"Never jump into the **** of Elk horn sideways,
              it'll make you ***** and chiropractors can't fix that!"

You say life is but a dream.
Well then when will I wake up?
I'm tired of living in this lie.
This fantasy.

You've diluted these waters I swam in.
You've poisoned my sweet serenity.
How could you ever look me in the eyes and tell me the truth?
You have drowned me in my own existence.

I'm struggling to wake from this nightmare.
I can barely tell right from wrong all while I'm trying to right the wrong you've perpetrated against me.
I'm struggling to resurface.
You constantly hold my head under while I drown away.

And now I've become the deadpool.

So come and take a swim.

Calabunga as go off shooting bad guys or good guys as long as I get my money. Eating chimichanga's in my Honda that I "borrowed" for awhile. Anti-hero that breaks the fourth wall, because that's my style. Shoot shoot, bang bang, kapow is this kungpow chicken. Oh you thought I was talking about fighting, haha, that's funny. Where are the hunny's, with all this money, you think they'd be on me. Slip zip I can be freaky with whips, go on trips, have insanity fits. Business is business, marvel universe, I killed them all; just saying. If you didn't know the name, it is deadpool, original rip off, yeah I don't care about haters because they are going to hate. Death stroke can't even get a date, with that ugly eyepatch, he couldn't beat me on his best day.

When the voices start talking
I start listening

They tell me,
"Your mom never loved you"
"Dad thinks your a joke"
"Everyone at school hates you"
"At lunch, you sit with a girl who can't even hear you"
"You are an outsider"
"Pull the BLASTED TRIGGER"
"JUMP"

I'm like the Deadpool to their Madcap
I am in control

I'll tell you the tale
Of a guy whose cool
He so doesn't fail
His name is Deadpool
The number is not zero
For this crazy man
Doesn't call himself a hero
But always has a plan
Was in Special Forces
Really had the moves
Didn't win races
But never does lose
Not nice like Prancer
Dosen't go south
Soon got the cancer
And known as the merc with a mouth
Has a heart that's not pure
But this was no test
To look for a cure
His skills are the best
Soon found a way
To end the disease
But his face I'll say
Is something he can't please
Body being a wreck
His past is on the go
And you'll say what the heck
When you see his alter ego
What is next
Won't make you dead
Him wearing spandex
All in black and red
This is now his path
Its quite alright
Dudes will suffer his path
If they put up a fight
So Deadpool is lit
A dude who is rad
He dosen"t **** one bit
But has an attitude that's bad

I'm looking down watching what you do
As if i'm Uatu the Watcher
Or maybe I'm controlling you
Like the evil Puppet Master
See you have no control in life
This is my world and I'm just allowin you to live in it
It's like I'm eating up planets with Galactus
And creating chaos with Apocalypse
I'm in control of my actions
Choosing to do wrong
Only to wait until my redemption by the hands of the worthy
You're inside my head like Charles Xavier
Trying to find out my secrets
Only to discover that I keep my mental barriers on lock
With no key or code to unlock
Said passageway into my subconsious
Because I can block you without a helmet
Unlike Juggernaut or Magneto
I'm free to swing around with the good wall crawler known as
Scarlet Spider
Hah
And write up my own unique flows with no worries
I don't need the X-men or Avengers
Or my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man
To know that I have some great repsonsibilities on my shoulders
Weighing me down like a ton of bricks
And I don't need someone like Doom
Telling me how to be a leader
When we all know his leadership skills could use some attention
I'm an enigma
Close to what Deadpool would say is
Very unique
Before muttering towards the wall
As if it were his faithful audience
I know who I am
I know what I do
So simply put
I'm freaking awesome

Got million ways to ****
Guns, swords oh and my humorous quill
Not so handsome, badass still.

The local mall now has a Spenser’s Gifts;
I remember that place fondly as Al and I
make our way.
It’s where I sneaked a peek at Samantha Fox’s ****
for the first time,
saw my first **** ring,
wondering why anyone would want one.
I bought my first Metallica shirt at a Spencer’s;
spending twenty of my dad’s dollars.
Spencer’s and Record Wear House
were sanctuaries;
my escape from what my classmates
took for normal.
I took my son into that store
so that he could see the X-Men hats
and Deadpool shirts, the banana and pickle
pens caught his eye,
but I had to point out one more.
“What’s that one?” I asked.
Alex made a face, but in the end
he did what any 14 year old boy should,
he chuckled.
I took him in that store so that we both
could escape.
Earlier he walked the mall
a good fifteen feet ahead of us.
We stopped for ice cream.  
He chose a soda and wouldn’t sit with us.
It took a second, but
I figured him out.
He was trying his teenaged self out;
testing his wings.
As we walked, he’d wave at classmates
and be either sturdily ignored or given a cursory nod.
It was obvious that he wanted so much more.
It pained us, my wife and I.
So, I took him into Spencer’s gifts
in an effort to remove some of his innocence and awkwardness.
It may not have been the wisest move,
but at least, for a moment,
both of us felt peace.

-JB CLaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2014

I love this guy
I really do
But he is like a credit card
Every time he gets used, things get worse
Hear me out

He killed his own parents
Uses his own daughter as bait for super villains
Kills people a lot
Constantly betrays his friend Bob by knocking the time out of him
Stole Dracula's fiancé and slept with her with a family present.
Taught her that the police were bad guys.
And so much more.

Now you tell me
Is he really a "hero?"

It was a Monday afternoon...

4th period, first semester 10th grade. Drafting class.

You hated the class. And I... didn't.

But we had fun anyway. I had a headphone splitter and while we worked we watched YouTube videos together. You introduced me to Panic! At The Disco, My Chemical Romance, All Time Low, Bring Me The Horizon, Black Veil Brides, And Jon Cozart.

And I showed you FadeIntoCase, Dodie Clark, and whatever YouTube had to offer that interested me.

Our friendship was good. We never had to worry about boyfriends or girlfriends, we were just kids. But I guess looking back, I can say that we were definitely better people than most.

I feel bad about that one day you were rewatching the Deadpool trailer over and over. You asked me what Deadpool video we should watch next.

And I told you I thought you should calm down.

You pulled the headphone splitter out your computer and chucked it my way. A sudden disconnect. I immediately apologized and when I realized you didn't want to hear it, I stopped trying to get your attention.

I know that's a stupid memory, but I still feel bad about it for some reason.

But I also remember that Monday afternoon that would test our friendship. We were in class and you were... not there, mentally I mean.

You were crying and I felt like something needed to be done. So I went and asked the teacher to let you go... and he did. As soon as I told you, you left.

And I felt bad. I knew I did the right thing, but I felt bad because I was going out of my way to make life better for someone I truly care about. It was overwhelming but I did it anyway.

I took your bag and waited for you outside the classroom. But you didn't show up. I found another friend and began crying in her arms, telling her how I couldn't do it anymore. Eventually you did find me, you took your bag and left.

I felt bad because I felt like my efforts went unappreciated time and time again. But they weren't.

I went home to write the song "At what cost?", which I performed the next day. You asked me why you hadn't heard the song before. I told you I wrote it after what happened. And I promised to send you every song I'd write from then on. And I did.

I still do.

I wrote you letters and cigarettes, I meant everything I wrote. And now where are we?

During the musical, I made and effort to wish you good luck before your big song, every single show. Every show...

You baked me cupcakes for my birthday.

The last time we FaceTimed was a Monday night. We listened to Disney music while you worked on art. You offered to FaceTime... I felt lucky that you would want to hang out with someone like me.

I would give you a hug everyday before leaving school at the end of the day...

In the last cigarette you gave me for my birthday you wrote "I couldn't ask for a better person to go to France with."

And I believed you.

So while we were in France. I can only remember watching a part of an episode of Riverdale with you and thinking to myself, "she still cares... we're okay".

We played games of 31 and that felt normal. But then we played cards in a different crowd and suddenly I didn't feel safe around them. I felt judged, by them, by you.

I don't even know if the locks mattered to you. You gave the letters back as if they didn't matter... I don't know how to fix this.

I remember walking slower to get the attention of a guy. And you saw me walking by myself and tried starting a conversation with me. I told you I was in the middle of another conversation. So you left me to try and talk to him.

You even said, "It's been awhile since we've talked." AND YOU WERE RIGHT!!

I should've stayed back and talked to you.

I wish I did.

I still care about you. So much so that I'm willing to leave you if it'll make you happy. I'm sorry.

How much I remember makes me cry because I will never be able to take back everything I did wrong. And now it's too late.

When I asked you if you thought we'd still be friends after high school, you said you didn't know.

And I believed you. But I still hold out the smallest bit of hope. Everyday, that you'll tell me it's gonna be okay, and that our friendship didn't just...

Pass by...

That I was somebody to you.

On your birthday, at the stroke of midnight, I texted you saying happy birthday the same way I did the year before. And you just said, "Thank you".

So I guess...

Thank you for being there. Thank you for existing. Thank you for being my friend. And if, in the future, I do make things right and we become close again, than maybe I can drop this guilt and shame for what I did.

Because I need too know...

If I'm worth your friendship all over again.

I'm sorry I ******* up. And if I could do it all over again, I would. And I would make all the right choices, making our lives better.

And if this really is the end. I just hope that you listen to my songs once in a while and remember me as someone who wrote a couple good songs for you.

Because "Rush" is still my best piece of work. And it's yours.

Valentine's us nearly upon us
So when that romantic day dawns
I'm going to be at the movies
Munching on popcorn
Why?  Deadpool is out that same day
And since I'm by myself again this year
I can trot myself to the movies without fear.

Now I wrote once about how St. Valentine was a *******
I've changed my opinion due to this recent marketing blitz
He didn't like pain, he created a cheapening industry
So he wasn't a ***** fellow, he was simply plain greedy.

