.before i come to the food topics, here's a pet peeve... language... how the pakistanis might / might not be offended by the laziness of the english, shortening their denotation to a prefix: ****-... and i'm like... is that really offensive? with the -stani suffix missing? o.k. o.k., iraq: iraqi... iran: iranian... pakistani: ****- / pakistani... so what about afghanistan? afghan, or afghanistani?! i'm pretty sure it's afghan... a person is afghani and not afghanistani... so what's wrong with ****-? it must be an english-****'stani thing from the 1960s or something... ******* as sensitive as french footballers... this has to be hard-pressed... this instance... because i hardly think it's a racial slur to stick to the prefix and not include the suffix, given the example from afghanistan - just like the "problem" of calling a jew a ***-, borrowed prefix from... yiddish! now for the food:

a. would you trust a skinny chef? i know i wouldn't trust a chef who's also a healthy-eating gym bro maniac, i bet he would never cook with lard or pork trimmings, with that calorie calculator lodged up his head that represents an ******* is not much to go with when taste is prime... 6ft1 253.5pounds, that's where i stand... i would never trust a health-freak to cook for me, let alone all the proofs rattling anorexic examples...

    b. "***** take your shoes off and get into the kitchen!" what a ****** joke, chauvanism rampant... mind you... who the hell said that women belong in the kitchen? they don't... i don't want a woman in the kitchen... i've had two dinners cooked by my fwends' mothers when still in my early teens... 1. over-cooked pasta... my fwends father would pretend to eat the dinner, before driving me home while stopping off at a sikh diner and took to the take-away (cooked by men), another example beside the over-cooked pasta? under-cooked spring potatoes - after all... the men on ships and submarines that kept the other men firing did all the cooking... men can cook... or at least: that's the least they should do... think: organic chemistry experiments...

eating a raw herring
in piquant mayonnaise
of reminiscence of a
granny-smith and pickled
cucumber tickle...
slurping it up into
a workout of the oesophagus
might remind many
of oral ***: but after all...
it's only a raw herring being eaten.

p.s. well perhaps gulping down
a raw oyster does feel familiar
to performing oral *** on a woman...
but since you're not really
chewing the oyster,
or licking it... but gulping it whole...
i can only compared performing
oral *** on a ***** to
                eating a raw herring.

            and why all of this talk of food?
well... what's on the menu for tomorrow?
a bangers & mash stew,
    old recipe from the days of the british
empire... mind you: why did they
call sausages bangers back then?
well, during the war, they put a lot of
water into the sausages...
and when water mixes with warm oil?
bang! bang!

                 'i was five and he was six,
   we rode on horses made of sticks,
he wore black and i wore white,
   he would always win the fight...
   bang! bang!
  he shot me down!
  bang! bang!
                 i hit the ground...
bang! bang!
   that awful sound...
bang! bang!
   my baby... shot me down!'
              (audio bullys ft. nancy s.) -

so obviously i had to take a walk
and buy the key ingredient...
   i.p.a.:
        and when they were stationed
in the raj, and the troops were receiving
provisions...
  the standard beer wouldn't last the trip,
going off...
     and dark port was too sweet...
so indian pale ale was invented:
   more potent alcohol content and brewed
based more on hops than barley or wheat...
bitter: but my god, what a strand of beer,
like your typical irish stout...
   which is why i never figured out
  the bud to be the king of beers...
   fermentation of rice? sure... it's crisp...
but also the sort of toddler **** you'd expect
from rice fermentation:
no body, no *****, no blood,
no palette...
      easy stew:
   sausages,
      onions, garlic, celery, carrots,
                  leeks...
     a bottle of i.p.a.,
   some to degrease the pan the sausages
and veg were fried on, the rest for the jacuzzi...
some water, bay leaf, salt to taste,
   tomato purée and 2tbsp
  of muscovado sugar to bite through
   the extra hops... mash on the side...
                  and an array of veg on the side too...

i still don't know where the idea
that women belong in the kitchen came from:
perhaps when the men were coal-miners,
and when the kitchen wasn't filled
with all the current day appliances
of convenience...
   when women worked as hard in the kitchen
as the men who worked in the coal-mine...
perhaps then, in the early part of the 20th
century... when spaghetti dough was hand-made
at home...
then a woman could take pride in her
house-keeping...
   now? now i guess: the same sort of melancholic
voice bound to nancy sinatra singing...
because once upon a time it was hard
work, running the house...
                       and then "suddenly"
everything became simple...
a man could walk into a coal-mine,
come back home and...
              make himself a decent meal...
  looking at what the english woman buy
in the supermarket?
      couch potato maidens...
       ready meal after yet another ready meal...
things have become so easy
that easy isn't enough...

      let me tell you a culinary ***** of a story...
the scurge of making homemade
ravioli! believe me... once a year is enough...
sure, it tastes great...
                  but once a year is enough.

College dreamers,
trust fund seams broken down
like veins after repetitive prods.
Drinking days
are alliteration accented
because two
dollar drinks deserve denotation.

A hangover that brings
clarity is irony;
a sad realization made
after a night of excess.
A drop of vulnerability
and personal accountability
is desperation, and preference
at this point is permissible,
yet premature.

Face buried, between the sheets, wrapped in legs and lust,
books thrown against a wall.
Classes are dropped faster
than broken furniture
and one night stands.
And **** the taste.
We're all chasing that last sip
that brings a confidence
to think rhythmically.

Almost like playing a movie from the middle
And trying to understand it as it plays.
It is quite impossible to understand some scenes
From the play unless you watch it from the beginning.

Sadly you can't rewind life
And you must stick to
What your conclusions have gotten to.

You may guess, but never be
Sure of how that person
Has gotten where it stands.

So until that person elucidates its timeline,
Or you simply comprehend them as they are.

•

As humans we are persistent to
What we want or need.
It may be material,
Or a simply contentment inside us.

You perceive someone's gloom in their senses,
But not the denotation.
This may come to another term named "love."
And understanding is the main key to show affection.

Just as logic is the key to be a genius.

unconventional, to say the least
on Sunday, love your neighbor
peek out her drawn shades, secret belabor
not in nature, nurture's the blamed beast
preference, peculiar;
she's stuck in her ways.
cover stories will guide her days
both victim and defendant, scared for the future
together, we're stronger,
and petty we fall.
to love my black soul, but her skin appall
bizarre assumptions grow longer
to feel, to know, to look beyond
eccentricism; How will you respond?

some would call it a profanity - from the islands of northern Europe i liked the Scots the most, in my first year at Edinburgh Scottish weather played a joke, i don't remember a single gloomy day - i do remember not sleeping one night, and trekking up Arthur's Seat to watch the sunrise, then climbing down, buying Kellogg's cornflakes and full-fat milk and eating them - that magic moment just between daytime fully sets in - it's so fresh, a reality proof, just before the mundane job applicants get up, you get a sense of what's truly taken for granted in society - it only lasts for a few minutes - before the commuters' nagging sets in, and everything fresh (awaiting the new dawn) becomes custard thick - sticky, sickly honey glue pungent... anyway... i'm making a grand profanity at the moment: tier 1 - whiskey and ice, tier oblivion - whiskey and coca cola... but what i'm drinking is like a virus immune to antibiotics, no amount of citrus barley caramel can mask the smoked salmon with a tinge of variously fruity accents can mask it... Glen Moray, single malt, an Elgin Classic - it is a profanity, i agree - i should drink whiskey like mulled wine - but i'm in a hurry for a mindset, and i'm not bothered that much about passing down aesthetics - my palette says otherwise. yeah, my love for Scotland came from climbing up a ladder in the English hierarchy at school - everyone wanted to be taught by Mr. Thomas Boonce - aged 15 went into B1 (or however they noted the selection process) - aged 16 on top of my game, A1 class - a blazing comet trail of ambition, shared the same desk with my enemy shoulder-to-shoulder, the one who promised me a south american plant would give me grand hallucinations, ****** the mother of my ******* son and wa-lah! elephant trunk pulled from a top hat playing jazz - that Jesus bit about loving your enemies? esp. if they're your childhood friends and are **** crazy? you don't love them, your heart turns to stone and it says skipping on lake: what a shame... so much potential in him wasted on jealousy, the way he trusted a woman that is now on some sort of psychiatric medication... i can't love enemies, what i can do is feel sorry for a waste of human potential... (knock on chest)... yep, this ol' ticker is solid stone... and sooner or later it will be added to a mountain i'm constructing in my mind.

thank god for rabbinical literature -
i could pour days over these pages - i literally open a book,
a compilation of entries -
why hasn't anyone noticed the genius of written Hebraic?
i know in the middle east is a wasp nest of harking and
memorable achoo - or quasi (~, literary denotation,
thereabouts, so so, kinda, well, approximate too,
hand gesture in that symbol, good-in-bad-bad-in-good) -
just now i was admiring the fact that Hebraic hides vowels -
truly, they hide them, ingenious buggers -
all the vowels in Hebraic are hidden -
in translation to Latin the Hebrews treat vowels
like post-Latin users of the original S.P.Q.R. alphabet
use diacritical marks - and newspaper Hebraic doesn't
include them in print, only: i suppose in poetry and
rabbinical writings are they exposed -
which stems largely from what is cordoned off -
or rather the fruits of the work of encapsulation -
Latin is slightly biased, no letter is truly encapsulated,
shut-off from another - aye, be, cee, dee, ee, ef, hay'tch (
a distinction), em, en, ***... zed (an exception), ex, you
get the idea - there are no nouns in the post-Latin
alphabet as such - which is why in science Greek letters
were used as constants - these consonant constants
encapsulated not only the phonetic content of a symbol,
but also allowed for an encapsulation of some higher
purpose - e.g. α (angular acceleration) -
β (sound intensity) - γ (gamma rays) - δ (heat in chemistry,
the perfect error, the Laplace operator, etc.) -
ε (set theory, the limit ordinal of the sequence -
    html disapproval to be written as: ω (tier squared ω,
    and one above the squared tier ω, ω root ω double root ω -
    variant alias of this? Hebraic notation of u .
                                                               ­                   .
                                                               ­                      .
     *shurek) - Θ (Debye notation) - θ (potential temp. in
thermal dynamics) - ι (orbital inclination in celestial mechanics) -
κ (curvature) - Λ (lattice) - λ (decay constant in radioactivity) -
μ (micron, SI prefix, one millionth) - ν (a neutrino) -
ξ (a random variable) - π (too obvious, πr squared) -
ρ (correlation coefficient in statistics) - Σ (summation operator) -
σ (area density) - τ (torque) - φ (the golden ratio, 1.618...) -
ψ (the cat in a box, wave function, quantum mechanics) -
ω (the infinite ordinal);
                                         it's precisely because the Greeks to
encapsulate their phonetic symbols that so much stability
was brought up - look how poverty stricken the Latin variations
are - these are not merely letters, they are actually nouns!
you can recite the whole Greek alphabet a bit like going
to a party and being introduced to people: Jim, Charlie,
George, Rosemarie... obviously there are exceptions for
this observation to be bullet-proof (i.e. μ, ν, ξ, π etc.)
but did the scientists mind not using them? no! they kept to
this interpretation that symbols of sound need to be encapsulated -
held together, stable, each symbol needs to be a balancing act -
an ~equal amount of consonants and vowels need to be
invoked when writing either a or α, b or β, g or γ -
there needs to be an invocation of names to these symbols -
not mere ah be c e ef gee... English for its laziness in omitting
diacritical marks did the unspeakable when digital paper came
about - it turned itself into a quasi encryption tongue,
acronym fuelled and in all honestly - self-conscious of its faults
yet basking in them! but the real genius in encoding signs truly
belongs to the Hebraic school...

you find them so coerced by naked pictures,
that their outer resembles no inner -
you find them bound to an idea that the inner can
somehow compensate - but it can't -
the outer as the inner reveals nothing,
no love, merely a **** - the winged-Hussars die
in Ukrainian fertile land, and with the music,
you can only think of the drudgery of walking
through knee-high mud - you can just picture
the Cossack moustaches wedged behind the ears
like earrings - i too would have eaten my tongue that way
had it been permitted - without permission
i spoke of a stake tartar and my tongue into one -
then the mantra came - kametz, tzeré, chirek, kametz,
tzeré, kametz, kametz, tzeré, tzeré, cholem, kametz, kametz,
- i will not be treated like some dumb farmer!
      your Yurt empire is fledgling into the sunset!
  and my heart is enshrined into a bitter toil! it will love
as it pleases! not with you saying what there's to love!
tzeré, shurek, kametz, kametz, tzeré, kametz, cholem, tzeré,
chirek, kametz. what a mantra!
a, e, i, a, e, a, a, e, e, o, a, a, e, u, a, a, e, a, o, e, i, a -
patterns strangre than in a poetic rhyming scheme -
respective incisions into still-life motives of movement -
i.e. if a vowel be my hand, a consonant be a chair i sit on:
kametz of aleph (א), tzeré of bet (ב), chirek of gimel (ג),
kametz of dalet (ד), tzeré of heh (ה), kametz of vav (ו).
kametz of zayin (ז), tzeré of chet (ח), tzeré of tet (ט),
cholem of yod (י), kametz of kaf (ק), kametz of lamed (ל),
tzeré of mem (מ), shurek of nun (נ), kametz of samekh (ס),
kametz of ayin (ע), tzeré of peh (פ), kametz of tzadi (צ),
cholem of kof (ק), tzeré of resh (ר), chirek of shin (ש)... and
finaly the kametz of tav (ת)* - we really like our matchstick
men, don't we? in terms of ancients tongues,
we like our curvatures in modern tongues of Greek
and Latin, don't we?
instilled the names of vowels! kametz (a
                                                 tzeré (e
            chirek (i
                                          cholem (o
                 shurek (u
                                                           pentagon thus far,
    revealed vowels with diacritic interpretation
           kametz, as soured: חָ - tau, vowel as diacritical mark
elsewhere -
                       tzeré - or umlaut below the letter - alternatively:
           וָ qàmetz                   וֵ tzeré
וִ ḥìreq                              וֹ ḥólem                   וּ shùreq
     (c, k, q - make it quick, à, 1st),
                (é - prolong it, to catch a breath, or the first
                      tetragrammaton H),
that's the genius of the encoding though... the omission of
vowels, or vowels as diacritical marks - one shurek (u .
                                                               ­                                   .
                            ­                                                                 ­        .)
among 10 kametz and 7 tzeré - gematria at its purest -
one shurek, 2 chireks and 2 cholems -
a form of encoding deviating from obscure onomatopoeia
and the void and meaninglessness, toward
a sound ushering a word for word, and actions parallel -
but this encapsulation of breath taken and
breath released, as in writing, the speaker does not
suddenly breathe again - but is kept within limit,
a consonant starting point, the zenith of breath or soul
and a return to one body, v A v (e.g.).
but imagines being able to avoid noun insertions -
then Hebrew is very much as modern English -
when modern English ought to utilise diacritical marks
on either vowel or consonant, it does not -
it doesn't have a single sound encoding worthy of a name -
there's no omega, there is only oh -
Hebrews treat their vowels as diacritical marks -
their language is one massive crossword -
how do they even read HBRC? who the hell taught them
when to insert the vowels from following the roots
as stated HBRC toward the tree that's HEBRAIC?
this is ******* bewildering - i don't know how they do it!
what's agonising is their notion that patterns in letters
having numerical values is somehow meaningful,
as if something horrid can be averted - to me 1 + 1 = 2
is enough - i don't need alef / αλεφ / αλεθ (א) + bet / βετ (ב) =
anything but gimel / γιμελ (ג) -
this is the ****-pile of having so many prophets in your society
and not enough philosophers - the Casandra Standard -
Greeks had the philosophers, the Hebrews had their
prophets, both in excess - in the end the cult of prophecy
in Hebraic society turned into a Casandra Standard
borrowed from Greek myth - while Greek philosophers...
i don't actually know what happened to them -
i think most of them became dentists after Aristotle suggested
women had fewer teeth than men.

All of us write,
late into night,
Simple rhymes becomes prose,
As night draws to a close,
Connotation becomes denotation,
Expressed or implied,
Painting pictures with words,
Of a world much denied,
Of heartfelt regret,
Or anger or pain,
We elude to the simple,
And write about rain,
To illuminate others,
Of that which we see,
Another perspective,
Of what may be,
We invite opinion,
Of comparitive worth,
The definition of judgements,
Are all that we need,
So bleeding and ugly,
Take care to impart,
A wonderful meaning,
To a forlorn heart.

'...He went like one that hath been stunned...'.

Buddha taught
about "mere words"
since words
in one sense
are like numbers
without any real meaning
like they're all Greek to me
but I think
being something
like a poet
that words
can be powerful
with the capability
of transforming lives
by the process
of the links
that occur
in the mind,
connecting a myriad
of connotations
and denotation
that set off
a potent brain chemistry
that can make the difference
between a kind of sanity
and a kind of madness.

There is no connotation nor denotation to a word in existence among us retched mortals that can be used to describe the superlative nature of my goddess' supreme and utter beauty.

