Forty Days

A Season of Grief, a Season of Rejoicing

November 9-December 20, 2014

For Barbara Beach Alter 
It is Christmas morning in Saco, Maine, where today Bett, Aaron, Emily, Thomasin and our beloved cousin Marie find ourselves gathered to celebrate our first Christmas without dadima (our name for Barbara Beach Alter).  Brother Tom writes that already in India he and Carol with Jamie, Meha and Cayden (the only of her seven greatgrandchildren Barry never held) have celebrated.  Today Marty and Lincoln join us in Maine.

This gathering of documents—notes, drafts of memorial services, poems, homilies—is my christmas present to each of you.  It is a record, certainly subjective, of grief and rejoicing.

John Copley Alter
1:14 a.m.
Saco, Maine 
November 9

Loved ones,
Barbara Beach Alter died peacefully at 2:55 Sunday morning (today).  Bett and I had the good fortune to be there for the final beating of her good strong heart.  She murmured charcoal.  The nurse who was bathing her afterwards noted how few wrinkles there were, and it is true.
For those of you nearby you may if you want visit Mom in her room at hospice this morning (until noon).  Visit? Darshan? Paying respects?
Bett and I plan to be there around 11:00.
Much love to all. A blessed occasion.
John

 
November 10

Matthew 5:13-19
Jesus said, "You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.
"You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
"Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven."

yesterday in the early hours my mother died her saltiness
restored all that had through the months of her old
age and convalescence obscured the lens of her life cleaned
away so that for us now more and more clearly
as we hear about her through the memory and love
of so many people her good works shine forth in
their glory but it is to the days of her
convalescence the days of her dementia I would turn our
minds those of us who spent time with her at
Wingate long-term care facility remember that Barbara Beach Alter became
at times fierce in her commanding us that ‘not one
letter, not one stroke of a letter’ of the commandments
should be altered do you remember that those of you
and us who were given the work and gift of
spending time with Barry in those days in that condition

remember for instance how fussy she became about the sequence
of food on her tray how impatient with us for
our trespasses and violations how adamant that we look forward
for instance and not back at her how she would
say stop holding my hand and saying you love me
you have work to do o she was almost impossible
and certainly incoherent and demented in her obsession with law
and procedure fussy impatient imperious I do not forget being
scolded reamed out put in my place for having somehow
failed to do what the ‘law and the prophets’ demand

Barbara beach alter in the days before hospice in the
nursing home and hospital and even if we are honest
in the final years of her life found herself caught
up in the rigidity of her anxious desire to be
faithful to the laws and commandments of her life and
that made her at times extremely demanding to be with

amen and the epistemological confusion of course the clash between
her reality and ours it was all an ordeal for
her and for those of us who kept her company

and yet and yet through it all and now as
that ordeal for her is no longer paramount as she
dances in heaven all the wrinkles and discomfort of her
life removed and forgiven Barbara Beach Alter kept the faith
living in the midst such that those who cared for
her most intimately the strangers all professed your mother blessed
us


Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
7 Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
8 Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
9 Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
10 Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
11 Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
12 Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.



So, brother and sister, here are my thoughts about the memorial service(s).
Let’s find a time when we three can be present; that’s the most important thing.  My life is currently the least constrained by agenda and schedule.  And then the grandchildren, recognizing that Jamie may not be able to come.  So, our work is to find our when our kids are able to come. Bett and I are exploring that with our three, each of whom has some constraint: Emily, the cost; Thomasin, the piebaking demands, Aaron school.  But we are flexible.

Much love.

John



Walking in my mother’s wake today some trees
a gentle breeze some dogs a little boy
the neighborhood and I took joy from interaction

we are at best a fraction in love’s
calculation after all heaven I realize is not
above or below cannot be taught comes naturally

as death does walking in my mother’s wake
I found new allies learned yet again not
to take myself too seriously to be caught

off guard as a matter of principle and
not to insist that I understand but live
in the midst of forgiveness


in my mother’s wake I am reading these books for
some way to continue to knock on her door Wendell
Berry he can tell me some things and William Blake
he can take me closer and I remember she described
me once as an unused Jewish liberal so I am
reading about protestant liberalism but ham that I am also
reading Carl Hiassen’s Bad Monkey and Quo Vadimus that my
daughter left behind and mythologically Reflections from yale divinity school
no fooling Denise Levertov David Sobel Galway Kinnell’s translation of
Rilke some wake
 
November 11

Matthew 25:1-13
Jesus said, "Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, 'Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.' Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, 'Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.' But the wise replied, 'No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.' And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, 'Lord, lord, open to us.' But he replied, 'Truly I tell you, I do not know you.' Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour."

this morning in the wee hours my mother died one
of the wise bridesmaids whose lamp to the end was
full she carried always the flask of oil that is
joy that is the love of the kingdom of heaven
and of the bridegroom a flask always replenished by prayer
by devotion by a humble courageous living in the midst

she expected every day the bridegroom to come in other
words and she was also one who would never refuse
to share even the last drop with somebody in need

and at the end it is so clear the door
into the banquet hall was not closed to her as
it is not closed to any one of us foolishness
is to believe otherwise to believe that the bridegroom will
not come today in the early morning in the wee
hours that is when he comes in the midst of
other plans is when he comes even when we are
doing what we assume to be good work when we
are doing what gives us pleasure our duty joy comes
then unsummoned unpredictable random even according to all our best
laid plans my mother loved so many things her pleasure
included dancing late in her life terminally unsteady she invented
what we loved to urge her to do namely the
sitting jig and we grew up with images of her
Isadora Duncan dancing with white scarves in an enchanted forest

Barbara Beach Alter aka Barry aka dadima bari nani aunt
and daughter wife missionary is now I know dancing a
rollicking boisterous jig on the shores of a lake that
is as her grandson once confided to her god in
liquid form spilly Beach of course also dyslexic executive function
compromised she was but one who loved to be always
in the midst surrounded by loved ones some of them
absolute strangers she shared her oil because for her it
came welling up from an inexhaustible source a deep eternal
well of such illumination and laughter such giddy divine chuckles

for her there was to be no exclusion she would
not find the awful idea of being one of the
foolish applicable to anybody but happily she welcomed into her
midst so many it is hard to imagine how many

so there she is now a bridesmaid dancing for joy
in such elegant clothing with such perpetual brightness

amen hallelujah rejoice


sometimes I think she pulled us all out of the
magic hat sometimes I think she knit us all into
one of her theologically impossible sweaters and then with a
wink she passes through the eye of the needle and
is gone and we are left to play in her
honor endless hands of solitaire sometimes I think we are
no more than the hermeneutics of her life the epistemology
artless she was not her heart like one of those
magical meals for her then a doxology praise then praise
she knows salvation

what is a life’s work it is like a landscape
dotted with oases and gardens for the thirsty and the
lost it is like scraping through dry barren ground and
finding there suddenly not only the theology of paradise but
such seeds your hands ache to begin the planting what
is a life’s work what has been shut for too
long opens what has been shut for too long opens

a life’s work renews itself then with death the kernel
of hope that dies in springtime sprouting is what a
life’s work becomes
 
November 12

John 21:15-17
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep.

I know my mother very much enjoyed having breakfast with
god and that the meals of her nursing home drove
her nearly crazy and that when at last she found
hospice o she again could imagine the feast of heaven
at which Jesus breaks bread with us and speaks with
such clarity do you love me more than these I
know it was questions as simple and overwhelming as this
that dominated her final days do you love me love
being  one of the last five words she attempted to
speak do you love me she wrestled in her last
months with epistemology and psychology and theology and all had
to do with whether she could answer unequivocally you know
that I love you and that she could say of
her life that she had broken bread with god we
all remember in her life those moments when there was
a great gladness an innocent acceptance of what lay immediately
in her presence now those months in the nursing home
tormented her in precisely this fashion that it was hard
to accept to be in the midst of such mediocrity
and woe to be innocent and accepting but now praise
god there she is a happy guest at the great
feast and we left behind bereft can acknowledge that she
loved god in her own fashion as best she possibly
could and do you remember being with her there in
hospital or nursing home and she commanding us to move
beyond holding her hand and saying we loved her and
to feed the sheep to do that work which will
make of this earth this here and now an outstation
of heaven Barbara Beach Alter loved god in her own
fashion as best she possibly could we remember that and
that memory is today like a great network a web
of love and inspiration o we would gladly one more
time hold her hand and say I love you but
we know also clearly I think today what the work
is to love our neighbor as ourselves to work for
peace and justice I think of my sister with her
colleagues in WEIGO and how her sisters have understood her
grief  let us break our fast together then glad for
the worldwide web that in these days is reading the
gospel of the life of Barbara Beach Alter praise god


feed
tend
feed
in exchange for his three denials Peter is given three imperative verbs
feed
tend
feed
this is the commission Jesus after breakfast on the shore of the sea of Galilee gives to Peter
twice he says feed
in the commonwealth of Massachusetts 700,000 people are hungry
1 in 6 americans are hungry
living in uncertainty about their daily bread
more than 18,000,000 in Africa
842,000,000 around the world go to bed hungry


Marty and Tom
The thinking about the memorial service is taking this slow and cautious turn, namely that we have three services (at least), one in Sudbury, one in New Haven (allowing Stan and Chuck and others to come) at First Presbyterian (with Blair Moffett we hope), and of course one in India.
The date frame appears to be somewhere between December 17 and 20, unless you have other thoughts.
The actual cremation happens tomorrow.  Lincoln, Bett, Alexis and I will attend, and then of course there is In the Midst on Friday.
Love you more than tongue can tell.
John


the thing with a life well lived is that many
people have partaken the way let’s say a river moves
down through any number of different lives all the time
sedulously seeking the shortest path to the sea to steal
a line from somebody or other meandering a watershed within
which so many of us find a way to live
our own lives nourished and for each of us the
river distinct and different white water the slow fertile meander
the delta and we say to each other this is
the composite river


sometimes I feel like a sleepwalker trying to run a
marathon sometimes I feel like a speedbump in a blizzard

an arrow in a wind tunnel sometimes I feel like

a hazard sign in an old age home sometimes I
feel like a tyrannosaurus rex trying to ride a tricycle

and sometimes those are the good days when identity is
strong like an icicle in a heat wave is strong

I try to read wisdom literature at happy hour scotch
and Solomon can’t go wrong I think and sometimes I

feel like crying
 
November 13

four days ago we were left alone there with your
body after your breathing ceased and the proud stubborn beating
of your heart and in those four days beloved mother
so much I would love to say to you and
share the antics of the squirrel late leaves on the
neighborhood trees music Orion the network the atlas of love
your life has left behind and all the words we
are the gospel of today and I would sit with
you there then in silence as I sit now four
days later vigilant insomniac aware that the kingdom of heaven
is not more complicated than singing than love than dancing

we are all dancing the dance lord siva teaches and
the s

Mumbai is rich, Mumbai is poor.
Mumbai is fast, Mumbai is slower.
Little bit sweet, and little bit sour,
Sometimes it’s hot but not too more….

Mornings are energetic and evenings are electric.
Noons are lazy but Nights are crazy
And any one you ask he always say “M busy”
Dude, life in Mumbai is not so easy

There is lot of Masti with little bit of Maska
Welcome to the city that can’t live, without Bollywood Chaska

From cooker whistles to the traffic jam horns,
From steaming tea kettles to breaking nut-betels
From telephone rings and doorbell brings.
There are people connecting through Blackberry pings

Where there’s little time to spare for kids
People here spend their lives on bids
Here you actually pay your travel fare by meter
But milkman mixing water is not a cheater!

Sev puri and bhel puri are all Mumbai chaat
Relishing it with spicy chutney is no easy art
From pop-corn to ice-cream, all sold on cart
Mumbai o Mumbai, you’re always close to my heart

Where local trains usually run on time
And violently rushing for a seat is not a crime
Here 3 PM for lunch and 12 AM to dine
People face hardships, but still say “it’s fine”

From Mt Mary in Bandra to Mumba Devi in Town
And ISKCON in Juhu to Haji Ali in Mumbai’s Crown
Faith runs deep as the Arabian Sea
But people don’t hesitate to pay early darshan fee.

