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Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.penta - come in: like i said, horror movie soundtracks, i fall asleep listening to them... they're so atmospheric i, simply can't resist their inherent allure.

the infamous Croydon cat killer...
i'm not buying what the media is selling...
i'm currently in the possession
of a quasi-pet...
  a fox...
comes round my garden for food,
leftovers...
which i give to him with overcooked
rice...
      no... i'm not buying the police report...
two reason...
you know where Croydon is...
and when the next incident happened?
north east London...
   did the fox... ******* swim?!
a fox is not a migratory animal...
   it's niche...
   it's local...
   if it has a sustained food source...
scavenger that it is...
omnivore like a petted dog...
  no...
i don't buy it...
              why would it transverse
south west London and strike in
north east London...
    did Herr Fusch
and why were the bodies left as evidence?
this fox has a *******
fetish for cranium meat or something?
i'm no Mr. Softie for the company
of a fox...
     but on the outskirts of London...
cats and foxes share a strange
   symbiosis...
   ever walk the dark Essex roads
at night, and peer into the fox
and the house-cat look at each other with
curiosity?
      like all serial killers...
it begins with animals,
there's always the audacity with animals...
most of them would probably become
model citizens, if they were allowed
a job at a slaughter house...
   so the mainstream media explains
the Croydon cat killer as a fox...
a fox that decapitates a body...
   and doesn't eat the torso?!
******* magic!
that's not how mature nature of
the wild works: you either eat...
or you're eaten..
        my neighbors owned ducks...
you think that when a fox
dug a hole beneath the cage...
there was a duck torso and a missing
duck head?
ha ha! good luck!
       why would a wild animal **** something...
and not eat it?
    a Swizz fondu makes more sense
than this explanation!
no cautionary animal,
that is primarily a scavenger,
travels from south west London
to north east London...
             BULL...****...
       BULL... ****!
           i don't feed my Brody because
i think he's cute...
   i feed him...
     because i randomly feel like it...
do foxes even own the concept
of a head terrine delicacy?
   my little ******* will eat
rice mingling with off-cuts of meat
and fat...
           so... he bit the head off...
but left the torso for evidence?!
BULL... ****...
oh i'm pretty sure a shy, a very shy
bored Jimmy is lurking in the shadows...
shy bored Jimmies need
a canvas of innocence...
animals are their primal choice...
  well... considering that Cain
was a vegetarian and Abel wasn't...
          he's lying low...
he needs to wake up from the adrenaline
rush...
   he needs for it to cool down...
a fox doesn't leave torso evidence...
and what would be the point of...
   did they say whether the heads
were guillotined, or chewed off?
no ******* animal chews off a head,
unlikely for an animal
to decapitate another animal...
   only human imagination provides that
sort of ingenuity...
         crock ****... basic crock ****...
blame the foxes...
     ha ha!
find me this shadowy little Jimmy before
he boasts about
the human sin of being gullible....
thank **** i'm not a campaigner...
   what i do with "my" fox is concerned
with ecological advantages...
also something akin
  to a Monday morning...
and how my neighbor's trash isn't littered
over the road... because
the wolf was fed, and so the sheep
too...
                 there is no logic to
the claim that a fox made methodological
killings of pets...
   if you ever walked
the streets at night,
and watched the stare-off between
a fox and a cat...
   last time i checked:
   cats have claws and a ferocious bite...
foxes? no claws...
just the bite...
oh, right... what am i listening to?
    penta -            come in...
   i'm still thinking of little Jimmy in the shadows,
collecting his decapitated
   cat heads... and stuffing them
with fiddles of a post-scriptum
to the Hollywood movie genre...
   oh believe me...
from what i heard of Eddie the Gain...
20th century alternative culture
was basically him
being covertly cited...
            no...
a fox wouldn't do it...
   if it was a a duck / chicken affair...
sure...
   but cats being decapitated...
and the torsos left as evidence,
i.e. not being eaten?
         little Jimmy is taking a break...
given that: i'm pretty sure a Bonsai
tiger knows a few tricks about
how a predator defends himself...
          then again, the explanation
could be:
  too many cat videos...
             cats aren't cute...
they're bogus critters who are in
the potential of biting and scratching...
come one...
all the way from south west London...
to north east London?!
foxes don't travel that far,
and the closest route would be
by a hypotenuse vector...
   sooner proving Santa Claus
exists...
    and...
              it couldn't be the same fox...
wild animals are analogous...
but they're certainly not original copy-cats...

coming from a newspaper
like the times:
   i'm vaguely allured to claim them
left-leaning... right-centrist for sure...
but they're still quasi-Guardian
types...

the topic at hand came,
thanks to no. 10,154 sudoku puzzle...
and the narrative...

1    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    5
0    5   ­ 0    0    2    0    0    3    0
0    4    0   6    0    5    0    1    0
0    0    2   0    0    0    8    0    0
0    0    5    4    0    3    7    0  ­  0
0    3    0    5    0    2    0    6    0
0    6    0    8   ­ 0    1    0    9    0
5    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    1
­0    7    0    0    6    0    0    4    0

ut 10,153 was a mess...
i can only suppose it was too simple...

let's just say i had to think
of something,
esp. little Jimmy...
    
                        and the scapegoat fox...
after all: it's the easiest route...
   pretending that a wild
animal is to behave in a civilized manner...
but even wild animals
do not behave like
meticulous killers...
          and decapitation?
it an example of a civilized
meticulousness of a killing...
        
i sniff a rat, a see a rat...
             mainstream media is a load
of *******, and hardly an outrage
of der stimme...
    
foxes don't assert methodological killings...
little Jimmy... whittle Jimmy...
taking a break...
having made foundation
in the first membrane of audacity...
sooner or later...
little Jimmy is moving from cats,
and into the territory of humans...

they all do...
  "they"?
        serial killers!

          that wasn't a fox...
i'm petting a fox at this moment in time...
well.. petting is a lose term...
otherwise strapped to:
"petting"...

           but as you do... solving a sudoku...
here's the linear
narrative:

   (b) 8 8 1 1 3 4 7 9 7 7 9 9 4 9 7 9 4 7
(a) 1 1 5 5 5 1 6 6 7 7 8 2 3 4 9 6 6 6 8 2 3 2 4 4 8 3 9 3 9 2 3 2 2 8 8

and you do think up crazy ****
while you're at it...

1    2    6    9    3    8    4    7    5
7    5    8    1­    2    4    9    3    6
3    4    9   6    6    5    2    1    8
4    1    2   7    9    6    8    5    3
6    8    5    4    1    3    7    2  ­  9
9    3    7    5    8    2    1    6    4
2    6    4    8   ­ 5    1    3    9    7
5    9    3    2    4    7    6    8    1
­8    7    1    3    6    9    5    4    2

but then the everyday newspaper
you read on the everyday
from Monday to Friday....
and there's a newspaper magazine...
ah...
   so that's the problem...
i'm not bundled up in a demographic
nearing retirement age?!

the Croydon cat-killer is still out there...
  a fox wouldn't leave a decapitated
torso as evidence...

as the one simple rule of nature suggests:
NATURE DOESN'T BELIEVE
IN LANDFILL SITES...
IT BELIEVES IN RECYCLING...
a fox that chews off a head
of a cat, and doesn't drag the torso into
the forest to eat?
   well... let's just suppose
that idiocy doesn't exactly permeate
in the wild...
              less a stupid animal...
more a selfish / slothful animal...
  foxes are neither...

             little Jimmy is still out there...
with his love for souvenirs of
cat heads...
           and he's buying time...
so a scapegoat emerges...
  
        if a fox did what was "supposedly" done...
i'm pretty sure there would be
no evidence...
          left...

you get the picture?
  Michael Myers began experiments
on animals... as did Jeffrey Dahmer with
road-****...
                can't someone make an outlet
for these people to work
in slaughterhouses?!
                    they'd be perfect!

decent human beings:
in the most indecent human conditions -
and i'm pretty sure these guys
would love working
in the slaughterhouses...

  i could, for some reason,
forget vegetarians akin to Adolf ******
by then!
topaz oreilly Nov 2012
You're a Street Map that has to be believed.
George Street 1975 then a jewel in everybody's  Crown, Mister K too.
Croydon had it all, the weekly Safeway shopping -
Grants , North End, Greyhound and L & H Cloake,
even a Manhattan skyline -
Shop girls  I was too young to know
a la W.H Smith's Whitgift Centre
with a surfeit of ready Queen  albums!
even the YMCA  
would have done Disco
B.T Express's "do it till your satisfied"
I believe,
and the always evergreen
Van Damme Bar.
The Tavern in the Town
fondly recalled.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
-
I: tonight! at the Oscars!

i really had to watch the whole show
twice, to convince myself of
something;
    the first time i watched it i was
as any usual idiot aspiring to
wow!
                      you know the usual
finesse,
             a bunch of humble people
with diamonds that belong
                                     to hades,
or at least the j. r. r. tolkien dwarves,
       and the masked king
          under the dome of the theatre
or rather:
           when does an actor, not act?
and i thought the mob
    that went to see ballet clapped
too much...
                        boy i had it coming
with this crowd...
                  these one-legged actors
seem to clap more than
    your typical pleb like me at
                       a ballet performance;
but this was only upon first sitting.