"State Line"

Downpour

The torrential kind
In which
You forget
Through overexposure
What it feels like
To see color

Yet remember
Everything else

Clarity in flashes

The earth spills
Its daily struggles
And I bottle mine

---

"Welcome to Earth"

Condensed
Supersaturated

Breaching and scorching
This tortured sky

Will Smith is too expensive
To save us now

---

"A Thousand Words"

In the storm
Shadows and highlights
Are nonsensical terms

Indistinguishable

Black level, high
Contrast, immeasurable
Noise, present

---

"Peripheral"

Push it
Go as fast as you like
I'll take my time
And watch you spin
Out of control
Just outside
The point of
No return

---

"Patience"

Accuse me
Again and again
Convince me I'm wrong

I'll hurl my innocence
Into the storm

Wait for it
It's coming back

---

"Double Down"

That isn't light
At the end of the tunnel
It's just less dark

Double down
It's not over yet

---

"Joy"

Persistent color
Through the fog
Shrek on wheels
Snoopy on ice
They pass and
We follow

---

"Crossing Over"

There is a pain
That comes after

In the relief

In the recuperated vision
An aching remnant of
Stolen senses

You almost miss it

---

"Recovery"

Dreams resurface
Broken
Sparse
Waist-deep in white noise
A melody identifiable as my own

Crickets chirp
Incessant
Ironic
Soaked in stagnant thought
A denotation of the passing storm

“You look pretty”.
It is a cage I have adorned myself within.
In my nineteen years of living,
I never thought there could be a greater compliment than
“you look pretty”;
“you look beautiful”;
And, my personal favourite,
“I bet you look good
Under all that clothing”.

This is a cage that I have locked myself in.
The walls are made of crystal,
But no one who presses their hand up against it
To steal a glance in
Ever sees me.
I am what I will become,
But to the crows that surround me,
I will never be more than the pretty object
Waiting to be snatched up from the filthy floor.

In my nineteen years of living,
I have been conditioned to believe that my worth
Is solely based around
How pretty I am,
Or how good I look in that dress,
Or how I beautifully paint my face to become
Your doll.
I never have believed that I could be
Anything more.

When you gaze upon me,
With your starving eyes searching my body
For something that does not exist,
Do you not see me for my true worth?
Is my capacity for kindness and
My loving nature
Not something which is destined to be adored?
Will who I am
Ever be enough for your ego to coincide?

Whatever it is that you decide,
Your choices will not persuade me.
I know I am worth more than an idle compliment
Which holds no weight or denotation.
I know that I am worthy of a love
Which sees all of me,
And not just the crystal cage
That is shattering in my wake
Around me.

There is something there, in the essence of this, something that i tasted, salt and sweat, dripping from your fingertips. There is footsteps in the stairway around my heart, i hear them creaking in the moonlight, as you find your way in the dark.
Where is my vision?
I don't tend to look at your eyes, i cannot, i do not have to be that strong. I found a million pardons, when i was asking if there was something i did wrong. I feel the scoop of your hand on that familiar place on my back, and i headily breathe you, as i hear your knuckles crack, from the weight of my familiarity.
Where do i come from?
What is that whisper in the ****** air. The dreams that i have are so absent and so bare. I lost and i lose and try to walk again, on broken ankles, with broken toes, my legs have the strength of ten men. And i am lost, i am lost, and i will say it again. But i am lost in being lost, so is this my religion, my prayer and my a-men?
Where is my heart?
Free me, throw me into the air, shoot me, ****** me, act  like you don't care. There is no obligation in an ounce of your tone. Your music is denotation, your heartbeat becomes a microphone. And you sing, you sing, a love song to me 'Dorothy you are home'
Where is my place?
Dreaming of second comings, and i desperately seek your face. I want to kiss you, to kiss you, with my lips, i will erase. You are nothing more to me, than a seeker in this battle of sun-down to sun-up. Find me, come hide me, come fill me with your cup.

we know how those doctors about to retire type:
index punch, index punch, left hook index tap,
brawler's right kiss index tap -
thumbs are for the spacebar!
but this little oddity got me thinking: i can tell
you that my grandfather had beautiful handwriting,
and a massive library, and all of this... under
a communist regime... more books than
the modern capitalist household, let me tell you -
oddly enough i followed suit, never truly recognised
my father aged eight at victoria coach station -
4 - 8 under my grandfather's construct -
6 - 8 psyche of a child given a doberman by
his mother and left, upon return asking
for a devil's mask in warsaw, the same devil
mask a furore at a fancy dress party in school
ripped by friends all wanting the share of
suffocating under plastic.
but this got me thinking, i never had the
proper handwriting fluidity for an A grade in
english during examination, that's always a grade
more than anything you put your mind to
in terms of content. so... on handwriting fluidity:
omega alpha beta flows nice, because the greeks
managed to convene that letters had to
have names, no wonder the export of greek lettering
into mathematics and science...
imagine if it was the romanic letters:
that's *** arr squared: peeing on the arc of triumph
seeing sqaures?! bonaparte with a bunch of pirates?!
no! πr2, the area of the ****** circle!
never mind that, that's just me overstepping
the giggles, but i think because of the non-complex
denotation of the romanic letters we have terrible
handwriting, just like it sounds, punched in by dyslexic
judy separately: look - a'    b'e    c'e     d'e    e'  z'ed.
no wonder the alphabet turned to programming
and cyborg fancies - plus it's no fun trying to remember
alpha bravo charlie... i mean, it's a bit ****, that nato
phonetic ******* over the phone: oscar v. ω?
ω! romeo v. ρ? ρ! sierra v. σ? σ! let's face it, greek
too ancient and romanic trying to speed up... no wonder
there's a bit of charlie and the x-ray;
or maybe this whole phoneticism is a way to say -
keep that ugly so we can lego it into beautiful stances
of the fencing tongue.

A friend told me today
that what you hear or say
can be read
in many ways

Denotation  - the thing your brain understands
Connotation - when you get it out of the way

to find what someone
wanted to say
when they repeat
what you hear every day

I like sending you notes
in my fast
misspelled scrawl
yet you always so elegant
with perfect grammar
oh such denotation
who knew? punctuation could make me swoon

-Katherine Baldwin-

The difference is me
I am forever
I am never
I am a paradox
I am infinite
I am not
I am
Thus you can't
Thus you won't
Thus you will
Thus you aren't
AND I AM KING HERE
AND SHE WILL NEVER BE MY (queen)
Sour-sided-denotation
Keep quiet and maybe I'll let you go
Scratchin' till' ya' BLEED
Salmon tasted like lips of Lucifer
Lucifer growl
Show yer' teeth
Let em' know
My name is yours
Your name is mine
Universal federation of lack-luster-star-clusters
FREAK
I AM A FREAK
All of you freaks, geeks, ****-ups, n', poets
All of you nasty-anti-good-doin'-thieves, n, troublemakers
All of you down-to-earth-yet-out- of-this-world-semi-psuedo-sacrilegious-punks
I call to you to know me

We delve down deep within
To decipher dreams and demons;
To deduce the true denotation of our decisions.
Diminishing greatness
Derived from the dead and done.
What we must discover is that we are
Dimensionless; dissolved.
We are individuals as a device.
Devised and intertwined.

2/19/2015

The hurt is not enough.
the Frost crawling on the window keeps me grounded
on this sickly saccharine reality,

i'd once described a bedroom in July as an example of
the sucrose candidity of the human condition,
sticking bobby pins in my hair i'd realise in January

that the Chelsea Hotel #2 scenes were as well,
sticking to a sort of geniune artistic integrity
come to bed, hey hello to my friend afterwards

and how was it's? with little no big toothy grins
but then I would remember
sitting under elm trees at Fitzrandolph drinking a cold

coffee, because it was hot then! and it was sunny then!
and the weather conjured sweet artificial caramel flavorings-
sitting under the tree and thinking about how good life is or

was. And when I realize that the forest is as dead as it ever was
and I look at pictures of trees with leaves fully on, maybe in the
forests of Alabama or Georgia,

I realize that I haven't seen a life in a long time- but
when i burn my hand with the lighter the butane glaze on my skin
i don't really mind it that much because i think of it and quite frankly

I like to say i'm as pure as I always was but,
what burns me now: Desire desire desire
and back then the museum was talking about Roethke

and it was all I needed I didn't mind the
idle cab drivers that would call me Angel by the gates.
and my Mennonite father said I need to

repent.  I don't even want to go to
church but that is all I end up doing nowadays anyways.
Thinking about the sun, and falling over a piece of ice and seeing the

red scarlet (connotation vs denotation?) on the
white of the ice i cannot help but think that once again *the
hurt is not enough.

like that arithmetic trick of working out how much 1 seventh
costs if the sigma costs 10 quid (i.e. using the 0 to move
like a decimal  and increase the multiplier
                                              for easier obelisk action),
i found out there’s a similar mechanism
in words, although the results are much different:
taking the hindu word om, the mantric om that’s used
to define the soul... this syllable known to buddhist hindus
and jainists had to be translated into monotheism,
the equivalent omkara emerges when the letters
move about like clogs in a cuckoo clock...
the closest sound that’s implied is found
in infected mushroom’s none of this is real (track)...
using the kabbalistic method
o                                                     m
becomes
m                                                    o
­the treble effect is there, the more pronounced
consonant gives this mantra stability,
unlike the polytheistic version with the rule of thumb:
consonants refer to materialistic seen things...
vowels refer to immaterial unseen things...
breaths... a breath in the cold winter air
thickens with cigarette smoke... but no soul is seen;
added to this... there’s the whol golden calf debacle
at the foot of mt. sinai...
unlike kamadhenu...
                                       not the sound of sustenance,
but fertility... interpreted most keenly in the realm of ideas,
but of course nandi too... shiva’s “cerberus.”
now for some reverse etymology:
omkara / aumkara / pranava
     hell... how am i going to make moo **** and meaningful
in an expanded denotation?
work with me here... moo... “affirmation of something human”
nay, even animalistic... jung’s anima...
mounima? hmm... i can sit here all day pushing this foetus out...
here are potential candidates... considering
there is a kabbalistic influence, it would be natural to use hebrew
(mounima is thus dropped as a candidate):

mo’aviv (spring)                mo-akharon (last, final)
mo’ani (i)                           mo’gav (back)
mo’geshem (rain)             mo’dvash (honey)
mo’hayom (today)           mo’zman (time)
mo’khadash (new)           omkhalav (hebrew omkara?)
mo’yashar (honest)...

ah wait! i forgot to insert the diacritical mark over the o...
we’ll need a macron in each example, e.g. mōzman.
now to choose mōkeev (ache, i.e. aching for the divine?)
mōklum (nothing, i.e. banishing nothing from existence?)
mōknisa (entrance, i.e. entrance into the divine realm?)
mōpaam le paamayim (once to twice)
rishon mōzman (first time, i.e. being here, on earth)
mōtshuva le omkhara.
                             honestly... i can’t choose which one,
well... as italicised, therefore orientating the subplot of
this last section: the actual choice.

01004    (N18>N25>N86>N365)

i guess it was just one of those days that managed to be split
between two:
get up at 7am: shower, get dressed,
head out for the first shift as a supervisor at the London
stadium: starting at 9am... work until 4:30pm...
shake hands with the stewards at the end of the shift
for making my job all the more easier...
calling control (of the stadium) on my radio telling them:
there's a limping crow on the pitch, could we please remove
him? not so easily done, but done nonetheless...

finishing the shift having to master the art of moving
through spectators also leaving,
heading toward Wembley stadium,
starting the shift at 6pm and working until 11:30pm...
leaving the stadium trapped by more spectators
leaving the stadium... being | | this close to getting into
Wembley Park station: i was already planning
a swift return home... on the metropolitan line
to Liverpool St. then a quick train ride back to Romford...
obviously that wasn't going to happen...
**** man: i love this change of plan...
i watched as people were rushing to Wembley Central
station while i walked into a shop
and bought myself a bottle Coca-Cola for mixing
with whiskey at home, a packet of Sterling cigarillos,
a packet of 10: only £5.30...
a packet of crisps and a magnum milk and white chocolate
raspberry ice-cream... walked to the first bus stop...
PACKED... chicken-brain: hatch a man...
absolutely necessary to walk up stream to the origins
of the bus route... passed one bus-stop back:
packed... passed a third: packed... the fourth
at Wembley Central was empty: for a while...
before i noticed that Wembley Central was closing
and people started congregating...
oh **** this... i walked back to the fifth bus-stop...
or maybe it was the sixth...
no... no way am i going to get on a bus:
watch it get packed like a can of sardines
and stand there like a clueless *****!
i have walk back a mile and sit in the front seats
of a double decker on top: SIT... relax... after a long day...
than stick around with these sheepish folk
that would rather stand at a bus-stop with about
50 other people than figure up what salmon do...

ha! plan worked... sat up-stairs on the front two
seats... now i said to myself:
this is my favorite bus journey: from Wembley
to Romford...
first the N18... then the N25... then the N86
and finally the N365...
                                    mind you: north London grime
architecture is very different to east London
grime architecture... i prefer the London grime architecture
to the east London grime...

as i sat down i thought to myself: what i really now
for this to be an "Emirates" journey back home
is for some pretty girl to sit down next to me...
hey presto! i'm a firm believer in luck of late...
i was lucky today...
she sat down... a sort of Camila Cabello lookalike:
but much prettier... Spanish... i can decipher Spanish
when i hear it: d'uh... i could never find a Spanish girl
i found attractive: Spanish feminists and French
feminists put me off from looking...
but there she was... sitting pretty... raven hair...
glasses... blue-grey eyes... skin tone: mocha with a hint
of cinnamon and bronze...
i felt an Adam's apple in my throat choking me...
will i speak to her?
a little nudge of the leg on her part...
a little bristle of arm against on arm...
then dozing off her head almost rested on my shoulder...
i just couldn't help admire the difference in size
of our two bodies...
by thumb alone i had a thumb 1.5x larger than hers...
i looked at my shoulders in the reflexion
in the glass lit up by streetlamps...
  then i looked at her petite exposed details...
she kept flicking her hair: at one point the detailed
a style that i greatly admire: no partition down the middle:
although she pulled it off stunningly because
her raven hair was slightly bouncy: not curly:
bouncy... but then she flicked her hair to one side...
so feminine details any woman could wish to have...
naturally gracing some ancient altar of
man's admiration...

  a crescendo came when some ******* came on the bus
and was playing some ****** rap music
for us to listen to... turns out he wasn't a *******...
he ended playing Coldplay's Paradise...
the entire bus erupted in song... everyone was
singing... she was singing: me? i was just smiling...
she then asked this guy who was standing over her
(because the bus was that full that people were
also standing on the upper-deck) about whether
the N18 stops at St. Paul's...
my throat loosened and i turned around to her:

no... what you have to do is get off at Oxford Circus
and turn left onto the Oxford St. and catch
the N25 bus to St. Paul's... and as i did what i instructed
her to do... i got up and realised:
she came a magical puff of smoke never to be seen
again...
          i knew this was going to happen...
make your heart small... make your heart small...
dangerous daydreaming to begin with...
i knew nothing would come of anything like this...
do people still meet people of their dreams
in random locations in life? on buses?
or is the whole dating experience all about profiling
yourself on the internet so that people
have a boring a priori knowledge of you?
that's why dating is so ****... there's nothing to unravel...
there's nothing to discover: absolutely no thrill...

but this is most certainly my favourite route...
esp. at night... and if you can time it perfectly...
you jump on one bus... jump off it then jump onto
another and a maxim you have to wait for the third
is about a minute: enough time to take off your shoe...
pull up your sock, put the shoe back on and not have
time to do the shoelaces...
i was going to get off the N25 at Stratford bus station
but as the bus was circling the station
i noticed a blackened N86 waiting...
the driver just managed to go down from the second
deck to his cabin and pour himself a coffee from
a flask... so i stayed on the bus to Ilford Hill...
but... i started to watch my back...
yep... just before Manor Park i saw the ******
speeding... quickly got the N25 and jumped
straight onto the N86...
i was in lucky... from Goodmayes there were
only three people on the bus...
we sped past Chadwell Heath and entered Romford
without anyone at bus stops or anyone
trying to get off...

walked to the last bus-stop and caught the N365
to Collier Row... then... talked to myself for a while...
literally... i talked to myself...
i only do this "talking to myself" when i tired
of thinking it... then thinking has absolutely no effect
on me: when i can't do any ego-tripping:
i talk to myself when i've exhausted all avenues
of feeling all "high and mighty"... i bring myself
to a level of conversation: since i can talk to myself:
but i can't think to myself... how can i?
i'm not even myself when i'm thinking: all that ego-*******:
shrapnel thinking...

did i hear my company manager just tell me
he gave me an extra hour of the second shift?
call me a legend... because i was the only person in the company
willing to do a double-shift? i must have:
that's why i started talking to myself: i think i misheard
him...
and wasn't i a supervisor today, even though modern
security standards require you to have an NVQ level 3
while i only have a level 2?
and my treating stewards with the utmost respect
having than talking down to them: gaining their trust
and mutual respect, isn't that something?
that golden rule: treat others like you'd like to be treated?

