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To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
grayhaired,
and glad to have
the room.
...in the morning
they're out there
making money:
judges, carpenters,
plumbers, doctors,
newsboys, policemen,
barbers, carwashers,
dentists, florists,
waitresses, cooks,
cabdrivers...
and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985
Mara Siegel Aug 2015
i love going to the dentist and always do my homework on time.
but,
i am bad at remembering to brush my teeth at night and i smoke
so they're yellow
and reading on a computer makes my eyes hurt.
but,
i somehow always get perfect marks on my homework and
my medical records
so how badly can i really be doing?
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
the Islam of Malcolm X isn't the Islam of today... it isn't really the prescription of Nietzsche had before the Heraclitus flux took sway and said: waterfall or lottery... it really, really, really doesn't matter. the Islam of the 1960s isn't the Islam of today... too tinged with Sieg Heil... although less the Ave Caesar salute and more akin to: who's up for ****, *******? the Islam has changed... if i was wise enough i'd have converted, to mind you... but i thought: putting my faith by only having a library of only one book... i thought... n'ah... that's a bit extreme, can i at least have a comic book strip to add to that massive library? no? oh well, no, sorry, at least one book mentions several authors who tried to imitate but failed on the last hurdle, at least i can revise that, and completely erase the two extensions that borrowed from Hinduism; 'cos' like it ******* mattered.. don't test me, i'm anticipating death like  suicide-vest child... come on! let's start the Slavic crusade!

perhaps it's not about not thinking certain thoughts,
or feeling certain emotions...
but perhaps it just is...
i say, we need the Sophists these days to
apply the fishing-net tactic to deciphering or
simply selectively reflecting our vocabularies...
strait-jacket vocabularies are there in plain sight...
i mean... wait a minute...
i jumped from jazz into pop music on the headphones,
from Miles Davis' *kind of blue
defining
moment of the flamenco sketches right into the bog
of one direction - so i guess this is where
the antidote for art being too subjective comes in...
well, they sorted that problem already...
objectivity in art is around us as we speak,
it means "artists" that are manufactured,
art in the age of mechanical reproduction
(Walter Benjamin), it means more props than artists,
the problem got solved, it means reaching an
autocratic plateau of plugging in and sharing
a non-individualistic stream of emotion,
the opposite of democracy is autocracy, it isn't
despotism... i don't know why democracy doesn't
understand that it's ugly sister (autocracy)
is the enemy and not a Genghis Khan style of government...
democracy in the form of autocracy is a failed
attempt at Utopia... it suggests the system is perfect...
it means the institutions go about their daily business
like children in the playground who ******* and wet
themselves (the bankers), and still not one does anything
about it... what was once a demo tape of a indie band
becomes an automatic big seller big grosser E.P.,
just because the tragedy came, and they drove the touring
bus off a bridge in Sveeden... *******...
you ain't fighting dictators, you're fighting your change
from democracy into autocracy... where things
seem so perfect they can hardly ever change,
they're automated, they're not demographically sound...
sure, i'm the clown, i'll juggle a few big words around...
but in term of art? well, pop music has reached
the limit of what "philosophers" argued against...
to be frank... jealousy got to them that argued
for counter-productive constraints...
now they rebel against this objective construct of
artists in the shadows, writing text and tune and needing
some amateur to perform... and where do you
seek their rebellion? in the subjectivity they once
argued against: that famous Rage Against the Machine
protest against the X-factor...
so wait, first you argue against the subjectivity
of the artistic expression, then you postulate the non-existence
of the self: countered as the dasein for all subjectivity,
then you miss artistic objectivity with the karaoke
and what comes as the **** utopia with French
euthanasia tourists in Switzerland and Belgium...
you missed the argument you favoured, i.e.
artistic objectivity, i.e. performers, not people who write
the hit singles, Hiroshima Karaoke,
well, aren't we all objective now, that we have to source
our feelings in the expressions we once made angst against?
odd, isn't it? you never knew how well established
the counter argument became...
it's pop culture, it's evidently going to become viral...
but you see the power of subjective art...
it spreads like an infection, no point arguing against it...
objectivity in art is already a well established
virus, it doesn't really bite into your soul,
it bites, but you just get the odd body chicken ****...
that's what i mean about how a self-assured-without-a-self
democracy morphs into autocracy...
the fake Utopia of the well-established social
institutions actually being bankrupt, starting
with the post-colonial charity companies,
lying sharks and interest rates at 2000% per annum
i'm starting to think of Islam... leeches and hypocrites...
so your pointless critique of the subjectivity of the arts
became your most sling-shot friction strained weapon
to aim at the industry of art objectified,
in the age of mechanical reproduction true art = dodo...
it's on its way out... i hardly think that
50 years from now you'll find someone as idiotic
as me writing poetry for the love of the **** thing...
you'll get Utopian plateaus, anaesthetic democracy in
the realm of humanism, and hanging over you
autocracy... immovable foundations, cos' everything's
just perfect, time to invade another Libya where
some genius ensured the people knew their place
and who kept order on the pretence of
keeping weapons of mass destruction and
dog leashes... but there you will be ****-strapped going
huh? i thought subjectivity in art was bad?
n'ah mate, that's the only thing that made art good...
you got your ******* Karaoke, live with it!
the English Renaissance of the 1960s ain't coming back,
even if you gave Belfast back to the Dublin crew...
i say we need another Protagoras to get
the vocabulary inflation up to speed...
i say devalue the words self, ego... and make the
psychologists bums..
i say devalue the words nation, british and hamburger
to make the anglophile influence on Europe
a bit like sniffing a mortar of ******* off a penny...
i say reestablish the virtues of Japanese feudalism,
scare depressed teenagers with the words:
your only way out is by Hara Kiri.
something must come from a poem like this...
i have rage... you reason with it...
i'm not going to reason a calm into my heart with the words
i just wrote... n'ah... n'ah n'ah... that ain't happening...
it only took one needle in a haystack to give me prompt...
the ailments of subjectivity in art...
that got me, bull's eye reddened mad...
you ain't turning me into Darwinian grey matter!
this is democracy at its most despotic...
let me try democracy first, before i join the legion of dentists
with happy middle-class lives in autocracy...
can't blame ****** in this guise of organising people,
'cos' there just ain't no ******...
that got me hot wired and hired to argue...
first they say: art deserves no subjectivity...
fair enough: 1 man draws a rhombus a 1000 men draw a square...
but now that we can finally see objectivity being applied
to art, we only get pop: **** jazz, classical, rock and speedy-indie...
we get manufacture... as you once hated those with
personal intention to add to the democratic demographic,
now you turn against them for disturbing the status quo...
well, happy are those that come to the sun's repeat jargon
and happily doubt the roundabout...
because criticising art as subjectively orientated
really spared you art having ascribed objectivity to its cause
of attaining mechanical reproduction,
and the subjective placebo... neither thinking nor feeling
anything deeper than nervous yoga twitching dances...
spare me the ******* details if you come up with
a more accurate historical pinpoint.
Ashley Haack Mar 2014
Waiting,
Blood pressure exponentially increasing,
Walking into the back room,
Sitting in a plastic chair,
Waiting,
The latex gloves and metal rods,
Prodding and probing,
Mouth blood -Ick,
Nasty mint toothpaste,
More scraping and scratching,
Skin crawling,
Blood pressure maxed out,
Breaths quickening,
Thoughts narrowing,
Time slowing,
Metal tools dragging,
Slowly across white teeth,
Reminders to floss more,
Room darkening,
Pulse roaring like thunder,
Waiting for the end,
Gloves come off,
Handed a brush and floss,
Told to come back next week,
I need a filling.
To all the dentists out there reading this- I don't dislike **you** just your choice of profession
hi dudes

