this will make sense in the end, or at least along the way... a modern version of the Ruben's judgement of Paris, although if you watch the debate, the mediator already insinuates the "confusion": to my left or to my right, ha ha, left to right, right to left, 1st 3rd 2nd... that's putting it mildly, if i were Paris i'd have given the apple of knowing to Hera, queen of the goddesses... naomi wolf... beauty is in the eye of the beholder... and your phallus in the hand of... mhmm... softer than the flesh of an oyster at the end of the day... they did say once in times just after Pericles: make my inner as beautiful as my outer, and my outer as beautiful as my inner... then take art as not representing images: or the "shallow" arguments... any man would have given the apple to the intellectual Aphrodite (karen straughan)... we all know that antigone darling is Athena: who speaks so little you start to equate wisdom to be a distant synonym of needing courage to engage with a plebiscite crowd... oh don't give that prize to her: she'll probably tongue-tie herself and will never be able to speak into a microphone, the intellectual Aphrodite knows all too well the conundrum... it's the cougar attired in crimson that fuels the whole debate... she doesn't need to have inner beauty, you phallus is already shouting 'sir! yes sir!' at the drill sergeant anyways... you take Aphrodite as a paradoxical beauty, namely that of long conversations and not long interludes of ******* and baking cookies... you'll leave Aphrodite confused... i once heard an English motto: don't take for a wife a woman that's too attractive... that wasn't intended to be within the bias of intellect, i mean a beautiful woman within the bias of being able to manage a harem of 72 male virgins... well **** yeah, artists leave clues, whether knowing or unknowing... they're working from triangles, poets end up writing from Δ, they obscure textures and antonyms of what appears to be monochromatic, we say: red, crimson, burgundy in x-ray confines... the point being: there's no intellectual debate to be had with someone representative metaphorically or not of Hera... you can't have a Parisian fashion week catwalk where you find dehydrated beauty on the outside and an anorexic ego on the inside... what you find in Hera is a volume (voluptuousness) on the inside, within which there's a leech libido that transgresses all demands for intellect... unless it's pistons-well-oiled orientated... please, read some Marquis... if you get an ******* having read a few of his works: you're qualified - or as i like to call it: neo-classical *******... ever masturbated over Bronzino's Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time? well, if you haven't i guess **** ******* and gang-banging is your outlet: mine are pictures of Aria Giovanni and Chloe Vevraire (googlewhack no. 3!): Chloe Vevrier... but if you're never done the Odysseus pokes fun at Polyphemus... yep: the ghost hand: nobody!