Marathi, Punjabi, Gujarati and Bengali
Everyone forgather celebrate Id and Diwali
Holi is colourful and Christmas is cheerful
Spend some time here and your life will be un-forgetful

Billionaire to baggers, all found in this city
Be careful dude, this place is a bit witty.
Overall this dream-world is huge but pretty
Mumbai o Mumbai you’re wonderful city.

so you can understand the voice of eva cassidy, and hear the beauty of plagiarism as above original composition; sometimes it fares to count a minute than live an hour, when all an hour can bring is asphyxiating sails that have but a viking dreaming of greenland, and deeper north to no sunrise awaited turning viking into eskimo; but it's still a bit **** that they remember jeff buckley than eva; i preferred his father, timothy; n'ah, not really, hence the whimper, hence the weep, hence leeroy cohen giving us the bricks and the pavement to wrestle drunk trails of the otherwise respected walk of pride, or shame, into the grave.*

wet your hand before touching ice,
and i promise you,
you will turn into a spider,
a wetted hand touching ice
will cling like traversing
odd geometries,
you really don't need
an oxbridge education
to speak a tongue
so easily exported to australia,
india and new hampshire,
but like i said:
i will not go to that sikh *****'s
wedding a daughter out
of principle, as i breathed out
a soul most recognisably seen in winter
(a bottle of wine for me is
a glass of beer for you):
we shall meet again Darshan,
with soul and ease of thought,
for ease of thought means soul,
and that, my dear feline imam,
who i chiselled a gravestone off
a grave to bury your ash...
is as far as the buddhist sun will be allowed
to rise from horizon frequented by
stars in depths and squid reminding of
the oceanic fluorescent graffiti,
search one's own depth before searching
a depth to others...
you provide a shallowness
others will acknowledge as sound relief
readied for critique...
just because you read don quixote doesn't
make you a genius, more a plagiarist...
but it helps to have something bulky...
my metabolism states:
a verse at a time, two hours for one
in the cantos, then a newspaper article
(i never managed to understand why
people read trash upon wake & transit,
to some odd affair with address and signature,
why read the world's rotary gullibility
with tongue in cheek tongue tied predictability?
why not begin the day straining the eyes
at tolstoty's ******* no one dare read
for fear of being ransomed by boredom?
you russian or something?
there's no prize concerning national pride,
so why bother?
philosophers say the dumbest **** about philosophy,
they talk perception perception reality via "the perceived",
and then they say it takes ageing, or quiet simply
old age, loss of libido to define the subject matter;
i say... it's defined by spontaneity, because
it's a subject once it's fleeting, a butterfly conundrum,
anything beyond that is a tapeworm:
it feeds by feeding of a host, and that's that.
Darshan, my quicksilver in water,
we'll meet once more, again,
when we'll say: thinking with ease,
to the ultimatum of arguing whether a god exists
exploited to exchange pronouns with nouns
and vice versa... to be less identifiable
as a hope for fame... to think with ease,
disregard points of closure... with soul...
to be with soul and the ease to think,
such is the travesty of unquestionable morality...
the ultimate defiance of the gods in terms of mortality:
man's rebellion was to ask of morals,
the gods simply gave us mortality.

i can't remember the last time i was satisfied with
only drinking one cider and 35cl of whiskey,
i honestly can't... then again i plucked two of my
favourite aphrodisiacs that night...
i beat up the whittle 'ichard before
(aphrodisiac no. 1 - exercise, exertion) cycled
to the brothel... then bought myself a bottle
of cider (aphrodisiac no. 2 - no other alcohol
works that sort of magic, no wine, no whiskey,
certainly not beer: cider...
and for that matter a very specific cider...
merry down cider, with a fox playing a violin
on the etiquette... the label... served in a 75cl
portion... 7.5%... medium dry...
so no...  not Thatcher's... or a Hertfordshire Weston's...
it has to be the Merry Down... probably
because of the portion) and did the victory
lap around the park and the brothel around
Goodmayes station...
obviously i bought 35cl of whiskey before walking
in... inside after we ******... hmm...
******* sets me off so quick... i don't know:
seeing a woman on her knees... from behind...
a bit like watching women in churches on
their knees before certain deeds are done...
i think i'm going to go back to a catholic church
one Sunday and draw out fetishes in my head...
kneeling before a cross... maybe Jesus the ******
would have loved to be nailed to some X cross
and then get ****** off by some Magdalene?
maybe he was into sadomasochism...
    who knows... but ******* sets me off on
an easy path of ******...
at least in the ******* it feels more
like exercise as i'm using the upper part of my body
to arch over a woman... from time to time
lowering myself to kiss her when she shows her tongue
licking her lips: i guess that implies: kiss me...
so i do... or lowering my body to brush noses
with her... press my forehead against hers
or just bite her chin...

is it just me or did the band Priest use certain accents
of Lana Del Rey's Summertime Sadness
in their song Phantom Pain? have a listen...
i think they did... never mind...
aphrodisiac no. 3: music... just listening to some
music you'd like to listen to when *******
fills the mind prior to the act with the act:
Trevor Something: into your heart...

work has transformed me, working with people,
dealing with drunk football fans...
i walked into the brothel: three beauties sitting there...
i never thought i had a thing for plump girls
or girls wearing glasses...
but this third one... the blonde... that lied
about being from Romania when in fact i know
from Michaela that she's Poland looked like:
a frightened doe... her eyes almost teary... her lips
moving as if trying to tell me something...
obviously i picked Michaela: she's going back
to Romania for a month to visit her family...
she worked so hard that she managed to have
a 12 room house with 3 bathrooms...
she's thinking about retiring in a year's time...
setting up a restaurant... i told her i make ****
good mint and chocolate chip ice-cream and i love
looking... who knows... i heard that Romania
is beautiful... and she's from Bucharest...
so... easy access to Ottoman heritage... and Dracula...
who knows... life is sometimes a house
of windows that are opportunities...
the same blonde that:

Khadija... Khadira... Khedra blocked me on WhatsApp
just before she ****** off back to Turkey
for a holiday... yeah... Khedra sent me
a photograph of herself with this girl...
now look at her... a frightened doe...
why did she block me? i don't care...
she was there last night... i asked for her...
but she was bringing back £60 for an extra half
an hour with a man she was already busy with...
we said hello: i kissed her cheek as a greeting...
me and my hardly jealous heart...
but Michaela can do i don't think even Khedra
could... after all... with Michaela it was
first time quick... second time longer...
third time quick... 4th time much longer...
first time? i blame it on the fact that she forgot
to pull back the *******... what sort of uncircumcised man
wants to **** without a circumcision imitation?
i know women prefer the aesthetic of a circumcised
man... but at the same time:
in the old ways... a man would be circumcised...
but the woman would have to pay some compensation...
just look at Islam and Judaism...
not the current American raw deal of circumcised
men... that's not how it works...
circumcise a man and his sometimes need to
pleasure himself makes no sense with no *******...

hardly a joke... it's called the acronym FGM (female
genital mutilation, but it's not called MGM male
genital mutilation?! oh right... all those eunuchs
in harems who were walking ******... because: hardly...
Solomon couldn't **** all his harem...
it would probably take him a whole year
to make the rounds and **** all his concubines)...
so unless he didn't have eunuchs to please his concubines
he had the concubines turn to lesbian acts...
even great kings of old didn't mind other men
******* their women... as long as they didn't impregnate
them...
i'm a modern man... i really don't care who she has
been ******* prior...

me? with Khedra... i know why she blocked me...
but it's only on WhatsApp... i still have her number...
i just have to use the conventional routes...
but she must have received advice from fellow prostitutes...
you're sending him pictures of yourself?
you said you'd gladly have a night with him
in a hotel room for free?! are you a ******* or his
girlfriend?!
mind you: Michaela asked me for extra money
for unprotected ***... Khedra simply gave it up without
any extra cost... to be honest... i don't mind either...
****** off: obviously...
****** on? honey... do you have two spare latex suits
we can wear? oh sure... and a tub of butter
we can both jump into and smear each other
and pretend we're snails... ha... ah ha... terrible joke...

but ever since starting work again: i feel more and more
alive... my confidence has shot through
the roof... two prostitutes sitting opposite me
don't really intimidate me...
one tries to be a smart-***... the other is gearing up
because she knows i'll choose her and the third
looks scared...
hmm... i know that Michaela would ask me to pay
extra to perform oral *** on her...
Khedra? she gave it up for free...
i love seeing a woman who shows her hot-shivers
or ******... not ******* are so ******* oratory
as might be portrayed... hot-shivers of ******...
and, to be honest? ****** vaginas are very...
not tasteless... i've had one once... they sort of stink...
there are not enough lubrication juices...
and i mean from multiple men...
it really doesn't bother me...

thank god none of them ever asked for me to perform
****... pop pornographic culture with all that
**** fixation is ill to me... i can understand
if two Russian soldiers on the front feel like
gagging each other's anuses... but with women?

that was Khedra... freebies... i would otherwise have
to pay for with Michaela...
but Khedra is a slim nymphomaniac...
Michaela is a business minded woman...
and being plump: that's an added asset...
Khedra has her eyes open throughout *******
while Michaela has her eyes closed...
hello: a welcome return to the Unbearable Lightness
of Being by Milan Kundera...
i have to see: everything... i gorge with my eyes...
i'm eating: but i'm not eating...

but i know why i only drank one Merry Down cider
and 35cl of whiskey last night, wrote 'Biggie"
and went to bed...
huh! i have a nickname? that's so endearing...
that's so much better than a girl calling you by your name...
English doesn't really have a diminutive
aspect of language: esp. nouns...
in ****** speech you can create diminutive "concepts"
of words: to make them more endearing...
Matthew, i.e. Mateusz can become Mateuszek...
duck, i.e. kaczka can become kaczuszka
dog, i.e. pies can become piesek
woman, i.e. kobieta can become kobietka...
what's the equivalent in English?
it's "diminutive": but it's not an endearing-diminutive...
it's belittling-diminutive, that's the distinction
between the two languages i own...
little women... you can't actually morph the word
woman to imply woman a "tiny", or, "small"
in an endearing way... only in a belittling way...
thank god i know two languages...
fluently: bilingually...
perhaps a third would be useful if i wished
to travel and start a business... most certainly a knowledge
of Spanish would open a world of opportunities...
obviously i'd settle for German... large enough
territory... but? as a personal psychology basis?
being monolingual would be claustrophobia for me...
or equivalent: therefore...

oh man... it would have been such a mistake if
i just settled for my high-school sweetheart, Promis...
when dating her i went to a friend's birthday
party and was presented with a chance to cheat...
she was much younger than me and eager:
i declined her even though she was already all
over me... it wouldn't have worked...
my father: i'm not my father... mentioned only
two women in his life...
one girl who tried to trick him into becoming
a surrogate father... i.e. not raising his own genes...
and... my mother... but i'm not my father:
i think my parents are freaks... seriously...
it's like monogamy and the swan song was all
about them...
my estranged uncle was a serial polygamist...
he tried a monogamy once: FAIL...
she ended up being a journalistic-wannabe
with an abortion as a notch on her belt...
i learned from my maternal grandfather too...
he was married at the age of 18? 19? but cheated
on my grandmother... he mentioned 3 women
in his life... me? i didn't lose count on purpose...
i lost count on the basis of: and how many different
selves of myself have i found along the way?
i can can't at least 5...

but unlike Khedra with her hot-shivers when i was
performing... eating-oysters on her ****...
there was Michaela who said last night:
look! you're making me dance! and she looked
the happiest girl... she was dancing... lying back...
it wasn't a dance: dance... it wasn't a samba...
she was dancing by wriggling happy on her back
after all that missionary ***...
plus?! i now have a nickname: i'm: Biggie...
and... fair enough: i have more beard envy than
***** envy... even though i've been approached
by guys at work with a similar envy... beards...
apparently i have a perfect beard...

