mmm, palce lizać, albo wsadzić je w dúpe i nadawać sygnał wriggly-wriggly alter: wriggly-pigglety; counter-alt? calling it: the miracle of five croutons, and two pieces of sushi... c'mon, let's go crazy! and take it to the excesses permitted by the original feat! (yes, i mean the fish parts of sushi, there's enough carbohydrates in the croutons, so yes, no rice-bed for the tartars).
                                       ć is the puritan's aversion to cz / chai;
                                       or at least an exfoliation curbor.
i write honey,
honey honey honey,
i write honey,
honey honey honey
p'ooh bear
droned in on it.
when i write,
i write honey,
honey honey O'Milee.
from serving in the US and A
navy, to a beach-buggy
accident.
when i write, i write
honey -
       *** e -
Atilla styled liquorice -
  lee co reesh - not
liquidated rice -
ghosts of latin almost everywhere;
quadruple that.
convene and converse -
contrary             collective.
some say this might as well
be the famous goldberg *sardines;
when i write, i write honey,
i write: honey honey honey...
      will you be my Duracell bunny?
honey, will you be my
   ******* par excellance?
i see... no, you won't be.
the museum of Greek sculpture
was vandalised!
    guess what they took,
the ****** fiendish crooks!
with a wet splash of colour
comes the cold marble artifice -
a bit like the cool-mouth
refrigerator of a woman during
felatio... still don't know
how she gets that gob down
below room temperature.
    (heresy input, never start a
sentence with an)          and
there you have it,
                  writing, catering for
abstractionism,
just after he said: they're on a diet.

I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
thankfully not in a medical way
i don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazey bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts,
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
I say work i'm not even gonna give 50% percent never mind double
but i'll stay just below the warning threshold so i don't really get in trouble,
i do see my sick days as extra days of annual leave
but my bums on my seat most of the year and at least one Eve.
I'm always ducking and diving, i hide and they seek,
but i hit my targets every week.
They can say put down your pens,
strip your pencils of lead,
you can't stop me writing in my head
But you'll sometimes dictate what time i go to bed.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
Nearly every road i walk down i've got a ***** cat friend
there meowing never drives me round the bend
but if me owing then just a letter i'll send.
I’ll rescue  spiders from the bath, without any exception,
But I’ll clean their webs and evict them when I have a house inspection.
Giving up pork, on a parity with pigges at last
But then i broke my faste with bacon for breakfast
Watching lambs a gamboling there frolicking is fab,
but i'll see you on a plate later if i'm craving a kebab.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
Money and the capitalist structure baffles, no thanks, no ta
but before i go out a quick sub off Ma and Pa.
I'll pay for a taxi, i don't care about the amount,
while checking fervently the statement from my bank account.
Cash cannot be eaten it just gets you into Eton
but i'll rifle through my pockets for pennies to get an eat on
i don't adore you, i'll say your the means to an end
but then i spend some more and ask for a lend.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
I'll say anarchy  is everywhere, petition and abstain
then  read in the late edition who i think should take the reins.  
I scream smash the system without any regrets
but then start stubbing out where they deem no cigarettes.
I'll say **** big business they are always looting tons
while cutting out Asda coupons to get the soup with croutons.
i'll say **** materialism, to that i am adverse,
"ohh if you want to get me some trainers Mum can you make em Converse? "
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
One Saturday i found it hard to move
crying out for water, more than needing food,
stomach emptier than the packets in my pockets
Early winter scribble
spoiled by the ripple of rain,
deadened and dull
on a precious day,
the time I crave
passes through a husk
full of caves.
Each inhabitant curses
and burns
the stagnant soil under their feet,
I want something to eat.
I need to drink.
The cold slab of sink
lures flesh to rest,
unsatisfied
with retched offerings
flung from a scorched earth
so next Friday, a few beers and l I’ll hit the hay
Ten beers later, where’s the MDMA?
And my staunch resolutions go up my nose
Chatting through the night, striking a pose,
Music accentuated, stars sparkling hard
World’s discussed in magic back yards,
Focused and fraught in tumultuous thought
Ten cigs in an hour
An hours too short,
As the morning comes, I start feeling a mess
It slowly disintegrates the treasure in my chest,
Feelings of strength crumble to a feeble frame,
Spears in my head, WHOOPS I’VE DONE IT AGAIN.
You’ll stop this time, I curse and lecture,
Two bottles down next Friday etc etc,
I’m a schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember an uneventful Tuesday when i wasn't working
belly full of rice
and i saw you twice,
two times a day,
on a day in lieu,
time stood still,
smiling at you
i thought i'm gonna have to write about you,
so i park myself in a bar after a joint in Netto carpark
and start using words to build an arc
and if you you do wanna walk in two by two,
can i walk in with you?
Is it this green ride that's getting me high
or the regret i seen in the gleam of your eye
that as soon as we said hi we said bye,
as disappointed as the catcher when he dropped the rye.
If i may be so bold,
if you were cold
i wouldn't hail these stones
i'd pummel Jack Frost until he knows he's lost,
i'll leave all the lights on to hasten global warming
make Obama declare winter a season of mourning,
If you met an iceberg of Titanic  proportions
i'd cut through it quicker than the Ripper does back street abortions.
If you were in prism
i'd try to unrangle the science of triangles
so i could build you a pyramid with all the right angles,
my stomachs in knots;
the most tranquil of tangles.
Then i saw you get out of the lift
and i wanted to play you a rift
until you exposed your midriff
because you set me adrift from chains and shackles
my mind goes crazy and fills with cackles,
i crackle with lightning, my energy heightens
my heart tightens
and not cos of cholesterol
cos i think you're special
and celestial!
I got dreams from naught, my head feels taught,
i prised a lesson from your eyes,
love is the greatest prize.
But now that's gone, all things
pass evolution in transience
faces that were everything lost to balance
blue it merge
but seldom a residual surge
and your bark today was worst than your bite
it said something softly,
i sow the seeds for the sycamore trees
we can carve our names on next summer.
Under an endless stretching sky
you wrote you
and i wrote i,
the lights in our eyes don't lie
they are gateways to the suns inside,
our hearts couldn't hide from this brightening tide.
I'm a Schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember this guy from work, cooed to me
look at the **** on this page 3
he drooled over Nuts magazine like he belonged in a zoo
i bet he frequented strippers too.
He said seen this clip, it's ******* great,
it ad turn a couple of queers straight
it was these two twins with rouge lips being rude,
the way she chomped on her like food
and they defo loved it,there is  no doubt
it's just just ***** Eskimo ******* kissing snouts
and sharing with her sister the joy of getting licked out.
Wonder how they looked in the family car?
giggling about some exciting destination,
like all kids displaying a lack of patience,
“are we there yet” chorused with glee and duality,
dressed in the same clothes to ensure parity.
Ice cream for tea.
Maybe they might be way into drugs
or addled with addiction
lacking hugs
and sore from the friction.
Not liking the glare
feeling scared.
maybe?
He said nar they love it up them baby.
But then,
i have it
about 3 or 4 times a week
after the 5th time of hitting snooze,
or a heavy night on the *****,
or sometimes no beer,
even after a sonnet of Shakespeare
a sudden urge comes over me,
GET THE LAPTOP!
GET THE *******!
Then it's
Japanese teen lesbians spitting,
finger ******* wearing mittens,
****'s ******* Britions,
oap creampies
***** covered eyes
***** flicking,
extreme suction,
**** destruction,
Captain Birds Eye gobbing
Batman ******* Robin,
A ten inch plumber ******* in a kitchen sink drama
Robert de Niro unpeeling Bananarama
Marty doing the Doc
a gimped up Kirk whipping Spoc
Rita  ******* Norris
Gail licking Fizz
Sally doing Dev
and Kevin doing ki.............Kevin, get out of the room.
Back to
a **** doing a ******
a pre op pleasuring granny
two ***** one *****,
then i chuck my muck all over my tunic
flip over and continue reading The Female ******,
I'm a Schizophrenic Hypocrite,
i've gotta split.