you know, you can cram a lot into a 30 hour "day",
which results in the complete erosion
for the capacity to dream afterwards,
to actually work from the unconscious and create
a subconscious medium vector that connects
to points of consciousness: 30+ hours awake,
however many hours asleep, and then awake again
for another 30+ "day" to digest...
the classical definition of the subconscious, in theory,
is that you get plenty of sleep,
and it's a bit like that schematic A x B (algebraic)
A knows x     and B knows x...
   something mutual acknowledgment
via the same schematic but
A knows x, B knows x,
A knows that B knows x,
A knows that B knows that A knows x,
   which is all very Aristotelian to be frank,
it's this hyperlogic of having to acquire
great technological feats and reduce such
complexities to cat-videos on the internet as
the Egyptian partake in the genius that actually
made it possible... the slogan goes
Moses, you fool! said Nefertiti...
    so B knows x and knows that A knows x
and knows that A knows that B knows x
and B knows it's not necessarily anywhere
alphabetically less, even though the French said
a, b, c... which was very imperial of them,
that's the imperial version of what the mathematical
imperialism proved with the English inches, miles
and furlongs... but in this French case of imperialism
it wasn't a e i o u, b c d f g h j...
            that's what 30 hours awake does to you,
you wouldn't think of alcohol as a party drink,
a social barrier deconstruct... after 30 hours
you're hoping to meet Vladimir Klitschko on your
way to bed... aye pleasing Cossack, give us a
smacker goodnight... one glove it filled with
whiskey, the other with naproxen and amitriptyline...
boom! k.o. snooze, baby:
you gotta love buddhist honesty...
at least you get to see the bright side of life...
  and if people start thinking that Kant was the harbinger
of ill fate... you obviously haven't met a necromancer...
it was only von Kleist for ****'s sake!
       and he had the American option of a suicide
pact with a terminally ill woman and a bullet from
a pistol in a ditch... you can't get more romantic than that...
and there i was, mid-afternoon, having done a few of
the household chores: the washing, the ironing and
cooking a two-course meal while my mother did
the taxes (seems only mothers understand their sons
these days... women my age?
   ever see David Attenborough describe Emperor
penguins? money was invented for women,
because it brokered the end of the brotherhood of man,
we became famished by feminine needs
and have reduced inherent sports in us (hunting)
to sledgehammer bashing entertainment...
i'm the "drunk" that would rather watch ten hours
worth of ping-pong that tennis...
    i don't know why they resurrect the Olympics
every four years, have a **** coverage of it anyway
and then go back to that Glaswegian diet
of deep-fried pizza and haggis... and i hope to never know,
maybe Sepp Blatter knows...
but that's 30 hours of being awake, and only not
able to relax, by writing...
                 you wouldn't see this sort of "abuse" of
alcohol anywhere in the world...
the Soviet sleep experiment is actually not that silly...
too much sleep can also make you feel the minutes
upon your wake as if you've been stung by a bee...
three of my all time favourite songs?
the stone roses'* i wanna be adored,
    chromatics' cherry,
and finally: i can be forgiven for having missed this,
i got into them seriously with the album aufheben
and didn't really move anywhere else,
the dandy warhol effect got me...
but this song out of obscurity, 20th century technology
translated into mp3 and then onto c.d. and then
back into mp3... a song from an album that doesn't
even appear on their discography...
the brian jonestown massacre's pol ***'s pleasure penthouse,
the song in question? fingertips.
so there's that three...
      but **** on me, i half expected android (2015)
to be like ex_machina (whatever year that was)...
same topic... what the difference between android
cyborg and robot?
                                  aren't robots the proper a.i.?
as in: in production, the thing that's not hand-crafted
is artificially crafted, because it is crafted to a large yield
of a product? isn't that so? i can't distinguish (as of yet)
the difference between android and cyborg, i guess
as a Latin man (a - z user) i have to condescend the Grecian
pompousness of demeaning Hebrews (original anti-semitism
originated in Greece, not Rome, the Romans gave
the Jews not elaborate architectural schemes to abide by
in honour of Octavian, but the supposed pride in Greek
thought, undermined what later science would provide
a Latin man with, given the translation of יחֵוָחֵ,
indeed variables... i once wrote a piece about
the two Adams... namely how אָ (alef)
and עַ (ayin) are prominent letters among consonants,
but no vowel kindred of Eve is equal...
or how Eve is covered in both mainstream Islam
and orthodox Judaism... and Christianity is
a Rastafarian dream for more jerky reggae reggae...
they never sing down with Rome, judgement upon
Rome... they always sing about Babylon...
well, polytheistic or poly-schismatic,
it's all Hindu from hereon in - apart from that
