notative abstraction working on the basis of the pro-verb: know your self. the darkened mind is in fact providing the basis for the search of nothing, and a subsequent of offshoot of what knowledge nothing provides: whether that's geology, pharmacology, chemistry, physics, or any of the humanities - although the humanities actually provided the basis for scientific study, since it was poetry that was criticised, and provided the basis for the two socratic pillars: knowledge of your self | knowledge of nothing - without a critique of poetry none of the subsequent investigations beginning with a non-empirical study that's philosophy would still be among the crumbs of history and stone of the parthenon. subsequently the mind of the plateaus simply regurgitates via regression to a known origin, it illuminates with knowledge that was hidden for a while, esp. during the times of illiteracy, which made it easier, although these days almost every man is literate, he is still illiterate in the sense that he prefers images to words / symbols... he's being fed a second illiteracy even though he is literate, therefore whatever knowledge is provided, it's immediately hidden, hidden via the use of images to distract, because words and the symbols that create them are not of an ontology of distraction, but harsh / labouring engagement - esp. if they are not used for the utility of speech, but made solely cognitively optical, they resonate with a double decker bus filled with about 90 people and only one person reading a book.

c. ah the introduction is over, and then the actual poem,
if i could remember it exactly,
it dealt with a cartesian contemplation
dealing with an extension from the trinity model,
what was the extension model? what was the basis
of it? i remember noting that the mind of the plateaus
originality came only with coinage of phrases,
i.e. coining a phrase, or simply crafting a
new compound from words rather than chemical
derivatives... the philological monstrum
of a fixed prefix like sub- or un-
and then the all encompassing suffix
like -conscious - and then some grand complication,
like the word oedipus becoming a complex,
and this complexity reaching a point
where no original idea can be encompassed,
because what's required is the practice
of creating and using an analogue,
so that those in the range of the intended
gesture do not have to go further in their reading
but further their practice: a draw of stars...
none longer or shorter than the other,
all uniform... one shoe fits all story...
i mean how can words conjure ideas
(esp. original ideas) if words are intended
for meaning, and solely that?
ideas come when the intended usage of
such symbols as a - z are not expressed in
how they were intended to be expressed:
pre vox. if you spend a long time with these
symbols in the optic area rather than the
larynx area... you'll find the holy grail of
crafting and fathoming ideas...
philosophy begins here... seeing rather than
the utility of these symbols... to see with them
rather than to speak with them... after all...
think twice before saying something stupid.
i'm still bothered by that cartesian connection,
how did i manage to tangle in the one third
of the equation: substance, thought, extension?
what the hell was i comparing to make that
analogy? surely it wasn't a way of working
from the way existentialists abstracted
something concrete as an identity and decided
to do the pontius pilate of washing their
hands clean of any responsibility using the ditto
marks? sure this abstract enclosure for an identity
(in phonetic units expressed as ego)
cannot have stable if not merely sane grounding
in all serious theoretic engagement by the logic
of being a possessor of a soul;
first they dispossess the people's confines
of the soul's existence, later they come after thought,
and it's there, the proof, like today in the supermarket,
me waltzing for my intended purchase,
and a horde of zombies bewildered by
the abundance of products... standing about the aisles
mouths open, ready for the wind to change
direction and their mouths perpetually opened
with the medussa wind... or simply waiting for
the next pigeon to do his duty on a copper statue
of churchill outside parliament sq., bleached crop
of hair with **** in it.
honestly... the zombies are coming...
first they fool the people that they have no soul,
backed up by the logic of a soul that, when
compounded (i.e. psychology) makes it sounds
important, like an edict by the house of windsor
about to make rise to the 2nd lord protector
via a re-emergence of oliver cromwell...
then they decide to invade the parameters of thought,
they used psychology (the existent non-existence
of the soul) to banish all original thinking...
thought has become banished into hades...
if the soul is not allowed in the body, then
thinking surely isn't either, and how did they do it?
they said: the existent non-existence of the soul
will convince thought to disappear, making
the body virtually mirror like invisible -
like a black kid before the social revolutions
at the back of the bus, before the old lady stepped up,
and yet in the 21st century, the old minotaur is there
at the gate of the new labyrinth; in my school days
all the black boys sat... well... you guest it...
at the back of the bus... so much for the old lady
making a stand.

d. as the title suggests i was working up to a crescendo,
i was about to mention the sort of confusion cuneiform
might have provided had it existed in writing
but not in thought, although we write with latin symbols,
i'm sure that our thinking is still ingrained in
the coming of the three magi and the loss of cuneiform,
all the many offshoots of christianity you'd think
we were living in babylon, where the king went
mad, and the hebrew architects scratched their heads
so hard and so long that it caused the babylonian
king to become sensitive to scratching sounds,
he ran out of the palace screaming:
'cockroaches! cockroaches everywhere!'
then the enslaved hebrew architects just said:
but sire... gardens upside down? earth above sky?
how will that work... we did the pyramids,
perfect geometry, perfectly understandable geometry,
but garden that grow trees upside down?
didn't you hear the greek theory of how trees grow
by eating the earth from below, rather than above?
'cockroaches! cockroaches are nibbling!'
so i did end the poem i lost via a message on the screen...
jimi is dead, forget jim.
i ended it by noting the admiration of the romans
when it came to the mausoleum at halicarnassus,
persian design, intended for mausolus,
so admired that the word mausoleum gained
popular public everyday usage status,
a bit like a war-pig / war-dog in the legionnaire army,
above the general's servant: does battle...
doesn't do pampering with perfumes.
seems fair enough, got the warring grunts / barks,
runs miles with the horses, has a piquant snout and tongue
for human flesh... plays dead, finds mushrooms
beneath the slain... speaks broken german war-cry...
perfect for combat... not really perfect for my quarters of rest.

e. what does it really matter, this 200,000 million
or thousand year old historical co-ordinate?
the chinese were drawing dragons with the welsh
concerned with st. george long before dinosaur
bones were unearthed; if this isn't an example
of the jungian collective unconscious of being
"clued-in" then i don't know what is...
esp. given that not even 2000 thousand years of
history fits into my brain when i boil
a kettle filled with water in 5 minutes...
smoke a cigarette in the same amount of time,
it makes no sense to "pump iron" so much
when practising history to go as far back as that,
it makes in-the-moment living so far detached
from life per se, that you begin to wonder
why we went further than the epic of galgamesh
(where all western take on history begins)
or the upanishads... when the caste system
became operational: from dark skinned sri lankans
to the masters on the boarder of the himalayas:
un-believable... racism within a society
that did not expand into colonialism...
strange to have kept the blue indians in mint condition
due to the cuisine... and have slaughtered the red
indians keeping them a minority to such an
extent as to keep them in nature reserve parks...
black president is a phenomenon? a slave, former,
is a phenomenon? i puppet i suspect...
get a native on the top seat and their will be
less jubilation i gather.
but that blue indian word for demon: rakshasa...
from the serialisation on the t.v. entitled indian summer...
the h as silent as in dhaal?