2nd sitting? ooh - a cringe (show
a face of constipation with closed eyes
and skidding mouth trying
to usher in the crin-  with a floating
                    -dg         - the d being
subtle) show...
                     the majority of americans
are of german descent, although
they speak english, right?
      and i thought english humour
was bad...
                        upon watching highlights
a 2nd time,
      i started smelling a rat...
         weinstein...
               sure, sure...
                          but who's that young
girl sitting next to guillermo del toro?  
      holding his arm as if clinging
to daddy issues - but hey!
               there's the aqua god hidden
somewhere in that bag of meat
               finely, finely attired!  
yeah... and i have an easter bunny
shoved up my ***,
                    and mother goose too!  
and black, so much black,
                 well, khaki doesn't cut it
really...
              but by watching the highlights
the second time
           it just felt like
     quote from the phantom tailor,
i.e. you hurt my feelings!
   chic? what's chic?
          chick-chicky-poo-brains...
        crass, man, absolutely crass...
     the absolute german joke:
    regarding the best picture
            award from last year...
              it just so happened that
the academy made a mistake between
a BLACK movie, and a musical...
     and in this years "ceremony"
            the hurt feelings had to be
appeased and what: the barbarian horde
expected was - but not on the last
minute whim...
            well, bull in a china shop,
     the closest i can come to the grace
of a balerina, is to curl my toes inward,
  and then stand up and walk the crow
walk... the opposite of how a gorilla
does the same with its hands.

***** please, don't confuse hans zimmer
with: are you sure that
   john williams isn't plagiarising
himself all the time?
           so, i came up with a new category,
the sort of guys
    who choose the music for such
films like baby driver...
                          can't argue that that
film is the ******* purely on the basis
of what soundtrack was behind it...
how about there's an oscar for those
music nerds?

II: i never follow the exact recipe -
    this is my body (pepper),
                          this is my blood (salt)
.


just 'ave a look at this:

ingredient list from
     two different recipes
     (a) epicurius.com
                      (b) pekishme.com
   (c) ... the hybrid

  (no measurements are to be given
in the later revealed hybrid
   as in the following two recipe
sources for a reason...
        i'll admit... the only branch
of chemistry i was good was
       organic: or rather - the i see) -
i've seen too many english women
sticking to "guidelines"
  and have seen at least two
marriages where a woman didn't
understand the concept of
       al dente, that later had to be
cooked to a nice chew in the sauce
after having rested in a seive
   drizzled with oil, prior to being
cooled with cold water to stop cooking...

                   A                                              B
butter          ­                                       fettuccine
breadcrumbs                                    cutterf­ish
fresh basil                                         shrimps
chopped fresh thyme                      clams
mussel                          ­                     white wine
water                                                 double cream
olive oil                                            onions
zucchini   ­                                         garlic
yellow summer squash                  thyme
red bell pepper                                oregano
garlic             ­                                    olive oil
shrimps                                            parmesan cheese
scallops
fettuccine

                                     C      
butter                                                
br­eadcrumbs                                    
                   ­                                         shrimps
                ­                      
mussel                                               white wine
                                                           double cream
olive oil                                            onions
           ­                                                garlic
                                                          ­ thyme
                                                           oregano

                                                        ­   parmesan cheese

fettuccine

and there are problems with reading two
recipes...
         e.g. you can't exactly use wine
and cream and also add
  zucchinil, yellow summer squash                  
& red bell pepper with these mild
sensations that are not balanced
akin to cream and wine (esp. white),
fresh basil? doesn't go with cream...
fresh thyme does go along with meat,
notably, lamb?

    dried thyme & oregano are
a match made in heaven...

      point being,
            the crucial aspect of fusing
recipe (a) with recipe (b)
  is the butter and breadcrumbs...
    you melt the butter and brown
the breadcrumbs in it...
    let them cool, and then sprinkle
them on the dish...
    you can also infuse the addition
of cream with parmesan,
  as you might also add extra on
top...
                 but the point of
recipe (a) crux is the breadcrumbs
mingling with everything
   in recipe (b) - but also with
what's essential in recipe (a) rubric.

III: code.

    for a while i forgot where you begin
writing html...
            blanked man, blanked...
     oh... right... in the notepad
and then you save the file under
   under index.htm
             with a sub-heading ALL TEXT...
but at this point it's really caveman
talk to me, the ones using the language
proficiently have been taught
by pioneers in the field,
            and it's not about wealth
distribution, but about knowledge...
  
e.g.
      <!DOCTYPE html>
<html>                         but why not <\html>?
<body>                         but why not <\body>?

<h1>me being late</h1>
<p>the first word is spelled mama, or gaga?</p>

</body>
</html>

           with those questions in italics
  i can't see no gate opening, nor closing
     subsequently with <h1> and <p>,
               apparently the gates
    are always open and there needs
               to a constant flow through them.

sure, smart, but dumb at the same time;

because i can tell you,
i once had an "I.T" "teacher" in my youth,
charged 20 quid an hour,
and all he managed to "teach" me
was how to change the, ******* screenshot!

it's not exactly true what they say
about teachers... it's not that if you can't
do, you teach... the darker side is:
                       you scam.

IV: ✡.

       there is no such thing as a "secret"
among the rich,
    as there certainly isn't such a thing
as a "conspiracy" among the poor.

V: the croydon cat-killer.

this isn't even an urban myth told
in thailand by hippies...
        let me tell you,
          when you spot a decapitated
cat, lying on the street while
walking at night,
   and you've read about where
this story originated, i.e. croydon
you start to start looking
   for that pathetic sadist...
   thinking to yourself:
           well, and we met, would
you have the ***** to do that to me?
  i'm gagging for a chance encounter,
just to see the ****** breakdown
upon trying to move to an upper
tier of this depraved practice.
Antony Glaser Feb 2016
Croydons just a new build away
if it wasn't for the once East European office blocks fad
its now inviting human capital
to dwell in jolly new builds
and with the new Westfield proposed
most indigenous inhabitants will sell up.
They knocked down the Warehouse Theatre
to prove barbarians rule.
The Central library feels lobotomised
is it part privatised ?
Nothing lasts or stands for real
in Croydon
its a place with an itch
whatever dog it represents
is your guess.
Edna Sweetlove May 2015
Yes! Yes! It's a great "Barry Hodges" memories poem involving *** and degredation!*

O Croydon, dormitory town of happy memories
With your delightfully sixties-style Ashcroft Theatre
And your many enchanting concrete underpasses!
O delightful borough so deservedly renowned
As one of the major English centres of wife-swapping,
That quintessentially bourgeous weekend pastime
And surefire antidote to inevitable marital ennui!
O gracious queen of the central south London suburbs
And gay paradise of semi-detached commutersville
O I cannot sing your praises ******* loudly enough
Nor can I deny the charms of your public toilets,
Where I have oft times enjoyed a **** with a gayish stranger!
topaz oreilly Jan 2013
What has happened to our Croydon?
Where is Allders and the Warehouse Theatre?
even our Market is disappearing!
do you think you can tell,
when you stopped being our town?
Don't  put us in line
with Norbury.
Antony Glaser Jan 2016
They killed off Croydon
when we eventually lost Safeways;
no butter milk or Blue Nun
no intelligent 70s decor
or ghosts of people with a touch of sense
walking the aisles contemplating
Kate Bush verses the Motors
for their wine bar aperitif;
or acknowleding  Croydons appearance taking a hit
with the Park Hill estate.
That hasty built ****** record store
nudging your independents.
Times are a changing
not yet year zero
yesteryear still good
Antony Glaser Jul 2021
Croydon
You ask me
how I should feel there are 14 vacant
closed shops in Croydon?.

