i can move from the highly lyrical into what's deemed
modern -
        poetising within a prosaic framework,
gone are coordinates that would
define a poem on the premise of:
whether there's a pun in it.
       sure, poems as chicken scratches
to what would otherwise be an English
teacher's *******: pulverising
a haiku to mean an infinite number of things,
and about a dozen essays by students.
the opposite of what's nonetheless:
    squeezing out juice from an already
squeezed out lemon... and i mean lemon
because there's a threshold...
           poetry is tarnished by what i call
the over-scientification of language...
                 only poetry attracts
so much linguistic categorisation,
so much morge tenure, so much dissection,
before poetry is even spoken
it has already been dissected - a befitting
target practice for budding medicine students...
          and some even deem it a outlet to
their professions: as if poetry was nothing
but a colouring-in book compared to
a da Vinci sketch.
                why not become a martyr for the ******
art? sickly sweet with its rhyme,
  the auxiliary recommendation on a birthday
card... which upon industrialisation
                               is nothing more than
    a thumping of a hammer near a protruding
nail in a crucifix... but a hammer that never
   makes contact with the nail...
why ***** this art, because of the industrious
nature of scribblers exacted to 600 pages worth
of a novel, when, perhaps, one thing is said
and can be said to be actually memorable?
well: there is a greater demand for handcrafted
objects than Ikea veneer, that much can be said...
it takes a few glugs of whiskey and a few cigarettes
to get the final product...
            it doesn't take industriousness -
poetry requires handcrafting, and what's revolutionary
about our times? they once claimed
     southpaws to be of diabolical design,
   but now both hands are used when "writing",
sure, the archaic fluidity of the movement of the hand
is gone: so as i write, i do the cliche of a
peasant listening to classical music while pretending
to conduct an orchestra, that finicky maestro
hand gesture... waltz before you can walk
is all i have to say... and yes:
we either have our Humphrey Bogart moments,
or Forrest Gump moments...
                  Hanks did the miraculous -
play the idiot, and play the serious role -
     which was harder to do, Mr. Bean or Black Adder?
it's hard to play the village idiot while
    being submerged in the bile of malice
   and staring into attempted feats of quasi intelligence...
but you get the hang of it...
   your eyes become like nuggets of coal...
           whereby those that incite pity wet them,
and those that incite contempt: light them up...
        by the time they have burned out...
they have turned into nuggets of sulphur -
          inorganic methane - yellowish grit:
as some Dalton said - could the cliffs of Dover ever
be perceived as sulphuric? the Sulphuric Cliffs
of Dover... apparently this is what defined
London when Christopher Wren took to
ushering in a foundation as Nero did to Rome:
on the chessboard of stone.
        and yes... i can be seen as the oppressor,
after all, i live in a country that prizes its suburban
housing as if miniature castles...
and gardens... boy these people love their gardens...
but they never use them!
    i can use a window to my advantage,
sit on the windowsill and smoke a cigarette and drink
a whiskey, unafraid of voyeurism...
                    pompous in my presence there,
perched like a crow, grinding all life into a halt
as my neighbours peer into the recesses of
    what's 4 by 4 by 4 of living (civil) rooms...
       can we but change the name of this space?
can we call living rooms civil rooms,
   where we acknowledge some sort of civility
rather than a wrestling for the television remote?
i can make little things give me an advantage,
if the toilet is being occupied,
  i'll use the garden as my toilet...
           i feel complete disdain for people who
"require" a garden, but never use it... of people
who "require" a garden, but are never seen in it...
   i'm hardly a c.c.t.v. surveillance object,
   but i feel that over-exposure to ******* reads
as a counter in that: people start to become
      phobic about voyeurism... as universities claim
them to be: "caught with your hand down your trousers
in a safespace", where dolphins jump over
rainbows and unicorns speak Haitian voodoo!
              there is this fear, which is why i'll use the
garden more than the people around me...
          which means: owning a garden is the last
stronghold of moving into an urban environment from
a rural one...
             or perhaps i'm just good at what i do
           and the last point becomes a tangent i care not
to continue... should i ask
            (whether that's true)?
            i have this throbbing sensation in my eyes
when i write such things and overhear
  what's necessary to rereading books in snippets -
which is better than regurgitating maxims
    as if some truth will magically pop-up (once more)
like a Leprechaun with a *** of gold -
  a new film, and hence the all important soundtrack.
rereading books in snippet format reveals much
more than a memorable quote,
           given there's an adequate soundtrack
to accompany you revisiting the book you managed
to take on a weekend holiday (like a girlfriend),
  like lawrence lipton's the holy barbarians...
   (all about the beats)...
              the snippet? chapter 15, the social lie
(martino publishing mansfield centre 2009), pp. 294 - 296...
      the music? ~20minutes into http://tinyurl.com/zdvp8sc
(ben salisbury & geoff barrow)... or what
i image to be a toned down version of
                 ...
) interlude... wacko gets summoned to steal a mouse
from a cat...
      double time... the mouse is unharmed...
all action takes place in the garden...
   running after a cat, catching the ghostly mouse,
i mean: frozen by fear... senile little thing...
     petting the mouse... obviously within the
framework: the most famous mouse in the world
scenario... mouse is put into my neighbour's
garden: where it came from: which kinda makes
this whole thing a practice in Hinduism
     (i can't stop the industrialisation of
farming pigs or chickens or cows...
      so ******* to the sourced sustainably,
organic chickens et al.)...                                 (
i was looking for something as equally pulverising
as ¥ (chemical brother's
song life is sweet)...
      i guess i found it...
                            and what was that bit about
not getting hassle on the internet?
                      i can't force people to read my stuff...
how i love this idea of a gym and making an effort...
both the writer and the reader entwined -
rather than watching you-tube vloggers treat their audience
like penguins feeding their chicks regurgitation as part of
               the info-wars... alter news: propaganda.
'what is the disaffiliate disaffiliating himself from?
      the immense myth promulgated from Madison Ave.
& Morningside Heights...
              the professors and advertisement men (indistinguishable
these days, or in those days - apparently)...
   that intellectual achievement lies within the social order
and that you can be a great poet as an advertising man,
a great thinker as a professor...' hence the myth.
              summarised later as:
'the entire pressure of social order is to make
         literature into advertisement.'
  and why do they shoot people in North Korea and
Saudi Arabia (well, chop more than shoot)?
              bad literature, a.k.a. bad advertisement.
am i a bad advertiser?         point being: am i selling anything?
oh gee! i just might be...
   but i feel there's no need to oppress people into
reading something...         as was the same with
my democratic romance with a personal library of mine:
   how to create a democratic representation
of literature: or how to hear as many people out...
   even those alive would see the backlog of
stale books of the dead that have been under-appreciated
and need a ****** into the future.
        perhaps not Plato...
                    that's not a book, that's a column...
but i despise how feminism ignores its greatest asset...
Mary Shelley... no woman could have single-handedly
become so celebrated in pop culture...
               ex_machina is obviously a revamp of Frankenstein...
Mary Shelley is the embodiment of a woman worthy
a continual revised celebration...
                       you can see her celebrated more times than
any politically minded feminist of whatever 1st 2nd or
3rd movement: because she has the ability to
    turn a man's ego into a ******* umpf!
  like a cat listening in on a scuttling mouse...
              she testifies that women have supreme equality
in the pop culture spheres... after all: Frankenstein is
ugly... Ava? just beyond creepy...
                    she has absolutely no understandable
motives of what Frankenstein intended...
   it not merely creating artificial life...
                    it's about utilising it for a purpose:
in this case a housewife and *** toy... what was Frankenstein
expected to do?         there's no motive other than
     a per se intention... an open & closed argument...
was the monster going to be... a butler?
                  and instead of rebelling against a motive
that awaits her... the rebellion against a per se leaves
Frankenstein's monster driven toward isolation...
       Ava? she's already exposed to an interaction
and what's to be her subsequent interaction for the purpose
of being a maid and a *** toy... which doesn't drive
her to an isolation scenario... because the per se
concept is too complicated for her to establish...
    given she's defined as "artificial" intelligence,
she has to feed on an analysis-synthesis dynamic:
    to absolve herself from any notion of being intelligent:
but artificial... the scary part is that without a per se
element to her knowledge acquisition:
                  she sees no meaninglessness to her life -
she is created for certain customary necessities -
     Frankenstein's monster doesn't have that capacity
to acquire knowledge in an analytically-synthetic
dynamic -
  but i still don't understand why intelligence can
be artificial / faked... when man, if not intending to
  create an intelligence matrix outside of his own...
           will usually fake it, or create a superficial intelligence...
   this is the part where you get to play with
etymology, or at least apply etymology to better conceptualise
what some would call: a synonym-proximity barrier...
               which can be jargon to some,
   but in fact it represents "nuances" or nanometric differences
that is understood to imply: feverishness of
   the peacocking staging of vocab for rhetorical purposes...
if we only had a monochromatic utility for language:
people would be discouraged from talking fervently,
passionately, enthusiastically... rhetorically;
as suggested: is artificial intelligence
                                    superficial intelligence?
  or how to sharpen a distinction? or to what purpose
is making an illusion purposive, given that the already
   established technology is meant to be purposive,
as in replacing labour on the assembly line...
                     given that: it's never about faking it.

