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I start to answer her question,
She seems taken aback.
I rattle off my list.
“Witty comments,
An easy found laughter…
I like competitiveness
That’s wraps itself around playfulness,
Like I want to wrap myself around
His big found epiphanies.
Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and
Good intuition.
A quick reaction time, helping you step away
Before **** has had time to hit the fan.
Eagerness to help other human beings…
Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people
Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed.
Awareness of one’s self.
a knack for insightful observing.”
These a list of things I find attractive
But yes he also has a nice jaw line
It traces lovely underneath a finger tip
But it’s a faraway line on a map
That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts
It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s
It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful
That I hardly understand how out of all of it
That was the only thing you really responded to.
The only part of the map you related enough to
To point to and say I have been there.

Korean fashion experts have shared their know-how with Malaysia.

At the "K-Fashion Conference for Malaysia" in Kuala Lumpur on Feb. 16, a group of Korean professionals gave lectures under the topics "K-Fashion Design Trend Transition & Forecast," "Digital & Online Marketing Strategies," "Power Brand and Concept Development Strategies" and "How to enter the global market."

The Korea Fashion Association, the Malaysia External Trade Development Corporation (MATRADE) and the ASEAN-Korea Centre organized the event to strengthen the competitiveness of Malaysian fashion brands by improving the added value of the industry through brand development.

About 50 Malaysian fashion industry companies and related government officials attended.

"There is growing interest in K-fashion, along with the high popularity of Korean dramas and entertainment shows, making this workshop even more timely and meaningful," ASEAN-Korea Centre Secretary General Kim Young-sun said. "The Malaysian fashion industry has huge potential as it is currently ranked in the top five in the ASEAN fashion industry."

On Feb. 15 and 17, Korean experts visited local fashion merchandisers for market research and consultations.

According to the ASEAN-Korea Centre, the Malaysian fashion industry has had massive growth with the expansion of Islamic fashion markets.

MATRADE aims to boost the industry as the nation's leading exporter. It has been organizing Malaysia Fashion Week (MFW) since 2014 to make the capital a fashion destination in Asia.

The second MFW in 2015 featured designers from more than 15 countries, and over 300 booths showcased the quality products of Malaysian fashion brands to the domestic and foreign trade, accodring to the organization.

The ASEAN-Korea Centre is an intergovernmental organization established in 2009 with an aim to promote exchanges among Korea and the 10 ASEAN member states.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

no, i don't need an outlet: talk to the public,
they tell you you're
either a well guised political machine,
a psychiatrist,
           or an oddity: come October time
propheteering rather than profiteering;
your choice, not mine:
   i look at poetry like
a plumber might look at a toilet:
go in and get the francophone out!
    so pardoning the French
is lost, as casual phrasing goes, woop,
  away away Superman included.

oh right, you might think i'm spelling
something Evangelical,
sure, i hope you do or d.p. as in
do please,
           what with the cool of Wall St.
sprechen d.l. (down low);
i had a few scribbled notes,
yes, Yanky, my laptop broke down
and i'm reduced to pen & paper
         like handcock & *******,
easy does the ****** of loser vill
           (can we drop the e
for the sake of autocorrect being right
when the big words matter? thanks) -
Platonism is plainly Thespian,
             Platonic thought is a Thespian
"espionage", get used to it,
you haven't matured into Aristotelian
         autism: you still want to act,
to puppeteer that shadows of people
without ever *being the people,
don't take it as if it's supposed to be unlikely:
there's a boss around every corner:
whether you get paid or don't, which is fun,
because you state an authority but
still only play the cameo.
      reminiscent guise literature
of rewatching that t.v. phenomenon
that's billions -
             oh sure, t.v. these days overshadows
cinema, cinema is worth jack-****,
it's poverty is intrinsic in forming ideas
or reversed "Latin" grammar  idea-fermentation,
i said English loves to hyphenate
two kindred words,
    like that ego theory
             with the Germanic self-theorising,
self-enabling, self-interest, self-haemorrhaging
  gusto of the capital -
    what a way to finish, i as a prefix
toward robotic modula.

