Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
on this page i write pain, and the html censor revises it with flower... need for a positive vocabulary feedback of life in general?! what is this hippy ****, what's the point of writing the raw when you're revised as well done, missing the Tartar alt.?!

variations on E.C.T. as catalogued by
Sylvia Plath in the Bell Jar -
Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest -
mute Indian the winner in that one -
Hubert Selby Jr's Requiem for a Dream -
or perhaps from?
never mind - the mild electric chair
for therapeutic purposes, gamer crew and
the virtual reality mask - so many profess
to needing one - IQ enhancing stereotypes -
but there's me with a bottle of whiskey
and some spare time -
the professionals speak of an undoubted
pain threshold -
so instead of outright killing each other
we masked it behind outright necessity of
turning **** sapiens into guinea pigs -
clap... clap... clap... clap... and that clap
already resounds prior to this marking and forth
toward another century of the desert of
Darwinism - ever hear that joke?
a chemist, and physicist and a Darwinist
enter a bar - a chemist orders Hapsburg 98% proof
absinthe, a physicist order a shandy,
while the theoretical biologist (Darwinist)
orders a gene atlas and pseudo **** safety pins to mark
his route should he be drunk, and should be,
but isn't, he's on a rampage of walkie-talkie steroids
befitting only the tongue - raps and raps
without rhymes - 'buddy, drink something!'
'i'll drink a smoothie of aborted fetuses,
in that Christian calendar: the feast day of a would
be Mozart', oh hell, a would-be ****** too...
you have to much capacity and the claustrophobic
area of expression, believe me, they won't let
you fill your full potential -
take to rank, take to surgical instructions -
the man in charge at Oxford says:
please don't use frightening words electroshock therapeutics -
but i swear that's what it was?
treating momentary lapses in apathy - angry,
jealous, psychopathy - i.e. people uncomfortable
with the idea of Σ (totality, given neurology and
the brain myth, found elsewhere, or in / as total) / soul -
leave them be, we need psychopaths to give us
consumer gratification for the and in with the existence
of corporate sister nationhood -
well, unless you want a start-up in the sense of
a French Revolution - that one's booked:
only in America - elsewhere we're just Palestinians,
throwing rocks and paper-drones at metal -
testing out Newton and not the Einstein's parabola -
algebraic notation *x
(time) hyphenation y (space) -
which means given algebra there's a third missing,
from Kantian standpoint of 0 - a z... god?
or, wait, refrain from Darwinism's anti-social collective
of a personal will - oh i don't know, improvise!
but what critique came to Communism (post-theoretical
socialism) came to the project of a multiculturalism -
this time round it wasn't the Pope that undermined it -
still, people confuse an attack on Communism
with an attack on Martial Law - the actual critique
came against Martial Law years December 13, 1981 to July 22, 1983,
we feared the Soviet invasion - why do you think
my communist party member grandfather lives
without complaint? of course the first to complain
are the farmers - before them the nobles drank,
got bored, cured boredom with borderline paedophilia -
the bemoaning - the king ****** me last at Versailles -
i lost my virginity and i subsequently lost my
ideal, i defined reality with a symptom.
so once we warred and killed each other -
but since we're a bit more pacified these days -
we decided to internalise warring with each other,
and instead of killing each other we decided to
experiment on each other - the reinterpretation of
E.S.T. into E.C.T.; prices start at £89.00 for the basic
kit to imitate death row simulation... you the funny
thing is... once you've experienced a brain haemorrhage
you became a slight sadist - you want the pain to come
to finish you off - some say the soul is bound to bones -
animation, pure and simple - that the non-existence of
soul is proved by the remain of bones - but that's
whiffed away with the Hindu practice of cremation -
and that's dark comedy given the Nazis -
it's almost like the Nazis wanted to end the debate,
the already Gothic practise of burial and bone-keeping -
as if invoking the geometry the soul would pick up first,
the abstracts of mechanisation, the canvas readied for
ether muscles and juice - ****** ended up
Hinduism on amphetamines; ****, i think i lost a bracket (
somewhere... oh well, i guess i must end with ).
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
only one word prompted me: szło,  i.e. as it went...
urgh... phobias for slavs.... she was drininking tango...
(strachy na lachy, piła tango; czarna bandera! i or spanish y,
janosik! hula huj! niby, oby, nie prawda).
ugh, i sat there, on the throne, with my **** eager,
i felt sick more about a ******* relationship than the actual
taboo infested act... family via ****, what a dross!
back to level 1 of art, heterosexual, and onan,
                it was alway going to be
akin to history, and the caurosel... bilinigual "dyslexia" -
carousel... kabbalah in the moment, loss
of fixation on the tetragrammaton...
and i woke up today, fiddling with my hands
like a blind buddha...
that handsignal he is understood to "wave"
about in statue form, how the ring finger
bends and touches the thumb's nail...
and that's to represent a family,
index woman, middle man, pinky a child...
and why we use acronym base
for putting on a ring onto the ring finger,
touching the tip of thumb,
meaning Caesar said: all good...
outside the coliseum...
so that's what blind buddha said...
and like i already said,
in the future philosophers were sellers
of dictionaries, and lawyers were
sellers of thesarus rex...
you mention the dinosaurs,
and i'm supposed to say: you're the lucky un.
i drank in order to remember
that i must forget...
but still my previous life was flashing
before my eyes...
like i was about to engage in
re-imitating it... a *******'s load of hope
groping the eyes of those who,
stranded in the desert, suggested an oasis...
as the title suggest: always about
cliche, about a faux pas... and yes:
an opera...
  i want to be the linguistic orginating in
chemistry, seems i am,
how the english tongue took to
late christainity, the un-orthodox mention
of st. thomas' gospel unearthed from
an egyptian desert... 30 miles south of Cairo...
or so so...
            i might like to read an existential
novel of the children bound to feminism
and i.v.f., and how horrid it was to live
with your parents, and economy,
   and how the shame came,
in pakistani format...
                 just thinking...
my **** said much more 30 minutes prior,
but the i.v.f. narrative and how our nature
was dislodged by our power to overcome
our foundations, and still people died
in earthquakes and tsunamis...
                 but indeed, szło:
how it went...
                and thus my reason to give it ***...
like learning french, masculine and feminine forms,
of the said word,
  szła = she went; szedł = he was dasein / walked,
ergo revision szła = he was dasein...
   and that's the reason i didn't really
love my russian girlfriend, she said
polish was primarily defined by
   ш ш ш, i said huш, she said: шut up!
   the last love and the only and the end, of a concept
and matrimony to fiction.
let's deal with realities... play marbles,
talk about gambling and gamble...
**** it all away... flip coins and
do whatever is necessary, having found love
is rare more than a peacock feather for a quill,
and let's just, grow up.
every, single, time, that jewish ghetto freak
of a god comes up, an all encompassing word,
that can encompass mere noun, from mere sound,
from mere onomatopoeia, into a verb,
   a lament configuration that just encrusts itself
into the concept of a noumenon...
past terms, present terms, future terms...
and sexuality...
  szła шedł szło...
     three sexes, one, the last, neutral...
               and when psychology comes along to play
the game of anthropology you'll say
what i said... she dasein, he dasein,
   it, the world, happened...
                             and that's a thank you
to a philosopher of lore (20th century) for being
able to complicate my life, and
   celebrate the ghetto god of Jews...
  nah, they can keep the crucifix and their
Judas reward like altars...
  all that gold needs the stink of prayer
and sycophancy... like they do in Russia:
priest stands before the altar, reads an orthodox
verse, his back against the people kneeling
behind him, as the depiction of Judas
in the scenario of the last supper...
and you can't even sit and listen to the choir
doing a rendition of Bach... some church
attendant tells you to not sit...
and appreciate the choir...
"modern" Russia for you...
   what's with this cult of modernity?
we are living in times where modernity is cult,
it's nothing but cult, or the limit...
modernity is a cult of journalists...
they're almost anti-darwinist in their expression...
poetry, poetry has to, attack journalism...
i see no other way to go about it...
   marriage... hmmph! шło, how it went...
well... it went like this:
siała baba mak, nie wiedziała jak...
chłop powiedział.... i to było tak:
   an idiot mongolian played the imaginary
harmonica doing motorboat with
his lips and moving his index finger
up and down against the "slur" of excess phlegm...
(a woman was sowing poppies,
she didn't know how,
a man said: like this... and both became
Glaswegian ****** junkies to "feel" good)...
   i broke up with that russian hyenna
just before she embarked into m.d.m.a.,
yes, i'm a happily alcoholic concept of
sanity, for what sanity's worth looking
at other people claim their rites of passage
beyond religion, beyond anything,
as said: only choice, and subsequent regrets
and joviality: if prominent on the faces
of some you encounter in the fudge of
modern grey matter / area.
i can only say that this current transgender
movement is almost as prominent as
what's inherent in the english language,
how words like table, chair...
pineapple, do not have gender in the language
per se, there's no masculine or feminine
conceptualisation of simple things,
someone who's french might say
a chair has male qualities,
   and a table has feminine qualities...
it's subtle... refined to a very slight
           chance of spotting a variation of spelling...
e.g. шło (how it went), and the two variations,
one for man (шedł), and one for woman (шła)...
evidently the anglophone language has too
much money, and even more spare time,
to actually un-poeticize the nag hammadi library...
i mean, everyone is killing poetry,
but this sort of ****** is beyond any worth...
the genesis of this story begins with
psychiatry and the 1960s, primarily a Scot,
a Glaswegian, r. d. laing, coming straight out
of c. g. jung.... freud is for rich people and
the only oedipus: Wilhelm II of german...
it must be a luxury, it can't be anything but,
it must be a luxury to have dreams
and to also have an interpretation of them,
right? they call them the snowflakes generation...
i just call them freud-tards with their toothpicks
for trees forests of "depth".
looking at the way jesus is depicted, with a
void black halo around him:
i'm suspecting we wasn't a big dreamer,
to lift the veil: an imitation of Joseph,
seven lean years, seven bountiful...
   and how so few of us actually have a rich
dream life... we don't, not everyone is invited
to lead such a double life...
  some do, and they have recurrent dreams,
well, one dream over and over and... what a boring life.
i dream sometimes, but it looks like scrambled eggs,
too many: dreams within dreams...
   then again, if i followed the diagnostics of
w. burroughs, i'd probably feel embodied in dreams
if i shot up ******... or smoked it...
  but i prefer a rested body anyway.
so yeah, a bit quasi-etymological,
those "idiosyncratic" but rather specific words:
шło... id.... that it went / how it went...
  and so it went...
english doesn't have a *** in language,
   nothing to decipher whether a man or woman uses
it, unless you congest it with
   excess pronoun shrapnel...
          excess pronoun and conjunction shrapnel...
the only thing that resembles saxon in post-Hastings
french viking invasion are the way chemical
nouns reflect what a german makes of
antidote to claustrophobia:
                  habbeschneizergoo, or thereabouts.
let's just say: language as theory.
   this is mine... what do you have?
ah... right... a concrete heart, an empirical heart...
does that allow counter defining an origin
not related to the big bang, but a meow or a woof
of knuckling a tree... i.e. extracting sounds
and later appropriating the invocation of sound
to later state pointless mantra, and otherwise
read more, see less?
   if we're talking sounds, or the big bang
is my idea of the φoνoς, look... the ancients
beginning with Heraclitus had logos...
or word, until that concept became ghetto...
now we have so much music, and that one
defining "sound"... i say φoνoς, to counter
the science of the bang... and yeah, it's apparently "big"...
just learn a science to a degree level,
and then relax unlearning it writing philosophy...
you just might spontaneously write poetry,
     and gave a libido of a Solomon, but no harem;
gents! handshakes! handshakes!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
she just said, a disturbed song lyric: i want to play with your evil inside... true story... a Novosibirsk girl... who invented this masochism of globalisation? florida china... california spanish apples? sometimes me and a tiny village in crimea would do, just fine... i don't understand why people get bored about brick walls so quickly, or don't contend in chess... or make an easy su doku puzzle extra complicated by repeating 20 seconds of a type o negative song...

mi niet nie(t) budyed...
                                                   me charisma...
   me pogrom...
listening in on football hooligans...
   dirt, naked,
                                    which was much more than an
american girl doing a hand-job
                             trying to buy alcohol later...

just thinking: arab has oil (black gold)...
now he wants snow...
   arab wants snow?
    can the ****** manage the cold?
what the **** do you take to integrate
eskimos in alaska or ultra-mongols
in siberia... sun-cream, or sunglasses?
arab has black gold... now he wants snow...
****** wants snow...
        i'm laughing because his women
aren't equipped to standardise that
environment... they'll need much more
than a niqab if that's what you're trying
to colonise... seriously... much more
than a niqab... niqabs don't work in siberia...

  be slavic *****...                   we darwinist...
you ******* darwinist?
                       you survive, or you
                                           die? like... die?
die telling funny jokes?
                         you darwinism?

i mean... i love watching a woman
exposing her genitals,
******* on screen,
                         all wet and i think i'm
watching daffodils...
                        it's spring...

i clench my teeth and imagine sheep..
then i take a bite... and *sheer
...

bradzie!                  idziom!