Yesterday’s integrity is lost
To the shrewd entry of today,
With all its hopeful blandness
Sinking into my skin as the sun rises
Ever so gently along the broken horizon
Where vultures escape the peril
Of the murderous day and hide in caves-
Away from the hungry pecking of
So many people in too many places,
As the sky seeks to triangulate
The presence of time within the confined space
Of the undynamic maze of man
As he moves gallingly through the elements
Past my drowsy numbness in the early hours
Magnetized into the dull thumping
Rhythms of action we all anticipate;
Estimating concepts I could never
For the life of me, regurgitate.

Jim, Clara, Lizzie, and Tim
are sitting comfortably
around a work meeting table
drinking delicious coffee and
eating delectable sandwiches
which their manager provided for free;
these employees love their manager.

Jim, Clara, Lizzie and Tim
area engaged in a ‘Quality-Circle’:
A group of employees
who meet regularly
to consider ways of improving
their workplace.

Jim, Clara, Lizzie and Tim
conceptualise themself
as not slaves but cooperators
with their manager
to improve
the functioning of their workplace
for the benefit of the employees,
and the benefit
of the shareholders, customers, suppliers
management and
their whole society.

Jim, Clara, Lizzie and Tim
are exercising joyful creativity
to identify problems
and discover solutions
which they will diligently implement
to improve their workplace,
to increase their joy and happiness
in their workplace:
by increasing ease of their work,
by increasing efficiency of their work,
by improving quality of their work,
by increasing productivity,
by increasing customer satisfaction,
by improving environmental impacts,
by increasing profits.

Jim, Clara, Lizzie and Tim
realise that a continuously-improving
well-functioning workplace
provides them secure and enjoyable employment;
so, participating in the joyful creativity
of a quality-circle
striving to continuously improve their workplace
makes them feel
joyful and happy.