(i write pending, but ensure the enso,
            or Swahili wasabi sting of
green horseradish,
       same so, i live dangerously, or pretty
much on the sly,
           if i tell the taxpayers
  they're getting their money's worth
i'll bound to see a third runway at Heathrow:
got my nose in an Alsatians' buttocks mind you).

so...

i was going to end with it, but i'm afraid i must
begin with it, page entitled

a. a rebellion from the top?
    or right, it only comes from the bottom,
the guillotine and all,
  but never the despotic cupcake for an Antoinette,
right? wrong!
                coming from a worker's background,
i'd been happy doing the ******* roofs of
the Tate Gallery among other examples,
but i was educated as a chemist,
  and, i was told, you need toothpaste, or
am i wrong in that assumption?
     picture it thus:
a son of a roofer is real smart,
      goes to Edinburgh, gets his money's worth
in terms of tuition, over 30 hours year three
of his chemistry degree, when things were still
decent, ~£1,250 a year (one thousand two hundred
and fifty pounds): with words like that
you might sketch Dante and Donatello and
the Italian Renaissance in terms of clapping the ****
away at the gesture...
     but no, it was like that, study chemistry
and you get your money's worth in terms of tuition,
so how the **** did i descend from the "high" tier
of the sciences into the murk of poetry
and humanism?
       history of science and David Hume:
black swans to mind, also.
                          but the other kid in question
was a son of a doctor / radiologist,
and this talk of rebellion from the top?
he couldn't stomach a shifting hierarchy,
he couldn't stomach social progress,
     had i or hadn't i invested my pleasure
time in reading philosophy is no one's business,
had i made a professional wage from it,
sure, but i wasn't intending to do so:
      what's your favourite colour sort of
question and whether truant of the zeitgeist:
the ******* guillotine, mate!
            i just can't perpetuate this loaf of wording,
but it's necessary:
    of jealousy so corrosive, of jealousy so lined
with lice, only then a god is spawned -
           the person in question?
a skiving belittling camel jockey -
and that's me being polite...
       you can almost become auto-suggestive
of needing to cite: what Abel did next when
the roaring Milton God subsided and
     wanked a crucifix that later became 2000 years of
history: or in the making.

i can be a pompous and bombastic parrot
          that cites Polly this, Polly that,
but i can speak to a scaffolder and laugh: with him,
and not, at him...
                 because i know my bombastic mr. fantastic
behaviour about spending aeons in a library
   rather than sniffing bullseyes and ****
        is made to be the fo' sho' lingua rapper tinder
of something or other that doesn't require me
to foolishly date...
                         **** it, cheaper at the brothel.

...........................

                        oh­ i'm just getting started, hence
the title with (penting) in it: no, not really mr. tough-guy,
just a **** break and a smoke and all that's
necessary in terms of transparency, begging to
be revealed in all forms of literary composition...
  
let's just say: a new interpretation of the paragraph,
     for me reading books, a paragraph means Sunday,
1905... because of the constipation and what-not,
   a comma makes me feel like i need a pause to
hiccup or sneeze,
       a full-dot is never a full-dot unless it's a full-dot
and then it's a definite article of end, rather than
the intermediate an end: let's start over, once again;
       but when have you actually experienced
a Macgyver of what's otherwise a "work in progress"?
answer? never!
               you never have: you had to become
censored by publishers and editors for everything to
look the end-product squeaky-clean!
                   unless published posthumously...
and then... you might already be dead:
you never got to see a work in progress...
   and believe me, i have 8 pages worth of notes to
encode into something that's not
that fable about a boy waking up Barbarossa
from slumber and upon seeing crows
shouting: messerschmitt! messerschmitt! messerschmitt!
well, a diet of hanzel und gretyl will do that
to you, you get a fetish like Shpielberg and direct
the Indiana Jones franchise...
                       funny little me, "phony" Englishman
speaking a piquant variation of Essex banter,
8 years in Poland and of memories i speak of the fondest
in my life, and 22 years in this rotting *******...
                    i feel less organic, more inorganic,
i.e. metallic,
       it's like my insides were hollowed out
and i was faking that i am actually being -
   weird sensation, ask any displaced individual when
they have the organism of a Slavic, but a soul
of a German... feels, ******* weird...
                        i mean, Nietzsche and that complement
that the Poles are the French in the ethnic category?
what are the English in the Slav category then?
                          most likely Ukrainian.
i dare you to find a philosopher with a similar dilemma,
i dare you: in light of how this whole
gaining of fame works, not one wrote about
being displaced... well... unless you're talking about
Moses -