Let me be
     The soup,

That dampens
       Your croutons.

While these groupons cutting coupons I mean and croutons with Grey Poupon with the flight crew on an Islond off Moulin Rouge -- these dudes calling me rude, how I took'em to school. went from second hand shoes to licking silver spoons eating delicious grapes, in luxurious estates, and plush lagoons. Leaving the monkey business to the buffoons. Instead I'm watching CNN news being amused. LeBron making his moves on the tube, setting screens, and running schemes, on the big screen, HD clarity got me taking three, I'm catching charges too. This is the life. I'm just manifesting what they said I couldn't do -- nothing new.

I knew all day that you didn’t want me.
The sirens rang, red flag tear ducts, and I
was just waiting for the bomb to drop.
I felt it, in my gut as they say,
like a paperweight, and choked
on all the tears before I even knew
they were coming. Here’s the thing—
you asked me. The rest spoke for itself.

The dress, the earrings, the phone call, the couch,
your gym shorts, glasses, and answering machine.

But we went to dinner, and you called me beautiful.
You threw croutons over the table, made me laugh,
let me hold your hand while they brought my iced tea.
I even found myself picturing you next to me.
I spread my palms, open, but I didn’t ask for a thing.
Yet, you kept defending yourself, explaining everything,
and I just wanted you to pay for the two of us to eat.

Your face is all that I see. Then why, why do I find myself
time after time again in these situations
where I keep plugging myself into equations
that obviously aren’t meant to be? You’re so sweet.
But if you searched through the crowd,
I’m not sure you’d want to find me.

I should have left you on the couch. Honestly,
I knew all day that you didn’t want me.
But I kissed you a million little times,
let your tongue explore my silent confessions,
willed you to find yourself
through the spaces of my mouth.
I should have just left you on the couch.

You give me simple pleasure,
As I bite into your inner layer.
I love you in the morning
In between a bagel,
Sometimes with bacon.

In the afternoon,
By a salad’s side you sit,
With my favorite edibles-
Arugula, red peppers, fresh peas,
Black and green olives,
Topped with chicken, cheese,
Sesame vinaigrette, and,
A few croutons for crunch.

You are an Egg, but so much more.

The texture and depth of your yolk,
Sublime and sumptuous;
Your outside solid, yet undefined;
Balancing textures with what’s inside.