tomorrow i am having tooth extractors and I need to fast from 7.30 to 1.30

and at 1.40 i am going to hawse the teeth pulled out whilst beingt sedated

you see i am going to relax, ya know totally relax, because good things happen

to those who reax, you see i awk going to battle the evil demons like the witch doctor\

and steven bradley, and totally chill them out, you see I am an alien from the planet fun

and I am trying to relax and chill, I know it will be hard, but as soon as i go into the room

to hjave ,my teeth extraction, I have tp delax, like show Cnaberra that  they don’t call me

the coolest dude in canberra for nothing, I am going to miss the art class, wherer i might sell my

art, but i can do that next week, because the teeth extraction is way more important than

something that can be done next week, and besides which, my teeth are totally painful, you see

I have to be with my mum for 2 nights and then on Sunday, i will be back home, ready to face another week

i won’t have any teeth on the bottom,, and also today, it was my birthday and ,my mum gave me a TV aerial

and I am starting to believe that there are spme great shows on Tv, but i am glad I was looking at youtube

because i found a few new shows like brattaylley and the shaytards and also shorthand street, and

i believe that I am going to relax fighting the demon that is  making dad evil in the cosmos, and force Athena

to get help in fixing everyone’s teeth and back aches and this movie is great, it’s called cowboys and aliens

and if i watch this movie right to the  end, and feel my little young dude hands and hooligan feet, I am packing

a bag to bring to mums tomorrow night, and I cleared my head watching prisonser and keeping track on dads next life

because i want the ability to relax when i have major surgery needed, ya know relaxing is the way of the lord, ya see

buddha and athena are taking cronus off to the Neptune pub tomorrow at 1.35 Canberra time, to perform a benefit concert

about the aliens, and if you are in bed at that time, the admission will be 6,000 alien pounds, and i am singing songs that are

apart of the suffering i am going through with my mental illness and helping the cosmos as Cronus, and I am looking forward

to having the sore teeth removed and the hooligan will be lifted, please dad, please buddha, please Athena, could you lift my

hooligan, you see, i still feel my stupid kidnapper in me coming back to my hand, i don’t want him back, and I hope after tomorrow

i will be free, because o am doing this benefit concert, here is a song I wanna do

If your happy and you know it scratch ya ***

If your happy and you know it scratch ya ***

if your happy and you know it

and I party all night oh yeah

If your happy and you know it scratch ya ***

well, I will do that but I will do another one, which  is

Boy i wanna party mate, at about half past 8

living and dying is our fate, yeah i will be ready at half past 8

and tomorrow when Brian Allan gets his teeth removed, cronus will send Briano Alliano up to neptune pub and perform a cosmic benefit concert

you see when Brian Allan was young, his father Barry Allan, was a real old stick in the mud, you see Briajn really liked mucking with the drunken young dudes

and Barry Allan was treating brian like a shy person with Brian’s mum, because Barry was saying, i don’t want to see any of my children playing around with alcohol

you see, I liked some of those young dudes, because they were nice to talk to, and also they gave me someone to play with, and i hted dad at that time

because he was to me, i thought he was taking my young dude away, and also there was another move, spppp yeah alright mate, well to em that means

dad will sit on the computer with his frowning head going down, saying the spppp yeah alright mate and then when i mixed with the heavy medallists, you see dad

had it it in his mind that i didn’t like loud music, but I tried to say to dad so many times, I want to RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE, and I got drunk with my mate Pat and

went back to his house, because, I found his friendship really cool, you see him and my brother Chris, rurally tried to understand me, because, when I was in