i'm Biggie... now... a few years back i was
KAKASHKA for Ilona: little ****...
it could have worked with Ilona: if i wasn't a ******
and she wasn't a Russian...
Russian pride against Polacks was already
stated by Dostoyevsky demeaning us...
even though i'd be the first to celebrate Russian
isolationistic culture upkeep...

i don't think i could love one woman...
that would be selfish... after all... all the most beautiful
women are either prostitutes or...
actresses in the pornographic industry...
strange how beauty works: it works perfect in nature:
nature wants to showcase itself for the greatest
number of people...
that's a bit like beautiful women...
that's why beautiful women in Islam are an
antithesis of nature's parody...
i heard one Pakistani once tried to teach me
the "mystery" of Islam...
if you owned a jewellery shop... and you had this one
massive sapphire in your shop...
would you want to keep it in the front window
so that anyone could look at it...
huh? he continued: no... you'd keep it hidden
in the back...
                       rrrright... huh?!
he actually didn't mention: so people would ask about?
how could anyone know that you have
a massive ******* sapphire in the back
of your jewellery shop?
point being... why have a jewellery shop
if you're going to be so selfish about what's beautiful?!
you're a ******* jewel merchant or some stingy
****?!
then again: the allure surrounding women is the same
in the west as it is in Islam...
make-up and the NIQAB...
in the west make-up does what a NIQAB does in Islam...
it's the same-****: just a different cover...
i look at a woman in a NIQAB: i'm curious...
i watch a woman heavily overdone with make-up...
i can sometimes say:
there's less paint on a masterpiece than there is
chemical junk on her face to hide her imperfections
that: i might find appealing...
sure... with a NIQAB i can only see the eyes...
but with western standards: i see eyes... exfoliating
in feline fakery... and the rest of her is doubly faked-up...

thank god i'm man... i just need to wash myself
on a regular basis... trim my beard... shave my *****
region and my arm-pits... no chance of me shaving
the hair on my pirate chest and my stomach...
apparently Michaela likes flowing her fingers through
my body hair and teasing my *******...
tonight: i need more whiskey...
not because i'm miserable: i'm happy...
that's why i continue to drink and not get drunk:
i'll feel drunkness when i stop writing and relax...
until then my memory is working overload...
and this is only memory from yesterday...

maybe that's why i don't dream so much...
i don't dream because i'm not seeking escapism
some people seek via imagination...
since their memory faculty has either been eroded
by pedagogy... or? as Bukowski once noted:
some people never go mad: what horrible lives
they must least... a recurrent spontaneity of
"amnesia": or simply looking down on people?
not treating them fairly, lovingly?

life's not difficult: other people make life difficult,
their games of hierarchies...
life's not difficult... other people make life difficult...
and? i could never understand men
who associate cats with lonely modern women...
celebrating dogs...
oh **** me! cats are the best: esp. Maine *****...
then again... maybe i have a spezial cat...
why dogs and men why women and cats
why blue and men why pink and woman?!
who said?
   and who didn't say: cats of Ancient Egypt?
the Pharaohs probably owned cats...
what about Muhammad's favourite cat? Muezza?
who the **** said that cats are efaminating creatures?!
these Bonsai tigers are just as much fun
as dogs... if not more! why? you can have time off
from petting them: when they be themselves
and... no leashes! no muzzle! fickle sleeping and feeding
patterns...
but i agree... there's one negative of cats
that i remember was a great positive having petted
Bella... my Alsatian... well... two...

cat's can't pull a sleigh... with you on it as a toddler...
you can't ride a cat as toddler...
but you can a dog... like a Shetland pony...
you can't be a toddler and put your hand inside
the beast's gob and pull out an imaginary tongue...
and... this is my biggest envy of dog owners...
Sundays at my grandparent's house...
chicken broth... basically an entire poached chicken
in a soup of... choice of vegetable to create
a chicken and vegetable stock?
carrots... root parsley, fresh parsley... celeriac...
baby celery... leek... garlic... burned onions...
the usual seasoning... vermicelli pasta...
but that's the biggest difference between cats and dogs...
i don't know why cats stopped drinking milk...
classically they drank milk...
as a child i remember glowing with glee that i owned
an animal that would eat the leftovers of the food i just
finished... dog are special in that way...
some of the soup wasn't finished...
Bella the Alsatian was whimpering after the leftovers...
she got a bowl... a bountiful bowl...
she loved her chicken broth...
   with the vermicelli... with the vegetables...
and added to the mix? the chicken bones...
my grandfather always bemoaned the fact that me
and my father ate our chicken to the point of biting
off the cartilage off the bones... i went further...
i bit off the heads to get to the juicy-dry marrow...

a different season for a different animal:
i loved dogs for the simple pleasure that they would
eat what you couldn't finish for dinner...
but i love cats for the fact that they behave like
ferns... sorry... houseplants...
you can ignore them from time to time...
they only come up to you when they feel like approaching
you...
the rest of the time you can just ignore them...
but when they love you: it's unlike a dog
waiting for you to equip yourself with a leash...
when they love you: or rather: you're ******* more interesting
than any human prior... they rarely scout for more room...
you've already enlarged their perspective on existence...

perhaps i could be your neurotypical man by
any standards: in the Old Testament style
of breaking away from my father and mother
and chose a wife: i tried it with Promis...
i hated the experience... i have to abandon my mother
and father... in order... to marry you... woman...
and... abandon my mother and father...
in order... to give a **** more about: YOUR... mother
and father?! seriously?! that's a raw ******* deal...
i haven't been raised by my mother from the age
of 6 through to 8...
and by my father from the age of 4 through to 8...
collapse of the Soviet Union:
if it wasn't the brain drain (that came later)
it was a labour shortage in the early 90s...
i don't think i'm clingy... sure... if my parents raised
me throughout those LEGO-years...
i'd be out of the house already: or? no... the cost
of living... what? at least i have intellectual comparisons
with me...
times are changing... i was lucky to be out of
the cosmopolitan game of dating ever since i went
mad aged 21... my whole 20s are a fog...
i woke up mid-30s sort of happy to be simply
alive... i'm happy for that "conundrum"...
i missed so much that was required of me to miss...
i can go to the brothel with a clean conscience
of being able to satisfy prostitutes...

at least we know something personal about Muhammad
that's more than however many wives he had...
a man of his times of his region...
i can't be a judge of that...
but at least he had his favourite cat: and we know
his name: Mu'izza...
like i had a favourite cat of mine:
Darshan... who my Sikh neighbour killed
by poising him because: she offered to take care of...
but couldn't be bothered to clean up his ****
or give him food... easier to **** the poor creature:
make him suffer kidney failure...
i was visiting my grandparents
while my mother and father were holidaying
in the Maldives... two days before they were
supposed to come back... i woke up with a stinking
fear... i phoned them up, i need to go back home!
i'm worried about Darshan...
a silver beast of a Maine ****...
dead... "kidney failure"... i was so stricken
with morbid emotions... after he was cremated
i found a Croquet buggy...
took all the pieces off... strapped a belt
to the handle... walked into a World War I
memorial graveyard...
had a hammer and a chisel with me...
started carving off a piece of grave...
put it on the buggy... dragged it home...
picked up the ashes... started digging a shallow
grave in the garden... buried the poor sod...
then placed the hacked off gravestone above him...
i'm still not speaking to my neighbours...
they're scammers anyway...
that's how Sikhs and other Asians get to flaut
their money on rich weddings and Rolls Royce
limousines... sure sure... i hear you...
they own corner shops and get rich by selling 1p
gummy bear gelatin sweets by the million!
like, ****!
oddly enough... i'm sometimes perched on my windowsill
throughout the night till 4am...
4 break-ins... "break-ins"... and some during mid-day...
******* insurance scammers! SCAMMERS!
i saw jack-****!
no one broke in into their home...
that's how Asians get rich: that's how anyone rich
gets rich... they're not playing by the rules...
thank god i'm willing to make sacrifices...
i don't want to get rich: i don't want scammers
or gold-diggers in my life: i want to build up a natural
filter when it comes to resources!

if there won't be enough women in my life:
i can always test my "fertility" with cognitive ambivalence...
i can always think about more things than most
people are not willing to think about...

after all: Muhammad had a favorite cat... Mu'izza...
since Darshan passed away at the hands of a sadistic
*****... i now have Quarus...
i'm not going to be easily relieved of him:
easily divorced from him...
he has more nicknames than the times i actually utter
his name...
what was the name of the donkey that
brought Jesus to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday?!
no one knows because he had no name...
i'd call him Quizy... Quizy... no... don... key...
REGALO TECLA... or? DON TECLA...
but Jesus didn't give a name to the donkey...
psychopathic, if you ask me:
animals you ride, or pet, to be: nameless...

just maybe: there might be some sympathy for me:
it almost feels like i was there...
when Mel Gibson released that movie of
his: the Passion of the Christ... i cried when i first
heard Aramaic being spoken on screen...
i think i cried throughout the entire movie...
i was so moved that... some other guy in the audience
started crying with me...
maybe it was the music all along...
i'm a sucker for a decent music...

but i just couldn't stomach the raw deal of wedding
a woman: a man is to abandon his own mother
and father... esp. one who wasn't raised by his
mother from the age of 6 through to 8
or by his father through the ages of 4 to 8...
who spent his early developmental years
in a house filled with 20 other immigrant
labour-drain men... for about a two years...
the fact that my father was abandoned by his own
parents: through divorce... i was raieed
by a ***** of a grandmother and an alcoholic
grandfather: i loved them...
but she was such a ***** to the point
oh him pushing her through a glass door
and breaking her hand...
i blocked all of that out... maybe by way of blocking
out several personal memories i have been
given access to access certain historical details...
i question them: unflinchingly...
why didn't Jesus' donkey have a name?
while Muhammad had a favourite cat with a name
like Mu'izzi: i know it's Mu'izza... i prefer Mu'izzi...

my Quarus? a clever cat... i bemoan the fact that
he won't eat my scraps... from dinner...
that's the only great aspect of what Bella the Alsatian
and Axl (the Dobberman) used to be capable of...
they'd eat what man leftover...
i'd call cats vegetarians if i could...

i know that the definite article in Hebrew is HA...
i.e. ha-satan: the-Stanley... the Stanislav...
i forgot to remember what the indefinite article
is in Hebrew... oh... right... there isn't one...
to define someone: definitely is to suppose:
laughing at it in English...

the whiskey flows slow and cold...
my heart it growing slower and colder...
i like it, that way...
Biggie... oh **** me... then again: Michaela does stand
about 5ft2 beside of me... while i'm towering
6ft2 above her... no wonder she picked a nickname:
Biggie for me...
the smaller she is: the plumper she is...
the more endearing she becomes...
you just want to cuddle her...
the more tender her forehead feels and tastes like...
she mentioned: i haven't washed my hair...
i tell her while sniffing it:
it doesn't matter... i washed myself prior to seeing
you... you think i'm going to wash myself
after seeing you? i want your scent to fill my bedroom
with your ****** perfume...
i want to dream of orchids! i want to dream
of lavender! i want to dream...
of a desert and your being the oasis in it!

i love women... but some women are too proud...
too stuck up...
they miss out on a lot of fun *** can be...
can't we just have fun without taking to
the serious business of paying gas bills?!
are we simply things before the altar of the eternals?
can't we spontaneously break the rules
for the eternals to be envious of us?
have we, seriously become so shallow:
so boring, that the gods abandoned us due to the fact
that we became imitating immortal:
their own boringness, manifest, that we stopped
being mortals?!

if i a were an immortal deity, and had to overlook
the modern man? i'd die too!
i'd die from boredom!
i'd die from predictability...
i'd die from looking at mortal men and thinking:
we're the luck?! where's the gamble?!
where's the unpredictability?!
where on earth is the stupidity on earth,
that might make these men take enough chances
to later allow them status of sage?!
everything is being to closely manifested in keeping
a "slave" stock of workers...
no one wants to dare... and if they do want to dare:
it's all for the wrong reasons:
no for reasons akin to: i! i am Spartacus!

people say awful things about slavery...
i wonder... what slave was ever homeless?
what slave was ever left without food, without shelter?!
well **** me: if you're not a self-developed
business man... chances are: sure... you're not a slave...
just someone who earn a wage...
but someone who earns a wage is not someone
who's someone's responsibility
to demand the person bestowing said responsibility
to keep the slave: alive, fed, sheltered...
by simply earning a wage does not imply
my status is better than that of a slave...
is it? IS, IT?!
i just earn a wage... i have to provide food and shelter
for myself... as a slave: and not a wage-earner:
i had to have food and shelter provided for me:
for my services...
i didn't care about money because i was already
given what money would otherwise provide:
or rather, in the ancient realm: wouldn't...
since shelter was inherited by the manor
and food too... from owning farmyards...

i don't think slavery was bad... wage-employment
is far worse... esp. those zero-hour contracts...
no one can tell me that's beneficial to anyone...
zero-hour contracts is worse than slavery...
at least as a slave you had intrinsic value...
obviously disposable...
but as a wager... SLAVE CONTRA WAGER...
you have no instrinsic value:
you only have extrinsic value:
you're doubly disposable...

           like the concern for INFLATION:
the end-product is inflated...
but the manufacturing mechanism isn't...
then there's the deflation aspect of
football clubs increasing the payouts of their
football players... but not decreasing
the price of their tickets to attend a match
or their merchandise: t-shirts etc.!
fair enough: pay the players more...
but at least have the decency to cut down the ticket
prices to see a football match...
or the price of the merchandise...
but no... these clubs either keep it at the same price
or inflate the ticket prices...
but if the players are earning more?
why should the people pay more?!
surely they should be paying less!