                  ­   finally... what wakes the barbarian...
and what gives it so much support,
given rugby is so... so... ******* boring?

just look at the horde... look at it wriggling
and angry...
     all those yachts can go to hell...
i remember owning a doberman,
and he bit into a **** and there were this
maggots wriggling inside of it...
  that really defined my childhood memory...

what's the west if not a trans- debate
about genitals? so... what the **** is that?
boiled, scrambled or poached?
           or the next post-Freudian metaphor...
what is it that might even provide me
for a cohesion strategy?
        
but you're still need more thana  niqab is you're
going to spread to siberia,
the jew hating in the koran seems a bit of a fake,
given the invasion of germany...
    some ******* queer look at debating free will...
the muslims are doing the jews deported from europe
a favour... really...
      how coulnd't they...
the problem is... what favour are the muslims doing
to the europeans?
  
pasnawitz harasho... the **** is this model of springbox
talking? the english talk spaghetti nasal in american,
i know that... they're like nag nag nag nausea...
      peppercorn on the ******* throat...
          i'm trying to actually write what a Bulgar
******* calls harasho...
     nie(t)   that tao is annoying... in polish that's written
as: i won't build this...
         nie............. budjed....
                       harasho?
ok... look... there's no laughing about it...
   i just get -арашo....
  i can't find a ha... maybe because that's because
н             couples to en, or na na na, na na na...
nursery rhymes would be easier...
harasho... or... dobże? or dobrze? or ok?
     china ching or quang moong do?
try a Beijing duck!
                           iffy... it's like you almost
want to pick up these influences for the mere
hell of it... given the fact that your message is
so different...
              
   it's just problematic...
how do you not attach ю (yu)
   to э (aha! no attache letters!)
and then not say niet budyed....
                                   ниет будюэд.... how?

i'm only writing this because i've been told to hate poland,
and then later told to call england the narcissistic
bellybuttons the the world, with their greenwich 0...
   i actually don't think i was told lives...
given that english women are reducible to
     bridget jones diaries, or a rotherham journal of a
teenage girl...
  
    i swear... if i'm not marx and there is no engels...
then this is a revision of victorian england...
                        given the english treatment of children
or the concept of marriage...
    that's hardly me boasting...
               what's coming, living with your parents?
drinking to excess but still able to watch the oscar ceremony
with them and then writing your father's
      invoices?
                       hence the pyramid argument:
throw one of a one-armed bandit into the equation
and let's never meet on what could be called
a mutuality or.... that shared plataeu akin
to a.a., because the internet never fosters that attempt
at cohesion... well... unless people flock to
suicidal sites...

  me? i'm still much more bothered about
ниет будюэд... and whether that really does translate
as niet budyed...             yack jack jesus yahweh
had me bewildered why genghis khan came along.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
.of all days, but esp. a day such as this,
so little must happen,
  but at the same time so much can happen,
and it did, later in the day i watched
the magic at wimbledon: cori "coco" gauff
went into the 4th round -
     clinging on to reply with 2 match
points against her...
    coming back in a tie break in the 2nd
set, winning the 3rd 7 - 5...
    and... as ever, of all the grand slams in
tennis... wimbledon is always packed...
fancy seeing a full crowd at either the u.s.
open or roland garose...
   which makes for ****** viewing...
you really do need the crowd there,
the commentary doesn't really matter when
the crowd is there: the crowd and subsequently
the atmosphere... which is a delight
for t.v. viewing...
       but prior?
               the unadulterated pleasure from
physical labour... notably gardening in this example...
mawing the lawn...
  and then cutting down my grape vine:
poor ****** died somehow...
  many a good bottles of wine it did provide...
i'll miss making my own wine...
              but more importantly...
a rekindled sensation i once associated with
physical labour...
   after the work was done...
to sit, smoke a cigarette, have 3 sips of coffee...
and just feel a full-embodiment
without any necessities of thinking,
of the mind,
    to have invested so much much in the body
and so little in the mind...
   physical labour has to be the most
gratifying aspect of life:
    i'm jealous of the men in trades where
physical labour is required...
   how they can block thinking,
while perfecting their physical deeds...
an act of physical labour eventually outstrips
any gratification from that mollusc
    slouch into intellectualism:
esp. if there is no worthy opponent and you're
performing "intellectual" deeds solo...
what permeates from physical of labour
is a clarity of mind,
   esp. in the realm of horticulture...
       but i remember it was the same after
an honest day's work on a construction site...
there is no superior feeling:
not even during or after ***...
                           the body disavows the mind,
it disallows any bothersome minor existential
crisis to enter the foray of man's immediate
circumstance...
    almost all "intellectual" excursions can be
so ****... unsatisfying -
                   it would appear that physical
labour is more rewarding than any
intellectual "labour"...
                         since after the work is done...
both the body and the mind rest...
     unlike the opposite:
         where the body is perhaps at rest,
but the mind continues its "perverted"
                         distaste for a sense of completeness
and its furthered inability to sway
away from prodding abstracts or concrete
observations;
shame about the grape vine...
     making your own wine is probably
the most rewarding part of life -
   well... it was for me.


what made the Freudian question more penetrable is
what made it obvious - asking the same question
whether a housewife needed a kettle
was like asking a bricklayer for trowel -
only the rich payed for the meaning
of dreams... ****... the poor were just given
the fact that, we do, actually dream -
unless it's some over-worldliness or
exacting the unconsciousness of the heart
keeping rhythm to the brain's break from
thinking in the cranium cinema -
ah yes, hierarchy; hierarchy hierarchy hierarchy,
no Saddam Hussein then to bother?
ah ****, there was. too bad, make more mistakes,
that'll be a fine excuse for being human,
given the fact that when waiters make mistakes
we turn blue with rage and call for a happy meal -
i don't know what women want,
and to be honest, i don't care -
if a house is an extension of a woman i already know
the perks of wants presupposed -
man wants sea, Norse, man wants desert, Arab -
there's nothing worth noting for him to
simply settle down and watch television or
become a gamer - there are dinosaurs about with
that theory - beware.
Big Benjamin will be hushed for a year -
just recently renamed Tower E -
but what's that? glory be to Darwin in the highest?
championing Darwinism to simply speak
a valid point will make art suffer -
it's not longer Charles II with a cravat but
fur - plus it's impossible to start from there,
better to start from a deviation like from ****** into
wholehearted matrimony - choose a negative and
improve on it, why bother a positive chimp variation?
what progress comes from that? Gorillas aren't exactly
harassed by felines in the thick jungle, or if they are,
no more than Africa-Americans in their own cars
without guns but with gun permits - which means that
Americans are more likely to own gun permits than
passports, forget the fables of ***** Dancing and
the hopes of a Roman Holiday... it's Iowa-time right now...
gonna get smaller by the day -
existence via the bungalow - and a society where there's
a friction concerning not-having-read-philosophy
and having-read-philosophy, but it won't change for either
faction, both will be diagnosed as mad for the sake of
leisure activities continuing and pharma selling.
Denmark will flourish and Iceland and
what Darwinist scientists should have concentrated on:
shorter time-frame, evolution of Scandinavians -
what the Chinese already done and the Blue Indians tilting
the earth's gravity east with their 'made in China' #madeinchina...
but in a country that regards reading Kierkegaard
as allocating the diagnosis of schizophrenia...
you beg to differ and turn dialectics into warring -
this is England 2016 - by god man, don't read
books! read seagulls regurgitating chip-mush via
the media! don't you read books in England! don't!
i warn you! and remember that the internet doesn't
exist for journalists, esp. those writing opinion pieces!
it's not reality for them (the content) - a computer is
real, but anything on it isn't - thank you very much
for the social aspect of the internet coupled with
globalisation and the non-existent village or neighbour -
thank you... it's just a defence mechanism,
the internet is without authority - the printed press
has authority looming over it - the best time to write
a load of ******* not bothersome about money.

p.s. i hate the argument from the perspective
of exercise... i see exercise as pointless...
working, doing something, goal orientation
within the confines of one organism to another,
losing weight is such a vain goal /
purpose to execrise and all that scientific jargon
about releasing your... this receptor,
that receptor, this chemical that chemica...
*******...
     mawing the lawn and cutting a grape vine...
exercise... but more importantly:
a very organic end goal
.
A Mar 2014
They say,
that nothing you do is of much significance,
there's nothing you'll do that is of much importance,
but the small impact you make,
you have to do.

They say,
That your finger prints are permanent,
on someones life when you grab hold.
no matter how meek,
you leave your mark on their crime scene.

They say,
that love conquers all.
Your knight in shining armor will save you.
A young little pretty woman will love you for you and nurture  you,
until together you die,
on a warm day in bed together,
to continue your lives in eternity, in blissful peace.

They never say the truth.
The story of how we just so happen to be here.
How the only difference betwixt us and an animal is that we escaped natures food chain,
and have made our own controlled by pieces of paper and fat pigs congratulating eachother over brandy and illegal drugs on wall street feeding on our developed Darwinist society.

They never say
How no matter what you'll do your efforts are deleted months after your enviable death.
Self inflected or other wise.
So why do we value our fingerprint lives so dearly?
whether sweet or salty
it is the mother of life

no matter whether you are
    Darwinist or Creationist
water as a source of our existence
    you cannot deny

so, what do we do
with this essential gift of nature
except drink it and float on it?

we waste it, pollute it,
in general,
we simply don’t appreciate it

at least those of us
who live in the comfort zones
     of regular rainfall
     advanced sanitary installations
     and drinkable tap water

millions of others
depend on their lives
for water from the sky
    or from the sea

re-appreciating water
taking care of it
may save the lives
of our children

they are our future
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
a Darwinist's wet-dream, a youth's depression... i'm not surprised why the two share the same phenomenological plateau: after the said school morphed into existentialism and hit a brick wall with English utilitarianism, it's no wonder it started drawing on parallels - in the 19th century you had the fable of premature dementia - in the 21st century you'll find it hard too curb the fable of premature depression... less schizoids take their own life than premature depressed - the phenomenon of Darwinism's inquiry of the sea-turtles as naturally and intrinsically worthy pity meant that teenagers suffering from premature (unnatural) depression were simply told: aw... you'll get better... we'll just keep looking at the cruelty of nature for inspiration in the realm of sympathy... like ******* will... pharaohs of the food chain... you produced the architectural pointlessness of pyramids... myriads of the crucifix, and the cult of the tombstones... my grandmother visiting the grave of my grandparents almost every, single, day; her son couldn't care less... attaching personalities to inanimate products like cars or planes or Toy Story didn't help, either... but finding Nemo was a bit like finding the great white shark - Darwinism and Disney shouldn't mingle - pity doesn't last outside of what's petted - dogs and cats - you pity an animal outside the realm of what's pitied, you might as well be worth sushi.*

if fame isn't clenched within mortality -
if fame exists in the realm
of posthumous affairs - it exists
for the immortals to judge whether
it out be resurrected -
to be minded in the daily affairs of
inhaled oxygen -
only because the Coliseum was never minded,
but the Caesar's thumb was...
when i see fame i see only c.c.t.v.
"metaphors" - what is fame anyway?
we have a culture of fame surrounding us!
but we can hardly fathom why so many
scientists are left anonymous with their
anaesthetics and antibiotics -
in this world, what's useful is left anonymous,
what's useless is best cited - and constantly
refreshed - what is fame?
what if not cloning? it's such a shame to
be productive in aiming for such goals
rather than attempting carpentry's prodigy son -
if fame is becoming near butcher's worth of
**** and the buttocks exposed -
then fame has became absolutely devalued -
just after the 20th century the game changed -
we have devalued fame... as we have devalued currency -
fame just becomes a Friday newspaper
on the underground train foot-printed with ink-smears
and that other running-mascara -
as with so many billionaires, so with to many
famous people - the last anarchic act before the
insignificance of insects at a picnic bundle of folded
napkins became apparent - we reached the insect
paradox - not lizard cold blooded essence,
but the phobia blooded essence of insects -
the easily replaced - Auschwitz replenished within
a free society... numbers... satellite navigation -
never had i seen Narcissus so petrified with a mirror -
given that someone stole his mirror and the mirror
was shared among so many... Narcissus, synonym of
solipsism, was never so petrified as he was now -
the insect number overcame the feline king's presence -
not much thought concerning the poachers -
the insect-like numbering less the feline king's
presence - the mane completely cinematographic, suited
only for an intro roar - nothing imitable -
it was all slightly less panicky than expected -
so easily squashed the insects were, as we played gods -
but in number we became the most resembling them -
as if by prerogative to prior life on this earth...
we thumb-pressed a fly to death... as we knew in our
waking-dream that something too awaited us to be minded
as the prime venture we gave our thumb to act upon...
that, cold, lizard-like insignificance -
long before our science fiction dreams became realistic -
we realised something counter our current projection
of interests - from the tier of the cold blooded,
to the tier of the hot blooded, into the tier of
the exoskeleton where blood is confused with mush and
bone, where porridge is both brain tissue and liver tissue -
where beings are more emotionally resilient toward
phonetic stresses, as in units of encoded sounds,
and there this sense of coherency -
we look at dinosaurs with superiority of that famous
example of a brain in a pickle jar that's an anaconda -
the snake - but we're also spied against with insects -
they're looking at us - let us speak in terms of Darwinism
as is loved by those citing adaptability and 1 millions years -
well... we have all the time in the world -
the serpent the most abstract remnant of the dinosaurs
is looking at us... and he's saying: look toward the termite
mounds, and the ants as if you were Solomon...
they are the last evolutionary caricatures readied to usurp
your laughter with seriousness... they are neither
cold nor hot blooded... but simply hard-skinned
and uniform in aquatic assemblage contained within -
as once was Mars inhabitable, when Earth wasn't -
given those millions of years - capturing the speed of light
reduced our note-keeping of history as an act of
derelict intelligence - thus from capturing the speed of
light, into a history of day-to-day-day-by-day -
the plagiarism of 20th century art in the 21st -
the speed of light and the expanse of Darwinism -
strobe light historical-science - flash blink flash blink;
what is fame if we're entertained by the paupers in this realm
these days? we're not watching fame worked for,
as something resurrected out of light of interest, selflessly
attired to be cruelly exploited for selfish reasons -
watching the television (my "metaphor" for Plato's Cave)
is like watching homeless people on the street -
i see paupers of fame being paid to be paupers of fame -
the exploits of c.c.t.v. paranoia - the beggars eating lice
or maggots to support their claim to fame...
just like homeless people... the t.v. is the technological
replication of the cave, shadows... shadows...
when Mars was inhabitable Earth was the prior Venus -
the inhabitants of Mars left... and isn't Darwinism dangerous
when it comes to history? imagine two minutes tomorrow
after two p.m. - is that possible with the given kaleidoscope
of interests? Earth was once inhabitable, purest volcanic -
sending probes to Mars has already unearthed our lack
of common sense unity - communism failed,
the sea lion had his harem - we're not built to communicate
with insects' inherent dictatorial precision - hence we're less
bound to succeed in the theory of evolution -
we evolve to be selfish - we don't evolve to be collectively
minded - esp. given money - insects do that...
we're not insects... unless only in our delusional or orbit of hope...
i just wonder what resemblance we will take
to have given the abstract dinosaur - the serpent -
watching the insects evolve from the Tales of Gulliver
into the green-skinned fables of our science-fiction fancy;
what i've written down just now, will not give me fame...
it has already outlived me... it is outside of human history -
just like what modern Darwinism encapsulates,
national history when trying to govern assimilation of
immigrants with the significance of the year 1066...
and then the canvas of: millions of years ago...
the second big bang... although this one being more
complicated than based upon atoms and sub-atomic particles...
too much colour... too much ready geometry of spheres...
NO ******* WONDER THE CHEMISTS WERE LIKE:
**** IT... LET'S BECOME ALCOHOLIC BACHELORS...
THESE PEOPLE LEFT TO RIGHT ARE TOO AWE-STRICKEN
THAT IT'S POINTLESS TO TELL A STORY OF A
SATURDAY NIGHT ****-UP IN GLASGOW.
Josh Anderson Aug 2015
how do you like that,
alchemist?
you turned lead into gold
but it’s not that shiny
is it?
maybe your flask was
rose-tinted
things didn’t go as expected
did they?
you could’ve been happy
if you never knew
at the end of the journey lies
absolutely nothing
how do you like that,
lover-boy?
you won her heart
you’re her one and only
but how do you like
the public sarcasm?
the beratement at home?
what about the “love-taps”?
“you just can’t do anything
right”
that’s the dialogue
right?
we call that abuse
you got what you wanted
but you didn’t really know her
did you?
how do you like that,
young man?
you learned the ways of world
how the real predators
and boogeymen
are just people
just like you and me
you’re safe now
with that truth
but do you feel that?
you lost something
didn’t you?
you feel empty inside
but before you rant about
darwinist suits
corporate scumbags
******* shockjocks
just remember kiddo
you did this to yourself
they didn’t take it
you gave it up
the innocence of a child
you got to the age when
your eyes show you
the truth you need
not the lies you want
but look at you now
maybe you really need the lies
sure they might
hurt you
chide you
scorn you
tell you you’ll never make it
but at least you wouldn’t be so blue
and the world wouldn’t be so blue
the truth
the real truth is
you’ve got to see the roses in front of you
but remember the thorns just beyond
sometimes you’ll get lucky
and miss the thorn
but not every time
so don’t let your hopes fly too high
but if your fear holds you
that rose will stay a distant dream
so why not just go for it
with a smile on your face
and just see what happens?
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
seine teil Scheiße: star wars vol. 7 - bulldoggekauen -
am i the sole person to suggest: well it's kinda ****, would't
you agree? only a Metzger would know
pork chops, beef Israelite, everything worth a chop...
i'm the hungry party... i'm eager to taste the blood,
relieve me the anticipation and give me the snack limbs
i negotiated to chew blooded, thirsty, Spaniard in Brasil,
e.g. sure the clarinet was a Jewish instrument,
we all loved the clarinet, but the Schweinkauen -
Mozart's requiem, question.... germanic in operatic?
nein, Latino... from mundus (day)
then onto rex (king), Latin, not germanic
the clarinet soloist from Hungary, Łacina for Latin (W) -
the clarinet in Hungarian also indented Hebrew...
oddly enough the clarinet meant Hebrew:
or Hebraii... sha! shtil!  this is the Hungarian orchestra
performing Mozart in the Royal Albert Hall..
i heard it sand in German,
if they're singing Mozart's Requiem in Latin
i want to heart Händel's / Hændel's
Messiah sung in Latin, deviating from the crude
ugly English... i want Händel's / Hændel's
sung in Latin...  believe in the aesthetic god...
i say that because William James believed
in the gentleman devil and the godly peasant...
rude RA RA RA! HA HA! ******!
i am actually fearful of the idea that god minds
the Holocaust like he minds interrupting revision
on some work of art... our belief in god
is so far removed from what we practice, no
democracy seems to match it...
we have established a belief in god
alongside the belief that we're all potential Mozarts...
that won't work... it's not going to happen...
brothers Grimm had perfected saying
something about equality: the end.
no, there's no room for revisionism...
we were never born equal, we were always born
with a competitive / gambling insurance...
to further living outside the jungle...
i still find it fascinating to keep a subjective experience...
but it will be hard to not keep a subjective experience
of this world... we will never attain an objective
experience of this world... it's impossible to reach
an objective experience of this world,
with whatever adjective come attached...
because we simply can't speak for the entirety of mankind,
which is why there's not Simon from the Ant-Colony
of Barbados telling other ants: Simon says...
we can't experience both the subjective and the objective
arguments that might lead to augmentation...
but trying to attain the pure objective expression
of life will lead us into blind alleys..
we'll be found adamantly craving subjectivity...
western society has concentrated on the objective lobe
of the brain, it ridiculously forgot the subjective lobe of concerns...
which is why i think episode 7 of star
wars is a bit ****... not, it's really crap,
it's pathetic... like Nietzsche said: imagine talking
for the entire humanity... i can't imagine it,
i'm already doing it... it's because the post-colonial
society concentrated on objectivity as a source
of sensibility, came up with logistics translated as
utilitarianism - that last word reads:
metaphysical socialism, but i like to think of it as
ultra ******.
or as Byron said: i really don't know
where culture is leading us,
but the purification process includes the
ultra Darwinist attention span of Nazis...
you don't like it? fine! roll the dice once more,
and pray for Mayfair!
Pomeranian German? well, it's worth a translation:
die metzger (the butcher) und (and) schweinkauen (pork chew).
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