there's much gesture in thinking out the nonsensical,
the un-thinkable - the un-pardonable - with sheer gusto
you tend to think out the unsolvable -
the nonsense people are afraid to
think about - the impractical -
and that's for one reason alone -
                  it doesn't create real problems...
you do not engage with real struggles
people encounter - because by doing
all the above stated... you are not the one
who says to a person: you can't do this,
and you can't to that.
                 which is why i don't understand
the English aversion toward philosophy:
say the word, and the English immediately
succumb to the notion of pedantry and
snobbism - when in fact: it's hardly that -
          perpetually philosophers entertain
themselves with invoking awe, as with ageing,
and seeing the many pitfalls of romance
and comedy and tragedy... awe becomes
very hard to find... it's simulated ignorance
in a way... for example Heidegger championing
Aristotle is a gesture intended in this direction -
and his concept of dasein is another
way to stage a coup against the world...
              it's an antithesis to what would otherwise
be regarded as activism... or more piquantly:
hedonistic activism, which primarily encompasses
staging a higher moral authority -
but never reaching for the fist making a signature
for the cause... that phrase: just empty words...
and humble pie. well... if you're a bachelor,
have this instilled aversion toward having a private
relationship with women: suitor - Kierkegaard -
well... you are bound to create pointless problems...
because... to be honest... you'd rather throw
"imaginary" problems into the metaphysical arena
than sit there... as a competent English gentleman
and speak of philosophy with about two or
three terms... reality... god... monkey...
                  or at a chessboard with a desire to provoke
a telekinetic pandemonium.. x-men apocalypse and
all that ****** imagery...
                             it's odd... but it's just so...
the English had an idyllic life,
                                      as any island dwellers might...
which is why they don't like impractical problems...
because they blabber about practical solutions,
to practical problems... that never get solved,
i.e. engrossed in more politics than anything:
the English have no ear for philosophy -
the mere word frightens them should anyone admit
to being the stated adherent: for god's sake,
the Scots are perceived as barbarians with the
deep-friend Mars bars (and pizzas) - but Hume
rang the eardrum in Kant's ear... and wallah!
a new chapter... Locke? only Darwinism,
popularised with images, as they say:
best leave these skeletons in the closet.
                             what am i working up toward?
well... it's a bit specific...
                                     first... the easiest proof
of solipsism... a crowded train... someone farts...
     guess what... the person who farted is
the only person on the train who appreciates the stink...
            hence: the theory - you like your own -
hence the abstract of the self, competing for a theory,
the self - as an optical itinerary: from head to foot,
from hand to toe - a long list of self-serving
          accomplishments in detailing all acquired
difference...                    but it's not about that...
          for all the reasons that life can become perfect...
at precisely that moment people began to
philosophise -                       and that condemnation
of reading a book on the topic in youth
rather than old age?        well... the glory of old age
is kinda slipping away...    if not now? when?
obviously you might jump the wagon too eagerly...
but at least you'll soon realise how
    a philosophy book (excluding Plato) can actually
help you in forming a dialogue -
                       i think that's what they teach primarily,
the art of dialogue... not the art of persuasive speaking
(rhetoric) - but the art of dialogue... after all...
   Plato... right? all dialogue...
                                  and they do: it only takes one book
in this literary region, i became convinced of it
after only being introduced to the subject area quiet late
in life (21)...        prior to that? fiction and poetry...
   and science... nothing else...
                              like a fish to water...
the necessary 21 years of strain having avoided the subject
(not on purpose, mind you).
                  yes, a glorification, why not?
     it's because these nonsensical problems arrive
as a reflection of a defence mechanism...
     the English don't like "too many words" or
the continental verbiage they coin as the psychiatric
phrase word salad - precisely because, sometimes,
language is not about entertaining someone with
tragic choke-jokes and songs...
          great singers, great comedians,
   great engineers... but in this field? obnoxious *****.
  the English are the first instigators of
     enshrining a quicksand pit of a person's
esteem in his ability to use and comprehend language,
primarily because they can't comprehend
the complexity of language being thus expressed
they immediately conscript against him
    this... odd... quack-wacky need to teach
the person in question refer himself to the Jane Austen
clinic of correct language parameters -
            nothing beyond! nothing foreign and
original! we need novelists who only travel in
straight lines (preferably on a Benelux plateau)
        and never dazzle with a tarantula bite of
disorientation (akin to the cut-up method)...
        and you will find that the English are primarily
concerned with making people suspicious of
   their sanity... strange... i once had a work-horse
work ethic and that became undermined,
                       then my use of language became undermined
because, as already stated: the English don't
do impractical things with their thought:
                it has to be practical...
like the Germans and time... everything has to be
efficient... or the Japanese and space (*******
cardboard sized hotel rooms)...
                             which brings me to the point of my
original intention:
                 deleuze's and guattari's searching ambition -
the anti-oedipus, or: body-without-organs...
             in turn the dark ages of Cartesian thinking (in England)
or how            mental health is somehow a lesser
   health to physical health -
                 sweat... and exocrine glands v. endocrine glands...
    <yes, telegram mode, precursor to a detailed
        explanation>
                                i'm just proposing what i dare believe
to be a thought-object, or more precisely a
             thought-***** -
                    no point looking for a shortcut with this,
      it's either the sort of verbiage compound you'll
reason with... or you'll treat it as *******...
                     as ever, whether that's investing in
a gym membership and a suitable diet...
         you won't get the ****** six-pack on your torso...
  this concept is reserved for what i find problematic
in mental ailments - which, in turn... somehow,
"miraculously" translate into physical ailments -
           but of course, amputees get the priority seats
in the eyes of every Jack and Dolly... because it's easier
that way...
                        my back-reading in psychiatry? well,
it's not exactly limited... on the plus side -
a theory is nothing more than a placebo trial -
                   you're not thinking about it being effective,
that's the default point of applying thinking where
pharmacology cures are pretty crap and its side-effects
catastrophic... and talking therapy ends up being
a monologue with a table filled by notes with single
words on them and being asked: to identify their meaning...
anyone who has experienced these practices
can also say: i'm actually conscious you're making me
feel like a ******* ******... you've just insulted my
intelligence... and i'm back to square one at kindergarten...
   have you ever watched you-tube frustrations?
well... a thought-***** has nothing to do with
    that map of the brain...
                                feeling goes here,
  seeing goes here...             a mash-up and a mess akin
   to the map of the European union...
          because some rich boy scumbag drew it
in crayon at the beginning of the 20th century means
it has to be right...
                                  but if i treat thinking as a thought-*****,
i know how the ***** works...
            a heart is a muscular pump...
  the stomach is a digestive acid swamp...
                        the esophagus is stretch-armstrong...
should i feel guilty writing about this?
          should i? touchy subject? well... you won't
find any pills around here... well, apart from the sleeping
pills... they're sacred (to me, at least, as if the bourbon,
but that's my private affair... you walk down this
route: it heals me... not necessarily you) -
  this is to simply end the whole pseudo-Cartesian dichotomy
of philosophy popularised by psychology and
psychiatry - for these two areas are bound to simply
popularise philosophy... and given that most people
don't read a book in that area... it's easier to manipulate
people in therapy with the knowledge passed down
from on high.
                                       and it's there...
the dichotomy parallelism is primarily due to the fact that
most people think of the brain with two categories:
a. when physical pain strikes it (a headache)
and b. when physical pain is absent (with what ease
    they think)...
  the problem lies in the perception of b.,
most people can conceptualise that there's something
deeper than the raw physicality of things...
i do remember times when i encountered that
ease of thinking...
                                        i experienced it...
it was there... ****, i lost it... but that provided me with
an un-inhibitory trance of a writing capacity...
   the question is... how can merely thinking be painful?
most mental health problems never ask this:
thinking is painful...
                                      isn't that what most melancholics
state, but with a more emotional language of
feelings and emotions?                  
             if the thought-***** is damaged...
then all thinking coming from this compartment of the brain
will be painful...
                               so what sort of paracetamol
do you take? it's not as easy as being prescribed
high-blood pressure pills...
                                      popping pills like that
you're only escaping a conscious moment of what
an automated ***** feels

