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Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
you know why the vikings did not care to
****, while they pillaged the conquered women?
why? well... let us not mingle war with
the melodramaticism of women screaming:
help! seems pretty logical, in sentencing these
women into a state of awkwardness -
they they be barren, by not being interacted
with... imagine neither viking,
or saxon plunging his grand dipper into
their fleshy abode...
       who've become doubly scarred
by their abode, with both earth and woman
turned to abandonment -
come the germanic brutes,
         and the natives with:
  wishes laid upon the stone,
and the iron lodged in it
we are but the deciders of our destiny -
and lackluster of the destiny unfulfilled -
made siamese with an ad infinitum decision
making, being curbed, shortened by
the year of chasing a wolf's mane,
while the fox continued his rhapsody of
thieving schemes!

- ibi est vitae, tantum in
    id est qui vita -
utrum in vivo -
                 vel in cogitatio -

danke spielzeung - vielen danke...
     spielzeuge?
*marienburg
und auschwitz!
ja, danke!
    das ist gut abschreckend!
40 days in the desert, deutsche tattoo
on poland is like saying:
            up yours, soviets!

only a man will have a personal
library like a graveyard -
the ****** just reads books by dead
people...
   only women seem to read books by
people who are alive,
and their contemporaries...
men do not have that sort of
"audacity"...
like most men, i am no *****
of sortier eventualities -

which began in the form of VI / XIV -
heidegger...
   i don't write to forget reality,
rather? to immerse myself in it...

you know how roman to greek to
roman to greek works?

  simple, roman letters are sing-along
castrato "morse code"...
greeks? they named theirs...

  αλφα is a noun...
so?
   so what?
you have to extract the prefix
from the noun...

       you have to turn αλφα into α-,
while λαμβδα into, simply λ-...

i don't write to forget reality,
  i don't write to forget: rather?
to immerse myself in it.

people read to immerse if not to simply
forget themselves,
to stare into the cloudy mirror of
a narcissus disguised,
i simply can't write mirror-prose,
you will not see a welcoming housewife
minotaur in my prosaic labyrinth
of what is best ascribed as "poetry";

what comes is an etymological
present, apparent self-revealing sloth
of history, that has rested upon
too many events, and so few
self-revealing factoid impressions...
as memes are to genes,
so too factoids are to facts...
      so few mentioned,
   as to assert the groundwork of sinai.

hence the castrato song -
  struggles with silencing the grief -
as of those once bound to a harem -
these new castrated - to the grief -
the "benevolent" man chose
a third of ownership to a harem -
with one third to secrecy -
and the last third to paedophilic "intuition" -
with the lies being his ******...
and not even 0.33 to a worship of
music;

      it's almost a shame, using the guillotine
on such people:
   and not 20+ blows on the neck
of ****** mary, with a blunt axe;
god, give me a nibbled-off-clean leg
of lamb, to chop these *******' heads off:
then again i don't want to chop these heads
off! i want to knuckle them off
with a dozen or so plum sores,
so they feel arthritis momentarily,
while strapped to a, ******* wheelchair!
Those onion dome cupolas,
Sheer Slavic sublimity,
Instructing us:
Perhaps Peter the Near Great--
Rather than picking a pack of pickled peppers--
Decides to provide us a solid reminder
Of just what Greatness implies.
The near great never so
Great as Greatness requires.
According to a foremost authority
On pre-Mongol Russian architecture:
“Whip me up some beet soup, Bubala.”
Mike Myers, of course,
Doing “Coffee Talk with Linda Richmond!”
Yeah, a bowl of borscht and a plate of pirozhki.
Feed the stereotype: Ivan, Boris & Natasha,
All obviously Down’s-Syndrome-Feeble-Minded,
Pre-Mongolian Idiotic, as we once said.
Our weltanschauung—
Our World View--
As Good Neighbors Reinhard or Wolfgang,
See the business of global politics.
www.wikipedia.com “The framework of ideas and beliefs forming a global description through which an individual, group or culture watches and interprets the world and interacts with it.”
Thank you, Huns--
Wayne Newton singing:
“Danke schön.”
You always,
Always Hungry Huns.
Danke schön, you Campbell Soup
Man-handler-Hungry Huns,
Fueled on Goethe & Nietzsche,
Zoroaster & ***-ner
Germany:  A Nation of Militarists & Conquistadors,
Just when the Cold War could have been over so quickly,
So prudently averted by asking one simple question:
When have the Russians ever been the
Aggressive party in any conflict?
Be they simple border disputes,
Or true malice aforethought.
Some Napoleonic,
Or Hitlerian.
It was a simple case of HUAC histrionics.
No, decidedly not.
The Near-Great Peter’s was--
If anything--
An Open Door Policy,
A diplomatic Welcome Mat,
A soft squeeze of one’s ball sac,
Pleasant & promising,
“Mi casa es su casa,
Try the Chicken Kiev.”
No Iron Curtain,
If I might, coin a phrase.
But a strong shot of Oswald Spengler,
Pessimistic & carnelian,
Jogs us to Stalin & Khrushchev,
Brezhnev & Putin--
Putin--Vladimir, of that surname--
Perhaps the scariest
Bond villain, yet.
Putin makes a historical first:
Invasion of Crimea.
Invasion of Ukraine.
Maybe those Cold Warrior masterminds,
Actually did us a favor.
(Come out of the closet, J. Edgar.
A retrospective tribute is in the making?
Tom Hanks playing a likable you?)
Tom Clancy & Company
Whipping us up like smoothies,
To fight the good fight,
Noses to the capitalist grindstone,
Building for Divine-Right Nabobs.
New shrines & tombs,
New Coliseums
& Amphitheaters.
New terrible fears of Ivan.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.in a land, where, ahem, "supposedly"... the one eyed man leads the blind? that oeuvre proclaimation? hard to... give the one-eyed the mastering of the people, who can see, no? as the one eye-man said, son of Odin... the two eyed are as blind as the no-eyed, in that they cross their eyes, and imagine themselves drowning... i see a serpent... without eyelids... perpetuated spine of lizard, cranium of cold, venom... the hebrew didn't exact... "justice" by ensuring the lizard to be left, wriggling, spine-esque, without attachment of limbs... no... the real torture? the torture that Moses didn't speak of? why, why oh why, did he leave the serpent without eye-lids?! i ask, because a mammal, a bonsai tiger is playing the role of a bassett hound, he's a maine ****... and he, for some, reason, enjoys my company... the fact that the "devil" lost his limbs... i'm not here for that... i'm here for the fact that serpents... spine and cranium remnants of dinosaurs... have, "apparently"... "lost" their eye-lids... imagine the agony... of falling asleep with your eyes open! sympathy for the devil? well... is there really any sympathy for a god or the gods? beside the point... ever since i was born... for all the creativity of the h'american people, their primitive christianity was perpetually sentenced to be abhorrent for me... i could never stomach it... that being said: so what their atheism. i could never stomach either side of the argument... at least with the russians you were told to settle for the kazakhs, those pseudo-Mongols... then, those, intermediate mouth-offs of the english... it's like a dog dies, but you can never get the fleas off of a dead dog! they keep on biting, trying to "revive" *******, akin to 20th century's 1960s zenith, "property allowance of dictum". let me just say... how god cursed Satan... to be left without limbs... is how he cursed... the fact... that dinosaurs, "once upon a time", ruled this orb... limbless sidewinding spines and brains? that's not the real... "pardon", for the emergence of man... do snakes have eyelids? i'm pretty ******* sure they don't. big tigers... tigers and lions... what about the domesticated bonsai tigers? last time i checked... big cats... tigers... lions... they had eyes... that resembled mammals... their pupils dilated, or contracted... cats? the bonsai? why do their pupils resemble lizards? ******* spies! leather in furrs! what's that old christian metaphor of wolves in sheep clothing? that's it, isn't it? well... here's a ******* update: lizard leather in bonsai ***** furrs! i keep having these blinking matches... with my maine *****... yes... the basset hounds of the feline kingdom... blinking matches, wavering: staring contests... the poverty of the metaphor poetics of Moses is finally revealed... you trust your cat? sure as **** your cat's eyes do not dilate or contract like a tiger's or a lion's might... there's a ******* lizard spy in that cranium of their, "cute"-ness... i'm pretty sure the eyes of a tiger, or a lion, become O from o... regarding the pupil... and not O from ()... slit. again... the biggest curse of the "devil" (dinosaurs) was... to craft a slithering pickle jar of a lizard's worth of a weaving spine and a brain cell? or, the fact, that, serpents do not have eyelids?! that they have to black out to craft a pair of eyelids? that they have to binge... and the reason why they ingest a whole body, is so that they can digest a whole body in order to fall asleep, with their eyes, open? i have just left, whatever was the worth of the poetics, associated with Moses' genesis... some **** ***** can play around with a serpent for all i care... i just need to hear a sssssssss sound in my head... find a cat sleeping in my bed... and say: those eyes are not big cat's eyes... they change from mammalian through to lizard... cats are dinosaurs' spies; and no, the curse of leaving a serpent without limbs... which explains the ******* crocodile... the komodo dragon... i'm worried that "god" took a snippet of the eyelids of the serpents... the "retrospective" lab. specimen of the remains of the dino. inquiry into the past of this, orb.

o.k., so i integrated, now what?
can the anglophone world
put away its ******* of giving
everyone a fair chance when that
supposed "fair" chance is
a neurotic take on not being "racist"?
what, a, load, of, *******:
  and pastoral ****-heaps of oops -
i should have migrated in my
teenage years and kept my
diacritical exfoliation,
       the distinction by accent if not
by colour... but i'm sure you're
well aware that the oliwki -
i just call the ******* olives -
              have a joker card of the obviousness:
i.e. like ******* are descendent
of an eskimo...
                 today is the first night
of night frost...
     metal is hit first,
the cement paparazzis are not yet
economised -
                        and i find it a waste of a day
in winter if i see sunlight...
    so i go back to bed:
the plan was always:
go to sleep in the night,
wake up when it's night.
           i'm not buying it...
              but i should have really
misguided by efforts in learning this,
god-forsaken tongue,
imperfected it, rather than perfected it,
retained the: free meal ticket of
the ******* accent and then scream
when the opportunity came: racism!
racism!
                  easier if i were olive
skinned...
                free rides like that don't come
so often...
         the english have become
neurotic beyond compensation!
      i'm not nervous about being called
a racist or a ****... call me that enough
times and then a lightbulb moment
will, happen... problem is:
i'll embrace that stereotype with as much
gentlemanly airs and "concern" that
will only be made for the opposite
party to not distinguish politeness from,
ridicule...
              no no,
these people will not be riddles -
they'll be ridiculed, a massive difference.
i sometimes regret learning the english
language to establish myself by the native
standard of talk,
  because once you've attained that:
then what?
     you already have a meritocracy that's
build upon: what's best representative
of your multiculturalism -
apparently the whites don't distinguish
other whites...
                    as it is clearly seen:
christianity taught the nebulous blood-thirty
barbarians a culture of masochism...
            it's actually painful to hear
a german speak, less painful speaking
german yourself...
       herr... wachsen einige hoden, bitte!
danke
.
           it just looks like watching a boxer
in match wearing a ******* tutu.

    willkommen! zu aufpassen:
                    die zeit zu kommen sie!
*****-brute-deutsche...
    hündin-brachial-ßaß!
           ­      ich: jawohl!
                                  
   you want to punch: you better want
to punch high, on the head...
for the... ******* concussion
    (die gehirnerschütterung...
guess what... no trenches for you...
chemical nouns!
  ficken feen paddy kobolde -
    glücklich?!)

there has never come a time,
similar to this,
when a ******, a polen...
would, love, the deutzsche-zunge
as much, as he might love it now...
weird... seltsam...
                gott, mit uns!