Languages are elastic realities of ages
Going beyond political and historical chauvinism
That selfishly blends into exclusive nations
The European languages we slavishly speak
In diversity of the world is a ****** testimony,
Ostensible Afro-American cultural civilization
Are mere protégés of transplanted tongues
In forlorn position of knowledge
That derides cultural Darwinism
Unto this last that Language
is born and grow from the native soil,
Nurtured by facts of history in timbre of altruism
Where misfortune of history ***** my stature
Planting unknown and unnamed language
In my ****** soil of pristine times
My conscience not yet passively accepting
The changing misfortunes of the transplanted English
As they are at current times
The negations of vicious cultural Darwinist
Condemning me a victim of tonguistry.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
as ever, the English got something right! i adore sport... and what i adore most about these Commonwealth Games? the Olympians are competing at the same time with the Para-Olympians... that's brilliant! when the usual Olympics takes place... the abled bodied Olympians that have their games in the first two weeks... then there's a break... then the Para-Olympians have their games... ****'s sake! the two games should be coupled-up! what's that i hear? games for the "spezial kidz"?! what a load of *******... when i was completing my NVQ for crowd safety i was asked the question: what are British values? i replied... aren't they universal? i didn't even mention the details of the question: i thought the question was self-evident in that it was universal: British values are universal because they can be understood by anyone and anywhere... ergo? the Para-Olympics should take part at the same time as the able-bodied Olympics... why muddle-coddle these wheelchair bound ******* to a later date?! ****'s sake! they should compete at the same time... i'd probably run a slower time than some of these wheel-snuggling swimmers of the air... it's not fair that the Olympics is separate from the Para-Olympics... and the former Olympians turned media pundits wonder: why aren't the Para-Olympics getting the same coverage as the "original" Olympics... hell... if it would have to take 3 weeks rather than 2... so be it... these people should compete in the same time-frame! that's ******* discriminatory! what special status? no special status! they compete at the same time... they get to entertain the same crowd volume! i don't care! they should... how does it feel cycling past someone in a wheelchair? i forget to ask... i always forget to ask a question about the weather... or the taste of quails... silly me... well... it's slightly different when i see a: POKRAKA... "freak"... that's a result of the irresponsibility of a certain adults inter-breeding... cousin-*******... someone people should have learned a valuable lesson a long time, a long long time ago... i don't blame the half-witted eighth of a Forrest Gump... i just look at the "mother" and "brother" and think nothing but disgust... not even donkeys get their reproductive conduct so wrong... for a creature so highly evolved: we're stuck with cousin-******* and the "myth" of Oedipus... but at least Oedipus was an exception... i imagine that he didn't gauge his eyes out... instead became an ******... then again: what are myths? stories better than any journalistic affair... myths > history > journalism < fiction < poetry... but Para-Olympians should be competing on the same stage as the Olympians! take an extra week... but don't do what's already being done! done segregate the two camps of competitors! take an extra week! let both compete at the same time! it's not fair that once the original Olympics are finished: the crowd isn't there for the Para-Olympians! i know it will be harder to attract the same viewership for women's club football... female boxing... female rugby... i'm already baking my own cakes... cooking my own food... cleaning my own house... today i surprised myself... what herb is most abundant in my garden? beside rosemary? mint... i was cleaning the garden and i had to cut down an overgrowth of mint... well... how many ******* mojitos would i have to make? how much tzatziki? a lot... there's me: bloated... lying under a floating table: drunk but probably also hallucinating Aztecs ceremonies of human sacrifice... MINT ICE CREAM... wow... i'm getting good at this ice-cream business... i simply hate chocolate ice-cream... but mint ice cream? ooh... and chocolate chips... the crème anglaise is ready... just chilling overnight... i'll churn it tomorrow... by then the chocolate chips will be added... and i didn't even need to add any food flavourings... it's this pristine green... fit for ice... a bit like that Frank Zappa song: don't eat yellow snow... ha ha... because someone has ****** into it... i love green... pale green... then again... no wonder i dress up like a tree from time to time... my irises are green... gween boyo wonder(s)...

sometimes i have to admire thespians...
as much as i despise the whole lot of them:
esp. when they come together
and self-congratulate themselves...
mind you... there are actors and there are
"actors":
       most notably "actors" as depicted
in Singing in the Rain: prior to the talkies...
but at the same time...
actors like the fictional Gloria Swanson -
or i fail to tell her apart
from the very real Norma Desmond...
i can attest to two stand-out performances
in the past few years...
i wouldn't be wrong in calling them
their life-performances...
                     and it's not even in the medium
of movies...
movies have lost everything movies
once were...
i used to enjoy movies: i'm pretty sure
everyone used to enjoy movies...
in school we'd gather in packs of 7 guys
and sometimes 7 guys and 3 girls
and we'd go to the cinema to watch
a movie...
      then grab a bite to eat...
or we used to go on dates to the movies...
Troy... she wanted to see that...
because i guess she thought
i looked like Achilles or Brad Pitt...
but that wasn't a date: date...
it was an entire day... first to Tate Modern
for the Edward Hopper exhibition...
some minor strolling...
then back to Romford to see the movie...
and then some food at a sushi bar
and some sake...
but movies these days are unwatchable...
i'd rather watch the Godfather (no...
part II is not better than the original...
sure... Terminator II is better than
Terminator and the Empire Strikes
Back is better than New Hope...
no... not the Godfather)...
i'd rather re-watch that than any new movie...
i usually switch on for about
10 minutes before switching off...
i need a cigarette break... i need to water
the garden... i need to take a ****...
i need to scratch my *** in private...
- but that's how the story goes...
"back in the day": there was a profession
of a baby-sitter...
the parents would have a date-night...
they'd go to the cinema...
i once had a baby-sitter... i forget who...
it was probably a male if my memory
serves me correct... probably my now estranged uncle...
while my parents went to see the movie
SE7EN at the now "mythical" Odeon on
the Gants Hill roundabout...
these days? movies are comic books...
i prefer serious books...
          and in terms of comics...
oh man... the first time i had a *******
i think the two girls were having a *******
for the same time too...
threesomes are disappointingly
disorientating...
       they like the execution of Isaiah...
being cut in half... the upper body is twiddling
with ******* and lips...
the lower part of the body is being treated
along the lines of *******...
it being my first time: terribly disappointing...
i couldn't keep up...
we settled on the anti-pornographic
solution... hand-job and imitation ******
into the "other's" *****...
             i was limp on first take...
nicotine... better than caffeine and ******* combined
to give a man arousal...
i had to have a smoke...
               i was new to the arrangement:
they were new to the arrangement:
the three of us were N00BZ... literally...
it wasn't like in a pornographic flick...
hell! far from it!
   what put me off was the changing of condoms...
and... once knew what to do with the *******:
pull it back... while the other one
didn't know what to do with it:
i'd circumcise her... so she might get a better
picture...
hardly an ego boost...
she implored me to reply in the affirmative
when asking the question:
you must feel like a king...
eh... i'm not the one who suggested having
a *******...
i rejected you twice: *****! you butted in!
i never had a ******* on my palette...
i like the ******* where i'm
almost tentatively looking into the woman's eyes
while rubbing forehead against forehead
before quickly jumping down below
to perform the crab-bucket maestro tongue
twirl of imitating gulping oysters
and flowers of KAHUNT!
                ****... oral *** on a woman...
she's already readying her hands to pretend to rip
the hair on your hair out...
she does that specific roll of the eyes...
it's beautiful to watch...
peacocks courting is probably the nearest comparison...
thank the gods on my part for
reading Ovid... someone was necessarily
born to combat these exploits of *******...
of ugly ***...

i don't know when i'll have a ******* ever again:
i like the one on one intimacy...
threesomes feel so pedestrian...
there's always that unwanted third party...
i don't think i gained an ego-booster...
i think along the lines of "p.t.s.d."...
                              the unwanted girl orchestrated
the whole enterprise...
the girl i wanted was the one i was snuggling up
to trying to steal a kiss:
me: thief... trying to steal kisses from
prostitutes... the unwanted third-party...
fake milking cows
and duck lips... she was just a canvas
for my *******...
                    once is enough...
i don't care what ******* portrays...
they're a nuisance...
i like ******* while eating eyes... with eyes...
plus the hygienic approach doesn't help
for the fluidity of threesomes...
you can't be hygienic and irresponsible at the same
time...

stealing kisses from prostitutes is one thing...
but ******* them without any ****** protection...
come the zenith...
actually asking: can i?
   with agreement:
                    yes, you can...           oh wow...
well... i'm talking about Turkish women...
different culture, different tactic...
i live in England but by now:
i ****** well hope to never **** an English
girl...

girl, let me just water my garden...
admire the night for a while:
believe me... you can have your sway
in raising the next Oedipal myth in your
sisterhood motherhood of loneliness...
i'd love to teach the ******* some things...
the pleasures of the hammer...
the KANGO concrete drill...
the everywhere and everyone within
the confines of the loneliness
of walking in a forest...
         chemistry! English! i'd love to learn
vocal Deutsche with him!
but no... fair enough: no's a no...
back to the brothel i go...
               oh no no...
              
me and hook-up culture? nothing's for free!
- i sometimes wake up the next day:
mein gott! what damage i must have i cause:
it's a cruel addiction:
to drink and to write simultaneously:
Bukowski and Hemmingway
figured out this problem...
one in celebrating old age
the other in the shotgun...

                    tear skin, grow more skin...

mein gott! i became so carried away with myself
that i actually forgot my original theme
for this poo'em...
            literally: maybe that's why i inserted
the word BZDETA...
                 oh... it's an actual word... not in -ing-leash
of course... but i'm sure most English
speakers are familiar with African surnames:
M'Bepe Mgabe etc.
   that's hovering consonant...
        B'z'deta...
               i love how the English folk break their tongues
when speaking my mother's... tongue...
they would sooner learn Czech or Russian
than learn ******... such puritans of the tongue
we folk are... and now combine the fact
that i identify as an Anglo-Slav...
     listen: England or at least English is a playground
for me... i was implored by some deity
to come to these isles, given a ***** and bucket
and told: here! there's some wet sand over there...
go and play!

                 now: many a happy returns to the father
of the English tongue... i have to return and tease
at some Deutsche...
           Franz Friedrich: AHUND!

my original adoration for the Thespians... it... can...
happen... personally i'd rather not...
i don't see the point of these shadow-thieves...
these dopplegangers... yet artistically?
it's the most celebrated medium...
           sure... painters are celebrated... post-mortem...
poets had a weird spell of "conundrums"
in America in the the 1960s...
   but i'm not willing to write ******* for a "me"
that's either asthmatic or exasperated:
equally short on breath...

well: given the modern equivalent... everyone is going
to be the next Allen Ging-Sperg?
i don't think so... more of a composer: than an entertainer...

anyhoo...
  BZDETA... an actual word...
it's sort of in between the English equivalent of:
trivial (thing) and a pointless (thing) -
the actual "thing" is hidden within the pointlessness
of an implied "thing" / the triviality of
the implied "thing": ha! modern English grammaticians
and their hyped up focus on pronouns...
wait till they figure out that adjectives verbs
and nouns and conjunctions and adverbs and...
a- the-     -ism: the indefinite and the definite article...

- everything coming of America (culturally) is corrupt:
once the beacon for the world to admire...
i'm regressing to find alternatives...
i stopped listening to music with a tinge of
the English tongue... i've thrown my laurel wreath
toward German neo-folk...
**** it... i might be living, physically: in an anglo-sphere
but my mind is elsewhere...
i wouldn't go as far as Frank Zappa and adore
Bulgarian music... but certainly not anything
in the vein of modern-modern (post?) English...