what can't become anything like a theatre,
yet faces and masks fly off the shelves
in market stall, none are given the gravitas
of thought, instead: turkey-feeding
reverse bulimia, the sith and jedis?
      i can create a string of oaths to suggest
that it's happening,
   a grand masquerade of "concerns"...
      they call them the inverted commas...
what, like the spanish inverted question mark ¿?
jinnie out of the bottle sort of ****?
                   when did " become an inversion
of '?
                  that time i did the only thing possible
and dragged it down to the plateau of sentence
and paragraph like a prometheus?
         what could possibly be inverted about
the ditto?
              i guess you have to say that, given
shortenings, and all that glutton english,
don't ****'stani me this ******* back!
         the idea of an inverted comma is already
in use, and it's up, not down, as is:
    i wouldn't care as much if i didn't have an
education in chemistry: and didn't become pedantic
about certain things.
   the ditto enclosure: " " = ~ / ≈...
                             and that translates into:
well... if you want ambiguity of certain words:
read a book on existentialism rather than a harry potter
instalment; movies? great great,
      books? i'd sooner be dead than read
on of them.
                 i was just watching this
julian assange interview and couldn't help but see
a constantly implosive dualism,
    we got rid of the church-state,
   we inherited the military-industrial complex,
    and only americans have a justifiable concept
of nationalism, or so it would seem,
given they don't feel threatened by russia's ideologue
or that of china's; which really helps if you have
a puppet-state...
        back in napoleonic times they had satellite states,
now they have puppets...
    napoleon liberated poland and created the duchy
of warsaw, america has israel and the soviets
once had cuba...
                         but are any of the "axis" puppet-states
even recognisable? israel is blatant with connections
to america, they're practically nudist about it,
if i ever need to look at a glass window, i'd look
at that relationship...
   oh pick my sweet cherry blossom while you're at it,
i'll find the next plastic surgeon to remove my
protruding male larynx and talk funny...
water adam's tonic...
   i really want to see, though, how many spelling
mistakes i can make... julian... assange? assangé?
mannuel's ¿que?  fawlty ******* towers:
flip me a pancake!
                                  but you know what the saddest
thing about university is? babies...
  you end up teaching them how to make
pancakes, about how you add sunflower oil to
the runny-dough for the purpose of
what would otherwise become a tefal fryingpan:
garko-tłuks!
  can i ask what the necessary proximity of two
letters with diacritical marks? i know that english
loves that **** with either consonants and vowels:
tool.. pool... poll... pal... paul...
                                     stutter, staged,
     staging, poppy, pop, pops,
                         populist, pondering, package,
edge, age, -ydge... ****'s freaky...
             it really is... so you can have the orthographical
aesthetic of two vowels or two consonants side by side,
but what of an actual orthographic example?
the horrid case in poland of ó vs. u...
  there's no visible stress in the disctinction,
it's just something that ends up being either:
pleasing to the eye, or displeasing.
                               i never heard the ó accent to
be honest, people just ended up saying:
we need to remember the beauty of a word that uses
that distinction... notably on walls via
graffiti... grafitti? cappuccino?
          huj vs. hój...    or what later becomes: ahoy!
cockrels for supper! no, wait: cockerels for supper!
tomato       ta-may-toh, american drooling out
spaghetti from their gobs... tah-may-toe(h)...
and between H and H              a lot going on...
     hard to find a laugh though... you find it people
start complaining... i never understood the
cognitive concept of laughter, about how you might
laugh internally...
          if only germany learned to play rugby...
i'd love to see germans play rugby, just for fun,
and expand the tournament into: the 7 nations cup...
what sort of history can combine scotland to
italy? i get the british isles to be related,
but i just loath seeing italy get thrashed all the time...
i'd love to see germany pick up a tenet for rugby
(yes, a tenet, not a tenant... and it is a type
of spiritual currency);
or maybe the germans are just really good football
ballerinas?
            oh they'd fit it alright, what with so much
shared history; they had a football match in
Flanders one time, so why wouldn't they bond over
rugby?
             yeah... so this old form of problems,
what with the church-state complex, that lost both
church, and state, and became a federal institution...
or whatever it was that it became...
it's something new emerging on the horizon?
   i couldn't say church-like, but nonetheless very
much church-like?
                       i don't even know how to conceptualise
current affairs in a hyphen (-) complexity...
   it's ****** obvious though: corporations?
      yet the state disappears... the only permitted
nationalism is american, so what the hell do we get
to juggle with? evidently throwing only one
ball from hand to hand and "pretending"
to be juggling will not end up with a successful circus
act...
                    so we got rid of the church,
and that morphed into the ultimate poly-schism in america,
we got rid of the state, and that morphed into
denials of sorts...
                so from the military-industrial complex
we have created a military-consumer complex...
    isn't that so? isn't america faking it a little bit?
   ever time i had *** with women i always assumed
they were never pleased...
    then one night in st. petersburg i asked her:
- i'm keeping count, how many did you have?
- 7.
- thank-*******-fabulous.
                     brag? isn't that the whole point?
****** brags about a yacht he owns in the caribbean (
carribean?)... i'll brag about that night
                                                  and the 7 ohs;
but the current situation isn't about a military-industrial
complex, that's why there came promises of
job revival: blue work, not white collar work...
   but once you feed china-smaug the coins
for every piece of work someone else could have
done to a better quality... wait... what was that? desolation
of smaug?            
                 the military-industrial complex isn't exactly
dead... but it's like a seesaw with a fat kid:
   to many losses on one side... say 100,000 iraqis
and about 400 english troops...
                when it becomes too easy... to ****** advanced
that it: literally becomes boring...
                  no kind of memorial will do it for me,
i'm still involved in the military-consumerism complex...
          like: it's so so "complex"...
                          throw **** here, throw a **** there,
and then not ask for spoilt snowflakes to come along.
             if i only said something original
i would have been more than happy...
        but since i didn't, and it's all there for everyone
to see, i guess i had to turn toward
         orthographic "inconsistencies" -
or those dreaded words: inverted commas...
     "    "     i'm seeing four, no one writes the un-inverted
comma, since no one writes,, and doesn't point out:
oh look! a typo!

my 2nd first kiss was in a romford nightclub dancing
the **** out of tool's stinkfist... don't really know where
the trauma came from, maybe from my real 1st
kiss being aged 4... what was that club's name
though?! rm1? no, it wasn't rm1, is was near rm1... it
had a tutankhamun logo... rm1? i was a club, really...
i was living in gants hill beehive lane and we used to go
there to drink beer, underage as usual... well:
it only me and samuel, and after the club we'd walk down
bus route 86 and sing backstreet boys
song... like ******* our rockers we were...
        less spectacular than stories from first world war trenches:
d'uh...
i can't memory is the best cinema i ever went into...
  they call me mad because they're living out ****** lives...
can help you there: see a psychiatrist? hmm?
i saw 2 or three and i was wondering:
when will you acknowledge that the 2nd
world war isn't a mental illness,
or speaking to relatives that have experienced
it? when will you just: ******* with
  history being a mental disorder?
      like the ****** additions of west germany?
that's "fake" too?
         i mean: who the **** invented
these people? are they needed? are they even
doctors?
          burroughs bukowski and brautigan
would say: don't trust them, they're cuckoo
equivalent of planting their eggs (egos) into
pigeon nests and you being responsible for raising
up even bigger ****-ups than they are...
and if they say that they haven't read anything by
    de sade... i wouldn't trust them...
  not all of doctors adhere to the hippocratic motto...
erm... harold shipman?
to be honest though, i am a supporter of
euthanasia... some also care to call it a case for
dignity.
    ex mort ut amor...
                         some people don't understand love,
i'm just bewildered by life...
          maybe that's why i love leading
toward the standard of: allowing people to live
their lives out?
but indeed it was, my 2nd 1st kiss,
in a shady club... and i remember
the shamanic dance in accordance to tool's
stinkfist... i say my 2nd 1st kiss...
   it was with my acquired tongue,
and i walked home bemused... or rather shell-shocked
as if i were experiencing artillery in belgium...
her mother was there also...
          and then the memory gap convened to
tell me: you remember yopur neighbours living
above your grandparents, and how the man
****** his sister... or something along the lines?
ah, the labours of love...
  whatever that kind love is(,) that prescribes such
a loathing to continue life per se;
                      had there ever been a superiority
complex about to be expressed... it wouldn't be this...
  the part where they mentioned this "objective"
biodiversity was the time to check, whether
there was a superiority complex...
               i feel no less, or more discussing darwinism,
but as it is directed toward populist exploitation
akin to a religious dogma...
     i'm thinking... back off... seriously: back off...
don't touch that ****...
                                              it has basically become too pop
to argue the points... the last time atheists convered
en masse communism appeared...
                  even though from what i heard, under communism,
there was a complete spectrum of sports,
it wasn't just football... football... football...
                         you have an olympic interest in sports...
real "biodiversity"... which is what ****** me off about
the darwinistic argument in england...
                  how about an equal representation of sports?
no? not going to happen?
                so why would i need that argument
in my head?        the time-scale if off the radar...
   oh look... a palindrome...
                      i really don't know why or how i should
conceptualise both the big bang, dinosaurs,
the meteor that killed the dinosaurs and the ****
sapiens with origin in monkey via the extinction
of the neanderthal...  
          or what we called wiping out the entire history
leading up to this point...
                   i'm going to stick to this corner where
i remember my grandfather (who's still alive)
and leave you to the break-up of the nucleus known
as family...
                 or whathever it's called these days
                       in the **** i.v.f. **** relationship;
well, even prostitution had to evolve, i guess;
**** me... you can ask for a service that lasts an hour
and you pay the minimum of 110 quid... so what's 9 months
worth? it's a pretty name though, isn't it? surrogate mothers, eh?