here's a very tiny heresy... is that yod he vav he
or is it yod he vav het?
         there is a difference, afterall:
he (ה)        and het (חֵ) obviously differ... oh!
xet!                   god this garden is a mess,
               i guess the fruit of knowing good from evil
was intended to say: till the land, deforest,
learn agriculture... that's good, the **** you do to each
other... well: that's hardly a tonne of grain...
but they so alike though, even when you apply a noun
to these two symbols!
  could have said he xet but instead it's known as he het:
no wonder the Hittites came along for a curious look...
mind you, had not a prominent Roman, a centurion,
asked for help... we'd be prudish in runic from the northern
invaders... so thankfully no one within the Roman confines
of encoding sounds didn't have the bright spark idea
of looking at the very tiny little island of Israel and that
four lettered word and how it became known
to say o = omicron, ε = epsilon and γ = gamma,
   and cutting those things apart leaving only letter
having done plastic surgery on the noun that denotes the
letter that's denoted by the symbol, rearranged it
and got the idea of εγo: ****** marvellous!
- this is not brian pallenberg's story about the pleasure
penthouse album...
but you know what really got me in those 30 hours:
day, night, day, night: a NHLF debate between
naomi wolf, karen straughan & antigone darling,
the part where karen makes the point that
once upon a time men who beat their wives
in Scotland were publicly whipped (dhaal,
straugan), and if they were beaten-up instead by
their wives, a plebiscite of good-wishers would turn up
at the house and apply the Freudian theory of
a castration to the man, bang pots and pans,
and then in public display him having to ride on a
donkey backwards, having to hold the donkey's tail
for stability...
     see that woman in red in that debate? a true political
man-eating beast of ***** readied in atom bomb
explosions... the one next to her isn't wearing any tights...
unconsciously you're thinking: i like her french freestyle
of not having shaved her legs... the smart one is wearing
jeans and she looks oh so desperate to get out...
    the discussion doesn't even enter the realm of ideas...
hen-picking is discussed... all poetry ascribed to language
is gone... is it politically correct to ascribe the sexuality
of female chickens with the word hen to women?
behind me in Blackpool stag-dos (dos? no does...
there isn't even a ******* spelling for that phrase...
hen-nights and the inflatable Juan)...
well obviously your mind is working out why you'd
**** the middle 'un right away... she doesn't say divorcee
which is so "unsexy" but say she's a mum twice,
a mum, a single mum... polly wants a *******...
her address is new york city? ******! i'm heading there,
right now! can a white guy use urban colloquial
in the suburbs on a piece of pixel paper, which he claims
is mere the cartesian extension of his thought
and disinterest in rhetorical skills? i hope so...
it's not like herr adolf wrote a disclaimer saying:
read this or a thousand volts up your ****!
that really was a constipated debate, plus the red was all
provocateur and peppered with "you know",
   and "i know absolutely nothing": there were no ideas
in the debate! whenever there was a chance to debate
ideas, the debate turned into a debated about words,
and what words to use: to simply brush aside any clinching
to a idea-debate... perhaps because feminism is
an ideology without any coherency of ideas, as stated
from the debate: a coherency of wording: and that better
be hen = an asexual chicken, rooster = an asexual chicken...
it's still a chicken kiev at the end of the day.
now? i might squeeze in another poem...
     but it would still be great to get any kind of analysis
comparing the movie android and ex_machina...
the only problem would be: both creators are men...
so that's gender-stereotyping already...
but hell! she gets to build a buggie that she directs with
a laser pen... so that's nice...
but i'd love a discussion on these two films,
given that the music in both films is very oomph!
thriller genre always had better music than horror...
horror music is too romantic... thriller music?
***** back-stabbing you whenever you think you're
going to get a comfortable 10 minute slot...
but it's there... aside from both robotic creators being male...
woman: ex_machina - out of the machinery of man
          ergo? deus, or woman as...
i actually have a problem with the word android...
the woman is a factor of playing the two men against
each other... the android actually find a mechanical
part of himself in the way the "human" talks to the woman,
while the "android" is prejudiced against the rigidity
of his ****** movement: unlike the "human" having
an intellectual rigidity... the woman plays the two against
each other... well, 30 hours no sleep...
  i'm doing the helter-skelter trying to throw ideas
by way of remembering the actual plot of the film...
this obviously adds nothing to the discussion:
meaning i probably gave away a "spoiler" -
but more the point, i need a refill and some fresh air
to breath, having farted into a leather chair for the past
hour.