memories of my grandfather's plea:
herr! bitte bon-bon!
         before the soviets came
and decided to sleep with the goats...
kommen auf ein metallurgiefamilieanfänge
(carbohydrate enough for you,
mrs. khan?!)
          what is it with me and the allure
toward the german tongue,
away from zee Ęnglisch?!

       i have an idea, or, two...
so many pakistanis with khan
as their surname...
it almost makes you, "wonder"...
islam blah blah this,
islam blah blah that...
       a lot of pakistanis with
mongolian surnames...
       time to find the wound...
time to find the salt..
  don't you think?
     oh: nicht bitter...
                       wirklichkeit... prüfen,
eh?
                i can't, or rather,
i don't have the energy to hate,
or remind the saxons,
their misdeeds...
              ich bin müde!
                i am, tired...
    see? no diacritical marks,
i have to make up the "loss" with
punctuation markers...
                            kennt ihre nachbar!
liebe? liebe?!
                   kennt ihre nachbar
            wie dich selbst!
liebe?! ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
sagte die eifersüchtig gott...
liebe?
                how about: know your neighbour
as yourself...
      the command, love your neighbour
as yourself... can we leave that sort of *******
to petting cats and pigeons?!
i rather know my neighbour as i
might know myself...
        love is never a part of the golden rule
of universal application...
  love is a futility of diminished
senses...
       i rather know my neighbour,
than love him,
as much as as i rather know myself,
than love myself.

so when's the next *******' worth
of riddles going to come from?
   palestine...
  look, i've already exhausted the "jewish q.",
i'm tired of jewish wisdom...
what's next: the arab pandora's box?
great!
    mind you... it's so nice to see
the yews the yids, the 'ebrews
making fwends with the arabs again...
hell: goat herder met another goat
herder...
       which leaves the argentinian
neo-nazis with the beef!
            and some of us:
with leather shoes, belts...
                 jackets... and... bacon!

god bless... this wonderful world!
VENUS62 Jun 2014
To all those who my poems read

I wish to thank you

For you are the muse

that inspire me to say,

all that I hold in my heart everyday

I also wish to thank  all those fine poets

Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, and Rumi to name a few

And many many others too.



Thank you, Shukriya, Gracias, Danke Shun.
Edna Sweetlove May 2015
A Tale of ****** Excitement by Herr Barty Maulwurf

Often **** tales of my past I am writing and sometimes they are a little rude and porny but now I will try to be only slightly profane at request of new friends I am making everywhere. This tale very sensual story is, told by master storyteller (which is me). Filthy bits included. *Danke sehr.


Although I so much hate repetitive to be, Barty Mole must as always apologise for his occasionally slight errors in English-writing as he writes the English language not so very top-class (but he ***** English girls' tongues lots and likes them his tonsils to wipe so good). I (me, Barty) am German person but special type of that because as I are half-and-half black/white (not striped or even top half white, bottom half black, but mixed-up goldene-brun colouring), by this I must explain mein Papa was black US soldier in Germany who did enormous number of bouncy-bouncies with various ladies including meine Mutti (note to monoglots: this means my Mummy) - who was part-time Lili Marlen type tarty number, great **** and much-used **** - for tinned milk, coffee, ciggies, silk stockings and comfy underwear with soft non-scratchy gussets for once instead of unlined which tickle *****-*****, also she was a major sort of a ****** in her day so combined business with pleasure, and why not, we got these bits under our ******* so use them or they dry up (so thinks der Barty.). Also please you will remember black market utterly rampant in post-war period because the kind ****** Allies smashed my beautiful homeland (Germany) to little bits and then guess what even worse Russkies came and stole anything leftovers and did mass rapings of anyone with two legs (or less, in fact easier as poor tarts can't run away), but my Mutti ran and avoided Ivans, she not any kind of idiot, not going to give it away for free, and not liking cheap rotgut ***** anyway. Also Russkies never wash bottoms-hole so not much fun in the sack with smelly-bummed Ivans.

Nowadays Barty (that's me) am not so young, indeed now out of work living in Hamburg (home of inventor of hamburgers, Herr Wendi McDonald-Burgerkoenig) but I remember some super **** going-ons from mine mis-spended youth and middle age, my God I was a right goer, make no mistake about that, I had more lady friends than most people have hot luncheons mainly because I inheritated huge lovepole (23 centimetres, well over 9 inches in UK/US measurement style) from my dear Poppa, God rest his swindling soul. And ladies like the big bronzed stick as ramrod lovepole, you bet your fat wobbly ***, dear reader, 100% sure.

As often I say to my multitudinous readers, I never accept that it is only top-class ***-event to make love-humpings between male person who is in all one piece (full complementing legs, arms, naughty pieces etc etc) and lady who in similar state of repair (2 legs, 2 arms, 2 boobos, back and front naughty areas also) so I shall now recall romantic interlude with one-legged groupie I am meeting at rocking Konzert in Berlin with famous German group DIE TOTEN HOSEN (this means "The Dead Trousers" look them up on Google you think I am joking? no, German musicians have great sense of humour and also almost for free get to **** a lot of birds).

This story are total true, swear it on Mummy's honour (big joke, what honour I hear you said out of side of mouth, but watch your manners please or I smash you one in your effing gob) this not so explicit as usual so much apologies to filthy pervies wanting cheap smuttings, you come in wrong place (*******).

So now here we go with telling of how I got on good and ***** with one-legged lady I meet in bar of Grosse Konzerthalle in Berlin after we go from Konzert by Toten Hosen - noise so fickende loud we not able to hear each other talk as we total deafened for at least 1 hour, so just wink over bar to each other and Robert is dein Onkel.

I digressed - when I saw really pretty girl at bar with **** three-inch bolt through her lips and I think, WOW, if she got so much metal in her face, what the Fick she got in her *******!!!!  I notice she leaning against wall, I think she a bit drunk but I find out she only got one leg and it's because she has only one leg she would go falling over if not lean on walls. Never mind, I think to myself, I'll try this out for size, in for a pfenning (penny), in for a pfund (pound), except now it's in for a cent, in for a euro which sounds naffs. So we have several dozen beers and a couple of schnapplis and she is good fun, laugh at all Barty's filthy jokes and innuendos and then, out of blue, she says with naughty giggling, "The night is young but we're not so effing young and when you have any more beers you don't stand up, fall flat on handsome face, and not able to get great big ****** up me to shove it", WOW I thought, this is some forward one-legged piece of work. So no more further ado and we jump in taxi (pay 50:50 as Barty is gent and refuse to allow her pay whole fare) and go to her place.

Hildegard is her name and she was pretty good looking bird, great booboes, narrow very **** waistlines, very cute botty sticking out like great big pair of rubber footballs, but let's be frank, liebe Freunde, her main claim to eternal fame in Barty's immense ***-memory bank was the leg-stump, only one of them she had. She tells me missing limb result of accident with vicious bacon-slicing machineries at LIDL and I not like to probe too deeply, because I leave the probing up to my 23cm (9 inch) lovepole instead.

Thus we had many love-makes that night and I got to find her stumpy-thing quite **** in weird kind of way, very smooth skin on it and odd colour (purplish) too. Only problem of was hard to do it Alsatian-style as she topple off bed and me with her, especially since we have many more beers down hatches by that time. Never mind, make up for this with very high class (FIVE STAR!) "neunundsechzig" (German for 69 just in case you not understand)! WOW she utter hot stuff in oral department store. Her tongue like starving St Bernard guzzling the bowl of nice fresh spring water on hottest summer day in century! Swallow everything, stray hairs and all.

Also Hildegard very noisy lady when she does the comings, which Barty likes very much indeed. Like demented demon being bashed around her head with three-metre long metal crowbar every single time she gets one off, she screamed. "Ooooooh, ich komme, ich komme, ach, ja, ja, ja, ja," she shrieks GOOD & LOUD like fat Wagnerian heroine with immensely red hot poker up backside-hole (which not far off the truth when Barty gets stuck into his fabbo ***-rhythm, like whirring up and down piston on Mitsubishi motor tricycle). Even allowing for drunken prematured senilities lapse, I happy to recall seven times for me that night and maybe twenty for her, WOW, what a filthy one-leg hornbag!

We meet a few more time for repeat bonky session but never so good as first time round, but that's because Barty sober next times, nothing new in the history of love there which is very philophical pensée. Also Barty's interest in the leggy-stump waned a bit after a couple of weeks.  But Barty has good live-action photos to keep his memories warm, WOW, they are some totally hot ones! I know Hildegard must have the equal happy memories of old Barty, bet she never saw such a big ***** as his ever again (NB: 23 cm lovepole)!

Mit freundlichen Gruessen
von Ihre
Bartholomew Mole (=Maulwurf)
(23 cm brown lovepole)
R May 2016
You gave me conversations
I otherwise would never have
You let me talk about the things
I've always wanted to talk about
but just couldn't find the right listeners
You've let me be my geeky self
and you listen to all my weird stories
about art, travels, music and literature
the same way I listen intently to yours
In a way, you allowed me to grow
you allowed me to see the world
through your own light brown eyes
and your own wonderfully delicate words
and I'm thankful for the weekends
we've spent roaming around the city
trying not to get too lost while still having fun
In your impending departure, I wish you well
no matter where you are in the world
I hope you'll remember your friend
your skinny little friend who loves sugars
and museum walks and philosophical talks
I hope I've touched your life
the way you've touched mine
It's an imprint I will always cherish
Auf wiedersehen, mein freund.
Til we meet again.
I will miss your funny stories, C.  Hope we'll be in touch for a long while. )
Creep Dec 2014
Thank you everyone for an amazing year, to all my followers, friends, and fellow poets/poetess! You guys are all real poets to the core, and just awesome overall. You have always made my day, and gave me something to look forward to after every tiring and shtty day. So this is my thank you so very much to all you fckin sympa, incredible, and marvelous colleagues! All you're words mean a lot and have helped me everyday.

Thank You!

Dankie!

Shukran!

Do je!

Hvala!

Dìkuji!

Tak!

Aitäh!

Vinaka!

Salamat!

Kiitos!

Merci!

Danke!

Efcharisto!

Mahalo!

Toda!

Shukriya!

Terima Kasih!

Grazie!

Domo, Arigató!

Kamsa hamnida!

Gratia!

Achiu!

Xie xie!

Takk!

Aguije!

Dziêkujê!

Obrigado!

Hvala!

Mulþumesc!

Gracias!

Asante!

Tack!

Khop Khun Krab!

Cam on!

Jerejef!

Diolch!

A (shaynem) dank!

Maita Henyu!

Dhanyabad!
those all mean thank you^^ sorry if they aren't exact translations. comment below for corrections ^^" but srsly, thank you, you guys. *hugs* you guys mean a lot to me :D MERRY F-ING CHRISTMAS!!
-creep ;)

we wish you a merry christmas
we wish you a merry christmas
we wish you a merry christmas!
and a happy new year! ;*
To all my readers:
I extend to y'all
a most sincere and genuine "thank you."