Egg,
You are truly
Divine.

The graduation party
with fried aubergine, croutons and rye whisky
has raised the hairs of the alumni.
Kismets  afoot about forming a band,
named after actress Alice White,
intuitive bluesy Psychedelicia.
Devonport's dappling on bass
and Schemtar's already on drums.
The devils in the details with the lead singer,
for the want of a lead guitarist
they are gyved.
But if they practice like clockwork
the turnaround will resonant .

Oh waiter my dear fellow
There's a beetle in my soup
He's swimming around the croutons
In a never ending loop

Oh waiter tarry hither
There's a slug inside my pie
He's guzzling the gravy up
And the pastry's gone all dry

Oh waiter while your present
There's a mouse under the chips
She's built a fence of runner beans
To guard them from the dips

Oh waiter please attend to me
There's foxes in my drink
They clambered in a while ago
And plain refuse to sink

Oh waiter hurry back to me
There's a walrus in my cake
He bellows if I dare approach
And makes the jelly shake

Oh waiter fetch a napkin
There's a horse...

My family What's app group
Is homemade soup.
It keeps me calm,
Soothes me like a balm,
Reduces tension of the day,
Appeases my appetite for what is happening in some way.
Family relationship is savoury broth,
Holds a strong bond and growth.
Photos and videos,
Not to forget audios,
Are seasonings which enhance the taste,
Just some, only the best.
Gossips,jokes and sayings need time to simmer,
To reach full flavour.
Family moans and groans,
Are birthdays, death,sickness and new borns,
Raining with condolences and wishes,
Tangy, no preservatives.
Family members are garnish,
Quite a relish,
With active members as crusty croutons,
That promote sociability  and traditions.
Passive members are fresh herbs,
Rarely a comment,only few words,
But,are there to bring out the lovely aroma.

Let’s imagine for a minute

That life is a loaf of bread:

Soft, warm, and inviting

When you first come out of the oven



In time, however

It gets a little stale

Not so fluffy as it was in the beginning

It gets a little rough around the edges



It can get a little blue here and there

And in time, if you let it sit too long

Those little parasites will grow

Until there is nothing good left



But let’s not be too rash

Don’t toss it in the trash

No, not just yet

There’s something you can do, so don’t you fret



You have a chance

To make your loaf

Something amazing

What can your loaf bring?



Break it down

Into tiny little bits

Toss away your blues

But keep the misfits



Everything that is good

Is what makes it yours

The crust, the heal,

The unique little pores



Spread it all out

Within your pan

Draw it out

As long as you can



Don’t forget

To add some spice

Make it taste

The way you like



Pop it in the oven

And let them bask

Make them warm and toasty

Make them last



What was once a dull mass

Is now a bunch

Of quirky little bits

With lots of crunch



Why waste away

As a stale loaf of bread

When you could be croutons

Everybody likes croutons

The wraith wrote right
Inside the sight of a sigh



Love dove like a dove
Then flew full of flu



Doubt is the apple
And love is the worm



If you are ready for happiness
You are already lost



I did my worst
So I would know my worst



From a martyr to a victim
A fall marks the distance



Everyone’s addicted to their illness
Because the medicine tastes worse

Laugh and release those endorphins
(your minds a chemical soup)

the very essence of you

waiting to be slurped
(and drip down my chin)

You baffle me, like a 1st grader trying to learn geometry. You make me shake like the paintings on a wall during an earthquake i wish i could throw all my feelings in a basket like baby Jesus was thrown into a lake. Your impossible to decipher one minute your clearer than water and the other your nothing but martyr, you inflict pain upon me your worse than eating a salad without the croutons so now i dance this ballad alone at my canton like a person who's home is an asylum

Welcome to my Scary Halloween Spooky Party Night -Theme for a night is a creepy illusion light for a reflection blurred of an eerie life. its Demon the spiritual faces to ready for the Party night, Which is Making out to be the Bestest crooked Halloween spooky might.
I bet this party will be a great spooky late at night"& Cracked at all time..
Date: 31st Oct at 11pm
Venue: Hallow Town of  Stuffy street
Costume : Creepy Hat with a Long Spooky Coat dual colors — usually red and black..

    Special Spooky Party Menu...
             ....Starter....
 Blood Soup with Cheese Croutons
                   &
         Fried Nail Parcels...
                    
      ..... Main courses.....
  Twisted leg With crispy Shoulder...
                   &
     Roasted Pepper teeth with Blood drink...
     King Nose Sizzler with Sticky Ears..
                         
         ......Desserts .....
   Pudding Skin Custard Creme

Hope u have enjoyed my Invitation card.. so plz dare to come &enjoy; the scary night to remain till the next time..
                                                          ­             -Chirayu

A cherry pie, homemade by my wife. An apple pie, cut, opened, sliced.
An oven with a turkey, croutons sprinkled on western fresh lettuce, oven mitts, salad dressing, the works.
Lemon lime juice- squirted on the meat.
After meal deserts. Garlic bread, the tastes, butter smothered, my wife's lips covered, in icing from handmade cakes.
A little chill outside, the old fireplace burning. Wood hot the fire heated. Love making at midnight. Passion yearning.

Flailing arms in minestrone soup,
grasping ropes in gloopy slop.