and to think: i was in the trenches and pitfalls
of madness for so long... my 20s are a blur
or psychiatric pharmacology and psychological
scrutiny...
while most people lost their minds during the Corona
virus lockdowns: i regained mine:
i guess people were a given a taste of the sort of medicine
i was prescribed for so long...
i returned like a phoenix... i exploded back into
the realm of human interaction with shedding
my straitjacket... why could it be so weird
that i hear a choir either ascend or descend in a church
and then in a heat of panic hear a great wind
disperse the choir?
what's so weird about that? doesn't anyone who fasts
and smokes marijuana conjure up such auditory
hallucinations daily? sure... sure... blame it on the ****:
i actually gained while others lost...
i returned to a state i remember myself as being
in high school: not-two-faced... just chameleon like...
i can be liked by almost anyone these days...
one guy who's prone to wearing finger-less leather
gloves and that famous Palestinian bandana takes one
of his gloves off and is so happy to shake hands
with me...

even today i walked into a chicken shop before the second
shift and met up with two stewards i've worked with
before... i ordered a spicy five wing meal...
they were waiting for their meal...
we talked about Miranda (the strawberry drink)
was any good... shift times... blah blah... i stood next to them
and ate... they were perched on stools...
we ate together... Somalis?! who cares...
it's not like England is America....
race is a descriptive investment: not a prejudicial
aspect... i need to say if someone is either Somali
or Samoan or Eskimo... it just paints a certain picture
that a white boy can be on level ground...
my greatest concern whenever dealing with
someone is... respect... the surest sign of respect
is: i'll eat with you... i finished my chicken wings ate
some of the fries... i noticed one of the guys
ordered a burger and a wrap... i couldn't finish
the chips... so i asked... hey...
there's some unopened mayo pouch...
i can't finish these chips: do you want them?
you sure: he implored... mate... i'm full...
he gladly took them thanking me...

of the two best quote i have yet to topple:
Bukowski: some people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must live...
and?
there are variations on this one...
quos deus vult perdere, prius dementat
ha! those whom god wishes to destroy,
he first deprives of reason...
there's a double take on that...
point in mind: to destroy: not... to be destroyed...
meaning? if a deity requires a change of pace
for humanity... it's not a maxim directly related
to Hercules...
  to destroy doesn't imply: to be destroyed...
quem Iuppiter vult perdere, dementat prius
is more precise in that assumption...
those whom Jupiter wishes to destroy,
he first deprives of reason... then again? no!
destroy what? himself or the world around him?!
i've seen the world being destroyed...
if the gods truly wanted me sulking, mumbling...
in some mental institution... i would be just there...
but i'm all in the open... i've regained my strength!
i haven't destroyed destroyed myself...
i've regained myself: perhaps it's not the old me
i remember with a rich cognitive-narration lodged inside
my head: but? instead it's lodged in my read:
that's how the Cartesian dynamic works...
you can begin with the "solipsistic" res cogitans...
but end up after a psychotic transformation
as being a res extensa: what you think about in sketches
you write about in a narrative that's "escaped"
the hell of your supposed "thinking"...
couple that with experiences of auditory hallucinations...
letters, words... are better coupled to writing
than anything the Beatnik attempted with exploring
language with hallucinogenic additives...
believe me... first comes music: then music notation:
then... the ambiguities of what's being spoken...
after all: you can speak language in a rainbow of accents...
but you can't exactly play an instrument
idiosyncratically: it has to be universally arrived at...
otherwise it's particular, i.e. out of tune...
whereas music is universal: language is particular...
sure... the strict obligations of the written tongue
being universal... but? how it sounds? there's nothing
universal about language beside the fact that language exists
per se... English is not a universe language:
it's a modern version of the medieval Lingua Franca...
but... how many versions of English are there?

there's a version of English in every language
that already exist...
on the N25 bus i overheard some Hindus giggling
and dropping loan-word-bombs prompto:
chicken... nuggets...

hmm... something strange happens when you strart
leaning on the res extensa (extended thing)
rather than focusing on the egocentric (cogito)
of the res cogitans (thinking thing)...
a res vanus (empty thing) is spawned...
of course in the realm of res extensa you can
mix-up your own thinking with strange hallucinations
that are cognitive in nature and can be misunderstand
as sensual: on the basis that "thinking" is "audible"...
for example:
Matthew: you're a genius.... a strange expression
for an ego to have: given there's a denotation
of a noun, a given name:
a chair doesn't reply to: you're a great table,
does it?
ergo? an "i" doesn't respond to: you're either genius:
or a Matthew...
an i is an i... a hammer is a hammer...

oh god no... Descartes is yet to be properly invested
in intellectually...
he gave the really proper antithesis of
Christian trinity theology...
Freud just created cages for modern modern
to be behaviour-ably: un-stimulating....
predictable: all that ego super-ego id schematic
is ****-pants worth when pointing a finger back
and telling people: just do what as i do:
do some Cartesian-revisionism...
it will do you much good...

you heard that joke about a bilingual "schizophrenic"?
apparently he's exponentially squared and squared root
of a quadratic...
i think i regained my senses by going mad first...
second came the destruction:
given the damage already done:
i had nothing else in me to destroy... the world needed
a fire... so great that it would have to experience
a shackling to either luck, fate, or? circus...
or all three! ha ha!

it was truly a bountiful day... that N18 bus ride
with that pretty Spanish girl gave me flickers of hope...
heavenly Islamic harems exist...
if only... wait... she did have one or two "awkward"
flickers of freckles.... freckles? moles... those "puns"...
i terribly hate people who make millions
scribbling sensibly guised never-good-byes...
i'm supposed to be picking up a second bicycle i'll
be using to go off the road today...
5:30am... i'lll sleep until 1am then thinking about it...

n'ah... two bicycles... i always loved the idea...
one day i ride on the roads...
the other day i ******* into the woods...
chances are i'll come across a blind rabbit..
as you do...
mind you... even with todays? yesterdays!
yesterdays! shift... i was mostly dealing with the early
leavers..
but it's Coldplay... it's not like the Red Hot Chilly Peppers...
if they're doing a world tour...
and they have the same set-list?
i already heard their two best songs
when they play them first... Paradise and
Adventure of a Lifetime...
  Yellow? i couldn't care less... Fix You...
fix constipation first fix diarrhoea thirst...
don't panic, no? we all live in a beautiful world?!

2020 - day 103 -- a long and winding story, fun, I re read it twice.

Wednesday, April 22, 2020
8:04 AM

Pharoah-ism is a thing.

It's in a class of words holding forms for governing,
herds of humans,
who can be fit to the form, walk this way,

like an Egyptian, indebted for all your worth

Trillions and trillions, soon enough,
the ghost of Everett Dirkson laughs at
another billion attributed to Carl Sagan,
"we ain't even thinking real money any more."

To whom does the government of, for, and by the people,
owe all the nation can invent

Some day we will learn each bit of reality, but

we, as a specie, a valued mod on the base line
must access our global brain.

China -- that is -- the military mind of China,

has egged on
the military might of the USA, offering hope

for all-out war on peace, for no reason.

War has never had a reason for which any good
could come. Never.

And I will defend to the death your right to disagree,
but not your right to fight and destroy me.

If peace and war were to meet on a distant shore,
peace might move inland, but

now, we meet here on earth as mere ideas empowered
by the codemaker; peace and war

tete a tete, cabezo y cabezo I betcha, like dos cabezos

peering ahead on I -10... on the road again...

this is a changing station stage of life...

fold down time.

monster employers, users and maintainers of
common flesh and blood eyes, ears and hands,
people of the commonest class;
some times sitting in boxes,
some times standing in lines, sometimes

watching welder robots do your dad's old job.


--- capital
= money = time.

Gotta minute?
Invest it in imagining you think, as in,

think

who holds those, no, not those,

these truths, these factions of the whole
truth
faction, not fraction,

truth
and nothing but as sworn to on tv via mirror neurons
and solidi-fied, pur-chased, caught, netted,

in plebeian pledges of allegiance from first
grade, in the sorting of useful citizens,

some may serve at the highest levels, lifted via
lessons proven learned in standard tests,

-- number two pencil, fill each box, complete-ly,

so a machine can discern your answer, and punch
through the insulating paper, to signal
each bit of evidence

coming into piles of assorted usefull knacks,

mark this one. Feed him Wattie Piper, make him
think, I can
think, I can, think, think a little think...


We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of

How did Einstein think?

AI ai ai, we know. Not in words. Einstein was taught to think

in whatification. What if I

--- nail the sun to the sky and feel the earth move me at
-- twenty-five, or so
-- thousands of miles
per fifteen three hundred and sixtieths of a day
-- and a night, one whole day...

but N D Tyson taught me that trick, not Einstein...
and not all things count as worthy,
relatively, of attention paid.

The worth of a thought's open door invitation to the curiosity we
enjoy


Semantics (from Ancient Greek: σημαντικός sēmantikós,
"significant") 
is the linguistic and philosophical study of meaning 
in language,
programming languages,
formal logics,
and semiotics.
It is concerned with the relationship between signifiers
—like 
words, phrases, signs, and symbols
—and what they stand for in reality, their denotation.

On the subject of secrecy in general,

ah, no, we've no secrets, for here we have no truely
believable lies,

the truth will out, we say.
Life ain't fair, death had no hope, that's just

the way it is.
Wait and see. We had ein kleiner Gedanke, once
upon a mythical histerical time,

ah, think of any first blood in a world of secrets, such as we

formed from, even in famine, some seed was sown
each season,

some seed remained from first story peoples, preserved
in sacred places, safe,
until the dawning on you, that this is true, life always wins.

brightly lighted stage of history

no weakness... save where the blade meets the soft flesh
beneath a noble head bowing to think


fringe brushes my gnostic-itch, son of a gun,

son of a blade, edge, point

pierce the air, no pop, no apoptosist apostasy, see

we use words with no definitive meanings, right?

significance is cast aside, who cares
that's just semantics, I don' quibble bout {sign-if-i can-sense}
significance
or sign.
I wonder did we double down on a word righting there,
did we give meaning to a barely breathing

wind born lie, some interruptions signify engagement of

a clutch, a tool to grip the wild spinning trans-
*******, while

we slip into something more comfortable.
A higher, cruising 12 to 1 gear

My neighbor from two hills north, is coming to sit a while,

the guy has been called Cowboy, as a name, since all his siblings
knew him.

He is a walking archetype. And my friend. We share some burrs,
from wild meadows ridden on sole leather,

leaving a steaming auto-mobile by the side of the road,

aaah, the interruptions {more, with Oliver gone}

any line in context, is a step past last, a first of all the nexts

Nexts?
Options. Who determined this? My will being to discover this
fringe connection to the persistence on the fringe

of string theory strangling struggling

genera general, whole sorts of hu-mongolian signif-if-if ier yous.

Yous guys includes girls and nobody makes me say,

wombed AND un-wombed, man. So yous, youse, y'all you all;
you,
samesame, okeh. Plain and subliminal, wait and see. Losers win,

when they stop fighting fair.
Die and see what happens,
or imagine
you
know some body who did die and before he did he said,

Hide, and watch. AND now, you see,

caution once cast to the wind, calming all the rage required

to oppose the forces

¿? quare, sistere, wait, feel the urge to know, a click calque

see, new old idea, an old idea studied to the point of a word
formed to signify a set of things

cal-que-able, in curios kurio terms derived

from Phoencian merchants, who set up benches in all the ports.

Users of money, milkers of the exchange, worth-ship of silver,

balanced on the craftily formed me-assuring thing,

eight silver tid-bits makes one golden one, tid-bits fit

fingers, excluding thumbs, for thumbs play a role

mechanically in holding any thing, even

steady -- com-pre-hensive press press sure...

you got it, knowledge

ex-spands into wow... did it work?

Did we make a handle? Or a tool? No pressure, guess.

And Dave Goodman, rides into the west, with a QVC Lid-Lock

full of fabulous pasta cheese and celery, with peas.

A culinary experiment conducted by the grandmother
of all my grand children,

a most mazing teacher of balance's pre care-ious role

on an inclined plane sure to flatten the curve

--- are we in historical moments a generation long,
--- with second generations arrows
--- never quivered, these shafts I shot by faith at unseen things,

for which I have reasons. Were now the war,

we all agree war always cost far more than its worth in death,
robbing life from mankind,

unaware if there ever were a gospel truth. I say don't study war with carnal weapons.

Words carry us into real contextual contests for human sanity as a whole,
we can make peace,
we all can breathe easy, loose the tight jibbs {jaws}, gritted molars, loosen up...

Historically, it seems riddles became de riguer in ifity, but plainly,

only surviving stories survive.

Science knows no story which was eaten up and troubled m'bowels and made me know

boom boom boom, montezuma's revenge

in the spirit kah-blewy con ef ef ef fectual fervent

prayer/sayer saying/praying in timeless harmony

if we can agree... no good we imagine can fail,

let chirality meet diversity and error meet ciliation

conciliate celebration,

conciliate (v.)
"overcome distrust or hostility of by soothing and pacifying," 1540s, from Latin conciliatus, past participle of conciliare "to bring together, unite in feelings, make friendly," from concilium "a meeting, a gathering of people," from assimilated form of com "together, together with" (see com-) + PIE *kal-yo-, suffixed form of root *kele- (2) "to shout" (the notion is of "a calling together"). Related: Conciliated; conciliating; conciliary. The earlier verb was Middle English concile "to reconcile" (late 14c.).

take away my anti-grace, de
ify my chance appearance,

dance, mirror neuronically, sitting your chair-saddle,

y'put y'left foot in behind your right and

boom
y'hit a but, but this, but that, but some other thing,

you got only so much mortal attention,

so when one door closes, whatever you need, is not there,

here we see the old wise man who saved a city and no one knows his name,
he say, redundancy of instruction is the way of life.

fectual per effing e fect, non sensicle semantical ice, Gibsonian ice,

no sweat, we are wrapped in white linen,

we broke on through and waited for you.

Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also.

words we remember were words
meant
to stand tall understanding all things


differently, re
reading, the scene from Night Scenes in the Bible,
that
was a level of knowns
effectually un provable but by
common movie-complex unbelief release, let it be

-- lower missing efs, finding more attention {behind the scenes}

ef-fectual is conjugolly confusin my prudent nature.

or higher, north or sout, plus or minus h

who cares. We made it. This is today.

Meek inheritance day or the spirits judged by the degree day,
a holi
day
in which they trouble their own house, and recall the point that
pierced their own soul,

so to speak,

survived hating your own self for other's sakes,

sakes meaning  goodness and graciousness which

constitute the happy bits in ever,
the treasures found,

where a man's heart is,
my diamond farm is yours now,

my gift to you... only words.

I inherited the wind, my job is to finish melting the ice.

God and sinner reconciled is a song,

does that make it less true?

For us, ever began before today,

so today is that day or it is not, we wait to see

or we wait and see, seeing if

this were the day, when all things go my way,

or come my way, in the course of human events,

I may be ready if readiness is some form of kurios

assurance, blessed, said *****, in a song,

I agree, blessed assurance,
Hey-sus is mine, find his words bring comfort

2020 paradigm shift is common parlance, Cowboy uses that
and logos regularly and he is

old, by mortal standards, for an archetype he's barely ligandary
to most receptive sub caudal imps.

they can feel

him biting the bullet,
gritting his teeth on the Gerber Bowie-wannabe blued steel
blade, re-imagined in reread instead, bullets bitten can go off,

I know a kid fired a deadly-for-a-mile bullet,
with a hammer and a rock, so, knifes are dangerous, too,
so
as a mime-ical biting down, per
haps this hero-in-forming bites

a wooden drumstick, beating now with one,
biting down on the other
boom
boomto doom boom
boom
boomto doom boom... and as the beat goes on,

fringes find loose ends and latch on...

Dirac was an early Cher fan, and she was something like dys
lexical survivor of the year,
if she can, anybody can
I think I can read faster than

hmmm, slippery *****,
speaking memes as old as I remember, then

by the time I wondered if she were real or
a con structure
I lose my footing

slip on something comfortable, this promises to be

that night, in the legends, just prior to a marked, edge of night,

ever after post. Will you still love me,

tomorrow.... deeedly violins lift away any hope

of redemption, oh, ma, it was 1963, you had to have me

to sing your blessing into,
to hide your gift in me, no one must know, oh god
bless his heart...

no part of this vision is clear, nor plain, why is this my beatrice
cockatrice

Olden day, Robinson's cowboy preacher son, sowed a saying in my
core, I sup-pose, put
his phrase formed
an ever more pleasant link to Wikenberg,
on this shelf, see, we can remember the target by re

reading... remembering never drink from the Hasayampa.
and you can tell the truth
by
aquiring point on conscience. Taking thought.

Ethos keeps insisting we are in some offensive mode.
Thus the call for concentration, we are tunable now,

on some oldies but goodies websites...
Kenpepiton.com, for one.
mytechpeople.com is possibly in the archives.

Calebland.com long left to a bland b-break lacking dash,
early urls. imaginable as answers to
either wishes or prayers,

or desires... unseen, unthinkable tools to augment a

satisfied mind, completely ******, no direction home...

here, my heart, my contentment container,

at the moment, indistinguishable from any mortal concept of heaven.

Robinson's father's saying: {remembered just in time}

some times you have to stomp your own snakes.
he may have said, you gotta stohmp yerown dam'snakes,

but never would he have said: one must stomp one's own snakes.