SLAVERY wasn't a bad thing... not in my eyes...
i think slavery was a good thing...
you had protection... a SLAVE had more protection
against the peril of a "free" society than a WAGER
will ever have...

what are the chances of me retiring at my grandfather
did? getting a proper state pension,
passing it down my wife after my life,
allowing her last 10 years of life to be lived
in a luxury that only old age might hinder?
ZILCH!
of the people that applied for job i'm currently at....
i seem to be the only "slave": i.e. employee...
the rest are self-employees...
i do my job well because i don't have to:
invoice my presence... i get invoices by someone
else...i trust my "handlers"...
i look at dogs, i look at cats...

who was Proximo to Maximus in the fillm
Gladiator? a mere slave-owner?
really? Maximus was merely a WAGER?
Proximo didn't care about Maximus was more than
a WAGER and more a, commodity?
i'd love to feel like a commodity again...
i'd hate to be treated as a WAGER: as an EARNER...
i think slaves, "slaves" had more monetary rights
than people of our current age...
owning slaves came with responsibilities...
a bit like owning pets these days...
you had to be rich enough...
for one...
you had to clothe them... you had to feed them...
you had to put a roof above their heads...
to be considered a nobleman:
you had to treat them fairly...
these days? none of these rules need to apply...

the system of slavery worked on a decentralised
"bias"...
not on this, current, centralised bias of
the universal WAGE concept....
you're worse than a SLAVE... you're a WAGER...
communism tried to figure this out...
it never came close...
well, it did, for a short period of time...
the sort of period of time where:
drinking whiskey tasted like drinking regurgitated
garlic *****!

it's not working now...
not everyone can be some moon-blessed
entrepreneur... some people are truly allowed
the joy of being allocated the status of PAWN...
rather than BISHOP...
there are people that are like that...

if it was working NOW: it would be working WOW...
people exist for others to be looked up to!
you can't scribble some Darwinistic mantra
and expect people to stick to it!
it's either Darwinism or Christianity...
you can't have both!
there's one alternative... but you're not going
to like Islam...
i don't like Islam... i don't like circumcision...
that's why i'm expecting a 2nd schism
in this grand religion... spear-headed
by the Turks with a bunch of uncircumcised men...

i want whiskey to drip from my beard
while i drink it... and rub it into my chin...
and recall the number of tattoos i ought to have
from rekindling my mind to the past....

no one knows the name of the donkey that took
Jesus to Jerusalem as the fifth: "horseman" of
the Apocalypse toward that fateful Palm Sunday...
but... Muhammad's favourite cat's name is known...
the birth of the Korean script is known via
King Sejong... no one can rob me of this historical presence:
nothing is mythological too...
just easily forgotten...

me? i'm just clearing the path... for something...
more... expedient... more... clarifying...
let's share cats.

My sun
Light of my day
Star of my world
So far yet near
You bring me joy
You warm my soul

My sol
My morning call
My prayer to you
My salutation
My bija mantra
Surya Namaskar

Namaskar
Ardha Chandrasana
Padangusthasana
Surya darshan
Purvottanasana
Adho Mukha Svanasana
Shashtanga Dandawat
Bhujangasana
Adho Mukha Svanasana
Surya darshan
Padangusthasana
Ardha Chandrasana
Namaskar

r ~ 9/15/14

For my good friend Pradip's call for a sun poem.

(Poem by Pradip Url : http://hellopoetry.com/poem/856652/write-me-one/)

HIMALAY SE GANGASAGAR TAK DEV MUNI GAN KARATE SWAGAT BIN TERE DARSHAN APURN TIRATH VINATI HAI MA MUKH MOD MAT . NIT SNAN DYAN AARATI, SARASAWATI KI VIDA PUKARATI. MANAV SANG JALCHARO KO BHI TARATI              KYO AB SANSE HARATI.

oral transmission
Modulate - Cognate- Division
Cosmic - tuned in like Cognitive Transmission

This is my mission, to

Get up out the scene Live wild as a child
Dread my head, Hear cries like the Roar  I lionize
Deviant be me, othered for free
as the Nomos creates Signifier, Signified
somewhat like a homeless child stigmatized
caught outside our commercial enterprise

but

With enterprise, there enters lies,
Never earthbound my star ship seems to Actualize
Melodically.

So let me lyrically **** your path so you can shift past the cuts
Neva drinking the wine of wrath, made sour by sour patch cats blasted by vats OF GRAFFITI splats.

Culture slipping like gangsters simply sipping at the purple incision
instead we walk Holy like the cotton we missin

Tattoo my Secrets onto skin parchment ,
thats Ink advice ---:  People Lost in Duality, man thats just thinkin twice
Surrender and self-Sacrifice be the admission price
to see Kali singing blood mantras dancing through

Dreams of Ink darshan doorways
Tantric like Siva Approaches his consort for foreplay

My face is like a thundercloud, smiles formed outta cloud highs
Now my 3rd eye, washed in blood saw how Snakes stitch DNA
up and winding
and lemme tell you bro,
its some Nauesous stuff

Transcendent reality,
ego death till its fallacy,
recognize perfection
of life in the galaxy

So I toss out my ID, puff puff, its high ME
don't be Stuck like Ego grinding, Just saving souls don’t mind we,
go Indigo like Love in the margins, Golden souls attempting to live in holy gardens, ==========

We forget though

Neither death or immortality existed in the time before time,  of day or night no sign

There was Darkness hidden by Darkness , all was water but got started quick, by the sharpness of a god spark

kick crash hit, life spit out covered in emptiness

This was it, started from the bottom, rise in the power of heat,
dance tap ta dis beat Aware tapas generates so much heat Indiscreet
in abyss

But then desire became the fire, middle ground never higher than the smoke trails of the world's creation,
Spittin om proir flash forward funeral flames tamed by Tandava siva purifier

So this poet seeks in the heart of wisdom found in the bond of existence to non-existence
Knowledge that  I’m a livewire with a high resistance
I Complete my **** Through high persistence,

Eventually though,
the Fog rolls in again , agnosia forget the Cosmic condition
till then We soulfeed lyrics in-between kissing.

The Ganges rushes in
torrents from my eyes
and threatens to sweep me
away
it’s been four lonely years
Sai Krishna
I wait in the foothills of Mount Kailash
the sun and the moon wait with me
the earth has ceased its wild spin
and the stars have lost their merry twinkle
O Swami what we wouldn’t give to gaze
once more into your lotus orbs
Sai Krishna
mountain peacocks with bright plumes
chant Your name
and silver tongued nightingales perched in
high branches sing of Your
divine exploits
the empty jhoola is adorned with garlands
and sweet rose petals
Blue skinned Lord
You alone are the source of
Bliss
Grant us Your divine darshan
cuddle close to us
tonight
http://www.sairapture.com/krishna-madhava.html

.with rob zombie's: ***** liquor in the background,
a man perched on windowsill,
              one foot tapping along,
                                 the other foot folded
and sat on...

    come to think of it,
                 why am i not bothered,
   not bothered by the neighbours?
well, one ****** tried it,
complained about me smoking out
of my window,
   and that one time i was making a b.b.q.
and he said: 'you should have warned
us!'               the ****?
            all beause he had been doing
his washing and was drying his clothes
on a washing line, 20 metres from my b.b.q.,
and now they're moving house.

the english,
     they always want a house with a garden...
in the vicinity?
    you know how many times i've
seen the english use their gardens?
              roughly 5 times per year...
they rarely even attempt to switch
the garden to a ******* venture when
the one toilet is occupied by someone
taking a shower...
                      for all the wants of a garden,
i haven't seen anyone around here
take to planting a cherry tree,
            or burrying their cremated cat...
i guess i must be the odd one out...
            i mean: i'll integrate up to a point,
but then... well there's just me,
               rumours...
rumours...
      apparently donald tusk got
the job as the president of the european
council, because he mingled
   with frau kanzler
   over the position...
                     **** me...
        27 prime ministers,
    but only 1 chancellor...
                  who said the stereotype
of jews being good with money,
never made it to the stereotype of germans?
   the rumour is...
   he got the job...
       only because his father was
in the wehrmacht...
             after all, he did write
a bestseller book about the city of Danzig...
no surprise there,
  given that Danzig was reminiscent
of a city-state akin to Athens or Sparta...
mind you, better than any movie
on a friday night,
   tuning in on the 66th minute
of Liverpool vs. Southampton...
                waiting for the 1 - 1 draw...
but the genius of jürgen jürgen (klopp)
came through...
                     funny that,
people with funny surnames...
             dialect distinctions...
      klop in western slavic implies
the ******* - ide na klopa -
      i'm going to sit on a toilet...
            ****** must have been a funny surname
before its notorious prominence...
but rarely do you get to see 28 minutes
of a football match of this sort of quality...
    wolverhampton wanderers...
they're playing a very interesting piece
of football this season...
very portugese barzilian-esque...
      everybody knows that
        italian football is boring
  (too many passes),
   and german football is just too predictable...
but how the hell did Liverpool
come up with 2 goals in a period of 28 minutes...
mind-boggling...
       i'm always there for the sport per se,
i don't really feel inclined
to have a vested interest in the sport
as to pick a side,
               what once was
          religion, now becomes infused
in sports... seriously...
  count me out of this secular take
on religiosity...
            i'll pay my dues: were deserved
dues are due...
                   that's probably i much
prefer the olympics to this coming farce
of a world cup...
   how many footballers are going
to drop dead, from heat exhaustion?
we must thank our camel cockey bwovers
for cracking up the heat
          in air-conditioned stadiums...
once upon a time, the arabs had,
enviable traits...
   now? with all that wealth?
                                         take a guess;
if muhammad was raised from
the dead?
                     you'd see a forest
of pikes, on top would sit, decapitated heads
of his own people...
         but that's a wild idea,
perhaps even he, couldn't avoid
the temptation;
nonetheless, is it wrong to say that some
sports are over-represented?
   well, d'uh!
                 olympics comes,
and i always look forward to classical
wrestling matches,
    archery,
                             ha ha... ping-pong...
sure... none of the tennis allure...
  but it's a welcome break from
mainstream sports...
                                 and this whole
team religiosity influence...
                  that **** bores me to death...
clearly religion didn't die,
it just morphed...
                oh, really? it's that time of year?
the one time of the year
where i become a gambler?
   what? it's the quiche thing to do
in england, a bit like sipping
                 pimm's and eating eaton mess
at wimbledon...
       the grand national...
   betting on a horse...
                     and just to prove i'm no
gambler - why would i dream about
going to las vegas?
                   that shitshow of a town?
all the best strip-clubs in the world:
but no brothel.
      eh?!
                 tiger roll (7 to 2)
is attempting to make history,
     by clinging to: two years in a row...
i only have 4 quid to spend on the bet...
   so 2 horses...
               2 quid each...
                         hmm...
                      'further rain would help
him to step forward'
             i checked the weather forecast
(the grand national happens somewhere
south of liverpool, i think)
                     rainy...
overcast...     step back (25 to 1)...
                         now a compensation
horse...
                          i'll need a few more whiskies
before i make this blind bet lucky hope...

i'm not betting on tiger roll (7 to 2) -
the odds are not wildcard enough...

mind you, not being a gambling *****:
i do know that rolling tobacco
needs to be fresh,
   slightly moist, in order to roll it,
you can still roll the dry tobacco,
but then you'd also require
obc cigarette tubes,
         and one of those "gizmos" /
machines, to pull off
             a perfect match...
no in a millions years will you get
out a perfect rollie
with dry, pall mall tobacco...
when no golden virginia is available...
point: but you're also
not going to **** dry the filter
with dry tobacco...
harder to roll,
               but an easier smoke...

anyway...
   back to the grand national...
look, i'm no dustin hoffman
rainman hack...
         i felt like ******* away
4 quid's worth on an event, sue me...