A town that presides
over its last boom and bust
isn't worthy.
Still  The Councils "Brick by Brick"
the culprit
lays bankrupt
No management buyout yet!
as the rest of central Croydon
mushrooms not in office blocks,
but living quarters,
for the overpriced town center,
the middle class
who won't help footfall,
as they still buy online,
further depressing the same again
And the town is a big gush
with the wind and dust battering it.
Antony Glaser Jan 2016
Try to spit and polish those
old braces, despite prestigious inconsistencies.
New builds for either part shares
or your out landlishly riche are
befuddled social engineering.
What ever happened to the old way
education bringing up the
working classes.
instead of parachuting people in.
Money talks instantly;
no value seen in nurturing development
just sales and free wifi connections
cargo cults to upset Croydon
Antony Glaser Mar 2016
Innocent green Country bus
to Warlingham
some say its a nicer place.
But we've got an Elizabethian Almshouse
and the Whitgift Centre is sterling.
The Sun has every reason to smile
we've got Lloyds park overlooking
a Manhattan style skyline,
but have we ignored the uncosmic
North of the Borough,
even West Croydon is a jaggered corner,
making unequal development a mea culpa for the future
topaz oreilly Jan 2013
Fine legged Samantha held my hand
emerging from her shell,
buttermilk from Safeway's
matching her milk skin,
then a stroll to buy a camera.
Being that intentional,
she only wanted a semi automatic,
a shutter priority to capture my widening smiles.
I was  fully into manual
to capture both
her occasional wiles
and throw of tousled hair.
With slide film
we walked to Lloyds Park
Camelot of the possible,
as though Manhattan peered
from the east.
Clearly the days before
the Summer drought,
our slides captured well preserved images
lasting into time.
jo spencer Jul 2013
Off to buy a discounted Pentax Spotmatic 2
down Purley Radios.
I want  to book a holiday in Scarborough too.
Dracula's  brood back in Shirley
deserve a wait long for that postcard.
Later I plan to take Rachel to  see
"The Phantom of the Paradise"
and together buy some vinyl  down HR Cloakes.
"Calamity Jane", by  Stray Dog I suggest
Parfait is  the  world  for us  bedsitters in Waddon.
Antony Glaser Jul 2017
Croydon you're a ghost ship
boarding on the isle of ridiculousness
Erecting flats for millionaires
social housing a swept away issue.
Alas there's your North South devide
Can the Town planners rectify  the polarisation,
that's sees only Tory and Labour
with no third party mooring the agenda.
Liberal Democrats don't do to well in Croydon. I wonder why ?
Antony Glaser May 2018
The ***** sleeps on the bench,
people walk by,
they need their necessities ;
even though they cannot afford to chose morality .
All they want is their supernova.
Empathy is just too taxing
for their fettered brains.
jo spencer Sep 2013
Croydon was never the same
after 65
when it was sawn in half.
Wellesley underpass like
a strewn underbelly,
gave the Motor vehicle its commensurate order.
Whitgift middle schools playing fields uprooted south
making way for the,
Whitgift Centre, old before its time,
like Dorian Gray in reverse.
I recall Grants department store closing in 1980.
presiding over an omen, we could not afford a niche,
only for it to become an entertainment venue.
Standardization became our
inalienable right
with the soul of the centre dying
death by a thousand cuts,
not helped by the recent riots.
But Croydon will survive.
Mary Gay Kearns Oct 2018
The dragonflies and meadow-sweet
Follow the banks of ‘The Wandle’
Allowing what is hidden and not heard
Behind posted iron railings
To be noted, found on a map, imagined
Its very name conjures up the river’s journey
Drawing one into its currents and flows
A place of beauty where time seems slow
Rippling the edges of thought, living as a space,
Exploration, given  by inclusion and exclusion
Forever to ‘wandle along’ under the sky
Between the gaps in the real
And what finds itself from what
Came before in experience and words.

Love Mary x
The River Wandle is the largest river of the south southwest sector of London, England. Its name is thought to derive from the community around its mouth, Wandsworth. About 9 miles long, it passes through the London Boroughs of Croydon, Sutton, Merton, and Wandsworth to join the River Thames on the Tideway..
Mouth: River Thamesnn
Antony Glaser Jun 2018
Croydon, Greater London
is the place to live.
Labour other than the South.
Its got 2 poetry groups for your perusal,
and a World cup Box park for your delight.
plus 12 libraries.
and the soaring Eagles
Crystal Palace
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
most nations are divided by
either the south vs. the north,
or the east vs. the west,
well... some, not all,
there's no clear indication that
there's a true indicator -

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

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

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

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

ah yes... a reminder:
with a northern ale in the southern lands
of england...
   ******* southern fairies...
      bollocking northern monkeys.
Jai Oct 2013
Snowy,foley,blowy,
Showery,flowery,bowery,
Hoppy,Croydon,droopy,
­Breezy,sneezy,freeze.
And the twelve months.
Antony Glaser Jun 2018
save our cities
widen footfalls,
build flats for ownership.
vote Labour to protect our libraries,
make Croydon travel zone four,
and try for Americanos for less than 2 pounds.
Antony Glaser Apr 2022
We eat our chopped  aubergine
and dinned on Safeway white wine
Croydon was like a civic jewel in the crown
We were the Manhattan of the South

We had our record shops Beanos and Cloakes
music was our soul
We had the renowned Fairfield Halls
saw Camel play there
and we drank with mirth
from the abundance of pubs
Here's the story told to me about our glorious infantry.

Louts,rapscallions,friends battalions
arm in arm and full of glee
marching off to join the infantry.

In the rear lines drinking fine wines,hock,moselle,some burgundy
and some drinking ginseng flavoured tea from some far flung idea of Empire
while only half a mile along the road the whole world was on fire,
were the fat arsed generals with their horses, waiting on their second courses,
crepes and franzipans and to a man they didn't care that the war was waiting there,
'let the ******* wait',they'd say,
after all that was the gentlemanly way.

The bullets striped us left to right and falling into our own falling ***** we'd call for mum and dad
aye lads
aye lads
war is bad
but for the buggers at the rear who never so much as once came near the sound of a gun,
war was fun a chance to socialise,
society is full of lies and leaders they were not.
But death's got their number on his shell,they'll soon be joining us in hell,
so ****** them and sod the lot
were in a spot,we'll not get home,splintered bone and mangled limb and corporal thinks it's still a sin to swear
well ****** him as well,we no longer care.
As we share a final smoke,Johnny tells his favourite joke about three generals and some place called,but I forget the punch line as the time has come for one more bullet,one more gun and silence.

In Croydon,Roydon and North of Watford Gap,families are spoon fed some wholesome krap from drip fed Sergeants,battle,shield and argent,honour King and all the other little things that the senselessness of death brings home.
Let them keep their fields filled full with glory,we know the ***** **** filled story,
war is bad
war is bad
I'm glad that I cant fight no more.
Antony Glaser Apr 2022
Cynical Town,
knocking houses down
to be made in flats,
except when there's a colony
of crested newts.

A thwarted town regeneration,
tombstones of empty shops.
Voting on the 5th May
for a consensual mayor
Goodbye Labour,
you have unnerved Croydon.
topaz oreilly May 2014
No blinding light only the wariness
of the daily fracture
Croydon how I wish it was goodbye
you lost your voice  a long time ago.
I  remember how our played  out rendezvous
stripped away the pretense
I have often thought of candle light as a masquerade
flickering like a contestant
and the only cure is the drifting Coombe Woods
where I  can hide under those autumnal leaves,
finally letting it go.