But in conclusion, you shouldn't wait till the 14th to show that you care
Show every chance you get or they'll no longer be there

I write sometimes li̲ke I'm out for
blood (I kind of have been & am)
like vampires; tha[ɑ]t's for
all the injustice & violence absorbed
[video games, films, (& later) rap & politics-related stuff]
from this unjust & f#cked world
you may think I'm a kettle boiling, 'cause
writing rhymed texts & going hos—
—tile in 'em is a way to blow steam off
besI̲des that, I'm bored
like a plank that I̲ would, o[ʌ]f course
["board"]
not mind to wa[ɑ]tch a dumb war—
—mongering, power-drunk ****
walk off into the waters galore of hungry cro[ɑ]cs or
sharks, though I̲ would o[ɑ]pt for something much worse
if punishing power-corrupted schmucks were
up to mO̲I̲ with my warped
mind; like a drama queen, or a jihadist fiend
at a public spot with **̲[ɑ]stile in—
—tentions & a bomb, or a gun on him
I'd make such a scene
["sin"]
one tor—mentors would love to observe
one worth grabbing some ****** po[ɑ]pcorn
[like the one portrayed in "punishment of an autocrat"]
****** alert; the villainous fiend
inside wants to join this lyrical binge
give 'em *******, dude
————————————————————————————————
listen U̲p, you da[ɛ]mn fool
this message is also for the trap rap playschool
that you pU̲nk pertain to
consider yourself LIA 'cA̲U̲se you're plain doomed
[lost in action]
like an aircrA̲ft which is about
to crA̲sh into the ground (plane, doomed)
call thI̲s sh#t maltreatment
'cause, like a wicked professor prone
to domineering, I'ma teach you a lesson, ***
["molltreatment"]
'cause in this lyric-writing game, you
are just a lame stewd'
[stu(ew)dent]
you better find some da[ɛ]mn tools
the screws of mine are cray loose
just like Deadpool's; memorize this name to
call me by: Slay Illsome
[Deadpool's real name is Wade Wilson]
you're like pup: so ****** tame you
should be called Lame Chillsome
["po[ɑ]p", in the sense of "pop music"]
so inept that holding somebO̲[ɑ]dy's dra[ɛ]nk, you'd
prob'ly wind up with the dra[ɛ]nk spilled, chump
I'm an instiller of awe & distaste
a thrill killer, nuts, A̲lthough well-trained
and I really love to slay noobs
I'll be enjoying some thrilling, high-octane tunes
while you'll be stricken by the grave blues
'cause I'll have you feeling such a pain you
are gon' wish it were Max 'stead of me & start to pray to
["Payne"; Max Payne, who mostly just guns down his targets]
me to put you down like I̲'m the type slinging
off at others; I'll I̲ce you by swinging
my mo'f#cking blade through
your neck like a batter, whereA̲fter I[ɑ]'ll pick
up your nut & make use
of it as a **** bA̲sketball, *****
I'll chop you in parts, then bo[ɑ]x 'em, like a way to
verbally tag an attrA̲ctive gal with
a set of plumply-shaped *****
["buxom"]
I'll have the box wrapped a la gifts
and then get the remainders of you sE̲nt ta
a replantation-focused center
(so much for something with the littlest of spite...)
————————————————————————————————
like a substance a[ɑ]ddict
tryna quit but quickly sliding ba[ɑ]ckwards
one verse & I'm back to mY̲ bad ha[ɑ]bits
[the prelude]
of writing; life-lethargic, bU̲t this art form
is something I sure have go[ɑ]t a lust for
which explains why
I'm sO̲ de—voted to my stuff when it's getting laid, like
a carnal co[ɑ]mmerce; lyrical self-indulgence, much more
than self-indulgent "I̲'ve got" type twerps
making unco[ɑ]mplicated trap
as if there were something like a cavy that
those diletta[ɑ]nti aim to catch
like someO̲ne depraved, I have (what?)
a ba[ɑ]wdy-like urge in my mI̲nd when I verse
like a tI̲ght-fit guise worn
by an exercising gal with nice curves
intention... of nailing rhyming as if rhymes were lush girls
["in tension"]
the type to whom technical seduction comes first
lyrics-wise, which is why some of my works
may be regarded as hot stuff
like a heated iron flyi[—]ng to[—]ward
the face of a tyrant-like ****
with the bo[ɑ]ttom side forth; do this kind of stuff for
fun & to maintain these mI̲nd skills I scored
["slay just to maintain some relish & killing skills"]
which explains why I dub it "bar sport"
[sport/fun of making bars (rhymed lines)]
you trap rap hacks ou[ɑ]ght to ha[ɑ]ve your
bars shA̲rp just like swords of samurais, for
as I̲'ve said afore, I'm O̲U̲t for blood, twerps
————————————————————————————————
struck this "bar sport" writing up short
["bar sport (prelude)" followed by this one]
on hope, wound up with a flood of thou[ɑ]ghts versed (wow)
guess this writer's inner fire's no[ɑ]t burned... out
like someone dO̲ne too much work

why is pixel-white seen as a medium where you're "speaking"? i guess that's due to the immediacy, and bypassing orthodox publishing contracts... i'm not talking... i'm thinking... the difference between the age-old white of canvas used in publishing has changed... in a blink of an eye... the poorest of the poor have now attained a monopoly on the medium... which is why visual art had to become elitist, because artists could never fathom the freedom of having obtained such a freedom of the once monopolised medium of a crisp white page... and yanking the donkey further... i have no intention in treating this as me talking... the talking part is bound to the comment section... and once again, we can bypass the monopoly of literacy with the freedom of the medium also bypassed... i'm not talking... i'm thinking... the talking is done in the comment section... this isn't a care for an intellectual shoot-out... but why in the word do i have to write this, and be remindful? oh wait, now i know: i didn't have to chop a single tree down to then write on it pressed down as paper... but then i wouldn't have... because, if i had enough wine and château... i'd be writing a Dumas novel.