- another word that's dear to me: akin to
   how Italians call a child a BAMBINO...
the Polacks call a child a BOBAS...
             English is so strict... rigid sometimes...
the mere fact that the ****** tongue employs
so much diminutive "accents" is amazing sometimes...
a mountain: (gurhau, no... sorry... guhrau!)
i.e. góra can become a little mountain
via incorporating the diminutive tense górka...

and although the word RZECZ denotes: things...
rzeka is river... while a small river?
rzeczka...
            i don't think there's the antonym for the diminutive
in ******... it's sort of boring in English:
there are only adjectives... actual nouns
do not incorporate a diminutive tense for something
being described:

KACZKA (duck) kaczuszka (small duck, duckling)
wow! that's actually a good example of
the English ZUNGE applying the diminutive
construct of a word...
young and youngling springs to mind...
but English is altogether a very rigid tongue...
so... i don't understand how these current
grammatical-magicians and their pronoun-hyper-focus
are trying: you can't trick an old dog
into learning new tricks... these aren't tricks:
this is equivalent to: a baboon...
smearing his naked plump pink *** with his
own ****... calling it woad...
raising it up in the air like a Muslim during prayer:
before battle... shaking it...
taunting the opponent... come fight me...
and then...
                       what? of the two kings of ancient
Israel... who would i like to be?
David or Solomon?    hmm... clueless question...
DAVID! he got to fight Goliath and enjoyed the lyre
and wrote pslams into ripe old age...
Solomon? who couldn't compete with
his father... resorted to "wisdom":
writing aphorisms / maxims is the worst genre of
literature... it's untested proofs...
just ask Srinivasa Ramanujan...
                                   he was always neglected by
the establishment for having no proofs...
great idea: 2 + 2 = 5... but how? where's your proof!
the same with Solomon's supposed wisdom:
no proof... the same with Nietzsche's aphorisms
or for that matter la Rochefoucauld...
it's all true... but it's most probably just perhaps true...
i've tasted a sample of both the lives
of Solomon and David...
            each time i return to David...
i just do what the Nazis did to the *******...
i turn it clockwise...
                 tilt it... what do i see?
i see a reading-mat and an open book...
              i peer in: i ignite out...

now i'm thinking: i still need to mop the floors of the house,
i need to shine my shoes and iron a white shirt...
and gear up to waking up at 6am...
as much as i love waking up at 11am
without needing to be awake any hour sooner...
i love waking up at 6am with a necessary:
i'm expected to be at X by the time Y...
algebra simplicity...

esp. since today i fell out of bed: too humid...
i fell out the bed at about 6:30am onto the floor...
how compact the floor feels...
i could feel my strained spine relax on the hard surface...
i even used my folded hand for a pillow
in and out of a coming day-dream...
what i wouldn't give to imitate David...
and scorn Solomon forever more...
no wisdom did i find...
   no man can speak wisdom to men when he has
an abundance of "thirst-quench" of ****...
          
              in a polygamous society... thank god i don't live
in one... but there have always been women that
aspired to the cult / altar of the phallus...
i'm content with the fact that i can bypass any thirst...
that i have hygienic standards in place
that make me disregard any satisfaction in the realm
of a *******... it's equivalent to:
running an 800m race... come the 400m mark...
you're told to change your socks and shoes...
and then run another lap...

                           it's nothing like in *******...
monkey-pox is a real thing...
you need standards... cleanliness is the greatest:
and only standard that must be constantly stressed
from one human to another...

only Michel de Montaigne can surpass both Nietzsche
and la Rochefoucauld:
well, at least by my "under-estimation"...

- now for the caveat... what i was originally to write
about...
two example where Thespians can be adored...

                                   Logan Roy i.e. Brian ***
Peter III i.e. Nicholas Hoult...

even they: themselves have figured out that films
are on the way out...
people have changed...
                               i know i have changed...
i don't have the mental capacity to watch movies:
and i'm not some senile old man...
strange... in ancient times old people
were never this senile...
   they still had intellectual rigour...
they accumulated "****": perhaps it wasn't intellectually
stimulating: but it was intellectually mesmerising...
it was called wisdom: once upon a time...

and when my father criticised me for
reading philosophy books in my youth...
expecting me to regress to the optometric notion
that only old people are wise:
no! nein! old people these days are like
children: there's nothing to learn from them!
that's why i'm thinking about going
into primary school teaching...
i can pour my ever more clear water into that pool...
of clear water...
i don't need to teach them chemistry...
i don't have to teach them the tongue:
i can watch ontology sprout out of seemingly "nothing"...
i adore children:
            like i could never adore women...
i adore children like i adore animals...
i don't know what sort of man one must become
to adore women in order to exploit them
in the way that they are exploited...

hypocrite? because i place my silver on the table
and expect what's expected by the meaning
of transaction, or...
rather... place the silver on the table...
receive a shared meal and then expect something
in return? such backward ways
of the American culture...
i hope that England will never become infested
with these practices... freakish: ghoulish...
of the four-eyed beast...
a desecration of Shiva: one winking eye on
the forehead... one blinking eye attached to the ****...
with the two eyes that are supposed to see:
stapled shut...

how marvelous to wake up...
with a want to make mint and dark-chocolate chip
ice-cream... surely the best ice-cream i have
ever made! to hell with chocolate ice-cream!
i hate chocolate... turning it into ice-cream is even worse!
mint! oh... that marvelous invention of
the gods... almost equivalent to ferns...
almost equivalent to nettles...
how the ancient Roman centurions used to cure
an itch... they would run and jump into
a bed of nettles ****-*******-naked...
i.e. fight fire with fire... fight an itch with an even
bigger itch... second to the nettle? the thistle...
i'd love to see those guys jump into a patch
of nettles...

Rome will never die... even with the crucifixion
of its supposed surrogate son of man...
nope...
    the alphabet it still here...
the coliseum has morphed into a raised
meteor crater of a football stadium...
               Rome is, Rome was, Rome will be...
even with the Arab "invasion" of Europe...;
Rome is, Rome was, Rome will be:
we'll just be soul-chasers... soul-thieves...
they'll enter the arena of this tongue...
neglect their heritage... and they will learn our ways...
somewhat... not always...
mind you: on a racial-bias...
skin-colouring dilutes during *******
with a 2nd generation...
  
you asked for a Latin man... a Latin man came...
what now?
you asked for a Latin man...
i'm forever employing myself to date a single
mom with a boy or a girl...
i'm not a Darwinist... genes are like atoms...
i don't care much for them...
but... i wouldn't date a single mother
for the ***... i'd be sneaking out
to the brothel on a whim...
i'd be there for the child...
                    i'd love to make him or her ingest
my psychology:
i'd make them ingest my soul...
i'd pass on my ontology...
     he or she would have to be bilingual
in the least... i'd learn Deutsche with him...
he would be a miracle of a Switzerland outside
of Switzerland!

i'm still bewildered why America is not a bilingual
quest (of a nation)...
  WASP pride? or ignorance?
the worst of the English went to America:
while the supposed "worst" of the English went
to Australia...
                 funny... really funny...

to wake up and have: i need to make mint &
chocolate ice-cream on one's mind...
that's how one wakes up to celebrate life!   LIFE!
LAíF!
Tim Eichhorn Aug 2014
No brain,
  Brainstorm.
Storm door,
  Door opens,
Opens mind,
  Mindset.

Set tone
  Set mood,
Set themes
  Setting,
Set words
  Set stanzas.
Set backs?
  Set match.

Match Mix
  Patch fix
Large risks
  Lines brisk
Heart ticks
  Beats quick.
Darwinist
  Poetry is.
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
looking at the people, with all their
faces, legs, arms, shirts, *******, hairs
and eyes. I see a million different
flavors of the same thing but in
practice you cannot prove my theory

down to the tiniest strand of DNA, or
smallest molecule of amino acids, or
even the minuscule atoms of carbon
or oxygen, I am absolutely
right

but in the large term, in
the space where you are
greater than the sum of
your parts, I find that we
are so much more than
atoms or molecules or
DNA

we are destined to live every day for our lives
but we have since passed that stage (at least for
now) and ascended to the plateau of higher
thought and a meaning to life other than survival

what can I do to deny woman?
what can I do to deny man?
they are so compelling,
even in their idiocy and
(my more Darwinist side says)
should be given no pity

but I feel the fire of human interaction deep inside me
to hate, to love, to loath, to want, to need, to feel, to
be there for your friends, your enemies, or your people

I feel the fire deep in my heart, deep in my mind, deep in my
groin

It’s there and burning on the fuel of my darkest and
inner-most thoughts. It’s there and (slowly) burning
away my soul
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
what you have with me is a
non-diaviating dogmatism of
the units of language,
common colloquial says is
at best attuned: black is black,
white is white.
i have a dogmatism surrounding
this...
i''m very rigid in the term a priori,
and in so saying: darwinism
  has no a apriori benefactor
to challenge me...
   i'm rigid in words
    on the basis that's i do not
accept the thesaurus manifesto...
  the game of synonym and antonym
will not make me write a better novel,
i just think that's *******.
      the problem with darwinism
attracting a higher status
      than the miser narcissus quote
of looking into **** similis
leaves the biodiversity of monkeys
paramount above the biodiversity
of other species of animals...
i acknowledge darwinism,
but as science clearly says:
it can never reach the rigidity of
being deemed an a priori certainty...
modern man's rebellion is
against darwinism forcing itself
into the a priori regiment...
as a scientific theory darwinism can't
do just that...
     darwinism is solely
    a posteriori in terms of
conceptualisation... i have no beginning
as man qualifying myself as being
monkey-borne,
i don't have enough time to
       conceptualise such a beginning
with all its viable ceonceits as modes
to state a groundwork to an ontological basis...
worthy of execution...
         to a satisfactory basis...
     darwinism can't exist in the a priori
sphere, because science cannot either...
               darwinism can't equate
itself with theology,
on the simple premise that there's a suffix
-logy involved...
                       and the rest belongs
to the archives of mutilated language...
                or the mutilation of, should i be exact
in the dicta.
                 i cannot be born with
an innate predisposition to state that i am
of money origin...
          primarily because the monkey has adapted
in such a way, as to be so life affirming of its
existence that i'd be in no way similar
in this genesis, as i am bound to affirm the
  life prerogatives of a peacock dancing to the mating
call of a female peacock...
intellectually speaking i'm bound to experience
an intellectual shortcoming and a
               desert of worded experience...
the modern narcissus is the darwinist disciple...
                  i can't see anything more
abhorring than that...
                       to the conclusive demise:
making any history makes no sense,
the 18th century? makes no sense,
given we've been prescribed the platitude...
and the stoppage of time...
                   originating from **** similis
makes us no more noun-denotative
acquiresome of **** sapiens than the
byproduct that is **** insapiens...
                            i know the history is there,
and all the facts are there... but given our
current day-to-day... there's no bias for it making
our lives any different in terms of it having
any effect on us to say otherwise...
                      darwinism forgets that it behaves
like any  a posteriori fabric
                     in a way that it wants to become
rigid... but not rigid in a sense that
you might cling to a posteriori becoming
rigid for an equivalent of a one-man
  table-tennis match.... or *******...
  i mean darwinism doesn't have a place in
the a priori in the first place,
it can't be as pristine as space & time, god & nothing
care to allow it to be...
    i have a life-span of a maximum of 100 years...
i can't make history and tell it from the epoch
of dinosaurs to suit the right sort of palette...
    darwinism isn't inherent (a priori) in me...
it's scientific, therefore a posteriori in me...
                 it's sometimes called being stubborn,
or it's sometimes called communal slack...
      even if taken to the court, i can't defend darwinism...
what i can say is that: enough prayers left
at the darwinian altar has left me a david Attenborough
in the pornographic industry spectacle...
because why can't i be as **** similis as i care
not to be **** sapiens?!
                 the basic fact is that i have obscured
the thesarus in my lexicon...
                 i have made certain words rigid...
opposite of making a chair goo and custards...
it's a rigidness that i expect to spar with,
       i need the stability...
   and this makes me the shadow-man...
because i can't compete for a pulpit and a freedom
to speak... i can't!
    i am bound to shadows and book-worms...
and am for the better for it to be so gravitating me toward
the grave...
      i can't say darwinism exists a priori because i just
can't...
                        i say that because biology is the sole
science that does away with mathematical language...
             biology has no actual need for numbers,
          it has no need for He meaning helium...
it has no need for the laws of physics...
when physicists try to find the glue...
biology is already immersed in the glue...
                    biology doesn't need numbers...
yet it's there: eating up book after book in the domain
of history, fiction and poetry...
           the a priori implant of god is so much
easier to forget in the medium of thought
than establishing the a posteriori implant of god
that you simply don't think about...
i have about a hundred Islamic terrorists to testify...
   i don't understand this attack on the a priori
stronghold of certain ideas being sanctimonious...
  darwinism cannot reach the pinnacle of a priori
inquiry simply because it begins with an a posteriori
requisite...
                            which is why the whole affair
went to court... with the monk
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
what you have with me is a non-diaviating dogmatism of
the units of language, common colloquial says is
at best attuned: black is black, white is white.
i have a dogmatism surrounding
this...
i''m very rigid in the term a priori,
and in so saying: darwinism
  has no a apriori benefactor
to challenge me...
   i'm rigid in words
    on the basis that's i do not
accept the thesaurus manifesto...
  the game of synonym and antonym
will not make me write a better novel,
i just think that's *******.
      the problem with darwinism
attracting a higher status
      than the miser narcissus quote
of looking into **** similis
leaves the biodiversity of monkeys
paramount above the biodiversity
of other species of animals...
i acknowledge darwinism,
but as science clearly says:
it can never reach the rigidity of
being deemed an a priori certainty...
modern man's rebellion is
against darwinism forcing itself
into the a priori regiment...
as a scientific theory darwinism can't
do just that...
     darwinism is solely
    a posteriori in terms of
conceptualisation... i have no beginning
as man qualifying myself as being
monkey-borne,
i don't have enough time to
       conceptualise such a beginning
with all its viable ceonceits as modes
to state a groundwork to an ontological basis...
worthy of execution...
         to a satisfactory basis...
     darwinism can't exist in the a priori
sphere, because science cannot either...
               darwinism can't equate
itself with theology,
on the simple premise that there's a suffix
-logy involved...
                       and the rest belongs
to the archives of mutilated language...
                or the mutilation of, should i be exact
in the dicta.
                 i cannot be born with
an innate predisposition to state that i am
of money origin...
          primarily because the monkey has adapted
in such a way, as to be so life affirming of its
existence that i'd be in no way similar
in this genesis, as i am bound to affirm the
  life prerogatives of a peacock dancing to the mating
call of a female peacock...
intellectually speaking i'm bound to experience
an intellectual shortcoming and a
               desert of worded experience...
the modern narcissus is the darwinist disciple...
                  i can't see anything more
abhorring than that...
                       to the conclusive demise:
making any history makes no sense,
the 18th century? makes no sense,
given we've been prescribed the platitude...
and the stoppage of time...
                   originating from **** similis
makes us no more noun-denotative
acquiresome of **** sapiens than the
byproduct that is **** insapiens...
                            i know the history is there,
and all the facts are there... but given our
current day-to-day... there's no bias for it making
our lives any different in terms of it having
any effect on us to say otherwise...
                      darwinism forgets that it behaves
like any  a posteriori fabric
                     in a way that it wants to become
rigid... but not rigid in a sense that
you might cling to a posteriori becoming
rigid for an equivalent of a one-man
  table-tennis match.... or *******...
  i mean darwinism doesn't have a place in
the a priori in the first place,
it can't be as pristine as space & time, god & nothing
care to allow it to be...
    i have a life-span of a maximum of 100 years...
i can't make history and tell it from the epoch
of dinosaurs to suit the right sort of palette...
    darwinism isn't inherent (a priori) in me...
it's scientific, therefore a posteriori in me...
                 it's sometimes called being stubborn,
or it's sometimes called communal slack...
      even if taken to the court, i can't defend darwinism...
what i can say is that: enough prayers left
at the darwinian altar has left me a david Attenborough
in the pornographic industry spectacle...
because why can't i be as **** similis as i care
not to be **** sapiens?!
                 the basic fact is that i have obscured
the thesarus in my lexicon...
                 i have made certain words rigid...
opposite of making a chair goo and custards...
it's a rigidness that i expect to spar with,
       i need the stability...
   and this makes me the shadow-man...
because i can't compete for a pulpit and a freedom
to speak... i can't!
    i am bound to shadows and book-worms...
and am for the better for it to be so gravitating me toward
the grave...
      i can't say darwinism exists a priori because i just
can't...
                        i say that because biology is the sole
science that does away with mathematical language...
             biology has no actual need for numbers,
          it has no need for He meaning helium...
it has no need for the laws of physics...
when physicists try to find the glue...
biology is already immersed in the glue...
                    biology doesn't need numbers...
yet it's there: eating up book after book in the domain
of history, fiction and poetry...
           the a priori implant of god is so much
easier to forget in the medium of thought
than establishing the a posteriori implant of god
that you simply don't think about...
i have about a hundred Islamic terrorists to testify...
   i don't understand this attack on the a priori
stronghold of certain ideas being sanctimonious...
  darwinism cannot reach the pinnacle of a priori
inquiry simply because it begins with an a posteriori
requisite...
                            which is why the whole affair
went to court... with the monkey trial...
(and the rest of the argument i accidently deleted...
which is a shame...
                 but then again, i guess i simply
left it trying to reinvent poetic rhyming,
i mean rhyming counter to plague, the hague,
                or vague...
i meant rhyming on the basis of prefix mandatory
reiteration, or the mundane alternative:
repetition, rather than rhyming
and in musical terms: really hitting the *** note
as to avoid even a sense of polyphony...
or polyphony meaning: personnae...
but i deleted the better half of the narrative...)
some ******* about omni re (things again)
culminating in the mora res = res cogitans...
  to think, to delay... a thing that delays a thing that things
when all things repeat themselves...
   by omni re i mean: that bollocking insistance
of autumn... well: it was a nice load of *******,
but then i did **** in my treatment of it;
which is to not say i didn't have more
intentional sentences to work with...
   accidents happens...
sometimes you get champagne,
most of the time: solitary definition of frustration
at the impeding technology...
                     airy fairy, miser's berry.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
.the industrial age is over... i sometimes forget when the middle-ground was made into a sentence... the antichrist, or the demigod son of Hephaestus... the satanic push... to lever the molten iron: over... salt / silicon mines! gears up! industry and the satanic industries... perhaps... just... perhaps... now softcore industry of: etertainment rubrics... sewn underwear from the genesis that they were always going to be: export, MADE IN CHINA... this... grand ideal... but coming along with my bucket and spades... i knew that already, come 1994 in st. augustine's primary school... i had the sponge ****** mind ready to slurp the bubbles of ferocity sally scandals... post-soviety ex-satellite state civi? quasimodo was always going to give me the thumbs up... but when the bells rang... they started ringing for no injunction of a need to 'en masse'... there was a fire... a quiet innocent fire... but all the fingers started pointing...