                (haven't even started, i need a drink).

there was no social tract anyway!
    to be forced into accepting insemination
        when the forward wording was:
       "i'm talking counter-contraceptive
measures" & 'i want you to *** in me'.
                 ditto encapsulating quote
for ambiguity, the otherwise: real life.
       is my ***** worth more than me?
have i not transcended a weak bladder / **** muscles?
       a pseudo-humanity, intrinsic in man
but not not in beast?
                    i call upon a reversal of what's
a staging of ****, or money grubbing -
                with a woman's twist of the Grimm tale:
as she said: i want this man,
              i will impose a moral grounding / battlefield,
judgement on him! entrapment!
and there's me apologising for the "****" / so-called,
in a fully-consenting intimacy:
   well, *****, why don't you? another Beethoven
is waiting? who's the whopper feminist these days?!
               me? you?! hardly you!
   i consented to a full intimacy,
        is ***** a foetus?
tissue would know,
    or a twisted fetish for ****** cream
advertisement in ****, huh?
              sure, my socks smell, but so does
your moral instinct.
                        the difference is that that i get to
say airy, while you get to say fairy.
                         it really takes a man respecting
a woman's freedom: i seriously thought you
were advocating the right to abort
as you might avert ****...
    sure: i'm sorry i inseminated you,
can you please treat it as a tear-jerker experience
of a rom-com that's actually a transvestite-rom
  and needs 50 years to ferment for the earthquakes
and heartaches and cha cha attacks?
              to me it's an apron needing a wash,
to you it a ******* moral dilemma needing
a ******'s rights to not father a child and you
needing your body to unnecessarily incubate it
so you get the Catholic nod... bonkers!
    yes, i impregnated a girl, at university:
i avoided white trash at school, sorry, but it's true,
i liked reading... let me stress that: i liked reading,
      or bold if italics and colon Gemini be antiquity...
she lacked the character judgements,
the 'why he didn't stay' method statement...
she called my friend and study buddy a troll
based on her aesthetic tastes...
          i could have had a family now, and all
the responsibilities, it just didn't fit into
a replica of Cleopatra and Anthony *******
when they honestly didn't have ******* to claim
as their own...
          jeez (replica of the hand-written transcript) -
writing this on pen + paper is like *******
a **** for reach a champagne fizz of ******
for an hour - thank you keyboard and the digital
pixel off blank: ******* is less painful
than writing with that oddity that's handwriting).
there was no social contract anyway!
     it's not like i was married, there's
no unwanted child joke in this: i do find abortion
abhorrent within a social contract, a marriage,
but outside of marriage? are you ******* kidding me?!
you an Irish priest or something?
       there was no social contract,
did i sign a social contract akin to marriage?
      am i in this for the shambles?
of course i didn't get married,
there was no +ring,
                     sure abortion is abhorrent,
but under a social contract,
  without a social contract (marriage)
i,    had,    no,         obligation.
      what, in order to practice a variation of Islam
on a woman's whim?
    *******.
                     plus i had the gross indecency
gay men have with surrogate mother prostitution;
oh wait, it isn't that? my bad.
            i always had a nicety divisiveness for
incubators... a 9 month ****, with dividends...
        really: feminism can **** itself!
because aren't we at a stage of rhetorically counter-validating
what we abhor in certain Asian communities?
oh sure, the patriarchs are gone,
forced marriages are gone too...
          but didn't i just describe a case
of forced marriage, where a western girl is given
all the powers to reign over a young man
as any despot might over a worker
so he can "think" and drink cocktails and
chuckle over his position between cocktails?
      