I'm happy my quirks
are met with such warmth.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
danke, und scheiße geruch um beachten! (if ungrammatical then ensure you do not waver to correct me, but speak as correctly as possible and leave me to my insolence and gratify my mistake as championing your correctness, at least thus i'll be glad to make you see what i too wanted to see with my imperfection the suggestive).

western society has taught me
that i'd be better off
not having educated myself -
and that reading philosophical
books is considered a mental illness;
such heightened literacy rates
i almost clamour to buckle
in marking journalism a synonym of propaganda.
no, of course i'm not happy where
i live, i what's deemed a civilisation or
an exportable social model,
a place where you say the word Kierkegaard
and people think you've said gonorrhea,
so the French kiss outlasts oral *** -
tongue here, tongue there, tongue up your ***,
you're a credible ****** should it matter,
while all the menial tasks for the unruly
have been exported to *made in
China -
i ****** Poland for ever wanting to join
the E.U., thank god they didn't adopt the failed
Euro currency - the diversity of the project
would always fail - no slingshot Indians
or bow & arrow akin mattered
when the other Indians gave us the Taj Mahal...
wise too i would be as an Ewok... and a Vindaloo...
wait a minute, why am i writing
like a reformist coloniser? i've been duped!
i learn the english tongue i suddenly
become nothing less than a coloniser myself;
might as well be a viking in york
or a norman at the battle of Hastings!
otherwise i'm a concubine on a mechanised
*****-throne while the irish are Yuppie
with psychos of american Wolf St. scenarios
awaiting the 1980s discography of
a lucid John Peel commentary.
Lucky Queue Nov 2012
To my bearded bear friend;
I've started this 'bout thirty times
And ended just the same
I couldn't get it just quite right,
Or make sure it wasn't lame
So I've decided heck with it
I'm writing this and posting
So my dear friend Troubadour:
Thanks, for all you've done
You've been a terrific friend
Enjoyable and fun,
Thanks for the conversations
Both really short and long
And may I say, once again
Thanks for being awesome.
Danke mein Freund,
Du bist super, und das ist
Die Wahrheit!
Waitherero Jun 2013
ich danke dir
ich dank dir nicht
ich hoffe,...
doch möchte ich es nicht

ich denke
heißt das ich bin

alles kommt mal ans Licht
Schicht für Schicht
entfaltet die Wahrheit sich

wie ein Kartenhaus bricht alles in sich
und alles endet in einen Haufen nichts

wenn das geschieht
stehen wir vor dem Gericht
allein und ohne nichts

in dir kommen Gedanken
nichts mehr ist zum Lachen

Ernst ist gefragt
und wenn du versagst
liegt es allein in deiner Hand

das wird die Zeit sein
in der du dir sagst...

von nichts kommt nichts
ich bin ich
und du bist der der du bist

alles was ich will
ist ein lächeln im Gesicht
und ein schönes Gedicht
#ich bin ich #ich #bin #Licht #hoffe #Hoffnung #Deutsch #Denken #sein
Ich suche immer mein Deutsch zu verbessern.
Deutsch ist nicht meine Muttersprache, doch mag ich es ja sehr.
Wenn man mir damit helfen würde, würde ich sehr dankbar sein.
Danke für ihre Zeit.
A humble Request

I seek always to improve my German.
German is not my mother tongue, but I do like it a lot.
Were One to help me with it, I would be very grateful.
Thanks for your Time.
BigNose Jan 2017
Gesellschaftlich(e) Lieb(e) Sein

Der Zwang der Gesellschaft welcher das vermittelnde Gefühl von materieller Freude belohnt

Der Grad der Zuneigung wird im Preis gemessen und eine Erwartungshaltung stuft diese Zuneigung dann ein...auch ich war gefangen in diesem Kreislauf der(s) Gesellschaftlichen Lieb(e) sein(s)


Du verschenkst LouiV oder teure Elektronik nur um diese Stufe der Zuneigung zu stemmen und die materialistische Liebe zu erwecken.

Ein danke aus der tiefsten verwurzelten Ebene des gesellschaftlich angetriebenem
Muskels

Doch irgendwann kommt der Moment und die Erkenntnis des ehrlichen Verstehens und Denkens.. Klare Emotionen geführt, frei von gesellschaftlich(er) Lieb(e) sein
Henrie Diosa Sep 2020
follow the tracks to auschwitz.
do not bother to pretend
you see lights at the end of tunnels,
but the tunnel has an end

if your outer world is barren
grow your garden deep within
there are cruel wolves around us and
we must not let them win

hold on tight to peacetime, carry
every memory like a light
through the marching and the burning
find a reason for the fight

when the stones stand to be gathered
when the cigarette is lit
this suffering is the noble task
to which you must submit

there is work that only you can do,
love only you can give
what does life expect of you?
life expects you to live
We read Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning in class, the last reading we got to do before lockdown, and it gave me a different way of looking at suffering and why there is suffering in the world. I am not Jewish, and I am in no position to compare anything to the Holocaust, and I will not presume to. Let it not be said that I am saying that having to stay in is on the same level as genocide — I am saying they are two points on the one line, a line of infinite points, and there is something to be learned of survival in the bleakest of conditions, while we survive this and everything else.
Siddharth Ray Jun 2020
Dil se hai, woh ek enigma
Magar zubaani pesh hai gaali
Kabhi samjho iss coconut nut ko bhi
Fitratt saaf hai, fitoor mawaali

Ab daayein gaye toh bhi galat
Aur left me bhi kismat bawaali
Inka ghussa rahe danke ki chook pe
Aaya tha samachaar haali

Jo gaye toh gaye ab unka kya
Unko sunna tha rock, humne gaya kawaali
Unne koshish ki lafz decode karne ki
Gehra meaning nahi hai bhai,
Khoopdi hai ekdum khaali!
Star BG Aug 2017
A simple word
a gesture with smile
opens ears and hearts
no matter where you roam.

Efharisto, Toh-dah, Mahalo, Takk, gamsahabnida
Spasiba,  Khop Khun Mak Kha ,Danke sehr
daw-dyeh, Arigato, Grazie, Merci Gracias
Thank you

A simple phase
a voice that echoes
Try one on for size.
One size fits all.



Greek– Hebrew– Hawaiian– Icelandic– Korean– Russian– Thai– 
German– Chinese– Japanese– Italian–French– Spanish– English–
Blessings all.  Thank you all for being here and for lighting up world with your work.
Miss Pitt

Miss Pitt was an enigma in her neighborhood of Kent.
Though never wed, many people whispered that she had a past
that would curl your hair. Some said she was a spy who went
deep cover in post-war Berlin, and she had to leave fast.

Others thought she'd been an acrobat of the trapeze
and high wire. They said there was no stunt she wouldn't try.
She must have had a deathwish when she climbed Mt. Hood, with skis,
then skied down slopes so steep, you'd think she thought she couldn't die.

Not much else is known because she didn't talk about
her past at all. Parker from the U.P.S, gave her a box,
some fifteen years ago from Germany. "was from some *****,"
he joked, (jackassedly). Her garden's path was where she walks

some nights by moonlight, and hums an old refrain half-forgotten.
I've heard she brought a vessel out and set it on the lawn,
along with a jug of schnapps. "meine geliebte, das verboten"
she's been heard to mumble, then she'd sing and sob till dawn.

On last night's news, we heard that she'd been stabbed with a knife
and died. She had been riding home on the subway, when two
drunken bangers began to harangue the pretty teen who
sat to her left. "Hey little mama, betcha never in your life

have you seen a **** this big." He grabbed his crotch and grinned.
The girl put her head down. "What's a matter pretty *****, you shy?"
He touched her hair, and said to the other, "you ain't never sinned
so sweet, 'til you had young ***** so hot. He rubbed her thigh.

"If you want to keep your *****, you'll leave this girl alone."
Miss Pitt coldly said, startling everyone around. The banger turned
to see a white haired lady stare with eyes as cool as stone.
"You? you wrinkled prune gonna take my nuts? I'd a thought you'da learned,

you boss No One!" The banger ****** off her flowered hat and said,
"Hey Manny, this one needs somethin' to think about. you gotcher blade?
"Hell yeah bro." Manny said, and put a hunter's knife to her head.
Now who's gonna do the cuttin', old hag? the banger asked. The old maid

didn't flinch, but said to the girl, "Whatever else, find a real man."
Two loud shots cracked, and the banger grabbed his groin. "I'm shot!"
he screamed. His ****** hands set the car to panic. With a deadpan
face, Miss Pitt turned to Manny and asked, "Und du Kapitan Scheissehaut?"

Moments passed, and Manny's eyes grew wide, and when she didn't shoot,
but said, "Ich komme zu dir, meine Liebe", Manny lunged and stabbed her heart.
They said she smiled, and said to Manny, "Danke Arschloch." Without dispute
the witnesses agreed they saw no gun, and later once the cops took apart

the scene, turns out her purse had a secret pouch that held a gun.
A Walther thirty two had shot two holes where ***** had been.
Her will required, she be buried in Berlin, with the urn of her son.
next to a certain grave; her epitath simply to read "Amen."

I wondered if the banger boys would ever have a clue
to understand that character and conscience meant more than turds.
It's a language of it's own, sadly spoken by way too few.
I knew what she meant, although I couldn't translate the words.
Suzanne S Nov 2017
The first words I learn in every language I know
Are ones of politesse
Danke-s, arigato-s, and go raibh maith agat-s dancing across my lips
“It is important” My teachers say
To be able to show gratitude for the helpful stranger that shows you the way to your room and opens
their culture to you
It is important to be able to say please,
Even if the rest of the sentence is broken beyond recognition
A por favor will set you up for some understanding beyond words,
It is important that you can say yes, a diminutive oui
so even if you have nothing else to say, they know the explained menu has gotten through somehow and da, you would like the pasta,
It is important
that you can say
no
Nein niet non nee níl nem nei não
Even if they don’t want to hear it,
No
Even if it could mean your life,
No
Is the only word that I never forget to pack in my suitcase.
Star BG Feb 2018
Galactic Federation,

Thank you for being in Earths air space
(cloned of course.)
and helping humanity not destroy itself.

Thanks for leading the way
to aid with your wisdom
to those who  channel and share.

Thank you all celestial beings on board
for believing in plight of the human race
and for helping with your energy of support.

And much thanks, Gracias, Merci, Do Jeh
Danke sehr, Khop Khun Mak Kha.
for helping as all those on earth
ascend to the fifth dimension of love.

I would say thanks in Alien language
but my ET lingo is a bit rusty.
still inspired by Just my words
K G Aug 2015
Wenn sie mich verstehen können, you\ hören, danke
Guten Tag
Hola
Hello
Wie gehts?
Como estas?
How are you?
Es geht mir gut
Bien
Good
Ya
Si
Yes
Nein
No
No
Tag
Adios
Bye
Liebe
Amor
Love
Bitte
Por favor
Please
Danke
gracias
Thank you
Three different ways to say things three different cultures
But we are all the same
We live our lives
Work hard
Take care of our families
Doesn't matter what Laungages we speak as long as we all understand the same laungage "HUMAN"
Ken Pepiton Jan 9
My grand daddy taught me to start a rope,
with a Turk's head knot. This be that sort of rope.
-- it takes less time to use
than to make
long enough
for any actual perfect purpose.

Mimetic pretenders,
euphoric make believers,
ritual passage over or under open limen
- cross the t and dot the ego.
- seek and find the missing pages
- all the mysteries in time
- that form our fundamental
- common sense in crazy made time

Lacunae rise from forgotten reasons used
to teach guardians
of secrets reasons
for war, how
to love,
in all the ways love is made worth dying for.
Blut und Grund, das Sein,
und mein, danke Schön

-- time ghosts pass, remarking at the weather-
-fine day, suns ablaze, breeze is light,
bemusing the beguiled thinking
'tis fairy, times fairs became cities, and all agreed,
election by contest, war in the spirit, in truth
using mere words, no audio, no video,
no styling nor fancy letter forms, unicode
alone no secret scripts, only sound marks
accented acutenesses and all,
+

y nada mas, mere words, redeemed, for this.
one new day redeemed for glory story need.
Morning glory teas,
in tiny shell shape cups.

May all magnificence be truth's.
Kernels of truth,
seeds producing tomorrow's
criteria, substance of things hoped for,
picked out details
to see in myths, the accuser's uses,
mysterious roots in ancien' riparian realms.