Slippery snakes in slippy hands;
bobbing bereft in beefy broth.

Croutons swirl - a death knell eddy
clumping in a bread bricked tomb.

Oily air, greasy skin,
hot stove tops, and
delicately arranged lemons.
Potato pans and crushed croutons.
Take orders and
watch the clock.

On warm nights like this, streetlights
dot the sidewalks thick like map markers.
The screeching of tires mixes with applause coming
from the church. The breeze pushes my hair like a broom
in the deli I used to work at. Croutons and capicola
don't taste as good forgotten beneath the stove.
A bike light dances beneath the brush and teenagers
hold hands like chain-link.
Doors on either side of me catch carpets and don't close
like textbooks during finals week.

Misrelating Tale
Gotta prepare for war, like I’m Daniel-son.
Train every day with that wax-off, wax on.
Mister Miyagi flow, that hits like a Jeff Hardy Swanton Bomb.
What has the world become?
We unleashed the sword,
So, what was done can’t be undone.
But what if this narrative could be un -spun ?
Would we right wrongs?
If we rebuilt foundations,
Would our nation remain strong?
To return a triumphant king like Aragon,
Or be stabbed in the gut like qui-gon?
But as def squad says we’ll continue on till the break of dawn.
For this is the way of the mandolorian.
Some days one gotta switch sides,
From the autobots to deceptocons.
Fighting foodons, blasting brains like I’m jimmy neutron.
A Lightning nuisance, that’ll static shock the electrons.
That may interrupt ones...
Constant flow of info from dendrites to axons.
After the battle is won, grab some schezwan.
Project soul of foul human individual cretans.
Not everyone can be as polite, as the bear named Paddington.
Gotta call the ghostbusters to extract some Thetans.
Rest In Peace to Egon.
So...
When **** hit the fan, gotta know how to swim in the deep end.
Treating each failure like it was a lesson.
Everyday I battle against anxiety and depression.
Let’s just say I know what’s it’s like to feel less than.
Got my heart crushed like some croutons.
And have had to attack on my inner Titans.
And just when you think I’m defeated,
I go super saiyan.
Schooling it like I’m Piccolo and it’s Gohan.
Let’s go son!
I Will never lose my head like a dullahan.
For I ain’t got not time for 99 problems.
Gotta open the third eye to see past illusions.
Got to change the qualities of the composition.
Keeping stressors relatively small no matter the opposition.
Gotta emphasize the light like you painting an impression.
On everything and everyone that may come along.
A perspective can turn curses to blessings.
Can take one’s trauma and use it as a weapon.
To change the cycle of ones disposition.
But that being said,
One can’t predict everything like the Simpsons.
For the world’s more controversial,
Than the ending of the Jefferson’s.

i've always been tempted with the monastery... ever since visiting the Taizé community... then again: always concerning somewhere prior... the monastery where mummified remains of monks who died from cholera were exhibited... revising my romance with the Teutonic knights... the northern crusades... oh that the world has so much to offer... but i'm a terrible actor... and... if you're a terrible actor... and more... the worst imaginable liar... drama and life... don't exactly... mingle well... let the people have their sway and their freedom(s)... let them become... gluttonous with their desires and their thirst for the "lived experience"... let them abandon all manner of thought with purpose of transcending the ought-i-ought-i-not narratives... please let them... scramble for memory when it suddenly evaporates and there's that escapist tactic focusing on imaginings... don't let me use a language teasing moral overtones... let people... this... glistening prospect of... the ******* riddle with a fiddle... but... let these same people allow me to return to my abode of placebo solipsism... of where i put my finger for prospect of accountability... lavo manibus meum (vide cor meum)... but sure as ****... no mea culpa...

while doing some household chores...
a thought: one after another...
all deviation from ought-i
     ought-i-not(?)

            do i despise my own fellow countrymen?
the question posed by
those on the right regarding the politics
of the left...
um manibus
among the English and the Irish of
beyond merely the east end of London:
past the A406... once upon a time...
a space occupied by... mostly Irish
and 'ebrews...

3 years among the Scots...
but always, somehow... withdrawing from
contact with fellow Polacks...
out of spite?
or completely willing to integrate
to the point of "incognito"...
nothing good ever happened when
Polacks congregated on foreign soil...
let alone in Poland itself...
well... once upon a time...

     always among foreigners...
                   one Somali two Ethiopian
three a party with a Pakistani...
citizen of the world...
it's not even an original take on...
ancient Greek cosmopolitanism...
or the city-state...
beyond which: feral creatures roam...
****** jokes...

but i've been living in this cauldron for so
long that... upon returning to...
via commuting through Warsaw...
a great... nausea... a feeling of debilitating unease
of being thrown back into
a homogenous blob of sinew and sweat...
as if given marching orders...

that i speak more of the native than write it...
well... if i had a keyboard
that allowed me to shortcut all the relevant
diacritical marks...
e.g. miód & miot...

    honey...        litter: i.e. what a ***** gives
birth to... puppies...
of course the D & T can be sometimes
conflated depending on how they're / how they're
not stressed...

citing oath words like a cobbler...
****'s sake with Charlie Dickens and his
"orthography"...
what "orthography" in the English zung(é)?
there are no diacritical markers...
two options: "too many" vowels...
or... just an extra consonant...