   1             up for review (25 - 1)
         'could relish this test;
      must be a contender'

2a            folsom blue  (50 - 1)
          'mud-lover; stays well
   but at veteran stage'

2b           general principle (40 - 1)
     'best not ignore this irish
national winner'

3            ramses de telilee   (25 - 1)
             'welsh national second;
               stays well and improving'

4   ballyoptic    (28 - 1)
   'scottish national second;
                   cannot rule out'

  5a       mala beach (50 - 1)
               'fresh; could suit;
              a lively outsider'

    5b go conquer      (33 - 1)
         'bids to give his trainer
a third national'

      5c     lake view lad      (14 - 1)
             'improving steadily and
this trip should suit'

   5d jury duty    (16 - 1)
     'should relish this trip.
         could get a positive verdict'

6 vieux lion rouge             (33 - 1)
     'has tried three times in
this; fourth time lucky?'

   7       bless the wings                (66 - 1)
              'would be the oldest winner
       since 1853'

so...
      gambling, fascinating,
   how there's no objectivity argument,
and all the sort of superstitions associated
with it... a truly, magnanimous,
secular age...
   football as a religion,
   gambling on horses as the trials
of fate / luck / whatever belief...

       truly... gratifying...
   and i don't imply that in any pompous
sense, i'm about to invest 4 quid
in the whole affair!

   my pick?
              step back 25 to 1 odds
first choice...
   so it's either between
the mud-lover folsom blue... 50 to 1 odds,
ah... i'll need more wizard like
uncertainty when it comes
to gambling,
repeating to myself:
   there's no such thing as luck,
there's no such thing as luck,
gambling is only subjective,
gambling is the reiteration
of a religious experience,
        it's the sensible option,
it's the sensible option, ****...
i'll just split the 4 quid over 4 horses
rather than bet 2 quid on 2...

per quid:
                      step back
                      jury duty
                      up for review
                      go conquer / folsom blue

****...
                   no wonder i never got
into gambling...
         i never fathomed the aspect
of winning
as much as i never fathomed
the aspect of losing,
   or how they're paired up
     and consecrated on the same
altar of, "thrill"...

    that cut               /
betweeen
       go conquer  and folsom blue...

horses have the oddest names...
          dogs?
                 probably the shittest names
in the whole of the kingdom...
oscar darshan...
                            quorus...
these being cat names...
                                           go figure.

Beloved
I yearn night and day
each blood tinged second
for the intravenous
of Your intoxicating Presence

like ripe, ruby grapes crave
to be tread and pressed into
the drunken bliss
of holy wine

Like the cow maiden Radha
and Princess Mirabai
pine for their peacock plumed
Blue Lord’s
rapturous darshan

Like Magdalene’s tears rolling
down her love soaked cheeks
seek only to wash and kiss
gentle Jesus’ celestial
Lotus feet

Like the great scholar Rumi
scouring the desolate streets
of Damascus
searches for even the
faintest echo
ghostly glimpse
of his beloved
God mad vagabond
Shams of Tabriz

Like my breath liberated from this
time bound, earthly form
soars free, unfettered
a shooting star
exploding into the
chaotic brilliance
of Your perfect Love
Your incomprehensible, pristine,
pure, primordial Peace

like a monkey at a temple

I want an immediate response from the world

my brother-in-law fights the same depression

he turned into a Cowboy

I stayed an Indian.

Back in Queens I see a man across the street

he's in an Andy Capp hat and twead coat
he used to hem my pants (he's retired now)

he knows my thoughts but doesn't recognize me unless I say hello first

see that ******* the stoop, the one with her hair veiled over her face, staring at her iphone as to a shrine

I've seen my mother-in-law bow down like that at Meher Baba's Samadhi

I should not have been watching her take darshan

in front of her Lord - in supplication - she folded into herself like a napkin

on the way back, we stayed at the Leela and had a lot to drink before we flew home

I wish she knew how lucky I felt being with her - praying and drinking

but last night she called and couldn't remember a thing

it pains me she is losing her memory

I  had to repeat again and again, 'yes, I have your ticket and passport'

or 'remember we flew in together and now we are going back'.

so naturally our conversations return to her growing up on a farm in Virginia; the second oldest to four brothers, her swimming in a creek and charming all the boys, and leaving home at seventeen to dance with Margaret Craske in New York City (how she loved Miss Craske).  

she married a priest who crusaded for the poor in the Lower East Side;  pregnant with her first daughter (and me, having the saving grace to have married that daughter) she met Meher Baba -  a meeting that changed her course and late in life she became a Psychologist (a PhD at 74!).   

her natural graciousness was born of the wild flowers of Machair (her people are from the Hebrides),
her love of dance, now transposed and expressed in a light and buoyant outlook, made all a fools mimicry disappear like morning vapor on a Maharashtrian plateau ...

my fortune seeing that.

one day she will forget me and the world and not come back

or when she does we will have a certainty of meeting once before.

Mighty Varuna
God of the Sea
and sub-marine spheres
You visited me
mounted on Your strange dolphin
ancient makara dragon


Sacred, secret eyelids
of evening
flash open
cresting across the cobalt
horizon

Our ship gently rocked
softly cradled
wind and wave
whisper Om

From fathomless depths
You gush forth
bedewed
in ocean jewels
and seaweed

Varuna
with colossal form
hewn of surf and stars
I beheld
Your awesome darshan
and tasted the salt spray
of Your breath

My heart is forever
a garland of
pearls afloat
at Your
white-capped
Celestial Feet


*Paste the link below:
www.sairapture.com/sea-god-dream-03012015.html

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "कविता" published in  bharat-darshan  ( Sep. -Oct., 2018 )
Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2nRwOB9
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^­^

Poetry is the outflow of someone's heart
For someone, it's only black fever
For some, it's only a form of business
For someone, this is only seasonal fever

It's just an entertainment for someone
For someone it's like a toothpaste
A good instrument use to giggle
Listening it makes their teeth brighter

To show off the that stunning brightness
They spread crooked and mysterious smiles
Show of their shining-sparkling teeth
Then they lash out their greedy tongue

Poetry is an old newspaper for someone
It’s a mound of waste and unusable junk items
Poetry is just an advertisement for someone
Only an excellent medium to sell their goods

Poem is dark black alphabets for some
Only equivalent to a big fat black buffalo
From which it is impossible to get milk
But it's easy to get hurt by it's horns

Poem is a deep sympathy for some
For some its acute pain of the heart
Aroused from the core of their heart
It's someone's love for someone else

Poem is overflowing care for someone
It is swirling cloudy dust over someone
Poem is just a time-pass for someone
For someone it is complete nonsense

Poetry is effrontery in someone's pride
For someone it's amnesty for all
For some it's Saafi by Hamdard^
Which purifies and cleans the blood well

Poetry is a meditation for someone
For someone it’s a form of worship
Poetry is name of someone's beloved daughter^^
Poem is the name of someone's beautiful wife^^

Poem is means of livelihood for someone
It happen to be the basis of his life
For someone it is simply a big loan
Which is much difficult to repay in time

Poem is a tribute to the heroes
It a wreath to the brave martyrs
It's a collection of songs for musicians
It's prayer of devotees with folded hands

Sometimes poetry makes us happy
Sometimes it causes us to weep
It often caresses readers with love
Sometimes it even consoles them

Poetry sometimes make us laugh
Sometimes it forces to think
At times it reveals the flaws beneath
By removing the outer cover shell

Poetry sometimes surprises us too much
Sometimes misleads to pseudo-intellectualism
Sometimes it poses a challenge before us
Sometimes it emerges as a song from the soul

Sometimes it portrays the beauty of actress
It tends to dissolves sweet juice in the ears
And sometimes it pours molten lead in it
In such situation it pushes back all courtesy

Sometimes it transforms rulers into heroes
And sometimes it makes a politicians zero
Sometimes it becomes the words of panegyrist
Then it behaves like a butter ball for them

Poetry sometimes honours someone
Sometimes it even trick so many of us
Poetry even makes fun of somebody
Sometimes it entertains someone's heart

By the way, poetry is a blunt weapon
But it's has a different hitting power
Which is the real inner power of poet
It's also his covering blanket and strength

Only poetry gives him the required courage
It completely protects his existence
It always teaches him the lesson to -
Keep on fighting against the gunpowder

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^­^^^^
^ Saafi - A Unani Medicine made by a company named Hamdard, used to clean or purify the blood

^^ Name of .....  - Kavita (translation of the word Poem in hindi) is a common name given to females in India.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^­^

"Right before Sai Baba comes out there is a rush of anticipation and excitement that sweeps through the air. Birds flutter, monkeys scamper, as if all of nature is pining for a glimpse of the Lord. Swami floated in doing His Divine dance. His feet graced the majestic red carpet garlanded with fragrant petals. I watched mesmerized as He moved closer, all the time praying, “Swami please bless this, I don't want to have to do this again!”

Sai Baba stopped next to two women on my left and granted them padanamaskar. Then, He turned to me. I lifted the bag hoping for a simple Blessing. To my astonishment and wonder of wonders, Sai Baba proceeded to open the bag and placed His Divine hands inside the bag looking for the opening in the blanket. Sticking my hand inside the bag too, I attempted to help Him open it. It was a comical scene and the devotees witnessing this unusual interaction laughed merrily. After a few moments, He suddenly stopped, stared piercingly into my eyes and said, “That's all right, you keep, you keep.”
He blessed the objects again touching each item on the tray while simultaneously visibly inhaling deep breaths and charging them with pure Shakti (power). What Bliss!

There were two other women sitting to my right. Swami approached them and inquired, “Where are you from?” “Australia,” they replied. They asked Swami for an interview. Baba asked when they were leaving. They said, “Tonight, Swami.” Then Swami did something that baffles me to this day. He answered them but directed the answer to me. He bent down very close to my face. I could see the fiery red veins of His Shiva eyes flashing like lightning flames so much power emanated from them. I knew that I was gazing into infinity, time crystallized and ceased to exist in those few moments.

Looking point blank at me, Sai Baba said, “Yes, I will see you before you go!” Then He stepped back and started to wave His hand in that familiar circular manner. I could distinctly feel a strange wind blowing around us. From the ether, silvery white ash known as vibhuti poured forth! This ethereal ash has curative restoring powers. Sai Baba is frequently seen materializing vibhuti; it is a natural expression of His Divinity. Swami gave the two women some vibhuti, He gave me some of this sacred ash and the two other women to my left. After this awesome Darshan, I was in an altered state for the rest of the trip."
~Sai Rapture, P. 54, 55, By Sonya Ki Tomlinson

Paste link below for song and video
**http://www.sairapture.com/om-jai-jai-guru.html

My heart smiled
no... giggled like a giddy
gopi maiden
all day long

Last night
during the star drenched
nocturne hours
my darling Sai Giridhari
blessed me with His euphoric darshan

O the scent of Sai
the mandarin robed form
curly mane and probing eyes
clings to me like a rare perfume
overpowering all sense of
ego and separate identity
that undiluted bliss
very essence of Self
Presence of God

Sai Nandalala
under nightfall’s luminous cape
I run madly to the edge of my dreams
searching for my beloved
drunk on the nectar of Your Name
I swoon Body, Mind and Soul
into Your.....................