f. if something profound has happened to you,
and you want to speak about it,
remember to take hold of the psychiatric buffer,
this buffer zone will enable you to see
an atypical sociological reactive compound
of the ****** expression, it will reveal
who you can reveal a secret to,
after all, psychiatry is all about listening,
therefore not thinking, therefore not doubting,
therefore actively engaging with the precursor
negation... sartre to descartes:
i use too many punctuation and "punctuation"
marks, therefore i can't couple thinking with
doubting, i must therefore couple thinking
with negation... descartes to sartre:
i always knew that even though we salvaged
the latin alphabet by adding the diacritical marks,
our punctuation and style would get the better of us...
what's the point of ć ń ś ó if we have
the capsule of " " to mind in terms of what words
are allowed a blessed disunion from meaning
when over-used esp. when you to deceive rather
than covey orthodox meaning?
Chris Jun 2015
^

You got change for a dollar
At a quarter past seven
Then turned on a dime
And found pennies from heaven

Saw fifty cent pieces
Turn nickel to gold
When that old silver dollar
For two hundred bucks sold
A road that diverges
Starts at a point
And plies in two directions.
Where these roads meet
You hear two different heartbeats;
One of a boy,
One of a girl.
They were destined to be,
But they walked in a V
Separating themselves
From what God only sees.

Walking astray from each
They continue to grow distant.
Not a word to be said
Just a silent whisper,
“This connection will not whither.”
A mental image
Remains in the mind.
Though they are disjoined
Their hearts have been coined
To become reunited
No matter where they end up going.

Heading on the right track
Senses begin to kick in.
Though it is not yet known,
Their love is already scripted
It’s just, love likes to remain encrypted.
It’s not random;
It’s fate.
Their paths begin to converge,
But they still lack the nerve
To acknowledge what’s inside
And let the love emerge.

It’s coming to a point
Where everything’s inevitable.
The obvious feels right;
Plight is soon to be made.
Fate begins to pervade.
With two precious rings
They promise
To love each other forever
On this journey to endeavor.
Hence the coining of the phrase,
“Diamonds are forever.”
Fairy tail story with a nifty meaning.
Mystic Ink Plus Mar 2018
Before
I started to respect
myself

There was
no such terms
like, ego

Remember
Genre: self
Theme: Sometime so many somebody understand me. Sometime so many nobody understands me. A touch of thought.
Bobbie McCord Nov 2016
donald-trumpaphobia
college **** culture
women's rights
global warming
social inactivity

ISIS and extremists
melting ice caps
who crash into deep water, gone, undone
lack of civility in millennials

technology enhanced cyborgs
whose eyes have been surgically sewn to a screen
family issues and self-created isolation
coining yourself the black sheep
to compensate for the need of attention

even if its the wrong kind
one upping to feel important
even if it means leaving your sister in your shadow
the need for narcissism and self-obsession
self-praise and prickly conversations

held at arm's length because we can only stand to be around you
for a few minutes at most and
I yell at you but you do not take in my words
you listen not to understand but to reply

talking to you is more work than talking to a brick wall
which you've build around yourself because if no one can get in
no one can hurt you

and we get it, you're serious about global issues
and we respect it. we encourage it. we praise it.
but haven't you heard
that too much of a good thing... is bad?
and too much of a bad thing.. is, well... good.

not.

you can only build walls so high
before they tumble down and destroy that around them
spewing debris in all directions like a flamethrower with no limit
a tongue of fire burning everyone around
that not even water can heal, leaving scars

reminders
that although you have been quenched, rebuilt, moved on
your words, your actions
they live on, physical reminders to the pain you put me through
although we sit and laugh, I remember

sooner or later you have to know
that living is not dependent upon pointing out
every social issue and making future plans
complaining about all the world's problems
and rambling until your mom makes you stop

a big part of living is enjoying it
the carefree sunsets with toes covered in sand that sticks
and midnight premiers at harry potter movies
enjoying life is dancing in the kitchen with your lover
while rainbow colored pancakes cook

and running to make the winning goal as the clock ticks to zero
blood pumping through your veins
even when faced with death in a close call car cash
life speeding by in a heartbeat
only then can you appreciate that you are alive

live and love
don't waste it all criticizing and changing all that's wrong in the world
because you are only you
you cannot fix everything
Jenn Coke Feb 2016
I miss you, I want to see you. But not because it’s “couple season” – not because it’s cold and gloomy and city lights explode with hands conjoined. You are worth more than the missed holidays, more than the occasions spent without us being in the company of one another: Hallowe'en, my birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, probably your birthday, too, as well as Valentine’s, and our anniversary.

On these specially marked days, I feel a certain emptiness as you, my beloved other half, is not present with me, yet that which is not emptiness, for you still fill my heart plenty. In these times, I feel envy as lovers are so obviously visible everywhere, yet that which is not envy, for they are not you. I may suffer from your absence but I don’t suffer from jealousy. See, I love you, this one man who cannot compare to the likes of any other, this one man who strangely loves me back, this one man who’s mine and to whom I’m his.

You are so very special to me and you mean a lot to me. I love you, I lurve you, I lava you, ILY (code), I <3 U (symbols), je t'aime, saranghae (Korean) – I want to say it a gazillion times and it wouldn’t be enough, and yet I don’t want to say it because it’s only an ensemble of words, an expression that is just too common, overused, cliché and weak, whose (level of) meaning doesn’t remain constant. Perhaps I could keep coining new ones, but then again I don’t want to be simply, mindlessly uttering or writing them like so, as if out of habit.

I want this so-called “love” to be conveyed in such a way that – a tap on the shoulder, a  homemade dinner and handcrafted gifts, a random drive, a silent gaze, a goodbye hug and a goodnight kiss, my sleep-mumbling in your ear and your snoring on my nape, and the sharing of clothes – would melt our heart and let us fall a little deeper, therein meaning exponentially more than a mere, verbal, three-worded clause, “I love you.” That’s the kind of love I want us to be… partaking in.

Today, eight months later, (although I am still thirteen hours ahead, still 8,070 miles East, and still not in your arms…) at the last stroke of the small hand, we both wave and bid farewell to 2015 and welcome and gaze at 2016.

I’m thankful that love found us, I’m glad that we followed, and I’m happy that our relationship remains in the present.