litter... bitter... bite down on something: lite...
then again... third option...
plenty of surds...      light... no?
those are the three most poignant
characteristics of the tongue...

onomatopoeia: not an english word...
could.... would... gargantuan...
"too many" vowels... sometimes the odd extra
consonant in the vein of:
litter: literally... a manner of distinction
between: manna and mana (maori mana)...

and what appears to be... beyond a mere surd...
that vowel catcher that's H
that's half of the 'ebrew deity's name...
or a rugby post...

say AH... a request in dentistry...
or cite the alphabet: A: aye... A: aye...
    E:                eh?!
                    shotgun language shrapnel...
but to call anything orthographic in English...
or just plain: mistake...

e.g. miód "vs." miud...
                 hell... let's stretch it: mjud...
or even further... since... mjɵd...
no... this is not me attempting: smarter than you...
it's a ******* headache, while we're at it...
i'm thinking about this
because no one is thinking about this
and like hell these 26 pearls and a slug
of a tongue will ever manage to decipher, proper(ly)
the sound of a croaking crow...
at best... an approximation...

               where language goes to die...
in the beak of birds...
when in England: always the romance with
crows...
in Poland? it's either the romance with storks
or sparrows...

oh god... taking to grooming cats...
cutting the nails... brushing their hind...
one male one female maine ****...
i'm not into many fetishes apart from...
attempting to speak english grammar: german...
shoot me... before i speak a word of russia...

harasho?

         grooming a female cat and she's all
geared up... raising her hind legs...
*****... i'm here to comb you and cut your nails...
a ******* ugly scene: pinning her down...

then of course making the most sublime
tomato soup...
obviously adding parsley root...
a carrot... some leak, some celery...
if a celeriac was available...
two stock cubes... one chicken... the other vegetable...
approx. 250g of butter...
two cans of plum tomatoes...
a drizzle of ketchup... tomato purée...
a squeeze of sriracha... a whittle red chilli...
blitzed up and most certainly pushed
through a sieve...
served with some sour cream and...
as with any decent soup... that's not...
******* creamy-thick-splodge-custard-goo...
just eager for some croutons...
some vermicelli...

       but that... surprise of... some brandy
and zero sugar dr. pepper...
now i'm paying... bloated...
i drank two bottles of beer
puked one out...
ol' jack had to save my indigestion...
it's always a bad idea to eat and drink...
or drink prior to eating...
fine if you're drinking afterwards...
excesses of drinking and eating don't mix...

hardly a perverted stance...
but when a she-cat is gearing herself up to
you about to **** her...
while combing her and cutting her nails...
oh sure... on a regular Sunday
i **** headless chickens
with that pencil-**** of mine...
point of hilarity...

     and all "they" have is... egoism... attached to
an oversized phallus...
i'm guessing the sort that women use to
ready themselves for childbirth...
piston pump kicks...
once a tool: always a tool...
even the ancient Greeks minded the thought:
a large phallus is a sign of barbarism...
here you have... attempts at ennobling
savagery... while at the same time...
savaging  the citizenry...

    perfect combination, n'est c'est pas?
what could possibly be wrong with undertaking
the cesarean section?
if i were to **** out a head of a hippo...
and someone suggested... we might have to...
give your ****... some "exfoliation" revision, ahem..
details...
oh **** me: sign me up for that constipation
carousel! of... i'm guessing...
sexually gratified imps...

base topic... and you know this cat is gearing up
for *******...
well... i'd love to own a dog...
but then again: i wouldn't want to own
a muzzle or a leash...
the depictions of Hades and Cerberus...
no muzzle... no leash...
which is why i prefer cats...
that i was raised in an environment of dog ownership...
ah... Bella... that half-breed of an Alsatian...
Axel the dobberman...

no siblings...
     but to "own", sorry... to be with a woman?
and... all that... headache...
the game of jealousy...
i don't want to play it! sooner you find me
knitting socks as evidence that i have
**** instead of a protruding chimney
someone else started calling: whittle Wichard...
Ar Ar Arable land of lost phrases...

a dog's love is unconditional...
hence my revision of that celestial harem
promised to the invigorators of Islam...
give me 72 rottweilers...
i swear to god and no god...
we're dealing with fantasy land "details"...
or if you're going to stretch that fantasy
furthest... 72 of the most inexperienced... Lo...
    Lo               - but that's supposedly
the original promise... and you wonder why...
a ******* with only one woman
feels pointless...
why? well... there's that one unused crux
of a potential event...

      if i conjured up these parameters of belief...
guilty as charged...
but given that i'm only regurgitating these
pillars of: what amounted to the will of the idea...