  i said abortion, yes, i didn't like the girl's aesthetic,
and you know what? that thing you call abortion,
apart from the fact that the foetus has no soul
the baby neither: not until the diaper is off...
to learn to strain the muscles outside the womb:
you really forgot that the implant of soul
or the later disputed notion of god
is only implantable once the memory kicks into
gear...
               only when you start to remember
is the human person born:
   beyond that it's still nature's brutalist lottery...
maybe a Beethoven might have been born,p
but who cares? we already have a Beethoven!
it's avoiding consented ****:
that's feminism and 9 months spared
the continuation of endured affair / "relationship",
i seriously thought that's what women
were campaigning for... obviously it's counter!
   i claim soul outside of a woman's body:
when the ****** thing passes the diaper gym
and learns to automate the bladder and the ****...
then i say: worthy an implant of a soul...
or chauvinistically that's counter and double-****
of 9 months and Bach with his 14 children,
and the Borgia Popes...
          but at least we have the surrogate "mothers"
and that pretty Disney scenario of two gay dads
to fictionalise into watchable Platonic cavemen
when the eyes aren't glued to the 2D.
why do you think such thoughts ferment in
the heterosexual imagining of actuality?
                your utopian counter-clockwise
has already extended into China being the only
provable state of physical activity...
    and the western zoo of mental philosophical
build-up-detachment? your mental health
scenario only suggests you created acid professions...
at least the physical "antiquity" of China
is compensated by a universal shortcoming:
death and mortality...
you created acid-baths: sport and completely mental
professions: YOU'RE SICK!
     honestly!
     people used to enjoy physical professions,
and the essence of such professions?
no immediate competitiveness!
         you replaced physical professions
with sports!
                  and compensated the need for
physical hands-on with the ****** gym!
no wonder you countered-Darwinism while
adapting the need to advertise it
            and made so many young people
mentally ill...
      because your whole mental estrangement
is the sauce or a broth that's currently on the boil!

You think you know me.
I think I know you.
We know nothing
As we move forward
Slouched in our office chairs of despair
Some moving full throttle, the others stay still
Still
All in the same place
All at the same level
The illusion of movement
Competitiveness run amok and awry
An experiment gone wrong
An experiment in our endless longing, our search
Our eventual journey
As we seek greatness and perfection
While shattering the thought of it.

We have been taught to question
Questions bring greatness
Greatness is what we long for

Greatness has been subjugated
No longer an aspiration, but a trade
Not a product of inspiration
But a product of greed

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead

What once was an abstract concept
Is now concrete
And invisible
Nothing
A black hole
Constructed from the shattered hopes and dreams
Of millenials and those who felt like we do throughout history

What does "millenial" mean anyway?
In every context it encapsulates
Consumerism
Greed
Selfishness
Hypocrisy

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
And we killed it

We dealt the death blow.

We lack heart
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with greatness
Greatness comes from accomplishments
Accomplishments come from knowledge
Knowledge comes from aspiration
Aspiration comes from inspiration
Inspiration...
comes from the metaphysical heart

The hollow men had no soul
and neither do we

We lean together
We do not embrace
We do not take the next steps
Only leaning
We lack what we need to see it through

We are incapable of maintaining relationships.
For our stamina is gone
In its place, divorce, infidelity,
shallowness
relationships based on looks and dreams
dreams of perfection
based on the wrong definition

We are the hollow men

We are hollow
We are... despairing

Despair
why would we despair?
if we did not care?
are we then hollow?
if we worry,
is that not out of concern?
is concern
not out of love?
does love...
not stem from the heart?

Sometimes I wonder
Can you still have a heart
If you have a mind in the way?

My Journey
once young i believed of a world made of ice-cream and chocolates
i believed in air castles
i dreamed of the tooth fairy
friends was best friend forever for life
long hair was important, weight unimportant
dad and mum was super heroes
the world was at my feet waiting to be conquered
volcano's erupted
wars came and went
people died and were born
poverty came and went
governments changed
i grew up, the chocolate and ice cream melted
i woke up in a sticky mess

what happened
i forget the most important ingredient of all
god my father, my keeper, my salvation and joy
as it all came crashing down and storms whirled he held my hand
even when i questioned my creator and accused him of doing a bad job
his love and dedication never wavered
thank heaven for that mercy

i've searched my life time for unmovable inner peace and joy
though i was a bad made when i could not find it
now i know
money cant buy
only god the father can lead you to it
only the father can restore my air castles, my world of ice-cream, chocolates, cappuccino and balloons
i left he tooth fairy behind
i was blessed with new better friends
and my super hero's was re employed :)
i am truly living my dream without the crowd, competitiveness, chaos and speed of modern life

the future awaits
my captain is at the helm
what more can a girl ask for

Two painters unseen,  leisurely take turns,
to change the color to one or the other,
relentless they strive, the world looks on,
but never could they succeed,
even after all these years of love's labor.