Infinitely Waxing Embrace

hiding behind images:
rather than standing before shadows...

perhaps it sounds better
in german, in german:
it (being german) is more...
informative...

or at least... that's how i see words
as...

example... DOG...
will i hide behind an image...
or will i... stand before the shadow?

as bad insurgent "translations" go...
this is where you find the "lost"
artefacts...
why would a ****** snuggle
up with some deutsche-spreschen
bollocking: to begin with?

we have settled our difference...
we have to have them...
wir haben zu haben: ihnen!

Plato... and iconoclasm...
christmas is over and i can,
finally! celebrate!
we do like in a democratic pseudo
state of affairs...
no man shall reign for more than
100 years...
even if he is god-bound....
but this little *******...
******* pivot,
it all begins with him and ends:
with him...

before all the greek demigods...
i will seek: being naive...
i will seek... keeping my mouth shut...
i will make minor details:
enlarged protest projects!
perhaps the german will
clarify...

verstecken (the past tense...
i never found it...
the paste of hiding...
to be couple with a present participle
of still... hiding)

verstecken hinter bilder...
lieber als stehen vor schatten!

die architektur aus wörter
(von Goethe... "von wörter"...
'goeRte')

nichts nein!

what is a melancholic arson?
the inflamed heart: its last willing rubric
genesis...
the mind is either automated cold
or stitching up cobweb matrixes of borrowed
time... but the heart...
oh a heart can become something more
than the bundle of clockword muscle...

i have tried to keep this mind
candle-lit and "curious"...
to keep it: intellectually focused...
to be prone of being starved: retaining
being a curious case of:
but i've found extinguishing points
of reference...
the only stupidity i found was...
it was going to be: oh so... predictable...

the modern tongue...
libra! meet the hydra...
i can either hide behind images...
and fuse them with words...
or i can... stand before these shadows...
these skeletons...
and properly disguise an "alternative
arithmetic"...

there's no point arguing over what is,
and what isn't "central europe"...
the masses have spoken...
we know what's fly-over territory when
it comes to h'america...
there's the east coast and the west...

but i will keep borrowing german
to... to the best of my abilities...
pretend to leisure myself in the comment
section, of the serious, sober,
liberal elites!
the true mind grifters and...
perhaps the odd chance of
a dutch puritanical rabbi...
to... "manage" an equilibrium...
to... not... rattle the boat...

common theme: i drink, i want to speak german,
i'm dead: i want to speak german...
i want to tell jokes in german...
-esque buzz lightyear in toy story 3 with
his... hispanic psychosis interlude...

i've experienced psychosis...
most... unsatisfying... i never managed
a complete disintegration of the self...
shame... i almost wish i did something...
that would have kept me in
Broadmoor for the past... 12 years...

i'm still "here"... but it's already apparent...
to have invested in german existentialism...
to have invested in... german idealism...
somewhat... and "then" / only now...
do you realise... you're not going to be part
of some ******* bookclub!

oх dye scheiße!
чoпперс chomp!
их... alternatively in eat... east germany...
isch... so?
ишь... alt. being? ихь...
variations go... where the caron... doesn't...

i will not solve you a crossword
puzzle in english...
i still have not opened a bottle
of jack daniels this very night...
and i'm already making a summary
as to: why i will not open
a bottle of jack daniels tonight...

i will... but i'll sniff the bottle-neck
as if it were a line of *******...
and the sober, sensible people,
can have their fill...
they can have their: formal...
promenade poetic excursions into the night...
and they can rhyme rhyme rhyme!
they can walk their ritual crescendo
of left right, left right...
which will never make them odd...
should Beijing stage an army parade
"impromptu"!

have them! have them all!
too bad for me... to bad for you:
to be of those people...
who read books...
that... makes it hard...
to find someone... who also read them...
and when you have...
done both...
you find out... oh, right...
those books were never supposed
to be talked about...
they were supposed to become
cognitive tattoos...
you were always supposed to...
"think" about them...
in "think" as in: not talk about them...

you would never be able to
mainstream them...
regurgitate them... fall flat on your ***...
donkey comparison...

Balaam's donkey...
Jesus' donkey...
i'll repeat this...
Balaam's donkey... Jesus' donkey...
and those four horsemen...
minus one donkey-jockey...
Balaam's donkey... Jesus' donkey...
if only someone told either of them...
about...

one of the donkeys knew...
as my cat knew when... clear as day...
i remember him utter the word:

яабэł...

he had two names: oscar darshan...
i'm way past being crazy...
being crazy these days is:
being known for making yourself
be accustomed to rules and laws...
outside of the rules and laws
that make stealing a criminal act...

otherwise: christmas is over...
now i get to celebrate the every day...
i'm done with this:
worshipping a baby...
on a day... when... Herod did a
Pharaoinic imitation...
major, or minor improvements?
beside the point...
only he exists... the rest of us...
perhaps some... porridge... will suffice?

oh thank god the c.c.t.v. cameras weren't there...
and the sceptical community...
i wouldn't mind some cynics...
but so the story goes...

because why would i want to...
"persuade" anyone toward, anything?
less of me, less of me on instagram...
ensuring i post the perfect
hot-dog sublime piece of legs
before the altar of a swimming pool...
or whatever chlorine cocktail...
with a "missing link" sombrero for
a stump of wood...
excavated from a sacred forest of Lithuania...
or some other variant bollocking...

christmas is over...
i can forget about being secular and sensible
over these past three days...
so i can return to my cognitive religioisity
in the outcast domain of mingling
gnosticism with qabbalah...
and... i can due those said prayers
in silence with my thought...
the ought-i-ought-i-not:
in that sigma-***-theta morph prefix
exemplification... of translation...

dry-humorless: pedantic...
that's me...
because i can finally! finally! breathe!
i can enjoy winter without these
******* fancy-lights!
i can enjoy x-ray vision of skeleton trees...
balding fully...
i can enjoy winter... after all...
winter can only be settled into an armchair
of comfort... when christmas resigns from
being a calendar event...

i can enjoy winter now...
ich dürfen zu genießen winter, jetzt!
ich, auch, dürfen zu genießen:
bekommen betrunken,
bekommen betrunken genug:
zu necken deutsche-tippfehler-quack-sprechen...
etc.

christmas is only christmas come
the 27th of december...
now i can celebrate...
now i can ******* peacock strut me way
(my my my)... into
the never available "oblivion"...
as you do... you really need procreation...
you need children to appreciate christmas...
otherwise you're ******* stuck...
with a delay button...
waiting for Easter...
the big boy celebration of christianity...

christmas and... the siege of Gaza...
what's the common thread?
human shields... children being:
human shields... excuses excuses ad nauseam...
it's because of the children that we justify
christmas...
i have none so... i don't justify it...
i'll usher in some herr bernstein
in the form of monsieur gauner...
or some... all brothels have a stench of
bourbon about them...
alle bordelle gestank von bourbon!
alle!

and what "good" isn't coincidental
with the advent of spring?
ah... the resurrection "part"...
flight to egypt... josephus ben mathias...
1945... the nag hammadi library...
and... plenty of greco-hebrew politico
propaganda hybrids along the way...

i can hide behind an image
that a word designates...
but... i can also... stand before...
the shadow that the word impregnates...
it just so happens to... rhyme;
bluntly.

A constellation of orchid blooms
with violet flame wings
and star white hearts
descended on my
bedroom altar this evening

This was part of a birthday gift
from my beloved hubby
the orchid is a symbol of perfection,
natural elegance, love and luck

Every time I gazed at the
auspicious, stunning flower
I lit up with smiles
it was so beautiful
and Swami's portrait
at the center of my sanctum,
indeed at the center of the universe,
also flashed a dazzling smile

What shall we call this beauty Swami?
Sitara....
Sitara you are so fortunate to have
the Darshan of
Bhagavan Sri Sathya Sai Baba

Father Greeley in Chicago
In Berkeley and Fairfax:  Thich Nhat Hanh

For me: darshan.

ginger ale and whiskey,
isn't that much of an innovation,
but i'll have to admit,
it's not exactly ms. amber
and pepsi...

            two weeks ago i found
out that genetic heritage
finally caught up with...
    high blood pressure...
runs in the family,
  and, apparently,
once you're on high-blood
pressure tablets?
that ****'s for life...

  plus i already knew that
some form of alcohol abuse was in
the background,
if it passed my father,
   because: sure as ****, he doesn't
know how to drink,
   he can't channel it
   to any productive end,
then i inherited it from
          both my maternal
grandfather, and, my paternal
grandfather...
     drunk like cobblers...
                  and worked their *****
off to but...
    the only shame?
            i do knitting...
                          of words...
                  no hammer & sickle...
but at least not blabbering out
    confused words...

      'so living with my parents
suddenly makes me
some sort of ed gein?!'

'funny you should say that,
given that ed gein was
the prime instigator of
h'american culture...
   ******, alfred hitchhock,
  the texas chainsaw massacre,
  mudvayne,
   slayer...
rob zombie... am i missing
anyone?'

  'silence of the lambs!'

'****, i knew i forgot something...'

'well d'uh, buffalo bill's
tailoring of skins?
   all ed gein.'

mother with arthritis,
drops basic items of a kitchen,
some sort of spinal
problem, had an operation
on it,
   nerve entanglement,
walks with a walk stick,
can't exactly bend over,
   reliant on potent pain-killers...

and sometimes when
i don't take drinking "too far"
into the night,
i wake up, bright as a *******
sparrow,
  chirppy, chirp-chirp...
help her bake cookies...
and then make tomorrow's
dinner...

   cottage pie,
     she just has to put the ****
together if i don't wake up
on time...

           and i am the sick
sadistic ****?
           "once upon a time"
we entrusted our faith
in our neighbour to look
after a cat,
    they ****** off to the maldives,
i went to my grandparents,
2 weeks later,
   the cat was dead...

    in between...
   i talked to them and told them
i needed to go back home,
a senseless paranoia gripped me,
something bad was about
to happen...

             you know, the general
complaint of the asiatic people,
they don't really enjoy petting
animals...
they're more into breeding,
and in-breeding...

   got a phone-call with
dear dear mother crying into
the phone: oscar darshan
was dead...

                            great cat,
i too cried when my childhood
"sister", an alsatian shepherd
died...
                  with a cat's death?
i thought i'd do something special...

the cremation was done,
idly sitting in a box in the study...
i took out a croquet
which i found, left,
     outside someone's home
ripe for the taking...
   took the sticks and ***** off of it...
attached a belt to it,
a backpack,
   a hammer and a chisel...

and i went into a world war I
cemetery...
     started hacking at one of
the graves...
left it intact,
having managed to find
an already hacked off piece
of a tomb...

              wrapped it up in
a black bin bag...
             put it on the croquet
trolly...
wheeled it home,
   took the cremated remains
of the cat...
    took to a shovel...
   dug a hole, placed the remains
in the ground...
and then put that slab of tomb
above it...

            all... in the blissful
serenity of the night...

when you grow up,
without any attachment to siblings,
but are exposed
  to dogs, or cats...
        you... tend to do things like
this...
     sure... it doesn't speak
your language,
    but you just judge them
by the language of their eyes...

pepsi: it has caffeine in it,
doesn't it?
           i was offered coffee in
the evening,
with the cookies i helped
to bake...
   n'ah... glass of milk,
the cookie (apple and walnut...
oat based... yummy as ****)...

when a genetic heritage catches
up with you...
    ah.... nearing 33 years...
it was a fun run...
           all those nights spent
drinking whiskey & pepsi -
no, i don't think whiskey
is exactly akin from the holy grail
cup, straight, no ice...
ooosh...
                        feels great saying
that...
         n'ah... mash it up with
some ginger ale and ice,
you're good to go...

                      and the next morning,
unsure whether constipated...
i'd sit, and this is what sly
high-blood pressure does...
your teeth numb,
as does your jaw...
           you get a sense of fear
from biting down on your teeth...
and you sit, stunned from time
to time by a sensation of
swallowing your tongue!

        after all: it is ms. amber...
she ***** readied at the gulp
    like a 40 year old *******
turned ******...
            cream on the hapless died out,
puts on a ******
using her mouth...
               and i'm done "worrying"
about *** and the incel culture
for... give or take:
                a year, 2 years...
                 3?
    thing is... why would i be bothered...
if i passed the test of:
reading a book "with one hand"?
marquis de sade...
   uninhibited language...
rambling, but fathomable...

          a somewhat "over-flowing"
*******, a slightly "over-flowing"
me... but at least not done
under the covers, with the lights
turned off...
     it was always funny to me...
how she would take my money,
go off to the madam,
   i'd get undressed,
take a shower,
she'd come back,
   and then i'd watch her undress...

shame?
   n'ah...
             cheating?
what, the current political narrative?
hell yeah, who wouldn't?
     but i hardly think
that a strip-club would do that much,
at least the one i went to
in athens,
   the strippers wanted to be
touched...
                   or maybe...
i'm just that sort of a satyr...
                   ugly like a socrates...
   but eager as a n00b or a hilly-billy.