A rose blossoms in the midst of the summer night, shielded by the shadows of the might of a hundred trees, whose great limbs reach towards the heavens engulfing the land beneath it by mere shadows. The rose flourishes with such fragrance and beauty, for under the roof of its sheltered home, may it only greater its beauty; each petal, gleamingly red by the absorption of the radiant day’s sun, the color: piercing to the eye, so immensely red and beautiful to absolute perfection.

Even the mere trees that stand above that rose are too a profound greatness. Through the most severe of storms and harshest weather has it endured. It’s unyielding trunk is but a symbol, a souvenir, tainted with battle scars and markings. For every tree that stands before us, holds hundreds of stories, stories that tell of its survival, its brawls with the natural world, its fearsome battles and mighty victories as it stands before us today. A country values and gives its greatest thanks to the fearless generals and military that encounters battle after battle, fight after fight; and for such reason, should these trees be of such value.

But what is even of greater value is something that humans treasure even dearer, something that portrays the facade of progression, something that gives falsified light to the dark that only lives in the minds of individuals - change.

With change and the facade of progression can we truly feel that something useful has arose from our existence, with change can we see something progress to something of greater value, for the smallest and most hideous of larvae can seemingly show its beauty and perfection in the progression of its life stages.

And yes, with change can we bring about the perfection of the world, for no longer must we stay still in the nonprogressive state of agriculture, where thy neighbor is truly thy friend, a friend who depends on you and vice versa, for through the means of trading and fellowship and each individual possess what they want. For with change do we no longer need to depend on natural powers, no longer must we be bestowed by Someone to bless our fields, no longer must we conduct dances to the heavens to have a yielding season. And of course with change, can we now lock our doors and shield us from the world, for thy neighbor be’st not your friend, but be’st thy owner of your material means if you fail to keep them; for with change, can we finally perfect the truth of material desire.

But what should be said is that with change can we finally shift perspectives; for the changed perspective is of course superior, for it is a progression therefore change must produce superiors rather than inferiors. And with such perspectives, our values, too, change.

The fearsome soldier, the tree, the honored item that stand so proudly tall almost as if it is a stairway to the heavens, no longer possess such great values. So should we relinquish the greatness have been bestowed here and deforest such proud items that have fought the fearsome years of natural events to stand so tall. And as we do such, will the rose’s roof collapse. Unable to hide from the piercing rays of the sun, will it then shrivel and die; for that change has brought upon another rose, another item waiting to share the same fate as before....

Memories
are like fire,
they can execute
or inspire,
satiate
cooked on a plate,
deforest
when
filled with hate.
Running like lava
through
varicose veins,
embers smolder
ready to ignite,
or extinguish the
remembrance.

this is hardly a poem, it's a precursor musing -
that i am planning something
in the range of 5000+ words:

- a transcript of Kierkegaard's
concluding unscientific postscript
to philosophical fragments -
a mimical-pathetical-dialectical
compilation, an existential contribution
(february 28, 1846) by johannes climacus
    an extract...
- a translation of Szymon Starowolski's
Declamatio contra obtrectatores Poloniae
circa XVI...

not to mention that i'm reaching burn-out,
not to mention that:
well it's always nice to hear something
from your mother that can bed-rid you
for a few hours...

it sort of reminds of those Pearl Jam lyrics
from the song Animal
'i'd rather be...
i'd rather be with...
i'd rather be with an animal...'

sure as **** he comes into my bed...
i've changed which side of the bed
i'm sleeping on...
i don't know why i didn't think of it sooner...
usually on the right...
now, sleeping on the left...
ingenious move...
the mattress feels cooler...
obviously less indented... firmer...
and... at least this 10kg bonsai of a tiger
is just sleeping next to me...
rather than lodging himself
onto my thigh and treating me
like a cushion...

but this is before the plunge...
we're supposed to be these barbaric people
of the north...
depictions of hunting mammoths
and what not...
em... aren't elephants sort of domesticated
in India?
when the great migration took place
from the subcontinent via mother Siberia
toward the funnel of civilization that's
Europe... didn't we... perhaps...
take elephants with us?

didn't Hannibal? so i'm thinking...
you're up north... you hear about farming
from Egypt via some wandering "wizard"...
****... loads of forest...
so much forest that... well... beside hunting
and foraging... nearly impossible...
i should know...

when my next door neighbour put up a new
fence... the gardener / fence "expert" cut out
most of the vegetation from my garden so
it would be easier to put the fence up:
including my beautiful rosemary bush
'oh, didn't know' -
you pair rosemary with lamb! England
is famous for its ******* lamb!

- on a side note... you'd have to watch a
video by... Refika's Kitchen...
Turkish lavash / beef recipe...
with that onion side salad...
rosemary also works miracles with beef
with a side dish of sumac onions
and that cucumber yoghurt dip
(****, what's it called... tzatziki?!)...
yummy yummy thank you: not my mummy...
me!

anyway... he cut all the bushes, foliage, etc.
but... ha, ha... ha...
oh i had all the right tools...
a mechanical saw, a chainsaw...
a manual saw... a shovel... a small shovel...
a large fork... a small fork...
it took me about 3 months to clear the earth
from roots along the length of the entire garden...
we're talking 30 metres (circa)...
at least... ****... maybe 50 metres...
we're talking roots sometimes just a metre
apart... sometimes digging up a root would
take me... 5 hours... we're talking digging
to a depth of about 1 metre and coming
across the infamous London clay...