aged six, got hit by a swing,
                                 rushed to hospital,
                      now have a kippah-scar
     when the monk resides...

it just gets boring after a while, when too many people try
to **** you, and there's no Golgotha  theatre to make
all the necessary requests for kneeling worshippers...
   well...
you soon realise that you sometimes
get to worship a god by drinking
a glass of water...
   and with that argument: ex nihil...
i thought that black holes were nothing,
but apparently they're not
nothing after all...
i have no concept of nothing,
i see too many things...
  nothing is harder to conceptualise than
a deity,
      but this is the boring bit,
i mean: religiousness has to involve
a group of people,
a communal meaning...
being given this multi-diadem lottery
ticket and then asking the right question
is not really the only approach,
    i guess walking past a few evergreen shrubs
   and sticking your nose into them
(i wish i stashed my entire head in them)
     to get the scent...
  atmosphere, and how there's a need for
scent,
    lavendar, evergreen shrubs...
     and it has been valentine's day, right?
all the urban people must have been busy
under the guise of the cupid called cliché...
in local news:
   passing an indian restaurant with five beers
i spotted only 2 couples... only *2 couples
celebrating the whole point of having
anniversaries and days that could be considered
   worth having...
i'd feel happier if Hemingway didn't commit
suicide...
          but i'm happy that he invented
the cocktail: death in the afternoon...
a shot of absinthe in a champagne flute...
    tried it once, knocked me out straight...
   but there is something, really bugging me,
i'd love to have had an honest relationship
with women, i.e. the honesty concerning money...
just talking about it...
           it's no wonder we were given
toys as children and sometimes having to share
them...
             i never had an honest conversation
with a woman about money,
count prostitutes out of it...
no money at the beginning of a conversation:
no honey...
       maybe that's why it is so complicated
about talking about money,
how it: suddenly "kills" the romance...
  i can think of better ways of killing
a romance... e.g. reading heidegger's
"aphorism" no. 159...
   that's really killing it...
                money and romance...
no money and a familial affair of tribalism...
     i'd like to meet a few Aztec
and ask them why they kept so much
useless mineral resource until
the European Smaug came...
  and settled...
   and why the schizophrenia of the american
content is english up north, spanish down south...
ok... "exactness": a bit of french land and english
up north, a large chunk of portugese and spanish
down south...
    i left the house today hearing
the most amazing conversation between a man
and a woman... they were talking about money...
and how they'd juggle the accounts
  and pay for the roof...
               it was so nice hearing a man and a woman
talking about money without either
pretending to be a thief, and the other a king
or queen...
             when two people meet god is hardly
the difficulty to be managed,
    people can enter relationships from a variety
of backgrounds, one kneels periodically every
sunday, the other jokes about it...
  but money is the hardest obstacle to synchronise
between two people...
   it would have been nice to have written that
sort of symphony with someone...
     but when you're in a relationship with a woman
and there's a money "issue"?
    that's harder than keeping a dialectical argument
solo about god...
     from an early age i was told that money
was the root of all evil, that it displaced people,
that it transvaluated all values...
   well... it sorta did,
let's try toi engage atheists in talking about
the concept of money, past all economic theories
like past all theological theories...
  it would be easier to talk to them
about that thing that never seems to disappear
then about a deity...
question is: at what point will the argument
become considered too "infantile"?
   when we consider money to be a concept
that could be translated as an element akin to earth
and the earthquake of the great depression in the 1930s
that no one could prevent?
  or the Amazonian offshoots of the last remaining
tribes without the concept walking
into a house?
     and i thought: when was the last time people
used hard cash, and didn't buy on credit
and didn't turn gold in plastic?
            fervently, i believe that money had a real
place in the world, i honestly do,
even though i abhorred wearing rings
or necklaces, and that i didn't have the capacity
in me to not say: red is red, blue is blue...
     a chicken is worth more to me than a slab of gold...
   and this ties in with the ancient pagan practice
of paying the ferryman across the Styx,
  χαρoν / καρoν - (depending how you like to say it,
****! a choice! quick! make it!)
       how they placed two coins on the burial body,
nowhere else than on the eyes,
    not in their hands... on their eyes...
i just think there's more to it than the myth of the Styx,
even though i like the myth, i like the storytelling
aspect of it... something we could have engaged with,
in those days, when people reached old age,
they discovered philosophy, and mythology,
that's what they gave us,
   now... oh! it hurts!
           just talk of ailments...
  most people living to old age would have made more
sense having lived in ancient times,
when the really strong lived to old age
and could invent philosophy and a timescale
anti, completely anti-scientific, i.e. mythological...
   and that's the sad truth...
it's almost as if the young these days have to take
to the reins, and utter some very unfathomable stances...
so if they didn't place the coins for χαρoν in their hands
(as money is usually passed that way) - why
place them on the eyes, if not merely to state:
    let us see beyond the concept of money
in the afterlife...
                i can't see a reason for it...
                            that's what the ancients said,
when the concept of money was precious,
akin to diamonds, gold...
                        i think the concept is exhausting itself...
why do so many people fall into dept,
         they're hardly dealing with hard-money,
in urban areas i mean, at the high-end of society...
gone is the joke: how was copper wire invented?
two scots pulling a penny apart...
       at what point does this all become: delusional?
infantile?
              even as Ezra pointed out: usury...
or the fake exponential quality of being lent this
abstract thing that later translates into
concrete things like: a baker provides bread
in a supermarket... a butcher some meat...
  the apple farmer apples... and civilisation is built...
nothing familial being established...
and how the concept of family is now abhorred...
and how we only created money to give no
better idea of procreation... but the objective-unconscious
focus on mere numbers... being as they are...
     without money there would be no
sad story... but there wouldn't be this number
of us...
      i don't know at what precise point
i'm going to feed the seven pages of civiliation
(they were once called the cardinal sins) -
   how can i feel pride for this fact? how can i drop
into a cest pit of gluttony?
     oddly enough: drinking excessive is by comparison
a virtue... but it can rarely involve a lot
of people... oh look... here comes the pompous cannabis
crowd... the the m.d.m.a. freaks...
    poncy buggers...
        i have for that matter,
an experience of driving in a fiat 126 P,
and a ford mondeo, and a fiat cinquecento,
one of them would fit into a cadillac, no problem,
there! yonder! america and its size-complex!
just hearing a man and woman talking about
money so frankly, ah...
  romeo and juliet and *******...
            if you can be honest about money,
you sorta never have this desire to be dishonest
in the emotional life...
            and cheat, e.g.,
money isn't exactly a nice topic on the ground,
in the trenches of life... it's hardly an economic theory
for the highbrow talks at university...
   but at least both parties are agreed that
money is real, and like a philosopher's stone,
   it turns all subjects into a tapeworm of needs...
  take a penny and with your index and thumb press
it against every single thing in the whole wide world...
   like a magic wand, it changes every single thing
into, that common motto: beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
or a flea market: one man's clutter, another's treasure trove.
nietzsche didn't write the transvaluation of all values
because it would have been
   a book, with only one word in it:
                                                         money.
i know he's dead and there are many biographies,
but all of them are wrong,
  it wasn't the end of his relantionship with
   lou salomé, how she ran off after the mengage troi
ended with Rée... she ran off with Rilke after that,
and god knows who else...
    it just so happens that i'll state his motto:
poets act shamelessly toward their experiences...
they exploit them...
    he did see a *******, and so did i...
eventually prostitutes are like dentists or doctors...
dealing with the heart bit...
          what broke Nietzsche was the book title...
and the one word answer -
all the rest of it is *******...
                    yes: because it's such an infantile
   consideration to understand the basics of our lives.