With axiomatic prominences, the God Spílaiaus hung from the Virola from Ibic Three in the elevations of the Kantillana at three thousand meters high in the Transversal valleys, individualized Pichi, Chile. Millions of flying masses of Chiropterans unfolded, anticipating Vernarth's visit to the Celestial Regency of these Deities by accidental and hybrid Hellenic prophecy; coming from the Protocol of Transylvania with the Eternity of the Submythological god of Vernarth Aiónius from Ibic 1. These deities came etherealized by the heights of the Nothofagus Obliqua that was bent at forty-five degrees by the lift singing the melisma of Antiphon Benedictus that this time made the bastion and garrison of the Mikhve or Kathartyrium of Vernarth possessing souls with scabrous megalomaniacs boiling internally through the Underworld bringing Hades Speleothemes, such a tow pulls the Kosmous and humanity into the bowels of the Kardiá of the purified Agoge and the Mikveh or Purification of Vernarth in later Hypnosis Existential hanging on the halberds of the Dorus, Áspis Koilé and Kantabroi waving in the intensity of the conifers before the hegira began at Tel Gómel. Vernarth approaches Spílaiaus and proffers: “My Lord, I had an illusion…, I said that I had to fly over the Palace of Arbela at the expense of the followed “Paraps or Othónes” or Parapsychology screens that took me to wastelands full of Ungulates that rested barren in calcined silica **** covered with Hoplites and Achaemenides cries imploring to escape from disastrous dawn of Dark Angels, safe from other Angels Shvil, Almas de Kalidona, Hellenika, Armas Christi and Almas de Trouvere. Essentially all of them would beg for the circumcision of the open field and also openings of thousands of soldiers when It was arranged by all this heavenly light to crack the heels of every Hoplite. Thus leaving the hollow opening of my soul Mikveh, Kassotides, and Lynothorax that invaded with satiety to get out of itself and become the destination of all oppressed compassion on the way to the Empyrium. The curtain persists that helps beatific concerns of submitology inherent in cultural realities where it subjugates the digressive persist of specimens that recover life from their own exhaustion exercising truthfulness in those that are strengthened by their own incapacity "Vernarth" is a product of Spílaiaus' concern , and this at the same time knowing and having everything given in its analogy and terminology protruding the same root, except that submitology is roots that subordinate the inorganic and inanimate for such an effect that legacies of myths take on a leading reality that does not consider true what is not or it is part of a myth rooted in mythology, but rather of what is subtracted from its own inertia or wear and tear that does not take on a reality present in all things that are not virtuous, much less express it from a Gnostic perspective; where everything is reborn and progresses in paradisiacal cycles and messages of the Merkabah..., They are of an infinite cohesion of that celestial if it had to appear in the astral journey without taking into account what the same time in question allows to appreciate how long it has to last or persist to know that you are rooted in this process itself!

The subsequent stage will be governed by fertile beings or deities. The Genre of Itheoi Deities arises from magnificent submithological gods since they are present in events of an immortal nature doomed to micro spaces that will be configured with Paraps or Othón forming multidimensional links in each episode. The scenographic movement is represented in this work, in such a way to personify a heterogeneous reality shared by some of these gods and others from Olympus. In the case of Spílaiaus, it is specifically an augmented reality nexus of ibicos that are instantiated in this Trilogy from confraternal words where Vernarth Says: “Give me a little Gála and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not an everything I never thought of…!” Here is that Gála is dairy juice where a speleological factor intervenes from Chauvet, Valdaine - Nyons Region - France. This is more than saying that the triggering factor is Mikveh or Purification leads from the premiere of the journey to associate with the underworld of the Kathartyrium or stationary Purgation that will take him through sequences in chapters or Paraps to meet again with Virolas or Anillares composing Medrones, crimping and growth. Later Wonthelimar from the Boedromion would bring The Arrows that Zefian will bring in the Second Trilogy bringing sleeping bodies of winter to the lap of the spring Boedromion crossing lines from spring to winter in the cycle that went directly to the Cinnabar Mercurial Ambrosia. They were discreet detached arrows that he had launched into the sky and they did not return but in the rooms, and in stages of Animalia towards the duty of rejoicing at the ****** of the Telesterion. Wonthelimar, being once again relocated before starting the works on the temple of Megaron Áullos Kósmos, was returning to the Chauvet-Wonthelimar cavern. He distanced himself from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree originating from Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points of the zenith starting with the first two arrows that are placed on the bowstring away from the Quiver, each one crossing north-south trajectories and another two that were violated again with the bow of the stormy East, to launch arrows from east-west with limits of southern magnetism. He carried in his belongings "Ibic Rings" that would be transmigration towards cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth would be exactly, arguing that Zefian's phalanges would be ordered in Sintropia and organic chaos in Patmos, making Pythagorean proportions in essences of numbers that idly advanced in temporary passages of Wonthelimar that were movably made of religious Saetas and Mercurial Ambrosia of Cinnabar, to contribute with insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus. Zefian's tendency was evident to delight after being pulled from the bowstring to ghostly existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the gales that would originate the Áullos Kósmos or Megarón, a late pro of some courts imposed from the Ouranos or Cielo that was going determined in his will seized by a dubious Vestal god advocating associating with hospitable Canephores as conjectured Virgins Vestals of Roman bilocation that were resting in their hands..., and quantum parapsychology of the feared live between-tale that boils over in the arrows that have not yet fallen, not knowing their whereabouts? As sheets or serial wafers that were evoked where the origin of the Universe was broken to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burned contravened Duoverse including the divine celestial origin as a *****-ovular parameter, rather eons and instances in Hestia's chimney running in pertinacious towards vast volumes of light-years. The connectivity of the Itheoi gods will make the quantum mobility machination operable between seasonal dimensions that will have to pass through periods, stages, feats and famous moments since it is initialized from here in the stone of lance with its Etruscan horses in Tel Gómel, for later in the Eleusinian mysteries themselves co-participate in eras of connection, as it appears here after the saga of Judah composing their respective seven chapters until breaking down at the end of the Conclusive Meshuva. The Boedromión will be an essential part of Trilogy II, waking up in all the winters of the world as a shelter flowered directly to the component of the Mercurial Ambrosia, a valuable element of Cinnabar or high-grade Vernarthian Sulfur for the Vas Auric or Sacred Medallion of Limassol that overflows decanted at the end of the Mikveh growing in arid deserts.

Cardinal Spilaiaus

- North: Vóreios (Zefian Boreal)
- South: Nótos (Austral de Borker)
- West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak)
- East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial)

From Medrones that grow in massive ibix antlers in Nyons, Seven Ibics Rings were taking hold, a Viroliferous process was progressing, or exercise of rotation mechanics of Quantum Rings in the same thesis work that speaks further of a replacement Universe as the anticipatory Duoverse, and the gifted Codex Raedus as a complement or annexation baggage of the Profitis Ilias in Patmos thus generating that pre-Christian annal have a leading role in new construction by presenting a virtual situation or Genius Loci. The Semi Itheoi will have roles in leading each cardinal so that the Gestation of the Fourth Arrow of Zefian is finally re-established, reordering the universe predisposed to receive the one approaching the Duoverse. What happens in Tel Gomel and Persepolis is relevant to the Psiloi Phalanxes and crowds that would face militarized personalities, totally ignoring the origin of the Hoplite as a worshiper of Hera's Wastelands and eternal stables that supported Vernarth just like Etruscan horses and Steeds of Sudpichi summoned Alikanto or ALikantus. His mother Luccica and father Bernardólipo endorsed all contained belligerence if he were not a repentant warrior in the gloomy night of the Horcondising Castle where Spilaiaus would give warlike foreshortenings right there to abduct him at great speed to Gaugamela. Vernarth would go to these latitudes, and then he would be exposed to governorships of Aionius to consolidate and channel this hybrid submithology that would bring together the ancient Hellenic Mythology. The vertiginous passage of time will conceive harsh characterizations and qualitative Paraps or Parapsychologies, possessing the largest arsenal of quantum and historiographical data ever counted and interpreted by characterizations, more than personalized blocks in particular characters, being the support vehicle or generational stem of the summary of understanding more facts and qualities that own characteristics of interlocutors. The vast collection of Submythological gods will be strongly entrenched in identifications of Semi Itheoi or deities that are intertwined directly with the human fictional world. ! Successive Paraps are concealed and accompanied by connectivity screens called Othones, these are a fundamental part of the audio-graphic syntax, managing to structure gods and then decode the final concretion of the conclusive in each Paraps, which is nothing more than a consequence of this imperceptible quantum axon, which does not end or start!

Submythology is an etymological derivation of later stages of mythology that deprives of granting subsistence and comparative biology to cultural, urban, fabulous components or inheritance of great ancient and medieval epic periods. Contributing great accumulations of proposals to such a generation in channeling with original playwrights reinventing their theses, also giving a breath of expectation to mythical beings so that they come to life in a hybrid interpretive horizon, or with alternation of roles considering mysteries in the blink of an eye happening to postulated dissidence or vagueness, losing itself as a gendered practice but not of the real cultist who has been propagated in his gnosis to remote places of the infinite superior. In short, Submythology is an infinite tragedy where the characters represent the work in furtive omni canality, and three-dimensional presence in sharp contact with the thrones of deities that make it even more evident to relate past history through submithological exercises, which itself refers to the prefix Sub " from what precedes par excellence” and mythological suffix as a series of processes of experience where the active voice of the narrator counts, being rather an inspirational pre-constructive phase. What should be experienced when in front of us a Homeric god of Olympus is presented to us telling us that the Olympic archeology has secrets of the Myein revealing characters and successors Submythological Gods with histrionic deities looted in all ages of the Celestial Organic Subsistence.

Ibico 1: "The first was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and he brought purity, for all who needed him and went to visit him in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive if he was accepted." As the only presence of Wonthelimar is of Chauvet's present god ambivalence.

Ibico 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the center of the priesthood of his shelves with the chiropterans and in addition to the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the vapors of the Antiphon Benedictus”.

Ibico 3: "From the Eygues, the waters evaporated to heal the tormented initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron."

Ibico 4: "This ring was from the antler of Wonthelimar, here they wore the oikos or threads of Orphi Gold, for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean complement- Valdaine”.

Ibico 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's hyper neurological and Duoversal brain twinned with the Mashiach."

Ibico 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns from Kafersesuh, bringing pollination from the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti."

Ibico 7: “It is the deep voice of Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the hoarse voices that inquire of the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medium, up to the millimeter-sized shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron”


                             Gender of the Duoverse Itheoi
                                     Horcondising Deities

Previously Vernarth takes his head resting on the ceramic that supported him between the Hydor photo duct, rather bringing his hand closer to the Klismós that Saint John the Evangelist had given him when he passed through Ephesus. In such a way that when he makes the first impulse to get up from the chair he was already beginning to leave the conventional Universe for the first time, then when he sits down again in the chair inaugurating the crystalline body that was looming over himself, he continues to be the Duoverse as if outside the Klismós with its curved legs resembling supporting pilasters of the Megaron diverging to the conical ones that projected concavely supporting the hollowness of its pectoral, which was already transparent like its Invisible Eclectic Portal. Meanwhile he gets up again holding onto the Mashiach who came to take him in his arms and place him in the klismoi that interpreted the elevation of Hellenism to the Greater Heavens and the Itheoi of the Duoverse; that is to say spiritual deities of Vernarth in the classification of the rank of beginning and projection of the abandonment of the Golden Himation. In such a way that the Astragalus was integrated; a floral company that was rooted in the hands and roots that cooperatively took root in those of Kashmar. So Vernarth with the Ibic Rings would begin to syncretize the imperceptible quantum and hyper-accelerated mobilization of physics of sub-atomic particulars that would later second it, unleashing from Alef to Tav to Astragalus and Aiónius, beginning his omnipotence. The sidereal distance began to unlink towards the Calypso air that was twinned with large portions of the sea in the same enamel, making Patmos the union of chain reaction speed with the Dodecanese Valleys and Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi unifying Vernarth with Apollo, Esminteo or ephebeia; that is, three sketches of Apollo himself for the theological genealogy chart of the deity Scarabaeidae with species that multiplied together with Vernarth to become the metalloid Azophar as the main knowable guideline to the unknowable, being Apollo himself in Vernarth's corporeality before rising to the iridescence of the Moshiach.

Astragalus: His primary Itheoi or theological picture would be composed and forming part of his feet and the surroundings of his ex-voto to take to all the summits of the world in the essence and the gift of eternal life represented by the root of the madrigal curdled by his feet, with the root of the Astragalus in flower when it represented the zero-hours by getting rid of his Himation and meeting the Mashiach.

Scarabaeidae: God of the subsoil modality of wandering souls destined for the physical and spiritual decline, Scabaraeidae Aphodiinae as subtractors of all the waste of souls that have boiled in malignancy, and the Scabaraeidae Dynastinae as the righteous larvae that rise from the imaginary soil to feed on the roots of the Astragalus and all the flowers and leaves of the Dynastiae. Increased the taxonomic genus of the species that would have to remain in the underworld to aspire to a better one like these Dynastines or Heracles beetles in honor of this hero carrying the peg that Vernarth would place on all the gardens once he was in Aurion, leaving him in a larval state, before being sponsored by Hera's family for the life cycle of the Horco-Olímpico.

Nothofagus: God's phoneme-photon of divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron of the Ibex of Wonthelimar, to the millimetric assembly shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera of the Megaron, and the Iridescent Nimbus that percussed between the Áullos Kósmos and the Vas Auric ” in total synchrony with Patmos, at the same level of luminosity and growth revelation of the Scabaraeidae Dynastiae to transform inert matter into another fertile one compared to Poseidon.

Lepidoptera: Like The sixth piece of crowns by Kafersesuh bringing the fertilizations of the Lepidoptera in the Ibico Ring 6, for the central stage of investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti, where everything will be endowed with the greater Ibix called Wonthelimar” that together with Leiak they would transmute to Horcondising.

Azofar: This metalloid god and support of the bed will take and bring Vernarth again when sailing through the cosmos towards the fifth element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to extol him from the neurological hyper brain of the Duoversal of Vernarth twinned with the Mashiach, exemplifying duplicity of Apollo as Azofar device of new interstellar ships beyond all that is knowable.

Ibicus: god of Wonthelimar's antlers, here they will carry the oikos or Orphi Gold threads for the Himation and investiture to anoint Vernarth's body bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean-Valdaine complement, thus they were inaugurating the solemnity and honorability. Here the quadrature will be the perfect Heliacal Ortho of the fourth Ibico with the quadrature of Aurion commanded by Leiak in the cardinal Dyticá.

Vélus: from Ibico 4, from where the goddess Artemis will evaporate in the waters for the healing of the tormented in initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron as if they were surrounding a Castalia for such solemnity.

Spílaiaus: from Ibico 3 in the center of the ministry with the bats, and others from the mercurial ambrosia invoking the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus”. Here is one more bastion of Hades' underworld dressing for the Speleothemes that will take you to the heart of all the dens of the Faith.

Aiónius: from Ibico 1 Wonthelimar who brought purity to all who needed him and went to visit in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive” here Kaitelka and Borker, in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia. Bringing them from the labyrinths with the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth wandering through infinity.

                                       Semi  I theoi

Semi-deities and great autobiographies of the Itheoi world derived from the denotation that would be reformulated from the Apoinandros that would be displaced by spikes of the didactic Ego or teaching of the authentic apostles that crystallized with Zefian, Borker, Leiak, Kaitelka, and Ezpatkul. Zefian: Reformer of the Universe-Duoverse, possessor of the four Arrows that will illuminate Heaven and all of earthly Greece every time Vernarth circulates linearly through the seas of the Vóreios of the Aegean. Ruled North: Vóreios (Boreal of Zefian) Borker: Demiurge and guardian of the Duoverse. Warden of the Forests of the World and of the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi. Ruled South by: Nótos (Austral de Borker) Leiak: Omnipresent demiurge, the vague spirit of the docile water dancer who lives on the water with his slimy Chin, his playful back is seen breaking lines of wells between flesh and silhouettes. Before the First station, the first of the three remaining nights before reaching the crater of Joshua de Pétra” ruled West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak) Kaitelka: Down Whale ruling the Psychic Trisomy of the Duoverse and seas surrounding Patmos of the Apokálypsis ruled to the East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial) Ezpatkul: Dóntiakul or Augrum teeth or prominent Gold will rotate through the Scarabaeidae demarcating the Vóreios Vóreios in the Horcondising region, bilocating it in Patmos Encinas borers, with such frenzy…!, that of Right there they would extract the strength of the Mapuche north winds from the Meli Witran Mapu, beginning with the Pikún-kürüf.