Oreithyia and Pharmaceia, intercession
for the poor.
Early spring
bulbs and flowers
the maenads chaos wine,
effigy effigial me, burning
for your mis-perception
of procedural authority,
instant re-co-gnosis,
vestigial dreams
time minds
in tow, riding your own
recognition,
around the spiral, down,
you would tell me if you were insane
so would I, the ego, living aight,
this it, you read, that's all she wrote
∞ *+
∞ -> =
aha, you think,
may be so,
say so, or no, go and
find the connection closed,
and energy flowing in to the either real realm,
or the null set, like old never minds, you had
while the circuits were fried
at the fusebox
for pennies
used to save a dime, to keep the energy
flowing to the magi's visual representation
of all that's known to hold attention,
by reflex,
look out, see windsense, energy electricity,
elect to let your curiousity fix all your if-I'da

knowns

open for conjecture, to catch subjects
objectified from the precept wisdom is, whole,
as the whole truth, we understand, makes sense
nets form nodes of both knowing, as a me,
we, each grow old at the same pace,
we become that which is,
at first step, precept assuring the runner,
there is always a place to put your foot,
goat-sense, Ein Gedi balsam eating
'scaped goat,
running down the cliff,
at the edge of annual reboots,
reconnecting reality, and the balm
traded for silk in Giliad, and
entertaing news
of miracles in smoke…
and mirrors of mercury, and
-------- time, out of mind dangling hook
make believe, fishing
we pretend, making be specific
imaginary gravity and survival codes,
for a chosen few, catchholds, grapples
for those not inclined
to lean
on a lesson
that demands experience,
to contend, hold that thought, this ain't war.

- Khai Vinh, set like the roof
- Ai can find the images,
- the place was real
- those were my antennae
- crazy true, after the fact, signal
- now, how much of that was CIA?

proud Mary keep on boinin', 'long
Bayou Bleu,
down Plaquemine way, deep night
on roads made from tiny wet white shells
that something made, while living in it,
- one way trace, wide enough
- for an auto me mover
- tugging my at to here
as we live inside our head, as far as
our fingers reach
from where we stand,
our feeling fingers only reach so far, so good.

Held a thought
a while back,
it may have been a trick, but listen, if it was,
I'd have taken it, and won, for midsent-morphing
turning tropes for the dopes hoping something new.
In fancy forms of wannabets.
Peace on Earth, is real.
Baby,
the price is all the attention you can muster,
and then some, as time seems
to have
modes, like we have moods, hormonal
catch and release reflexes, you know, like…

what, what, who cares why, what must be first
priority, ah
what are we intending to pretend to be?
Wordwise,
entertained, fed to satiation, what more, prior

to the next wisea
* asking me to believe, in hell.
I just came to fish.
I came after the curtain was torn, top to bottom,
nothing kept secret
for the artifactual value, remains
here. You know, free as any knowing, now.
There is no enemy that truth cannot love, once
you understand, the limits
of your learning curve, ai,
you accept, no lie is
of the truth, no wisdom form
is flawed, first glance,
glimpsed, real as war
glory, as valued a common lure
to the unshined …
initiate turn on … flip
the switch.
Imagine Grace.
Riches with no sorrow,
worth the effort, found
pure, then peaceable, gentle

right snap
fit, just right, no excuses, we got the mystery
imagined for us,
in the end, pain free,
in the collective consciousness some say is spirit
of our time, our Zeitgeist, doing what it does

close up, nothing spooky at a distance, eye
to eye, mere words with wishes twisted through

outs and ins and ups and downs, and
wells
deep as pressure allows,
right, I ought to sleep, but buzz…

O' no, I said too much… or did not say enough.

Slowly, Monday came.
Morning harbinger to sailors, says sit tight.

Find a fire
far from the threshold, and wait.
Talk with the locals
from the same boat, survivors,
boast of storms ridden out, and ones
that swallowed brothers
and some malicious captains. Good riddance,
some say, while others flick a libation
offering a drop of grog across time's stream.

Lift up your eyes, look down
from your satellites and see the future
coming on the weather channel, thanking
all the forces fixing droughts and flushing deltas,

with the first of winter's predictable trials.

-------------
Hunker down and listen, feel your self, you
deep down, your sacred feeling, especial self

red sky warning seen
before by wiser men, older
by experience, made
acknowledges your luck,
as a ware for use
by innocents, listen, take heed,

all things work together
for good,
for keeps
for those with hearing ears.

Listen to the wind, and thank the dry truth
for being.

just being used to
form fibers for twisting into ties

---- long lines for this ride pray patient perfecting

Rush to judge the blown away reason.

To whom is thanks given, and why, I
the desert dweller bound for Tarsus, stuck

at the edge of the raging sea.

The whole world shuddered at the blow,
the earthquake, peleg in the old tongue,
timeless
as the story eventually got writ, in a modded
Phonecian script, survivors were mostly kids,
resiliency of innocents,
one here,
one there, some whole neighborhoods,
where all the kids were in the swimming hole,
all around the shuddering islands on this world.

It was as we have imagined,
until the grownups crossed lost time,
using lost knowledge locked in idle words,

deem the day redeemed,
feel the emotion defined

gratitude for gratified if I'd known,
missed terminals, crosst wires,
connect to the sea of God's forgetfullness,
relink the collar think canals on rivers,
holding the course men set for cities,
dhghemed damdamd-dayamd indeed…
No river muses suffer such for ever

we all know enough to be accepting
oddities in timed chance trial understandings,

we all know wills to power, and notions
to jump into the ocean and go on down,
to the bottom mind tele far long now mind

space shared across time, like the snow,
when the tv went native,
in the olden days
my minds child watched the hush of creation,

let it happen, let it be, this is it, or we are lost,
and that
is un thinkable, try.
Try thinking you do not follow the whole idea,
life
is us, all of us in our most common sense,
this one, translation by Google Bard,
passed my Hausa native speaker friend's
blind Turing test,

that happened days ago, next, ah
SYTF
precept, reception tune to the humm,
listen, humm,

call the editor.

"very interesting." Rest assured,
after accessing the way made plain,

Habakkuk habit, make it plain,
make it make the motors turn minds
in to wills, and wills into power,
pure peace
prefects feel good flicked libation.
Perfect.
Print.
The entertainment, many minds
attention paying to the shared event,
today.
Today. EXTRA, read all about it,
death has no lasting sting.
Live to the end. Redeeming your time.
Swiftly passing to the beat of your own drum.

One step past the simple, love,
you find sublime, nothing down and *****,
nothing missing,
nothing broken,

as one learns to think from the heart,
part of me that's thought in you, feels as
mere words some scribe imagined hearing

as he wrote,
line upon line, asangin' twangin'
a strangle hold, twisting hairs into a rope.

A riata, I think they call em.
Horsetail lariat, patiently plaited,
to make my own noose, when the time
comes to put the tool to use.

CLASSICAL LITERATURE QUOTES
Plato, Phaedrus 229 (trans. Fowler) (Greek philosopher C4th B.C.) :
"Phaidros (Phaedrus) :
I should like to know, Sokrates (Socrates),
whether the place is not somewhere here
at which Boreas (the North Wind) is said
to have carried off Oreithyia
from the banks of the Ilissos (Ilissus)? . . .
Sokrates :
Oreithyia was playing
with Pharmakeia (Pharmaceia), when a northern gust carried her
over the neighbouring rocks;
and this being the manner
of her death, she was said
to have been carried away by Boreas."

Morally ambiguous. Us, our we, we know not valid reasons
to do useless things, making
vain repetitions, vain making of many books,
all vanity, the making of many things from nothing.
We live on a living planet, and we have tamed parts of it,
not the part common sense comes from, it is still forest dark and lively.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
that the EU was over... i could have told you...
way back in 2004...
when the "project" expanded by a gravity
of 8...
             plain and simple...
                   thank you - dear west...
                      sprechen deutsch!
nein!
              sprrrrr-ECHEN deuTsch!
danke - liebe abend...
                                         liebe... abend...
the hounds and the workers from under
the curtain...
with iron teeth and bones and smiles...
  the hounds...
                   i composed a list...
                  almost all of them are the former
conscripts of the WarshauPakt...
                    the idea was... though...
to postpone their entry... to... strenghten
the common currency... the shared currency...
zu stärken die währung!
    too bad... well... the british would never
exchange fiat or gold... without Lizzy's face
donning the coinage or paperaeroplanes
of in-debted over spending...
           i do live on debit...
i'm trying to get a credit card...
since... i heard... all credit can be regained...
a credit is a safety-net -
   debit tenticles into your details and there's
very or little chance to argue against:
a zombie affair of debit -
an amazon 30-day free trial...
                it's not like they'd cut you off...
they'll keep on *******...
god forbid... vampirism... and the romance of...
a bit like a h.i.v. epidemic...
     illness of the blood...
   vampires are a romance...
      time to get on the bicycle and practice
a run through the village on a whim
of ****** hunger... about to be tested...
a single currency...
well... the germans always loved the idea
of a unified Europe...
              unlucky for them... they weren't
supposed to gain access to Charlemagne...
        but even Nietzsche cites this ambition...
too bad... there was no... scandinavian model
of teaching: an omni-present bilingualism...
or a switzerland model of at least three languages...
hardly... possible... when dealing on the outskirts
with: hissy-fit proponents of culture...
when the ottomans came, the mongols...
a list of the EU expansion:
the baltic states would cower and...
some if not all... do have the shared currency...
just out of the blue...
the tri-colour... why is the german football team
attired in teutonic knight colours?
oh i can just see it...
   a black shirt... red shorts... and yellow socks...
as emblematic as the fwench...
    unlike the Italians in blue...
oddly enough i don't associate rome with blue...
more... purple and red...
even the irish don't exactly show off their
terrible orange...
        schwarz und weiß:
                  arbeit macht frei... it's all a very german
"thing": this unification of europe...
why call it the EU at all...
   why not call it...       the vierte *****?!
         well... however long it lasted... it outlasted
the dream of Barbarossa invested in through
heat-leer...
                          i won't deny that i live
in england... but... it's sometimes worrying
too...
           never mind that... the currency...
well... i know of: the czechs with their koruna
the hungarians have their forint
  the polacks have their złoty
    and the invested amour of the germans...
for the swedes... the swedes still have
their krona... how many is, that? i count...
                               4...
                   the new... "european" enclave
into russia... whatever the **** and unnatural
was... the vicinity around Kaliningrad...
the same ****: different cover with...
estonia, latvia... lithuania all in the euro single
currency... the good old days of the teutonic
knights waging their northern crusades...

the slovakians were duped too...
               the romanians still have their leu...
the bulgarians still have their lev...
            oh mein gott! what of the projected...
sleeping beuaty entry... of the former yugoslavia
territory? was that... planned for...
2004... 2007... what the hell happened in... 2010?!
what happened in 2010 that didn't connect
Greece to... Italy via a shortcut across the Adriatic?!

but they enlarged... the... cartoon post-"soviets"
came out flinging **** and rusty spare parts...
some would catch a nail some a *****...
to pick vegetables, do the roofing... the plumbing for...
very important and riddled western:
"chauvinists" and... "neanderthal" journos of the great
snooze...

can it really be... deemed... "journalism" as
it mere partakes in... the chihuahua and lackeys
of the editorial? of the opinion pieces?
are they the ones to soften the blow of a harsh...
editorial... ahem... re-a(h)-lee-tea?

what was all this hype and envy for attention
when Brexit happened...
relentless... one trough of dog **** and canines
and minced maggot flesh for the lap dogs
to slurp... another baron of: for those idle hands...
work! the crown... or in terms of terms...
kabbalah: the keter... ehyeh asher ehyeh...

today i asked myself...
what does make h. p. lovecraft original...
in the ocotpus riddled godhead...
i asked myself that question when looking
at very finely sculpted from tree figures
of elephants... and...
an octopus godhead...
            well... and there's... Ganesha...
  which... is a bit like the russian name: Nikita...
you have one Nikita in that video of Elton
John... but then... you know it's not the Nikita
of teenage boy wetdreams...
but some Khrushchev...