.
#love
Antony Glaser Jan 2015
Clap to the tune of the modern thymes.
Ones lucky to get an Americano  for under £1.50p in London
It's time to count the pennies
by moving to Stoke on Trent Staffordshire
it seems to be affordable
unless all those London rehoused
are already there.
Its better than Croydon  though.
oatmeal  crumbs yo see
gives you a soft landing
safeguarding the streets
I feel a little  safer less bother
Daniel J Weller Jul 2018
You weren't the poetic one, but I just read Kaddish
and thought of you;
           of 1998 beach photo, Sussex somewhere - as I
remember you, perhaps a bit younger;
           of sweet peroxide blonde, hiding brunette. I was
naive to the dye 'til I saw 'the Hepburn shot' - that 1950
something print, you in Rembrandt light,
           or the black beehive wig in family portrait—
1970ish— dicky bows and cocktail dresses - Dad, aged
seven, in a shirt and trousers;
           of youthful snapshots: Portobello Beach, Edinburgh
(4), with parents in Kent (8), your gang of girls some snowy
place (14), painting the house with Raymond in Croydon (20);
           of latter digital images, 2012, more gaunt and wrinkled,
but ever-beautiful - seemingly ageless, as you wished;

           of care and trust and overdone vegetables, thin gravy,
brussel sprout production lines - beautiful, mundane memories
at Cowfold breakfast bar or Langley Green kitchen tops;
           of seaside trips to Shoreham, Portsmouth, Brighton, dogs
homes and holding my hand past the loud ones;
           of picking roses from the garden for 'perfume' - sticky
hands, wet floors and beautiful smells;
           of early morning rude awakenings, met only with cheer
and offers of tea and toast - I still have your butter tray
(hospitable even in death);
           of my brother's wedding, taking time to jive and seem
alive whilst everyone else was dying inside, despite the fact
that it was you, and you only, who should care the most (and
thus, if you didn't, why should we have);
           and of that very temperament, infamous tempers never
shown—at least to us—just pure, kind acceptance and
forgiveness.

           You weren't the poetic one.
           You were; the ninth child of a ****** and his wife
                              the girl with the Scottish accent
                              the wife of an engineer from Mitcham
                              the mother of three, the loser of one
                              the stern face of discipline
                              the BT telephone operator, the masseuse
                              the grandmother of three boys
                              the ageless face of beauty
                              the one I remember best

           You told me you couldn't recall your siblings' names -
I've looked into it. Ada, Jack, Edie, Emmie, Mabel, Joyce,
Raymond, Terence.
Beaulieu, France, July 2018

(to my late grandmother Margaret Rose Olga Weller)
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2021
chopper: chop-off-chew; a 502 bad gateway bypass cheat code...

i know what i'll spend my money earned on, in what priority, i'll spend them on a brothel, i'll spend them on a *******: after all... she will spend that earned money on trivial matters, she will buy a pair of shoes: i'll buy a pair of shoes when the ones i'm wearing will become worn... i hope i can write this without an inkling toward spite... i'm happy to be childless, i'm happy to not be married... how best to decipher my feeling, at present... FAUN... WAINAMOINEN... i will not trust the leftist cosmopolitan brigade to break up this... resurgence of a folkish spirit among the Hyperboreans... making a resurgence in song, in wording... covert... under the radar... seemingly sleeping... even Heidegger mentions this... of the people is very much distinct to: of the folk... people inhabit cities and the make-shift constructs of nations... the folk? they inhabit the land! why should an African feel welcome among the winters and the crows... when i... giggle like a child... foreign among the lost seasons at the equator with the macaque monkeys?! these people are not here to belong... they know it themselves... however many safety-nets are placed for our liberal liking & their comfort... they are unnaturally "here"... our own worst enemies... white "liberal elites"... one cocktail after a second... after... no more water to churn out alcohol... these people have come for a reason... i don't know what the reason is... better living is hardly requesting more complications from technology... when life can be simplified from the closest of the most close connections... hier: hoch norden?! alle er tabt! tysk er æsten dansk...
deutsch ist fast dänisch! we might have fought wars among each other... but at least we belonged, together, even i... liberal as i were, for so long... it's not like i can't be... leaving a route for allowance for other cultures, other races... but... i'm... becoming more... detached from reality... detached from purpose... from the geography... from the forest... language is my last defence... these people shouldn't be here because they shouldn't be here: they shouldn't be here because... there's no need for me to be among their culture! their people! if i don't need to be somewhere, why should someone "think" it necessary to be among "my", people? mongrel ******* mongrel gives us this... ****** culture! hardly any tourism... i can be a tourist in Africa... would i want to live in Africa? no! so... why the ****... thank you Russia... WE, HAVE, NO, SHARED, STORIES... JUST... THESE... SOCIAL-JUSTICE ARGUMENTATIVE POINTS... EVERYTHING IS POLITICAL: HARDLY NARRATIVE... SUFFERING FROM MEMORY EROSION... IN THE IMMEDIACY OF JOURNALISTIC *******... i bemoan this sudden quest of man: because... i believe in its failure... a failure most gross... my heart prays for this ****** experiment to fail! fail it must! scheitern es muss! svigte det skal! lethargy kicks in... being too pleasing... too pleasant... my mind retorts: almost automatically... i'm QUITS! why? looking at children... i don't want them to suffer this mental diarrhoea in future years... i want them to look at faces most familiar... i'm SLEPT... i'm QUITS... ******* SAVVY?!