politics, this most feral sport...
perhaps... "ars politico"?
the art of politics?

right now... boxing seems like a civil sport...
perhaps the damage is not written well
into the events...
but at least the audience is tamed...
probably by bets...
or other forms of decorum...
but in this sport of rhetoric?
in politics?
i don't see how... i don't see how i can
ooh and ah like a douglas murray...
although i'm a big fun of...
almost every homosexual talking...
it's like... that one aspect of ******...
i would have: if i could have...
not have a *******...

said sir lancelot onan jr....:
i have never met a woman...
who could... hand-job / ****-me-off
a prince william better than i...
it's a sad truth when you come across
specimens of women who only known
how to YANK and never... DOODLE
the phallus... with the ******* still
intact...
and *** and *** is just a ******* formality...

darwinism is the modern reinvention
of the copernican ooh-ah!
if copernicus did so: as an "independent"...
Galileo came along with his
mighty telescope... and the martyr's cushioned
seat... while some Greek...
to "us": unknown...

******* is older than beer...
that's my habit...
i look at women in "niqabs" performing
these lolly-pop acts...
and all i see is the niqab...
ninjas of islam mothers of the true believers...
is there something wrong in...
watching others pleasure themselves...
now: **** would be wrong...
if... i somehow managed a proud richie
if... it were... a woman being skinned...
if it was a circumcision of man's phallus...
performed by an iron maiden
gimmick ***...
then i'd be worried...

like that sound-proof of: you're not
in the company of a psychopath...
when someone yawns... you yawn with them...

ostrowiec swietokrzyski is a forgotten town,
once the allure of metallurgy...
because rust belt only happens in
h'america... because the mines only close down
in england... these people were also:
people of the metal...
western europeans "think" that we
moved... because... m'eh...
your metallurgy meccas closed...
ours... "ours"... didn't?!

darwin is the modern version of
medieval copernicus...
and i'm pretty ******* sure...
the ancient greeks, in their childish solipsism...
had a quasi-darwin to begin with...

i'm tired of hearing this worth of ****:
there's not enough toilet paper
to match up with the 111 of wiping your ***
with the index, middle and ring finger's
worth of: grafitti!

but at least boxing is a sport that still
demands a variant of ethics...
there's gloating prior...
but catch a skiving ******* gloating
after... doktor dentist herr sadist is...
waiting... parlor no. 2...
you can simply hear a faint grip
of the christmas carol he's singing...
'i'll hang you on a noose of
poor's joe's intestines i dissected:
** ** **...'
you get the idea where no jokes
comes from?

no sport ethic teaches the contestants
to gloat... to gloat is to be fat...
to be a glutton... no one likes...
people gloating after the facts...
like no one is expecting to hear much
about: the heliocentric contra the geocentric
argument...

i beg to disagree... people have a hand
in endearing the geocentric argument...
in the anglophonic realm...
what have we not heard of in the past
2 years beside brexit, trump?
so... there's a heliocentric model...
that's working? or aren't we still
left liberated by a geocentric model of
the now and the in-between?!

last time i chanced the argument...
nothing "west" of mars...
perhaps "north" of jupiter...
again: what's the copernican "west"...
what's the copernican "east"?
i'm still a ***** ******* remnant
of ****** pact VARSUS... aren't i?
warsaw pact...
and so i am:
i am in england for no "apparent" reason...
the metallurgy advent of europe
ended... even under the soviet
umbrella you were... "influenced"...
only western europe gets to: bemoan?
begrudge?! nostalgia riddle itself an et off?!

- you can watch any other sport
and find less "grief" in it...

tennis! what is tennis willing outside
of politics?
the captivated audience...
esp. with the prime-minister's
q&a...

in football... any interference from
the crowd...
summary? a clause is passed...
pencil & paper muscles are flexed...
law comes into: from sleepy /
sheepish demands: a reality to abide
by, goal poasts are moved...

perhaps that's why boxing is a mythological sport...
it doesn't matter that the art... the sport...
doesn't take into consideration
the entire body... and even if the rules
"suggest" that the upper body canvas
is involved...
the boxing remains true:
as truth said: the interaction between
two fists, the head and a car crash
bound to some later... "investement"...

but at least boxing is a sport of pristine quality...
it can be celebrated...
with a fictive outlet...
the audience is involved but only involved
as a dasein: being there...
politics? i vote...
but i'm hardly ever going to fathom
being in parliament...

oh mein nett gott...
where is tennis and my tennis *****?
that game of: 7 rectangles...
and... at most... 11 referees...
and about 6 ball boys / girls...

ludo politico... this most feral sport...
come to think of it...
there's not much to think of...
but beside the sulking and the gloating...

once upon a time so abstract...
so abstract as there is nothing to abstract with

to exercise a will for the existence of a body...
beside having to justify talking
by simply thinking...

darwinism really has shaped events
of historical consideration to fill up the calendar...
that no amount of copernican gluttony and
gloating could ever surpass...

what was once intelligenstia vogue back
in the 15th century... via copernicus...
is once more intelligenstia vogue in this:
what year are we in?
darwin... darwinism outside of the anglosphere
of *******-tick-tock-******* is...
yet another frictive detail that acts
like sandpaper when attempted to fit into
a jean pocket of events...

it's rough around the edges...
and all this ontological borrowing from ape,
from lion, this ontological borrowing from
ants from... this microscope inside
a telescope... and otherwise... inverted...

i'm at the end of my road...
a most fractured example of what could
possibly be deemed human...
annals of worthwhile autobiographies
my ***...
merry christmas my ***...
this celebration is a bit of a *******-whipping...
i might as well die tomorrow and know
that only one man existed in all of history...
hardly a reason to curl into a foetus pose
a shadow and start biting into a corner
like some mouse for the celebration
of the birth of Leibniz or Kant...
nonetheless...

i am to celebrate... something that's
either a bad-*******-riddle-of-ad-nauseam...

or... how i'm the only person who would say:
you know they unearthed the nag hammadi
library back in 1945... and there's a correlation...
with the history of the jewish revolt against
the romans... written by an "integrated jew"...
a josephus ben matthias...
and how... that doesn't even matter?
because jesus wasn't playing
chinese whispers in the gospel of st. thomas...
and this is all just fine, fine; fine!

to celebrate a "birth" is to also...
make this "life"... what it is... "life" something only worth
the margins and minor notations...

what is relevant when cf. (comparing)
darwin to copernicus?
the awe fantasy ridden vogue of intellect,
the: darwinism is a square box that can fit
itself into any empty lodge of parchement...
a square can fit through a triangular shaped
hole... darwinism can...
be all and end all...
we don't need any continental
existential complexity... we do not need
any 20th century existential ontology...
as long as we have... an explanation readied
via darwinism... a simple 1 + 1 = 2...

i, robot; you - don't care...

Kant is still holding the spot for: bachelor of the year...
215th year coming...
Kierkegaard is a shy second...
but Kant is something akin to
what the Muhammedians would call...
the unison of all five...
the Shahadah is the categorical imperative...
Salat: to think is to pray...
Zakat: to not speak is to give alms...
Sawm: to not think about food is to fast...
(or keeping the motto...
i eat to live... i don't live to eat)
Hajj: ha ha! Paris! or... to go where you're
supposed to be...
rather than... expect others for you to be at...
to not be a tourist! a hajj implies:
be not a tourist! expect to be made unwelcome...
come with a purpose...
that deviates from the purpose of
a stated origin to be made purposive
by you going there!
hajj! don't be a tourist!

i have always found some relief in Islam...
like any Romford bound lad...
Ronnie O'Sullivan...
christianity? not after having unearthed
the nag hammadi library...
not after the words have remained
coincidental... not after 1945...
not after WHERE the nag hammadi library was found...
not after the powers-at-be
attempted to "confuse" / hide the nag hammadi
library as a distinct yet: simultanoeus event
coinciding with the dead sea scrolls...
not after the each quwaitii became a oil rich
baron sheikh... not became the pakistanis
and the bangladeshi decided: **** it working
slave hours in Dubai...

Lawrence of Arabia citation of Islam...
i will fake it... the christianity...
but i doubt to ever have a pillow to lie on...
i am pretty sure i will not make it...
i know the allure of islam...
i know the allure of islam when...
if only some genuine friend of this faith came
across me... before that farce of a friend
worth the psychopath's lying ferret's woo
of an Egyptian... with time:
no... no! no healing!

Islam is younger... christianity is...
how many schisms?
prune, pseudo-buddhist...
catholic, protestant... unitarian...
bishopric baptist... calvinist...
it's a... monotheism...
but... given the many splinters?
i find it improbable to not treat it as a...
polytheism... how many times are most kind sirs
going to divide the ******* loaf?!
until we're no longer even eating crumbs?!

christianity to me is a polytheism:
given the number of times it has divided itself up!
it's a cancer growth spectacular, al fresco!
i can only thank the protestants for this...
poly-divison...
after all... there was only one schism in islam...
and that's the allure!
because i am neither: Iraqi prone...
Iranian il allahu blah blah blahlah ural "who who"...

skin? or tattoo?
i have seen christianity die...
no one wants to talk of the nag hammadi library,
honestly... this is a ******* major event!
the media contest: the unearthing of
the dead sea scrolls is a synonym:
of an event that doesn't even happen...
the dead sea scrolls is an event relating
the death of the prophet Isaiah...
being disemboweled... being a courtesan...
guess what!
if no one is going to be ghost-forsaken
and salted-soul honest!
irish proud etc.! guess what...
like unto like: do as they do!

plus all this anglosphere wet-***** darwinism...
how the ****, did darwinism just hijack all
the arms of the humanities...
everything has to be explained with darwinism...
good! because if every cul de sac of life
was to be explained using copernicus...
imagine!

not even newton is a celebrated
scientist these days...
not even michael faraday...
but darwin is!
everything has to come down to
a darwinism - a branch of darwinism...
there's only one narrative:
a biological / psychological narrative...
how could a mythology surround
a Herr Faust / a Pan Twardowski...

england skipped the myth of the chemist...
the alchemist:
sure... william "Christopher Marlowe" shakespeare
tried to "catch-up"...
the english imagination was lost to king
arthur and the glories of:
being conquered by Rome...
of having been part of an ancient history...
last time i checked... us central europeans...
the germans, the goths, the vandals, the aesti...
the great migration types from the Causcus...
we... we didn't share the bounty of this history...
we're again: the barbarians at the gates...
us, slaves... with this sound-encoding and our
own distinctions: our caron S and caron C...
to sneak-in the tetragrammaton...

and who are, the Italiano?
do the Italians even recognise ancient Rome?
do the English truly recognise the...
what's that artifact... the Stonehenge?
ha! ha ha ha ha!
by joke alone...

darwinism's plague on everything cultural!
everything has to be a reminder of:
genes! gene narratives!
everything has to become a propability
gambit! everything has to be sacrificed upon
quasi-religious statements of: why you should,
rather than: why you shouldn't be feeling
so ******* grateful for a per se...

to me... darwinism is... a neo-copernicanism...
a stylish vogue rhetoric...
you can wear darwinism in the 19th to the mid 21st century...
afterwards? it's just a timid burn on the brain
to have to "argue" trans-generational
sensibility patterns of being the labelled:
made in western liberal free "ouch" spice society...

i can side with islam on two grounds...
who were the janissaries?
Murad I would have retorted:
who were the Jesuits?
if not by foundation, the hands of Ignatius of Loyola?
when who were the Mamluks?
my western neighbors love to...
designate my grand ethnic "etymology"
within the framework of the eaten E...
i.e. a slav(e)...

why would i side... with this... variant...
this... "variant" of "christianity"...
for a ******* carol-song-***-by-*******-yah
hard-on quest?!
you heard them...
old saxons vs. new blut saxons in
an orchestra of zeppelins hanging over london!
or... the lagoon as i like to call it...