May the new year be full of goodness!
Another special day spent without my love. New Year's Eve from different ends of the world.
Jeremy Betts Oct 2019
(political)

Our leaders don't instill much confidence with their arrogance and incompetence
The blind leading the blind, leading Trump, leading Mike Pence
The importance of common sense diminishing due to a far sub par influence
Leaving said common sense to no longer be common place, commonly erased and/or misplaced, replaced and praised by the physical embodiment of ignorance
A fact, in essence, is knowledge not acceptance, they rather you had no  remembrance of that conflicting evidence
With no thinking cap there's an absence of intelligence so you find yourself turning your nose up at the science
Thinking you can create your own semblance of order but it doesn't stick cause there's no substance
Empty ideas with no means to an end will never silence a crowd, just spreads around more violence
It's proven every election, they are tyrants saying what we want to hear then going back on all campaign statements
No more compliance, gotta stop thinking we the people can't make a difference
That thought was born from the opposite of arrogance in the sense that we don't know the extents of the power that comes with just our presence
It really, truly is a gift, now we just need to open our presents with a willingness and appropriate acceptance
Gotta quit with the indulgence of the hot air and flatulence that spew from these sycophants
Blind obedience is a dangerous way to advance and go about your existence
To much trust given in this instance, we bought it not 'cause it was a need but 'cause it was on clearance
Now we know the price was to steep but deceit is their quasi brilliance
Pure reliance on these p*ss ants we supposedly elected for guidance is a death sentence
They saw you coming from a distance and detoured your persistence
All the while preying on you from a white house window as you brave the elements
They even got you believin' your thoughts are your own but I can't stress this enough, that's nonsense
Regardless, it's no coincidence that we're falling right in line behind their wicked influence
Every four years we seem to pass on the renters insurance, so there's no assurance
No guarantee that when it comes crashing down like suicide insurgents
You won't be left to foot the bill of their gluttonous indulgence
Face it, you ate it up too, don't lie, can't claim your innocence when there's a witness and clear cut evidence
Evidence you bought into this with no regard for this nations residents
Coining the hashtag my life matters more then those low life pesints
In that regard see, poor is poor, color really, truly doesn't make a bit of difference
That's just used to keep us at each others throats so we don't form any kind of resistance
Saving face is a progress hindrance, we messed up royally when we voted outta spite and defiance
Even before it was official we knew it wasn't gonna be a good alliance
You could just tell by looking out into his audience and seeing who was in attendance
Every stance he took seemed like another foot in the grave but he buys his way out with daddy's allowance
Excuse me, I'm sorry, I mean inheritance, whatever, same difference
And this ADD society can't focus long enough to begin an impeachment prosses much less secure a prison sentence
And with the occurrence of each lie we lose more and more faith in the system put in place to uphold some semblance of balance
This breeds a nation of violence, looking for vengeance, no more tolerance
But we cant be the change we want to see while in a safe space, our soundtrack can't be the sound of silence
We don't want to be left with this blood money inheritance riddled with the guilty parties fingerprints
But at our core we're just looking to make more of a difference by being the difference
And yeah, they should be scared of what we're capable of, the gloves are off, we broke the trance, now let's dance...

©2019
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it was brutal past these two days,
pedantry and what not,
first came the lacklustre observation
that needed changing given the perfectionism of coining the phrase:
machina non ex ego,
then came the familiar “god” barricaded with
what proper pronoun usage there is
in the omnipresent and omnitempus rubric will allow,
what’s the first person present acquisitive collective of i in latin?
it’s clearly stated that it’s poached egg...
so me and my totem the fox tonight, the streets empty,
november rain warming the air...
guns ‘n’ roses could be playing in the background
and a wedding of trendowata / trędowata
(helen mniszków) / ***** / i.e. ń
where the bride dies on the honeymoon...
once in a honeymoon the blue moon makes a joke...
been here, done that, let’s mash up the tango with the foxtrot
while genuine genesis gets the ****-off-factor thumbs up...
peter gabriel never made it to the pop section of critics...
he remained hidden in the realm of late-composition
of mahler and whoever decided slapping lycra pants on
frying pans was definitely music.
hey, my sarcastic humour is back... which means i’m
sitting in an easy chair, drinking whiskey, listening to music...
no, actually my lower back is aching while i type
on a dinner table chair...
so the pedantic masochism that got me hot & bothered
for the past two days was changing: machina ex non-ego
to machina non ex ego
(it wasn't me... shaggy... who thought up
the need for traffic wardens... penalties for parking
on double yellow... or the one who
required michelin-star dining...
or the one who kicked a sphere into a rectangle...
i'm not the one who can claim
such social engineering... i'm not the one
behind the tomahawk...
or calling the mayan diety of wind and rain
hurakan like the polish aversion of something
behind storms an alt. spelling via huragan)...
god almighty... did you see the weather forecasts for december?
horrific!
nietzsche famously ignored america...
joseph roth didn’t...
now i’m at the stage of stealing shadows, given the theory
of actors stealing other people’s shadows, recipients
of life or not...
the only way to steal shadows from actors is in the cognitive approach...
make complete dumb-arses smart, turn the quote inside out
and forget existential ambiguity of single word meanings...
forget the spoken interpretation of the linear tetramarca (“ “)
ditto with theapprox. markings as solved, due to the explanation:
i think i said... not i think i doubted that meaning originally...
let me just change the spelling of what’s intended...
ah hell with it: “i” is worse than ~i.
this bombing of daesh is going to hurt the west...
i know why... the russians know why...
they’re doing the puppeteer tactic of war...
get a weak ruler on the throne... heat the throne up...
see the wax of the puppet melt...
see... russia sided with the assad regime...
the west didn’t side with anyone...
i can see a moral angle in favour of russia...
it bombs because it knows assad, bashar allah sad...
it wants the old honours back for the kingpin jim yong ping pong uno
(a.k.a. deep-blue-pong solo with a brick wall),
the west is playing english roulette...
it’s still the same wheel of fortune...
but the ***** are bigger... perhaps smaller...
throw a single grain of pepper / salt in for the gamble...
that’s the west for me... ****** **** ignoramus,
the ****** third cousin of the motivational coach of **** bred kim carmageddon:
oi guv! spare us a tickle!
but you know what i really really love... memories:
the time i read of kierkegaard’s faustian theory of dominion,
when a man can turn a bright spark of femininity
into a juvenille gamer too nervous to stop playing a game
and engage in conversation...
god that girl was something... but then she turned into a little
mouse who could pipsqueak the whole truth
under “supposed” interrogation...
you know that abraham came from the city called Ur
which is modern iraq?
no, you see, kierkegaard’s theory of faust, or faustian sexuality
in the book either / or is perfectly matched up
with don juan’s misogynistic polygamy - the village bicycle analogy -
he eventually becomes a conquered piece of meat
once thought to be the hand under the shawl of saint teresa...
the beatles v. the rolling stones?
bob dylan v. dylan thomas?
that quote from the devil’s advocat by al cappuccino:
‘i’m the ultimate humanist,
i’m the hand under mona lisa’s skirt!’
i vow my entry... you can have mona lisa...
my hand went right up under saint teresa’s shawl.
then i get an answer from ol’ pizza pound...
cantos xliii & xliv are undecipherable... until the usura sequence...
but then again...
he does mention a hill in canto xlii...
which could be a metaphor for the salmon swimming upstream
in the river known as writer’s block.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
it's a dead, obviously, working from per se, i only used prae to be near per, i could have used foris, or even ante, but given the dictionary and the necrosis of the Latin tongue per se as in: per - by rather than in - and se - himself rather than itself, you can imagine the complications of coining a phrase for the antidote of in-itself, i.e. outside-itself.