- and if we still going to continue a discussion
on English... just recently... about 20 minutes ago...
FAUCI...
one commentator cited that spelling as...
FAU-SHE...
that's another thing that English does...
almost like it's... borrowing Fwench rules
of see-one-speak-another...
gobble up some suffixes... blah blah...
at worst: FOWL-KEY...
or... Cincinnati...

       oi oi: ms. cedilla!

mein gott: "they" were brought over,
probably sold by their chieftains for
(probably) being the biggest, most docile...
agreeable Nimrods of their tribe...
or weren't exactly puncture proof or quick...
oh! oh the lament of picking cotton...
so... not coalmining then?
- and for their invention of jazz...
to do away with the stiffness of Mahler...
etc. and forever celebrated for their
athleticism... although:
not their swimming...
well... you'd hardly find the 'ebrew celebrated
for this intellect... although: he probably
must be:
then again... the 'ebrew diaspora
and the Israeli... two different kettles
of about to be poached herring...

any herring that's not raw... Baltic-sushi is...
inedible... period!
so "they" weren't coalminers, yes?
no?
big ******* deal... i'm beetroot raw in
the face with blood being drained from
my tongue and fingertips!
i feel like doing some stomach crunches...
push-ups...
and it's... 20 minutes past... midnight!

misnomer-phraseology:
"hurt emotions"... completely misunderstood...
if you'd like to conceive the following argument:
i've jsut had my emotion stirred...
i have just woken up from apathy:
once i had the maxim:
apathy breeds no pathology...
it's great to feel...
to be woken up from the slumber of
objectivity and scientific rigidity... safety...
i like this... it's almost adrenaline inducing...

******-Goliath... i look at him now
like some sacred cow and think...
these petty gingerbread men managed to tame
these celebrated specimens...
and now... they have to... forget they gave us
jazz, the blues?

cuckoldry of the white girls teasing...
a few Bulgarian ****** tried the same...
telling me that black boy'os have the foetus sized
***** that might satisfy an elephant's ****...
while i have... to the dissatisfaction
of karma sutra coupling:
rabbit **** plucking petals from
a mare's ****...
because: the phallus is... important akin
to... to have ice requires freezing...
a temp. of below zero?

funny... that... looks like an ego boots from
where i'm perched...
this one *****'s surprise...
****** her and she moaned and she finished it off
with an ****** and the words:
the word... awe: but it was more of an ouch...
'it's only the second time it has happened to me'...
to my surprise...
i wasn't expecting to be a metaphor
of a Trojan cohort, either...
me and my supposedly pencil-**** with not
praise-songs...
of... readily-available: readily-pleasing...
i guess bulging on points of character...
with this other one...
kissing her eyelids...
suckling at her tears...
teasing the elbow... the knee...
the grooves of the collarbone...
her knuckles...

it's perfect... so serene when i'm paying for salt...
it's so pristinely primed to pay
for clearly-founded boundaries of:
me towing woman...

- i too have my boundaries... shifting like
tectonic pancakes...
the glorified amorality of women...
once every four years...
that's enough...
i don't need insect-esque gratifications...
there's plenty...

- which is why i adore advertisements more than
journalism per se...
let's pair them together:
advertisers and journalists...
expand... journalists are not historians...
nor... myth-crafters...
perhaps... if one might be amnesia prone...
but i love advertisers for the simple reason that:
i, don't. have... the... money... to... spend...
on... their... worthwhile...
it is worthwhile... *******...

       if you don't have the money to spend...
cue some advertisement slogan:
it's unbelievably encouraging to
continue: however the hopelessness
of bachelorhood is deemed by...
well... if a woman masturbates with the use
of a *****...
i imitate a **** with a boney hand...
and probably perform one genocide after another...

it's not like i hate Polacks...
fellow people...
i don't live among you...
and i'm not going to satisfy a diaspora "get together"...
either...
i'll take the romance of history...
some variation of journalism...
some Cornish clotted cream...
                 it's not like i had some relevancy that
might translate a point of...
because one might be from Warsaw...

and under the Nazis and the overtly ambitious
Bolsheviks...
as a ******... you think i can't brush this
Vestern... voke... brigading: "anti-fascist" *****...
ahem... aside?
you need to come full-swinging...
******* hammer & sickle...
you know... it took two superpowers,
longer... to conquer Lachistan...
than it took herr H to overpower... France...

the worst that might happen... mob rule...
i become cancelled... 2nd, 3rd... 4th time i'm so tired
of this same-old *******-riddling a **** that
i might as well attempt to rub my genitalia in
sand or... shattered glass...
no matter... no one to beg the "difference"...

the Sarmatians... no wonder i would base...
favouritism for the Shiah branch of Islam...
Iran and Islam would never pair up, proper...
after all... what excuse has a proud Iranian to do with...
a bunch of camel-jockeys?!
true religion... i'm so abounding in thanks
for seeing how early a schism took place...
thank you...

bad grammar: i'm so abounding in thanks for how early
a schism took place... see / sought what?!

i don't hate my fellow... ethnic... countrymen...
i just live among them...
and not living among them makes my
thinking: dissonant: dissociative...
i'd allow the union jack get tattooed on my ***
if i were guaranteed a *******
by some english ****...

just saying... *** isn't pwetty...
pour me a proper glug of bourbon and let's forget
the "matter" even existed...

oh i'll find: hounding reasons to keep this
language is some variation of a check...
the clarity of pronunciation....
beside the letters as surds...
and those... no entirely... used?

to love a people most foreig...
it's not like England was expected to declare war
just because... "my" country was invaded by...
two superpowers...
it's not like Brussels mud...
Polish "aviators" in dog fights over Dover...
but no... English soldier on... ****** soil...
so... so?
journalism kills of history:
day by day... each day...
give 'em enough murk and muck
enough smoke... enough mirrors...
and some bread to tow... stale...
hell... reinvent the point of the coliseum!