check you "history" your etymology...
oh... because "they" would correct "misunderstood"
etymology... with a counter:
akin to the ethnonym -
loan words baron!
it's just "a missing E"...

it's still mainstream darwinism...
i imagine the years under the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth...
the Ukranians must have been like...
enough! enough of this Copernicus ******* already!
Ave Khmelnitsky!

after all... copernicus was right...
the sun does not move around the earth...
the earth moves around the sun...
copernicus was right... we were wrong...
the earth moves around the sun...
but... the affairs of the sun...
are not... the affairs of the earth...
and those... bound... to inhabit it...
the sun is important...
but... soap opera triviality is...
somehow... more... important...
drama of the callous nature of man...
is... more than... the vacuum riddle bundle
of billions of years is...
with its... mere H-to-He exchange of gaseous
bundle warmth...

one thing that governs my cruelty toward
how darwinism is exploited to fit
every ******* crevice of everyday life...
that one's: its supposed universality...

but then... this trans-genus trans-species
"comparative literature"...
it's not enough to be imitating ape...
again: which ape?
the chimp alone? the gorilla?
the ******* macaque?
why would i devolve...
having the body of a gorilla?
a gorilla could wrestle a lion to the death...
i, albino quasi gremlin bonkers IQ...
get to... pet a bonsai tiger!
yay!

two things went wrong when it came
to... "people, thinking"...
vogue ideas...
the copernican revolution...
and the... revolution of darwinism...
oh we can forget about marx...
we all know what was wrong about that...
i'm pretty sure some greek knew that already...
but we're stalling...
for **** know's what...
since: not being vular by now is not going
to help the "clarification of verbiage
over civilised tea and scones later" either...

if only these darwinist concentrated on
the source material...
but... to throw into this "existentialism"
a mix of peering with scrutiny at an ant colony...
at bacteria... at tapeworms...
and... somehow... being...
once more... the center of the universe...
of analytical diarrhoea?
in a heliocentric schematic?
**** me... are you sure...
this heliocentric argumentation was only so good...
as good as... when you didn't have to
navigate a west and an east...
on a map...
going through the Rhine valley...
via Antwerp... via Essen...
via Dortmund on the autobahn?

again... what's a copernican "east"?!
Abellakai Apr 2015
We're all trapped looking at
the shadows on the wall.
The figures in the mirror.
This is our reality.
The Allegory of the Cave.
Break free from your chains
and receive pain.
The world we've been handed
is an illusion.
Just accept the 23
the unknown is too far.
Ever expansion.
Look past the Galaxy
of Golden imagination.
I want facts.
Theories will not settle.
Darwinist matter
whirling into a black lagoon.
Being engulfed
in the philosopher stones.
I don't want to believe that.
The roses are too sweet
lulling me back two years ago.
I hear the thunder yell
as I lose my glasses again.
Search and search for
sacred fossils.
Illusion and reality.
I am Queen Victoria
and I can't stand the sound.
Go in limitless circles
while Robert Browning lies to us.
Waylay to the West Indies.
Bank out the skulls.
Support me I need,
counsel in asylums.
My head spins often.
"Are you on drugs?"
The grass is mixed with blood
ominous in curses.  
Dusty suppression
I doubt myself,
Please don't die today.
Your spirit is no longer weak.
Laugh at my epitaph,
I am an epitome of melancholy.
Your malicious cries
Stab hell into my stomach.
The villain is my own mind.
Shall I keep going?
Turn around and look back,
the road is gone.
Obstacles may exist
Sing them away.
Your pain is powerful.
Engrave a path of progression.
Death is the final accomplishment.
So why bother?
Analogies tell
you must travel with bravery.
Perspective of the potted,
do not **** your soul.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
the ethos of arbeit has overpowered the english speaking people, with a sarcastic notion of liebe, and made both work, and love, arbitrary, nay, nasally said: homophilic: too many phobias are spoken off, spiders in the guise of arachnophobia don't suddenly become islam! you see any gigantus aranea roaming the streets?! for the most part, i'm closer to see popes walk naked in a francis bacon sketch of the affairs... let's be honest, the holy ghost has become run over by the other spirit, the other phrase of sophia, the zeitgeist, not this church infested cockroach colony of the platzgeist with a few crimson cardinals numbed into mumbling their mea culpas ave marias... the senile old ******* just died, with: a few more thousand young men, born into a world without having to succumb to the "tender" female noir of a bambi (transgender times, live with it) harem ******* occupiers in the form of: zee heff! i'll be crying as much when, some other public personage dies... although i did grit my teeth when my great-grandmother died, managed to bite off a scalpel of tooth with my other tooth... funny, i can still tongue the canyon proof.

and it's the antithesis of the # (hashtag) generation,
namely? the súdokū...
   plus the english ******* explanation of
needing the hyphen, as a diacritical mark
to ease, sorry, forget the poncy ***** ******
talk of "proper": lubricate the dissection
of cutting a word open into alphabet street...
   it would otherwise look more like su-dough-coup
with the p in bracket form ( ), since the french
over the antithesis of dyslexia compared
to the english, they just add letters that do not,
require attendance / mention.
          but that's the case, every time i solve
this *** sushi riddle i can't but compare it to
the zeitgeist of the hashtag...
              so i perch on a windowsill like a
wake of vultures of a lion reaching gluttony scene,
and start thinking: hey, how about we pair up
and pecker off that sod of a robert plant?
give him the curly wurly momentum,
start to peck at his ***,
  and then give him a vulture's barber effect
of trichotillomania?
there's bound to be a lesson in that,
    what with ol' hef gone, we only 'ave to
worry aboot the hoff...
             ha ha... when hef met hoff,
           and the **** never stopped,
even leaving king solomon a tad bit jealous.

i sit on a pile of rubble, and call it a castle -
time ref. to counter the darwinist -
and yes, the saharan desert was once a
mountain range akin to the alpes - or the himalayas -
as any chemist would, side with the geologists
than than the biologists: mushy mushy doesn't
buy my effort, the biologists just expanded
history, we might as well make the *other

connection, between desert and mountain,
ergo: time,
       takes a lot of it,
          pretty much as much as space,
             apes have become debased genesis foci...
too many variations of it,
you'd have to start with eskimo and say:
  well: the orangutans seemed pleased with
a down syndrome replica...
                so just the chimps? no gorillas?
i still like my counter darwinism argument,
the counter biology, the lost mushy mushy
cushioning of certainty -
    like any chemist, i live for the hard stuff,
comes no harder than siding with geology,
saying: the epitome of times comes in
the form of the saharan mountain range,
that, given enough time (and we have a lot of
that now) - eroded into a sand-dial...
    irony, or divine intuition?
          and didn't the bible give off a whiff of:
and then a dinosaur went into eden:
   hey, be gods, try to, even,
  watch out, a ******* meteor might just come;
there's no fundamentalism contained
in a book that was written by an egyptian
prince...
    just a lack of poetic integrity in the interpretation...
i still don't see how poetry is slagged,
but the basic tenet of poetic writing is
taken, without a pinch of metaphor,
or counter-metaphor, in that it can be expanded
and be applied like a philosopher's stone,
to turn any known material into gold!

which brings me to another point, well, two,
how do you gain respect from the cats
you're petting?
             you sleep longer than they do.

point 2...

why has reading become such a "tedium" /
"accomplishment" -
   i'll tell you why, i don't like a language
of thinkers, i live a language realm of babblers...
the right to say blah is worth more than
the right to think oh...
                speaking has become too easy,
solidified by that fact that (if not even est.)
when someone writes a book, it becomes,
oh, the most glorious accomplishment!
     wow... these people really managed to
shut their gobs, and write a book?!
         wow... it's like seeing the fruition of
the event that didn't take place, that would have
been the out-doing of the hebrew architectural
tenure on the pyramids, that would have been
the hanging gardens of babylon,
that was, eventually, the poor nebuchadnezzar
crawling and snorting like a pig for seven years...
if you thought the pyramids were
a mad idea,  
    the jews finally solved the riddle exclaiming:
o.k., you know what, that's just
bonkers... you're about as mad as your hyena
grandfather, or father, or whatever he was
for asking to the seas to obey him by whipping
them (xerxes)...
  it's that unamazing to write a book these days...
or it really is, given that you have ghosts
writing them...
       ****, and they said the paranormal
didn't exist... really? ghost writers?
       maybe that's one of the reasons that when
don juan wrote his memoir,
  after bouts of not getting any, he invited
himself to a better pastime than jerking off...
well, might as well die a boring sod since
i'm not getting any, any more...
       me? i always thought of jerking off as
performing ****...
     i can't imagine the hand to be anyhow
different to the muscular ****...
    and for some reason,
i always end up thinking of the queen of england
waving: to add the seasoning of lacklustre
to the whole affair:
  like i'm there, but not really, there -
the roy orbison effort to make that:
strenuous effort at opera -
     and he was hardly the modern comparison
of a pop star with neck arteries protruding;
and he's still better than elvis.

word of wisdom:
  in the medium of poetry?
write by one technique, and one technique
alone...
          digression...
well, that's how i was taught english,
by a pict.
L W D Jan 2016
Hey Jake.
I was pretty drunk last night.
I'm sorry for calling your girlfriend a Social Darwinist.
CJ Sutherland May 27
Social Darwinist
Biological android
Elites rule the world

First control the mind
Compliant cogs in the wheel
Good workers obey

1984
Androids dream electric sheep
Man is a machine
I Watched the movie on Mind  Control its disturbing. During the 19th and 20th century they perfected techniques on conditioning man to be dumb down in school. Complacent, complicit, obeying what they were told.Experiments such as Pavlov conditioning, (first with dogs,) teaching them when they ring the bell it’s time to eat. The bell made the dogs salivate in anticipation. Such a way with humans. television is a tool to keep humans asleep. There are two types of people those who are sheep and blindly follow and those who will not conform. If you’ve ever seen a show with a hypnotist who  will get audience participation. He can put them under hypnosis. Yet some cannot be hypnotized. Those people are ostracized. The elite must get rid of them.They are problems. This is been going on since the beginning of America . The elite have perfected their techniques. Nonetheless, some have woken up! These realities are disturbing, but true.!
ConnectHook Feb 2020
The annual Darwin Gay Ball
Was a gala occasion for all.
The Australopithecus
looked quite ridiculous
Leaning, half-drunk, on the wall.

Zinjanthropus, high on bananas
Uttered forth a long chain of Hosannas.
Although missing a link,
He knew just what to think
And went cruising for greener savannas.

The Cro-Magnons (more agile than Lucy)
Like their hunting and gathering juicy.
The mating was prime
And their dance, so sublime,
could out-monkey the funky Watusi.

Twas a lowbrow event; all the same,
Proto-drag-queens competed for fame.
The divine **** Habilis,
Hairy, but fabulous,
Gave Knuckle-Dragging its name.

**** Sapiens' wisdom has wrecked us
As the Darwinist doctrines infect us.
Knuckle-draggers may dream,
But bonobos now scream
That the winner is: **** Erectus!
http://realhistoryww.com/world_history/ancient/Homo_habilis_erectus_neanderthal.htm
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
how did it all come about,
this short-hand evolutionary observable
family,
  how the greek letters lost
their names, and became musical
syllables, in the roman castrato
sing-along...

    how α became a,
   how β became b -
    however did γ become g?
   dpbgq...
         how δ became d -
      how ε became e -
             how ζ became z -
how η became n -
     θ & φ became neither thought
nor philosophy, or the point -
how ι gained a head with i -
how kappa remained, κ or k -
how lambda (λ) became L -
or how Γ met the mirror -
      laughter eta eta eta...
  how from mu came em...
      and from nu came en...
     from ρ (rho) the p -
and from chi (χ) the eks (x)
ψ (psi) + π (pi) came the p (ee) -
o remained o - omicron -
       stern sigma (Σ) into smoothed S -
   τ (tau) remained true to tao
of the latin t -
         the υp of upsilon remained u -
even though more about
exfoliating the nu (υ vs. ν) -
   and sharpened the ω into w;
with ξ (xi) the "11th anomaly* of Q...

ars geometria, the post-scriptum
of cubism: that imploded cube.

modern art: everything about perspectivism,
modern art can be accounted for
being beyond the standards "expected":
if you only take into account
the meagre outputs of architecture...
for all the l.s.d. consumed during the 1960s,
we have edinburgh's appleton tower
to show for it...

flaky mosaics peeling off...

  i still can't believe that psychology
retains both the latin word, as the german word,
from ego through to selb,
    ego: inhale -
       cogito: exhale -
but as anyone suffering from a mental
illness -
    ego: exhale
     cogito: inhale -
    res vanus = ego per se -
    res cogitans = ego ut nihil -
      nihil qua sum omni -
slouching away from "narrating",
      mental illness and the automated
narrator -
    the enforced unwelcome thought,
and as all thinking that's not welcome
is, and passes us, and as our egos
cannot become turtles or spiky defensive
hedgehogs,
  automated thinking becomes
painful -
             mental illness is all about
the automation of thinking,
forced thinking,
  well... it's just "thinking"...
  
the irony via this medium reveals:
              to not think, is to actually think.

and then in classical orientation -
plato would have been a darwinist -
he would have settled for forms -
the history of **** silimilus -
        
but perhaps aristotle would have convened
on the linguistic evolutions,
esp. from greek to latin...
      how ω became w which later became
ł & even later (л + λ) -

i can only admit one truth these days:
history has become crushing -
    it's crushing day by day -
whatever system in place -
  man, the eventuated hoarder -
if not by hoarding and filling his home
with "antiques" or worthless junk -
still, man has become a hoarder -
                     a hortmensch -
whether in objects, or whether in
history, grievances, respects, prides,
and failures or successes -
it's so exhausting to hoard so much,
whether under a roof of a house,
or inside the cranium and a receding
hairline...

history is a crushing dead-weight -
it becomes a blessing
   having drunk the previous day,
and not remaining some minor details,
but then, comes along dates,
like in england, 1066, 1914,
  1997... 1966...
               does all this history even matter,
given that,
  we're currently talking about
a genesis, where so much more
unwritten history took place,
than in the current year,
   of the supposedly written history?

i'm just asking for a zoological
invocation of historical content -
for there is but one historiology -
it's most certainly zoological -
       but even then: it's a crushing
dead-weight of what is needed -
        rather than what is necessary;
who are these censors of history out there?

i wish it was a different history
of existentialism to begin,
   once it arrived to england from the continent,
from denmark, germany & france,
the only answer to these thinkers came
in the form of psychiatrists,
notably r. d. laing -
  it's so sad to have spectated this,
how existentialism in england became
rooted in psychiatry,
as if reading books was somehow a psychiatric
affair...
        continental existentialism,
died the sad death of its influence -
both at the hands of english psychiatry,
and french postmodernism
(the deconstructivism of derrida) -
but you can't ignore why
only psychiatrists took interest in
the movement...
                these days?
everyone's suspect -
           and everyone is: the usual type.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
if i were to pray to god... i don't think i'd would
tease his boredom -
     in islam the adhan: the call to prayer is
heard in the heavens... but the prayers aren't...
the church bells are heard...
perhaps even when a choir of castratos sings...
but never that ******* of credo mumbling
and "confessions"... it's not teasing the vanity...

well... yes... god... nothing too personal...
       it's hard to imagine anything of nothing...
the sober, scientific, objective: ex nihil...
        out of nothing - i'd wish...
then we'd all have the properties of stones and trees
and a that sort of adapted consciousness
of: never born with legs... with will...

to me: something from nothing...
      the sober, mature, scientific approach...
yes... but i don't think about a higher power...
i think about an invigorating force...
                    something to propose momentum...
something that concerns us to debate
whether free will exists... but enough of that...

there's still work to be done in the garden...
all the stumps are out...
          had to come the day where i'd heal
the earth by letting her breathe...
    which involved digging her up...
doing a pancake with her... then getting a fork
and twisting her into little pieces...
about half a meter of decent earth...
before the clay would appear...
in clay... you won't be finding any earthworms
at these depths... half to a meter in...

well... who needs to go to the gym...
when you can garden...
it's a bit like... if you ever ****** wearing
a ******... and when you haven't...
the only real ****** comes when...
    you send some mail of would-be sputniks...
shame though... if...
she is lying about taking contraceptives...
for that "one and only" moment of life's tick
list...
                   fizzle fizzle out past...
but a few hours spent wearing gloves...
and it's numbing... when working with earth...
sure... you're using a shovel
a fork etc. -
but when you can't feel the earth...
it's a bit like that ****** sensation...
         should it matter to a man not circumcised?
hardly... it's enough of a bother to pull
the **** thing back and choke
whittle richard's heard into a proud plum...

but then to feed the naked hand to the earth...
one of those many other substitutions
for the hide & seek zenith of ***...
   in a shower... pouring water...
onto the neck and just above the occipital bone...
a less protruding occipital bone...
well... designation?! ******!
wow... just like that... i can whip-up
a venom... it's carboxylic acid mingling
with some ebola leftovers...
                                                    ­      em...
preferred temp. of the water...
approx. 4 - 5 degrees celcius beneath room temperature...
not cold cold...