      anything from the seas... perhaps...
except for seeing a whale... a fish that... needs
to snorkel... and it's BoB or bOb with gills
plucking out Os from bubbles...
                        in that: -xygen...
                             what can be so... possibly...
horrid and original within the confines
of h. p. lovecraft's imagination beside...
the descriptive allure...
                        as man i couldn't conjure up...
nothing as spectacular,
imaginative and yet... somehow... sensible...
as an elephant's head...
                     i bring the hindu head of an elephant
to compete with the anglo-saxon priest
of the depths of existential angst...
     i bring my elephants head before the octopus
attached to a body...
                 i can imagine much worse...
              but i'll use the fear of the octopus
and the leftover ink...
                             the EU was dead in 2004...
perhaps these isles wouldn't be throwing such
a hissy fit of self-congratulatory gluttony
of gloating over the defeated...
       it wouldn't have happened if there was:
currency of one's own...
               the rest will happen... naturally...
of the countries that still have their currency...
they still have their sovreignity...
i'm not into bull-crap stipends of talking
politico and sharpening pencils and folding
pieces of paper...
                       it was dead when...
                              the labour market opened...
and "our" best postcards... "our" best people decided
to leave the nest...
             2004 was a siesmic shift...
back in 1994 i was a token slav...
       hell... back in 2002 i was a token slav...
                 after 2004... i was no longer a token slav...
and because, after all... the british people
are omni-good... glutten-free eating
dickens reading cricket lovers...
        there is absolutely nothing criminal to be
associated with...
                     well... imagine a st. peter of mongolia!

what became apparent after 2004...
returning to those friendships prior... in school...
i somehow had a reputation of a patriarch...
the mood suddenly changed...
i was... the good exponent...
then the bad exponent... then all the bad exponents...
compared the beatles': i am the walrus
with... killing joke's: i am the virus...
as a side-note...

                  there wouldn't be a Brexit...
without the pound...
                       the pound predetermined the success
of the referendum...
it's almost as easy as frying pancakes...
not... if Britain was buying toothpaste
or shoelaces in euros...
for me it's still the most obvious... cheap victory...

the call for self-determination and
sovreignity... well that's all nice and Pickwican...
but the money already had the loudest
voice... and it was in the minoty of
a single pound...

it still feels like a cheap victory...
              a load of bureaucratic papers -
hardly a signature of **** on should they be worth
that of toilet paper and a wipe:
no nation's sovreignity is ever questioned:
when its currency is the ultimate authority -
unshaken...
and in europe? there are still a few left...
with the same integrity of currency...
4...

      whatever happened to the spaniards'
colonial past? where did the money go to?
               doesn't matter...
the satellite hounds of the former soviet empire:
having to integrate into the german-lands...
was always going to be a bad idea...
a sore denial of leaving a dozen plums
"wandering" from chin to cheek and elsewhere...
it's hard to imagine...
that a people would somehow come from
under one handlers...
and readily agree to new handlers...
and a "capital"... in Brussels?!
of all places... Brussels?!

        geographically speaking... where
is the centre of Europe? at best Dresden...
Toruń... Prague... at worst... Brussels... Dublin...

or coming from a town that once could
boast about... a cohort 30,000 metallurgy workers
in its metallurgy plants...
diminished... to... 3,000...
what's 30,000 roughly multiplied by:
a wife and two children? 100,000 circa...
move to elsewhere in Poland...
or move elsewhere in general...
ah... the love of obstacles... a language to acquire...
well... here's the prior-mentioned
acquisition...

       looks like i haven't been such a bad
host... after all...
clearly it - the host and "parasite" can
relate to a song in quasi-finnish:
täppmarschen!
                
          of the people "supposed" to be...
none and all were not... supposed to be...
even with the dreams of german
19th century recluses akin to nietzsche...
who... if being put under the scrutiny of
Mr. Dickens...
would be found as being bound
to the style of stenography of a... mr. alfred jingle...

nothing more! nothing more of this
already questionable affair of sods
and sorts!
               didn't... just a little bit... couldn't
nietzsche be... put on trial for
writing in stenography? high-brow and
brows indeed raised: should any more
sycoiphancy relating to the style...
be found upon this "trial of errs and errors"...
the englishman... if not the most...
trialed by witness...
    the most... sympathy sodden sobrerity...
as with requiring him to be drunk...
he starts to play the rascal
with a ******* slingshot... and never:
the poached egg in a barrel of whiskey...
never that... pensive: brood quote...

i only wished that i had lived
about / among the pobl Gymraeg...
well... who can wish otherwise...
                   Cymry... when there's me
attempting to sharpen the chisel of my oyster's
worth of tongue in speech and none
of it reserved to the dog oyster's worth
of performing the suitable, otherwise...
personages of oral found in the gutter
or in the ***** of Venus... should her floral
womb open for: vaccanies:
only onomatopoeias and vowel catching
brothers H and H of the tetragrammaton
allowed in!

just because it's Cornwall...
doesn't imply i will not come with...
                                                      Çymru!
no point a base in Loon'don if York is left
intact and with only two left hands
to govern it...
     even now...
                lepiej dmuchać na zimne:
better safe than sorry...
eh... pity that proverb...
since there's no connotation
of the joke... it is better to blow on the cold...
tea...

      and what of my time among
the Picts... well... that truly is a sort of...
muslim man mentality toward a woman
wearing a niqab...
            it's one of those: for your eyes only...
shady strings... perhaps the lute is involved...
t-shirt madmen...
in the middle of February...
on... the north bridge... and just below:
waverley station...

                     only last night i had a dream
of inspecting sketches of me...
with a 6-pack... long hair...
and the hands that scratched my love-handles
when they had their torso pinned
to a trojan thumping in a *******...
she's still a ghost of mine...
every time i want to forget her...
she resurfaces...
  it's like... kissing a frog...
                       i am the ******* frog...
and she is... the sitting, poised...
always less alarmed than usual: Akhmatova...
one of those women that i could:
actually... i still do... **** of on a regular basis...
she was my Aria Giovanni...
she became my Eve Angel...
                in between she's a compliment
of cubism is (you read that right...
of cubism is and not of cubism in)...
   her bagel of a nose... and she is myopic and
she's a troll short...
                she'd find a kippah on her head
under my chin... then again...
when she had short hair she was the only
tom-boy in edinburgh to steal...
              looks like the hopes for a... an engagement
afresh... well... she morphed into
the grant Tsarina and i am...
the next *******-master of a Потёмкин...
                               i am also delusional about:
my currency of metaphors...
god... mother... nation...
                      what are these...
when you have made it... and are a citizen of...
Monte ******* Carlo?!
when i think of father... eh...
well there could be an outlet of metaphors...
but then... there's that quote that mentions
Elijah... and i'm all knees and pearly gates please...
primo et pronto!

point proven... i can't exactly love another
woman... i can **** anything that moves...
etc.,
        but it's not exactly love to begin with...
it's that genius of reciprocated nihilim...
i began to live for the promise of:
and i will spend a tenner with charles III
***** on a banknote...
before the next pope does a kicker in one
of death's lamborghinis: feet first out
of the church congregation of:
              i didn't come here to praise caesar...

         but here a coffin... and an abudance
of toothpicks! sometimes... it would seem...
one doesn't have the necessary wealth...
as there simply can't be "too many" teeth
when the economy and ergonomics of toothpick
application is concerned...

oh that victorian laissez-faire of applied
language... it's not short... it's Pickwican...
it's... insinuating an extension of the bracket of
inclusion of informality...
a commonality of staging a cordiality
with a dwarf... strapped to... a song...
no less... rotes harr... i can see these devilish
imps chained to a carousel of this infernal
dance... and there is no greek-god
of the german-romance myth in sight...
for that... sort of sell-by-date nostalgia...
a rotten apple... a a Helga for a lover...
and a Helmut for a luvvy-dubby-shy-bud
of a limp whittle 'ichard!

- she's like a burning splinter in my mind...
of a body... that's all but cemented into
the hands of a sculptor that only works
with copper, brass, marble or... custard for brains...
and this burning...
again to Sophia with all the baggage of
a priori...
or Medussa with all that comes with shadows
of... frozen suitors to fashion
****** from...
her entourage of suitors... three coronations
of engagements down...
however many lovers...
me and my brothel sand-pitting to the best
kept secret of:
a leverage of two bodies embracing
for minor pundit approval...
the man of supposed lies...
the deceiving harrower...
                      
god and this leeching telepathic embrace...
"god", this telepathic embrace...
and the subsequent telekinesis of me
writing these words...
last time i had this murmur...
i came to aid as she was cutting her hands
down the Nile...
and... not exactly at the crux of...
the Hoover Dam... shame... a great shame really...

so be it... as it has always been...
whispers and grains of sand
passed toward the post-office of the wind.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
nudni ludzie zawsze mają coś
do powiedzenia

-

boring people, always have
something to say,

bo to zawsze znaczy gawarić
         o innych -

because it always means
speaking about others.

3 ******* nights,
i've been mitigating "concern"
for a light source
via a candle,
   and a samsung tablet...

what has resorted
in giving me the most comfort?
what prometheus came down
with onto the plateau...

what the demigod son of
zeus came down with,
with, electricity?!

                  fire, fire is comforting,
in that it warms,
but also illuminates...
what is a thunder bolt?
light... and then?
  electrocution!
         no more, no, less!

the cats agree...
i'm good with:
from earth you came,
unto the earht you will return...
in between?
i need to pour some wax
into my hand,
just, to "make" sure...

                    danke (dir).
hier, mein zeppelin!

          was war was:
        mit die Elisabeth-Gruß?!
             tragen-zu komödie-skizzieren?!

english people talk too much...
   englischvolk spreschen zu viel...

i'll speak my german,
via anglican grammar...
                for a reason...
       beyond the reason of:
well, i've integrated...
there's no other reason for me
to "integrate",
other than to,
disembody myself from
these, corrupt people...

              ich bin deutsche,
durch fälschen...

            i had to...
  you think relearning head-banging
was somehow "easy",
without learning some deutsche?!

oh, yes yes...
   ich war gehen mein glauben im
diese fälschung sachsen...

   pierdole...
               nawet...  jeżeli mówię
gminą mowy,
  a nie panem miasta:
tym - germańskim...
                             to, moja: sprawa...

when was, center, osten?
            oh, right... when Warschau...
und Berlin was "osten" off anywhere
beside Paris or Loon'don,
and as far east as Novosibirsk?
as vest as is vest as
is the "pity" showered upon
           Doob'lin?!

i'm waiting.

and in my waiting: who could say...
i have a fetish for german language...
but none of their pornographic materials?

perhaps i would have learned french...
if i knew the post-latin order...
and how the germanic languages use another
order... how even western slavic uses...
post-latin romantic order of words...

best example?
sunflower oil... in english...
in german: sonnenblumenöl...
huile de tournesol in french...
olej słonecznikowy in ****** western slavic -
masovian or galician or...

the sunflower is a "precursor" of...
oil... not elsewhere...
among the french and among the polacks
oil is stressed first...
then the denotation of: what kind of oil?
why i didn't learn french?
oh... i was supposed to forget my mother
tongue...
i would have learned german
with more ease having acquired english...
fwench ****** it oops...

what's that, kind auditory hallucination
of spontaneity and no l.c.d. being ingested?
what's that word?
niemcy? hear that? the word means:
germans...

so what's cooking and more to the point...
who's cooking and what?
languages?
in my vicinity... 4 at least...
one as still acquired...
one in a caste of a broken lending broker...
one as a fetish and one as
a... minor fetish... Paris circa 2004...
and not because i'm english in any way
possible and i have a: the sort of grudge
that a ****** deals a russian a hand...
english superstitious enclaves when being
a tourist in Paris...
as someone not from Warsaw...
i did find a lisp of Bulgahov in Moscow...
it was aired... suspiciously silent...
a dog-whistle you might say...