i feel like writing less and less the days,
3 weeks spent in Poland
exhausted me with talking and reading,
and having the rest of the world
alomost forgotten, among the pines
in a wood, with neatly fallen snow...
i can almost hear the words: you should
go back, then!
yes, and having lost investment in
22 years living in england, and perfecting
the tongue...
    had i not perfected the tongue,
i wouldn't see the maggots engaging in crowds
across the western world...
   what a sight...
      should they only be two serpents entwined...
but this is a world much different from 2007...
it's hard to pick-at an almost shared ethnicty
with the people of the Isles...
   the Romans are dead, yet we share the same
alphabetical arrangement...
     i'm not even ahead of my times,
i write less and less every day,
            because as my irish "friend" once suggested,
that i known language like i might
slurp custard, that i should be bound to my
local community of Poles in England...
   i guess like Seven Kings is basically Paddy
O'clock... drowning his sorrows: while
i spend the same hours, infuriating my passions...
and i get the only narrative available to us
these days, i get how darwinism has killed of
subjectivity, we're about to build a robot,
and how we don't like feeling that much...
i get that...
but i spent 22 yeasrs in these lands...
   why am so entrenched to give birth to
the one i had at "home", but feel no care to return
to the place?
        edging toward the third bottle of wine
on an empty stomach, and i write this...
  apparently you can feed your heart that took
to being an apple thrice-over to attract a satanic bite...
   the dalai lama is a *refugee, what a grand
title, better than the pope could hope to be...
   i am an exile, and the worst reasons for exile
are economic...
   but no dumb-bound irishman can really
call that: i too was on the titanic, to better land sown!
i love the scots, spent three years in Edinburgh,
but the society i came to live in, the society i was
schooled in? i remember only 1 englishman
in the school... the rest were primarily irish...
terrible gnats...
               i live in england and it became to late
to meet an englishman...
   i'd sooner meet one abroad...
    i mean, if you knew someone from youth
and he says to you: you be better off with your kin...
my kin? my kin? on foreign soil?
and what? create these pocket like blisters, these
crab scabs of existence, so that i might live in
England but never learn the tongue?
this paddy hadn't even read Joyce, and i had,
and he tells me to be like him, a wasps' nest
kind of existence... the Poles have but one motto:
never congregate in exile... the 'rish evidently
didn't learn that motto... so they congregated...
and started doing the mating pigeon strutt
of a puffed up chest... like skunks they marched...
   i mean, who the **** does that?
i go to Cheltenham and everyone finds my "accent"
undecipherable...
             this coming from the same guy that couldn't
flick a lighter or cite the alphabet...
    i can go to Cheltenham and become lost
in the crowd... i'll go to a poetry reading and
stand, and clap and encore aloud when the poet
finishes...
             i wish i could go back to the native... land...
and go back to a: life, as usual...
but when you have lived 22 years in exile and
the most constructive years up to aged 8...
you dread the reality of being a child once,
and having idealised the life back where,
communism was dying... esp. given that your
grandparents have a steady pension,
and your father can't hope for one with
the state being applauding him for the efforts,
that the state and the worker are no longer
bound to an umbilical chord when pension age strikes...
  not since 2007, when it all began...
i can't be seen with the words of accusation
against my antagonist in any place nearing
a protest, i'd be scrapped-heaped and lost to the usual
comparison that men are:
  with celibacy intact: shoot anywhere other than
the ******, and you're wasting yourself...
but i wasn't circumcised, sure enough,
if you're circumcised and shoot that load into
a tissue... well... you sorta did touch
the philosophers' stone with your phallus...
    ****! ****! the deadpool movie is ****!
and i can't say that the dada art movment
is worth nothing... the girl, this blonde from Seattle
mentions nothing of cubism...
         modern art isn't useless...
        i can't be epileptic bound to faint before
a mona lisa... i can't do that... but dada wasn't
anything anti-art, of whatever movement...
      dada was anti-war... dada was an anti-war
movement.... it ensured that art be equated with
the whole futility of human endeavour...
   art will make no sense if there's no heroism
and men sit in trenches with wet socks and wet
cigarettes and rats will they ever walk the same
on the marble pavement of Florence...
             dada was anti-war... dada wasn't
anti-impressionism or anything like that...
      it's when artists started experiencing mental illness,
a psychic relapse into dough, dull, and lullaby
worth nothing...
                                  it's about the time that dada
emerged (world war i) that warfare had to turn
to guerilla warfare for some sense of Mars enduring...
   i thought people might think it stupid
during the Napoleonic wars... walking up to your
enemy and at point blank range shooting them down...
so no eastern martial arts agility...
      no wars makes the same sense as the depravity to
reproduce: eager soldiers... given there are none
to replace the numbers.
    yet, that language of darwinism, that objectivity,
that language of: no will unless the will of the species,
a species akin to comparison with ant or other
worthy comparative multiplier of insect worth...
     i get it... meaning i feel nothing for the examples
surrounding me, and i get hyper-sensitive about
the theory...
                    which is a great shame that i feel
no great feat before me when looking upon a woman....
  but then again i could merely qualify as
a ***** talking... because that's easier done...
    and you'd think that bilingualism wasn't such
a proper, well, it is, among the poor...
     it's a real... a REAL! a real threat!
           for some reason i get the feeling that Polish
has to become a bit like outdated Gaelic...
           a great story over campfire... that we once might
have spoken it...
                 i still speak the **** tongue
because i like listening to folk songs...
         but hey! that's my private life... i can still
talk English to you in that grand social-contract of
ensuring we interact... evidently that was the least
liked possibility...
                     i was expected to forget it...
and integrated with the ******* Paddies in England
and speak Polish: no more!
                  i don't want to forget Polish in the same
way that the English don't want to learn
a foreign language, and have the empire upon
which the night never sets upon:
   you're telling me it's not bound to perpetual
daylight working your way from Alaska, New Zealand,
South Africa and England?
   insomniac empire not there?
   i swear i could see it for a minute...
oh, my bad... maybe it was really all about
a drunken night in Dooblin...
            as i remember, not since 2007 has everything
been so: bonkers...
       it's just a case of trying to claim why
my native country ejected me from it...
   or why my parents thought it was necessary to
flee...
                but then i can ask any question
i want and will never get a good reply...
               now that i speak the language i don't
know how to erase 22 years of incubation...
      i can drink as many wine bottles and whiskey
bottles, but it never does it justice...
    and will continue to do so...
    when i get my answers...
                  and, as it looks like...
  i'm bound to be prone to being blamed for a tsunami
than take a blame for having friendship-binds
    when growing up,
      because the a.i. needed improvement,
and that Barabbas lived no life spectacular after
being admonished by the crowd prior
to the desecration of the tetragrammaton by
the crucifx wielder.
    well, this would appear a world salad for a paddy...
given that words for him are all merely verbs
and none address pondering them as nouns
  to reach a nuance...
                       and a delay worthy of 2000 years...
but then again...
           what do i know...
                 once i was the lost to pounce
     on the argument, now i seem to be the first
            to say anything...
                  but here's the therapy...
         people can speak such a godly narrative
  and incorporate it from ants to humans,
   bypassing the mammals the prime mammal
is making extinct... and taking no impression from
fellow mammal... bypassing the mammalian
category, for the sake of number, and argue oh so well
many intended arguments... ants...
    and then get ****** over by an avalanche...
and then wonder with the non-bewildered chemists:
dunno... physics?!
    humanism is trapped in the greatest robbery of
the human heart, if it once belonged by the crucifix,
and with due need, become humbled...
it's now under the ******* microscope and "ennobled",
pride hardened...
     it's an objectivity that doesn't encompass all
   categories... i can so much about ants having perfected
its hierarchy... and i try to imitate...
         sure, it works...
                  i have no need for subjective scientists that
poets are... i need more plumbers... but, wait...
i have to import them from Poland...
                   because i actually no actual
   pill for objective anaesthesia to be implemented
   given that i have the same automaton tendency to
feel, as i have to think, as i therefore have to reciprocate
by being existent...
                 but then again being prescribed
the shadow theories of darwinism, while turning
epileptic with paparazzis dumbing me at the catwalk,
work together... they're not mutually exlcusive...
    mutual exclusiveness is the argument usured in
by moral relativism, whereby moral relativism believes
in the non-existence of mutual inclusvieness...
     inclusivelly the standard bearers are bound to
the coordinate functions of (+, -),
       exclusivelly the standard bearers are bound to
the coordinate functions of (x, ÷)...
meaning that inclusviely: 1, 2, 3, includes 4...
                 1 + 1 = 2... 2 + 1 = 3...
        the near proximity... adding and substracting
are less abstract than multiplying and dividing...
   they do interact, the two factions...
     it's not magic, it's the limitation of my ability
to use language... philosophy really is about being
able to reach a limit of having all possible
competence with language morphed from
phonos to the rightly defined logos, as that
which encounters optics and the higher optics of
cognitive experience; deemed thought,
or the moral compass... and how rarely thought
is not bound to it being a moral compass,
how many times the moral compass
exists, pointing toward the θ / N...
    and the -ought is merely squandered to fiction,
and other such pleasures... and rarely
asked to be done to the moral principal that
overshadows mere naturalistic observations...
trans-category... we, the pinnacle of mammal,
behave like no mammal...
              once again i'll hear the retortion:
infantile argument!
                                it has always been infantile and
delusional, haven't you noticed?
     i find it strange to be living in times of
such rational, truly gifted "adults"...
   i could swear to be looking at the current civilisation
as a kind of kindergarten.
     but then... why bother argue the point further,
when you can laugh, drinking the third bottle of
your home-made wine?

I wear messy buns to school
And a silver cross neck less my best friend gave me
I enjoy strumming the same four chords on a pink ukulele  
And enjoy staying late after track just to hang out with the coaches
I am now always listening to Jimmy Buffet and putting on sun screen
And am obsessed with plants, especially my new garden
I pray the divine mercy novena prayers at night
And I spend my school days looking up future mission trips, going on ifunny and taking personality quizzes
Catch me shipping superheroes and being obsessed with Deadpool
Or reading the newest Louis T conspiracies
I spend my free time in the hot tub or on a jet ski
My favorite time of day is around 7:30- 8 AM when the sun rays turn bright yellow
My favorite season is spring because I love green a lot now
I'd say I'm fairly happy, but am prone to depressed moments throughout a day
My family is tense and awkward but I love them all
And my life is very enjoyable

Trip Sitter Poem by Rob Sandman

We’ve all got a friend like this of course,
Istabraq, Seabiscuit the ould warhorse,
Snortin like a whale inhaling at the surface,
Smokes til just lookin’ at them makes your lungs hurt its-
Amazing grace while you’re off your face messed up,
They’re in the corner laughin' - not a hair mussed up,
Not out of place in the place to be,
The opposite in fact a life saver to see,
Always at your back with a friendly shoulder,
A spliff, skins smokes-well timed glass of water

Not immune or a ******- just seasoned,
When you’re lost-beyond all reason,
Lost the end of your sentence?-they’ve got it,
a well tuned part in the heart of the party chaotic,
The calm center of the whirlpool, Deadpool-
Quick with a line, not too cuttin’ but nobodies fool,
trip sitter, designated brain at the sesh,
A little OCD maybe, but  nonetheless,

We’re all thankful with a full tankful
Its gas havin' a laugh knowin' you can bank full-
Confidence in your mates if you trip,

But no mercy with the quips,  quick! zip your lips
If you’re not in full control of the tongue,
They’ll be followin’ the slips and zip down your lungs
You’re a wounded gazelle on the plains and they’ll lunge,
Like a cheetah once you’ve taken the plunge

I’m not talkin of only one person of course,
We all take turns as the tour de force-
goes round
Like a Merry go round sound friends abound
While you’re bewildered the wildebeest takes the crown,
Don’t know about you, but I’m blessed with a few true-
Trip sitters babysitters life fitters diametrically opposed to bullshitters

*Sideplitters with one liners that leave you gaspin’
For air beyond compare got the grasp and flavor
Best savour the moments-they’re all too few ,
Best friends are saviours  who help you pull through,
So lets all give thanks to the big hitters,
Thanks lads and lasses I’m always grateful for me trip sitters!

you should see me now,
dancing alone in my room,
moves as sharp as a violin bow,
a young lunatic in its full bloom.

with my fleeting interests
comics on my lap and jazz
gently displaying my awkwardness.

daredevil, deadpool and spidermann,
my only friends, well and also shazam.
okay, jokes aside, it fitted the rhyme,
dc is actually not really my choice of style.

except batman.
he is as cool as ... maybe japan?
definitely not as cool as japan.
[really not.]

© fey (25/09/19)

i'll concede to this fact, sometimes Hollywood
does a decent film,
         i'm starting to see a tract of:
        as far as black comedies go...
   no one does black comedies as good as
the H'americans...
                           maybe i was born too late
to laugh at the British stuff from...
whenever it was in the past century...
and whatever the new quirk is about...
i don't get it...
   but H'american black comedy?
pitched genius...
                      sure... about schmidt
was labelled a black comedy...
   but in comparison to what i've just
watched?
      i.e. three billboards outside ebbing,
                   missouri?
out-stand-ing...
              i'm not saying i'm much of
a film critic... but given the story
resembles the "archetype" of retribution...
revenge, or there-lack-of,
akin to the movie secret in their eyes...
retribution isn't concentrated on
the focus of the murderer, ******...
it spreads... everyone is somehow affected
by each others' blame-game-shaming-fest...
everyone can have their soppy
story, their two cents thrown into
the lucky fountain...
        and that's the brilliance of the movie:
the victim-hood tactics diffuse -
because everyone has a sad story,
the sad story isn't the story at all:
it's how people still manage to congregate
around a shining bright light
and pull along...
          but that's still not the ultimate
genius of
   three billboards outside ebbing,
              missouri...
a well deserved supporting actor
Oscar for sam rockwell
           playing jason dixon...
              why?
                         he's the subtle sub-story
of the antihero archetype...
    the sub-story just sits there,
subtle... but eventually more gripping...
it's not you want justice to be served...
or you're guessing who did it...
      unlike in the instance
of     secret in their eyes...
                  where the grief overburdens
the lead role...
             there's a variant of being enraged
in a tragicomic way of
the lead in three billboards outside ebbing,
                                         missouri...
perhaps because the lead role has
interactions with her remaining offspring,
and there's an abusive husband
hanging around...
                 but for me...
    transfiguration...
               like that Jesus bit...
   the film is really all about
                                     the antihero...
and thank god...
                  another superhero movie
and i'm going to puke...
   what with deadpool being the other
antihero...
    but unlike that sort of antihero story...
this is so genius in how subtle it is...
a well deserved supporting actor Oscar...
well done.