A third, the pale faced dreamy charmer,
is out of such intense competitiveness;
wanted the world only to be seen through her veil,
her goal is more artistic,casual.
An enchanting smile, none would forget,
flits across her face whenever she appears.
Her cool rays, and silver veil charms lovers' hearts.

the i.q. (intelligence quotient) is hardly representative,
you can bishop-streak as a tourist to Giza and get
the same result... quotient etymologically speaking
is simply a quote, statistically represented -
meaning it only gathered answers from
the μ - median, mean, and meridian, also
a fond mention of mode: we all wish to sleep as peacefully
as the dead, necromancy with the pepper & salt shakers
for the fancy... stirrup hunch to giddy up,
and that makes two of us qualm bitter with
                                                    the grey matter
unexposed in chess tournaments.
i.q. (intelligence quotient) v. i.i. (intelligence inclusiveness):
that too.. statistics means a lot of autism
and many tiger mommies... preferably with surname Chang....
bright kid / always the dummies -
make that five years after the the show,
show them bullied... n'ah, you wont.
meaning the only thing included is
a pyramid and competitiveness, rather than shared
genius - which is hard to come by -
yes, the inclusiveness bit of the Rubik's cube solved
like Pavlov's tongue and the palette of a dog
given Sumerian cuisine to slobber over
when ingesting a tablespoon of cinnamon as the
other educated guess: the educated joke, universities
are famous for them being practised.
thus μ and the statistician's consonant... constant...
three tiers of synonymous bishops making up one
cardinal - intelligence is well enough quotient's worth
and the pyramid for a competitive streak of further events...
but such intelligence performed as example among
children doesn't qualify others to share the oncoming demise...
we need intelligence of an inclusive nature,
not a statistical correspondence with economists dodging
hard questions with quick investment answers...
we need people to tell the difference between
inclusiveness on the plural scaling of being a part of,
rather than an exclusiveness on the plural scaling of not being
a part of (alter: an exclusiveness on the solipsistic slave-scaling
of simply da sein - i.e. being there) -
i get the pronoun ambiguity, whenever there's no i involved
and it's purely a thing, everyone in the factory asks for the
Schindler's List - whether or not people are organic or
prosthetic(s) extending into a network of parasite or host
economy projects, and people ask those questions;
meaning? people are more likely to dismiss the idea of
a soul (an indestructible part of themselves, whether
contemporary or far fetched in terms of: ahead - Kant lives on
from the 18th century, plastic surgery will make others like you
take up the augmentation many decades later... there is always
something indestructible about you... it's called recycling
in the transference of physics, or metaphysics, the soul is like
an atom... it's indestructible... but your ego isn't... your ego
has no correlative support of the soul - your soul is an
indestructible unit, prone to gravity e.g., but your ego is prone
to the more pervasive moral force, which gravity isn't
a part of in term of monotheist glue... namely conscience...
the indestructible part of your isn't a self-conscious Jungian
jargon bit watered with control that you're aware of...
the soul, the unit of indestructibility is the unconscious bit...
which is why we continue to have actors, poets, plumbers,
bus drivers... you can't destroy the soul in the collective
unconscious sense of things... the indestructible element of
your being continues regardless of your wish to sell
out and profit or take an overly conscious case of
being aware of conning the selfish gene stipend on Wall Street...
it still bites back at your **** for showing off your yacht
rather than your Mongolian yurt.
the soul is real... not in an individualised sense of things...
the individual is completely destroyed... constantly revised
via recycling... a lot of Hinduism makes his plainer but
more mythical and less hoarse in its reality of death -
the soul is a continuum, the indestructible capacity of
preservation, preservation rather than evolution -
anti-Darwinism? the preservationists... apply poetic rhyming
to ideas and the truth is ******* boring - poetry can decipher
GRAND PLATINUM ORNATE GALAS OF STATE AFFAIRS
by looking at the suffixes... and rhyming them together
getting the toad's ******* of October Fest's burps...
it is time to learn how to write poetry outside of poetry...
it's time to write testaments, it's time to write biblical accounts
of our lives... there's not time for pretty verse...
it's at this precise moment when poetry has become too
technical in theory and mundane in practice...
use this zenith moment to read language across all genres...
and never applying it for a poetic expression...
look! the paupers are numerous! but these paupers are
octopus handy in picking your ten pockets!
to have reached the plateau of Darwinism as having to preserve...
to have reached the penultimate affair of the prone
destructibility of identity, personality, character (Thesaurus Rex's
RA! or the complete synonymous archive of ego) - meaning
that the soul was a plumber you never were given
the Saturday of the appointment, and your chronology being
that of a Ford Automobile salesman in some showroom in Peckham.