i've been a hermit for so long,
shunning human contact with only minor
outbursts of contact with strangers,
old men on park benches
talking about their grandchildren
and sons-in-law,
Rayleigh bicycles, seasonal diets
(not buying watery strawberries from
Spain in the winter months,
eating more vegetables - in general -
binging on local, seasonal fruit
from local farms),
prostitutes in the brothel, talking...
*******...
but always in concentrated outbursts
of interaction...
someone in London around Whitechapel
stopping me while he implored me
to fix his breaks...
hands up... listen: if i had some tools...
i'd try...
this spurned me on to now ride around
with some tools... i only need about three...
obviously i'm not going to take a *******
pump with me too... there's a reasonable
point of what i am willing to do for strangers...
so i gave him some advice...
it's the back break, that's faulty?
remember... take longer to break...
since the front break is only working you
might go forward by breaking too heavily...
and if you're going to break heavily...
stand up on your breaks...
and leverage yourself on the handlebars...
put extra pressure on them: top down...
homeless men...
once i ******* this woman for sitting
down on the pavement with this homeless man
i knew who migrated from Romford
to Seven Kings...
gave him a cigarette and laughed a while...
with some fwends... some autistic guy from
school who... got into drinking...
blah blah...
     so she starts attacking me with...
YOU! YOU! i just waved my hand and told her:
i'm not going to argue with you...
i suppose she was implying i was supposed
to be talking up women...
i was there for a Guinness...
later that same night i went to the brothel
for some love... or as i like to call it:
cuddle & giggles...
- that one time this crazy Rastafarian started
talking to me about the Hebrew deity
deformity (in his Rastafarian way)
we started talking from Romford
he dragged me to... Hackney... of all places
to distribute pamphlets to black Baptist churches
i had a "date" with a few fwends to watch
some boxing on t.v.,
- i won't even mention that one black guy
who took me on a carousel of his crack *******
addiction... that was a long time ago...
the two of us were strapped to the insides of
a phone-box while he took up a crack-*******
glass doo-di (what would you call it?
a glass smoking pipe?)
******* madman... that's also at the same time
i was having my first psychotic breakdown
from... smoking marijuana and fasting...
and walking around London...
so many more isolated instances of "dealing"...
interacting with... people...
now this... from my period of isolation...
social hibernation... where i threw myself at writing
so heavily hearted...
graveyards, forests... at night...
there was this one funny instance...
a car parked in Bower Wood...
took a while to take a **** on the grass...
owl... check... fox... check... rabbits... check...
deer... check... something cracked some
branches while i sat on a log bare-chested...
i actually opened my mouth and uttered
the words: that's not a human... is it, are you?!
walking almost blind screaming at the top
of my voice, growling... snarling...
through havering county park... climbing past
a barbwire fence to get up close to
the horses grazing in the field...
in the dark putting my hand against a horse's mouth...
i can forgive the horse...
it thought i might have something in my hand...
like a sugar cube or an apple to nibble on...
it started nibbling on my fingers...
bucktooth ****** turned around and his hoof
almost skimmed my forehead...
i still wonder what it might feel like
to be kicked in the head by a horse's hind legs...
i tried it once... punched myself several times
in the face until i gave myself a black eye...
i still have marks on my knuckles from the time
i took pleasure from putting out
cigarettes on them...
i guess i don't dream much...
i need to be closest to reality through...
the only best available a medium that most
resonates: pain...
- or perhaps a quote from Pablo Coelho...
the alchemist...
as a teenager i was planning on travelling to India...
India came to London,
****'s sake... the whole world came to London!
why would i leave (Greater) London?
if i were to travel across the Thames...
i'd be in a completely different country...
i once cycled from Romford to Greenwich...
already the difference were visible...
the north is like... what's the right comparison?
BUDA...
the south of London? PESHT...
less underground, more trains...
trams of Croydon, for ****'s sake: i thought that
trams were a Berlin / Warsaw "thing"...
if i wanted to: i'd ******* to Edinburgh and...
find the old place i was staying at
in my third year... Montague St.
just off Nicholson St.,
i'd go back to the mosque near Appleton Tower
for a curry... i'd perhaps do some bouldering
on the Crags... if i were to find my mountain
climbing shoes...
i am still, yet, to eat a deep-fried Mars bar...
or a deep-fried pizza...
like **** i am ever going to...
just today i ate a revelation...
usually... smoked salmon... well... obviously
on a bagel... with some fresh cucumber and dill
with a decent dollop of mayo...
today?
soft white cheese... the smoked salmon
& some lemon juice...
wow...
- finding work outside the family business...
i.e. not working with my father has become...
refreshing...
he... he could "abuse" me verbally as best he could...
you're doing this wrong, you're doing
that wrong... strangers? no chance...
but this own son: he treated the harshest...
i said to myself: **** it... i'm not putting up with
this sort of UBERSCHEISSE!
i haven't worked in... has it been a decade?
"worked" worked... i wrote... investing in
people not yet born!
the people, my contemporaries: sure, i care...
but... i'm not writing a Dan Brown novel:
am i? i'm looking for... longevity...
i'm looking for immortality...
to hell with not being paid...
to hell with spending money in ways that makes
you regret it: you will never find yourself
earning money: but you will regret... spending it
in ways that deviate from a "pattern" of
well-kept endeavours...
i don't mind spending anything on my bicycle...
why? cycling is my last outlet
of... aloneness "tourism"... to hell with going
on a cruise... i take up cycling to...
Thurrock... or deeper into Essex...
hell... i'll cycle into central London...
ah... sigh of relief... i'm alone...
i like dodging traffic... i like the added thrill of large
objects that might **** me...
but at the same time i adore the abundant emptiness
of the countryside...
well... it's not: "empty"... but writing makes it out
as it is... no ******* Wordsworth's worth
of ode to nature here...
perhaps some... die grenzwacht hielt im osten...
folk songs in, esp. in die deutschezunge...
- i think i know why, why i find this language
so endearing... it's all about the infiltration process...
i could... wholeheartedly... abandon it...
with even having to wear shoes...
i feel so much for it: yet at the same time...
if i were recalled to the mutterzungen needs...
i think i might... how i can hold twin-allegiances
i will never know...

uns ander'n brach die kraft...
und heute noch und immer
    den weg nach osten zeigt...

so far away from people... yet so close...
to put into writing...
i would have loved joining the army...
chemical engineer? ZYKLON B...
rings a bell...
now... reengaging with people...
on a minor scale of what an army cohort
looks like...
i still feel ****** getting a chemistry
degree: not leaving school at 15 and joining the army...
then again... i really don't know what
i'd do with too much money:
you can always have too much money:
even if you earn... £15,000 a year...
i remember my student years back
in 2004 circa 2007 (circa, ergo, no hyphen +/-1
a year in the "bracket")
beside the student fee...
£3000 could easily cover the rent,
the food... the odd spontaneous going to
the cinema... the gym fee...
well, fair enough... as students... we weren't paying
council tax... but £3000 could cover a lot of things...
if we're talking earning... £15000...
and you take a Paulo Coelho approach
akin to: there's nothing to ******* find when
you get to the Giza pyramids... when you *******
to Brazil... you seen the world doesn't actually mean:
a local crack-head took you on
one of his ******* shimmy run...

i don't belong no more in Kenya than
a Kenyan belongs among the Hyperboreans...
sure... if he feels suicidal...
and abhors his people so much...
but look where Brexit left us...
all the Polacks suddenly didn't feel welcome...
not part of the multicultural project
of the implosive Empire as they might have
felt...
what English soldier ever fought
on the lands of Poland during the second world
war... yet... how many ****** pilots
fought for Britain?!
huh?! huh?!
history implies: people keep on forgetting...
the labour of love for us that love
to remember... like...
the world offers us rubrics borrowed from
school...
i don't mind an African trying to live
in Europe... but **** me:
you won't find me living in Africa
any time soon!
sure... the macaques are cute...
to hell with the heat!
no time soon!
i, need, seasons!
i need, eating, bland!
what, rosemary & rhyme not good enough,
for you, ******?!

smoked salmon managed to bench press
my liking for raw herring...
miss the raw cucumber, the dill, the mayo...
add some soft white cheese...
some lemon juice... keep the bagel...
now we have ourselves a sport!

the Polacks have left the shores...
hello tourists... your anti-racist rhetoric has
paid off!
i'm hardly native...
weren't your own natives...
your own fathers supposed
to bemoan the fate of your own daughters?!
you don't...
and... i'm... somehow... supposed to?
i'm much more invested in the men...
i need... rigidity... structure...
women always tend to **** it up: anyways...
some... amnesia principle...

FAUN:  WAINAMOINEN...
unplugged... "v"...
  NIRVANA's unplugged sessions...
choke... shotgun shot to the head..
Christine Chubbuck vs. the Court of Courting Blind...
rich Russian girls taking  picture of the pitch...
i'm standing in the middle...
i guess there's also me involved...

- from my hermit phase... being engaged with so many
people... esp. the children... oh god... i love the children...
for someone who enjoyed their absence from
society...
to be so, greedily... reengaged.... like a snap....
almost weird...
but... almost like: I: WANT: IT!
sure... i'm but a pawn in this role...
but... here's my excuse... i'm also anders-wo...
here's my antithesis of da-sein...
anders-wo...          am-ich?!

tid: til begynde! ja: nu! kvik!
tabt en time
tabt løs "næsten" alt...

         fanden du:                     ord så blød

KURWA MAĆ!
Antony Glaser Feb 2022
Finance holds the town back
They've closed down the Milan Bar
and Currys moved out
Sing to the skeleton of a town center
carrying the deluged plough unto my ears
the promises of the councilors, prowl
towards helplessness
Antony Glaser Jan 2022
In the supernatural sphere,
down London Road
cheek by jowl,
the angel of death pontificates.

Beyond its parlor,
the old subterfuge of death,
languishes in this netherworld.

Untouched by conscience.
Our apparition stands by the silver moon,
self-crowned and wearing the also run
upending the praying soul.

The past doctrines of survival,
half barrelled,
speaks its own enormity.
Antony Glaser Dec 2020
They've wrecked the  illusion
that's towns are bastillions
made to last
instead they are monopoly money spinners
where building booms become bust
and rents dry up

They've wrangled the economy
now they go for the soul
Queens'  gardens future  design is allusive
as the scarlet pimpernel

I remember bee hives  next to the tax office
now its a busy builders yard
so  with investment goes ecological *******


The omens are ominous maybe the Tories can do better
Antony Glaser Jul 2022
We used to have buttermilk
and Austrian white wine
from Safeways
and used to buy 2nd hand Prog records from Beanos
or see Budgie at the greyhound
The years have sped by
and I'm not recalling any standout shop now
Unless you include the durable Buddist shop
next to the once Hockneys
Toothless gaps in the town square appear
The Whitgift Centre is half empty
Samsung Mobile shop is closed
The years have not been very Kind
The sound of laughter is removed
Big Virge Dec 2019
To Become English Citizens It's Been ... " Alleged " ...
Some Women Are Willing To ... S P R E A D Their Legs ... !!!    
      