revision of Enya: **** away **** away,
        against the wind against the wind;
mash up... brrrrapt big up big up east end
Loud Don... bonkers bunch...
                                                    now that is random,
i wanted to make a serious point,
and i will (insert snigger)... eventually.

what i wanted to communicate was the revenge of
von Kleist against Kant...
Kant is the enemy of poetry we're led to believe,
i can imagine, only Heidegger took Holderlin seriously
and lectured on his poetry,
von Kleist committed suicide out of despair
having read Kant's *critique
...
but what i want to do:
to take each poetic technique out of poetry, and
then use each technique to describe it's origin...
so for example metaphor... given that poetry is
ensō (one smooth stroke) - ever watched the t.v.
series Wolf Hall? it's about the dealings of Thomas
Cromwell, all matters of intrigue, Henry the VIII,
and Anne Boleyn... so the metaphor describing
poetry... at the end of Wolf Hall
Anne Boleyn is about to be decapitated, because
she ****** like Catherine the Great (although i'm
sure the myth about the horse by polish / lithuanian
conspirators isn't true... or applicable to Anne)
and that offended the king...
so on the scaffold, there's the swordsman (using a sword
was a clean affair, axes were brutal, imagine hacking
at stump of wood, or like Longinus Podbipięta,
who with a Teutonic sword cut three Turk
heads in one go, so Longinus Podbipięta vouched
to a lady his chastity that he'd bed her if he also
cut three Ottoman heads in one go ref. Sienkiewicz
                   with fire and sword - the sword
that cut ****** Mary's head was, blunt)...
so there's this scene in Wolf Hall, ah man, the swordsman
is classy, Thomas Cromwell asks him, 'will it be a clean
death?', 'only if she doesn't move',
so on the scaffold, he takes his shoes off, speaks into her right
ear as if she's expecting the swing to come from there
and then with great stealth moves in the other
direction and cuts her head off from the left...
so i guess poetry is a metaphor of that, an ensō,
an evolution from haiku: one smooth stroke and you're done:
nothing airy fairy, like you need to sigh...
no... you need to drop the anchor:
                         poetry prae se, as described by metaphor.
Chris Saitta Dec 2019
Corded muscles of the neck ferry the voice of sky,
Charon of words adrift in a salivary dislocated sine,
A fracture of breath, the stenciled rowing of a sigh.
Psychopomps of moonlight, past-throated vultures,  
Carrion of clouds even if stripped clean in vulpicide,
Even if our scorched and coining tongues tip at stars.
In Greek myth, Charon ferried the dead across the river Styx and Acheron in Hades.  A coin was placed in the mouth of the dead to pay for passage.

Pyschopomps are figures who guide the dead to the afterlife, in myth and some religions.

Vulpicide is the killing of a fox.
Third Eye Candy Nov 2020
I’m coining a phrase in the cheap seats.
On a balcony behind the projector.
My wine flask has red names for Polaroids
And fishnet eyelids like a wizard
with a joke face
at a serious
party.

i snoop for books in Unpolished eyes-
and find them leather-bound
to a howling calliope
of hushed gods
in real time,,,
haranguing
the flesh
in bouts
of unbridled
Clarity.

I encroach upon a node of conspicuous samadhi
with all the fearsome brittle of my inner destroy

Something Creates
where my Null sets a coarse by a star
coughing up a lung
in a Cherub’s
Song.

I keep my Puppets
in a Sock
because that’s
Funny.

and that's how
you Pretzel
a Butterfly

for no money,
Michael W Noland Dec 2012
As i shape stanzas, Adam Lanzas **** the cameras, in glamorous stands up, against the manners of actors, in the matters of forgotten factors, in a world gone bananas, I still cant stand us, even when we are dead.

I have tried every side of the bed to no diligence unchecked, in a nervous wreck of annoyance coining in and destroying it, for a bonus, its bogus to know us, but i'm owning it yet, with no regrets and loose concepts to be swept to *****, and on my feet.

I'm obsolete, and my talk is cheaper than most, as i host my feats in a single page, post heathen faze incomplete, as it is only so lonely in the frozen face of flattery, where i may fill my battery, but nothing more, in boring affordability, storing dreams for safe keeping to a later day that may never be, but hey, what does it matter anyway, i will either be, or not be.

I may be just lapsing in luxury, rupturing the subtlety of my structuring around the scars of brain parts too far to reach.

Lets meet on middle grounds with silent screams and loose eyes, fiddling the sounds and singing for the criers, expiring behind less than inspiring doors.

I am just bored, praising the lords of a more recordable source, reliably on course, with a deplorable force, endorsing the chores of servitude, never meaning to be rude, as i enjoy my solitude, while in the employ of the gratitude for what i got, but im not...

That boy anymore, my wonder turned wandering and i will never be that baby again, nor alone, so let go, in knowing the flow can be trusted in showing us something more, said the slave to his *****, before a morbid torrent to show her core to the floor of a showroom, vacuumed into space, awakening to the fate, of monotonous finality, praying to randomly generated gods, for the fogs of war... or anthing more, than this.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
most nations are divided by
either the south vs. the north,
or the east vs. the west,
well... some, not all,
there's no clear indication that
there's a true indicator -

in the case of england though?
well... you
have the emergence of
a "demographic" slang,
and apology for a lack of a better
word,
but i already indicated
this to be a misnomer,
meaning?
               third-parties,
i was never into coining a phrase,
so i took the lazy route,
and unquoted ("     "   vs. '        ' -
hence the inverted commas)
what would sediment into a fluid
pretense for rhetoric...
sure, the picts know
that glasgow is poor, while edinburgh
is rich...
   but that's an anomaly
of the rules...
       most of the underground
services are bound to the earth-worms
of north london...
  south london barely touches
on the convenience of underground
services...
               the underground
stretch of influence goes as far
as brixton (victoria line) -
   and morden / mordor (northern line) -
   **** me! on the north end, we're going back
as far as epping! farmland!
croydon? croydon?! talk about
                heathrow for ****'s sake!
   what the **** happens in west ruslip?
so kilburn is not a mini-havana / kingston
a jamie-jammin-chicken-****-fetish?
marble arch through to edgware
not a niqab "cat walk"?
             i knew i'd loose my compass
when strutting in london...
              homerton, hackney whick,
stratford...
           oh **** me, you go beyond
   hainault....
can you believe they still have
a video rental shop (blockbusters) just
outside of woodford station?!
               cities within a city,
like all modern micro-states of
frowned upon nation-states are:
   london? a city-state...
                           it's not a nation-state,
that 19th century: uh-hum...
                       ya ya...
                          i'm living within
an ancient-greek tickle of a city-state...
i'm living on the membrane,
i'm at the gates
  of the barrier between
   a city-state, and a nation-state...