Woodberry I was isolated, but i had friends back then, and i was a bit of a teaser back then, and tomorrow at 1.45 pm, i am off to neptune pub to perform this

benefit concert, and send dads old body to learn how to be cool the cosmic way, the Brian Allan way, so to speak, so come and watch me up at neptune tomorrow

while i am extracting my teeth.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
no! seriously! how many ******* times will we have to go over this format of reciting biblical compliments to each other, chapter 1 verse 1 through to 3 like it's worth 30,000 word essays on hermeneutics... if any rational man could see that somehow 3 words = 30 thousand words... he'd have written a dictionary in 10 languages, and thesauruses combining 3 of them for aesthetic purposes of non-tutored rhetoric: the talk that made drinking a pint less about st. st. st. stuttering, and more about: rub-dub-rub-dub... why in seashell the sea and in cave the echo? psst... don't wake them... the English rationalists will have a monkey scout on the trails of such loose language insensibility... they'll keep the power of the un-tripped domino with Shakespeare... the only country in the world where a dictator exists... and no one wants to own up to the identity of who he is.*

for all its worth, history is like science, quiet frankly history is
a science of humanism, so many facts in science, as there
are dates in history -
we educate people for the hamster catch -
drill them Pythagoras to reach a blind spot,
likewise quantum twins:
here too, there too,
Xerxes mad lashing at the sea for disobeying,
some Emperor of Japan not lashing at the sea
and allowing a samurai smooth tsunami stroke
against the neck wipe a million shaven heads
and a beard from the cares of
the few entombed in modern pyramids: harems.
if only Xerxes were transported to Japan
and began lashing against the sea for disobeying,
sent a few army bombers to disperse the wave,
maybe then we'd know why he failed
in his conquest of Greece...
apathy is the worst kind of madness,
it breeds no King Lear... it breeds no fear,
no theatrical splendour...
it just showcases the homeless man
at Covent Garden with the sign: please help...
walking past in fake diamond but nonetheless
esteemed ownership for status...
i'd run naked past... but to prove what?
that brother C.C. owns a t.v.?
prove what, and to whom? the grey mass
that entombs a life we once had
but are left to this perpetual-awe riddle
of up-kept science and ridicule of awe from
the beginning? up-keeping awe in science goes so
far, as Cancer Man said: the minute
they reject my book, i turn into the subverting
agent of their success... they don't
publish my book i un-publish their so called-truth
books, which become nothing more than
cookery books... the people of Siberia
are stern enough to survive without some
mush from upper-east side, some
London elitist with a flavour for Dubai...
to attain the uttermost objectivity of man's concern
is to devolve his highly evolved protection
of the subjectivity of the state, or patriotism,
of the Hegelian protective ownership of goods,
of the Marxian communal dis-ownership of such escapades:
to give birth to a God of jealous inquisitions,
one must give birth to a God of jealous intentions,
as of any time as the one time in mythology,
no greater time would be assured in being equal,
to his being... oh i favour the Cancer Man...
the object remains intact, censored subjectivity has already
been in place with the enforcement of
keeping Shakespeare saintly, erasing all existing memory
of, i admit, unnecessary bureaucracy to merely
draw a halo over a frying-pan of scrambled eggs...
it doesn't matter how right or wrong i am...
people have been given an almost eternal history,
so that they don't believe in an eternity...
but whereas a wolf once attacked a flock of sheep
and could be easily distinguished by adaptability,
the wolf within the sheep, as with the sheep within
a metaphysical suggestion (abstract) is no longer
distinguishable... we evolved to cannibalise each other...
whether intentionally in isolated cases, or poetically
with unintended cases of isolation...
we gave birth to a greater death than that of god...
we gave birth to the death of poetry, by precursor
to a death i mean the birth of the mediocre.
all the avenues are exhausted... all that fanciful
cocktail of clown and mime and acrobat are done...
we turned to comparative existentialism, as we always
did, we always wanted to protect the lamb from the wolf,
the fly from the spider... but when we were given the
bigger picture, the pyramid, the schematic, we became
so scared of our natural power that we created an overwhelming
seemingly over-worldly power of the atom...
we pitied the lamb lost among a pack of hungry wolves...
but then we gave sway to the industrial slaughter of cows
for mere food fights in schooling institutes that cared
more for imagining ourselves without body rather than
without god... god is dead... enter the dietitian.
as one swine plucked the heat from another swine's comfort,
another anorexic prickled her skin against another's
for the other's to only feel nerve and bone than anything
mammalian... we, the lizard people of the severed cranium,
who, through our concreteness to fact:
as in science as one fact changed, so history without mythology
no fact remains with the mythology of hindsight, the what if...
who cares if it happened, why are you trapped in the mythology
of what if? we are truly lizards... to the core that we imagine
the canvas of our fancies (muscles, fat, fibres) so gluttonous
with ****, while leaving cold skeletal phonetics dyslexic,
broken... why then so many people dare to read?
want to? want to escape the horrid comforts of the papier mâché?
fibula... but is that φι- or θι-? you don't know,
before you could teach the coherence of the movement of such
bones, you enveloped them in moulds of images,
which you later called sacred, and knelt before them,
in the worship of former stone engravings, which you engraved
on canvas depicting learned folk who were bitterly ignorant...
then you desecrated graves... giving fake skeletons
property over pointless words, words that could never stretch
to the sentence of: i love you... you left them,
in slogan canned, until started asking: where are the dentists!
where are the dentists! we need dentists!
you we simply slurring a stupid karaoke into a microphone
while your grandmothers ****** your very lives day by day;
but hey! ooh those steroid biceps that would
end up giving you a heart-attack when running
against true athletes of 200 metres at 20 metres dead;
oh believe me... those tourist trips to Auschwitz?
they're fakes... you don't have to go on a tourist trip to
Auschwitz to start realising you're living in hell...
those trips are only real for people who've been there
for real... even those Israeli schoolchildren have no place
there... it's a place designated for Nazis and Poles
who identified themselves as Jews first...
mind if we import the Sphinx to Trafalgar Sq. for
kicks the tourists might admire in between breaks of
watching Netflix?
Yasha Harkness Dec 2015
Mouth full of metal
Pocket full of teeth (broke)
These are the trials for perfect smiles
Our loss their gain
The dentists make money again
Weekly monthly wires crossing replacing
Wondering if its even worth it
Like false guarantees: "won't be like on TV"
Not even close.