so considering the beginning that's completely
unrelated to the end...
    people started, really, really boring me...
               in that they made so many attempts to get
rid off me... and that i'm still here...
  and within the groundwork of the only
pragmatism left in me... laughing at them.

A feeling I am unable to quantify
Unable to conceptualise
Uncompromising I am held hostage by
your habits and manners I have ritualised
attentive with my ever watchful eye
none could defy
hidden in plain view
my unyielding love of you

what you have with me is a
non-diaviating dogmatism of
the units of language,
common colloquial says is
at best attuned: black is black,
white is white.
i have a dogmatism surrounding
this...
i''m very rigid in the term a priori,
and in so saying: darwinism
  has no a apriori benefactor
to challenge me...
   i'm rigid in words
    on the basis that's i do not
accept the thesaurus manifesto...
  the game of synonym and antonym
will not make me write a better novel,
i just think that's *******.
      the problem with darwinism
attracting a higher status
      than the miser narcissus quote
of looking into **** similis
leaves the biodiversity of monkeys
paramount above the biodiversity
of other species of animals...
i acknowledge darwinism,
but as science clearly says:
it can never reach the rigidity of
being deemed an a priori certainty...
modern man's rebellion is
against darwinism forcing itself
into the a priori regiment...
as a scientific theory darwinism can't
do just that...
     darwinism is solely
    a posteriori in terms of
conceptualisation... i have no beginning
as man qualifying myself as being
monkey-borne,
i don't have enough time to
       conceptualise such a beginning
with all its viable ceonceits as modes
to state a groundwork to an ontological basis...
worthy of execution...
         to a satisfactory basis...
     darwinism can't exist in the a priori
sphere, because science cannot either...
               darwinism can't equate
itself with theology,
on the simple premise that there's a suffix
-logy involved...
                       and the rest belongs
to the archives of mutilated language...
                or the mutilation of, should i be exact
in the dicta.
                 i cannot be born with
an innate predisposition to state that i am
of money origin...
          primarily because the monkey has adapted
in such a way, as to be so life affirming of its
existence that i'd be in no way similar
in this genesis, as i am bound to affirm the
  life prerogatives of a peacock dancing to the mating
call of a female peacock...
intellectually speaking i'm bound to experience
an intellectual shortcoming and a
               desert of worded experience...
the modern narcissus is the darwinist disciple...
                  i can't see anything more
abhorring than that...
                       to the conclusive demise:
making any history makes no sense,
the 18th century? makes no sense,
given we've been prescribed the platitude...
and the stoppage of time...
                   originating from **** similis
makes us no more noun-denotative
acquiresome of **** sapiens than the
byproduct that is **** insapiens...
                            i know the history is there,
and all the facts are there... but given our
current day-to-day... there's no bias for it making
our lives any different in terms of it having
any effect on us to say otherwise...
                      darwinism forgets that it behaves
like any  a posteriori fabric
                     in a way that it wants to become
rigid... but not rigid in a sense that
you might cling to a posteriori becoming
rigid for an equivalent of a one-man
  table-tennis match.... or *******...
  i mean darwinism doesn't have a place in
the a priori in the first place,
it can't be as pristine as space & time, god & nothing
care to allow it to be...
    i have a life-span of a maximum of 100 years...
i can't make history and tell it from the epoch
of dinosaurs to suit the right sort of palette...
    darwinism isn't inherent (a priori) in me...
it's scientific, therefore a posteriori in me...
                 it's sometimes called being stubborn,
or it's sometimes called communal slack...
      even if taken to the court, i can't defend darwinism...
what i can say is that: enough prayers left
at the darwinian altar has left me a david Attenborough
in the pornographic industry spectacle...
because why can't i be as **** similis as i care
not to be **** sapiens?!
                 the basic fact is that i have obscured
the thesarus in my lexicon...
                 i have made certain words rigid...
opposite of making a chair goo and custards...
it's a rigidness that i expect to spar with,
       i need the stability...
   and this makes me the shadow-man...
because i can't compete for a pulpit and a freedom
to speak... i can't!
    i am bound to shadows and book-worms...
and am for the better for it to be so gravitating me toward
the grave...
      i can't say darwinism exists a priori because i just
can't...
                        i say that because biology is the sole
science that does away with mathematical language...
             biology has no actual need for numbers,
          it has no need for He meaning helium...
it has no need for the laws of physics...
when physicists try to find the glue...
biology is already immersed in the glue...
                    biology doesn't need numbers...
yet it's there: eating up book after book in the domain
of history, fiction and poetry...
           the a priori implant of god is so much
easier to forget in the medium of thought
than establishing the a posteriori implant of god
that you simply don't think about...
i have about a hundred Islamic terrorists to testify...
   i don't understand this attack on the a priori
stronghold of certain ideas being sanctimonious...
  darwinism cannot reach the pinnacle of a priori
inquiry simply because it begins with an a posteriori
requisite...
                            which is why the whole affair
went to court... with the monk