newcastle, liverpool, manchester are
not actually considered to be
city-states...
           they're national-disconcertives...
   birmingham? ha ha!
           is it either? is it not the lahore
of the north-west?

mind you, me drinking an ale from
newcastle, walking in essex,
the "demographic" slang springs to mind...

i'm a southern fairy... drinking a
northern monkey's brew...
         ain't that a cause for rhyme?
i'm ******* sure it it:
what thrill in crafting art,
   within the confines of a mind
that knows no ill,
               for what of art,
if there be no ill of mind -
         to craft the thrills of true art?
is not art the craft that
          encourages control
over a decomposition, into the vigour
of ferment,
  like wine, like cheese,
                    so too...
   a florentine gallery...
    god: by a tarantula's bite, immobilißed
in the uffizi: mouth agape, pretending
to yawn.

ah yes... a reminder:
with a northern ale in the southern lands
of england...
   ******* southern fairies...
      bollocking northern monkeys.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
they want to read you and not think, so too they want to read you and  not see, they hardly care for punctuation necessarily used, so who's out there to please? n'ah really, i was onto something, i meant that if the Kantian thing-in-itself was applied to the cartesian expression, either thinking-in-itself or being-in-itself is jested at, then we can explain the freedoms of disobedience and obedience, truthfulness and falsehood, and the parody of paradoxes, as highest claimants the claimants: (singular plural) choice - whereas will (plural adjective congregating into singular) is always a butterfly fluctuation of measuring an exactness akin to dating and remembering 1066 the battle of Hastings.

mingle Kant with Descartes and you get thought as the
per se* existence - splitting into either fact of coining
phrases or robbing someone: no doubt (existential
good faith) and certainly no denial (existential
bad faith) - mingle Kant with Descartes
and you get the twins
cogito ergo sum mingling with noumenon,
and thus somewhere along the line
you get to see the membrane of the zygote,
like the thought behind a criminal life
where the life is unexplained because the thought
of such a life is "easily" accessed,
so too in reverse, i.e. being a councillor
or a clerk makes such thinking easily explained
for the prop of the life lived "easily" justified via
the person trading tomatoes or lamb shanks
to keep you unthinking in a bureaucratic role.
In the new being that dawns, must I
Console waste and falsehoods;
Used not to my romantic skies,
Nor my Victorian delight, tonight.

In the new human that lives, but I
Run like a murmur, and shadows;
Those misshapen, unnatural forms
Falling away into vernal decay.

In the new soul that breathes, yet I
Come to made solace and comfort;
With no romantic tenderness
And softness that tend to me.

In the new influence, the new smoke
But I taint my arts and visions;
And make blessed sonnets insincere,
Ridding of their appetite for me.

I was born in the modern, caught
Within the naught of being;
What carries this new feeling, I guess
My soul may not find rest.

I was urged to stay, and say
What the morose hold yet to tell
Not the honest of me; the truths
I may have fallen into silence.

I am only able to live at night;
Being true to dark, ******* sights,
That attract but no organism,
Nor living thoughts and modern insights.

I am only capable of misery;
Their arsons are killing to me,
I cannot paint all that rages in me,
They suspend my arts in dishonor.

Their poems bring about nothing;
My delights they have all killed,
Out of my aesthetic will,
Out of sane satire and parody.

Their art charters no bliss;
I am like the quiet of the sky,
In the midst of this war, I only say
None but the imagery of lies.

Their spouses enjoin ill kisses;
Coining sublime in our frights,
But never frightened like our tears,
Dwelling in our drained thoughts.

Their remarks make us dissolve;
Keeping art away like a spectre,
And dissect my love like a sombre,
Like they were the mere sober souls.

What if the poet in me, conformed
To those marks with no heartbeat;
And my angered words lost their form
Ending such good tones of their wit.

What if the worth in me, paid to them
The wanted chords and juggled songs;
For their ****** and erratic admission
But so not my final destination.

What if the written stopped to sing
To leave, and wish me just well;
How could I stay blind to frustration
How would I restrain such fevers?

What if the tune in me, made dead
By the modern’s hustled breath;
Sung by the engrained commonness,
Having lost its poetic madness.

What if the hours in me, silenced;
Made moroseness, and quiet
I have not been recalled anyway;
I have been silence like yesterday.

What if the seconds in me, tickled
And turned and bored me to dust
Would their hesitations ever last
Would they come to the truth?

What if the leaf in me, peopled
All of their impossible periled
To petrify and sicken my desire,
Shall I embrace mossy poems still?

What if the rose in me, tempted
To lose hold of trained purity;
Would my punishment rise in smoke,
Would I be chained to hell?

What if the love in me, stunned
To death, and its cordless vision;
I am never loved anyway,
Nor guarded, nor made of love.
Dune not be bashful, grumpy, leery
   or any other contemporary dwarf man
even countless less well known dwarves
   (that never got a chance
   to play a bit part) such as wham

bam
thank you ma'am
linkedin with emergence
   of Internet and poetry slam
opportunities availed by Uncle Sam

which characters (albeit fiction)
   nonetheless, helped spawn a quiet yet free
   global, radically riotous,
   totally tubular transformation

   affecting a societal and human specie
but not credited contributing
   to paradigm seismic shift that garnered tree
mend us plenti fully birthed,
   impacted and transformed how wii

(more particularly many gifted minds)
   bridged geographical distance
(encompassing all four corners
   of the Earth) to enhance

what came to be called the world wide web,
   digital strong armed lance
information super high,  "Cyber Revolution",
   etc allowing  one to prance

and essentially transcend reality to brook
   commanding, commingling, communicating, hook
   line and sinker, et cetera
   with an excellent access and out look
reaching the most distant cranny and nook.

This (bit a bing chitty bang)
   manifestation toward
exponentially faster processing capacities
   more powerful than pen or sword
(based on principles of Moore’s Law), reward
electronically solidifying
   binary unification swiftly tail lord

engenders greater dependence and reliance
   figuratively shrinking the drinking gourd
allowing far flung aliens, family,
   friends, et cetera to ford

great distances via sophisticated electronics
   courtesy of super smart mother board
enabling ever more complex
   electronic contrivances
   the generic **** Sapien gibbon could afford.

Analogous to Medieval Age
this quiet ***** riot creation
   vis a vis Internet did un cage
actual overcoming physical barriers
   ushered Hall mark gauge
marked by Computer/Digital Age odyssey),

   especially sharing pixillated page
at light speed, where the ordinary individual
   could keep in contact )
   albeit with every now and again
   a bit torrent rage

and in some instances tapping
   smarts of a preschooler considered a sage
which kindergarten lad/lass
   commandeered a handsome wage

whereat the parental figure did cajole, wheedle or beg
their wealthy progeny promising
   son/ daughter of a healthy nest egg
stored money in Swiss bank accounts or hollow leg
perhaps christened jpeg
or if an avid weekly reader of Moby **** Queequeg

who felt incorporeal storied power
   of Herman Melville as zen unseen aid
instructing hypothetic rich kid to drop out of school
   before his/her first grade
coz of all the money he/she made

which affected modus operandi rendered obsolete
   child worker laws
   and no sweat of brow getting paid
people used bitcoin (or other online currency)
   additionally making purchases
   with scant keystrokes to complete a trade.