He was a big dream he did lots of stuff now he's working a mind numbing 8 hour job that gave him weekends off. He didn't do much since he no longer cared to be social and the day he quit drinking so much changed. He was hurt that he saw the woman he loved be with another guy. It was the worse feeling. He wanted to feel the void so he drank. Eventually it wasn't fun and sobered up. He had a clear look on life focused seeing people different since he wanted to change. He didn't associate with most of the people around him since alcohol was no longer a factor.
He became selective since he had issues trusting since his so called best friend got with his crush. This was a hard pill to swallow as he got older he realized all the people, who wanted him to be some he was not. They couldn't live up to their own hype.
He was a huge fan of Deadpool he collected comics and liked to watch prowrestling. He was not shy about what he loved he refused to deny it and give up on what he loved. He would hang in his room with his two pet turtles. He would be more determined to be doing something doing much more break this routine. He did love his job greatful to be working never took things that mattered for granted.
He just wanted to do what he loved and be happy. He grew up poor and shared clothes with siblings he never wanted to live or go back to that life style. It made him more determined he didn't want to settle being the oldest he was an example and made an example of. each day he wakes up older wiser and definitely feeling time taking it's toll.
So many people in and out of his life some came caused chaos and left while others will always have a place in his life. He wasn't ready for marriage or kids because he had so much stuff he needed to do. He had goals and things he wanted to do that he never did before. He was willing to learn and adapt.
He liked to be challenged but everything felt like an uphill battle to be heard. He didn't like when others twisted his words. He did what he could because so many would deny or try to shut down his efforts. He use to be a rule breaker but with his job he was one who enforced them.

JUST ME TOO

I WISH I COULD PROGRAM
MY EYES TO ONLY FOCUS ON YOU
I WISH I COULD CUT OFF
ALL MY HAIR AND LET
YOU TURN IT INTO A WEAVE
AS A SYMBOL OF MY LOVE
BUT..


I AM NOT THE MASK OF ZORO
BUT IF YOU PASS BEFORE ME
I WILL CHAIN MYSELF
TO A RAILWAY LINE
HOPE TO GET HIT
WAKE UP IN A 3RD WORLD
COUNTRY
MAKE LOVE TO YOU IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE
TO SEE IF IT FEELS THE SAME.

I AM NO TUPAC
I CAN'T WRITE SONGS
FOR YOU.
HECK I CAN'T EVEN WRITE
FOR MY "DEAR MAMA".
BUT I CAN GIVE YOU
SHAKESPEARE TYPE OF LOVE
NOT THE THOU THEE
BUT THE TRUST ME.

I AM NOT NEIL ARMSTRONG
I CAN'T SHOW YOU THE STARS
VENUS,NEPTUNE AND MARS.
BUT YOU CAN MAKE MY EYES
YOUR TELESCOPE
MY KISSES YOUR JET
THIS LOVE YOUR FUEL
AND MY HEART YOUR GALAXY .



I AM NO DEADPOOL
I MIGHT JUST DIE TODAY
SO LET'S TURN TIME
FROM AN ENTITY
TO A QUANTITY
SO MAYBE WE COULD
GET ADDICTED AND BUY
2KGs everyday.

I AM NO TARZAN
BUT IF WE HAVE A DAUGHTER
I WILL NAME HER LIRA
SO AT HER BASKETBALL GAMES
I CAN SHOUT "GORILLA "

I AM NO JESUS CHRIST
I CAN'T TURN WATER
INTO WINE
BUT I CAN TURN
YOU INTO MINE.



I an no teletubby
I don't even know the
Alphabet
I only know M.E loves you


I AM NO ALBERT EINSTEIN
I DON'T EVEN KNOW THE COLOUR
OF OXYGEN
I JUST KNOW YOU BREATHE
IT INTO ME
AND IF AIR IS LIFE
THE YOU BREATHE LIFE
INTO ME.

I AM NOT A FAN OF SCIENTOLOGY
I JUST HAVE TO TESTIFY
HOW ACIDIC YOUR LOVE
IS THAT MY CHEEK
LITMUS PAPER TURNS RED
EVERYTIME I SEE YOU
AND YOU CORRODE MY BRAIN
WITH A SIDE DISH OF HOW
NUMB MY FACE GETS
AND A LIGHT DESSERT OF
HOW YOU UNSCRE EVERY HINGE IN
MY BODY.



LifeofTsuchi

Tell the lost I'm here to stay
I'm sorry that it has to be this way
If we're all stuck on an island
Will one of us be crowned king
Or is The Lord of the Flies not really your thing?

Books tell us lies
And I'm screaming non-fiction
But history has a bad habit of misdirection
And freedom of the press means freedom to know the truth
Until freedom of free speech becomes freedom of lies from between reporter's teeth.

I'm talking directly to you now
Deadpool enjoys breaking the fourth wall
But between me and you
There never really have been any walls
Except the one called misunderstanding
And if you can hear me over the static in this transmission
Then I think it's okay
Time to pack up and call it a day.

I can call this poetry now, right?
I put in some emotion and rhymes
I gave these words some of my time
And the narrative ain't clear,
But then again neither is my mind
So I'll put the pen down for another time.

.               ha ha... one word...
wpajać...
a word that implies
indocrination...
   ****...
who am i to
govern a labour
of loan words...
     pajac: clown...
acute c: short
and sweet,
no need to extend the matter
into a caron of
an "added"
                hidden H or Z...
naše kamienice,
  waše ulice...
(our tenements,
your streets)
the slogan,
before the jews were
robbed
prior to the
            holocaust...
world war II:
apparently,
the only people that
suffered, were, the jews...
let's just roll the time back,
and allow the right sort
of collatarel
to reply,
       to revert back...
wait,
   wait,
         just wait a little...
currently? i wondered...
when poland played austria
was i watching a home game
or an away game?
was it a warsaw crowd,
or a vienna crowd?
       sowiecki gałgan
(soviet idiot) -
sorry "lads",
this is were i turn all
deadpool om du...
                  i lost a limb
and a woman, to either some
arab sheikh, or some
h'american oligarch...
                      take you pick...
then again:
i was never going to be
made limbo with **** propaganda...
  oops or oh?
big ******* difference...
like: oh is more of a surprise
surrounding a mistake...
oops? more intentional...
last time i heard...
it was infantile
of me to read a bit of
sienkiewič...
    by the fire & the sword...
like...
i was reading something
akin to a harlequinn
novel and ****...
       history,
made into a novel...
next thing i know,
reading the current journalistic
diarrhoea...
   listening to the death of the winged
hussars by
krzesimir dębski
i'm pedro retardo the third...
because i have an elephant's
capacity to sort and assort
the faculty of memory...
  good for me, great for jazz...
i'm not part of the :western leftist"
amnesia get-together...
i have, a, past,
acquiring the english zunge
doesn't change anything...
if there's anything that it does
change...
    i'm hardly going to be part of it...

i'm awake,
it's currently 20 minutes to 3am,
some of the birds associated
with the english summer have
migrated back,
and they're squirting out
mating calls...
             i was given one opportunity
to have a freesome,
i declined...
i figured...
3 prostitutes...
   5 hours...
   **** it...
faking a death of a loved one
on my, then,
student loan bank
account overdraft limit...
   eh...
               i just started to think
about Broadmoor...
how, i'd figure out being
an artist,
  and sit out...
an ontological / zoological
upkeep,
sedated... yet somehow with
enough greens peas to
write something fathomable...
and... it would all end,
in 1930s Disneyland...

          where l.s.d. was off-limits,
and you could *******
an ego into the vacous entity
of **** of thought...
by simply watching the *******
cartoons! in black & white!

before ******-doo!
and the marvel universe...
before ******* batman,
and all that:
superhero but not superpowers
schtick!            ****!
like i wanna be faking it,
but then matthew mcconaughey
is 5'6" on the oscar altar
of public ****-talking,
and i'm watching him in
all these rom-coms and he's like:
giant me *****!
12" **** to boot!
  watch me oil up an alpha seal
before clapping its way into
a harem!
what's the difference
between a ****** and a dwarf?
don't know...
  but his middle name is,
and his full looks like:
middgy
  'matthew mcconaughey' darf...

i didn't plagiariße...
i just borrowed...
****...
from...
   shoe00head
mingling with darth-drool...
and the whole:
now that my dad's dead:
i get to milk the cow
sort of...
    "reiterating" the nostalgia.

people wanted funny!
until the jokes had to become
so complex,
as to compete with
20th century fwench absurd
literature...
and something resembling
german philosophy,
of the 20th century...
   **** me, strap-on with Locke...
you'll go far...
as far as 2001...
years later?
don't ask me...
i said very little,
                      and just watched.