"not enough ***"... or no *** at all...
         learning from the octopus...
                               8 things planned...
           i planned that trip to the brothel...
a little bit too late...
now there's the garden...
                   and there's that period of evening...
can it just be as simple as...
a glass of scotch... some pepsi max...
some jazz: but not too much - i don't really want
to think... blues would be great...
but it has become a period piece...
              like a jane austen adaptation...
a belgravia... something from charles dickens...
something simple like:
alice in chains - man in a box
down - stone the crow
danzig - 1000 devils reign...
                            
                 so yeah... god... prayers...
i still like to attach thought to what would...
better be a tongue for a brain
or a brain for a tongue and at least 7 aeons
of silence...
                    prayer or mumble...
i can't see no advantage...
  i'd pray by crying when finding something
beautiful...
i'd pray by dancing and screaming
when finding something more than the sort
of beauty that'd mobilise my heart to
quench its thirst... needing my sweat...
more than my tears...
and i'd pray... by walking into a dark forest
at night... strip half naked and scream
and growl and return the beast to the father
of the night... force my mouth into
fallen leaves and turn this mouth of mine
into a snout to forrage for mushrooms...
once... near Harlow - Essex...
i did just that... upon the break of dawn...
took a bottle of bourbon with me
and ate... a lilac coloured mushroom...

    how did i end up walking from Romford
through to Harlow in the night?
i remember i had about 6 beers...

prayer... yes...
       well i was "praying"... for an unusually cold
April...
my fridge is broken and it's not making
any more ice-cubes...
it would be super handy for me to be able
to leave a bottle of scotch and a bottle
of p' max or c' zero on the roof just
outside of my window...
   walking up and down the stairs come
the ungodly hours of 2am: i really don't want
to rouse the cats...

cabbage - plastic - playdough -
       some flour an egg a tbs of oil and water -
to live without... a categorical impetus -
other that: in times of the most dire needs...
to explore the endless avenues
of what can come from:
an absolute informality of language -
a metaphor and apostrophe
followed by a colon -
                            
      a fusion of impetus - this current climate
of gardening and what's... probably
the justifying what is happening:
not much... besides...
        
                               i wouldn't be thinking
of *** being on the menu -
wordsworth's celibacy -
                       japanese girls attired
in mannequin bodies with porcelain eyes
and... that skin of unblemished tinge...
something had to be forever uninviting...
or better still...
              it had to be leveraged...
other outlets had to be fathomed...
                    nothing of what might be bemoaned
should the crux of dragging ghosts
and regrets all chained up: into
dreamworld and some other circus frenzy...

to rub ones hands ferociously against
bricks before the luxury of touching a body
was revelled in.... it had to be...
*** and disney...
                          then the distillation process
of culmination could homage me...
as... allowing a flow of water...
or whiskey turned into lemonade when
the erotica of taking a ****
was like all the genital parts included
for her treating the unshelled oyster to queen's
cringe...

a... oddly weird cooling... a very... cool april...
anything to stop this...
it always sounds more **** when it's
an epidemic...
pandemic is hardly something to get all
hot and bothered about...
                                 god's sneeze...
                          and all that omni-
                                            prefix litany...
it's truly the most secured claustrophobia to
think of: gifting to later be grieving...
when at best: the magical finger tripped
up schumacher when skiing...

     or... some other spontaneity...
                              if ever some hegel...
i hardly think i'll live to read the phenomenology
of spirit...
   i've skimmed through the lecture notes
that inspired marx: the philosophy of right...
lecture notes... not even aphorisms...
not even maxims... lecture notes *******
a marx and...
     i'm not even going to bother...
claustrophobia...
dealing with both the marxist ideologues
as is the case with dealing with darwinist ideologues...

no god for a sense of:
no imagination... as long ast the facts can be
distributed and well regurgitated...
does it matter?

all that i can pour into "its" existence is my thought...
humble i, bring a stone before the altar
of the pyramid...
that i know of the "other" pronoun...
in greek... that's: θ(ought) i?!

by then it's already too late... the key has already
been inserted into the lock...
and has been turned...

                    margaret cirko, 35...
               $35,000 dollars worth of fresh food...
gone to waste... in pennsylvania...
and here they are... keeping me on a schizophrenic
leash!
i guess it's true then:
the madmen will lead the blind...
perhaps i only have one eye left in me...
i just watched a morse code wander the sky
that had to be feeding something my
unconscious could desipher...
the facade of consciousness that bears
the burden of the foetus and the stone stood
ground... my eyes didn't melt from
the exalted...

                    but i'm starting to think...
really? the crucifixion is... the epitome exit?
for a demigod? what about...
left hanging on a meathook...
                     for days... with the insertion
under the chin...
or with hands tied... having ultra-******
performed between the coccyx and the ****
when pretending to be the candle imitation
while the hands are tied: screaming the toll...
for the entry into gamorrah...
cherbu honey cherub honey for the old man
magritte: charon... das ist ein kamin!

no?             the treachery of images...
hold me stochholm syndrome prone when it comes
to... the treachery of words...
outside of the realm of nuance, ridicule...
and the thesaurus...
outside the realm of those that
will not clear the way for etymology
to replace archeology...
and of those who will not worship slang!
slang the... not the emoji hierogylphic statures
of: to escape the skeletons of
within and the past...
to turn the O(micron) into a ******* smiley :)!

hegel: master and servant...
    well... anti-hegel...
the parasite... and the host...
          the master is the parasite...
call it the fruition of 1960s intellectuals dabbling
in buddhism...
or... who is the master?
the master is apparent right now...
the middle-men... of work that can be done
from home... so...
what's the need to... commute... to subsequently
and "somehow"... "work"?
arbeit macht frei... "this" and "that"...
that's... work?!

   if you can work from home...
now... currently... how much of work is exacted
to pretend to be the architectural imprints
of power dynamics - verbiage:
and verbiage is all you're going to get!
i know the peacocks when i see them...
peacocks will verbiage tinge this sort
of "logic" as they'd call it...

macht frei... arbeit...

       a terrible slogan for the people who will
nonetheless butcher the meat...
skin it, prep it...
            but then we have...
i don't even know a windowlicker or a ******...
stupid or just evil...
        perhaps just a ****** frustration
"oops"...
             or one of those never to happen
celebrated abortions...
a margaret... cirko... 35...
honestly... the crucifix?
   i'm thinking... meat-hooks and pikes...
less worth for a worth of emblem when supposedly
left hanging...
more like: a dangling tooth...

that what i think of when and otherwise
schizophrenics are blamed...
for when everyone takes it: supposedly:
more easily...
                                       this is not something
a psychotic person would do...
nor a windowlicker ******...
    dumb evil...
                        woman evil...
           you almost wish to lacerate that sort
of behaviour... to the point where...
she wouldn't be able to squat to take a ****...
no... seriously... we should take better care
of your down syndrome retards...
given what the: glorious free spirited man
has to offer: anti-government blah blah!

she should be put in a cage... for
baboons to spit and **** at...
   and she should be given a diet of...
how's that caugh?
     good? phelgmatic? roughage?
good... eat your cough then!
             and locked up... like the myth
of the beheaded cockroach living for up
to two weeks and finally dying of starvation...
i'm guessing the genesis came with...
andrei chikatilo... or that batman quote:
perhaps he's wondering why someone would
shoot a man... after putting him in a prison cell?
brain head: tick tick...
  but the old ticker is still working...
this atheistic mr. ape grand finale of...
                                christine chubbuck...

brain dead ≠ the body is dead...
Kafka: stab at the heart...
what idiot took pride in hollywood when
distancing himself from suicide with
brain injuries...
oh sure... the brain dies... so much for all those
cucumber people of the comatose worldview...
all those... on life support...
looks like the "last clue":
the "labyrinth" can exist in a pickle jar...
switched on... and off...
at long as that... butchers' meat retains
it's... rhythm...

retards... widnwolickers...
does someone with down syndrome "suffer"?
personally... i think they're very much oblivious
to their afflication...
it's not about burning witches...
it's about... stamping out an egoism
that would hardly think about...
retaining the last dripping of water...
the last crumb of bread...

          if i were a ******...
i'd be keeping a down syndrome hulk...
like in mad max: master blaster...
hell: keeping a leech as... pretending it to be a tatoo
seems more worthwhile than...
all those save africa hunger ******* worth
whacking slogans...
   did margaret cirko work for some sort of...
save africa and hunger...
                                          charity?!

if­ my words aren't trivial... compared to what she did?
then money: does indeed grow on treets...
let's pluck some and cough into a bundled
up ball of $1 banknotes!

and... keep it rollin'! rarely will i lose my temper...
but some things are worth forgiving...
repenting over...
hell... at this point every other albert fish...
and every jeffrey dunham jr.
sounds more appealing to talk to...
at least either of them... wouldn't be found...
a marathon distance's length of having
just wasted $35,000 worth of food...
in hell: keep to having cain's offspring
as your company...

i really don't know what... "it"...
of any sensibility of man...
provided the ***** and the vacuum of body
for a surrogate: clearly there was no mother involved...
perhaps she's the first child of
that wunderbarpakt
of der: zweivati?!
                     she's the first child of "surrogates"...
she is the first child of two *******
homosexual partenting schemes?!
makes you wonder...

again: lasso an oops of the cut-off where...
this becomes... virus isolation wasn't enough...
people had to designate themselves
into making politics out of everything;
again...

police! police! the thought! oh god!
the words! oh mein gott!
  police! police! ****! he's gauging out mein augen!
he borrows some german! natz-tee!
i used kinder words governing wood...
i did make-up a replacement to
the ritual surrounding tequilla drinking...
i called him a black cracovite...

slick lick of lemon? you sure...
you're smoking a cigarette...
you're agitate... some ash lands on your hand...
you lick it off... that's your new salt...
you're in galicia... which is not silesia...
you don't have tequilla you have *****...
you lick the ash off your hand...
down the *****...
oh ****... where's the bite?
you're not familiar with lemons...
but you are familiar with peppercorns...
so you bite 3 to 4 down...

there you go... a translation of the ritual
associated with tequilla...
the black cracovite... *** lesson number one...
or no *** lesson number two...
they have their precious israel...
don't they?
i best give my... incantations...
again: is that a transliterate chasm...
of finding enough syllable pauses
to read some deutsche?
perhaps... when translated into
english... and retaining their chemical
names...

                hyphen as conjunction...
to better read: ol' wolf says...
carbo-xylic...                     de-...
               of many more deeds to come...

Solomon will not arrive in time...
and there was no sort of David in your time
of reign: since the last one...
to begin with... but you do have...
clarification as being the inspiration
for the creation of the Mosad and the ***...
so... cuddos... bravo!
let's hear a ******* encore!

sorry... i can't have them "jumbled" up...
the dead sea scrolls refer to the end of the old testament...
the fate of isiah... the courtesan prophet...
disembolwed... cut in two...
that's one...
the dead sea scrolls are not...
the nag hammadi library... that's two...
josephus ben matthias... the false prophet...
egypt... and from egypt...

this wound is most certainly bleeding...
put more pressure on it...
the more chances of negation...
esp. from the scientific couldron of the society...
the dead sea scrolls are not
the nag hammadi library...

it echoes in the claudron...
of but a single eye shared among...
6 plucked out...
to deafen the wind that combs the woods...
and the branches that find flutes
in their hollowing out worth... of...
rattle...

                   i always wondered...
gloryhole *******...
         the imitation *****... beig soiled in
all that.. would be sponge-leeches
and liquidated butter?
        the **** of all worth of ****
with the extending umbrella *****...
and... the business of ******* was not
to sell the frolicking ambitions of...
merely a 0.01% of the... base attentions
and wants of... the nymphomaniacs?

look at us... lowly... poorly equipped peasants...
bowing before a Elizabeth Bathory...
how feeble our needs to attain
to merely warmth... to counter the cold...
to merely hunger... to counter crumbs...
how feeble our wants...
oh my pardon oh my rotting mind...

               what sort of theatre would allow...
what we digest in private?
i'd love to see ***** be made more... public...
it doesn't need to be this solitary endeavour...
just like...
this revision of grammar by the transgender
lobby... gender neutral pronouns...
what about fwench? where nouns
cannot be: gender neutral?!
what... then?!
    a chair is a male...
whether or not a chair is male when a man
speaks about it...
or whether or not a chair is a female when
a woman speaks about it...

this... transgender communism or attempting
to revise grammar...
sorry... no... can you revise
1 + 1 = 2 instead?
i'd gladfly give up my prowess in arithmetic...
i... won't be, though...
so easily swayed off the throne
of grammar...

  this isn't even my ****** ingrained
language... it's acquired! why should i care what
the natives and their...
sacred siblings of the holocaust of sanctity
do with it?!
   watch me...

                here's me... gladly giving away
the reins!

             of the people: for... the people!
a true democracy... one voice lost among the many...
and the many... voices...
somehow focused upon that one...
lost in the wilderness... somehow...
for no reason... being heard...
i'd call 20+ a class dismissed...
which is what Pythagoras had...
hey-zeus' devil's dozen of 12: him included...

thinking big is beside the point
with what's apparent... when starting small...
i dismiss the value of large congregations
of people...
outright... nothing is ever said...
while everything else is merely overheard...
i want to measure the size of my foot:
i'm told to weigh my liver
and my moral quest!