As with any major dramatically novel scheme
light bulb idea scribbled on napkin
   scrap of paper
   via cheesy or whipped cream
originating as a flash in the pan
   aha eureka moment, or dream

as rough blue print subsequently
   underwent beta testing,
   before declaring pc innovation supreme
whereby outstanding persons in the tech industry
   clamored to join Kidde team.

Whether seventh day add vent
   hissed or other religious creed
powerful binary processing
   impacted near
   earth shaking incarnation indeed
and ramifications in all walks
   and talks of life sought expert need.

Coven chanting children murmured Luddites be ******!

Thus spake Zarathustra (cue the opening scene
from Planet of the Apes)
   upon witnessing as if king or queen
(in reality father or mother)
   didst get immediately

   dethroned thus, increasing mean
average positive
   effects on society, especially lean
microchip i.e. integrated circuitry

   miniaturization "green"
technology (and eventual
   attendant affordable price)
   viz said trappings

   unleashed upon global market
   invited absolute zero dust, a must clean
as a whistle work space,
   and manufacturers laboratory be microbe free
   hermetically sealed vacuumed "clean".

Countless portable machines
   unbeknownst soon epithet florid hack
   coining impromptu called cyber crime
especially as majority proportion of population
   didst purchase these dime,

a doze in countless "end users"
   snapped up these smart machines
   excitedly keyed away indifferent to gunk
on unwashed hands
   plus bits of food particles

   eventually caking hardware with grime
(eventually necessitating technician
   charging gobs of moolah
   sans to unstitch in time.

Gooey glop getting suctioned out
   technicians venting expletives
   emphasized obvious
   NO FOOD OR DRINK rule to abide
cuz suctioning tower

   or laptop presented vulnerability
   plus unforeseen downfall against fried
food and greasy hands ended up hide
ding in hardest to reach locale
   on circuit board no matter how expert pried

yelling out gratitude
   to geek squad member helping
   before he/she went out side door
eagerly awaiting

   remotely controlled self driving vehicle
   transporting techie guru home
   to an obscure gated destination,
   an uninterrupted distant, yet pleasant ride.

eventually amateurs encouraged
   to tinker like an apprenticed tailor
   akin as raw troubleshooting recruit
   oft playfully feigned to be soldier spy

pretending to repair bowel of computer
   when in truth visiting supposed shadowing dark side
   which lined illegal benefits of labor saving devices),
the sound of silence
(written on the subway walls)

though heretics opposing
   latest technology and felt sinister chill
(just ask Punxsutawney Phil),
the Internet ranks as greatest dog sent rill

lee where wiz kids ranked
   chatting killer apps with grateful dead
   information superhighway as heavenly manna
   with artificial intelligence street cred
since introduction of white bread
and powdered milk biscuits baked by Ahmed.
Ramana Tandra Jan 2019
Hey! WORLD,
The Society
.
How mendacious you are!
.
Coining them"Suicides"
Proclaiming them"Suiciders"
You tried well
To mislead us
To illude us
.
Hey! WORLD
The Society
.
Eventually
We marked it out
Undoubtedly
We discerned it
.
They are not SUICIDES
They are not SUICIDERS
.
Cursing YOU
I announce for the world
.
They are SOCIAL MURDERS
They are VICTIMS
.
You are the MURDERER
Mass times acceleration
Disbalance and violation
If I had any, I would use, but
Externals force me to choose.
How far may the rays of light
Travel in the pit of void?
Will their speed exceed indeed
The power of the figures' horde?
Will immortal seeds become of age
Under a brighter star's main stage?
Will their specters match in peace
Or timeframes collide without ease...
I make notes, files, but no coins,
Breaking what's been left to break,
Coining words instead of points
Breathing vacuum, air is fake.
Ordering helps me no more,
Trade hardly yields me any score,
The grid of matter took my dream,
Stole my youth and flawed my piece.
I thought that any knowledge is power,
Now I realize it's like any flower,
Philosophers love and grow it,
Calculators show and throw it.
Beauty, balance, free will
They all are prey to evil.
bits of desperation, fractured beliefs about knowledge, physics, logic, values, matter, spirit and the ultimate futileness of form
Victor D López Jan 2020
Hubristrology is the pseudo-science,
Created when the human mind,
Attempts to reduce the infinite complexity,
Of the universe to its understanding.

It can lead to absurd conclusions not unlike,
A blind man who has spent his life in the desert,
Attempting to deduce the form and function,
Of a great white shark by examining only the tip of its dorsal fin.

In our efforts to unravel the secrets of the universe,
Even the wisest among us is like an amoeba floating on a leaf,
Attempting to distill the infinite secrets of the cosmos,
By examining in minutest detail the fetid drop of pond water it inhabits.

Square pegs don't fit into round holes? Worry not.
Hubristrology to the rescue!
Find a peg of lesser diameter,
And it will fit just fine.
This poem echoes a main theme in my most disturbing and perhaps prophetic short story, "End of Days." A little knowledge is a dangerous thing! It was posted first at AllPoetry in response to a prompt to create a new word, define it and use it in a poem.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
well... i'm happy to say,
it's good to find
something
   that doesn't have
made in china
       written all over it...

joke:
                     a schizophrenic,
a melancholic
and a trans-
   walk into a bar...

yeah, it's funny how
depression is now...
either Norman for Brian...
trans- is all furore...
a zeitgeist fashion show
contra vogue...
  