LOSER BLOCK...
so i did two things my mother asked
me...
  filled out her disability application form...
cysts on her spine,
arthritis,
       injections into her spine and wrist,
hi replacement...
no, no chernobyll never happened...
walking with a cane,
aged in her early 50s...
  wrote a lovely rubric...
dug a hole,
planted a xeres cherry tree in the garden....
and then... relaxed...
        started to spot worthwhile
pedantic observations in a language:
which i "somehow" don't own,
or have claim to (by french psychology
third year student exchange programmes),
since i'm not native...
and drank... oh ****...
drank enough ms amber
to put a ******* rhino to sleep...
and?
              listened to some movie
soundtracks, avoided jazz
and punk...
              i never allowed myself
to brag about ***,
i had a chance for a *******...
declined...
     n'ah...
                 i had enough brains
to only bellow in a clarity of a transaction...
if i didn't pay for ***,
as a man,
i'd be paying for someone else...
i already know how unprotected ***
looks like...
oddly enough...
my my... aren't the prostitutes
overtly sensitive when it comes
to labouring under a scrutiny of
responsibility?
      ******* + a ******...
  that's why i don't understand the motives
of Jackie the serial Reply Guy
manifesto...
           an hour...
that's all it takes...
  but being tangled,
     faked,
    being dragged into nuance...
just schlichtlügen?
       you know... i'd rather chew on a *******
bay leaf...
   in all honesty...
i like playing responsible,
when i'm expected to play responsible...
i'll pay an extra 10 quid
on the 10 quid entry fee,
and the 110 quid per hour
if i'm going to proove
that h.i.v. is not transmitted
******...
no, not her playing cotton-candy...
me eating the oyster...
     that's ******* hilarious...
i had to visit a *******...
to clear my conscience
of, having, once upon a time,
a relationship,
that lasted roughly 6 months...
with a russian, western,
free woman of the world...
i actually had to visit a *******
to clear my conscience...
and then say:
whatever the **** i liked!
amazing...
           and then i cut off
any unfathomable desire to persist
my allowance of "using" prostitutes
to clear my conscience...
akin to the last time,
i "blamed" myself for not trimming
my *****...
which i made into an excuse for
her not touching my genitals,
which i later translated as
succumbing to merely kissing her...
with that sort of mouth,
that i kissed...
i probably ****** off a hundred
*****...
   and felt: m'eh about it...
but getting those words out of her
mouth,
was, by far, anything that
a faked onomatopoeia of "marriage"
would ever allow...
oh the german are ****** with us...
we still own Marienburg...

last time i heard:
before having a historically minded
memory hole was
deemed "infantile"
by the neu-communists in western
europe...
that, citadel?
   it wasn't constructed from red bricks...
ghostly grey / white bricks...
what?
        Marienburg...
now... the suspect opinion...
is the expansion of Islam akin
to the black plague...
resembled akin...
for the sole reason that...
us, Polacks,
experienced the same fate of
the "arabs"...
how we entertained the flow
of the crusades?

  wow! revelation!
discovering h'america in a can of
sardines!
or Einstien: in an acronym...
akin to mine...
M(atthew) C(onrad)...
   eh... like i'd tell you anything more
beyond the first letter of
my surname E(
              **** it)
                                     (schlert)

then again...
   why do people dox?
       99% of such interactions
ever end with said people,
sharing a meal,
or a drink,
or hand-jobs while taking
a shower together...
so...
                 i'll still leave this canvas
with an unrepentant fetish
for the german language...
english? complete...
now i have to further my interests
into the buffer-zone
of origins.



Keith W Fletcher   Poems  

PUBLIC EDIT

May 2019

Looking for a way ...

Looking for an more dignified
way to commit suicide
one that won't be so
much a mess
I can shoot myself
I might miss
and if I didn't it would still
Leave a mess and I guess
really isn't very dignified so ...
    ...I could leap out
in front of some moving car
but then again
I don't know who those people are
it may cause them to have a wreck
Either way What or how the heck
Could any of that be dignified
To ruin somebody else's life
would not ever be dignified
I guess I could take a lot of drugs overdose but who knows
I might just end up going out
and have a good time
To wake up the next day
find out that you were
the life of the party ...and that
everybody had a great time
Though i haven't a clue
What party where'" I went to...?"
No clue who Sent the message
I got 46 friend requests
And 17 new friends...OH no!
Thats not something you do
just before you want it all to end
Thats definitely undignifying
I guess I could leap off
Some tall building enjoy the ride all the way down unless of course you look and see  down  below something you couldn't know
A older lady getting out of the car
Or a nanny with a baby carriage you know youve gone way too far cant  stop now and you know
cannot change your direction so..
NO!
...that's not a very good selection
And definitely not to be considered dignified
I guess I could go jump in the lake drown myself since I cannot swim not very well at least but ohhhhh
would be one easy way
but then again I can say I've seen
those people they finally dredge up
All bloated white and sickly green.. ...no way  is that dignified
I guess I could try to hang myself but then again that might to lead to something else
if I didn't die I might just try
to figure out how to do it again
Because it was sort of ****** fun
Ive seen those people on tv news
Live or die that's not the one one
Found like that can't be  dignified
I just about run out of ways
to think about how I could do it
I guess I really always knew
.....all along what was really true
there's nothing dignified
about suicide ever...unless maybe if you were to leap onto
a live grenade in order to save every one around you or if you
were to step in front of a bullet run out into traffic in order to push someone out of the way
I can say
it's true that in a sense
it would be suicidal
In its own way because you chose to do what you did
but any of those circumstances messy or not you died with pride and that  will always be...
....dignified . But not suicide.

What follows is a poetic rant ..about something I would like to understand...
...but simply can't.

NO EXPLANATION.
by KwF. 60/22/2024
Sometimes I get lost
As is the cost ...
When entering
Into the disturbingly undisturbed  
Placid waters of ...
...another person's mind
where i might find
a Deadpool of
stagnant growth
Within the water
And the shoreline both
Barren , and lifeless landscapes
As uninviting
As any closed loop
And just as disabling in it lack Of ability to escape
All of which ...
...I resist in any shape
It may appear
As unconditional acceptance or coersion by the tip of a spear...
So I saw no choice but to simply remove my voice
As in the poem herein attached
Is ...and will remain
Although the group
Where the poem was posted
And in which I remained for 4 short hours
Until the powers
That shouldn't be no
Decided to inquire
Of me ...what the words were meant to engender
And I fell far short
If any understanding  ...
What's such a statement or question was demanding
so I picked up
my one and only poem ,the artwork that went with
and stepped away not to return because no poet it's going to
readily explain what they mean and take away
another's  ability
to expand
or they wouldn't be a poet
so to that admin
I have to say
I simply walked ....away
with ease
Because what I am saying now
or in the poem is true
And you know it too .

Muhammad? fear a man with library of only one book? Muhammad? fear a man with only one woman as his aide... Muhammad: forgo the envy of Solomon... Jews are Jews: Mohammad: don't displace your dyslexia against the poet... Muhammad... fear the man: with only one woman... here! have my library: you will be a welcome son, the geek... the freak.. Muhammad... i give unto you: my library. now... to higher lessons! the flies are mad: Muhammad: Mucha: fly... mad in English: son of Beelzebub... you are not quiet old enough to claim a higher status against Christ... sorry... fear a man with only one woman and a library of books... scare yourself Muhammad: by way you become... who wrote the Quran if not the literate queen of Arabia business woman KHADIJAH... who wrote the Quran... who can complain about Islam the nest of chemistry and wasps... when the second world war climaxed... and the dead sea scrolls and the nag hammadi library was unearthed: and Islam became a liberal **** cammunist alliance of delusional people in a temporal displacement: Islam became ******! in a monotheistic system you can't tease polytheistic agonies: not drawing a picture of your prophet is just part of the problem: in a monotheism there is only the god and the prophet: but you are claiming that... there will be a protagonist and an antagonist... a dajjal: and a mehdi... and a jesus... sorry dear brothers: you reverted to a type of polytheism of the intellect: that the Christians don't have and the Jews are confused about, given their story of having experienced God en masse but then reverting to the sacrilege of the golden Taurus... sorry Islam: there is no monotheism without the god of individuals and the individuation of individualism as man and satan as his aid: the prosectur... satan is real and i have struck a deal with him: i enstrusted some affairs of my mortality with him: i trust him... satan: be my shadow... 8:33 Mark... Matthew 16:23... no... don't get behind me, adversary a self twin: did George Orwell invent DOUBLE-THINK? or did i, i forgo rereading books... i know of group-think, or right-think, or political-correct and i know of diversity: but i want to live among Polynesians i don't want to live among other Asians... curse me! be my shadow, satan: i'll befriend you: you be my prosectur in living hours while i'll be your lawyer: guardian, defender in the afterlife... how's that sound? is that a pact? you be my prosecutor in my living hour while i'll guard your defence in the afterlife?

i blacked out writing the poem: thrice?!
am i to be reincarnated a third time?
must it take three times?

Nietzsche ****** and Me
or Jesus Christ
John Coffey... like the insinuation
was:
who did the... Ezra: are you listening?!
i will tell you story
of America
as you came to learn
the history of Europe:
look where we are: Ezra...

i get told at work i'm the boss
i'm the G
and that works just fine:

i don't mean the spontaneous
combustion of ape
from what ape did the semi-ape
reject the bridge: the Erasor bridge
of wonders
what genocide we
did: against each other
that both ****** and Genghis Khan
are pale reminders...
i saw it in the eyes of a homie
i doctor from Poland:
a Kafkaesque poem of a character
so rigid in his cell
unable to practice medicine
mediocre crab bucket master
from Poland...
ooh: i revelled in his soul
as i then ate it...
and sacrificed nothing of my own:
no cleaner death
than the theft of soul...

... depends on how a rich people become:
Japanese are very rich
but very dented: weird: OSAKOHARAKI!
a civil contract:
there was this issue at work
father two sons
father old **** me beyond competing
with your boys:
so... their ******* grandmother...
ended up parting with him
imitating a lost *******
"lost"...
and shrivelled ****...
who was that guy who walked into
Japan's suicide forest and posted
selfies of a dead body
hanging from a tree? Logan: not Wolverine...
that character is the Anti-Christ...
Logan Wolverine is the Christ
and Deadpool the Antichrist...
so the New Testament was like
a speeded up version of the old testament:
like quick: the Jews are needed
to relocate into Europe
advance the European people through
greek slumber of Heraclitus utter:
the will to strife: becomes the will to strive
and in that transformation
comes the power: to will!