I Guess You Really Can't Blame Them ... !?!      
      
" Lunar House " ... Down There In Croydon ...    
  
A Centre Used For Immigration ...    
Has Got Some Staff Pulling A Scam ... !!!    
UGLY Folk DON'T Have A Chance ...    
Their Passport Photos Get NO STAMP ... !!!!    
      
They're STUCK On Walls ... !!!    
So Staff Can JOKE About Their Hopes .....    
of ..... " Coming In " .....    
      
While ...  
PRETTY Faces Get Their Places ...    
Visas YES ... For ****** Favours ... !!!!!    
  
Europeans and Brazilians ...  
Are Dealt With ... BEFORE Indians ...    
So ... Heaven Help Poor Africans ... !!!!!      
      
Unless They're WHITE Then They're ALRIGHT ... !!!!    
Once They're Prepared To ... S P R E A D Their Thighs ...    
      
DON'T Be Surprised If Some Are Guys ... !!!    
Gay People ... Are Now NOT SHY ...    
      
Security Checks ...  
Come ... SECOND To *** ... !!!!!    
      
It's NOT Just Men In TERRORIST Sects ... !!!!!    
      
BNP Man Like Those Within The Ku Klux **** ...    
Are NOT ALL Gay ... Some Like Woman ... !!!    
      
That's Bound To Get Racists ... UPSET ... !!!!!    
      
But ... " American History X  "...    
Showed ... Who They *** ...      
When Those Within Start To DEFECT ... !!!!!    
      
So Mister McNulty ...    
Something SMELLS ... FUNNY ... !!!!!    
      
He's ... " Home Office Minister " ...    
      
Your Staff Are ... " Allegedly " ...    
................. SINISTER .............. !!?!!    
      
WHO Told Them To Administer ... ?    
Their Duties ... Based On Double D's ... !?!    
Or Basically ... For ****** Deeds ... ?    
      
I'm Saying What's Your Policy ... ?  
To Simply Spread ****** Disease ...    
If Girls Like These Will Spread Their Knees ... ?!?    
What Will They Do To Make Money ... !?!    
      
Lapdance In Clubs And ... " Such and Such " ...    
Girls Like These You CANNOT TRUST ... !!!!!    
      
****** PLEASERS For A VISA ... !!!    
PROSTITUTION ... Is Their KEEPER ... !!!    
      
Or .... Is IT ... !?!    
      
Once They're In ...  
Will They RESIST ... Using Their Bits ... ?!?    
      
"Not likely mate !" ...    
      
They've Found Their Trade ... !!!    
Getting Paid For Getting Laid ...      
      
So ... "WHERE THEY AT ... !?!?!"    
      
I Hear You Say ...    
      
Where QUICK CASH Is ... !!!  
    
Turning TRICKS For Mister **** ...    
And Licking ***** For Mrs. RICH ... !!!!    
      
Just For CASH So They Can Live ... !!!    
How Could Your Workers Be SO SICK ... !?!?!    
Have Things Now REALLY Come To THIS ... ?!?!?    
      
Or Is This How It's ALWAYS BEEN ... ?!!!?    
      
Well His -  Story ...  
Proves ... " Colour Screens " ...    
Have Clouded ... Immigration Dreams ...      
But Now Because You're Deemed ... UGLY ... !!!!!    
      
WHO Makes THAT CALL ... ?!?  
    
She's Beautiful And Usable ...    
And Then Decides To Spread Her Thighs ... ?!?      
WHO On Earth ... Recruits THESE GUYS ... ?!?    
      
"GIVE US A JOB, I'LL GIVE IT A TRY !"      
  
That's A JOKE ... !!!    
I'm NOT A Bloke Who Would COERCE ...    
Just For *** With ... " Pretty Girls " ... !!!?!!!    
      
Girls Like These Have S.T.D's ...    
And Nowadays Are Spreading A.I.DS ... !!!!!    
      
So Minister What Do You Say ... ?    
      
"An inquiry of course, yes, RIGHT AWAY !"  
      
"Okay, that's great !"    
      
Isn't It A BIT LATE ...    
To Ask HOW MANY Have Been Laid ...      
And ... WHO In Your Crew ... DISCRIMINATES ... ?!?!?    
      
You'll Do The USUAL ... " Cover Up " ...    
      
UNLIKE These Women ...    
With NICE CUPS And **** Bums ... !!!!!    
      
And Those Who've Made ...    
Your Workers ... " Ummmmm " ... !!!!!!!    
      
Comply To Try Guidelines Designed ...    
To KEEP The ... UGLY Ones In Line ...    
And KEEP Your Country's Race ... STREAMLINED ... !!!      
      
By KEEPING Whites ...    
At The ... TOP of The PILE ...    
      
That's NOTHING NEW We Know Your Style ... !!!    
As These Girls KNOW How LOW You'll Go ... !!!!!!!!    
      
CAN'T They Just CHARM A Pretty Girl ... ?!?    
WITHOUT The Need To ... TWIST Their Arm ... !?!      
      
Well ... As I've Said It's CASH They Want ...    
Immigration Staff CAN'T Be On Much ...    
To FORCE Women To Give Them FUN ... !!!    
      
But As I've Said ...    
What In Turn Happens To MEN ... !?!?!    
      
Do They End Up In Bed With Them ... ?      
Those EMPLOYED By Government ... ?!?!?    
      
That's A ... DANGEROUS Question ... !?!    
      
So Let's Leave THAT To Your Newsmen ...      
And See What's SHOWN On .... News At Ten .... !!!    
      
This Poem's DONE  ... !!!    
Writing This ... Has Been Quite FUN ... !!!    
      
But NOT As Much As Welcoming ...      
****, Pretty Young Women ...    
Into Your Bed Cos They're IMMIGRANTS ... !!!!!    
      
Who Having Kissed And Slowly Licked ...    
DESPERATE Workers ... For SICK KICKS ... !!!!    
      
Do This To Hear ...    
      
" COME IN, COME IN ... "
On the basis of BREXIT, and BoJo's election win, had to post this poem, as this not only made me chuckle when I wrote it, but even moreso' now ...

As it looks like a multitude of things, will have to be done now,
by foreigners wanting the right to stay in the UK !
Antony Glaser Oct 2021
Its almost December
and we're old friends
I should see more of you.
You've still to play your favorite song
These problems are not insurmountable

They've closed the down the town
Rows of shops shuttered
It feels like a war zone

If it never rains it pours
The Market isn't the same
and the footfall isn't immense

But if it snows
I meet you on a snow-covered street
and you'd wave a smile
in your Chinese hat and gloves
you got from Primark
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
you want to hear the Croydon
cluck-berry?
  the mimic clock?!
oh... you don't?
you want know
what a Croydon
cluck-berry sounds like?!
what a mimic cherry
does?
ever hear what a cat being
decapitated sounds like?
doesn't sound anything
like a ******* chicken,
to be sure...
     but you do want to hear
what a cluck-berry sounds like...
a mimic cherry...
   you want to spot
the sheave-of-teeth
looks like...
you want to...
you want the lemonade
rhyme of children's voice...
   skipping rope...
      what a beauty!
     i want to hear the breath of
death, every time
death takes a loosening
of my own life's,
       entanglement.
rhyme rhyme...
      and the ghost of
a child's remains...
             my own, my lost said:
to them: the lasting leveraging
remains:
forever awake.
Whatever you're given today
will
be taken away and tomorrow?
well
tomorrow you'll be back
begging for more
and
that's sod's law.

axioms to crack your bones
and taxes then
to take your homes,

cardboard's 'cheap as chips'
free
from local council skips.

Underneath a Croydon sky
watching the 747's fly by
why me?

Where do I fit in to this painting?