Mouth full of wires
Pocket full of stones
One stops you at the airport-

The other at the  bottom  of the bay...
the update on my teeth worked on by athena


you see, i take paracetamol, and brush my teeth

and i am sure the coke helps it as well, and athena \

sprays a big dose of methane, i do this, to avoid

going to the dentist, and with the paracetamol and fluoride

and the gas in the coca cola, with the dose of methane

it really leaves my mouth very clean, and cavity free

you see i recommend  athena to everyone who is poor

fillings ain’t really good for you, no, what fillings do

is put too much chemicals in your mouth, and

your mouth feels cleaner from what i do anyway

you see the paracetamol really relieves any ache or pain

and the gas from the methane and coke, can get into the mouth

and then the fluoride as you brush, can also clean and clean your teeth

and athena’s way might sound unrealistic, but, dudes, it works

and it’s more relaxing, and i can’t feel pain no more

doctors and dentists on earth will disagree with this

but why is it working, in my body

so, who needs earth dentists when your got athena from above
The sleeping teeth therapist




Brains Jameson was a dentist who was killed in a car accident in 1987, and mind you
He had a very good imagination, you see he hated to go to the dentist, because he was too poor to have major work done, and he did a course in dentistry, which he did pass, but after 5 years of looking for a dentist job, he almost gave up, and I say almost because on his way to another job as a dentist he was killied in a car accident, and his life was over, untill now.
You see Brains had an old girlfriend who has just got a job as a dentist in downtown Canberra, and she really wanted to keep this job, and brains saw this as an opportunity to bring reincarnation to the next level, you see Brains decided to go into his old girlfriends mind and try to get his girlfriend to go into business with him, and at first his girl who was Roslyn Matherson said that going into partnership with a dead man, is the worst business decision that she could ever think of in the whole world.
The only thing is Brains knew he was dead, but he knew also that he can use some death power way to make this work, but still Roslyn hated the whole thought about losing her practice, but being noble, with her heart set on this being just a dream, asked Brains how,
And Brains said that I can make a pill that you give patients that really can't afford to pay the big bill, and that pill will be on prescription when to take it, and as soon as it is taken, he'll fall asleep and he or she will be lifted up and I will operate on their teeth in the big dentist up on the sky, and I will only take the poorer ones, because I ain't gonna need profit up here.
Roslyn said to Brains,sure why not, and them woke up thinking that her head must be really knocked up to have this crazy hairbrain scheme coming up, but what Roslyn didn't know was that Brains has found a way to get his plan to work, you see, because he is now dead he can unleash his spirit and make businessmen make silly decisions, like suddenly inventing a pill that did the work of a dentist without seeing one, and it doesn't take the pain away, it was exactly what was in Roslyn's dream, and Roslyn said to her boss, this is the shonky work of Brains Jameson, there is no way this pill will fix your teeth, and besides if we give patients easy answers, they won't pay the bill, and the boss who was under the influence of Brains Matheson, said no Ros it's only the poor that will try this, normally poor people want easy answers anyway, and besides it had been approved by the dentist board, cause they tried this on rats with tooth decay, and Ros they haven't got any signs of tooth decay, it's like someone is running a cheap dentist in another world, and Ros said don't even joke about that, but she had no choice but to except and the first patient to get the pill was Phil Desser, who was poor with no job, and went to see Ros, who said you need to have Root Canal therapy and she discussed the pill option with him, and if the pill doesn't work, she will fit the bill, and Phil really hated the dentist so much, this pill option was cool, so he tried, and read the pack and he needs to sleep straight away for this to work and when he was asleep
Phil was lifted up and brains worked on his root canal, and he seemed to know exactly what he wss doing, and  the next morning Phil woke up and hey presto the pain was gone, and then he went to the dentist and Ros looked at it, and the roof canal wss gone,  and Phil was on his way to recommend the pill to all his friends, yes, this was a cheap way to have work done without surgery, and then George Bernsally came to see Ros and complained about the price of the dentist, and it really ahouldn't cost that much, and after arguing the point day in and day our, Ros eventually tried the pill on him to put a filling in his teeth and yes he took the pill, and again Brains brings him up and hey presto he worked on giving him that filling, and when he woke the next morning, he felt like a new man and saw Ros and again she noticed it was gone and Ros went home and tried to argue with Brains spiritually and Brains said thanks, I always had a dream to make dentists cheaper and you saw yourself that I get rid of their problems, you see I want to be greedy and have anybody, but you need to be busy, so I will take the low income people from you, and Ros agreed at the moment while the poor are happy with the whole thing.
Ben Jones Nov 2013
A legendary sweet tooth, had Lady Felicity Barratt
So swift towards the sugar bowl, so wary of the carrot
She dined on only trifle from a honey coated spoon
But tooth decay accosted her and left her in a swoon