oh sure, Madame Tussauds - here's a mannequin
of Diana - princess of Wales...
never mind that the genius handyman
put the fence too high up...
my neighbour's **** garden was
doing an "empire strikes back" from beneath
the fence, morning glory was crawling though...
so i had to dig under the fence
and put dollops of cement under the beams...

great spring... so i'm thinking...
did we really hunt, mammoths?
well sure, we could have used horses...
we used horses to plough the fields...
now? we just breed them for spectacles: at the races...
otherwise... one of those species of animals
that have it: super ******* easy...
perhaps we used them to deforest areas
of Europe to create land for farming...
but... given the domestication of
elephants in India, given... Hannibal and his
elephants walking over the Alps...
personally? i think we used mammoths
to deforest this land to make
farming possible...
what happened to them afterwards?
what happens with anything that no longer
is necessarily used?
if it's a thing, it gets thrown away, or recycled...
if it's a creature...
it's usually eaten...
   perhaps a bad winter... culling of deer in Scotland...
for game meat...
but i don't think the mammoths simply "were"
out cohabitants in the north...
i suspect that we brought them over as elephants...
and by some "miracle" of Darwinism
the elephants mutated to have fur...

who's to say i'm wrong on this view?
Kierkegaard's conclusion to the unscientific
postscript will most certainly elaborate on
that...

both these transcripts will hint at what i have
already been thinking about...
objective thinking is "overrated":
no, more on the lines of: why is subjectivity
so wrong, when it's not properly understood
and only women are afforded its benefits
which become exploited in the most negative sense?

and... Szymon Starowolski's translation...
what i have already noticed about the English
tongue... but to think that this thinking was already
around in the world, in Poland, of all places,
as far back at the 17th century!

but to deforest so much land as to make it arable?
if we didn't use mammoths
then, hell... me must have used wishful thinking!
perhaps our ancestors had the power
of telekinesis!

so that the roots of old foliage have been dug up
by my hands...
the green party can ******* from me...
i also planted a fig bush,
a plum tree, two cherry trees...
an apple tree... a pear tree... o.k.?!
i'm done with all this carbon footprint *******...
i also moved the fern to a more shady
part of the garden... there's wild garlic
pulverising me with its scent that reminds
me of marijuana...
i reclaimed the rosemary... i have thyme &
oregano... plenty of mint...
a bay leaf bush...
                                         grr... i don't know why
i'm so... happily angry.

Disgusted now that America is busted
For voting in sewer rats and gone to bat
For making this into an autocracy,
Working to gut democracy and replace it,
Deface and deforest all of the best
Then sell off the rest of the planet
From the water to the granite
Leaving only inedible gold
Shoved into the the wallets
Of the national pickpockets
And liars while they set fires
And burn down the country
With their hatred and bigotry
Unchecked by the lazy populace
Too stupid to know what danger is
While it is marching into their homes
Making every state a danger zone.

The traitors who own the industries
Hold a gun to journalist monopolies
So that artificial realities are sold
As socialized necessities
To people who prefer tabloids
To history books and crave bromides
For this time it is the Christians
That fiddle while Rome turns to ruins
And ashes surrounded by those who fought
While a complacent half of America did not.

I am sickened at the laziness,
The political father of craziness
Has let this horror happen to this,
The country of which I was always proud,
And sick of how loud the rats are
That they have taken destruction so far
That we may never recover again
And start to elect countrymen
Instead of men to own the country
Without a scintilla of modesty
And treat fine people shoddily
Merely because they can.
Who needs that kind of man?

I feel I am still the hero
The hero of hope and calm
With thorny branches and green leaves
No matter, the snow fall
No matter, the hot sun
Always standstill till the death
With the hope to bloom with flowers
To serve the mankind with fruits
No matter, they cut me
No matter, they deforest me.
I feel I am still the hero.