'you ain't in'
airbrushed and pushed aside
so
long and thanks for the ride

Roy rogers himself and you can make
of that what you will and
you will.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
love struck... hovering a body... time is probably
the best perspective...
i look at her in her agility and full blossom: naked
and i wince...
if she was anything less than the Eiffel Tower...
god... that summer when i jumped into the deep end
and paid Paris a voyeurism...
if only i had a bicycle to weave the labyrinth...
i've lived in London for most of my life...
travelling into the central forge of: what's happening
always ended up a claustrophobic affair:
emerging from the tube to pinpoints...
on the map... Marble Arch and toward the shisha parlours
on Edgware Rd. with the flat breads
and the balaclava: baklava throwing events...
pop up somewhere in Soho... or Camden...
anything south of the Thames is like...
seeing the coming-and-goings of York...
so little tube... the moles didn't bother with
the south of London... trams thrill the people
associated with Croydon...
i look at her naked body... of course i'm
so drunk that... i'm on my second try for a hard-on...
no... it's not happening...
she's playing the timid girl i'm already lost
to ms. amber stealing my hard-on...
i'm soggy-digestive thoroughly...
but my hands are still hard-on... i close my eyes...
and turn her body into an Atlas...
of braille...
that was my first attempt...
a complete *****-less failure to get what
i paid for...
later she would come back at me with
******* pigtails...
but this Turkish readily... available: giddy-up
sold herself...
this supposed pursuit of happiness...
last article i read was about a girl in prison
who committed suicide:
the line read: why should non-aggressive females
not be put into prison...
so i guess... i'm not guessing...
i'm out... they already turned my brain into
a chemical soup...
we can just cage the males...
anything lawless a woman does is:
minor... a minor scold...
it requires... justice with... pampering...
primal defect of a woman: no character building
mechanisms in place..
the collective: harem-esque sisterhood...
who wouldn't want to play the second fiddle?
or rather... the nativity play...
you're the kid in the shadows...
given a major part: playing the rhythm xylophone...
the idiots play the Jesus Mary & Joseph...
all the idiots have scripted lives...
all the better... there has to be an undercurrent
with what's to be grasped as:
the staging of / for life...
god... no russian orthodox icon...
perhaps some chants of the templars...
no building... all the pretty ones end up...
frothing at their mouths descending into ***-work...
they're the prettiest ones...
not wife material: if the motto of the Englishman
should stick: last time i heard it
i was a teenager...
don't marry a pretty one....
marry a woman no other man might want...
horrible how beauty can decay in its prime...
while all these girls playing glass-house:
all-see-no-touch of only-fans...
well... that's not much fun: i'll be creasing my whole-body
****** one way or another:
whatever this self-imposed... ha! self-imposed:
celibacy coughs up...
***-starved for... 3 years... 4 years... 5 years...
i lost count...
but i'll milk this sacred cow for what's it worth...
the first 120 minutes i was too drunk
but she didn't speak much English...
and... we ended up hugging... kissing...
Romanian words for: freckles... eyelids...
eyes... nose... collarbone...
i'm milking it...
what's the other 30 minute done perfect
with a nymphomaniac... showing off her tongue
while slapping herself with the phallus?
no timid mare: 'ere...
*** that was fun *** that was a revival...
*** where i didn't have to bother
about pleasing her:
since forever... it never worked for me
to please "her":
*** that made me forget a 13 year hang-up...

- how many minutes are there in a year?
"apparently" 525600 of them...
big number... how many are there in...
knit-and-pick... how many are there in...
3... 4... 5.. 4... years..
    2.102e+6.... ****... we're going into
exponentials now...
without the tenderness of hands only
a cyclops can offer... Polyphemus dire moi...

2102400...
    2102400 ÷ 30 = ..
               2102400 ÷  60 = 35040
35040 hours @ £120 per hour:
**** me... i'll need to insert comma breaks
in terms of earning: if i had twice the stamina
of the Spartan 300's enterprise of:
what Henry VIII's failure bore...
she would have earned... £4,204,800...
that's not chasing pillow-fights in calcium mines...
all this... from merely *******...

eh... people have lived through much more:
much worse...
come to think of it...
the Teutonic Knights had a brothel
in their citadel of Marienburg: Malbork Castle...
they also lived through events where
there arrived a concern for
grouping together...
i find no release in this sort of an outlet...
being met...
society is thinning: concept or practice...
i'm not bemoaning the fact:
the placebo of solipsism of either
ha-shem or ha-satan:
how indistinguishable it all seems:
it only requires me to peer at what's
being spectated...

a boy should grow up within the confines
of dogs... should he be struck with...
being a solo-project...
whether by Chinese-State authority or
by the Chernobyl accident that prompted women
to drink iodine...
but as he ages... cats... fickle creatures...
personally... i absolve myself from having
wish to either witness or use...
the leash or muzzle...
as fickle as cats are...
i'm glad to be able to ignore them...

all the best looking girls go into prostitution...
what remains are beached-whales
men pass around with the motto:
marry someone no one will steal...
tha conundrum: keep them locked up in a niqab?
how did a few keep so many
while so many can't keep but a one?
i don't want to understand it...
i want to walk into the sea...
swim toward Norway... and drown...
while wrestling with a storm...

at the supermarket...
i was already walking back to the self-checkout
with a bottle of Pimm's i was owing...
a tease of a bottle of whiskey
and a bottle of Pepsi...
god help me: god help her...
this tiny tween of a... sugar-daddy prospect...
she must have been this years
cherry picking... converse attired...
smooth attired with all her skin...
am i... somehow... justified taking?
she had to meet up with me at the self-checkout...
all toys and sweets:
per juice concentrate...
gummy bears... she looked as much fun as
any sexually legal female might look...
of course she'll follow suite and ****
the next degenerate scooter boyo-fancy...
the west is not worth conquest...
it can be simply undermined with:
what's the current "fad": anti-racist chocolate-chip
hard-ons?

hello walking abortions...
hello living without the gruesome love for winter:
extension of the refrigerator...
i'm not going to invest in mere DNA...
i'll suffer... so no future will be minded...

how the "left" suffers... the ethnic origins and
upkept uniqueness of
baboons... macaques... gorillas...
but "we"... as humans... are somehow
a "together" project... together project
in alliances with the placebo Olympic:
except towing the ultra-liberal white woman...

******* proselytes...
under-miners... covert globalist *****-spunks!
all the best looking ones
go into ****... the remains are... that's
it... remains... father children with a mediocre woman
then relapse into chanced beauty spotting
at architecture...
while... David... the King...
psalm baron... Solomon has as much wisdom as is required
of a man with a harem...
i'm not envious... back then there was no
blue-pill hard-on...
so most of the women fiddled with
make-shift ******...
oh please... i'm not harrowed:
i am: the harrowing!

how did this agony of 16... turn up at the
self-cashier...
with all her *****..
i swear i was only armed with a bottle of a lirre of
Pimm's... a litre of pepsi
and 35cl of ms. amber...
while she synchronised herself
with... gummy bears... excess of sugar:
the height: heist antithesis of **** *******...
such a youngling...
such a "petty" creature to behold...

she was... pure... sugar... pure ripple of
an agony of what tends to be used up...
not by me... but by some...
fortunate: leeching leprosy of "morals"...
but if the ***** will eagerly give...
who am i to complain: "as"? god?#

i see a full moon: i blink... i whine...
i gather up my "toys" for a refreshed concept of:
assault...
it's new... the whole concept of trans-racial
inter-breeding...
how the father figure is best portrayed by
the mulattos...
unless of course he might be absent..
half's a half...
but towing "forward"...
we're the bleaching people genes...
the sandpaper antithesis...
your bi-racialism is my my bilingualism...
look at me! hey pretso!
no hyphen included!

i have a mouth and tongue for an eye...
two eyes that become two mouths
with two tongues...
and a brain that has turned into
a massive impression of....
gauging at... the concern for an ear
and an "inability" to "hear"...
   what's... "silence"?

the late... latest advent of Darwinism....
the macaques vs.
the baboons... monkey contra monkey...
no man: man is: this unified "quest":
she''ll **** anyone:
chocolate chipped honey bear:
p'ooh bear...
thank god i'm not not allowing myselfg
to be breeding...
it's not like my d.n.a was sometho=ing
speZial...
  
the white girls can have all their ****-conteent:
look at them: gobble gobble: the death of winter...
perhaps i'm a man...
and i'd entertain....
lemon ******* Thais...
tirade... her ******* Katakana brigade...

i guess it comes down to:
these woeb ===== web...
women... attempt to teach me... something...
merely.. mandolin ownership is not enough
to forget about the world... forget about i...
here i am... lost to a tide of grievance...
full moon my inquisition
of the tide... leverage my lost "battle" for the lake..
grieve frothing
at what becomes of the swan...
Lomond come... the most pristine sunset.
come to "think" of it... i die... happy..
i live: most waiting.
Antony Glaser Jul 2022
The Tories  have devalued civility
Even the Met Police cannot escape this calamity
Admonishing channel refugees,
as if they were part of this disorder,
to be rudely awakened on an outbound trip to Rwanda
The aftermouth of Brexit seems to be a byword for a lack of humanity.