A great revolution was conceived with the imprint codified in stars that would begin to appear in Alto Kanthillana after the awakening semblance under the Nothofagus bottoms; being a god who would free Ninfuceanicus. This was a Sylph that millions of years had been inert in the space or radius of Spilaiaus very close to events of the new awakening. This Sylph would be the main stolon of the Nothofagus and would provide residual inactive matter from it so that Vernarth could secretly rebel from the stages of darkness and desolation of the species, having been dragged by decanted augers since time immemorial from what is currently on Patmos. This would consecrate extensive recycling, accelerating the characterizations of each organic personality and not, tending to an essential role in Vernarth's plot; because it will be this depression to make of its awakening a multicellular set that would grant the disappeared species of the behavioral axis to be restructured in all the ex-karstic zones of the subsoil of Patmos, up to the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi endowed with a great mineralogical bijective mass to supply powers with signs of substance and later mineralogical dimensions. Ninfuceanicus will be its Exo muscular mineral part that will provide proteins to Vernarth directly from this Sylph, in addition to recreating with her the necromancy attached to Gods Itheoi with Tsambika, Kímolos, and Patmos.The Paraps are nothing more or less than depressions of these liberations of great old geological masses that were biasedly unified under the subsoil of Hades Speleothemes, not exemplifying the stationary world of the relay but rather the Omnipresent Sphere of Spílaiaus together with Aónius and Azofar in the rescue of this Sylph, then Vélus, Ibicus, Lepidoptera, Scarabaeidae, and Astragalus will assign them the predominant rule. In silent and prominent escalations of events, they would intrigue themselves in the Submythological Epic, recomposing themselves in recapitulations that would indicate that Ulysses, Heracles, Hector, Leonidas, and the Great Alexander the Great would come to life from this thermo-geological concoction that would manifest itself by Vernarth's upper pectoral hollow "Called Thunder Kassotides” of which the conversion into tremendous events franked by ancient Greek Mythology would be destined to Vernarth's own and expeditious Hellenic life. This assumes that the overloaded physiognomic muscular exoskeleton of the Hellenic environment will be redirected with the power of natural phenomena beginning in original symptoms of multi gnosis reborn from the sub sphere of thought that intermediates with the interior ones, after the incitement of Vernarth and being part of the gnosis that would lead him to clear everything that is with him and what will be. The Animalia as fierce representatives flow by attempts and at the same time are inhibited from a tacit presence with animals that would conform to Spílaiaus stereotypes; an out-of-phase ventral turbinate of the God of Speleothemes, who is Wonthelimar or ventral turbinate, would propitiate any incidence in manifestations of the noosphere, given the serial appendix of instantaneous analogical relation in the disturbing and super mobility of the Constellation Capricornus, the Belt of Aurion and Betelgeuse. Right there radiating particularity the ontogenesis of Vernarth, already resigning himself from the intimate existential point to focus on the complementarity of other existences on the way to the Empyrium or Resident Ouranos, brewing universals in all unlimitedly comparative when alluding to as being diligent among beings who are not, and reciprocally be revivers of those who will be. Here is the synonymy of Vlad Strigoi that could be supra-spiritual historical omnichannel considering that he is an integral part of a Mythology and a real liberating hero of Transylvania. It still is, but under the exclamatory context that is born of avidity that requires and must collect fungus vines from Canephore and Hellenic delicacies in the prompt presence of gods when it is not enough or there is no legacy of servants or servants under the hindrance of its metaphysics with its empty entrails. Here prevails what dictates a dogma that differs for those who are touched by the edge of the Speleothemes of Spilaiaus to survive in the Sphere of inorganic life of the same god and Ninfuceanicus. This legend narrates the real and non-fictional lived history of Vernarth, that time that in absolute darkness and solitude he met the deity of the Ibico three in the crowded population of the Nothofagus is a totally prehensile approving gesture of a vegetable that authorized him to address Him …, Spílaiaus was such a reference when he listened to him for long hours transforming himself into a real therapist who worthy would bilocate in the original from Piacenza-Italy, when in rare cases of parapsychology he declared himself ineffective to be able to continue the endless sessions. “Gaugamela is the great battle that must be wielded with iron temper as a stalking of a heart that did not scold for another that did not pulsate”

Great raids will be composed of others that will speak of a strong hero having committed superiors, of others that will be based on eloquent vivacity that nothing takes long when it is necessary to induce the cut of Una Xiphos; whose function is dissuasive if the blacksmith is not a god that shows no mercy, but if he is from a job that can be resistant to deliberate him in another that has nothing, nor will he sustain him. The goal is essential in all weakness if a hero is consumed by his stoic bravery, rather it could perfectly reside in his coat of arms as indicated by Hephaestus in the glitter of a forge when the seasoned worshiper of his forges spills liquid steel and not blessed blood of a royal warrior from Laodicea. What Vernarth forges of Hephaestus himself will sound on his lyre descended from precognition of the god Spilaiaus, affirming that blacksmiths of Athens would be decoys that adhere to carcinogenic generations of opprobrious fires, if it were not for one who could carry in his hands a sword certainly jammed by Hephaestus, and that the diluted steel that really falls would make future generations authentic sedated drops in them for the true Spartan or Greek that strengthens it with verve and abulence.

The bold and delicate trees bow down beckoning me.
We are all in one bundled in a grand emporium prolific cornucopia.
My pudgy feet make acquaintance with your smooth clay ground.
The understory of shrubbery demure and quaint basking in the sun.
We are all in one.
The inhabitants below the ground tunneling and supplementing your crust with nutrients whilst my furled brows arch up towards the halcyon sky.
I can't pin a denotation of what life is, but I can utter a word that resonates in my purest of minds.
Connect.
Only connect, and all will be fine.

rich folks can do whatever they want
and it’s illegal to be poor
that’s connotation, not denotation
but slap me if i’m wrong
all men are created equal
and women are free to jump off the boat
and find a dolphin to ride

softly spoken
he and me
gentle
kind
always our
vibrations aligned
in smooth
rythym
we
syncopate
to each others
peaks
and
f
  a
     l
       l
         s
a binding occurs
smoothened
signalling
on rippled water
from pebbles dropped
moonlight dances
on repeat
repeat
shimmery light
in perfect oscillation
undulating
with varifocal
denotation