By the time she turned just twenty, her two front teeth were gone
By thirty she was running short and on her final one
When that fell out, she sought a dentist, promptly one arrived
She opened up her grizzly mouth and in the fella dived

He took a cast and took his leave with dentures to be hewn
With satisfaction guaranteed by Friday afternoon
And never did the lady have a reason to suspect
The secret intervention of an evil dental sect

By bribing several bakeries and sweetie shops and stalls
A dossier had been compiled within their sacred halls
For crimes against good dentistry were nothing short of sin
Their retribution must be swift or people might join in

Upon that self same Friday, at the very cusp of noon
One Doctor Bingo Rogers and his burly hired goon
Came knocking at her premises with dental kit and drills
With a mission to sedate her and to exercise their skills

They knocked her out with ethanol and chloroform and air
And strapped her to a hastily erected dentist's chair
The evil teeth were lodged in place and ******* into her gums
The bill was quite extortionate, for monumental sums

The shamanic orthodontist, with his henchman in his wake
A martyr to the vegetable and nemesis of cake
Was keen to see his handiwork and kept a watchful eye
For curious occurrences as days went quickly by

By Christmas there was nothing, until on New Year's Eve
Her teeth got uncooperative and forced the girl to leave
They dragged her by her dainty face and led her to the shops
She stood and munched on sugar canes and giant lollipops

They stuffed her face with chocolates, still nestled in their packets
And then a rack of nylon shirts and seven leather jackets
On every size of shoe, she munched; from sixes up to twelves
She nibbled through the party food and gnawed upon the shelves

Then off she sped, into the street, to pursue a passing horse
Dragged along by wicked teeth and supernatural force
But dentures lack in vision, and especially at pace
So when she caught it by the foot she caught it in the face

She skidded to a grizzly halt with arms and legs all twisted
And next to her, a note with all her dental errors listed
So beware the wrath of dentists and obey when they command
And sleep with one eye open and a carrot close to hand

For though our poor Felicity was buried good and hard
Despite floral cupcake with the Dental Cult's regard
And though her body, to this day, lies safely in the ground
The horse escaped that evening and the teeth were never found...
Michael DeVoe Feb 2010
There is a man at the coffee shop I frequent
He sits in the same corner in the same sweater
And hasn't missed a day since I've moved there
I've never seen him order a coffee, but he always has one
Never seen him eat, but he isn't small
And all this man ever does is take notes
He's got a pocket size notebook
A twenty five cent pen and a mustache
And the only time his hand stops writing
Is to take a drink of coffee
He's not normal
I could tell it the first time I saw him
He writes like chipmunks eat
Keeps it close to his face
I hope one day I'm flipping through case studies
And find his
It'd be about interactions
Or communal relationships
Or some fancy way of saying strangers don't talk
They only judge from afar
It'll have won whatever literary prize they give for that kind of thing
Changed the way people thought about each other
Books will be written about the book he wrote
And his little notebooks and twenty five cent pens
Will sell at auctions for thousands
But that's wishful thinking
He's different
I knew that the first time I saw him
I've gone through a lot of scenarios
Character development for a novel
A series of short stories derived from first impressions
Of everyone who comes in
A poet without a laptop
Maybe even a hit list
But he's unusual
I knew that the first time I saw him
This isn't something normal people do
He isn't making believe
He's making friends
I imagine he hasn't had too many in his lifetime
He's probably not been very good at it
So now he's just making them for himself
Taking notes on their likes, dislikes, interests, hobbies, occupations
Eavesdropping the CIA would be jealous of
All so that after closing time
He can go home to his studio above a repair shop
He pays for with social security
And have conversations with them
I can picture his closet full of clothes
Male, female, juniors, adults, maternity
He talks to an empty space on the other side of the room
“Hey, how's your day?”
He takes off his clothes puts on a dress
Walks over to the dead space turns around and says
“Good, hey you look sad is everything alright?”
Takes off the dress, puts his clothes back on
Walks back across the room
“Yeah, it's just that Gary works in engineering, I had him pegged for a dentist”
Changes again
“It's okay, people aren't always what they seem,
Besides I like engineers better than dentists”
“I know” he says back to her
“That's why I think he'd be perfect for you”
“Oh no, no more blind dates”
“Yes I'm serious I think he's the one for you”
“I do so bad at these things”
“Well I'll just have to ask him for you, are you available tomorrow night”
“I guess”
He changes into a third set of clothes,
Then a forth,
A fifthAnd before the sun comes up
There's been a marriage
A hockey game
A lecture on physics
And little Tim had a cello recital
He's dangerous
I knew it the first time I saw him
One day Nikki won't answer his phone calls
Sam won't have a new lecture prepared
And he'll come back to the coffee shop
And make them,
Teach them a lesson,
Exact revenge,
Or maybe he'll just throw away their outfit
Either way ****** is just a mind set
He could win an Oscar for his portrayal of any regular in here
But they've all disappointed him a time or two too many
He's not that different
I've learned that over time
He's got more friends than I do
But none more alive
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
Third Eye Candy Jan 2013
Flecks of violet, patch-quilt  loofah skin of  sponge-green iris, gold dusted
Emerald  eyes... wet stones in flesh tone, parachute baskets; paratroop lids
Descend... thin paradigms slip ; adrift upon a Seam of Tears. A saline Sea - with
Glass floor; lensing starlight over mint pink trampolines
covered in tiny copper filings,

And two Black Pools that Expand.
Two Sunbathing Night Blossoms -

Dead center. Unmanned...