         ****** ***** bunny
-esque...
               "thing"...
i sampled the vocab.
and i'm like...
    can someone give
me a ******* map for
this labyrinth
of gymnastic benders
and squats
        and backflips?

when the lie is successful,
and i forget to think
about all things
regarding genitals...

  then... akin to blaire white:
you find yourself,
having just found:
           a ******* unicorn!

they say that pain defines
reality,
   but also a potent lie...
a lie that convinces you...
i think that's called
a blue pill moment...

but blue pill moments are
rarer,
and there is no shattering
foundation for "reality"
to reorganize itself...

hence the title:
made in thailand...
because, this can't be some,
european invention
when it seems to date
back to thailand
where it's pop,
          just, plain Norman...

it doesn't help,
that even with the anglo- prefix
to my suffix of -slav
   is still...
somehow, morbidly curious...

but nowhere is schizophrenia
Norman...
         for the Brian...
in current day England...
as long you exfoliate,
dear one,
   as long as...
            
       so what's up with this
cue for the epidemic
      of premature depression...
schizophrenia was called
premature dementia
back in Estonia where
it was first observed...

             but... luckily...
it still remains,
       in the verbreitetsprechen
(common talk)...
   a metaphorical allusion...
splintered ego...
   what if r. d. laing were alive
today...
     clearly the exploits
of crafting a hierarchy
                       of misery...

well... in england i'm used
to it...
    bilingualism is the new
schizophrenia...
   the point of integrating
into this society...
sure, learn the tongue...
and forget your native tongue...
can't i keep it?
  no! no!
   you have to shed it!
well...
       couldn't two tongues
come in handy...
like... going back "home"
  and translating a business
transaction for you?
no! no!
   **** me... that's harsh...
so why don't your people
learn... fwench?

a schizophrenic
a melancholic
  and a trans-
   walk into the bar...

what a day...
                  1 to 100?
really... that's the ratio possibility
of schizophrenia?
  thank god this condition
cannot be normalized...

      depression
    is just too common
already...
       as a phenomenon
affecting youth
                  i'm worried...

but this whole thai surprise?
i would have spent
a more productive two
hours watching a washing machine
go through
  the cycle of washing
bath towels
    and a paraphernalia
     of underwear...
      than having to listen
to a leech vocab. / boa vocab.
complex...

    i have mine too...
            but... i'm only adamant
about having one,
in order to become:
  spelling-fluid...
                   what?
   i'm not going to just give
up...
              an investment
of my time, to how words are
communicated...

sure, call me a grammar ****...
but i don't do emoji...
   never have, never will...
ergo?
   i think i'm sort of a quasi-Levi...
take on inscribing
this be Latin
         text on a modern variation
of hieroglyphs...

again, blaire white...
   if the lie doesn't sell,
and the person in questions
comes off as... silence of the lambs
style buffalo ******* bill...
what is, "transphobia", exactly?

short-circuit...
   what, the, ****, are, these,
people, talking, about?
         you want me to compare
a ******* gucci product
with some Vietnamese pirate
spin-off fake?

short-circuit...
              i can't do that...
                        people have this
concept of forgery,
associated with art paintings...
you're telling me...
the same cannot be applied
to humans?
            
                 there are standards,
and there are categories,
for the simple purpose of
                   a per se "manifesto
of manifestation...
no one likes a ******
magic trick...
             if this is magic...
it's a the sixth sense type of
magic trick of the shaking
of the hands and the moving
penny...
                 it's macabre...
       no one tells a bad magician...
short-circuit...
      how can anyone...
even begin...

         even begin to...
            i'd pay for a good
magic trick...
                      but to simply
be sold a cheap magic trick...
there's no in-between
relating to man or trans or woman...

blaire white
    can says she's trans...
   but my head is already
doing the automated "thinking"
in engaging a doubt
   that borders on negation
of what she's saying,
given what is before my eyes...
that's soothing...

       on a minor note:
yeah, the mannerisms are...
               so-so...
                     maybe i haven't
watched enough teenage girl
videos with the whole:
flick of the hair...
              and no,
i'm not planning to...

               but,                come on...  
you're talking
to Norman who's talking
to Brian
   who's looking at...
     less in your face criticism
and more,
having once ******-off
to a Bronzino...
    the subtle eroticism
of the shy emerging tongue
from Venus' lips...
    in venus, cupid,
       time and love
...

trans- is already a counterfeit
of a woman...
   but there's also a counterfeit
of trans-,
   and... i can't entertain
digging a trench into this
ideological circus...
        by coining up a name...
for... whatever happens,
as life shows,
                whenever
a counterfeit of trans-
               is to be taken, seriously,
outside the cabaret voltaire
agenda of a drag queen;
which is what the current
   "trans-" agenda has proved...
the nepotism of drag queens...
      despotism, blah blah, whatever...

or there's just wishing
having spent 2 hours
watching a washing machine
go through a cycle.
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
Search your soul, linger till you grow
Old in fields of gold, rain comes so does the hope
Hostile buildings flying around the head, like buzzing bees
Criminalizing every last convict
Coining every last name in the prison register
Treason and trainwrecks have conviction in common
Break the tough chains, with tough breaks
Tinkering like thirty-years
Breeding and birth is a part of the fleeting memory, of high and dry
Try and you can quench the thirst of a couple of people at the end of the road and the rotation of crowds
Brimming with satisfaction, I can't find the child that's always dissatisfied
A bridge on time of carnage would be better than burning the commodores
****** mysteries and bebop, tell you can light your own enigma
Lady luck is fickle, she got razor-sharp claws and got 'em all
Too bad she tears up the fateful roads that are meant to cross-point like the stars on Moonlight drive
Fear in the darkness and in the loathing of Las Vegas
Leers and glances of the beatnik and bookish boys, gracing every with their masculine advances
Being bums and being contended
Pardon me, c'est la vie, cinema mon amour
The shards of saviors slashing samurai swords and serried sands
Lands, composed the Magna Carta of the time and sending off
The harakiri killed the suicide solution, the feudal times with Japan in the cherry blossom
Trees falling transient photos, stills on the artist within, touch the sword
Can't get the arrows and bows, quip, fly the mistakes by the taste of killing stakes
Bleeding soldiers, in the thousand men in gracious faceless
Read-write the scrolls that stand the test, emptiness is just a reflection of the blind
Eye to eye, blinking can't avert an artist's eyes
This is the hummingbird that hides, the cusp of time and cutting vernacular
The chirping and belonging of the terse stories of the counts and countesses of the summer loathing
Heralding the sun, and it's God in the sands of time and talk of tides
Working like the winds and winding solar clocks, and lunar dials
Tellin' and reelin' in the direction of the red skies, see where they make their mirages
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
yes, i love german, esp. for coining phrases,
alas, i'm not so much into memes -
but... when it comes to words?

look, the lost aspect of the german language
that still functions in English?
i can tell you where to find it...

shh... psst... don't tell anyone...
chemistry!
             where else can you find the germanic
fudge packaging of a word?
esp. with the syllable count,
but...         no ******* hyphen!

all the chemical names,
the hydrocarbons, the shampoo packaging
names...
    they all stem from the anglo-saxon rooting...
and since...
i'm an anglo-slav...

the NPC affair... ha ha...
                    ha ha... i mean...
as the Jews would say: isn't that the, the point
making an emphasis of
the forced stut-stut-stutter?

welcome!
to the second tier of the metaphysics of
eugenics!
       certain genes are not allowed,
certain thoughts and their subsequent
egos need to be sterilized...

so i thought...
   oh forget George Orwell for the minute,
stop reading these people's bible...
you don't actually have a plan
reading that work,
it's already implemented,
you will not find an antithesis
to the agenda in that book,
you have to look elsewhere...
   spotting the same recurrence...
it's no longer fun...
                    it's like train-spotting...
yes, and again something will come up,
and it will be predictable,
i hate predictability...