what you have with me is a non-diaviating dogmatism of
the units of language, common colloquial says is
at best attuned: black is black, white is white.
i have a dogmatism surrounding
this...
i''m very rigid in the term a priori,
and in so saying: darwinism
  has no a apriori benefactor
to challenge me...
   i'm rigid in words
    on the basis that's i do not
accept the thesaurus manifesto...
  the game of synonym and antonym
will not make me write a better novel,
i just think that's *******.
      the problem with darwinism
attracting a higher status
      than the miser narcissus quote
of looking into **** similis
leaves the biodiversity of monkeys
paramount above the biodiversity
of other species of animals...
i acknowledge darwinism,
but as science clearly says:
it can never reach the rigidity of
being deemed an a priori certainty...
modern man's rebellion is
against darwinism forcing itself
into the a priori regiment...
as a scientific theory darwinism can't
do just that...
     darwinism is solely
    a posteriori in terms of
conceptualisation... i have no beginning
as man qualifying myself as being
monkey-borne,
i don't have enough time to
       conceptualise such a beginning
with all its viable ceonceits as modes
to state a groundwork to an ontological basis...
worthy of execution...
         to a satisfactory basis...
     darwinism can't exist in the a priori
sphere, because science cannot either...
               darwinism can't equate
itself with theology,
on the simple premise that there's a suffix
-logy involved...
                       and the rest belongs
to the archives of mutilated language...
                or the mutilation of, should i be exact
in the dicta.
                 i cannot be born with
an innate predisposition to state that i am
of money origin...
          primarily because the monkey has adapted
in such a way, as to be so life affirming of its
existence that i'd be in no way similar
in this genesis, as i am bound to affirm the
  life prerogatives of a peacock dancing to the mating
call of a female peacock...
intellectually speaking i'm bound to experience
an intellectual shortcoming and a
               desert of worded experience...
the modern narcissus is the darwinist disciple...
                  i can't see anything more
abhorring than that...
                       to the conclusive demise:
making any history makes no sense,
the 18th century? makes no sense,
given we've been prescribed the platitude...
and the stoppage of time...
                   originating from **** similis
makes us no more noun-denotative
acquiresome of **** sapiens than the
byproduct that is **** insapiens...
                            i know the history is there,
and all the facts are there... but given our
current day-to-day... there's no bias for it making
our lives any different in terms of it having
any effect on us to say otherwise...
                      darwinism forgets that it behaves
like any  a posteriori fabric
                     in a way that it wants to become
rigid... but not rigid in a sense that
you might cling to a posteriori becoming
rigid for an equivalent of a one-man
  table-tennis match.... or *******...
  i mean darwinism doesn't have a place in
the a priori in the first place,
it can't be as pristine as space & time, god & nothing
care to allow it to be...
    i have a life-span of a maximum of 100 years...
i can't make history and tell it from the epoch
of dinosaurs to suit the right sort of palette...
    darwinism isn't inherent (a priori) in me...
it's scientific, therefore a posteriori in me...
                 it's sometimes called being stubborn,
or it's sometimes called communal slack...
      even if taken to the court, i can't defend darwinism...
what i can say is that: enough prayers left
at the darwinian altar has left me a david Attenborough
in the pornographic industry spectacle...
because why can't i be as **** similis as i care
not to be **** sapiens?!
                 the basic fact is that i have obscured
the thesarus in my lexicon...
                 i have made certain words rigid...
opposite of making a chair goo and custards...
it's a rigidness that i expect to spar with,
       i need the stability...
   and this makes me the shadow-man...
because i can't compete for a pulpit and a freedom
to speak... i can't!
    i am bound to shadows and book-worms...
and am for the better for it to be so gravitating me toward
the grave...
      i can't say darwinism exists a priori because i just
can't...
                        i say that because biology is the sole
science that does away with mathematical language...
             biology has no actual need for numbers,
          it has no need for He meaning helium...
it has no need for the laws of physics...
when physicists try to find the glue...
biology is already immersed in the glue...
                    biology doesn't need numbers...
yet it's there: eating up book after book in the domain
of history, fiction and poetry...
           the a priori implant of god is so much
easier to forget in the medium of thought
than establishing the a posteriori implant of god
that you simply don't think about...
i have about a hundred Islamic terrorists to testify...
   i don't understand this attack on the a priori
stronghold of certain ideas being sanctimonious...
  darwinism cannot reach the pinnacle of a priori
inquiry simply because it begins with an a posteriori
requisite...
                            which is why the whole affair
went to court... with the monkey trial...
(and the rest of the argument i accidently deleted...
which is a shame...
                 but then again, i guess i simply
left it trying to reinvent poetic rhyming,
i mean rhyming counter to plague, the hague,
                or vague...
i meant rhyming on the basis of prefix mandatory
reiteration, or the mundane alternative:
repetition, rather than rhyming
and in musical terms: really hitting the *** note
as to avoid even a sense of polyphony...
or polyphony meaning: personnae...
but i deleted the better half of the narrative...)
some ******* about omni re (things again)
culminating in the mora res = res cogitans...
  to think, to delay... a thing that delays a thing that things
when all things repeat themselves...
   by omni re i mean: that bollocking insistance
of autumn... well: it was a nice load of *******,
but then i did **** in my treatment of it;
which is to not say i didn't have more
intentional sentences to work with...
   accidents happens...
sometimes you get champagne,
most of the time: solitary definition of frustration
at the impeding technology...
                     airy fairy, miser's berry.

So... Fa' Real Fa' REAL...
What Is The Deal...
With... " Keeping It REAL "... !?!

It's Just An EXPRESSION...
That Has NO Test Pressing...
of Things Some Be STRESSING...
It's Message Be Sending... !!!!!

I'm Just Asking The Question...

Because What It's INVENTED...
Seems To Be An EXCUSE...
For DUD MOVES People Choose...

I Prefer... Keep It TRUE... !!!

But DON'T Get It Confused...
I Do... KNOW The Coup... !!!!!!

What I SEE As TRUE...
May NOT Work for YOU... !!!

Which... Leads Me Back...
To The Question At Hand...

Cos' The Issue I Have...
Is With How People Choose To...
Use It Like... " VOODOO "...

Some....

METAPHYSICAL, MYSTICAL...
... PRINCIPLED RITUAL...

That... When Undertaken...
Some Would Say Is...
.... " SPIRITUAL ".... ?!!!?

"Okay calm yourself V,
that's clearly too deep,
fa' peeps in the streets !"

"You know, I agree,
let me change up the theme !"

Now Apparently...
Fa' Some... " Keep It Real "...
Means They Can ROB and STEAL...
Like It's Their DAILY MEAL... ?!?

And NOT Just In The Streets...
I Mean... Corporate Peeps... !!!!!

How REAL Are The Heads...
of... Financial Trends... !?!

It Would Seem They Conceal...
Rather Than... " Keep It REAL "...
And Could CLEARLY CARE LESS...
About... TRUTHFUL Concepts... !!!

They... " CONCEPTUALISE "...
Clearly DIFFERENT Vibes... !!!!!

More Like... " KEEP IT MINE ! "...

And For Those They DEFINE...
As... " Minds Out of Line "...