even among poetry...
this language is so... formal...
there is null of a concern for a cipher...
everything is just so... "required"...
ignoble and numb...

it's hardly a rhomus: darlin'...
nor a pola dotted bohemia ****...
so what's it; dear honey ****-squeech-p'ooh?
oh... one of those...
daddy issues?
i have mommy issues:
never stopped me ******* ******
like a trojan cohort...
or the devil... with vampirism h.i.v. worms...

or a bit of the smiths calling me deaf...
whenever you started plasyinf 65days of static...
because... me and you and the romance
of radiohead's kid a...
anything: the bends... and the chissick wonderkid...
o.k. computer with windows '98...
but not... vanilla sky and kid alzheimer's...
type 0 negative...
                    
         i'll ask again: what's 70cl of whiskey
to a juggernaut?
                       a sly slip of the tongue...
a lick of this sort of concentration
of a waiting ice-cube... brother:
it better start melting!

                    in my head: there is a god...
but there's also an iron maiden...
i can't can't... oh yes i can...
make them into a matrimony!
   there's reaching the clasy of London
beneath half a meter of revised soil...
there are... these earthworms...
these phoneic brides akin to...
you cut one in half...
it pretends to be the dead:
the brain and the Brian that's all mouth...
to think... the digestion of sand breeds
the oesophagus that's waiting to be
blopd tinged...

       retards recovered: come treefingers...
or hugging... a birch tree...
as suggested by a... later than usual...
self-employed cabby... all from radiohead's kid A...
no... not from 65 days of static...
that sort of pristine retardation is
reserved for aliens and angels...

we do have to make it inclusive that...
margaret... cirko (35... pennsylvania)
is one of "us"... good god that sort of a "riddle"
with people having made it necessary to..
"opt out"...
god forbid living among such retardations
to be claiming the stature of faking
normies...

               waking: optimistic...
                here's to me later on bound
to limbo... and shy conversations about...
what's not to have shy conversastions of...
kept... cushioned and proud and...
sly and: workaholic.... insomiac...
but never... alcoholic enough to spawn...
the lost remains of the brute of silence...
the truth-sayer of the toothache...

this... best kept in german...
     diese taubheit...
           diese schattenlos mondlicht...
diese: gebet auf mitternacht!
                                      all this... under a shroud of english...
for... a... toothpick of german...
the zeppelin... and the blitz...
all... for the made thespian... pristine...
to sharpen the edges of hollywood...

      für einz! ich war auf zweck!

"misplaced" german... always the first...
even citing it...
fiddles with details of leather...
and boots, and belts...
and all those unconscious b.d.s.m. fetishes...
and long live evita... and argentina...
and fascists in brazil...
israel: the wall: palestine...
      
i love it! what's to be expected?!
a cosmopilitan... that's what!
*** and the city feminism...
pride on oats regret!
if i see anything less...
i won't be listening to ststic x's
black & white...
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
why, am i of the ones that have
neither the cultural marxistm
nor the cultural darwinist impetus
to guide me?
why am i, akin to a moth,
             without a "guiding" light?
is that even worth question,
with the lived example?
            why am i to be ranked,
enforced an ethnical "calamity"
to be usurped, or even saved?
         my fingers are itchy,
i think i'll caress them,
rather than looking for a violin
like a jew might, and stand,
rain-soaked on a street-corner
playing the rabbi's reminding song,
to later sell matchsticks
and become the artifact of mammon;
had i the will,
              i'd sacrifice all my wit to
have said as much,
                  and seen, so little.
i've seen enough,
  the rest remains in just hands,
          that can fathom a jew
different from gentile,
  and pass, a judgement,
                   equal, equating both:
for it is said:
   deus ex omni, est deus in omni,
  i hope the hebrye will know
these words...
                 as such:
their god, is but a god in passing,
and upon the pass,
makes all, willing to assert his
procession:
                  the dire artefact, of proof.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
i've talked to arrogant thieves in the night...
one always stands out in particular...
bemoaning his fate as a short man
that he has a child with a woman and the woman
is playing double-jeopardy with her life
on his emotional violin...
she was this | | close to meeting her fate
of kissing death...
he told me about working in a Paris zoo...
we both loved Paris it seems...
i said i'd give my heart brains and at least
one ******* to be a painter in that city
come the turn of... the 19th century entering
the 20th...
i even asked him to stand a few steps above
me so we could speak as equals...
on the same day that i stood like marble
at my grandfather's funeral...
his own, my uncle... i drink... i drink irresponsibly...
but this spineless...
ah... forget it...
chewing gum while the coffin is lowered into...
too much detail...
me and ol' Joseph: the hyenas of the graveyard...
i don't know why we didn't bother walking
in parks...
we cycled together...
         went fishing...
we walked... talked... walked some more...
after all... while my actual father was elsewhere
for the labour-brain-drain in the Vest...
from the age of 4 through to 8...
there was this man...
the drunken... rationaliser of... metallurgy...
at a once... booming metallurgy plant
in a city in the satellite state of the soviet union...
at the end of it though...
crass poker on behalf of his son and his wife...
i felt the full brunt of it from his daughter...
my mother...
i'm almost thankful that my father is a...
quasi... no, wait... pseudo orphan...
he knew who his parents were...
they were still alive...
he was raised by his father's mother
and stepfather...
his mother... blah blah...
he doesn't go into details... i don't know them:
ergo i won't go in them either...
ol joseph though...
who remembered the SS-men stationed
in the city: who would run up to them and implore:
herr! bitte-bon-bon... on recount...
with his punctuation...
there really was a Herr Bittebonbon...
and the soviet soldiers who preferred to sleep
in barns with the animals...
don't ask me whether they also liked to ****
some hairy goat ****...
time will not tell...
came death: that impasse...
if i talked with thieves in the night...
outrageous as they are: thieves...
they tend to boast...
i suspect i've come across a murderer or two...
not that they would gloat in boasting about
their misdeeds...
after all... it's not that a thief is somehow stupid...
but a murderer has to be smart...
he can't just gloat about his deeds...
after all... "something": seriously, ******* "missing"...
no?
best with prostitutes...
if i had a wife and children...
and decided... eh... this one 20 year old will:
freshen me up...
i never use acronyms...               w.t.f.!
some agony aunt in the sunday times
column of the style magazine was replying
to... a "real life event" of a girl: god bless her...
only 20, 22, 24 springs into her gallop
and she's already...
doing this ******* swindling...
because you know that prostitutes have committed
all the impossibly: worst crimes of all...
most probably associated with...
short outbursts of loving someone...
making them feel... somehow... welcome...
unlike talking to a thief who needs
to stand two steps above to speak as equal...
of the 3Ps... priests, psychiatrists, prostitutes...
i'll second the last...
we can at least speak in body...
we can exchange the expected norm of
36.5°C...
             she will barely speak a word of English...
i'll barely speak a word of Romanian...
but... somehow... ochi and oczy match up...
to hell with dating... and the women of:
"expectation": and their decry of dried up attention...
of being... aargghh!
here you go... the barbarian: yawlp... or whatever word
is used in the dead poets society...
n'ah... that's not going to cut it...
O-DIN...
             it has to come from the realm of syllables...
it can't be a a single sound... aye for i...
GARAN-DU!
there must be a slingshot emphasis on some vowel
that might extend the breath!
DA-MI!
                         ergo is a terrible example...
added the fact that... well... katakana (which i will
use)... doesn't exactly use vowels as...
anchors... prefi-                 -xed...

(ha ha... said?)

ah mein gott:
                 what three years feels like without a woman...
not i'm thinking about cutting down
on my drinking and smoking just to give
that Turkish girl all her thrills...
in the company of 4 other prostitutes...
it's a lot easier to break a man down...
all the curves...
all... she had to tease with her *****, though...
although... she looked as much Turkish
as i look ******* Thai...
more... Indian subcontinent...
but to hell with it... anything that moves...
quisquam movet quad...

come to think of it... a "dysfunction of *******":
Sherlock! it was there for a minute...
then it passed... i wasn't in the mood...
i started to pretend to chop my head from
my torso imitating: i drank too much...
there was that: too much GOGA - *****:
in this case... too much ms. amber with whiskers...
or ms. amber nee bourbon...
because i was puking and *******
like mad being hijacked by... nervousness
of being naked and staging mime hands
reading braille of a body with someone
i wasn't intimate with...

   are men supposed to be these... *******...
duracell bunnies: ready on the word go?
all of a sudden... am i supposed to walk around
with a hard-on 24/7... i can... just... switch it on?
flick! hey presto! whittle richard sings his standard...
i checked... she wasn't exactly gooey
mozzarella in her department, either...
i was somewhat exhaust... she was clearly coming down
from a ******* binge...
a welcome break...
but why is it circumcision: fair...
but female genital mutilation...
i'll fold the sheath and...
i too was expecting a Trojan cohort to **** her brains
out...

but if she's not wet... salivated my middle and ring
finger while she attempted to coerce me to hard
for her to then sit on me wholly rodeo...
no... she wasn't in the mood either...
plus i drank too much...
enough excuses...

like the younger sister of an ex- i used to date
remarked: matthew... always dressed in
the colours of the earth...
to match up with the colours of my eyes...
give me the greens, the auburns... the ambers...
i'll walk around camouflaged
like the zebra hasn't seen anything
of man's writing ability...

that William Blake itching of a sketch that's probably
a painting of the ***** of Babylon
riding a torso with multiple splitting of the heads...
so much allure in metaphors...
who's who... nobody's due...

always with these women...
3 years sober from any major contact
and once it happens...
i'm ballistic prone to itch out...
i need more... i need...
to eat with my eyes and scrape with the tips of
my fingers... all these... seemingly...
inedible... body-parts...
thighs... that floral fleshy oysters of ****...
the grooves of collar-bone...
the piggish cartilage of the ears...
the lips like lying watermelons:
we're salty! we're salty!
eyes as labyrinths...

all that two bodies can becomes
in terms of metaphor akin to a bowl
of spaghetti...
**** me, double **** me i'm so "happy" i could
almost end it, right now...

if the yin is "somehow" the negative of what's:
essentially life...
while the yang is... also... "somehow" the positive of
what's: essentially life...
of the latter... the workers...
the farmers...
so much focus on...

HOW... the ying provides all the HOW...
you can be sure to know...
& "know"...
how to grow vegetables... how to...
maintain livestock...
how to construct buildings...
but for all that scary vacuous space in between
the constellation of stars...
the YIN and WHY...
most probably... cognitive-fudge-packaging...
or... dipping sardines in... fudge-packaging antics...

for all the HOW and most certainly
all the sense it makes...
that bollocking riddle of the YIN
and why... there's stalling and there's bureaucracy
and... i'm in the middle of it...

if only everything was Buddha-calls...
the shallowness of the WHY though...
why: a study in the meaning of life...
the meaning of life? live...
let's see what comes just before death
and that question of: after...

       democratically one will never really focus
on "reality"...
only snippets of: v.i.p. / solipsistic screening...
and that's always a long-shot:
someone else is always, always going to
come around with a... re-****-al...
phonetically, "properly":
       oh... look... i spelled it corrected...
to hell with the hyphens... rebuttal...

oculus per oculus...
               as much as i'd like to be a father...
mutter tod...
tender her embrace...
with her daughters...
she might have wrinkled her eye...
twitched... i was about to show her why
i'm the only son without ties
to the Chinese one-child state policy...
Cherry.. Cherry... noble... cherry nobly...
Chernobyl...
          
był: i was... (masculine)...
była: i was... (feminine)...

      and... these people who want a grammatical
revolution in this: dear language...
are facing...Trojan wall impasses?
english nouns do not encapsulate ***...
you can stretch it with: moon being an implication
of feline... feminine...
the sun being masculine...

for all the need of HOW...
stumbling on the shallow ground of WHY:
eat more cauliflower...
why... more of these... brusselsprouts?
how? after a while it has become automated...
complicated at first...
but once the complications are other...
the momentum of replication takes over...
there's still the how: our how, our why...
to compete with nature's
slumber come autumn, frolicking come spring...
****-festivity in summer...
a near-death like experience surrendering
under winter...
the tetragrammaton has only 4 letters...

a god of the hebrews... my allegiance is riddled
with biases...
because the Palestinians gave my mind
nothing to think of...
the 'ebrews most assuredly did...
have...

           if Spinoza was alive...
and knew about the existence of the state of Israel...
if i came across... that donkey-jockey that
was... Ba'laam...
diviner no diviner... blah-lah or: all? ah!
emirate money spun the monkey wheel to
no end... arabs entertained mythological blondes
while i took to raven haired bulgarian / romanian /
turkic  lasses...
because it suited me best...
if i were ever a father a figure in the making
on the basis of my own father:
no...

a a... punctuaction pause:
"so-called" diacritical markers...
"so-called" imitation latin pompousness
of having: none of them!
when i smile:
i like my teeth to... breathe!
happy? savvy?
to hell with all these high status...
"unfathoamble"...
"unattainable"... "holy grail":
if a mongol horde came between your
ego and your tight
(tightening of thighs)...
you wouldn't be singing this...
sweet... dirge... would you?

give me some Turkic ***...
some Bulgarian asset...
        
i will never pander to the most pandered
slot of crux counter remidee...
to show my teeth against the wind:
"against"...
    forward...
******* by reiteration ******...
in the pop culture of h'america...
no....
**** on this sort of ****... ******...
*******... whittle h'american niqab...

hell with you: Italiano: miss scab!
i waited and i waited...
now come those ******* tattoos of
good will hunting...
i: of the we: a people...
never allowed ourselves to congregate...
to solve: to dissolve "issues" via...
mafia...

******* spaghetti fiddlers...
Greek "tacos"...
Mediterranean...
one's superiority complex
thrice undermined...
gives me...
puncture wounds established...
piglet farm... rats...

o.k... bacon sizzled...
but you're still... Borgia *** antics:
disinhibited...
pope no pope... savvy?
my tongue is more liberal than that of Luther...
but you think you can...
trade ideas in these Hyperborean lands...
fricko? gratis?

perhaps the English don't mind:
then again: who doesn't mind
the English classical liberal... "mind"...
beside... an ***-**** of... the folding empire...
champion atheist...
champion darwinist...
       great Ben been locked...
for hours on end... since Edward:
it would seem...

don't **** with me when i'm hard-on
on defence: markers!...
i'm not suppose to: but i will...
although my fetish for deutsche-spreschen is overpowering...
King Sas...

the end... good night.
KorbydAngyle Sep 2021
Please God, the forces, the black magics,
can memory erase?!...Banish
Infringement on the preventions
from being preyed upon by unwelcome
and take 'any' action, canonistic or sacrosanct

I have no path for disruptions from requests,
for they speak of vats churning peoples yearning life asunder
but feats from the west...

Have a common displacement and golden yard of deafened seasons tonnage

I can relocate, only to ****, yet accounts of when oneself, myself included,
too righteousness kneeled... do fall to the devils deals

And yet those those with problems,
infringed on meaning(even),
the world from any other Darwinist society
senses and reveals, now it may be

The relocation of humanity and societies call,
as it is may be...

The dearest most relevant shocking revelation of them all!

— The End —