* * * *

nebulae burst
high above
as if
to celebrate
this love
a coupling made
binary
orbiting stars
he is to me
my magnetar

~~~~~~~

as for fresh pastures
lush new beginnings
blade upon blade
from fertile seed
lays a soft green
pathway
to true loves garden
where hearts are freed
past well trod paddocks
across faraway seas
where love lays waiting
on her gentle knees

* * * *

©J.C. tiger-baby 11/08/2019 4.44am

people are still getting the existential-ist 'air quotes' wrong: i'm pretty sure they are supposed as metaphors or... quick-misnomer takes on: but you can't just air quote "ingredients" when... involved in a culinary competition... can you? i thought that INGREDIENTS were... power brokering: the sigma; no?

quick! ****** out wilfred zaha...
wait, it's not Wilfred?
it's: wil-fried: i will have fried?
chips?!
anyway... ****** 'im...
down... at the knee-cap: whichever
leg... i think he's a right-footer...
so take the left kneecap out...
make him "take the knee"
like the rest of them doing
in imitation of Derek Chauvin:
the jury heard that a man with a knee
on his throat could shout
21+ times: i can't breath...
i tried it... without a knee on my neck...
i would possibly stretch it to
two shy off a dozen...

so much for "taking the knee":
Derek! take the knee!
take two! chow down: shoving through 'em...
quick quick! take as many knees as it takes
for the jury to fake:
being able to utter that phrase...

it's clearly a ****-take on the capacity
of man's endeavour into breath...
oddly... to take a knee like Derek Chauvin
took the knee... there's not critique of
anything... just a laugh:
on how... irony can be capitalised...
how: you will know the difference between
good &, &... evil...

point blank range: oh, you'll know...
you'll sniff it sushi raw...
but you'll still rather conflate the two
as: dichotomy "biased"...
it's the ultimate dual!
it's the only dual!
should you arrive at the monism of inanimate
things... good for you!
good, for, you!

- and i too came to a trans-
conclusion...
it couldn't be a mistake that my parents
gave me a Hebrew's first name
and a German second name...
it wasn't like they gave me
the name: Stanisław
or Bolesław...
   of my two given names: none are
Slavic in origin...
     i'd settle for Nikita Lothar
if i were to be honest...
if i were to be honest i'd name my
son that... Nikita Lothar...

sounds formidable: he could even
write one of his names in katakana
like a would-be samurai:
サムライ
      ニキタ -
      a name so perfect it would require three...
clear... syllables...
as you get with Japanese
in general: the vowels & N...
but the consonants are muddled up
it's hardly an AM for a マ:
since there isn't one... ergo? cage...
as much as i admire the katakana:
Hangul is "superior"...

oh sure... good luck writing Lothar
in katakana:
good luck finding the letter L...
and the free-standing R...
at least in the latin script i can dotty:
ditto... capsicum typo... capsizing...
****: that didn't even come out
as a... ah ha ha: a typo!
my bad...

  oh hello: ******....................

Conrad:
just shy off Lothar... and most certainly
way off from: Otto...
because like all the bad men of history...
Stalin... ******... i too have a terrible
surname... i changed my twice:
or, rather... had it changed for me...
good to know i will not be
curating lineage ambitions...

- in the stillness of the night i leech
onto the wall dividing me
and my Nigerian neighbours...
the candle is burning the cats are either
sleeping or pretending to sleep...
and i listen in on the shouts...
they had a party not so long ago...
funny... those people who want
others to be with them:
but when alone: as unit of "family"
they're at each others' throats:
no wonder the need other people...

give me the night...
give me the wind gently brushing
the eucalyptus tree...

the Nigerian men agree that their women
are crazy: i'd just push the envelope a little
bit further: i love cats:
i love cats in my capacity to not
give them attention:
but of course... a woman being a woman:
would pander a ******* tapeworm
should that relieve her of her anorexia
when she's not...
prescribing herself... bulging out...
i.e. modern anorexics: i find...
don't eat... to later... "regurgitate":
whatever the term is:
to alleviate the metaphorical representation of
a Caesar's ****... mixed food:

PURGE! lying in a muddle, puddle...
muddle... puddle... it would take *******
down the throat
to imitate choking...
but... that's all done outside
any of the modern pornographic antics:
yuck...
i get turned off by modern *******...
i sometimes try and do get away with
a shy... happy monkey slap
but in general?
i'd rather be downing shots of *****
with frostbite particles... iron trimmings...
whatever: in Syb-eerie: ah...

the next time i hear that the ethnic noun:
Slav is etymologically rooted in Slave...
i'll denote the same roots for German:
a germ of a man... "my" people were more...
forthcoming... to denote the German
as less a germ and more a: deaf-dumb-mingles
into: not speaking out zunge...

when "we" first heard ICH:
i said: their ownership...
while when they first heard JA:
they agreed... the Spaniard laughed...

project pronoun denotation:
this... little game these pseudo-linguists are
having in the English language:
of course i'm not included!
but the game is for mortals!
i'm certain my writing is immortal!
i sacrificed too much to think it might
be otherwise! ha!

petty mortals... not the sort of mortals
you might want to respect...
itchy... *****-whipped types...
believe me...
i have my eternity already planned out:
i'll drop into the brothel from time to time
to sample the ol' Turkic raven hair
tongue like octopus' tentacles occupied...
slobbering...

i was 18 she was 14...
my name was...
her name was Pri-
                                   -ya...
but... she only the third: love at thirst of sight...
there's the first: Kotówna...
surname alone: no name...
there's no need...
then there was Samantha...

i fell in love twice: that's twice...
before i learned to swim...
it would seem...

i'm growing old... vampire-esque:
i.e. vampiric...
i don't think i will ever find a love at first: blink...
like i have found...

oh... wait... wasn't multiculturalism
part of the experiment?
no... for Nigerian neighbours? no?!
moi... as... neighbour?
do i have to live among these:
can he: won't he: will he:
maybe... yes: no... sort of... scared
deer pretend *******?!
i'd sooner pretend sane with...
birches...
the last dream i encountered was...
plucking out a piece of flesh from my face
that wasn't "quiet" a maggot...
but was... in that it wasn't a wriggling
maggot... it was a dead maggot...
acne... excess white blood cells...

how do these 40+ newspaper columnists find
stamina to lie to themselves
on the crux of: leaving nothing for further generations
to... latch onto!
there's no future in journalism
from the currently surrendered to...

oh but there is... spewing opinions some of us
have not diacritical access to...
like: when... fine... & dining...
why do you... obliterate the existence of...
carbohydrates?!
the "stealth" materials...
        fine: dining: my *** is fine dining: ha ha...
said any... precursor to a premature death
sentence of a pornographic galore that:
would never make it to the cougar shelf
of antics...

                                           what?!
once more... no one is shocked...
it's just me: either mad or just dandy / stupid...
from now on... when i tell you:
*******... the world is going to burn
i want you to agree and clap and watch:
as the world... will burn...
why?!
oh... for the fun of it...
how?
via neglect...
          
i'm pretend drunk when debating the TRANS...
you... who? he's... she's... no! they! they can't be
******* serious!
the post-Soviets and the prior-pseudo-Prussians
are on my back: if i have one..
i'm a ****** that dated a Russian ******
that... likes to listen to Teutonic crusader songs...
i'm... TRANS-!
i still like to use hammer...
corkscrew... argument for "individualism"...
oi! *****! chase the Samaritan!
calm the ****: back down... Mr. Messiah...
who's who?! i actually wasn't pointing at anyone:
beside... myself...

i like the faces of children...
they remind me of... the faces of animals...
ooh... wait... now i have a problem:
some... pseudo-Buffalo pseudo-impromptu...
now? come to think of it...
some people deserve to suffer...
they have the stress membrane intactness to
flow: "through": idiot squirming...

      i just gave you the name(s) of a son
i will never: ever... have...
i sort of squirm... i sort of assure myself...
i also take pointers...
there's no submarine at the helm...
just the flimsy vocabulary... no?

well: here i am... don't expect me to
**** the crazed-up cat ladies:
i'll leave that to the **** quacks...
and... whatever magic is to be associated.

you have caught up to my drift, dear unicorn... i've been elsewhere the past few days... perhaps i drank too much... perhaps... but then cycling into central London feels surreal every time things fall off from the everyday in the vicinity of Bow, Stratford and Mile End... and i enter... tourist brick-on-bricks... it's surreal that... once upon a time the whole affair of taking a bus, the tube... while cycling to those desired destinations is... well... surreal... you can't even begin to fathom how much i appreciate this little dialectical corner we have started... for ourselves... how little we know of each other yet still pursue... you know... i wanted to write something before i wrote my little tirade... oral traditions... passing on the tongue... i was going to suggest: not everyone can be a Julien Sorel... or... hafiz... my scatter brain also suggested noting a need to denounce onomatopoeia: should we even allow encoding a woof or a meow... unless it's a noun denotation of... what a dog / cat does when prescribing us with seeking attention? a wolf doesn't woof woof: it howls... a lion doesn't meow... i could "understand" barking... then again: what's not to understand? true: i have those drowning thoughts... none of them are concerns for moral ought-i-have(?) though... then again... being impregnated with a gravity that allows me to stand: firm-rooted... and still persist in falling...if we only have sounds: touch wood... who's: one of those knock-knock: who's there, lineage of joke-chokes... i figured... no one remembers how certain places give off this particular whiff... this "accent"... like Barkingside still has a whiff of old Jewish ladies... Ilford is lost from having any Hebrew influence... the Jewish flight is in plain sight... how the synagogue on Coventry St. was dismantled... yet here i am: still... cycling through little Bengal...i hope i'm not too imposing giving both of us coordinates that we are engaged in a dialectic... cult-convincing fabric: how crude mere sounds... ą: is? you said you love sounds... what's ą? i'll be surprised whether your defence of sounds allows you to make this phonetic encoding resound... it's somewhere lodged between a: moan & an oh...Ą... in defence of sounds... so when written? not much... to look at? almost cubist takes on the aesthetic of spelling... no? hell... that's not even cubist... it's dada... do people still read newspapers? i was going to stash this reply until tomorrow having reread it sober... but then again i like taking the most *******-whipping sort of chances out of good-luck-stupidity because: tomorrow i'll be... like i am today come 12am: sooner dead than living in my prime... of course i love your poem... the superiority of sounds... i am a most probably a male and as a stereotypical male i find closure in using my eyes to their fulll potential... your sounds look b'ah b'ah as words... you can't exactly call them aesthetically appealing? perhaps if they were written in braille... or in katakana... let's see.. well... i can't conjoin two consonants together... there's this XOXO rule in speaking ***., while only N is allowed free-reign and an almost unique status... バ (ba): but here's laughter, i suppose laughter is ha, ha... ha ha, ha (ハ)... you tell me sounds are superior: i abhor rap... how freely sounds trickle forth from the fountain of rap... nonsense at the end of the spectrum of: the sound a door performs when not propaerly oiled: creaking... but i'm too much of a visual creature... i like to see what will prompt me: almost like a thespian... how else, would you ever convene to come together with all resourcefulness, in being so convincing... without an otherwise worth of: predictable script? i like seeing what i'll say... are sounds superior because... they are? undecipherable? close  approximates... there is not infinity of sounds that can't be congested into an encoding... to allow a free-roaming of the cinema of memory to take fold... to be allowed...  ha is a definite article in hebrew: so... depicting laughter in hebrew is like writing: thethethethe... point? the spaniards have it just as bad: jajaja... a pronoun to some: a yes to others... laughter is hardly a mere sound... it's a ****** expression to boot... no?  you know why you're so adamantly in my focus? after this coleslaw of verbiage... i've just spewed... you will return without much: "concern"... after all... you won't be reading a spew... a ****-piece of... tabloid opinion-pressuring... this is a self-critical scoop of observation, though: i know i can write *******-riddled amnesiac squat too... oh look... it TAP... became... TAN... タン... we'd be in on pinched mongol *****... ******* parties and white women ***** guilt reprise... no? gloat as i might: i've heard that... come the 2nd / 3rd generation of interracial breeding? the original "sin" is diluted... that i am drunk and writing this... but... best this tired, old soak... of... ripe... raw. onion... it's not like the Russians would mind... mind you: i once dated a Russian girl who... swear to god... thought it was of being a lesser social class if one donned a suntan... you were a serf for having a suntan... that's the whole lot of 'er... to have this onion turn copper turn auburn... no... suntans were not aligned with her thinking of being of the tsarist Russia.... she also adored petting spiders... and serpents... i was more into... foxes... deer... cats....herding heaps of dung: because: there's no better whiff of air than the scent of a refreshing attire of horseshit, in the morning... now... i've written this much... your "superiority" of sounds still stands... but.. on what? write me smash smash... write me Ao (/) アオ blue... sky then 空 (ソラ).... how feeble sounds are... when staged in the theatre of lettering...  you know how pointless a mandarin sounds? as pointless as... until... the point of revealing his phonetic encoding technique... a sound is a sound is perhaps an echo... i'll end there: i don't need to **** further.

Gods of Horcondising

Previously Vernarth takes his head resting on the ceramic that supported him between the Hydor photo duct, rather than approaching his hand to the Klismós that Saint John the Evangelist had given him when he passed through Ephesus. In such a way that when he makes the first impulse to get up from the chair he was already beginning to leave the conventional Universe for the first time, then when he sits down again in the chair inaugurating the crystalline body that was looming over himself, he continues to be the Duoverse as if outside the Klismós with its curved legs resembling supporting pilasters of the Megaron diverging to the conical ones that projected concavely supporting the hollowness of its pectoral, which was already transparent like its Invisible Eclectic Portal. In this meanwhile he gets up again holding onto the Mashiach who came to take him in his arms and place him in the klismoi that interpreted the elevation of Hellenism to the Greater Heavens and the Itheoi of the Duoverse; that is, the spiritual deities of Vernarth in the classification of the starting rank and projection of the abandonment of the Golden Himation. In such a way that the Astragalus was integrated; his floral company that rooted in his hands and roots that cooperatively took root in those of Kashmar. Thus, Vernarth with the Ibic Rings would begin to syncretize the quantum and its hyper-accelerated mobilization of physics, and sub-atomic particulars that would later unleash from Alef to Tav to Astragalus and Aionius, beginning his omnipotence.

The sidereal distance began to unlink towards the Calypso air that was twinned with large portions of the sea in the same enamel, making Patmos the union of the speed of reacting in a chain with valleys of the Dodecanese with the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi unifying Vernarth with Apollo, Smintheus and Befos; that is to say, three sketches of Apollo himself for the theological genealogy chart of the deity Scarabaeidae with species that multiplied together with Vernarth to become the metalloid Azophar, as the main guideline from the knowable to the unknowable, being Apollo the same in the corporality of Vernarth previously rising to the iridescence of Mashiach.

Astragalus: His primary Itheoi or theological picture would be composed and forming part of his feet and the environment of his ex-voto to take to all the summits of the world in the essence and the gift of eternal life represented by the root of the madrigal curdled by his feet, with the root of the Astragalus in flower when it represented the zero hours by getting rid of his Himation and meeting the Mashiach.

Scarabaeidae: God of the modality of the subsoil of wandering souls destined for the physical and spiritual decline, Scabaraeidae Aphodiinae as subtractors of all the waste of souls that have boiled in malignancy, and the Scabaraeidae Dynastinae as the righteous larvae that rise from the imaginary soil to feed on the roots of the Astragalus and all the flowers and leaves of the Dynastiae. Increased the taxonomic genus of the species that would have to remain in the underworld to aspire to a better one like these Dynastines or Heracles beetles in honor of this hero carrying the peg that Vernarth would place on all the gardens once he was in Aorion, leaving him in a larval state, before being sponsored by Hera's family for the life cycle of the Horco-Olímpico.

Nothofagus: God phoneme-photon of divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron of the Ibix of Wonthelimar, to the millimetric assembly shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera of the Megaron, and the Iridescent Nimbus that percussed between the Áullos Kósmos and the Vas Auric ” in total synchrony with Patmos, at the same level of luminosity and growth revelation of the Scabaraeidae Dynastiae to transform inert matter into another fertile one compared to Poseidon.

Lepidoptera: Like the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh bringing the fertilizations of the Lepidoptera in the Ibico Ring 6, for the central stage of investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti, where everything will be endowed with the greater Ibix called Wonthelimar "that together with Leiak they would be transmuted to Horcondising.

Azofar: This metalloid god and support of the bed will take and bring Vernarth back to navigate through the cosmos towards the fifth element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to extol him from the neurological hyper brain of the Duoversal of Vernarth twinned with the Mashiach, exemplifying duplicity of Apollo as Azofar device of the new interstellar ships beyond all that is knowable.

Ibicus: god of the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they will carry the Oikos or Orphi Gold threads for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and the Ida as a Mycenaean-Valdaine complement, thus they were inaugurating the solemnity and honorability. Here the quadrature will be the perfect Heliacal Rise of the fourth Ibico with the quadrature of Aurion commanded by Leiak in the cardinal Dyticá.

Vélus: from Ibico 4, from where the goddess Artemis will evaporate in the waters for the healing of the tormented in initiatory processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron as if they were surrounding a Castalia for such solemnity.

Spilaiaus: from Ibico 3 in the center of the ministry with chiropterans, and others from the mercurial ambrosia invoking the Cinnabar of Tsambika, having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus”. Here is one more bastion of Hades' underworld dressing for the Speleothemes that will take you to the heart of all the dens of the Faith.

Aionius: from Ibico 1 Wonthelimar who brought purity to all who needed him and went to visit in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive” here Kaitelka and Borker, in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia, bringing them from the labyrinths with the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth wandering through infinity.

Semi  I Theoi

The semi-deities and the greatest memories in the world that would derive the denotation that would reformulate the Apoinandros that would move along the spikes of the didactic Ego or the teaching of the authentic apostles that would crystallize with Zefian, Borker, Leiak, Kaitelka, and Ezpatkul .

Zefian: Reformer of the Universe-Duoverse, possessor of the four Arrows that will illuminate Heaven and all of earthly Greece every time Vernarth circulates linearly through the seas of the Vóreios of the Aegean. Ruled North: Vóreios (Zefian Boreal)

Borker: Demiurge and caretaker of the Duoverse, warden of the Forests of the World and of the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi. Ruled South: Nótos (Austral de Borker)

Leiak: Omnipresent demiurge, the vague spirit of the docile water dancer who lives on the water with his slimy Chin, his playful back is seen breaking the lines of wells between flesh and silhouettes. Before the First station, first of the three remaining nights before reaching the Joshua de Pétra crater” directed to the West: Dyticá (Ocaso de Leiak)

Kaitelka: Down Whale ruling the Psychic Trisomy of the Duoverse and the seas surrounding Patmos in the Apokálypsis ruled to the East: Aftó (Kaitelka's Equinoctial)

Ezpatkul: Dóntiakul or prominent Augrum or Oro teeth will rotate through the Scarabaeidae demarcating the Vóreios Vóreios throughout the Horcondising region, bilocating it in the Patmos oaks borers, with such frenzy…!, that from there they would draw the strength of the Mapuche winds from the north of the Meli Witran Mapu, beginning with the Pikún-kürüf.


Distinctive Horcondising

Horcondising or Horkondising: mountain massif where the bodies that claim to dwell in the definitive Heaven are consecrated and evaluated, multidimensional transaction of honorable and spiritual acts to continues life in a more astral and subjective plane.
Hyperdisis: Edenic Galaxy for the postulants, the sky of Joshua of Pétra.
Pólemistes Mapu: Knight of Joshua de Pétra, he used to walk barefoot and leave no footprints; and if he left them, they were the traces of Puma, incessantly seeking to reach Patmos.

Theía Trueno: Female Sister of Joshua de Pétra, she is seen walking in the wheat fields and grasses that surround the Kosmous of the only Duoverse.

Humus Sofós: Human beings degraded and feces of the anthropomorphic brete.

Kosmous Zigzag: Super Nova from the Hyperdisis Galaxy.
Adelympia: Female parent of Bernardolipo, master of the Tarot and catechist of all the classrooms of the Mashiaj.

Vátos Cantarina: Subterranean messages between both families of Joshua de Pétra and Bernardolipo.
Viologiki zoí Pichiensus: Entity of low thermal of the Gods of the Forests.

Toíchous Pirkas: Hill ridges similar to asphalted sheepskin hills.
Kryo Aqua: Host and Eucharist of the mountains that run through the estuaries on winter nights.

Vounó: Mountains of blankets or Matakis that fall on Pichiensus lands in the form of rainbows in the Iridescent Nimbus.
Vráchos Talamita: Galactic ship, a dolmen of the Talamita where they do their astral rituals.