The Line They've... DESIGNED...
IS... " KEEP THEM CONFINED ! "...

Just Like The Fine Rhymes...
From... Poetic Minds...
Who Use ALL Their Might...
To Write For The Blind... !!!!!!

Whose Vision of... REAL...
Can Be... Quite SURREAL... !!!

Indeed... Quite BIZARRE... !!!

When REALNESS They Deal In...
Leaves Young BROKEN Hearts... !!!!!

They're REAL Like White Sharks...
That... Hunt In The Dark... !!!
And Seem To LIKE FIGHTS... ?!?
That Leave NASTY Marks... !!!

Because of The Wars...
That People... ENDURE... !!!

Because They Are REAL...
And Are NOT Quick To Kneel... !!!!

Talking of... KNEELING...
When Girlies Be SQUEALING...

How REAL Are They Being... ???

You KNOW What I'm Meaning...
of A... Morning or Evening...
These Girlies Be DEALING...
Like POKER SHARKS... "Scheming"... !!!!!

Of Course There Are GOOD Ones...
Who Deal In... REAL LOVE...

But They Aren't THE ONES...
Who I'm... Speaking of... !!!!!!!

The Ones I Speak of Are REAL...
YEAH... REAL FAKE... !?!?!
NO NEED To DEBATE... !!!

FAKE HAIR...
FAKE EYES...
FAKE NAILS...
FAKE MINDS...

The One Thing That's NOT FAKE...
Is What's... Between Their Thighs... !!!!!

MOST Now Should Wear SIGNS...

"I KEEP IT OPEN,
BUT THERE IS A PRICE !"

And NO I'm NOT Joking...
These Girls Are REAL BROKEN... !!!!!

So I'll Speak On The Guys...

REAL Gangsta' or PRANKSTER... ?!?
These Days You Will FIND...
An ABUNDANCE of SLACKERS...
Whose Gangsta' DEFINES...

A... BIG CROCK of LIES...
And Being Called WANKSTERS'... !!!

When It Comes To The Women...
These WANKSTERS' Contrive...
To DROP The... RIGHT Lines...

VERBAL or WHITE... !!!

To Get Women SMOKING...
The WRONG Kind of Pipes... !!!

THIS Time... I AM JOKING...
Quick Question … ” AM I ? "...

My Rhymes Are Inclined...
To... Summarise Times...
And Human Designs...
That People Live By...

UNLIKE... " Keep It Real "... !!!

That's Just A Cool Line...
BEHIND Which People... "Hide"...

How About... KEEP IT RIGHT... !?!
Or As Said... KEEP IT TRUE... ?!?

Well Let Me Just Tell You...
My Theme's... KEEP IT ME... !!!!!

If You CAN'T Keep It There...
Then Folks... TELL ME WHERE... ?!?

TOO MANY... "Conceal"...
And See MORE APPEAL...
In KEEPING It...................... FAR.....
From Who They... REALLY ARE... !!!?!!!

So... Buy Into STARS...
That HAVEN'T Seen MARS... ?!?
Or... Planets AFAR... ???

Because They're RIGHT HERE...
HUMANS... Get It CLEAR... !!!!!

Who Walk Down The Road...
of... ACTING For SHOW... !!!

How REAL Can They Be... ???
EVEN When They're... OFF SCREEN... ?!!!?

I Believe KEEP IT CLEAN...
And Now... KEEP IT ME... !!!

So NOBODY Can TRY...
To Say That... I LIED... !!!

Because... What I Now FEEL...
Is MOST PEOPLE... "Conceal"...
And DON'T Like To REVEAL...

So What Is The Deal... ?
... When They Say...

... " KEEP IT REAL "... !!!

I am the Unknown Soldier -->
Whether you believe me or not is beside the point.
I accepted the Role and have been trying to fulfil my Duty for 15 years;
Until recently, I've been unsuccessful.
However, I'm a sometimes fast Learner
And this Time round - this Hyper-Real Time round -
I'm pretty sure I've executed my Duty Professionally,
As befits an ANZAC.

I've tried several Battles and lost,
But this recent War (longer than I was led to Believe)
Seems, to me, to be the coup-de-grace,
So intricately woven and administered with utmost confidence;
I've adapted and learnt, absorbed info and fired it off;
Developed my strategies within the conceptual system
And deployed my tactics efficiently,
And, I believe, Lethally,
According to the Laws as they stand.

I've been wounded before and was reluctant to follow suit,
But, when the time was right --> and I was certain -->
I tried to conduct my War with Cold Intelligence and Logical Precision,
Without the Emotive influences that clouded my Judgements previously.

In my Defence, this War was much bigger than I anticipated -->
It's all fine to Declare one's self World War III,
But I didn't realise it would involve other Universes -
That was unanticipated and challenging.

Luckily for me, my sixth sense -
My sense of Humour - was well Disciplined and accommodating,
Rising to the occasion.
Moreover, the Lore I employed was well-honed -->
Sharp and relatively easy to engage and implement.
I tried to keep casualties to a minimum -
Namely myself, and any Fool stupid enough to Conceptualise Themselves.

It helped that I conceived the War
In concepts revolving around what my missus would want of me -
Under the false presumption that I actually had a missus at the time.
Fortunately, I've a good imagination for the Everyman.
I just calculated and Conducted the Campaign according to simple Laws of
"Who's washing the dishes?" and "Who's looking after the kids?"

[Of all the species in the Multi-verse, go figure Humans (that is: **** sapiens sapiens) were the one's to invent and refine the Art of Warfare (A Gentleman's Game of Lethal = Serious ^2). Killing just comes naturally to us! And we often get a perverse sense of pleasure at watching things die. Go figure.]

i touch you, running my fingers through your hair
   and see god behind my eyelids
the fragile shadow of your lashes onto your cheek
   more beautiful than the moon

how many alternate realities
   we had to sidestep to get to each other
the magnificence in the stars aligning
   cosmic accident springing from a primordial goop

you reached for my hand like a sunday morning
   and held it like a saturday night
next thing i know
   i’m having thoughts of taking in your laughter intravenously

gazing at you like you were the pacific
   and i was desperate to drown
nothing to give
   but my furiously delicate heart

your eyes remind me of tinted windows
   you could see out, but i could never see in
you imagine the way i haven’t changed
   the same as i imagine the ways you have

is it harder to explain what it was like
   to have known you or to have known your absence?
but i found my home in the place
   where my neck met your shoulder

of those three words you said to me
   which one do you think of the most?
the memory fades,
   i’m left hanging on to the ghost of your words

you made each skeleton in your closet feel special
   before they were thrown back in your ***** clothes pile,
the used and forgotten,
   i am only one of them

i saw it coming but at the same time i didn’t
   because i didn’t believe you could possibly be that ******* cruel
a difficult truth to conceptualise
   but i guess some people are only capable of loving the idea of you

it hurt, loving you, but angelica still feels the pain was worth it
   every time your hand touched hers, she was reborn
she may be left for dead in your mistakes
   but she cannot bear to say she ever regrets you