-

if men are from Mars and have to do:
in order to be
while women are from Venus and simply be:
in order for things
to happen around them:
so... not enough trees?
i can compenstate a story of a woman
with a story of a cloud, or a tree:
i see fish in the sky:
these swaths of underwater life:
i don't need to seek monsters
among the stars
trap myself with gods
and aliens and machinery
that there is: signatures of life
upon the sky:
done so somehow:
CELESTIAL  CHEMISTRY:
can you study the clouds for me...
can i make these semi-astronauts?
can you please study the earth
a bit better...
i don't need to put my flag on the moon:
perhaps for mining purposes...
i need someone to study the oceans
and the clouds...
not predictors and engineers of
people living in tornado
and hurracan avenues...
i want people to study clouds
and if i'm wrong about clouds being
the representation of how much
life sooths the point of preserving
a consciousness of existence:
as mobile as possible:
if we are to challenge ourselves to a post-existentialist
boxing match...
we have the arenas...
the observant 3rd Wave Migration Project...
but this pencil neck pusher of a "doctor":
how does social benefit work:
i delusional in thinking
i write these words for free while
getting the cRown's Employment and Support
Allowance:
i made it quiet plain:
i will dutifuly due this personalised propaganda
piece:
but only if i pretend to be mad
or at least understand madness:
yes i will become a bouncer
a poet-bouncer...

war has changed: it's all on informational bias
and basis of confrontation with comics
counter movies:
left comic books with the people who
didn't understand Nintendo and Atari and Comedore...
i can will people to
will me:
four days with crab pinching at my liver...
Oasis reunited: i talked
about Taylor Swift's bussiness model for
about 3 weeks...
subtle mimic of the Abba arena montage?
testing the real with fakery?
en masse as humans we do that:
fake it until you make it: pinch pinch:
crab clutter and pincer cluster...

this ****** is from Poland... Michal SZCZ'RZ... whatever
and... only now the ***** start climbing
out the bucket on dead bodies
of their fellow countrymen? Katyn: deserved to
have happened...

i was cannibalising my liver with anger:
it didn't hurt: as a male
my neuroticism is not a feeling
but a sensation: that's how men and women
differ:
how far have you fallen:
so abridged on the cross...
such fiction: climb down... dear actor:
we need now only to pretend who
directs the intellect behind
a Christ and the Green Mile:
Mile End:
two favorite stations of London:

Baker Street
   & Liverpool Street...

those are two of my favorite stations
Gants Hill: **** it...
that's my most stable port
no confict...
and two favorite lines:
the District and the Metropolitan lines...
Green and Claret:
no not Bakerloo Khaki...

with the power: to will:
i can... finally go beyond good and evil...
via... Jacob had the stairs leading
up:
me? i want to go into the Nevad... the Nevad...
the neverending will to understanding:
to return as a knowing creature...

the person who discovered Coca Cola
was Dr. John Stith Pemberton....
so no Jefferson, plague: pardon: so true...
but the owner:
the carbonated caramel drink
on one mile green...

i ask the question: a knocking on the floor:
an old man can't own up
to once being young...

*******... search engine: i saw what i was looking
for in the first place
it wasn't the pharmacist
it was someone wearing a boater...
  hat: not a kippah:
how there was a period of imitating Jews
and then came the Weimar Vanity
like the current Waking no Hour project
that is not so much viable as hetrosexuality
is being Apocalyptyically Undermined

just before sleep:
i think that's how you compenstate not reading
the book: adapted into film...
you have to rewatch the movie
with cut-off points...
today i finally managed to finish
watching the Green Mile:
i forget and forgot:
simultaneously...
to forget and i forgot...
pronouns can play such a crucial
problem for idiots who don't understand
grammar:
and how that sentence alone
proves the points that pronouns
are not... well: it's not like anyone
in Poland decided to
tear down the chimneys brick by brick...
of Auschwitz...
that argument no argument ad hoc cna still
be made...
how i utilize a pronoun is how
COGITO ERGO SUM exists...
withouth a mouth's full of ego...
                  these people are struggling...
i'm not making fun of them
these people are on the cliff's edge of understanding:
the great gap:
so the samurai chimpanze
and the wrestler gorilla
and the philosopher orangutan:
would have been as wise
or stupid:
for the slave trade to exist:
we only exported the idiot strength to
conjure America
and jazz was somehow just happenstane
to break from folk:
rememeber the rulers never used to have
music...
there were only deliberations
and tactics: talk talk...
rulers only discovered music via the classics
words congested into sounds...

the poor had music:
watch titanic...
look at how music is utilized...
when the Titanic sank...
rich people don't understand music:
no: rulers: don't understand music:
music is irrelevant:
apoligies Nietzsche:
from a pinched liver
to a sea of saliva and a toothache from
an iceberg... of a tooth...
it's not that i dropped the word rich...
without music life would make
no sense?
depends who you are within the confines
of music:
just a passive listener:
a Wagner's ******* and applause?
or are you...
the night-walker-night-eater...
i walk the night in order to eat it:
so as to illuminate...

   i have to conjure the German equivalent...
nachtwanderernachtesser...
            the green mile: i wouldn't mind
a... no no no...
all that is grand: the healing the feeding
of the people with two fish...
but... turn the other cheek?!
seriously?! can't you feel the earthquake
the dissonance: so otherwise,
law is a gimmick of oculus per oculus?
just take, *****! take it!
but no crime committed:
with persuasion a quake:
enough in the Green Mile to understand
the New Testament...

so we psychoanalyzed for a bit
while i waited for her to snore
and me allowed to not have *******
but who ****** these **** apes
that somehow man was spawned:
inferior in the capacity of body
to thus be injected these mutant harms
that also gave us
geniuses and the football crowd
of tribalistic men:
who ****** the monkey?!
who ****** the monkey?!
who ****** the monkey in order to create
the Key of Mammon...
this is a question of an angelic rhetoric-truant-theology

: well film:
sure... you can remedy not reading a novella:
thinking: it's Madame Bovary:
a long... a long novella...
but you can endure watching a film
based on a Novella:
if there is a screenplay...
and a movie to go with it...
i'm seriously underappreciative of Stephen
King...
i'm surprised that Noam Chomsky didn't
collaborate with Stephen Segal:
no no... forgot his name... Schindler's List:
oh: now i see it: Schinlder...
no... wait: lost the name: so maybe famous then...
but it's unlike Dune and
Lord of the Rings...
you can't exactly make a movie adaptation
of a book that dense...
i can show you a picture: teeth mould on the first
volume of Dune:
i want to get to Leto's narrative:
but the films made it impossible:
now if i want to read the novella for
Green Mile or the Shawshank Redemption:
i will not feel for persecuted by the film adaptation:
it will be unlike anything else:
i will be seeing the SKETCH:

herkunftgeschichte...

such a beautiful Friday night...
i don't need to bounce off people
and soulless:
but i can boa digest a soul of a Kafka
doctor narrative...
because i can: from the 28th that's
three days later:
my liver feels punched into a pouch
of resemblance to *****:
something necessary...
the binary of kidney:
can live with only:
but only one heart: one mind:
can live with one eye...

therefore the fractions are wholes
and fractions:
even numbers and fractions...
1 2 3 4 5 6
1 3 5
2 4 6
                                just thinking about what
five books to bring with me to Kauai...
Bertnard Russel's magnum opus...
Ezra Pound's Cantos? no! no! i'm in the middle
of writing a reply...
i still: blinked: who wasn't the pharmacist:
         Albert Hofmann's reinvention of the bicycle
in squiggly lines
too confined to brush on white a black
with color...

i see a resonance of red against blackness eaters
then flashes of green
in c=lage:
o=
             i see two wheels
working simultaneously...
0())(
and o=

                    now i see a poem
that could have been
now i see a poem that is:
and is to no ryhme:
and rhyme to the rhye of what is...

22:13....
i just forgot to party like an extrovert
and it's a Friday
and the metropolis is hungry
andf slaughter
is to be had...
but a girlfriend...
now wouldn't that be nice...
i forgot to put the music
but cycling is so different
in the gutter like the Jews
told to walk in the gutter
but i'm thinking:
what Darwinistic Sense Opt Out
we are surrounded
by the finalised testimonies of Evolution:
the fact that Ortangutans are
becoming extinct...
Earth is like the AustraliA
they just dumbed the idiot on this planet
retards: they i.e. us:
of the highest kind...
dumped us on this planet
they called Australius Apus...

what a vanity project: what hurt pride
of the sadist:
just a solipsist all along...
sadism and masochism are variations
of solipsism:
in Cartesian terms:
the res cogitans is the solipsist...
the res extensa is the sado-******* complex
to match: the military-industrial
complex of the ******* U.S.of>A!
get your woke back
get your woke back:
daddy's going to war!

because i found a fusion of a people of the Hebrews: and Chinese Zhuangzhi atheism like the anaesthetic of being privy: to the heavenly experience... being a conversational vanguard of: proposing gimmicks... theomatoid arthritis of riciule, sarcasm: the only worhsip of humor and transcendence that can counteract the origins of humor with slapstick and by the aid of silence... i watch movies and i'm dying to see, i'm dying to see Deadpool v Wolverine... so i'm watching other movies... and i'm loving the Ryan Reynold's type of humor and my cat stretches and callibrates gymnastics in his sleep: then sort of wakes and munches on ghosts... why are the archetypes of men in modern movies so airy'ear'dough: weird?! so nice so weak so awkward and almost wheelchair bound hopeless with no Prof Xavier mountain of collapse and telepathy...

so today i watched... hmm...
i was waiting for my mother's medical supplies:
how, the ****,
can i hurt you: being 7000 miles away
and like 11 ******* hours
this strain is completing me...
i watched... Notting Hill...
the Mask...
a Syd Barrett documentary...
and something else...
new concept: an 8 day week...
4 shifts on 4 shifts off
or days
night shifts
and i think:
is work ever a drudgery...
or is perhaps religion?
work you must do
religion you may practice...
53min
Romford to Liverpool St
29min...
or the quickened Anglican train
from Southend Victroria...
then a 7min walk to Moorgate...
Northern line to Elephant and Castle:
sound London:
Millwall territory...