group think, double think,
wrong think, right think are obsolete
by now...

two new terms:
     and it has to be in german...
mind you...
          i'm not particularly versed in
this compound...
  does a noun, or an adverb,
or a pronoun work best with a verb?
the three options:

   (noun) neindenken
   (adverb) nichtdenken
  (pronoun) keindenken

maybe we can work on the interchange...
mind you, group "think"...
last time i checked... hives do not think,
thinking is not an exclusive "sentiment",
and in terms of inclusiveness:
you can't have thinking,
that's not how inclusiveness works...

hence?
                bienenstocksprechen:
hive-talk....
                    yes, you can find remnants
of the Anglo-Saxons in the English
language, the down-trodden Germanic
tongue, enveloped in shrapnel kind
of spelling when... alternatively to memes,
kernwörter are formed...

the Anglo-Saxon imprint is still in use...
it's incubated in the language of
chemistry...
                       just read the label of
ingredients of a shampoo bottle...
    the last of the Saxons rest within.
Dune not be bashful, grumpy, leery
or any other contemporary dwarf man
even countless less well known dwarves
(that never got a chance
to play a bit part) such as wham
bam
thank you ma'am
linkedin with emergence
of Internet and poetry slam
opportunities availed by Uncle Sam

which characters (albeit fiction)
nonetheless, helped spawn a quiet yet free
global, radically riotous,
totally tubular transformation
affecting a societal and human specie
but not credited contributing
to paradigm seismic shift that garnered tree
mend us plenti fully birthed,
impacted and transformed how wii

(more particularly many gifted minds)
bridged geographical distance
(encompassing all four corners
of the Earth) to enhance
what came to be called the world wide web,
digital strong armed lance
information super high, "Cyber Revolution",
etc allowing one to prance

and essentially transcend reality to brook
commanding, commingling, communicating, hook
line and sinker, et cetera
with an excellent access and outlook
reaching the most distant cranny and nook.

This (bit a bing chitty bang)
manifestation toward
exponentially faster processing capacities
more powerful than pen or sword
(based on principles of Moore’s Law), reward
electronically solidifying
binary unification swiftly tail lord

engenders greater dependence and reliance
figuratively shrinking the drinking gourd
allowing far flung aliens, family,
friends, et cetera to ford
great distances via sophisticated electronics
courtesy of super smart motherboard
enabling ever more complex
electronic contrivances
the generic **** Sapien gibbon could afford.

Analogous to Medieval Age
this quiet ***** riot creation
vis a vis Internet did un cage
actual overcoming physical barriers
ushered Hallmark gauge
marked by Computer/Digital Age odyssey),
especially sharing pixelated page
at light speed, where the ordinary individual
could keep in contact )
albeit with every now and again
a bit torrent rage
and in some instances tapping
smarts of a preschooler considered a sage
which kindergarten lad/lass
commandeered a handsome wage.

Whereat the parental figure did cajole,
wheedle or beg
their wealthy progeny promising
son/ daughter of a healthy nest egg
stored money in Swiss bank accounts or hollow leg
perhaps christened jpeg
or if an avid weekly reader
of Moby **** Queequeg

who felt incorporeal storied power
of Herman Melville as zen unseen aid
instructing hypothetical rich kid
to dropout of school
before his/her first grade
coz of all the money he/she made,

which affected modus operandi rendered obsolete
child worker laws
and no sweat of brow getting paid
people used bitcoin
(or other online currency)
additionally making purchases
with scant keystrokes to complete a trade.

As with any major dramatically novel scheme
light bulb idea scribbled on napkin
scrap of paper
via cheesy or whipped cream
originating as a flash in the pan
aha eureka moment, or dream

as rough blueprint subsequently
underwent beta testing,
before declaring pc innovation supreme
whereby outstanding persons in the tech industry
clamored to join Kidde team.

Whether seventh day advent
hissed or other religious creed
powerful binary processing
impacted near
earth shaking incarnation indeed
and ramifications in all walks
and talks of life sought expert need.

Coven chanting children murmured
Luddites be ******!

Thus spake Zarathustra (cue the opening scene
from Planet of the Apes)
upon witnessing as if king or queen
(in reality father or mother)
didst get immediately

dethroned thus, increasing mean
average positive
effects on society, especially lean
microchip i.e. integrated circuitry
miniaturization "green"
technology (and eventual
attendant affordable price)
viz said trappings

unleashed upon global market
invited absolute zero dust, a must clean
as a whistle work space,
and manufacturers laboratory be microbe free
hermetically sealed vacuumed "clean".

Countless portable machines
unbeknownst soon epithet florid hack
coining impromptu called cyber crime
especially as majority proportion of population
didst purchase these dime,

a doze in countless "end users"
snapped up these smart machines
excitedly keyed away indifferent to gunk
on unwashed hands
plus bits of food particles
eventually caking hardware with grime
(eventually necessitating technician
charging gobs of moolah
sans to unstitch in time.

Gooey glop getting suctioned out
technicians venting expletives
emphasized obvious
NO FOOD OR DRINK rule to abide
cuz suctioning tower
or laptop presented vulnerability
plus unforeseen downfall against fried
food and greasy hands ended up hide
ding in hardest to reach locale
on circuit board no matter how expert pried

yelling out gratitude
to geek squad member helping
before he/she went out side door
eagerly awaiting

remotely controlled self driving vehicle
transporting techie guru home
to an obscure gated destination,
an uninterrupted distant, yet pleasant ride.

eventually amateurs encouraged
to tinker like an apprenticed tailor
akin as raw troubleshooting recruit
oft playfully feigned to be soldier spy

pretending to repair bowel of computer
when in truth visiting supposed shadowing dark side
which lined illegal benefits of labor saving devices),
the sound of silence
(written on the subway walls)

though heretics opposing
latest technology and felt sinister chill
(just ask Punxsutawney Phil),
the Internet ranks as greatest dog sent rill

lee where wiz kids ranked
chatting killer apps with grateful dead
information superhighway as heavenly manna
with artificial intelligence street cred
since introduction of white bread
and powdered milk biscuits baked by Ahmed.
Gr8Ryzyngz Jan 2019
What are
WE handing down?
Heirlooms deceptions abounds
Giving out bibles
And Christianity murderously
While coining native
Kings and Queens savage
To steal OUR lands
In the name of their own crowns
Nieve hearts and minds
Couldn't see the wolves
So sheeply disguised
Herd only rumors of peaceful lies
Now building presidential boarders
After coming into OUR homes
They claimed to discover
Still while WE living in them
Only to keep US from
The stolen heritage
Of OUR OWN Birth
Rights, Rites, Writes.
Demanding that WE pledge
To their thwarted versionz
Through their demented visionz
Of Illiberal Injustices
For not one, not a few
Not even many of the majority
But FOR ALL!!!
Tingz dat mek mi go Hmmmm!!!

— The End —