Thunderstorms are an obsession
But, I'm afraid of lightning
I eat too much, but I'm thin?
Grizzly bears are beautiful
Orcas are even better
Drawing is a way to express myself
I'm constantly wishing I could sing
Still crushing on a teacher
I'm having problems seeing my future
What's so wrong with **** dad?
Bob Marley is a role model
New bible, new look on things
Give me all the puppies
Consider myself a hippie,
But not the stereotype
Men and women are both nice
Never had a relationship
I am partly asexual
Competitiveness is a weakness
Loving life, most of the time

I see the malevolence in your eyes
You hate to lose.
You are the one who wins the fight.
I love the mischievous grin you wear while playing
Talk about all the masters,
now they're failing.
started off young
burning with passion
what a perfect child you were
Life's been teaching you its lessons
Your eyes,
warm brown,
filled with competitiveness
you don't let anyone see you frown.
It's game time now,
and your eyes are fixated on the board
you move those pieces
and higher you soar.
Take all of 'em down and crush the opponent's fate
Check mate!

The clouds and the sun are always
competing to be noticed
Flying fast in front of each other
to block light or
make it look
much more fancier
Clouds are scattered everywhere
Moving across the ceiling
Slowly
And the sun
There is only one
But it can be seen all over the world
At one time
Even though in some places
It's asleep
No one really wins
But their competitiveness
Makes me notice both of them
A little more

it just so happened to be one of those
afternoons...
   making lunch for a sick woman...
slices of brioche dipped in beaten egg
(pinch of salt, pinch of pepper
and a pinch of cinnamon)...
               then fried in butter...
she requested one slice and with jam,
i made two, but couldn't find
any jam... so out came a dollop of
crème fraîche and runny honey to finish
the lunch off...
  then: i can't remember the last
time i watched a movie from beginning to end...
i'm starting to think that
the only movies i'll be able to watch
are european, foreign language movies...
then again, prior to watching
            the swedish movie that gripped
me, i got to watching
                  X500...
       what's with me starting to mature into
subtitled movies?
   maybe a steady diet of music and books...
but then this swedish movie came along
i had saved from two weeks prior...
         foreign cinema is like ***:
      you have to be in the moon,
a mutually reciprocated mood between
you and the movie...
      it can't be like ******* american cinema,
even if woody allen makes a movie...
to "smart-***" for me, plus the high levels
of saturation, aren't exactly helping:
a film industry that writes predictable
   storylines where the person can gain
   a "prophetic" insight and see the future twists
in the plot? nausea: one word answer.
so... this swedish -
  efterskalv - i.e. the here after...
  wow...
             so little dialogue...
       but still so poignant -
                     perfect reading material -
now i'm getting the feel for these sub-titled film,
then again, it's swedish cinema,
  probably the best in the world -
    there's a still about them,
  sometimes the camera peers into the canvas
like a shy child...
                very edward hopperesque -
i.e. trying to capture a stillness,
  like eddie tried capturing light (esp. in rooms)...
first date i was ever on?
   well... it was the 2004 tate modern exhibition
of eddie's works... i'm pretty sure nighthawks
was there... unlike the edvard munch exhibiton
i went to solo: hey! where's the scream?!
oh yeah... d'uh some saudi arabian sheikh
         owns it, all i get it a ******* postcard;
back to swedish cinema -
       actually, all the best films i ever managed
to see were swedish,
          like i said, modern swedish is very
hopperesque... but also among the stillness come
grand outbursts of energy -
    the very essential human presence -
the kind that shatters the presence of a roaring
lion with man's potential: shooting a rifle;
everything about efterskalv was so brutally
simplistic - i have to admit,
   american cinema is saturated with
strobe-light juxtapositions i'm sometimes starting
to think i'll enter an epileptic fit
with some many darting camera angels -
                 the a.d.h.d. in cinema...
plus... i'm getting bored with this special effects
competitiveness...
     oh yeah... another thing -
irony of saying: stripping down to the basics
of cinema... well in this film you get to see
the full adam...
                           i like that...
                          in america there's plenty of
the pure eve, but at least in swedish cinema
you can easily see not only a full eve,
             but also a full adam -
the one americans don't see without
                             sherlock limpy looking for
viagara;
  and after i finished that movie,
i started making cottage pie,
    served with mint-and-lemon infused mushy
peas, and a simple salad (rocket and some
other greens) having drizzled it with
balcamic vinegar and chilli infused olive oil.
a day well spent, i guess.