Sai Ram
I lean on the strength
of Your name
1000 times
a million times
Swami grant me
Your golden hued darshan

i'm looking for a neighbour...
you mean that when your neighbour kills
a pet cat, i don't have the right
to hack off a piece of a grave,
  with shovel and moonlight dig
a hole in the ground and bury
the cute furry crit?
                 i'll try smiling next time
i buy oranges from you...
          and because today is a special
day: for no apparent reason -
i decided to loiter in bed listening
to the only arithmetic i've learned
   to appreciate -
  first came the crow -
  then came the magpie -
          the sparrows too -
                   i've seen a kestrel perched
on my garden fance, once, upon a time,
and i've seen robin perched...
                 black-bird with the jittering
brush stroke of a tail...
                seaguls? yep...
                  30 miles inland....
the grave?
       i just hacked a piece off...
             i liked that cat: Oscar Darshan...
i remember walking through
the suburban labyrinth of streets
   with a croquet holder with
    a gravestone, wrapped in
  a black bin bag...
                      did i ever mind you to
concern yourself:
  wet tarmac in then night is
a most appealing sight...
             frozen tarmac is just
akin to a paparazzi epilepsy...
     all glitter: no diamond...
             i see the horror when i don't
hear the music...
                   play me the
Handel messiah opening
   and i could prim a cow for a stake's
worth...
                mind you:
seems a waste not ingesting
the internal organs as coulinary
specialities...
    poultry hearts,
             yum... in the
"gulag" broth?!
          do i really have to remind you
of your mother's name?!
                - and my neighbour said
that my pet peeve known as Oscar
died of a kidney failure...
    see... problem is...
i had a psychotic foresight that stated:
you have to go back home
and tend to your cat...
             i was a Columbus by then...
laughed at...
              but the problem is:
the cat actually died...
           i live among a people
i'd rather **** than drink tea with...
    and when i did my poppy impression?
i sliced off a cross, all the 50kg worth of
it and walked it to the podium,
laid it flat and said: my duly respects -
lays the **** thing before you,
uttering the words:
that i don't want a shadow to tarnish it...
   with either geometry or orbit!
i like the concept of a cemetary:
what was once flesh, became ash,
and with the addition of water:
                                  became cement.
you really can see U.V. in this world:
just stare at a sun for too long...
you'll see it vibrating,
mingling the colours (and lack of)
between a sheen, a purple,
      a mirror, a pulverising blotch -
and all the other **** that would require
a pay-for-what-you-write deal.

Walking towards you
prudently, lighting
my bones, like candles
in dark.

For salvation. The
lone cobbler cheats on you.
He has placed the rough bricks
instead of cobblestones to cover
the surface.

Healer has become
avenger. Illicitly― drinks
from the ****** eyes, to
be called a survivor.

The cadaver vanishes.
There was no death of
any Fakir. Only flower bed―
will be the last darshan.

You win the battle, waging
inside you and
forget your name.

i can't say it isn't a learning curve, i.e.: how does it feel to pay
of a debt in... four installments? once £200... another time £250... another time at £600 and what's left-over is is? £277... and all of this? done by cash? well... it feels... a bit like giving £130 to a *******... wafer-think comparison... but it's almost on par... i'm just following up on the poems conundrum, autobiographical rigour & hotel reds.

i knew it wouldn't happen, it sounded too good to be true...
i knew she had a young daughter...
and like most prostitutes: she must have conspired
with her coworkers about the idea of... meeting a client...
outside of the hour-mark...
they must have said things like: what were you thinking?!
are you mad?
he propose the idea... no... i did...
                 i said maybe we can meet in a hotel room...
to which he replied... sure, we can go for dinner prior..
i'll bring some brandy...
i did the cost-analysis... she was obvious in a castle made
of clouds... because... isn't it obvious?
    why would i want to have any trouble in my life...
esp. if it's trouble with women?
      last one drew in into a student account overdraft
debt worth about £3000...
          tough times...
      the bank sent me a notice that my bank account
status of a student was about to expire...
  and that i couldn't have a interest-free overdraft
limit of £3000... that prior to going into the bank
and asking for the limit to be extended from £2500
because i had an emergency back "home" and i needed
to fly out for a funeral...

- - interlude - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - i was still close to lightning a cigarette right now...
i only stopped myself because i have some whiskey...
but... when i was painting the garden fence...
i was so ******* i started splashing the paint in rage..
no? mother dearests ask me because her neighbour
asked her to check if Bella the cat has clean water
and the frog's light is off... i hate being interrupted when
i write... i don't mind making concession when
speaking... but when i write and i'm interrupted...
it really is a peace pipe though... tobacco...
it's so much more soothing than outbursts of anger...
i guess marijuana is good for anger that builds
up... but when you need a quick fix... tobacco...
  maybe that's why i have almost have had this terrible
dry cough... my throat is irritated from the lack
of extra phlegm lining my throat... it's not a sore throat...
just sore when i cough... enough whiskey...
i'll be chirpy tomorrow... - - - - end of interlude - - - - - - - -

and i managed to wriggle out of that deficit...
by not exactly working: more suffering from lack of certain
pleasures... alcohol... tobacco...
although i did land that god-send of being paid out
about £3000 in damages for being a car-crash...
call it a fluke? i call it blood good luck...

tobacco: two occasions... to calm the nerves...
and to counter what otherwise caffeine does but caffeine
can't do with alcohol...
tobacco + alcohol...
    it's not caffeine + alcohol or for that matter ******* + alcohol...
sure... marijuana + alcohol used to work...
in my youth... if you were smart about it...
few were... tobacco + alcohol all the way...

i never enjoyed the credit system in capitalism...
i was very much always debit: el classico...
   sure... i have a student debt... "debt": the % on that
is so low and i need to be earning over £15,000 a year
to pay it off... but... here's the catch...
the debt gets written off after 30 years... or is it 25?
not for the quality of education they're selling people
right do i feel obliged to pay off this debt...
i've learned more once i left university
than i ever learned when i was inside it...

it's like that current job i'm doing...
sure... i might get paid peanuts compared to others...
but you know what some people
to have the sort of view i had
    at the Tyson Fury match? guess...
   oh man... the 25th of June and the 26th and i've
already pre-booked shifts for the Red Hot Chilly Peppers
performing at the London stadium...

i must have mentioned it... the people with S.I.A. training:
ex-military or ex-cons.... or ex-prison workers...
bouncers at doors... they did idiocy problem with
hierarchy... they love the rough and tumble...
so? they get paid more for a license...
oh man... so many of them have beautiful teeth...
smile that a Mongolian might only be envious of when
it comes to the English-man... it's that pretty...

me? i'm a crowd safety steward... ha ha...
or just someone who talks to people...
                       right... but these S.I.A. guys only get
£5 more hour... and where are they when an event takes place?!
outside...
stewards get paid... say... £10 an hour...
but that doe that entail? i get a free ticket...
i'm oh so tempted to change shifts from London Stadium
on the 12th to Wembley Stadium shift...
mammoth shift... starting at 7am finishing at 11pm...

eh.... but i haven't seen monster trucks in action...
and i'd like to see monster trucks in action...
it's almost as if: i'm going on dates with myself...
and i'm not paying for them: i'm getting ha ah ha *******
paid for them...

- knew it would have been good to be true...
i was already gearing up to disappoint from the myth
of a ******* ******* you in a hotel...
or rather... you know the story... stalemate...
but i'm no pompous Walt Whitman or for that
matter a tender Schwob...
              it is what it is... i won't bother her... until bother
her again... once i get paid at the end of June...
or maybe i should just move onto another woman...
i don't want to break her heart
as she said the unattainable words of reciprocating:
i love you....
    i *******...
        if she would have said: i need you...
i don't think i'd still say i love you...
                     of the things that man loves...
cycling... swimming... walking alone in the fields
or in the forests or among mountains...
i dread the idea that women are merely reciprocating
the hopes and ambitions of the most unimaginative men...

come Monday i was gearing up... "forgot" to buy supplies...
by Tuesday i was going full turkey
from a lack of alcohol stimulation and nicotine stimulation...
i was purging... i had the shivers in the night...
i was pretending to have dreams when it fact i was
just hallucinating with my eyes closed:
this one dream? my dead cat.... Oscar Darshan...
was walking in a host of sheep into my abode... to perfection...

i did have a cold... snotty nose... numbing aches
and pains all over my body from Teusday
night through to Wednesday morning... after ingesting
some cider... smoking that cigarette:
there was no fault with the paint! the fault was in:
my fence... to my left... the wood is of better quality...
precision marking: blindly even... to right?!
low quality timber! ******* ******* seagulls *******
while also taking a ****!

that being said: i have to toil by the sweat of
my brow tomorrow...
i have 1 tonne of rough sand to transfer from
the access road to my garden... no wheelbarrow...
old-school way... whichever way that is...
in buckets... shovel... good exercise...

but for someone who's been missing for the past two days...
not bad... i say no bad...
i started to binge watch some of: the good wife...
because... at least it's not drama set in a hospital
and you expect everyone to be sociopathic *******...
now...
    i'm going to have a second cigarette of today and
wonder why this isn't worth 3,000 words....
oh...but there are additions pointers to be made...

what is the usual knock-out blow of alcohol,
nicotine, 250mg of naproxen
500mg of paracetamolum
+ diphenhydramini hydrochloridu (25mg)...

exactly? what was my "detox list of suggestions"?
phenegran (25mg), 2-4-dichlorobenzyl alcohol,
amylmetacrescol,
paracetamol, promethazine, dextromethorphan,
pseudoepherdrine, pholcodine...
ethanol, sucrose, glucose, propylene glycol...

yeah... what a welcome change...
old habits die hard... mind you: i needed to reiterate
being rejected by a ******* from:
****...i wasn't rejected...
            i just felt like a tonne of bricks
at the donkey... sure... even i have dreams...
i'd love to spend the last years of my life
in some region of Russia or Norway...
              maybe that too will be soul crushing when
my time comes...
i've already had the heart of youth crushed by
not being able to find anyone outside the realm
of merely *******...
          "only child syndrome":
               or... simply... how i adapted to what was
to come... the rarity of a large family.