the modern Italians aren't the ancient Romans...
why?
the orthodox liberal: implied: satisfaction
with the word...
and the men were such grand... surrogates...
the women were allowed to be children throughout...
unaccountable...
***** bank-loads...
           avenues-for-future...
but the ancient roman men were so...
libertine...
in their take on being, the aliases of...
surrogate fathers...
when all other ancient peoples demanded...
pyramids and authentic lineages...
these people came along and...
gay giraffes...
******* gay giraffes...
o.k. gay giraffes...
                  
ancient Rome never achieved clausure
of "my" people...
we weren't.. Afghani... lingering GREAT
Britannia...
the supposed arguments only came after...
beside Philip Augustus...
who, who else?
          
by the passing of waters...
the trivial feud of the tides...
and the counting of grains of sand...
the viking celebration of poetry...
and the current conundrum of...
all that's a misgiving of aimed at... practicing...

Ecgberht!
     Ecgberht!
                             Ecgberht!

now let me enjoy a drinking-repose...
i've said enough:
in that... i've said too little or nothing at all...
time will teach...
space will pulverise with newly established
standards of science...
time will teach...
      break the Runes apart...
open a grieving momentum for...
reading Glagolitic...

                   revive: Eck-bert for me...
i have some cringe question.s.. to ask...
mein: brecht... Xa Xa... not Aguera's Ja...
Greek... although spoken Greek does sound
a bit too much like Spinning-the Leotard...

bit-the-knuckle...
               baited-the-nail;
hammers' for some: schpoons!

.those had croutons had to be the best homemade croutons ever... for the Caesar salad... genius, adding fine cut rosemary and a red onion to the lettuce... and oh... um... the chicken? poached while wrapped in clingfilm, and then gently fried... well... so much for watching the techniques on Australia's master-chef... and then the schnitzel... it had to be tenderized, but then gently smashed with a mallet... i'd say... less than five centimeters thick, drizzled with some lemon juice, to cut through the fat... obviously the beer helped to oil up the afternoon, d'uh...

and now i'm sitting here thinking...
that B.B.C. drama, bodyguard?
that's something...
     some of it was shot, would you believe,
in the offices of Tate Modern...
oh sure... you can see the Millennial Bridge
veering off to the left of the camera short,
but i'm pretty sure,
that the Globe Theater sits pretty,
right next to the converted power-plant...

anyways... so i'm sitting there,
drinking my Blackbeard (*** and coke)
solving a sudoku, per usual late night
drinking...
some people drink and go out and do
stupid **** like i also used to...
  now... i just drink and think of stupid things
to later not think about...
and it dawns on me...
   no... not exactly a hyper-happy dawn...
all it took was switching from listening
to U2 to listening to the Boss...
and it's like...
                       well... sudoku... it's not really
an intelligent puzzle... is it?
    i can do this **** drunk, or drinking...
and i'm like... it's not quiet an optical
illusion... more like the optics of a blocked
toilet...
                puzzle no. 10201...
my eyes are strained, i'm getting tunnel
vision... difficulty? easy...
   but there's no thinking involved...
i'm solving this ******* while free-falling
toward another glass of Blackbeard...
the final numbers from each of the lines /
grids fall through
   [4], [8], [9], [6], [5], [2],
                                           [1], [3], [7]...
and while drinking came the dawn...
there's nothing intelligent about this
puzzle...
                  it's just an optical strain...
yes, it's not an optical illusion...
but what it is? is an
                                       optical strain...
tested, on a drinking man's patience...
the narrative went along the lines of:
****... ******* blanks everywhere...

9 over here
                                             no ******* 2
                                             'ere


                                              no 9 down here


a ******* 5
down here

           (italic sections read upward
from down) - normal read downward
from up -

it's like being disorientated by a heavy
blow to the head...

this might just be a dry night for
writing...
                                 or...
                                                well...
           just another blank space being filled.

I don’t actually know what I am typing
This is going to be like one of those sentences that you start
But don’t know where it’s going so you just keep talking

I am happy
Happier than I have been in so long
For a really long time
I thought God was against me
I didn’t know if I should put my faith in him or not
It’s actually called agnosticism
But I felt as if I had done something really bad when I was young
Because God kept throwing punches
And then he gave me some happy back
But then he took it away
And then he gave it back

I don’t know
It’s confuzzling
Yes i just used that word
I’m one of those people
I use fantabulous as an actual adjective
And I add -ly to any verb to make it an adjective
Yes, in case you were wondering
I’m pretty sure I’m crazy
But besides the point
I am happy

I’m not sure if anyone is reading this far in
This is pretty long anyway
And basically I’m just ranting

I have some major mental problems
If y’all have read any of my other poems you would know that there are a lot of things that ripped my heart out
And yes, I am also one of those people that uses the word y’all
I have anxiety, worried about everything and I get anxiety attacks at a good chunk of the football games I go to
I have depression, or some sort of mood swingy thing goin’ on there
I don’t really know
I’m just really sad all the time
There’s a lot more, but those are the most demanding of them all
It kinda makes life unbearable
But I live