preparing months for an exam
for a number that supposedly determines your worth
******* up to teachers, people you don't even like
just for them to hopefully write a few commendable words about you

all for the hopes of being deemed "acceptable" to some supposed authority
for a place that will decide what you'll be doing for the rest of your life
making these drastic decisions at the age of 18
when not too long ago you were just picking out your prom dress

listing down any type of hobby or recreation you have
to make yourself seem a little more unique
since the competitiveness between you and your peers is sharper than a knife
who will make the final cut in the end and be deemed worthy?

A spiral of DNA
a blade of grass
a spark of interest
in a competition
distorting vision
leaving
a surface
of peace

My heart wished to create and inspire in a troubled world.
I sang, wrote feeling words down to inspire those who have felt lost.
My heart's  costs ,through many attempts from those in competition...
Cruel sabotage, threats,sometimes even questions concerning  my own "realness" had became their "selfish lust."
"To get Him Out Of Our Way," sadly, was their crazily obsessive goal Ending in their own dark and bleak oblivion.
You work with me and I work even harder with you.
You work harder to destroy me..I work even harder to never be like you.
You show some love for the creative gifts that I have given you......
You shall have my extra light, that shall shine down upon all who have supported and have stayed "real," too.
For life is meant to be shared with the world.. in a loving, enjoyable, and in a non evil and true self benefiting manner.
Us united artists shall stay well protected
behind
A chain linked fence
Connected  hearts ,like a one strong force.
Continuing in the site of building a defensive wall against those who try and shadow each of our own connected lights.
Blind with jealousy and bitter competitiveness.
These artists , who have become lost,down and  out..they  ended up in the grounds of the greedy and the dark; they stand lost in their own  shallowed  world of theirs..
a sad and true hateful force that shall always fail.
Due to failing to realize one thing....
Us artists..who stay real and together- we shall  never take "an eye for an eye."
We create better things in a collective soul and shed,upon  them, a brighter ray of creative and true-hearted forgiveness.

Motivated, I’ve always been.
When I was five years old and also when I turned eighteen
That Medicine is all I want to do and all I want to practice.
Anatomy of the human body is definitely not something I’d want to miss.
Years of hard work and turning into a night owl
Just for getting into a med school that I’m in now.
Still looking for my niche though a year of it has passed
Unable to work hard like I used to in the past.
Distractions creep around me, and probably has already engulfed me
Because I look for every opportunity to flee,
Or search for external motivation which I never need,
Or sit and brainstorm for this poetry.
I know I should be studying but I don’t.
When the consequences struck, I moan.
We are asked to combine and study Anatomy, Biochemistry and Physiology.
But are we given the time to do that? Not really!
I expected it to be so much fun.
But all we are being trained for is how to be number one.
Really depressing, but the training has to include competitiveness
Because we have to be our best
Or else our mistakes would **** innocents
Instead of saviors we would end up as villains.
The gravity of this my shallow mind has forgotten.
Has made me ignorant and repulsive to compassion.
Or why else on a holiday would I waste my time?
Instead of studying, write a self-obsessed rhyme?