Her cheekbones encroach upon Cataracts of Vacancy.
Lipid lathes of Lethe ; lips departed... red zeppelins, moist and mute . pontoons
Plump and mindless. Bee stung -
Open.

Soft mimes, glide
Over bleach and stain; over -
bone white; glide
Over Nicotine sigils, hiding -
in off-white
Enamel...

like anonymous petroglyphs for Dentists.
or Rosetta Stones for a lethargic Tongue.



II


Theta-wave turbines, throw rods and spark nods ... as others speak.
She resembles a dream-catcher’s mitt.
Words hiss now, and solid mist, twist the tell o' gram.
Into Fable's Armada !

Fog.... fog rolls in...   She rolls in, Beneath  a New Between. of Chasms
Hazardous grammar spasms, stammering -
Deaf tones of Diction -
All This ....In the Good Ear.
An Ear Of Cornucopias Delete.... The Dry Cob
Of  Annulled
Speech. [ but Morphine ]

Maybe a half-dozen kernels of distinct cream ; velveteen vague...
Or vivid - pleats in pure radiation.
?
Perhaps,  varicose inanities are expiation enough to drown a Kraken ?  Maybe God Happens ?

Let Ampule be the Judge.  Let Pack Mules be Priests.

As Others speak, Our Lily,  decrypts languidly left of linear... dislodged -
from Lexicons ....with long Odds, Against...
She Relents, Relentlessly-  And Utterly

Utterly Regardless...

She aborts pregnant ( .... )
pauses.

All this Fog rolls in... Agnostic.
She Robs
The Cuckoo... She De-bones the Soup
with Disjoint Comments.
And Scuttles
The Broth.

She's all Starlings and Polaroids.... Savage Pinwheels  and Aurora Vandals.

She's  All Plasma...
And Rapture -
with No Handles ...

She's Both Ends ... Burning
NOooo Candle .

A Wee Atlas; Shouldering A Loss
Ever Since Her World  
Was  Dismantled ..  A  Burden ( ... )
Lily
Phantom
Shrugs  

And Random Drugs..Atlantis.
Stephen Wolfe Feb 2016
I’m in the dentists office
                                                          The metal is scraping against my teeth
                     I close my eyes and go somewhere else.
                      
                     I picture warm sand, and blue waves
                    Criss cross rope bites into my skin
                    As my body see saws back and forth
                    A salty breeze wafts up my nostrils
                    My body is shaded by the tall palm trees
                    In my hand is a cold drink, my favorite
                   The blue tint of the ***** **** reflects onto my hand
                    I raise the cup to my mouth to take a sip
                   My mouth molds around the straw and…

A sudden spurt of cold water is sprayed onto my molars
                                                          I taste blood seeping from my gums.
                      The dentists tells me to turn and spit.
Storygiver Jun 2017
They said they wanted to take the molars of
Those fleeing danger that they had escaped
By the skin of
Then leave the reward of sanctuary beneath their pillow whilst they slept
As if they weren't having trouble enough already
With where to rest their weary heads

They said the rewards were many
And wanted to make completely certain
They weren’t being too generous
Because giving gifts gives rise to greed
So they decided to take the teeth
And ensure those safety seekers
Knew exactly what being bitten means

And those who sought for something more?
Those bitten by these charitable actions as much by war
Their wounds didn't heal
And they found sores on weary feet
To find they had grown hungry mouths there too
The shoes that ate the distance beneath their step
Yielding bite marks as footprints and yet

They stored safety as a promise
In between records and held up blue plaques aloft
That said "I was not born here on this date
But I belong here" and I've history and a home to make
But for all the shiny pennies that they saved up in a jar
The princess dentists could still feel each
Generous donation, milky beneath their mattress

And each asylum seeker kept them up
And we clean teethed few, who always knew to brush
For three minutes before bed
Lucky by grace of birth, seas and a few miles more
Looked at these dentists questioning
but they shook their head
Warned us of the toothache of their seeming sweetness
So tell us about dental hygiene
how to floss lies from our gums
or else wait for all our teeth to fall out
Have them taken from beneath our pillows
Where  we had gracefully saved them like we were told to
Constructed into fortresses
Utilized the tooth extraction cotton buds
as comforting ear plugs and pulled  the wool over our eyes

Let’s wait until our retirement
Till we realise the Toothfairy wants our bones
Not just our molars
and we pushed away those who only needed
The chance of rest and the chance of somewhere
new and safe to show us how to smile
So brush your teeth tonight
And be thankful
you will never know that those who turn away from you
Will do so, because your breath
Still stinks of all the **** you so readily eat.
This is in response to the immigration crisis and the image of Alan Kurdi, the young Syrian boy who was washed up on the shore in Turkey in 2015 as well as the image of the Conservative party of Britain as these scheming, ****** up terrifying fey creature that we all kind of expect a helping hand from.
Connor Jul 2015
Trees, houses, Treehouses,
Abandoned.
                  beaches
                ­                 still
                                 appear the same as summer
but the sky's gone
                 Sunshine
to
                Windwine
                                  (Clouds and clouds, some much            
                                    larger than others, sometimes just one big cloud  
                                   mapped out between            
                                   us and rest of universe to the cascade horizon)

All the pets can tread cement
without
worry of burns and the two hundred calamities
of July are over.
                              Replaced with
                              rain and bums escaping to the
                              soup kitchens and
Churches
                                  (East side Vancouver, Pandora Victoria,  
                                                 astreet in a city astray)
Ashtrays freckled in the evening drizzle
common.