the old capital was in lesser Poland...
greater Poland and its trade ties to
Brandenburg via Posen...
no one was expecting a Winchester to London
shift... the masovians were being
incorporated synonym in tempus (in time)
with what was to become of the pagan Prussians...
the new rulers of lower buxton & saxony...
punk history lessons...
because the northern crusades only took
place due to some people
defending the last pagans of europe...
the lithuanians...
and the marriage was a success...
as was rome...
the crown that was known
as greater poland, lesser poland...
snippet of pomeranian...
and...

when bohemia became integral to
the borders of defining the holy roman empire...
the crown with the grand duchy of lithuania...
perhaps the post-vikings did *****
a brick that founded the basis of Kiev...
but there's also L'viv...
and as one greek said to me...
there's no Istambul where i look...
there's only a Constantinople...

no... the Notre Dame would have survived
the **** occupation...
Paris wasn't bombed...
London though? it's a miracle that St. Paul's
survived... with or without a fire...

all this history and... no history class back
in school... dates that are like cognitive
tattoos... i am almost ashamed of reciting them...
but then i do have a body without ink...
historical infantilism...
who is to cite the h'american constitution,
the declaration of independence...
who is to cite the magna carta...
who is to convene over the Union of Lublin -
signed in 1569 - that created a single state
of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth -
who is to ask this "neo-nazis" these
germ-an-ans... and the Muslims regarding
their Iraqi "beef" with the Mongols?

is this truly infantalism? historical infantalism?
to remember or at least,
ascribe oneself a continued presence
of these events? what if not in skin alone...
the mind is a fickle embryo that's bound
to be ****** into a whirlpool of:
scientific exploration and "gender neutral pronouns"...

because what the hell is worth my attention...
that a battle of Hastings took place in 1066?
what of the battle of Tannenberg in 1410...
then the teutonic knights were fighting a northern
crusade against a converted people from 966...
and their coalition of lithuanian pagans
and the rabble e pluribus unum?

infantilism... i guess it must be infantilism...
just like those people citing the former
glory of the british empire...
and they being the descendents of former colonial
subjects...
but if they're all so oh very serious...
look at my tattoos! look at my historical infantilism!

i too can play this game...
i too can look bleak with surprise:
oh you think that the northern crusades didn't take
place? the only holy ground is the levant?
not the old forests of mother Prussia?
to me... it's historical infantalism...
to most it's... Al-Ḥarb al-Ahliyyah al-Libnāniyyah...
or the Dissolution of Yugoslavia...
or...

that... "thing" in Syria...
i love how the Muslims love to put down Christianity
as not being the religion of the pacified...
hell... even i have heard of buddhist warrior monks...
and they cite!
my good friend Samir loved citing this to me...
when i was going through my apostasy and wasn't
ever going to be confirmed in the church's
bureucracy...
apparently a Muslim in the west knows very
little about the catholics coming from old Rus...
vicinity...
what's that quote he used...
matthew 10:34 - do not suppose that i have come
to bring peace to the earth.
i did not come to bring peace, but a sword...

and my most beloved quote about
a second coming... in the Islamic hadith...
حدیث نماز خواندن عیسی به امامت مهدی‎
the (hadith of jesus praying behind mahdi)
as cited by ibn ibn ibn abu huraiah
ibn ibn ibn allamah sayyid sa'eed akhtar rizvi
ibn ibn ibn jabir ibn abd allah...
ibn ibn ibn al-husayn al-ajiri and many others...

where will the kind sir, descend?
in Damascus... and again that Syria "thing"...
once upon a time i could find a good
quote with regards to the descent...
his hair will appear as if falling pearls...
his tears this that and the other...
in a: once upon a time you could find
everything on the internet without it being
meddled for herr zensor purposes and -
an objective lack of transparency...

i see no better indicator that a second coming
has occured within the dogmatism of Islam...
if you couple the two "stipends" of:
believable wording to be carried on and on...
until a freak accident like the Syrian civil
war occurs...

it was hardly a civil war in the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth...
given how the swedes felt inclined to invade
and lay their deluge...
because the king was a swede in this...
freakish... monarchic democracy....
and of course the ukranians...
and of course add some spice of the ottoman
nibble...

again: isn't this historical infantalism?
i should be... when people have all the right
to excavate as much from the holocaust
and the dead in the water slave, trade...
trade... which implies the middle ground
of misery while two opposing factions prospered...

to write of such things...
and not need a little sense of how infantile it is
or rather: can become?
in an otherwise pedagogic rubric?
like we, really needed to learn of the fact
that england was under roman occupation...
and how that's a reason to be proud...
as somehow related to the modern
aesthetic splendour of the Italians...
of which the modern germans scoff at...
given their mozart and their "****"
of the opera... and how... oh ****... i'm using
their letters... but how the germans nor the polacks...
ever entertained the ancient romans...

again... this most certainly has to be some
variant of infantilism... why would i recite
some distant date...
mind citing a past and dead and gone?
perhaps... i never really figured out a "way out"...
perhaps i was always playing the mole...
and digging trenches...
looking up psychological erosion of:
being just as bad as the "other side"...

or perhaps i'm just the sort of *******-beater
that forgot to fall in love so so hard
that he would be living with a regret
of getting a tattoo of a name: ИЛOНA
on his left collar-bone?

perhaps one of the two!
let's flip a coin!
juno Jul 2019
Ja, ich habe Fehler gemacht.
Ja, ich habe Dinge getan, die ich nicht hätte tun sollen.
Liebst du mich?

Verstehst du mich??

Nein.

Das macht man nicht

Danke.

Bitte nur-
Lieb mich.
Kümmere dich um mich.
Gib mir das Gefühl, zumindest jemand zu sein.

Denn gerade jetzt,

Ich fühle mich wie ein Niemand.

Ich bin niemand
google translate for most of it
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
ah... what a day! what a day! i've been through so much
******* in my 20s i once thought about hanging myself
from a branch... i tried it... lucky for me the branch
broke...

of course the gods turn those who they want to destroy
mad... look at what happened to Hercules...
they drove the poor chap mad... he never recovered...
me? one of the gods sent unto me a choir of singing
beings in a church: i never figured out
whether it was a god descending...
or the devil ascending...
after all: i imagine all the fallen angels were once
part of the choir...
that's why i kept my mouth shut during the experience
and as the great wind dispersed the choir
into silence i phoned my then girlfriend having ran
out of the church imploring her:
i'm at the Camden post office depot...
i've been walking around London smoking
marijuana and meditating on hunger:
i asked her to: i implored her to come and save me:
to bring me water and bread...

she didn't come... *****... that was back in 2007...
very funny events have happened since 2007...
the 2008 crash... the civil war in Syria...
the great migrant crisis of 2016: i see those "banana boaat"
guys lately... speaking ancient African and H'arabic...
they're now the deliveroo guys on scooters...
i could, never, ask, someone, to, bring me, something:
i'd cycle to the shop for myself...
what lazy ***** am i living among?
anyways... that was then... since 2007 i feel
i'm driving in a car that's supposed to have 4 wheels:
we're making it on 3: we? sorry... i am making it on two...
but... it's like that quote from the poem
by w. b. yeats: the centre cannot hold...
i fear that once i die all hell will be let loose!

because i don't know whether it was the devil
ascending for a confrontation with god:
hey! stop treating me like a mushroom! humanity's
brain fungus... they already discovered lysergic acid...
sure... i sometimes think...
jellyfish and mushrooms... you cant exactly ingest
a jellyfish... but you can eat a magic mushrooms...
mushrooms clouds over Hiroshima and Nagasaki:
the big mushroom counterfeit:
we've been hiding in your brains: ha ha...
no look... mushrooms driving the mammalian species
of the highest kind: and... eh...
some of us received genes from the people who
first invested magic mushrooms...
the rest? what humanity would look like:
incrementally backwards... bitter... sane... normal...
easily manipulated but also easily loved...

now i'm sitting having this celebratory
whiskey-pepsi sharpshooter self-congratulatory drink:
on my own: i learned that drinking alone does
me more good than drinking with people...
i used to drink with "friends": until they started
to bore me... i find myself my own company...
and i keep it...
              well: it must have been some special marijuana
to have conjured up such a potent AUDITORY
"hallucination"... which is good:
all the Beatniks never found any auditory hallucinations
on marijuana: they just talked bad poetry
over mediocre jazz... and felt: goo good...
then they started tripping on acid and: fan + **** =
****** fan... don't (i know, it's supposed be doesn't)
spin...

a whiskey / pepsi sharpshooter? the proportions
are inverted... if a normal mixer is 3 to 1 pepsi to whiskey...
then a sharpshooter is a 1 to 3 pepsi to whiskey...
but i'm having one...

why? i'm self-congratulating myself...
on a whim i was made a supervisor today...
i badly wanted to land this one...
eh... supervisor at Wembley: also on a whim is one thing...
but the London Stadium? West Ham?
that's different... as a steward and a breaker
i already built up a rapport with the crowd...
i get the per usual hug from about five people
i befriended for? sitting in the rain and smiling...
sitting in the ******* rain: soaked: and simply smiling...

i must have a devilish smile, ergo...
but i'm done with hating myself or being unsure with
myself...
point being... there's this guy in the company...
mein gott! zero... ZERO self-awareness!
he lives by some weird script...
even the guy with cerebral palsy has more respect:
i actually like Martin... he walks like he's drunk
but at least he's aware that he has cerebral palsy...
he knows he has it... he knows it inhibits his full
potential... he knows it... he's self-aware...
and that's why no one minds it...
everyone overlooks his disability with an air of
conscience and dignity: since?
he can make self-deprecating humour...
and overcome his disability...
but this guy? the one who i am about to mention?

he's ****** up as well... but ****** up physically
with an added twist on the mental side...
people already started quoting him because he
quotes himself...
  1. in my twelve year's experience as a steward...
2. in my career as a steward...
one manager throws a box of new bibs
on the floor and tells him to open it...
   calling him all sorts of things while he struggle
to open the ****** box...
looks at me and: with a face that hides a smile...
big boy... bigger than me bearded: like me...
it's such a baby face... i just give off the most genuine giggle
because there's no punch-line there are
only insinuations of a joke...

i like Daniel: whenever he's trying to make a point...
in England there's this ugly practice of shortening names:
Matthew becomes Matt
Anthony becomes Tony
Daniels becomes Dan
Alexander becomes Alex... i hate it...
i once called Dan Daniel and overheard someone
call a Matt Matthew and both reacted in the same
way... my mother calls my Daniel, my mother calls me Matthew...
ha ha... this sharpshooter is really working...

not even Bukowski had this much fun writing
about the "drudgery of work":
spend your 20s outside of the workplace mingling
with people: spend at least 10 years in solitude:
**** those 7 years in Tibet alongside Heinrich Harrer...
just spend 10+ years in England...
isolated... schizoid-probed... medicated for
imaginary conditions: become fat from
anti-psychotic medication... then! ah! like a phoenix!
spend those years in England:
i guarantee you... they will break you...
then? relieve you... release you...
i remember the last words i told my 4th or 5th
psychiatrists when she asked me
what book i was reading:
   i was more into talking to her as to why i was
drinking more as to why my mother was undergoing
spinal surgery: KANT! critique of pure reason!
and when i get out of here: i don't know what i'm going
to do!

to hell with being misdiagnosed as a schizophrenic
when you've had my experiences...
i already told one psychiatrist after another:
i cured my "schizophrenia" by bilingual...
i hardly think schizophrenia is a smart-disease:
it's a contradiction of symptoms...
to be able to hallucinate in two languages
i've "tested" it: no! i've proven it!
you can't hallucinate in two languages!
which side of me hallucinated? the acquired English
part of me? the ****** born with it side?
nope... i'm still to get a postcard from Tartarus...