I can sense your passion in doing your artwork
The swift of strokes with colors of vision you lurke
Or the strangeness of your words and how it all meant
But you kept it hidden, to no one, out it went

Your creativity burst but no one can see
Love, don’t worry, its fumes I will breathe endlessly
I will inhale the vivid toxin of greatness
I would still indulge the impossible waste-less

Write, draw, sing, think, wonder, be you, my beautiful
Do not be oppressed, you are complete, you are whole
In this vast land of competitiveness, out-stand
Your greatness overflows, I’m your number one fan.

He was a huge sports fanatic when he didn't have a job. Now he barely has time for himself and trying to get back into what he loved. He enjoyed a good book and appreciated comedy he did love to make the people around him laugh and smile but everyone took life too serious.
Anything he did seemed to bother others he did love to train mma but everyone thought he was trying to pick a fight with him. He never claimed to be a badass but did like to fight for the competitiveness of the sport. He did train with people but they would not show up or hold up their end, he would become frustrated eventually he learned to be alone.
He was determined it was an addiction, anything he did he wanted to be the best at it. He had so many crowds and friends. He was never the leader but the mouth piece the voice of reason. He spoke up some loved him for his honesty while others hated him for it. He was straight up that's what good friends do. Most went behind his back bashed him pretending to be loyal to his face. He found out the true friends let go of the fake ones.
He got involved with a film group because he wrote scripts wanting to work behind the scenes because being involved or a lead was overwhelming. He gave them ideas, he was not heard, ignored. He gave them the idea to do a podcast later they would kick him out and act like they were the master minds behind the show. He did object yet again he was not being heard. The podcast had a mild fan base, no longer fun for him. He decided to leave the group since it was no longer fun and it was no longer his dream or vision it did come true but would grow into something more without him.
He had another script he had been working on for years so many characters no faces just dialogue and characters with personas that stood out.
He hung with bands made suggestions but creative juices floating around everyone with their own inspiration and influenced. The creative process such a high stimulating feeling that is hard to get enough of.

Once upon a time I woke up and went to school to learn my ABC's
Once upon a time I worked till 9 till 5 ro pay my mortgage off and live my life at 80
Once upon a time I lived in a society of competitiveness and judgement
And realised happiness isn't on a dollar bill
And happiness isn't a feeling just on weekends

A lifestyle of corrupt
A nothing at all
A shopping stall
An ikea mall
Comfier and bigger things brings bigger happiness as content must be through a 20 pound note
Or a new watch
Or a new phone

A workers right to work act
Cut the crap
A race, a repeated lap
A society's rat trap
An artificial lifestyle
A superficial smile
A bite in the ****
All for a polo which has a green crocodile

POWER TO THE PEOPLE
STICK IT TO THE MAN

Born on a mote of dust
Aloft into a deep blue sky.
High, high , beyond the white performing clouds, beyond the very mystery of the stratospheric jetstream;
Into the deep velvet ethereal zone
Where life cannot exist.

From thence to gaze down at the innocent blue globe, far, far below.
At the swirls and banks of striated cloud, at the deep green of lush field & forest and the tan of dry sandy desert lands.

Oh the spasm of love and longing I feel for my beautiful pristine orb.
The warmth and pride that I am the child of something so wondrously
Perfect and unique.

Momentarily I float in this absynth
Sweet cone of beauty and delusion….

And then I think of my brother man… I imagine all of the scurrying, teeming humanity below, preoccupied with individual importance and absolute deadlines and priorities and the withering urgency to maintain appearance….and the competitiveness and heartlessness which breeds that eternal, savage, ****** awful phenomenon of perpetual warfare!

I turn around …and above, the cold ink void with its myriad pinpricks of white sparkling starlight…A cataclysmic leap through time & space to God knows what….

Can innocence be retrieved from there?


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
5th March 2008