502 bad gateway bypass:
title - through the loops
body - target practice...

finally! it's done! 3 years in the making: since you can only
do certain things during the warmer months...
finally! it's done!
but unlike Nietzsche: there's nothing melancholic about
what has been achieved...
perhaps because he was referring to intellectual endeavours
and not endeavours of physical labour...
that's completely different: with completing some
manual labour endeavours: there comes this waterfall
of relief... a bit like being crucified...
3 years with good interludes...
                            how many tonnes of earth
and sand and pebbles? that one year where
the natural grass failed to take proper root...
having to resort to fake grass carpets...
   mind you: i was sceptical at first...
until me and my father laid it out...
                          not so bad...
              it's actually better than the real thing...
it's hyper-real...
             i can just lie on it... i don't need anything
akin to a rug to lie on it... and admire the sky...
          we've been waiting for over 15 years for our
next-door neighbour to put up a fence...
prior to that? the garden felt congested... since there was
no fence... instead? bushes... endless roughage...
here and there a makeshift fence...
3 years ago she finally gathered her resources:
well... her policeman son gathered the resources...
the labourers came... cut all the shrubbery...
flat to the ground... put up the fence... ****** off...
that's when the work began...
i remember those damp April days...
groundwork is such an unforgiving work...
   i had to wrestles with over 30 roots... sawing...
chopping... hammering...
well... if i wanted to replace these roots with
digging up holes for fruit trees... oh man...
the stuff i found... bricks... pieces of concrete...
pieces of concrete and bricks...
               how many times did we have to travel
to the recycling centre?
how many times did we order a skip?!
    **** me... at least 3 times...
   then there was the dismantling of the rotting wooden
shed... then there was the levelling of the ground...
putting up a plastic: sturdy shed... much larger...
then another little shed...
   so i have three sheds in my garden...
      and a very believable attic with more storage space...
i also have a little house that houses
a jacuzzi...
                 slabs... plenty of sitting area...
plenty of flowers... i forget the name...
   but a quasi-bush more akin to a tree of limes...
rosemary... thyme, oregano... wild garlic... that:
when watered come the night: a perfume of marijuana...
tomatoes, apples, pears, morello cherries...
figs... apricots... rhubarb...
        plums... oh dear: my plum tree that i planted
is chasing the eucalyptus tree...
         a bay leaf bush...
                  chives... mint...
                  i sort of am... a devil in his own garden:
my work! mein werk! me! i did this!
   after three years i can sit down on the grass...
look at the moon and the constellations and...
ah: sigh... i did this, with some help...
i was the one who unearthed all the roots...
i was the one labouring with tonnes of **** going
out and tonnes coming in...
sand, earth, pebbles...
                     i was the one more happy to use
a KANGO and a HARROWS...
                           me! me! JA!

it's as if the "pandemic" never really happened...
me? i was busy in the garden...
clash of cultures...
why do English-speaking throw their children
out of their house as quickly as possible?!
do any... help around the house?
how much money do you think i saved my parents?!
i just see lazy-*** "*******" slouching...
no wonder they get thrown-out of their parents
abode...
   i'm sort of like a tennis player...
my father is my trainer... well: yes, no...

i'm a ******* custodian of the household by now...
i cook the food... i clean the house...
i'm currently trying to get rid of a rat
that somehow managed to find refuge in my kitchen...
**** it: drink and explain...
the classical traps? yeah: i know...
it will break its snout...
he already managed to drag one mousetrap with him...
it probably trapped its tail...
rat being rat: he probably dragged the trap
with him into darkness... and by now has
chewed his tail off...

but i'm on edge... i have a "presence" in my household
that shouldn't be here..
thanks to my Nigerian neighbours...
the ******* "voodoo" overlord of the house-lord
is fond of feeding "pigeons" at the end of his
garden... leaving food around...
**** me... haven't been living in London
long enough?! you feed pigeons in the park...
ducks... swans... you leave food out in your garden?!
you're going to attract rats!
unless... like me... you purposively left
left-over food in a bowl for a fox you started calling
Brody who came round for about a month
because you missed having a dog / why the myth
that cats drink milk?!

that's what i miss most about having dogs...
that's what i miss about my youth...
come Sunday... ****** chicken soup...
and roast chicken...
sure... grandma always overcooked the chicken
to the point where: no one wanted
to eat the chicken *******... back then?!
who had a ******* thermometer to check whether
the meat was at 165 degrees Fahrenheit?!
no one... so... poultry chalk...

but? we all gathered to eat... leftover meat...
bones... even egg shells...
and the chicken soup... with the vermicelli...
who ate the remains?
the dog... the smartest dog i ever
could have been raised with...
Bella... an Alsatian...
     from the stories of my grandfather:
i was able to shove my entire arm into her PYSK:
gob... and she wouldn't mind...
   and i used to ride her... and she used to pull
the sleigh i sat on during winter...
when my grandfather broke the news to me
that she died... i wept...
hmm... i didn't weep when my grandfather died:
i got drunk post-ceremony of the funeral
and hit my head on the radiator: bled...
a month later i ***** out a tear out of my head
thinking: because the eyes do more than merely see...

i cried over a dog... we're so simple...
the simpler the gain the simpler the reward...
and animals give us both...
nothing's too complicated, ever...
but she would reap all the rewards from five people
sharing a Sunday roast...
i loved the way she slurped that rich soup
of bone and meat and vermicelli and what not...
however... since we aged at almost the same time...
she would never trust me to go walking with her...

mein gott... the joy she expressed whenever
i came back from England... she almost ****** her fur...
i loved that dog: she was my sister in a way...
it's so much more surprising to grow up as a single
child with an animal for company:
i failed at hamsters... as i failed at the lesser
Egyptian jerboa: ****** jumped jumped jumped...
until he jumped into a basin of water and drowned...

i was good with St. Augustine's Primary School
Budgerigars... since i was entrusted with them
over the summer holidays...
when i was: E-high... i.e. this high: _
                                                              _­

i wish i was more lenient with Axl: my dobberman...
but then he did try to bite my eye out
after i whipped him for attacking Bella...
mind you: he gave me an eternal memory...
so i was walking him and he bit into a pile
of ****...
   upon biting into it i peered in...
ugh... parasites... worms... the **** was filled with
them wriggling like a 5pm commute in
London...
a beautiful beast: but as thick as a brick...
me and this blonde friend of mine were
playing the earliest version of Nitendo
in my room and... ****** gave him a nose-ring...
my friend started bleeding from his nose...
we had to sell him...
            and once we sold him...
the people we sold him to wanted to give him
back... he's fishing for piranhas!
and as "abstract" that sentence is going to say...

3 ******* years... i had to sit under the eucalyptus
and the plum tree with two ciders admiring
my efforts...

clash of cultures... i've even started joking with my
parents as if we're peers...
i think we're going to die apart as peers...
why are English children ejected from
their households at such an early age?
do they, help, around the house?!
do they cook?! do they clean?
are they invoked to do some groundwork in
the garden? or... do they require some
Eastern European handyman to do their **** for them?!

just asking... i did my work...
i'm going to ask for a payment of...
three cartons of cigarettes...
for work spanning three years...
   i think i'm justified in asking for so little...
plus... i do bring in income to pay for the food...
rent? what rent? the mortgage has been paid
off since i didn't get married...
so... look at me: flimsy flying octopus!
ooh ooh!
            i'm making my bed as "we" go along...
and i'm sometimes having trouble sleeping
for too long... say... from 3am till 2pm...
by then the day is finished...
                
but it's not like my parents employed some *******
handyman to sort out their garden:
ich was da...
   i was there...
           i was there when... i was visiting my grandparents
and my parents wen on holiday
to the Maldives... and we left the care of our
former cat: Oscar... Darshan... to the neighbours
two doors down... Sikhs: you'd think...
sure... give him food... clean the toilet...
on an everyday basis: i don't mind:
but if someone wants to b a boy-scout:
a new found friendship...
parents get invited to their wedding: second... wedding...
the first wedding she married a female boxer...
blah blah...

two days prior to coming back i get an eerie sensation...
i call my parents: i need to go back!
i need to look after the cat...
they brush it off... he's just mad...
right... 2 days later... they come back to England...
"oops": the cat is dead... kidney "failure"...
this ******-Sikh alliance soon ended...
guilt + truth crept in...
oh... how beautifully it crept in...

from sadness i stalked the night...
i managed to find a leftover croquet "sample"...
if i took all the pieces out...
sure... i could...
   and i did... i walked into a World War I cemetery
and started to hack off a piece of gravestone...
the amount of anger i felt was right for the occasion...
i put that hacked off piece of gravestone
on my croquet trolley and dragged it home...

in the full moonlight i dug a hole...
placed the ashes into it...
enough earth for the earth to breath some more ash...
and lodged the hacked off tombstone
into the ground with a thunderbolt of
hand-movement...

oh... i'm not talking to these ******* two-doors down
neighbours... i thought they were suspect all along...
they killed: my: ******* cat...
are they doubly suspect? of course they are!
last time i heard Sikhs could be mistakes for Hindus...
ooh... now isn't a cow now all the more: JUI-CY?!
i feel a Hannibal Lecter gimmick coming along...
i feel like drinking a medium-rare steak...
i want to eat "mother"...

                      ... of course we will clash culturally...
three generations of Asians living under one *******
roof is the NORM... whereas in Western Europe
a guy living with his parents his considered "weird":
even though... that same guy is doing all the househoild
chores... so where are all the pathological cry-babies
playing video-games about?

and the price of living in London is now what?!
i've taken the Darwinistic approach...
where do i have ***? in a brothel...
sure... i'd love an American motel
or a Japanese love-hotel... i'm a little bit bound
to confiscating the pleasure chambers... " "... as it were...
rather: less confiscating them and more:
constraining them...

   but my parents will not die in a retirement home...
and by the time i inherit all of this...
i will have already filtered through enough
suitors of the opposite *** to tell all of them:
sorry... thank you... you're not bringing anything
but a headache to the "table"...
from tome immemorial:
that's how reality worked....
it's still working: it's working better than ever...

one drunk girl has enough ego-booster
to cling to me and tell me: oh... you're ****...
right... now i know...
        all the other timid ones think the same
but are too sober to say those same words...
am i? am i going to go out of my way
to satisfy this ploy?! this plot?!
nope...
            i bailed out long before bailing out
was a "vogue"...
back in 2007.... 2022 is a long time since 2007...

            you touch my Quarus....
you touch my Veroniya...
i'll ******* give you a toothache with a lawnmower!
i'm unhinged... when it comes to
the safety of my cats...
i'll ******* give you a toothache with a lawnmower!
i started rewatching American Beauty with
a remoteness of fleeing glee...

wow! that movie! that movie was so important!
i sort of live by it!
   like: i don't want to live like this mid-life
crisis realisation moment life ought to precipitate into!

mmm... hmm... pet-killing...
i don't care if you're Jesus or Ghandi...
****** would have never...
                   hide... just... hide...
               you ******* Uber-Tandoori bicycle peddlers...
nein!
               niet!
                 i'll ******* dig up your grave and
**** our ***-hole and eye-socket for killing my
dearest friend!
                   hush! hush! ******* Turbanator Mc-****-Lord!
this is personal..
                 you just allowed me for it to become
more expressive...
          ******* singe of Singh;
you don't... get... to... pay... off... vipers!
shut the **** up!

let's call it: Tweed Afghanistani;
spice imperium my ***...
in terms of food?
you need water, you need fire...
you need salt...
          you need time...
             you need... the fifth always escapes me...
like lightning escaped
the arithmetic of elements
for the ancient of days...
                           ah!                        OIL!

we're not friend: better we become enemies
than pretend to become friends.

Bromidic Heat
By Darshan Pillay

Nothing but crickets
Nothing but chirps, anything would
Be better, better than this
They make the noise with their legs
The sound tastes like biting into a lemon
Sour, having an acidic taste, like that
Of vinegar, lemon juice etc.
Below standard, poor
Harsh in spirit of temper
Touchy, apt to take offence on
Slight provocation
I’m touchy about being told who to be
Tinder, any dry substance that readily
Takes fire from a spark
The heat is here for that cool cat, who
Won’t become a square
And won’t cut his moptop
The heat were always bogarting
Cool cats don’t care for dough
Everything is bromidic

I yearned to touch Your
starry raven feet
my eyes thirsty
for Your darshan
when dreams descend
I fly with gossamer body
a silken shadow in search of You

She says for us the movies
Are like apparitions for them

And when the lights go out
And the movie comes on

Is like when they have darshan.