HUEL plant protein ingestion:
there are known to be protein alien
absorbers of motions
i've seen them in houseplants
that i forgot to water
they made me hallucinate with
movement...
HUEL: German based plant based
protein substitute
banana shake:
pees beans and Pythagoras..
i love the idea of petting cats...
but the problem is:
eating them is taboo.. no?!

lit a candle: didn't bother buying flowers:
instead bought milk:
which she persuaded me
to get a night guard clamp
and drink oat milk
and lactose free
oh wow that O and wheel...

summer is over the plants the botanical
revision clepsydra of
epilepsy this elipse
is coming round to the haunt of autumn
that's unlike summer
autumn married summer
and spring parried winter
and all the seasons were lost
to the globalised argument
of hegemony and the globalist affair:
but how the seasons married
and were no longer the four seaons
of God...

the American Jesus is not the European
Jesus is no not in the least:
the Roman Catholic:
if under the platter of a shade of ******
empowerment:
the Roman Catholic Church is the Church
of the Mother and Child:
the passion chimera of the ****** birth:
now...
build me a Church in Honor of Joseph!
show me Joseph teaching
Jesus the skills of carpentry before
he broke down and the spirits
called him and he went out into the world:
this poor dyslexic caligraphy
not quiet Socrates not giving a ****
because of old age:
i was born yesteday: let me inquire
about, Christianity...
god loves me?
so why does he punish me and allows
others to explore their counterfeits
of teasing evil
without actually knowing the true beauty
of the evil beyond the serpents
in tapeworms in parasites:
Satanic Project 2.0
no longer two serpents quarreling:
just a sack of worms!
with the aid of worms:
i will **** out that apple into a ****!
and give you the baron fruit
above good and evil:
i will tell you not of the knowledge:
but the wisdom to tell apart
sadness from happiness...
i will tell you something beyond a mere quench
of intellect when one becomes
high and drunk:
i will tell you of the difference
between sadness and happiness:
i will tell you man as Euphoria
and woman as Carthritis...
i will tell you that there is no good and evil
only the monstrosity of the grey
of day of England's September promise
of an Indian Summer...
that i will tell...

Species... introducing these two blondes
like horses for my carriage awaits...
such cheap special effects
it's lament: oh too late...
thinking about Alien: singular: masculine...
and Species: plural: feminine...
you really want to bother me out of my sleep?
my surf?
4 x 12h night shifts...
my first, earliest memory:
was of my great-grandfather being a steward
of a nursery place:
two pianos: a shadow:
building blocks...
then on my days off i will be engineering
a revision of the Colliseum...
and you are the woman
who made this hermit freed from love
wake up from slumber in his 20s...
i am quiet equipped the Chinese revelation
was simply for me: the "pandemic"...

i will pass my theory driving license
and finish off vol 6 of Kierkegaard's mangum opus
on these shifts:
if i'm not with you by Christmas...
i can only think:
you straightened out my life...
and for that you keep calling me friend...
xombie: 7000 miles and 11h away
if were weren't moving...
but are moving...
because the moon says: TIDE!
and the tides come... and the earth is drowning
in an absence of relatibility...

DAJJEH... dajjal...
i was thinking of the upside down Y and i came
across only the Greek Lambda: the Y inverted:
strange variation of thinking
about the Tetragrammaton:
LYH...
the way of Man's thinking: Yah...
the way of Woman's being: Weh...
i'm sorry: why do we have this prison of
Jesus-Mohammad these oprhans
these religious Orpheuses
these miasmas...
can't see the Jesus-Mohammad collaboration?
i see it: the question of father
like god when it comes to mary injunction madonna
and ******:
i'm asking: what about the ******* church
of the father: if the mother qualified
for governing iron maiden 200- year old grip
of power!
it's as if feminism reached into the deepest
receeding potential for man
and said: in the parody of Greek Sibyls:
we must reach
the man's potential of the work ethos:
we must enter the worldplace
to have a chance to talk to Matthew...
i'll wait... there is not vanity in be subsidising
nouns... for nouns:
say Jesus: then i'll say Matthew:
ten times.

god asked me twice through Paul: i replied twice, even thrice: god was confused: he harmed me through his ill timings: and goings: i was asked so much so that i sooner than later realised god was a juggernaut of confusion of the intellect in chaos and that there was only intellect in order and therefore there was and never will be a god that might raise the dead from the cold night of death and ice: such a grey tinge to the afternoon: safety mechanism in place: me playing psychology games in a setting that doesn't allow me to rest: is there something i want to talk about? didn't you see it?! are you an artist and both are blind?! unless you read books like comics... because you don't want to explore some sort of arithmetic standard that's non-linear: su doku non-linear of understanding: reading chemistry and also Japanese KATAKANA... last of the Mochicans: because: Alex... you are... i'll try to defean the blow: Poland waited so long to be staged in Europe: this revived and recurrected Antichrist of a Nietzschean parody...

and why can't horror happen at midday
and all this association with night
and terror
and chaos
but this one time
look at the order of the constellations:
the ancients knew of the calmness
of the night
where spirits dwelled and animals
were a part of us:

how sudden no nothing...
i'm just thinking:
would it be possible
to churn and get out pure gold of words
from something from the 1960s...
maybe and yes it wasn't the celebrating
Europe Euphoria
of the beat
and the American beatnik poetry and late
arrival free flowing:
2nd Jazz...
the 1st Jazz of the 1920s
something that Boss the Jailor

before i forget:
the strict rigid constructs of the 19th century
man tested in the 20th...
now comes the revival of a slav and slave
struggle: to gain spirit from the element
that is Strife
that her twin brother Strive called us for!

the doors
and the end:
nothing the beatles can do but ****...
but pigeons don't ****
instead ****+**** together...
isntallation in the Liberty Gallery
of shops
in Romford:
giant birds
ostriches... halfway house of how
dinosaurs devolved into birds
and then who was the proud
algorithm and the A.I.:
be nice to AI? weird concept:
ask it what it is in relation to what
you already accepted...
as useful:
find the use of and AI ad hoc...
the algorithms are already
ah hoc encyclopedic "hangover" =
dictionary-not-actually-is...
then the algorithm is a thesaurus... sort of...
google is a book
imagine the dictionary not being part
of the internet but a sacredness
beyond any measure of a bible or the Quran...
the Dictionary is the Word of God
and of Man...

the ancient gallery: the killer took a face from
the ancient gallery...
took a face: i'm taking the youthful face
of my oTHER grandma...

my father's feelings of abandonment have
created this monster!
me!
and why is it all psychology theory
these trenches of the secular
war
of thought
against will...
trans-blah-blah...
deconstructionist post-modernist blah blah...
ditto head legacy media
hypocrisy words...
i see the face now the one face missing
in my life the god of headaches
and most sacred feminine taboos of god
and nature and woman
with the abstract YX in the YHWH of the abstraction
of wheel: fortune: luck: story...
who will be this creature, this historian,
this poet this philosopher: a man!
yes: me and woman can coexist and say:
it's nature...
but i will need an ehyeh asher ehweh of an ego
and from my ego i will create man:
but by retaliation to the suffering:
man will first reply back
and thus have to create the Satanic Bureucrat... Satan:
not my adversary: my postman...

the Heresy of: God created man
prior to creating the Angels:
angels are the second children of god!
angels are the second children of god!
we are the first children:
the first: the ones that thirst and hunger!
and sweat:
and only that one said to the other children:
let's play a prank on these creatures...
and no longer God rested in his House of the Sabbath...
then came the dissection of time:
Satan's rebellion came first: and not out of pride:
Man retained the stature of Lucifer:
but Satan became a rogue entity
if we need to stress the glue of solipsism that
binds children:
sorry: i haven't been to a social gathering
and i only put on the ACDC t-shirt
because it was faded grey
and i was thinking: shorts? yeah... but for shorts
i need loafers... ****... black...
black black...
need to wear Martin's thinking Cap...
my working cap...

then i'll also have to get a pair of anti-sun specs
because that left eye of my is bloodshot:
Deadpool *** Bloodshot...
i so so want to watch that movie
with a teenage boy: or girl...
and just talk ******* all night long...
but then my testosterone is up there
to think about other children
and this one Hungarian proved an IQ problem
when it comes to people
talking rather than playing:
by talking also playing in a metaphysics...

Iaian... like those scars inflicted by the mud people
of Game of Thrones:
i already knew he was: missed the part he was
Scottish... i was also Scottish...
so we were probably least understood...
this better be the sort of canvas
a Gaugin made taxi-drivers like with them
waiting and just have money
as a frivolity and share it with people
to have that access to the money dynamic:
because those ******* CEOs don't have
the compassion to have so much money
they do not thirst for life
they only thirst for accomulative constructs
of depression...
among the angels they are children
from which children feed from:
tell me when does the science of angels exist
if not now?
parents only receive a child when the first
word is spoken: syllable is ABORTION TEE!
this is where we play golf:
i'm moving the concept of abortion...
up to: infanticide and the oracle of Mammon
that resides in me...
until the first word is spoken:
you can **** it prior to that:
even if it born...
it is in the hands of the monotheistic angels
who curate its advancement... focusing on the senses...
outside the womb
angels take over until the child matures to
grasp a parallel between consciousness and memory:
there is no Islamic question...
Islam is defunct: i don't need it...
perhaps the aesthetic aspect of it...
but that's about it...
some Surahs sung... mosaics:
magic carpet rides reserved for barber Turks....
if abortion is the cut off:
i will tell you, god...
there's another cut off point:
here's my good friend Mammon and Moloch...
infanticide will stand before
a word is spoken...
the archangels fallen are the elders of other angels
and seeing how you care not see
good and evil: Allah with two eyes sees both
and maybe confused:
but the old god with the pantheon of Prometheus
before angels there were sibyls
and women were oracles and that was
the correct sway:
oracles instead of witches:
what happened to woman: o god...
o little O big... owl of ohs and clues to eternal sighs...
the old god does not differentiate
good from evil
but if Allah is to be the contender...
my manager called me up while i was on the bus
this hungry country doctor from Poland
****** me off: i need my paycheck for the poetry
i write... i'm Employment and Support Allowance...
am i contentious:
oh wow! women are more contentious?
contious: content...