Rampant gangs in London.
****** mile in Croydon.
Social Service cuts are unwarranted.
The voluntary sector is the only thing plausible,
to pick up the pieces
when the social fabric
is so wantonly tight
Antony Glaser Oct 2021
Brick by Brick
they are taking apart the town,
in their own image
Effortlessly
actioning and conspiring
every speck of green
is their hallowed ground
to lay down the foundations.

Come to Croydon
It's like a ship going down
Some have found their new Nova
a cash cow made of stone
Antony Glaser Jul 2022
We were political  friends
a generous  X at the box
But something terrible has happened
Public sector cuts
Councils allowed to financially run dry
Welcome to Brick by Brick Croydon

The general circumnavigation of Democracy
You've got a stone heart
and at the drop of a hat
You demonize your enemies

We've got a Mayor
with a presiding vote
NOC a stalemate assured
Give us back our Libraries
and Purley Swimming pool

The palliative cure is the Lib Dems
We are sick of the two-party system
Normalcy at a mid-runner's pace
why can't we be like Sutton and Richmond
the prequistive in ascension
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
love, at best, is something to be made into
an ideal: with the help of memory,
or rather: love should only be given the
theatre of memory -
it can never become this platonic hierarchy
of madness associated:
lovers come first, poets come second,
prophets come third...
i have grown to appreciate love...
i managed to invest an idealism in it...
experienced its empirical default:
i.e. at fault... and left with...
a a cinema of memories...
minute details of perfection that will
never be, or will ever be replicated...
i'm not a woman, after all...
widower swan that i am...
i loved once... and that once is no longer
a future... or a today...
a tomorrow... love has passed me
and it remains in the past...
perhaps that's why i cling to german
idealism and nothing associated
with: well... perhaps the tender licking
of french existentialism:
but not islander... nothing english focused...
nothing isiolationist...
nothing: quick to the mob!
slow on the individual harangue!
i see violins succumb to the congregation
of sparrows...
i see drums echoing and bellowing
from disgruntled indigestion
like tectonic shifts...
and the sly barons of base...
pacing out a subtle rhythm section
that's half-wit-air and half-borrowed
time of the earth's composition in
the symphony of geology...
and all that is, or ever will be beautiful...
will never be the married man...
or will ever be:
the woman who has met being served her
whim to... all that she wasn't required...
was be ugly and write a book...
perhaps a poem would have sufficed...
"ugly"? as in: unappealing
to the majority of the digest (i.e. readers)...
alternatively?
there was that ms. amber and ginger ale...
ginger ale? we've run out...
what's the alternative?
lemonade!
well then, we'll be having our ms. amber
whiskers and lemonade upon
a chance hoisin plum (not prune)
sunset... and of all those sunsets prior
to this being written...
and those genesis sunrises...
i still only feel in love with
the thunderstorms... the plush pulp
of those snow-ridden-bulge-weight of clouds...
the atari-purple signatures...
current retro-wave-80s pop & disco...

the sunrise with a fishing trip with
my grandfather...
the 5am wake up call to sight-see
Cracow...
and never, ever, ever, visit any of
the concentration camps...
i guessed he was wrong...
i subsequently praised the hebrew...
i smoked a cigarette...
and used my hand as an ash-tray...
after i finished the cigarette...
and licked the cusp...
i had enough ash on my tongue...
to later signature the deed
unlike some eucharist *******-yourself
silly in Tel Aviv...
licked the ash...
shot of ***** to signature the new
eucharist...

because i'll be ****** if i'm not already
****** that germany...
is something that only **** germany is allowed
to persist for!
15th century medieval songs!
i'm tired of juggling both elvis and ****
germany... i'm tired of this anglophile gloating...
i'm tired of juggling both
jefferson airplane and... **** germany...
i'm tired of: it!
i'm so tired that i wonder why my handmaidens
of "my people's party" never figured a way
out a handsome past always
banging on about the reperations intended
from germany
or the russian war guilt et al...
look!
the jews received their war reperations...
some jews still receive it to this day!

i'm langing... tired of the 20th century...
the 20th century is a paradox in that...
the good is overshadowed by the bad...
the 21st century is becoming a welcome break...
implying that: some of us will be allowed
to explore tongue and tongue in cheek...
but not really...
it's not like some stupendous Stendhal will
be: brisk and loitering!

i'm tired of the 20th century...
not it a way that will be a tiredness associated
with midnight in paris and a reminiscene
of paris with hemingway...
f . s. fitzgerland: always...
always: the never too great a gatsby...
if you're going to write a novella...
marquis de sade's: ******...

to have not inherited the 20th century...
to have been born in 1986...
but to only have... two focus points
that are to be borrowed from that century?
****** was an Austrian...
Stalin was a Georgian...
"thank ****" that Mao wasn't a Mongol!
it's also called the habsburg-heimlich:
subversion...

currently? turkey-fodder-bulimic-eating-disorder:
shove those ******* piles of dough
where they should come out of!
savvy?
20th century and the most democratic
history lesson in all of time...
so many people to keep a ref. of...
no wonder the mirror escapism is:
being relegated to an instagram profile...
nonetheless: of this i am certain...
this is no formal language usage...
and if, even if this is given an informal
language use-status?
it's not going to be used...
not outside the cerebral domain...
not outside the shy constricts...

not when rap is waging "war" on...
what could otherwise be said with the same
sense of importance but no necessity to exhibit
bombast to attract an audience...
i'm tired of the 20th century because...
well... since 2001...
there might have been a war in iraq...
there might have been a war in the graveyard
of nations: afghanistan...
but there's only been...
pepper bind bidding of a life in London...
as there's an irrelevant south London Croydon...

there has been a history but...
outside of the rubric of learning...
there's this... god-awful journalistic amnesia!
journalism as a "history" is no history
to begin with...
why even Aristotle or Copernicus or...
Li Bai are remotely used as memory-jolts...

i guess some pursuits just come with
a prerequisite of temporal territory:
since they are not appreciated
by a contemporary presence...

poets, philosophers, pickle-farmers...
as i could have been the best plumber
of a generation and i would never require...
a lag of praise...
perhaps i don't need that either: right now...
but there's always a "post-mortem hindsight
conundrum"...

given, chances are...
there will be someone akin to me...
a necromancer...
who has a lovely library of books...
that outstrips the wealth of a local library...
but... all the writers in the collection
are dead...
and every time he reads a book...
he's resurrecting someone from:
"sleep"...

why don't i own books by my contemporaries?
the newspaper review sections
come saturday and sundway are filled!
filled to the brimful! with living people
reading books by living authors!
perhaps i am of the lower caste...
the Aghori...

contigent of the categorical impetus for:
what is required as a measurement...
what is required of "filling the void"...
also the H is a surd in this Raj of an: afternoon tea...

but as one is best equipped...
i'm waiting for the coinage... Charlie III
on the sly copper flip...
and the newly insurrected banknote plasta-masta...
since Lizzy Shingles 2nd-ture will be outs...
and outed...
but no no...
of course all the glamour of:
when the frost settles and you take a walk...
the frost on concrete...
is like paparazzi flashes of eager cameras...
but there's no red carpet...

like craps blinking come the midnight
harvest in the north sea...
lazy god examples... Zeus, Poseidon...
always eager-fucky-fucky-adventurers...
of the shallow **** of: begone tomorrow!

come the 3rd hour of the morning...
i'm still scribbling like a chicken is cought scratching...
if only, i, a variation of a butterfly...
and... concerns for...
concerns for... fashion...
and the agriculture of leisure having
to allow a yacht to plough the seas...
where the horse?! where the earth?!
where the ******* potato...
among the popping bottle of prosecco?!
where, is, d'ah... *******...
sun-tan... oiled up fwench hoh-nion soup-ah?!

— The End —