No bother of future
No thoughts of past
I just grow to make you thrive
To restore peace with yourself
Oh! People look over me
Do not make yourself sick
Sick of losing hope and calm
Make a promise, cultivate me
Take a vow, decorate me
I will gift you the power of calm
With peace within you
I feel I am still the hero
I feel I am still the hero

a bongo
twist and
cast this
strip that
gleefully carom
through pastures
where shepherd
has fallen
asleep while
they deforest
the fringe
only to
carry their
cold shoulders
with frills    
that spy
with Putin

never rub another man's rhubarb.

so this article comes along
about aya-huskie,
****... what was it?
                              ayahuasca
and i'm reading it,
and i'm reading into it,
and i'm like:
     it's not unusual for 100+
ceremonies ingesting
this drug happen in new york
on a daily basis...
****'s more potent that
corresponding a war...
   the female enegry *madre:
hocus pokus
          harry houdini
       eating a pear as a magic
            trick *******...
nope...
   i'm fine my beer, my love
of home-cooked food,
my music...
       what am i implying?
   the ****'s contaminated -
just like the beatnik poets
contaminated peyote...
contaminated, how?
  they wrote about it...
who the **** is going to moan
and complain about me
writing about drinking?
                           um... no one?
the brew is so abused that
when sometimes comes
along and writes about its
effects, in a positive way:
you don't really start moaning...
all those soppy:
  papa was an alcoholic type
stories...
   mama drank a bottle
of wine before putting me to bed:
too bad *******!
    live with the fact,
that somewhere, somehow,
there's a drunk who could
juggle a monkey, a tambourine
and banana:
  and call it a musical instrument!
you ingest something
for a sense of humour -
or you ingest something for
a sense of wonder...
aya-hoo-haha-caska
   is of the latter category...
alcohol?
            ugh: the former!

and to be honest?
    the only and at the same
time the most spiritual experience
i ever had or will have:
will remain:
          hearing myself laughing.
that's it!

the sort of laugh imitating a fox,
the sort of laugh imitating muttley,
and the laugh that feels
like easing a **** of crunching
the stomach...
      the visionaries can keep their
discontent with dreams,
and experience them wide-awake...

but reading this article is numbing...
always the ******* westerners,
the white "bad boys",
what they'll do with ayahuasca
is what they did with cows, pigs,
dogs and cats...
   they'll domesticate the drug...
oh look... already domesticated
being categorised as a drug, rather
than the original of: medicine...

and that's what western society does...
find me a shaman using
alcohol and i'll find you a pair
of scissors in an ayahuasca experience...
but i just hate the idea
of domesticating something so
spiritually governed...

people really think that taking this
drug, in the centre of new york
will somehow create an actual
organic potency of the drug?
          in new york the experience
will be inorganic -
        and most probably horrific -

well **** me: jump off a roof and
hallucinate a pair torn off icarus!
    up here, in the hinterlands,
in catholic schools,
   they still told us what the ukrainians
used to do: sniff glue
   (can i recommend a film?
    lilya 4-ever) -
       or don't get me strated with poles
drinking purple denaturat,
     (denatonium, methanol -
                         in short? toxins!) -

personall i don't like the idea where
this ahaya ahooya, whatever thing is going...
to me it has a scent of a process
of domestication...
        but i suppose if you're going
to deforest the amazon,
    you also have to attack the spirit -

now that i've read about the experience,
i'm rather keen on trying to
unravel the problem of antidepressants:
also in the same newspaper...
   namely escitalopram (lexarpo)
  & sertraline & clonazepam
  & paroxetine (seroxat) - all of them being
anti-depressants; so no:

i wouldn't disturb the amazonian shamans
for some "bogus" life-changing
experiences, i'd look at the situation where
drugs have moved beyond the stage
of being domesticated from their natural
environment... and... therefore?
                                    industrialised!

talk to random schizophrenic in the middle
of a night over a kalimotxo (basque drink,
red wine and coca-cola - kali kali kali
m'oh ch'oh) -
and he'll tell you: yeah, knew a guy,
was on antipsychotic medication:
                                 grew a pair of ****!

oh yeah, tobacco & alcohol are baaah!
baaah! bad! (please invoke a sheepish
stutter within the confines of the italics).

The three birds crash and boom through the forest
People gape in awe as they watch the splendid sight
Many unsure if they should have coursed
People had begun to deforest
But even with the chopping, sawing hum
But even with the unending rains of sawdust
The three flapping whooshing birds still flew
Blaring their forgotten sovereign songs of anger and hate that few knew
The three birds hopping they would crush the workers with the weight
With their endless chirping songs of lore
Endless booming *****
endlessly beating thumping hearts up until that day
Later When the people looked day and night
Not one could find a trace of those now forgotten birds
Gone like the wind no longer heard
After all where would a bird live in a newly constructed hotel or city
Gone like the lore those people once heard
There are no more booming bustling birds
Not one could be heard