Polyagapiménos: Joshua of Pétra's Bungalow, Incense of God, Child's Feet in the Kafersesuh, Mariah's Contemplation to Guide Everlasting Lives.

Thor's Stella Maris Metrica: Vas Auric who guides the Norse stars commanded by the Norse Deity.

Ekató Taurus: Medium troop of a hundred bull men in charge of stirring up the storms of the deluge of the Apokálypsis.

Karrenios Margaritódis Petrels: Massive defenders of the near sky in Kala Nera, masters of unfortunate land but of high media cordiality with the last fragmented souls.

Horkón: Cuirassier of the skit for non-believers, rosary for believers

Orphilía: Sylph that gives brightness to the dim stars every night.
Australdisis: Intermediate relay galaxy before aspiring to the Coelum.

Hyperdisis: Horcondising material galaxy towards the Duoverse.
Albalalhue: Cacique frightening the Demons of Horcondising and Patmos, recoverer of the Gold of Tychaios.

Talamies: Landowners of the Esteros de Fýlla or Hojas de Talami and Patmos.

Negeshon: Personality or Prosopon of the Mapu God of rancid hierarchy, director of the ears of the scared and nested Gerakis.

Diákolus: Morbid God and creators of theological hesitation in the slaves of evil.

Ramathís: Theologian who strengthens the vibrations of Lord Joshua.

Alcanphor Xórki : Macro transport of the spiritual masses to be transported at the end of the spell of the Himation Ceremony.

Wuaso: Great teacher of great proportions, they are seen at night surpassing all the Toíchous. He is commonly seen with a bullfighting pole in his left hand.

Pooja Nykterinós: Bandurria that travels through entire towns at night when they have been threatened by the evil pestilence of the cold.

Sudpichiana: Region populated by specters of archaeological lands, it is the farthest of all and the most spectral of the Horcondising.

Analpha Alpha: first illiterate in the Sudpichian land and the wisest in the refining of the Forest lineage of him.
Sacraverbial: Edenic lyricism that dances through the heights of Joshua's meditation in dialogue with Hashem.

Getsemani  Sudpichiano: Set of sacred trees of the Sudpichiano sector.

Jesuslight: representation of Krishna, Light of the shadows of the shepherd with his music of birdseed and sonorous of the lyrical flute. He sings and enchants when night falls he is filled with green colors, and when the night dissolves into the beginning of the day he is filled with solar colors.

Pirkas: delimiting the arteries of the highlander.
Slimy Herb: Lamprey's stomach herb, acid, and complement to Ha-Shatan.

Zenón: ox of the good harvest and the sunny day. Strong as a storm of Love of a healthy animal.

I Eikosi: the twenty fluffy felines agglutinated in the dark hell of Horkondising..

Konófora Analfagamas: high genetic range forest. Their voices are heard by the jet-black voices of the night.

Protograss : Mineral of the great universal heart that turns into mold.
Trisolado odogéfyra: access routes to the great Energy of the Duoverse viaduct.
Pre kalésete: Anticipatory doors before opening the soul that has to enter the Universe of Saint John the Apostle.

Ramireaux Astós: Joshua de Pétra's hemiplegic recorder, Selector of those who crossed the preferential threshold.
Mass Parameters: Kafersesuh of Light that adds to that of Hope and Faith.

Ingratia mol petal: Ultra-fragrant and liquidating molecules of the carcinogenic aureoles of the hollow of the chest of the Lymphoma of Vernarth, purifier of life.

better start off with comentramitising
humanity beyond the mere
denotation of: animal...    
    I really don't see, how these mammals,
are desperately seeking
a reptilian status of ontology,
hiding behind empirical facts...
(more like robo-reptiles)...
quiet honestly, the "contradiction"
of a whale being an aquatic-mammal,
a walrus mother will
spend 3 godawfuly long years
with its offspring...
     fair play to the psychotic
tarantula mother...
        exceptions are somehow
the glue to bind the middle...
                but these mammals
in a reptilian guise?
    the wolf in sheep clothing
metaphor is evidently out-dated...
somehow talking down to
intuition is what gave birth to
trivia, and so little carpentry to
compensate a gaping dawn...
        which, for so e reason,
can't be brushed off with a yawn...
    the spectacle of finding rhyme,
but no couplet,
  the reality of:
if humanity was seeking a categorical
shift from mammal,
to lizard... hence ***** latex...
evidently the monogamy oddity
of birds, akin  to swans...
those half mammal half reptile
trans-genus mohicans on
storks... (you sure trans-genus?
tree... branch, root,
      that ******* bit in the middle)...
notably not all animal behaviours
have been incorporated...
        David meets Mustafa and Ali...
aye aye Icke...
   not exactly a big fan,
here & there...
               revising the telegraph?
sure sure, lost for words...
life or death strain on... bleh...
output...
                    certain words,
even with a genesis in ancient history,
up to the 20th century were either
like a heartbeat flatline,
or a humming freq. tickling
    the contorts of making mountain
ranges, in replica:
  scaled to an itchy freq.
     of hyper-commas...
         and the rest becomes...
language you will not use to
begin a letter with

               Dear Sir / Madam,

.........................................................­

and ending with:

   Yours faithfully,
     Sincerely yours,
with a prior to Mr. Smith...
**** me the cordiality  
shenanigans under the umbrella
of the Raj...
might as well ended up with
a dyslexia from Calcutta:
     namely a pronounced fertility
"obligation" / gift.

but I still can't fathom
this mammalian luxury of
imitating lizards...
whatever the remains of the once
mighty...
   mind you...
is there geological proof
of a meteor having hit
the earth, and if so, where,
or is this meteor story,
some ******* made-up shortcut
to explaining the big bang?
honest to God I haven't seen
proof of the meteor having
hit earth...
       just because people
can become effective
  in manual labour jobs...
doesn't mean they'll become
th3 reincarnated Brothers Grimm...
or Hans Andersen...

the time when mammals
stopped admiring birds'
monogamy...
       the pure mammalian mother
and the "welfare state"...
the lone beta male...
        and the rest just
bread crumbs from a Sheikh
lapdance in floating Dubai...
   mantis egos...
  black widows...
      grabbing mosquitos by
the testicles wearing boxing
gloves...
        
          I'm not sure whether
to admire th spirit of a lizard,
or whether to wear it on my feet...
oddly enough the pig
(infamous in monotheism of
the southern Welsh)...
i'll eat it, all of it,
including the snout of rich
cartilage...
   and then I'll stretch it's skin
for a pair of shoes...

    pig's head on a goad...
and then do the imitation
tongue through a V with
the addition of a piggies snorkling
in giggling suffocation.

warrior's march (anonymous ottoman) -
jordi savall - montserrat figueras...

or perhaps... chevalier, mult estes guaritz
(1146)...

because there isn't enough hours
in a day
to listen to BBC radio 3...
perhaps there might be enough wine...
but...
there aren't enough hours
in a day to listen to BBC radio 3:
go figure... no adverts too...
but as ever...
i never warmed up to the idea of a d.j.:
i don't like being surprised by
a choice of music without
me choosing it...

i will not brag about liking
classical music...
i will not brag about jazz...
there's this surreal middle ground
a music that doesn't belong in
any real discussion
or ref. making...

it's a music that can exist without
the weight of a name
akin to: associated with herr mozart...
etc.
when no one owns it
after all it must be a drag
to have to own something
for an "almost" measure of:
if eternity is to be measured -
immortality is a word that
weighs one down... less...

i'd imagine my name to be of note:
100 years after i'm dead...
point being: i'm joking...
but at some point it could, possibly...
expire?
unless of course...
a Plato doesn't what doesn't
change is something incremental...
that **** is covered
by A'Tuin
          (ahtuin)
               Tubul... Jerakeen... Berilia...
T'Φon...
           strange how the surd / vowel
catcher of the rugby goal posts of H
are missing... no?

   if rugby or football was not discovered
by someone meditating on
the letter H...
  tennis? what's that?
a game of... 7 rectangles... no?
and in the "ol'" days...
two tennis players...
a football team's worth of umpires
and at least 4 ball boys...

no wonder tennis is not popular
recreationally...

i'm hopeful that this year will
be a good year for wine...
homemade of course...
it's that much more... revealing to make
something of your own like that...
although... hardly baking a cake...
if we were not bound to this:
insomnia... of information...
insomnia of... libido...
and having access to enough
wine whiskey:
mind you... even Plato is noted as making
the whimsical conclusion:
the man who invented (discovered)
beer - bless him... although
retaining his anonymity...

fame out of focus...
i could understand posthumous fame...
all the more in that something
was achieved in life
something was striven for in life
and it could obliterate all
distractions...
this once ludricous pursuit of:
argument...
  ludicrous - sauerkraut...
              gherkins in brine...
i guess i am of a people who cling
to Germans more than they ever might
cling to those... Rushkies... Sorbs...
Wends...

after checking the champions' league
scores
i had to have a little history lesson
in what was the Seljuk Empire...
well it's not Islam was knocking
at the gates of Europe... the Turks were...
looking at the Turks now...
i see something richly problematic...
too cosmopolitan and all-world influenced
trade: global traffic...
i can't imagine not having some
orthodox spices for a curry
in my kitchen...

   Polacks are afraid of spices...
at least prior generations...
salts that does pepper's work too...
to the wok with you to fry up
those bland... raw cashews!

- like... the Darwinian argument
or the Copernican argument...

i clearly can't listen to classical music either...
it's... too complicated... too many notes...
it's too strict Pavlov-esque almost...
it's great it's nice it might require
a Royal Albert Hall but most of the time
i'm just pretending to like it...
unless of course of really like it:
Prokofiev's Lt. Kije...
  or the Alexander Nevsky - Battle on the Ice...

- that there is so much talk
of this supposed "freedom" in the vest:
of way, when, why...
these lineages of congregating
oppressors...
calls out for: fascism but not
the tea of... english immigrants
are never, immigrants...
to no self: no known other...

         that the english have no denotation
concern for concept of diaspora..
no wonder everyone is everyone's
better kept: cold kettle
and expatriate...

such nuance in convo that it really
doesn't matter...
after all...
i'm spewing half-mind verbiage
and i'm not supposed to be content with it...
but i still live among
the foreign-natives
of these isles than
be among "my" brethren who
have reclaimed circa 6 years under
the Nazis... half a century (circa)
under Bolshevik incredulity...
and then this, somehow new, "now"...

but at least the stupid forks in the road
listened to my advice: although
i didn't give any: and kept their currency...
like i might own women
or own a history of "me" and "my" people...
i don't really regard that
a niche market for any thought
or strict reminding of: 'ought...
either...

it's one of those nights where i'm
the d.j. i'm gagging for some hard liquor
all that's available is some
homemade wine
and i have an appointment for
9am over the telephone... etc.

back to the quest for alphabet-icals...
beside the vowels...
Y - i petition is... a vowel and is not...
a consonant...
so: a, e, i, o u, y... there are... 6 vowels...
19 aeons and 19 consonants...
but i ask...

why would i, ply: perhaps this is
me bilingual "schizoid" making
a mock of the natives who never left
for: the great east aust-rare-land...
zoo a new land...
hay'tch no... ha ha... or... sigh: aah...
ygrek...
            not igrek...
             last time i checked russians
tried to sharpen that phonetic "detail":
with their bl bl bl diacritical "marks"...

beside the point of vowels...
ah: or "a"
eh: or "e"
  oh: or oh...
   "i" (aye, yes) or: i(s)ch...
uh: ugh: or "u" & yew / you...

yes... this must be me...
bilingual "schizoid"...
         my new found freedom...
but why did the greeks have nouns
for their letters...
alpha (a-lpha)
beta (b-eta)
but it also denotes an... übersinn?
         letters had noun status to later denote
them as scientific consonants...
yes... the ancient greeks were unique
in that they were decisively
the children of the ancient world...

****** / down-syndrome fiasco of our
modern we...
clearly...
so back to basics...
a suggestion of concern for only
the puritanical minded bollocking a riddle...
because there's no bull to ride...
if syllables are to go by...
katakana is problematic because
the syllables all begin with a consonant...
their ******* Fukushima figurines...
it's not like you can write...

   it like a periodic table for: sodium: Na...
  ナ
well.. ha ha... you can...
but the breaking point of my concern
comes...
NA: ナ
            seems a waste to conjure AN...
                               アン

and so forth:

               イン  INI     ニ                
               ウン  UNU ヌ
               エン  ENE  ネ
               オン  ONO ノ

no? try reciting the english alphabet...
while following the "proper" guidelines
of the angry prefix lady and letter as noun...
transcending whether
it be... i doubt Greeks have a concept
of vowel or consonant...

outside the realm of vowels...
prolonged or caught by H for either: short... sigh...
or elongated laughter via ha ha...

why is it: Be
  and not eBB?
why Cee (cedilla!)
and not eCk...
Dee
   and not eD...
tell me!
    but now it's eF
but not... Fee!
    or F'eh...
           Gee but not
eGG...
    music, people! music!
        eM but not Meeeeeee!
Kay but not aK...
          eL but not Lu...
        Jay Jay - lodge - touch  o'
      Raj -
          eN...
                          N'eh...
    end: no?
             *** & peeee
                          eee
                           ee
                             e
up...                op-
                                 apparently...
"p"...
          Q...
kew... gardens... quo? kwo?
        qua? kwa?
         awry K...
            that's "q"...
    aR...
                 but not... Re-garding...
        Re-vealing...
oh i believe you... the Fwench had
a tarantula at the battle of Hastings
and you lost your trill of it...
let alone the thrill of it... like:
a barrel run ol' sod...
never, never mind...

           but it's still: aR... and not Ro... no?
it's eS and not: Su(e) or Si or So...
or S'eh...
   or s(igma)... is, it?
it's Tea but not eTymology...

if you were to write ALPHA
or OMEGA like a "hebrew"...
  perhaps... Lamb-of-Delta...
        i.e. AΛΦ
  &           ΩMΓ      

   oomph: oh i mind...
                    pool to pull... to: tow...

                 at the altar of the alpha brood
i'm not 2nd... i'm last...
i'm the completed plethora of sensations...
i am not nibbling at the to
i am lasting incongruent...
imbecile in the feminine eyes
that discover all things via
simplicities of feline conjecturing...

by the gods of Ivanhoe, rubber
and Prometheus!

Tao... besides my "tea"...
via - ups a pumpernickle!
           v = w = ł = w = v
(fał) -
  well your people shouldn't
have started a war
in our defence... should they?

CH = X - IKS...
             ξζ pairig...
    κσε
                or... κση... ha ha : "q"...
    do you even know how spanish
a greek sounds when a greek
compliments you speaking english?
no... it's not my thirst: or first for: dough
a black sorrow: forward so...

the old phrasing...
   θought & φilosoφy
                 ΦΘΨ (key, hole... door...
open... sezzame)...

ZEDZEDZEDZEDZEDISTTOTZED
ZEDISTZEDISZEDTOTZEDISTTOT
­ZEDZEDZEDZEDZEDISTTOTZED
ZEDISTZEDISZEDTOTZEDISTTOT
ZEDZEDZEDZEDZ­EDISTTOTZED
ZEDISTZEDISZEDTOTZEDISTTOT
ZEDZEDZEDZEDZEDISTTOTZED
Z­EDISTZEDISZEDTOTZEDISTTOT

like it were a letter extracted from another:
an iota from a psi (Ψ) -
or   "     from either theta (Θ) or phi (Φ)

ᛉ is not exactly an upside down
cross...
but all things run on
clockwork - here: around here...

but isn't the driving force:
this peter defying gravity
more than... what the "lord" and "savior"
managed with parched lips
upon golgotha:
i seek tel megiddo -
              i seek and i seek
and i'm nowhere to be found:
bound to a blindness that reads:
and this book will be required
reading for years to come!
and we will strive to
keep illiteracy paramount...
come the sudden switch-over...
we'll replace standard
literacy with: attempting
3D experiments on 2D canvas...
with coding the monster project
of a.i. -
    if i were a man that worked
for the n.h.s. and drew blood
for comforts of detail and
the necessity for still-life...

whatever the noun-denotation
of the hippy symbol: ☮...
                i have extracted the rune
from the omicron...

it's not heart-surgery -
                      old father Yr standing:
an elk beside a birch tree...
suppose there might be
some dog-esque antics of
******* against it...
lifting the impossibly invisible
lineage of linen to extract
that: suppose i were attempting
to sit in a saddle and ride a horse:
a dog that i am, *******...

i "suffer" for what zenodotus noted...
✝ 180°...
             i have before me a contest
from last night...
i wasn't even trying
to counter the original...
i started thinking:
how indistinguishable hope
is from doubt...

   clearly: the sensible chargehands
of philosophy in france
came with their existentialism:
in systems in clear-cut-packaging...
there was no room for
a plethora of emotions
associated with doubt...
there was an evolution of
the original statement -
but doubt was never to be invoked...
outright negation
as a pursuit: modus operandi of
sorts...

the original:
   - doubt (dubium) - it's still used...
something is dubious...
   - i doubt (dubio) -
god... so much of ******...
grammar-wise is akin to ancient
latin... pronouns are hidden /
incorporated into words...
  
          i arrived at no clear antithesis (
an-t-fes-sys)
           i didn't pry open
this stale bread with
sartre's outright negation policy
as moveable pieces...
that subjectivity is scarred...
that objectivity is nothing really
but watching shifting goalposts...
or a snooker match
or... a meditation on
neptune...
                  
     the original: dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
                            doubt, thought, being...
                dubitum, cogitatio, esse...
     can it... translate like such...
whether antoine thomas aptly capture
the truest of all intents:
so much of thinking goes to waste:
daydreaming - which never manifests
itself in being: anything but...

         i just wanted to come to the synonymous
project origin...
doubt is most certainly a plethora of
emotions: i never doubt by objective
standards: by doubting i am forever
subjected: subjective - etc.
objectivity is a certainty -
doubt doesn't allow me to be objective...
so the origins of a canvas...

but if in the public sphere people
are seriously debating 2 + 2 = 5...
via 2.4 + 2.4 = 4.8 = 5...
and they are... collage educated and...
there's no nuance of custard... leftover?
a butterfly effect...
over "there" there's a hurricane...
i am the anemic butterfly...

i will not come proving that
modern ****** is very similar to ancient
latin... it's painfully obvious to me...
życie: life
  żyje - i live
          życiem: with life...
życiorys - an accenting of life: nuanced -
perhaps even borrowing
from physiognomy...
          etc.

dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
  here's my alt. "interpretation":
hope is as uncertain as doubt is...
it's almost foolish to tinge hope with
certainty and doubt with uncertainty...
there's no real hindsight...
to bother with...
my hope is both an uncertainty and
a certainty: a doubled-edging at
the itch... an itch that would require
two hands to scratch it...

how does it sound, therefore?
   spero, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
i hope, therefore i think, therefore i am...
the original proof is undisturbed...
   pronoun that becomes a verb-complex
for an otherwise inactive noun
  spero becomes spe(s)...
                         cogito becomes cogitatio...
sum becomes esse...
                    
it's not very much different...
the original is intact...
all i'm attempting to deduce is that:
hope is very much a doubt...
that hope is doubt...
that both hope and doubt fathom
the same replica of emotions
in their bouquet of: deadening actions...
it's an impossible standard
for moving: the impossible
object: perhaps it was a pseudo-Sisyphus
tasked with inventing
telekinesis and moving
a mountain instead of a stone...
after all: it's not like someone
was tasking him with the deed
for eternity:
  a midnight cleaner in an office
block...
the tormented could have
simply sat and befriended
the stone with thought...
          without having to move it...
a stone a nuance of mirror...
a test to agonise the olympians
for having otherthrown
their predecessors...
time wasted... time earned...
    give me limbs of gravity...
give me: soul...
and i will outlast the gods lost
to their... belligerence...
no war against things inanimate!
always the war of tricks and ploys
to masquerade their own
inhibitions: taming that ol' sod
from the exploits of the harem etc.:
don juan-esque exploits conquering
a nun...
  
  it's such a boredom to:
not turn into an oak... wake in the night...
to settle for the polyphony of
falling rain... an imitation
of a time-dial where otherwise...
creep: sand is otherwise invoked...

the dictum commonly referred to as?
the cogito? shouldn't it be commonly
referred to as: the cogitans -
i.e. from res cogitans (thinking thing)
doubly i.e. the thinking
rather than: the i think?
a definite article invoked as precursor
to an escaped pronoun from
the clutches of latin wording?
the i? an i?
                ah...          "self"... / selb...
a norwegian pyre...
          joan of d'arc...
                                    
         it has to become an absolute indistinctness:
indistinguishable: ability:
            indistinguishability -
a lack of an ability: spell that in math:
a nuance of quadratics?
am i to exhaust my memory
bank of: what's phonetically simplest
and what has to become
this monstrosity of encoding?
parle parle parle...

i have to arrive at:
dubito & spero to be: indistinguishable:
before the sobering blow of:
cogito... that also requires an
outlet into being: of sorts...
i cannot distinguish between
hope and doubt...

      both are plethoras riddled
with mine of exploding salt...
i'm wounding myself on a crease...
it's hardly a thirsty dagger -
how would poetry of puritanical narration
freed from a theatre and a supposed
audience... entertain
a seance with bilingual schizoid
quads?
the hyper-inflated status of
native speakers...
the denigration of bilingualism as:  
oh: this little "thing" acquired...
nothing more: since not born
with...

it's blatantly apparent:
i couldn't possibly teach...
push a buggy through a muddied trench
i just might...
howl to satiate the moon
with a tinge of blue
and watch as blood turns to ink
on this illuminating scythe of
forwarded futures:
we must acknowledge a past
as a guilt and never a nostalgia...

Hecate: hecat(e) contra: hey-cat-e!
it's not impossible in how
the syllables cascade / are juggled...
god bless the sober judges
of the last remaining shadow:
as standard: before the execution
come noon...

                i am yet to read any phonetic
encoding from africa:
except for the hieroglyphics:
which have become a emoji standard
for: limp owl ghost limb etc.
why is it odd that
asiatic people, notably the chinese:
cannot write narrative:
and their poetry is only haiku?

spaghetti: even though they have
ownership of noodles...
it's not like these people have
words: they wish they could sing...

but if if you have such
syllable complexity as
𡔈 (chu) - not chew: choo-choo...
and that's already so complex...
but arrives back at
Marco Polo's altar that sacrifice
of c + h + u...
what's stopping you
from... exfoliating in:
an art designed for either
sanskrit spreschen or the arab jolly
bunch of camel jockeys?

well... it's not like 0 was ever
to be derived from a squashed
doughnut of oMICRON...
never!
   beta 8...
                  god! n'eh-ver!
if you were burdened with beijing...
syllables: no words...
no ******* words!
you wouldn't... somehow...
exfoliate in numbers?!
shrimp **** applause?
i stopped minding
the pride of africa a long time ago:
let's 'ave 'em those long
trunks of elephant
and blonde ***** attache:
trunks of: ***** ***** wooly woo...

but if you have complex
syllables: like the chinese have...
hell... the fugazi shoguns attempted
a dial-back...
simplified their efforts...
there's still that persistence for
'aiku...
       counts! the sticks! ths stones!
arrives back with tonnes
of matchsticks and no clarity
of: how a wild fire does so:
pre-emptive automaton d'uh:
'cos' no: that fog in the rational mind
of man has to persist...
incistently...

                like a borrrowing from
insomnia...
but you can imagine...
letters "magically" turned into
numerical grievances
and a system of germartia was spawned...
for the office of the grand rabbi
of kiev...
A would have to equal 1...
B subsequently 2...
but the ol' hebrews decided
to keep their vowels niqab to begin with...
so that became a lost cause...

officially the hebrew have an alphabet
with not vowels...
with exception the gay Adams
of Ayin and Aleph...
        i will not hand-over
this hangover for much longer...
by designation of the tribe and for the tribes'
allowance sake...
i curse the moon: i howl after it:
cognitivelly:
to free my neighbours from
the reality i have to digest...
call it metaphorical howling if you must...
i have, to, heave... this...
junction of "coincidences"!
i am mad for the purpose of taming
a tongue: arrogance need master(ing)...

tired wheels: the same old burnt rubber
as made synonym with muscular
tension...
the same wheel of crushing heel!
i am my own less arrogant
finnish quake dressed in mystery
of a bothersome dwarf and troll...
learn beijing secrecy they say...
escape the mundane emoji heiroglyphs...
what word in any of these african
tongues was ever inscribed
in a system of phonetic encoding?
it took me years to unearth...
yes: a GALOGOLITIC system
was there...
i was looking for the antithesis
of runes...
before the greeks and tha latin brats
spoiled
the adventure...

i'm asking without judging concerning:
how you can simply come:
come this anti-thetical mathemtical
brain-drain: slave-whipping
and tell not grieving authority:
this is, how... you will... GRIEVE!

in england: for a people that have
never been licked: teased by a mongolian
horde: only extracting -
"*******" sold by their own
aristocracy - coming to h'america...
i am! offended!
samuel l. jackson plays a common
robber armed with a 12" *****'s
worth of a shotgun!
i am! most! offended!
here's to the goon sq.!

           after all... linch me with
the sauerkraut: too many vowels...
too many vowels...
always with these ******* vowels!
like they simply forgot to
castrate the choir! ****'s sake!
if there's a bounty for an ottoman
castrato! i'll willingly pay for one!
i don't exactly feed a need
to **** one... as long as ******
hits the highest pitch notes of
squeel...
              to have exported africans:
olympic sized...
they didn't solve the "problem"
of intellectual jews without a sense
of irony: arbeit macht frei is...
well... a maxim for...
the germans having to glorify
the physical splendour of african
bodies... notably...
intellectual glorifications
remain in the gutters and the concentration
camps...
in the dust and grievances...
the mind is not allowed
telekinesis...

    i stand before a mirror and pretend to
chew...
its not exactly known as to what...
but i mimic -

九       which is 'nine': 9...
         denotes: jiu: a french concept of sauce...
that it's not "really" is another
poker hand refraining
from: the ol' 19th century wild card
romance of: we comes
as prior to the comes
of the conquistador comes...
having ****** the mayans
and the aztecs into...
the pyramids of giza?
no apple & pears?

the altar? elevated?!
             i come cannibal...
for the glory of the one true god:
yes... he has found new flesh...
bound to the scrutiny of africa
and the dull shamanism of mammon...
kneeling bloods of african-can-cannah...
moi?! truant jew?!
when this adventure took off...
my little people of north eastern
europe: concept...
where not invited into the history
of the roman empire...
don't ask me why they had
to focus on whittle ol' precursor
imitation afghanistan that's
now hang-man's-land
of -ing...
                          borrow me some sorrow
from can-can-attache?
or... haughty-stray-layla?!
                 to live among the scots...
is to best forget one's attempt
to live among:
white-flight Loondon...
         honest as might: becomest a
birth of a kippah donning god...

you want... a translation?
         łąnt... i can that i can...
translate phonetically...
it's to no one's aid:
unless i'd be scribbling with
choice of either braille or morse...
i WANT... look at that...
rigidness of letters...
then let it come alive!
add some diacritical scrutiny...
let european breathe into it!

crab bucket list: listing the near impossible:
deimension of: to do...
like my first and last litany of
best kept secrets...
this wettening of an oink:
strapped to an over-gresed...

to tell a solemnly swear:
this grit of supposed demoracy -
one lie is ahead:
thirty more to somehow make
it to: a coming...
i die a ******: not being one...
there's this lost ambition and there's
this ambition and karma
and a plot narration apiece
with: all the sensible saints
and hardly: any of them:
arrive at an angelic status...

what i once imagined:
as a freedom to think:
to narrate without a need to pursue
mute onto paper...
i once imagined thinking
to be aa freedom above speaking...
little did i want...
that it had to become
this itch for trigger happy...
and the octopus of hands
that learned a new lesion...
a tightening of tendons...
an overworked scrutiny of muscular
fibre... fat for brains...
to have to congregate upon
this same altar...
this same:

   given an... wait for it...
entre-prunal..  
french is "bad": english is just
as bad..
i see a tree: there's a forest...
scholarship: a word i want to be
left with...
entreprenaurel..

that's obviously a wrong
spelling... must be drunk irish...
must be...
        entry-pre-nautical...
entrepreneurial...
          pre-               neurotic?
god give the next
beijing latex queen tiger:
the power to spell...
    or rewrite a 9... into a new...
or neu...
                      wery much like
a sam weller to question my
sancho...
because the opera is a forever:
forever always sing-along...

it's almost a necessary joke...
what's the differene
between an anglo-saxon workaholic
and a west-slavic... alcoholic...
the latter doesn't call
you 10 minutes to 9pm
come a friday
with... neurotic demands
for a frivolous scrutiny of:
monday's are ripe...

the bad taste in my mouth:
i'm missing both a tooth
and a moth...
that anglo-saxons pair up
with the japanese:
consitency:
it's not infamous: it's true:
arbeit macht frei...
it's a solid mantra for:
peoples lost to the cogs
and machinery:
as i demand to watch:
humanity... suffer...

            it's almost very much so:
humanity requires this pseudo-deity
this demigod:
this shame-riddled observer:
third party "spokesman"...

i want to hear...:
the creasing of the cushion...
the arithmetic closure for...
bones that might have
concerned themselves
the completed "architecture" of:
sitting in a chair...
as one Iowan might translate to...
the hybrid promises of: a lot of Maine...
give me a losing promise:
this last craze!
i heave to have to dabble:
this old soviet curse!

this is not my tongue!
'ere! hear how i drop:
zeppelin conjunctions!

translate?!
dies ist nicht mein zunge...
hier: hören ich wie fallen:
  ladybirds auf: Livonian...
cruss... little be of V...
gott, mit, unß!

crescendo!      
get african multi-african: proper
******...
come prokofiev's battle
of the ice...
******* mongrel shelter
smacker erst piece...
you who do not own
a history of my my, own...
who are the arabs
concerning the quest
for explaining the niorthern
crusades!
barbarossa was pickled!
tired arabs?!
here: now!
hier: jetzt!
                teutonic branding
of colours:
schwarzkreuz: auf..
                  weißtaubefeder!

and i am... somehow... expected:
to tire of the forthcomings of
a "delicate" past?
this english ignoble... precursor...
**** the hellish all that
might require: needs to Elgar!
who is Elgar?!
who the **** is Elgar?!

i tire of a people that are yet to know
the experiece
being involved in a mongolian: tirade...
or... a post-scriptum of... ha!
sever... this grandiosity:
this teutonic plague!

.            ratamhatta,

                     by supultura -

boom, chisel against
                                    the Chiswick -

a lifeline, simply,
disappears...

   but then...
  the real fun: starts -
the truant Rio carnival;

a sunrise...
a b.b.q.,
                a: what would
    we have done,
had we the chance
          to alternatively do?

when a dog dies,
we give it a proper burial...
what some people did...
are worth the denotation
of being, considered,
sand *******!

      and i hope they
turn out to be a feline ****
morphing into
a civilization pivot worth
of a pyramid...
      in their... "quest"
for a coincidence of
extracting the concept
            of japanese honour;


may god lay them
to rest...
without knowledge of modern
languages, trapped,
in their pride of
having their phonetic language,
excavated, compared to ancient greek,
with their primitiveness of
hieroglyphs.

no... not really..
about as evolutionary advanced
as a toothless lion...
     is that really a symbiosis
of a lion and a leech
in the jawline?
    the leeches replaced the teeth?

          why would a Bangladeshi
call an Egyptian a *******?
perhaps because he didn't
call his arab slave-owner
"forefathers"...
                  any deviant names
to allow a communicative
collectivism...
      
    by now?
      whatever comes along my way...
i'll always be most
forthcoming, having first hung
it, prior to whistling to the crows
for seconds...

no... it's beside the point...
whatever it, is, or was,
or could ever be.

laughing isn't a denotation of happiness
sometimes, of hardships too
smiling isn't just for positivity
sometimes, it transcends negativity
staring isn't always a creepy deed
sometimes, it's because you've lost in beauty
or perhaps in tragedy;
crying doesn't always mean that your sad
sometimes, you outcry for joy
or sometimes for a need
and being silent doesn't always
correspond with madness
sometimes, you just have too
so you can hear yourself's plead
and feel your own emotions
and everything else will follow
... eventually

nudni ludzie zawsze mają coś
do powiedzenia

-

boring people, always have
something to say,

bo to zawsze znaczy gawarić
         o innych -

because it always means
speaking about others.

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

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

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

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

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

                    danke (dir).
hier, mein zeppelin!

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

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

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

              ich bin deutsche,
durch fälschen...

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

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

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

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

i'm waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

perhaps one of the two!
let's flip a coin!

...the fewer that die: the more the chance to chirp-and-borrow... sparrows' crown... a grand avenue of image... some detail of narrative... no boarded-up thomas mann solipsism-esque: if i too had... a bedroom cork-lined... i'd post a request: in deviating from time, predictably "lost"... and keeping with a tradition of: space, less frequented - thereby not exactly harrowed with ownership... passed from one sentiment (ladder) to the next gluttonous serpent... as much as there was a "search" and a... "lost time"... missing the train... in search of that missed-timing and open spacing... a sober nuance... a drunk's circus... time regained: all that, which encompassed not reading the book - working from bribes... that narrative so compact... it would have to shame and shun an otherwise ideally eternal: stack of brick.

at a time when so few are dying in conflicts
of known iraq...
and... will this be one of those:
grandiosity statements that leaves
everyone exasperated?
yes... people seem to find their dog's tail
their tongue waggle so freely now:
when so much seems to have gone
so terribly wrong -
            compliance to: "the good of the people"...
when iraq was...
and what it was was also something
similar to libya -
           but i hardly think i need to
pepper my words with over-politicised
statements... i'd much prefer the use
of italics - if anything...
       yes... i am reading some horace i am
reading some ovid and i'm looking
for a memorable line - even a couplet
that's... d'uh... a couplet because it rhymes...
something akin to...
the basic categories of food:
sweet, sour, salty, bitter...
              umami...
                      i need some garnish...
i guess there might be: fudgy / doughy...
why dairy is not invoked?
  i hope to never know...
       i want to forget the point where
i find myself writing and not
eating -
i know i am missing a certain category -

i was in a park today... trying to walk off
a strained plantar fascia -
bench cigarette swedish cider...
a glory to the perfumes of autumn:
finally i can test my nose
on this fine fine palette...

       an old woman approached me
as i was gesticulating with my leg outstretched...
'i was almost assured to find you
being the owner of the dog
that ran across my path...
later the field... but then again: it was
a fox... i think...'
it wasn't a memorable conversation:
except for my reply...
'oh no... i wasn't the owner of this
said dog...
i have a shadow for a dog...'
and how politely she bid me farewell...

again: it's not bungee jumping...
it's this forever unspectacular everyday...
i like this unspectacular everyday
when one can exercise language
beyond mere formality / courtesy...

i have yet to crown myself with
relish with conversation -
that i always will staging an impromptu
that leaves the conversed with
either form of tornado or
butterfly -

            it's not a familiarity it's not
unlike a face that will be lost
under the random nature of memory
being too the erasure...
flaming 2 + 2 = 4 or some other
less mathematical and more
pronounced use of letters coming
to the fore: prominent...

my past time would be summed up
with looking approachable and
dwelling in the riddle of old age...
i know it will somehow catch up with me...
but not yet...
it's this sensibly non-oratory:
plagues of verbiage: how else
to fashion congesting the experiencce:
extracting the most of the essence
allowed...

                   like so... 'mein schatten
ist meine hund' -
   no evil cat ladies 'ere...
    no piquant scenting of feline ****...
i do admire the convenience
of having no purpose for
a leash or a muzzle...
                if i could pet a crow....
i wish i could...
but what good is (a) petting
of a crow: what good is a cage
or wings: for that matter?

       i have to return to a quasi-meditation:
to endear death with a personification:
even a consciousness where
i a *****: where i a foetus -
after all: mother dear...
       i will be born into a magic
act of mortality: i will cease to make
myself "relevant"...
perhaps that's how i musst see
death: come this faking of autumn drap...
autumn is probably...
no... nay... no... autumn is when
i arrive at: believably alife -
                                          livid: concern
with variation to the letter,
i leathered - worn and torn and
a *** life among bodies that
are amiable and dough-esque
and nothing of this tyranny of porcelain
beauty...
touched would: "someday"
decide upon... shattering into
a thousand little pieces...

        i like this testimony for
the marriage to the mediocre...
my little interlude on a bench
with a sore tendon... somehow has
to find graces among so much
abundance only a sniff's distance away...
i wish i invented the burning
colours of decay: i'd want
to bask in the colours of a dying light...
i'd want: to stand statue-esque
among the trees when
they start to imitate
forest vermin...
and begin their great adventure of
foraging....
                 such pristine economics
of nature such as these here presented:
i languish for a delight in summer...
the air is gushing with
  a thickness of indistinguishable allures:
most certainly the readily concerned
with footprints on a beach:
amnesia counter memory
counter all that pedagogy acid...

                 i open a can of synthetic
imitations of blackcurrant, raspberry...
it's swedish it's not...
accustomed to... an idea that...
synthetics' must! a pairing of apple
and mint... could be turned into a cider...
less a juggling act of two bold
statements of fully-bodied extracts...

well free lunch on me:
i can actually be somewhat poo-antic friendly
should drinking be invoked...
for the world to be this instilled -
i'd require... moi: imitation
araignée...
   the bench and its vicinity the web...
comfortably old passersby my
flies... out of no ill will:
dogs and the elders approach me:
i am yet to find myself having
said something formidable...
      
                but... if it isn't that...
i have to settle on creating something...
passable - pardonable - quirky to the point
of allowing the opposite party
no counter inclination:
there is no need to stipend an
obviousness / revoke-...

             i don't want to use a language
of either impetus or... categorical narratives...
oh look... shelter me from having
spent 3 years digesting... ah'ant(K)...
well... impetus or imperative...
jurisprudence is plagued / peppered
with synonym usage: through and thorough...

i'm still thinking: well... there's no colour
to this meagre body...
there is no shape for rummage among
dough of stone sorrow settled
for the eternity of rain: and rhyming...
a borrowed journalism of sort:
an extract at best... and that's what i must
settle for...

    it can't have accent of a certainty:
arrived at... it can't be a: denotation clarity:
hey! my name's a'bob!
no... but hardly a tactic to
exfoliate in pretentiousness -
i do have to stress that:
i somehow do... drift into this variant
of impromptu -
   i allow language its own ills
that are not befitting to a linear-ality of
topic...

                to think: this world so complex
would allow an individual to...
somehow not match it...
make synchronicity with it...
        that language has to borrow:
sharpened flints and all those base
equipment leverages to...
merely appease...
  it can't! it simply can't! be this...
celebration of: a language peacocked with
when thrown into the glorification
of tongue-tied of mediocracy...

    oddity... i am starting to grow fond
of... kæ tempest -
                  "europe is lost"...
                   unless looking for lithuania
unless looking for kosovo..
unless looking for poland ukraine
unless looking for moldova...
unless looking for: work ennobles...
work is the bone the drudgery...
unless looking for post-colonialism
unless having to make
******* tongue: poet the atlas...
the nugget treat of looking
through a microscope at society...
            unless you haven't...
woken up in a little ol' england
when having to settle for flee...
              
polar bears in poland? do these people
have access to sea?
the youth of england
come 1998 when i toyed with
the cheapest of cheap jokes...
but... there weren't any jokes:
just choking...
              i came here this tongue
is... i am arrival... an... arrival at...
bigger desires for
yet another picburger...
               пицбургэр
fake-burger... no not nothing-burger...
but most certainly not:
my tongue this: mine...
this will not belong to a zeitgeist...
this will not be scratched or later
sheltered with for:
a tongue that was used as shovel
to unearth the dead from:
the already sediment membrane
riddled clay o dough...
           custard blues no smart talking
from south london...
no need to shuffle to lay on
prompt...
              
to be this pulverised by word and image....
instilled in noir and summaging
whitey -
there's the same sterile prone to
state brick: beside those that crease
plumbing gifts and grit...
the in between us people that want
to itch with words and have
insomniac thinking -

          that i haven't stolen anything:
but acquired this tongue...
from no beside this little nostalgia for
an agony aunt...
      no... recantation from a hill-top
and a grave...
   i am not prone to speak an exhaustion
from a borrowed atlas pose...
  i have this little tongue o' me...
this little cravat sort of a pedantic
  detail...
                 i want to own the echo
and the footsteps...
              politicians have been saving
society with oratory-:
            at best: kept distance...
a byproduct of niche...
             a very local sort of extraction
process that hitched a ride on
the blues...
   and left the originators in a
stateless limbo-la-la-land...
               the thieves came and...
           by a vain-glory joke accumulation...
the readied smouldering
slab of pork... was left... untouched...
i beg to wonder:
         what was the intent
and the hunger...
                                it was oh so familiar
once upon a time.

I had sunk into the innermost elements of your magical spell,
feeling your fine black hair, your hazel eyes making me
want to paint a mural of your splendorous perfection,
your lips filled with the most stunning designs that
I envisioned kissing, sizzling, drifting into your richness.
the way your teeth glistened gave the greatest sensations
that I never wanted to depart from, your beard so full and fresh,
wishing to touch with my fingers, nuzzle your smooth cheeks
with my palms, climb inside your time and glide on the wings
of freedom, enraptured in a series of ****** stages, entertained
by your naughtiness, by your compelling similes that kept
me entwined in your ride.  I was dwelling in your complex
connotation and denotation, spending an enormous amount
of time studying the signs to find the meaning of your intriguing
rhyme, how I couldn’t stop dreaming about you, the things
that I wanted to do to you, to participate in the impossible,
an amplifying craving incapable of being held in, the weight
so great that I can’t escape from the idea of being with you.
I was clinging to your hands, never letting go, smelling
your sexiness forever, drinking your sugary poetry,
the tides of your luminescent lines, the stanzas romanticizing
the creation of your beauty, the way you encased me
in your incandescence, your powerful presence,
your golden attractiveness so royally enchanting,
awaiting for every intimate invitation, the sensuous
conversations, the slow breathing that reaches riveting
states, unveiling extravagant wonders.  I inhaled
it all, letting your life pour its wholeness into me,
into the private parts of my heart, into my pleasurable
treasure chest where your love took me to fecund lands.