Oh, oh, oh!
I just came up with what to call this piece
The Dumpster Fire Rant
Yeah
That’s my mom’s favorite saying
Or at least a close second to ‘do you want to be sent to live with your dad’
But the point is
I don’t know what the heck in huckleberry heck I’m talking about
Again, yes, I am that kind of person to say that
I’m basically just ranting here
Ranting about my major dumpster fire of a comedic life
And no one has probably even reached this far in the poem
Because it’s too long
And it’s basically me being a major dork
But I don’t care

I get made fun of quite a bit
I’m a nerd
And I’m considered smart, even though I’m pretty stupid in my opinion
I sing
To be exact, I sing and dance
At the same time
It’s called show choir
And no I’m not queer in any way, shape, or form
...well…
Nope.
That’s not a question I feel like talking about
If I answer what I am
I get scared and run in the opposite direction
Even if it’s something I can’t change
So I rather not think about the possibilities
I am the girl who stands in front of the mirror each day
And decides I am pretty
Only to be told by everyone
Including my family and closest friends
That I am ugly
Even if they don’t say it directly
They make the slightest comment
And I feel like I was shot

I am also the girl who reads at lunch while listening to Frank Turner
The artist who no one I know knows
I am the one who says the darndest things
Like fudge buckets, or shiitake mushrooms on a swiss burger on a Wednesday afternoon
And I say croutons like crouwtons, and tells autocorrect to shove off when it tells me that’s wrong
I am the one who eats mac and cheese with ketchup and ranch
And I am the one who drinks orange juice with my spaghetti
I get it
I am weird
And I am a target
And I practically am asking for it
But I can’t explain it
That’s just the way I am

I am pretty fricken sure that no one is still reading this

Sometimes
I just need a good rant
And I only know you virtually
So you are my therapist
Except with less awkward silence and the weird fact that you’re being evaluated by another person
And can practically see their thoughts behind their eyes
Or is that just me?
Anyway
You didn’t have to say anything
Or even read the whole thing
Or any of it at all
But it’s out there
My rant is out there
My dumpster fire is burning bright
And it is out there
So thank you virtual therapists who I don’t know and probably haven’t even read this far in.
Thank you.

Did it hurt when you fell—
Fell out of love with him
Did you feel an overwhelming sense of sadness?
Hold a pity party?
Did it happen while you two were out in public?
Or in the comfort of your home?
Where there people around?
Or was it just you two stuck with each other?
In the dark, under the covers
Did he stare at you for just a moment longer then usual before speaking?
Do you feel anything now when as you sit there with his head in your lap and tousle his wavy brown hair like old times
For the sake of feeling something
Does he still make you smile?
No a sad one does not count
Does he still take your breath away?
Not when his hands are clawing at your throat but just like the first time you two met
I still remember
Does he still ask for hugs?
Good ol bear hugs and  not the sticky ones
Does he still listen to you?
When your hurting and not when he has 5 minutes to spare
Does he still take you out?
No not after a nasty row
Yes these walls are very thin
Does he get angry at you?
For the sky being blue?
For being fired?
Burning the croutons?
Run and don’t look back!

Neither one seems highfalutin
not worried whether their salads have croutons
and the myths surrounding both of them,
and that tear 'em apart, they'd both seem on the mend.
Discussions seem pertinent
not about the latest street merchants.
Topics include climate change.
I wish everybody would drop the subject
and be satisfied with the climate as it is.
It gets to be a haze
with the problem suggested to be the public
as if we just aren't with it
if we don't care to talk about it.
The election meddling?
I don't know what was said
but there was probably someone outside heckling
and in the meantime wanting a med.
They discussed aspect of war
maybe
but not so much, I bet who they're for
and they didn't make casual remarks like save me.
This topic was suggested
just like the Spiderman poem.
I did my best with both of them!

I came,
I saw,
.... I added croutons

Leaves small, big, thick, thin
With beautiful  chin
Light green, pale green, dark green but all  green
Some croutons are colorful scene
Loading the tree
Sprawling all over free
With twigs and stems
Fitted in plant's frame
Carrying flowers near them
Fragrance spread in abundance
To the nostrils to incense
Leaves have their own society
A club of property
Horizontal, vertical, conical
Above and below
Swinging and dancing
Drawing in winds palm
Appear calm

Weathermen are pushing the storm.
Nobody noteworthy died today.
Eight to twelve on the Twins.
Havoc on the plains and cancellations
pending. No travel advised.
The schools flaked out before
the first wind blew, and the office
is gutted parental.
Milks are shoveled in carts,
pricey waters too. Croutons
got hoarded like hardtack,
and only the lettuce remains,
only the lettuce, the leeks,
and a few fibrous cereal grains.

I am a person
and member of society
as decreed by our majestic queen
on my nativity's receipt.

I am a person
and that is a tree
though where its leaves end and I begin
can't be cast in concrete.

I am a person
and so are you
though where your fingers entwine
with mine they fray to filaments and fuse.

We are edgeless electronic soup
our neurons move like croutons
our dreams clot and swirl like cream
you are carrot, I am parsnip
basking under leaves of parsley.

The queen grasps her coronation spoon
from which she sups on callaloo.