My hands are held by gloves and
                                 fingertips from half of
                                 Japan,
my lips are kissed by the                          comet
beauty mark on right side
bottom
                                                (Though this universe is attending
                                                  unive­rsity in a distant city
                                                  while I hold my own
                                                  practicing the Dharma,
                                                 or MAYBE none of this will happen!)
Everything is in its place
as it always was-
though circumstance has tried to
teach us otherwise the                        
                                     ­                            Blackbox
                                      made of star-rubber S T R E T C H I N G

Hasn't the concept
of          calendars or
                             Jesus or
                                medicine cabinets
                                                         Dentists and
                                                             ­               Saints.
Everything is in its place
as it will always be
        as it has never been...
(Ever)
SPONTANEITY of matter
                         Gliding thr-
                                          -ough matter.
What does it all matter anyway?
There's                    loving
and                    ­     experiencing,
                Music.
           Personsong.
         Do-no-wrong.
That        no-no           of making
             mistakes?
A falsity!
**** up

In blissful circles
to the         SOUND
                    OF SNOW
                    MELTING
on streetlamps front of my
House.
                                (A very silent orchestra performing
                                 Before collision and like dog whistles
                                 It's a sound we cannot hear.
                                The peoples got their poetry and
                                cognitive thought so the other
                                Animals get the REAL sensory
                                Inconceivables to write about
                                But the ******* can't)
In that
                        future
_____
basement house

Where the Van Gogh
                   Velvet Underground sit
P
O
S
T
E
R
E
D
on the wood-c
                        u
                          r
    ­                       v
                             e walls.
I'm in unfolding daydream
Thanking
HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS
predating my
EIGHTEEN.
Thanking the
                              Beats and the Dadaists
                           and Buddhists and
                        Existentialists
                     ­ Post-modernists
                  Minimalists
                Expressionists
            FOR BEING.

Really, they aided
Me off
  the ^ ground
during
eight month unemployment induced depression where
I felt disassociated with myself
and the dynamo                                                       outside the front door..
Glowing via
         sunlight in the day window and
            headlights in the night window.
Either way
I filled up with
                                   (((Purposeless cynicism)))
The world bulb clicked ON
With/without me           there,
None of the corner stores
Or      airports
Or      hospitals
          courts and
          institutions
gave a rat's ***
what woes I be asphyxiated by
or that                 Farmquiet two lane
                                 tarnished path
In the country                       (in May)
      seemed fine a place as any
to     step a few feet to the          
                                               right
                            and
      left

of me and
                         .......DIZZY.......
by death traffic
old Buick polish
(Tragedy they'd say!)

While there midway in the firing line
I felt like
the wackos in      l o o s e
stone COLISEUM daisy cages
               Empty lots,
       Place where the beast of
  Emptiness cuffs to your sleeve
             and weeps
                      All over itself
                      that Sarte was right all along!
(No Exit! No exit!)

Autumn quartz moonlight                        O
Illuminated headstone repetition
circling musk fields.
  Skeleton wings
Of preceded seasons' timbers
Caught muttering the
Corpseconvo
as the               tumblecar
trembling             hot in
                           Music sauna HUM
Approaches life,
to the
                       paralyzed November air
of
Coffin bodies insulated
By roots N' six feet of terrestrial barrier.



Faces disappearing now
to Heavenly chandeliers of time
offering distant light future
and above my ponderous skull presently
                 dancing riverside to situations
                                                  and newness
                           (2016)
                  enigmatic spiral
  every                 color             every
                        possibility
every                rainbow          or
                      non-rainbow chromatically
                           webbed in Attic
                                          of secluded
                                Quantum Dimensions-

The big blue doors are opening to cosmic entirety,
cats everywhere are purring in their sleep,
somebody reads                          Murakami,
                                                      Picabia,
                                                      Joyce,
   ­                                                   W.C Williams,
                                                      B­erryman & Brainard too.
Big blue doors, rites of passage,
Aarti Varanasi twenty-seventeen,
             joyride to San Francisco (I wrote a poem on that once!)
Continuing self-exploration,
            reminding that soul to stay awake,
            the search for love-
Warmth when the year is
metamorphosed to cardinal leaves
       Sunset Summer!
      Autumnal transfiguration
      spiritual!
      Rearrangement of the concurrent reality!

I turn 19 in October and
a procession of kind-eyed children
will be born in the moments
I blow the cake candles.
Light goes out!
light comes in!
Hanoi expects me still.
THE SUDDEN MOMENT OF BEING KIDNAPPED BY THE DEAD