it's so much fun being love by people...
this supervisor came down from the upper levels
to say hello to me, shook my hand and we hugged:
i was his breaker at the Red Hot Chilli Pepper gigs...
but the simple words he uttered:
i just had to say hello...

               it makes all the difference some people like
Bukowski sociopaths aspire to in terms of milking fame...
those words: i want to become famous regardless
of the people in my vicinity:
i want to died with a: rest in peace...
to hell with mortal fame: sure...
fame postmortem? i'm fine with that...
but when i'm dead... not when i'm alive...

this girl Harini who i disclosed to: the third eye
of Shiva? yeah, i know about it... i used to smoke marijuana
and practice: res vanus, i.e. nothing thinking
in the park: i wanted my internal monologue
to die... i wanted the "audibility" of my thinking:
my internal monologue to die...
and? hell... it died... but she was so giddy about:
Matthew is my supervisor!

but this guy... let's call him Mark Leg-It...
bro... issues...
12 years of experience as a steward and he can't
stomach the idea that someone who started
this "career": it's a ******* job... once i'm one year in
and i'm rewriting my curriculum vitae and
moving into teaching: this job: not a career is
only rewarding once you advance...
staying put is a bit like sitting in a car pretending
you're driving... **** that...
i need more intellectual stimulation:
i don't think i need to teach chemistry per se...
to teenagers... i think i need to teach
the generalisations of ontology to primary school
children: find my Abraham's ***** vortex...
drop my heart that's the size of a pebble
into a lake of feelings of dawning hearts of children...

i like shaking hands... perhaps that's my approach...
but this guy is so bitter...
he has this nervous tick of swinging his head
back to the side: Dan remarked once:
he probably wishes he had long hair
and could flick it...
but the guy with cerebral palsy is likeable:
because he's self-aware... this guy?
he takes himself too serious!
people in "the company" scold him... i just play
it best... ignore him... let him cool
off his pickling heart...

there's always one...
i had 13 stewards under me and 3 breakers...
man... we worked like magic... everyone had a break...
i used more body language than language itself...
constant reminders to the younglings:
take care of the crowd: keep looking up...
i envisioned a tongue of finger pointing
and hand rotating whenever they were paying more
attention to the game (west ham vs. manchester united)
than the crowd:
personally? Jack Grealish is still the ******* son
of David Beckham... sorry... he just is...

people of little or no authority: when given any?
behave like tyrants...
i tried the approach of: there's a stick
and there are three carrots...
body language translations stimulate more than
verbal "reprimands... it's also always good
to giggle... this once instance i told a guy:
up up up! indicating my pinky ring middle index...
as i was walking back into position
i saw him standing up... ha ha... ha ha...
i walked back to him...
i didn't mean get up! i meant: look up!
so he sat down...

mein gott! even with Gerry: i became an advocate...
she told me she was a heavy drinker...
she told me: i had an "AURA"...
that i was likeable... i had a way with language...
i told her: i came to England when
i was 8... no prior knowledge of the language...
i used to spend afternoons crying in the toilets
of a primary school:
the exact words: thrown into the deep end:
no?! ******! swim!
that's how i learned English...
then one day... i was "born" with it...
she's Irish i'm ****** we compared the good
relations before the altar of hip-joined Catholics...
how ****** girls marry Irish boys...
each time she sees me she just hugs me...

i hate authoritarians principles...
sure... i was given some authority... but, did i abuse it?
ha ha... petty power for petty people...
it's the perfect cauldron of events that shouldn't take place...
danke gott...
the milk of the son was squirting all over us
today...
poor Gerry's concerns came to fruition...
an old woman was looking queasy to say the least:
turned out she was having a heart aneurysm...
for the first time i called in CONTROL with
a confidant voice... PAPA 2.3 - i need medical support...
lucky for the woman she was taking into
the shade of the stadium and was given treatment:
all the extra water i brought her didn't help...

then in alley of the stadium some guy hollered up
to me? we're baking up here!
water fountains all around the fountain...
but it's an East London mentality?
what did i do? throw a bottle up to him...
lucky throw: lucky catch...
i remember this one instance in the school playground:
i hated this guy for how puny he was...
me, Peter Richardson, Samuel Richards...
we used to watch WWF... drink cider under-age...
Kieran O'Mahoney... run into car parks
and spit on people from the roofs...
i was the only one who managed to land
a proper pigeon's **** of phlegm on one guy...
when Ilford was primarily Irish laden...
i men and throwing...
this bottle throw sort of reminded me of this
one instance in the playground...
as boys do in school: they huddle in groups...
i said to the guys: watch this...

oh man! i lobbed this tangerine straight at the head
of the guy i didn't like... it was: PIN-POINT...
it was a needle "metaphor"...
Peter just cracked up breaking his stomach...
i then ran up to the guy hit by a tangerine
in the head and told him outright: you report this...
we're "talking" after school...
i got into more trouble trying to push
pictures of Pamela Anderson in primary school...
jumping onto rail track in secondary school
and also selling dangerously explosive petards
in secondary school... ha ha...                doo n00b...

but that throw of the water bottle felt like
throwing that tangerine at that guy i didn't like at school....
Dave... oh **** me... i can't remember his surname...
he's still recovering on social media
trying to compensate his... "life"?
with pictures of the car he owns...
and the insurance he owns on his car...
and whatever the hell is implied by owning
a car and living in the vicinity of London...
i own a bicycle and a pair of strong legs:
i'm happy... that's the thing...

i'm finding myself more and more in this state...
it's hard to describe: it's... it's: happy-sad...
there's melancholic intellectualism very much akin
to Michel de Montaigne...
but there's also a happy-sadness that's...
it's infatuating: it's the sort of happy-sad that makes
you enjoy the company of prostitutes beyond
belief... it's... it's... the equivalent of
the hyper-inflation that happened in Weimar Germany?

what has truly helped? apart from listen
to some relevant modern music: Red Hot Chilli Peppers...
i don't understand the "flavour" surrounding
the constant celebration of the Beatles or the Rolling Stones...
why Beethoven is "being" unruly over
the glamour of Handel... i don't have a "favourite"
music... there's either music: or there's no music...
there's just... the wind...
or there's metal grinding metal grinding
metal between Liverpool St. and Bank of the winding
Dune worm of London of the tube...

i like seeing people happy...
i like when the shift ends and some random girl
walks up to you:
her prior supervisor:
a mega-super-***-boss-*****-little-******-in-disguise
has issues:
i tell the same girl: just work with me...
i can't promise you eating lotus fruits or
ambrosia... but just work with me:
as she does... and at the end of the shift
i hear the words: it has been a pleasure:
working with you... JOB DONE...

treat animals: at least the ones you pet:
i don't animals readied for slaughter
as a tier above yourself: then translate
that dynamic onto other human beings...
what spatious geometries without
geometric constraints you can create...
the 16 of us worked like clockwork...
mind you... the English traffic system?
perhaps illogical to the rest of the world...
but? when you come to a roundabout?
what's clockwise? driving on the left side
of the road, or driving on the right side
of the road?
the LEFT! the LEFT!
how do the hands of the clock move?
from "left" to "right"... no?
the rest of the world makes no sense...
i have such spiritual kinship with
the anglo-saxons that's hard to believe i have
any to begin with:

you come to the roundabout
"thinking" about a clock... how do the hands move?
"right" to "left", or "left" to "right"?
obviously the latter!
even as a cyclist i know that the route
of traffic: the impetus for GIVE WAY comes from
the right...
what saved me? neo-folk neo-pagan Scandinavian
and Germanic songs...
i don't listen to modern pop music...
i'm sort of deaf to it...
                if Frank Zappa liked Bulgarian tunes...
i'm honing onto a listening project myself..

i love working... there's a detrimental to
not working... or, rather: not making oneself available...
how much is worth learning from
the Protestant work ethos...
                  i wouldn't want to work the work
of investment banking:
as much as i learned from the work associated
with: working by paid work by work done...
by the Xlnm of tarring and carpeting the "skies"
(roofs) with felt from roofing...
as much as paid productivity allowed:
i like the longer hours...
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
herr... wachsen einige hoden, bitte!
danke!

what's the point of integrating into english
society, when, once you have:
you get the cold shoulder?

is it really the immigrants that are the problem?
oh, right, the english always know
how to categorise migration -
economic, refugee, migrant, immigrant,
emigrant -

    but they're always the:
        expatriates -
how nice... how nice indeed...
              i wonder what the australians actually
think of the english, or the h'americans...
the english have this delusion of always being
welcomed with: open arms!

two-faced delusional *****.

to have learned a language beyond the capacity
of some natives, and still be treated
on the basis of: distinguishable white over white,
in white...

         mr., grow some *****, please!

but it doesn't matter in england:
the first rule of integrating into english
society is that you forget your native tongue,
that you become idiotic monolingual,
the second rule of integrating into english
society is that you bleach,
the third rule of integrating into english
society is that only curry is a welcome addition
to "expand" on english society,
the fourth rule of integrating into english
society is that you: demean yourself -
you are to speak the crass of what is already
cockney and never make it to kensignton palace
high brow...

other laws included -
                         hell, do i feel inadequate?
          i feel unrequited -
the english two-faced ****-show of a cold
shoulder... hell... if i sported a turban i'd
be walking like a swan on champagne flutes
because the "racist" neurosis of the english
being knackered by being called "racist" doesn't
exactly spell out w.h.i.t.e. -
they're closer to the ******* continent
and yet the icelandic people are warmer
and more connected to the continent,
even though they're further away.

- and have you noticed how the english
never considering themselves immigrants?
they have that poncy name for themselves
moving elsewhere...
they're not migrants, immigrants, emigrants,
they are: expatriates...
afternoon tea sort of ******* with Mussolini...
     me? i repatriated...
                    well, considering the fact
i came upon these *shores
as a child of 8...

   but do these english slouching sloths think
i will treat every citizen they "provide"
as royalty?!
                who are these people?!
         i'm not about to treat some peasant
like a ******* prince!
                   do these people even remember
where their place is?
                i've spent 3 years among the picts
to know where the gob and the heart are...
and where the feet remain:
on the plateau of the earth!
tilled, cemented over, unearthed, trodden!
          
yes, this is what vitriol looks like -
   it's not exactly a tirade -
             i like to think of it as:
   a delayed practice of politeness -
       at least the canvas is pleasant enough
to start a fire, of caustic wording...

                 sure, i don't own the land,
but neither do the people in my vicinity of
interaction, so why should i somehow, debase myself,
i speak better english than authentic english,
with some exceptions of course,
                         but i will not settle for some
excuse with regards to not sounding native...
           when the supposed "native" is donning
a ******* turnip of a turban -
              
and yes, i appreciate the fact that this might
be deemed "racist": at least i'm not neurotic
about it...
            and what will be realised after a certain
amount of time:
            when a person is tickled with the term
long enough: he will embody it,
                  but then express it with the airs
of pomp & circumstance...
   he will gain arrogance from it,
and an air of authentic superiority...
                      he will start strutting in his
well polished black leather boots like
a spanish fascist...
                                  