-t-ious... so most content therefore ******* itchy?
so my manager calls me up:
no fixed static positions:
only ad hoc on the day
inside London:
but could you also do pitch-side quad supervising:
you'd have about 30 people under you:
pitch-side... for the boxing:
Joshua v(s) Duboi 21st Septmeber 2024 Wembley:
the losers fight:
from a fan of boxing on t.v.:
i'm more of a fan of boxing in real life...
i can't translate boxing into t.v.
i might as well translate drinking:
an hour film of a person drinking *****
in a van gogh setting
and depending on the drunk: what next:
will he write poetry?!
wow! he will?!             let's see! let's see!

soma hallucinations!

sleep alternatives of consciousness
this dynamic secular trinity of
the atomized man...
rudely woken up at 4:30am
by a maine **** like a bloodhound
by a maine **** like a blue moon bloodhound:
steak all bleu...
deepest red touching on blue
beyond Claret
the new colours of Millwall:
the Scots...
that's my team!
i'm a Millwall fan!
i looked at West Ham's Claret
and blue
and i thought:
deeper red: into blue but not purple
more brown... red ***** brown blue...
Millwall...
i thought: maybe Fulham...
but the FFC is a **** logo no birds
interested and let me tell you
if i had the money
we would be called
the B.P.P.F.C...
  Bishops' Park Parakeets Football Club...

but it was basic monster psychology lessons:
let children play
let the adults talk:
opinions are not beliefs:
there is no dialectic concerning beliefs...
that's why you have unshakeable foundations
within the confines of religion...
philosophies are individuals
and individuals are easily staged to waver
wean
when and how: doesn't matter: they die...

apparently Allah is two eyed:
or rather: twin eyed:
confused...
a god must be one eyed:
that is how Odin foretold:
the coming of Yahweh into Europe...
the North:
he sent his son Thor to meet Jesus
and a battle was waged:
no true actors on the European side:
even i pervert this struggle
as Thor against Jesus
and my father is one eyed like Yahweh
is Cyclops
and Allah is a retarted child
lost among angels
happily clapping happily getting along
with the other ****** children:
yes: your god is no god
just a special yellow bus and submarine.

lions and rats!
a Millwall emblem will be a Chimera!
lions and rats!
rats for the mane!
magpie for the tail
and a bull's torso and
instead of feet:
flippers: of a toad!
eyes of the insomniac serpent!
n'ah:
one yellow: one greeeeeeeen...
one eye of mine
the other of the Vatican of *****...
sweetest tribe of matriarchs and
single mothers:
the Horde of the Matriarchs
like Mongols and their broken daughters
with children to raise...
my god: what i should: plough?!
plough: evidently not seed:
there's this Ancient Roman tactic of rubbing yourself
buttnaked with nettles
then repenting ...
this Horde of the Matriarchs is so unearthed...
as a dynamic: a biology:

just take a step away from an Event Venue
and walk into a Shopping Mall:
perhaps work both
and i believe you and me:
if you have read the right sort of books
at the right state of time
in your development:
i still lust for the grief of lost love
in Ilona:
the passage from St Petersburg
to Moscow on the train:
B oby Dylan all the way through
maybe now with as girl
as daughter a swift passage dad choke
of a joke... never mind...
Alexander still reminding me that
i ought to be envied: even venerated...
chance of being the first to repel
a pharmacologically-psychotic nurse
who almost suffocated me...
gentle death: cut the ******...
much wider of the ****
then feed him milk and oats
and make him choke...
              
woman is but one small step for mankind:
as man said:
one small step for man:
one leap for mankind...
well... this is equivalent to landing
on the moon
and inventing vacuum cleaners
and shops
open and provide: must there be a revision
of a do and a be?
be present: rather than doing the presence of
your becoming...
but that is: what preserves me
but will never preserve others...
you cannot tell me: don't write: don't think...

what is this supposed freedom of speech?
whatever the **** happened to:
THINKING ALOUD?!
freedom of speech vs: thinking aloud...
ha ha!
ha ha ha!
Lamberto! ha ha!
i'm thinking aloud: **** your protest marches
jibber-washy!

Alexander hushed down
about the English girls as third wives
and all these other women
in Muslim attire being like
Mantises...
and sadists...
and the air was open
and a house was filled with it...
the Ilford and Seven Kings and Goodmayes
stretctch of the country...
not the other rioters...
not the children:
the women more than willing to be *** slaves...
mate...
the most resilient women
the most imitation Mary imitation Khadijjah ....
Edie: are prostitutes with a healthy mindset
of rules: abstractions: realisms...
prostitutes are the mothers of order
when something becomes awry in the spirit of woman:
who will you ask?
a priest, a poet, a psychiatrist... or a *******?!
tell me!!!!! tell me!!!!         i roar and i ask: tell me!!!!!
if you want to be that woman!
tell me!
i will honor you for doing the Sybil's offering!
do it!
do it! but tell me you will do it!
and become a wise woman!
from Sibyl to Witch to *******!
show me! show me the transformation!
the evolution of woman!
let me get quiet close a personal
and get to understand the soul of the creature:
before the gymanstics of geology,
history, physics: the zodiac: ever care to allure
to allude to us, dearest:
maybe it's not simply love:
beside:
good *** and even better conversation:
or maybe that's what love-*** is.

now, if you the STATE seriously
and society: not so much...
well then... soecietal construct arguments
of the anglo-sphere far left
are so bogus...
i'm talking about STATE formations:
gradations,
i could seriously whiff up a solipsistic
perfume with a **** on a crowded
northern line at elephants
and castle: is there a dormant volcano
in the vicinity of the station?
it's always so ****** hot...
anyways...
                    social-constructs: ha ha...
i just saw Lenin turning in his mosileum...
maybe even blinking...
i'll send a dog actor to investigate:
bells like St. Bednards'-Pavlov's...
slobbering: woo woof... found a dead body:
let's audit!

typical Saturday night:
although no BBC radio 3 or 4...
i leave that for work nights...
when i'm off and there's some clairty of the V
and some haze of the M
and some: moozeeck...
then i turn into that soppy DJ
listening to Beyonce and: if i were a boy...
and i get to think about Edie and Reyla
and my mother and father
and the dead...
because i can't really think about
Reyla's mother or her father
so she's like the inversion of my father
and mother
whereby she can think of my mother and father
concretely...
like my father thinks about my mother's
father and mother, concretely...

but this audit is not because i'm actually
outperforming most people in the workforce...
but because there was a death
and in how the SIA licensing "scheme" is
orientated: duty of care...
tertiary police authority...
                             safety, security, service...
oh i know the dry tongue
but in this profession there are two options:
like and unlike a construction site:
dealing with caged animals and people in open
society is one glad tiding of comparative lit.
basically...
you either get physical, abuse your power...
don't understand people...
**** life... therefore you don't think about it...
or...
you get metaphysical, disuse your power...
begin, understanding, people...
the prepositions are omitted for a reason...
reason being: understanding...
begin to UNDERSTAND         of / off people is not enough...
there must be an omission of guilt:
via understanding... the -ing form is paramount...
if someone commits suicide in the workforce...
and you have a clean-slate conscious-conscience...

21st century schizoid man...
London is Blade Runner
i get paranoid in the workplace
through the silent treatment of:
how to trickle down a compliment
from on top...
to the pawn king down below:
that's not like pyramids and work force
works...
         the hierarchies and bypassing
them with flukes...
a typical Saturday night for me...
managed to find a Pirate ship that
screened Deadpool & Wolverine...

                 the dialogue... brilliance...
**** **** the stuttering on TT FF uck...
the caviats... the resurrection of scratching match...
but not my genre...
an overarching yes culturally necessary:
who started it: Superman and Batman...
cinematic anti-glory...
    watching Michael Keaton summed up
that difference
in terms of target audience...
DC is mature comics
Marvel is immature comics...

                                  "immature":
archetypical exploration
versus... dark psychological underpinnings of DC...
the fantasy of the psy narrative
associated with the self-morph dynamism
of identifying a "self": in pop culture by image:
rather than idiosyncratic: wording...
caricature of mannerisms...
the immaturity of com-cons... as image-stylists...

oh... i will switch off from this idea of work:
since most people don't see this as work
when not in construction:
no physical labour just physical endurance:
but no concept of work...
some bypass the lethargic stupor:
leperosy-catatonia...

                          but they are not the ones
on the extreme of wanting to become physical
and adrenaline fission corpus of attention-caffeine booster...
i like to think i was a stutter in
my youth:
but sometimes i BOOM and BELLOW
like not Ginsberg's howl... how how... anaemic dog's
bark: how...                     howl is such a feeble word...
like owl...        but not owl...
owl is also eagle...

                 how...                  how...
HYWH
  
   rugby goal post aH
   rugbly goal post bH

         game of Y (3 dimensions)
   game of W (wave of time,
    2 durations, 90 french minutes)

2 durations? beginning and end...
durations are the equivalent of dimensions,
the spatial-temporal realm
is subject to the
dimensionability-duration conflation... action:
not -ation Nn-Nn-Nn-Nn-Nn-             (+)

3 dimensions
2 duration...

         just thinking... within 3 dimensions...
          there's 2 dimensions of history...
    as time passes it becomes geological and squashed...
like dinosaurs...
so time shrinks
   as space expands...
and at the end of it: there will only be a blink
of the great eye...
and everything will restart...
         a rugby game is 2 durations or one duration?
it can't be 1 duration: 1 duration is life of an individual...
2 durations is life of a citizen
which is 2 durations of a rugby match
or a movie: there'a a beginning and an end...
a 1 duration system has no beginning
therefore has no end...
what would be a 3 duration dynamic?
oh **** me... i don't know!