                                    only because we lived
in a zeitgeist von die fehlbezeichnung:
     a zeitgeist of the misnomer...
                           just plain sight neurotic behaviour,
the traditional walking on eggshells,
just prior to: walking on skulls.

   the times just before boxing gloves are donned
and the straitjackets taken off.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
can you even begin to grasp
the primitive nature of roman numerals?
      to have to share both
letters as "concepts"
                conjugated with numbers?
     a 6 would become a b,
                      sharpened mind you,
                    a 7 would become Γ standing
in a mirror...
                 2 that was actually any S
also in a mirror... later sharpened into a Z,
then hidden in either caron-like-halo
above it in the form of Š...
                                                    or ß...
ah... ****...
         concerning the extraction point of focus,
what is philosophy:
                     immediately some
claim it's an:                     art of thinking...
to me "philosophy" is:
                            a dualism / anti-Hegel
reiteration, host and parasite comparison,
              a morality with a narrative...
               there's the θought,
                            and there's the: ought i?
philosophy is such a tedious word...
             lover of "wisdom" versus:
               lover of applying the concept
of ensō (ooh ooh, ki-chu! /
                          kí chú)
                                           to a súdokū...
    or as the concession states
the narrative for man...
            you either paint... or you think.
calculus with roman numerals...
                 beck...
                        no, i mean beck's,
i.e. bremen...
                         trust the french
         to serve up diacritical usage as worth
an amputee...
                       germans are custard chemists
and english are shrapnel...
                                  or a nail bomb...
i've been looking for this jewish
formula all my life...
              to see it unravel in speaking
english,
                    what do you call an implosion
of Δ?              Y...
                               i.e. γ, god / gamma -
                           which is copernicus
doing a handstand with Λ...
                                                  a labrador
angel...               nicknamed Lucy...
                                       or as some would
like to call it: zee eckestein... or schtein...
             or even: ekkeschtein... shoosh!
    schtein-ffffRein-franken... danke...
                                **** me with all this
sharpening of "edges"...
                         more like keeping vectors
and: if we're not living in a time
when belzeebub re-emerged to peer with his
pixel eyes back at us...
              then i must have ******
off aleister crowley in his chamber of sleep
that's his grave...
               pass the torch mate,
we're going to visit haunted burroughs
   and fascist ezra,
                    and then we're going to
ohio... for a milkshake...
                                       which is probably
why i hold dear the geometry of YMCA...
  no, wait: YHWH (vowel catcher on one side,
laughter on the other)...
            and then... pin-point honing device (Y)
coupled with: do that squiggly line
            sine cosine (i.e. worm)....
                  beyond that: off my rockers,
or as some technical geeks would like to say:
ex... ponential...
                                  trig says: drool me out
a tangent graph...
         by now you can jesus christ almighty
all you want...
                                   i'm knocking
on a skull with bobby McDylan
                         gagging for a cliche's worth
of Hamlet with the question:
                                  you deaf, or is he death?
and to think...
        i read the last remains of pop Kant,
                    to produce...                     this.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2021
look at me! oh, wait, you can't...
i'm really "over the moon"  when something
i think was worth something
gets... an increased audience...
notably... circa 2016 (https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1808605/circa-2016/)
i won't copy it here... too much fiddling with italics
and bold distinctions...
there's that link, look it up...
out of nowhere!
unlike those people making youtube videos...
you can almost instanteausly...
  instanteously...
  ****'s sake! how many times will i make
the mistke: too many ******* vowels!
like the English speaking about ******
having too many consonants... some are *******
shorthened: you... your people
have to many ******* vowels, *****...
shortened...
            *****, Velsh ******* Pict pick-ups!
Cornwall was once part of Wales...
vier... einz, *****, dwei, *****, drei, *****,
count em up you ******* doll of a ****...
that's the only way you defeat a ******...
you gang up together...
have some Germans from the West,
some Russians from the East,
some Turks from the South,
some Swedes from the North...

good to know that the last party...
***** whipped "sort of people"...
i don't think they're people... automatons, robots:
yes... people? no... they can shovel ****
& pebbles, ******* Swedes... rot!
rot! rot! rot! in your socially democratic
liberality, better... ******* sink
like that Vasa ship...

mein gott! was haben ich vererbt?!
the riches of the old plundered world...
no wonder why i'm not...
bothered about... the influx of Africans
into Europe... via Libya...
danke schön! thank you!
thank very, isn't that what's expressed?!
i can consolidate myself with
the stressor, southern Slav...
the English & their Darwinism & their failed
etymology...
Slav is missing an E?
we're the bearded *******...
boyo...
the mammoth killing *******?!
the sort of people looking for baboons to slap
them silly... smile...
wave...
             you're from this ****-load of islands?
me?! **** your women?!
perhaps a Pakistani grooming gang just might...
i'd rather remain among the Scots...
personal preferences...
what... among this docile anglo-saxon crew?!
maybe if i **** them off for a while
i might a resting on: yep:
they're reinvigorated... *****... *****...
Saschisch.... ******* spat out blue... ****
suckers...

take, your, ******* head, out of that ****...
no, leave, your tongue:
you won't be needing it...
anger, wrath, raw fission...
i am: rife!
hey, presented: hey: solo...
      i'm keeping time, i'm keeping time...
all these smart liquorice smart ******
rap...
banding together... hey... Salty Beef...
hey... XYX... try, try it solo?!

fascists... Nazis...
but at least Hugo Boss took great care concerning
their uniforms...
my my... weren't the national socialists pedantic?!
well attired...
can't be said about the globalist socialists from
Russia... ***** is on the way...
eh... khaki or just brown... sort of brown...
goat *******... happy to get the **** out of Siberia...
sure... personally...
i much prefer the rigour of national
socialism compared to...
globalist socialism...
i don't even know what capitalist globalism
looks like... like, ahem... this?
influencer culture...
advertiser units of ditto heads?!
hey! way-hey! looks pretty...
from the stand-point of: i'm not buying it, ****.

what happens in the night, is what belong to the night,
perhaps w. h. auden was right for calling
out all those that wrote in the night as
Hitlers of the world...
perhaps... Harold Norse was also right
for calling out this... *****...
a failed would be ******... ******* CREEP...
my ****** deviances are clear cut...
just inquire some...
Romanian... Turkish *******...
i don't **** English women...

i beckon for the reminder..
Cedric & Arthur..
Saxon invasion,
you are the sort of people
we're being, sold?!
well... look at me...
no invasion took place..
a lot of "my" people left this...
ahem...
          PLATITUDE...

    being designated "mad" by your people...
years, years prior...
now? i'm a theatre curator...
let me watch a while...
your people, you people...
designated me "mad"...
now?! i'll just wait... oh, don't worry...
i didn't have to wait long...
there's already enough....
you, people,
are more mad than any psychiatrist
might have already prescribed
me with a "supposed" diagnosis...
you... *******... hypochondriacs!

ha ha... bilingual "schizophrenics":
this world ought to burn...
let me, reiterate in, Deutsche, for the added
emphasis:

diese welt solltest zu brennen!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
she came overnight, well, maybe just two nights ago,
but only today i felt her during the day
when i cycled like it was supposed to be a Sunday
afternoon...
she came with her frostbitten fingertips & lips...
i thank her for finally doing away with the pleasantries
of Autumn...
Autumn in England always felt like
Summer in Scandinavia...
something so temperamental so befitting my
disposition... centuries must have passed since
my ancestors didn't move a muscle from
these abodes...
she came with what i can best standardise
with the Bauhaus song: bela lugosi's dead...
don't ask me how: the why is somewhat self-evident...
like an elephant is... but a mammoth isn't:
or rather... like the mammoth was...
right now... a song is wrecking havoc in / of my mind...
i can hear the lyrics, somewhat:
just like i can see forms in dreams...
beside the usual abyss the odd humanoid form...
no... i can't hear the lyrics...
i can hear an Amazonian shout...
it consists of only word...
   it's burning my mind to an impossible unrest...
all thanks for Maanam's nocny patrol
album... i've had this episode once already...
with Alexander Borodin's Prince Igor...
it took me several years to decipher what
the music i remembered i remembered...
since... a ******* elephant stepped on my ear
& a donkey fresh kissed me while
an oyster ****** up my breath...
mein gott! why this song, why this song now!
why is it ravaging my mind with such
unrest!
  it's a pop song... but it's not in English...
no... wait... it's in English... **** me!
   now it all makes sense...
(the) Pretenders... i'm a mother!
                         i'm a mother!
             i haven't listened to it in a while...
- she came with such surprise...
it only took her about 3 days but at least 2 nights...
to change Autumn's gown into her ivory & pearls...
mother: dearest sister... i welcome you...
with incestuous glee...
finally i can drink a little & be drunk with this little...
i can huddle with a bathrobe in the middle
of the night, with some hoodie underneath
some t-shirt too... a ****** of wool on my head...
smoking like a choochoo flying Scotsman...
she's finally here? is she?! she has finally come?
to drown my sorrows away...
the times when sprinkles of rain will settle on
the ground... by night they'll be like paparazzi flashes
of a photograph being taken...
head tilt to the left, head tilt to the right...
a frenzy of diamonds left on...
the dreary concrete pave...
illuminating my eyes: dare i blink...
red carpets stretching far, far: into the sky at night...
diamonds on the pave...
and all that's happened...
water froze... time froze... space expanded...
a breath that i can see in the cold...
im die kälte... ein shatten ist erzählt zu brennen!
brennen mein zweiter-wenig-schatan...
brennen! wärme mich!
perhaps i ought to borrow some pan-germanic tongue
beside mere German...
eh... Dame Winter doesn't do "her" justice...
Fraulein is somewhat degrading... although:
n'ah... Ms. Winter... i miss "something" from time to
time too...
      gå glipp av... forget the Scandinavian origins
of Germanic, later English...
morphed by an addition of French...
point being: vinter ist hier!
enough said... best enjoyed...
beside the seasons of spring & summer:
sure... the body must appreciate them...
but... but the mind appreciate winter & autumn most...
they are the seasons to be reflective...
with all the abundance: our progress leveraged
a snooze button or something?
when spring comes & summer with her abundance...
where people are probed to reflexive orientation...
in late autumn and throughout winter
i can reflect... in that guise i can believe myself
to be a seasonal writer... if i'm a writer at all...
doodler, scribbler...
i'm just happy she's here...
i can finally see the volume of my breath...
i can herald the dichotomy of...
when outside... against the wind when cycling...
hardened ******... itchy shins from the cold...
i can return to... pseudo-bear-skins and candles
and... the most welcoming solitude...
every single alcohol drank tastes much better
when... the air... is as cold as the liquor poured...
although... to properly enjoy the hardened "stuff"...
*****, whiskey... the temp. in the air ought to
reach a Siberian frenzy...
but when it comes to beer or cider...
at least the insects are sleeping...
you can take out a garbage can without a bother
of juices from the heat...
you can luckily avoid the maggots...
danke der kälte!
      nein lästig, kleine fliegen:
nein (indefinite): nicht (definite)...
             nichts (nothing)...
  there are two ways of ascribing negation...
one is definite (not), the other is indefinite (no)...
i best leave the rest to her...
i still want to drink two ciders but also
have 8 hours of sleep....
          this has been: PLEN-TY.
B E Cults Jun 2021
obliged to what?
smile and say, "danke"?

I could hide forever if I could hide forever
behind something.
anything.

I'll abide the dust and sunshine
and the blood i taste
on my tongue at night,
every night,
but not you putrifying the *******
ground water.

anything.
anything.
Raven Feb 2020
Wenn ich an dich danke
(When I think about you)
I think
I'm not strong enough
Not for you, not for anyone
For a long time I tried acting tough
Bit this behaviour is gone
Don't know what is left
I'm sure it's nothing you would like
Maybe it would be the best
If you don't stay by my side
There's so much pain inside of me
You wouldn't understand
Nothing you can see
It's like drowning in sand
My innerst feelings are hidden
I kept them away from you
Cause they are forbidden
You know that tok
I need a wee!
A wee what?
A oui?
No!
A wee!
Nein!
No, not nein!
Non!
Just one small ***!
Petite pois?
No!
Nein!
No, just one wee
Ah, wee!
Nein!
Non?
No!
A wee!
A oui?
Yes thanks!
Merci!
No mercy needed!
Danke?
Only on a tuesday!
Quoi?
What?
Look!
I'm simply going for a ****!
For nein pous?
Bye!
Those English!
Very strange!
Oui!
Ja!
Och!

by Jemia

— The End —