YOU SEE OSAMA BIN LADEN AND RONNIE BIGGS, SACKED TED BUNDY, BECAUSE HIS EARTH BODY

WAS TRYING TO BE NICE, SO OSAMA AND RONNIE GRABBED PAUL BERENYI AND BRIAN ALLAN

AND FLEW THEM AROUND THE PLANET JUPITER *******, AND BROUGHT ON WILD WEATHER

IN NSW, AND TRAP SO MANY PEOPLE, YOU SEE OSAMA AND RONNIE STRAPPED PAUL AND BRIAN

TO A ROBOTIC DEVICE, AND MOVING 5000 MILE PER HOUR, BRIAN AND PAUL SCREAMED CAUSE

NEITHER OF THEM WANTED TO BE KIDNAPPED TOGETHER, LET ALONE AT ALL, AND THEN, RONNIE BIGGS

GOT HIS TRAIN WHISTLE, HOWDY PARTNER, HOWDY PARTNER, I HAVE BRIAN ALLAN AND PAUL BERENYI

BOTH *******, NEVER TO ESCAPE, AND PAUL, TRIED TO DO A MIGHTY LEAP, OVER TO TWO MOONS, BUT

FAILED AS HIS LEGS ARE SO TIGHT ON HIS STRETCHER, AS ADAM WALSH, IS STILL STRAPPED TO THE SUN

THIS IS SWEET REVENGE FOR BRIAN AND PAUL, AS THEY ARE TRYING TO GET OUT OF THERE, YOU SEE

OSAMA SAID, YOUR KIDNAPPER IS DYING SLOWLY BUT SURELY, YA SEE BRIAN ALLAN HEH HEH HEH

YOU WILL NEVER GET OUT OF HERE, AND BRIAN AND PAUL WERE SCREAMING, AND THIS IS GOING TO

BE HARD AS *******, CAUSE BRIAN IS DETERMINED TO RID THESE EVIL VOICES, AND STOP ERECTIONS

IN HIS ****, WHEN HE SEES A KID, OSAMA SAYS, BRIAN ALLAN AND PAUL BERENYI AE WITH ME, THEY ARE WITH

US, WE’LL NEVER LET THEM GO, PAUL SAID, I WANT YOU REFORM OUR WAY BRI=URN AND THEN BRIAN SAID, MY MATE

PAT FROWNED AT MY GRANDMOTHER, BUT IT WAS IN GOOD CONVERSATION, HE WAS A NICE GUY, AND WHETHER OPEOPLE TEASE ME OR NOT

I SAY, TO MY VOICES, TEASE ME ALL YA WANT, AND OSAMA SAYS, NEH, KEEP BRIAN ALLAN AND PAUL BERENYI

FLYING AROUND JUPITER, ABOUT 400 TIMES, AND BRIAN ALLAN, WHO BELIEVES IN THE PARANORMAL, BELIEVES

HIS SPIRIT CAN BE BROKEN UP IN 23 PIECES, IN ORDER TO NOT DIE FROM UNLEASHING THE KIDNAPPER FROM WITHIN,

BRIAN ALLAN THOUGHT, WELL, OK, I NEVER KILLED A KID, OR BRUTALLY BASHED SOMEBODY, BUT I COULD’VE HAVE KIDS

OF MY OWN, IF I WAS TO GET PAST, MY **** GETTING AN *******, FROM LOOKING AT LEGS OF YOUNG KIDS, I FIND

THIS HARD, AS, I AM BEING TEASED, AS I WRITE, YOU SEE, AS I TYPE, THE PARANORMAL FEEL, OF ME, GETTING WEIRD DELLUSIONS

OF MY OLD MATES HAND PUSHING ME AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER, EVEN THOUGH I LIKE COMPUTERS, A LOT

YOU SEE, YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL, OF OSAMA BIN LADEN, HE COULD WRECK, ALL POSITIVE PARANORMAL ACTIVITY

AND IF HE HAS HIS WAY, NOBODY WILL BE SAVED, AND AS BRIAN IS TRYING TO GET FREE, BUT OSAMA SAID, WE WANT YOU TO STOP

YOUR ERECTED ****, I HAVE AMAJOR PLAN, TO CHOP IT OFF, BUT THEN BRIAN SCREAMED SO LOUDLY, ******* ******* OSAMA

YOU SEE, AT PRESENT, BRIAN ALLAN, IS FORCED TO BE A SHY OLD FOGIE, AS HIS CRACKED FEET ARE REALLY HURTING, AND BRIAN

IS GETTING SILLY DELLUSIONS, OF THE PARANORMAL, TAKING HIM FROM THE SIMPLE LIFE, AND REALLY MAKING BRIAN ALLAN STRUGGLE ON EARTH,

GIVING BRIAN ALLAN NO ENERGY, FORCING OLD MATES SAY, I AM NOT YA DADDY, I AM NOT YA FUCKEN LITTLE DADDY, BRIANY

AND, THE WAY OSAMA MADE BRIAN ALLAN STRUGGLE, BY TAKING HIS HAPPY BODY, BUT BRIAN ALLAN, SAID, DO THIS, TAKE ME

I WILL PREFER YOU TO DO ALL PARANORMAL THINGS WITH ME, I CAN TAKE IT, DUDES, YOU SEE, I USED TO ASK PEOPLE ON THE STREET

TO KIDNAP ME, MEANING I HATED MY DAD TREATING NE LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY, AND BECAUSE OF THAT, I BECAME MORE RELUCTANT

TO TALK LIKE A SILLY KID, BUT I HATED MY DAD LAUGHING AT ME,  I TOLD HIM TO SHUT UP, LIKE AN ANGRY ROBBER, DAD AND MUM WERE

SICK OF ME, THEY CALLED IN A POLICEMAN, TO STAND OVER ME, AND IT WAS CLEAR FROM THAT DAY, THEY THOUGHT I WAS NEVER

CUT OUT TO BE LIKE THEM, I KNOW, I AM A MESSY KID AN ADULT, I TRIED TO BE NICE TO MUM AND DAD, BY WRITING STORIES OUT OF MY HEAD

AND I STARTED WRITING STORIES OF DESTRUCTION, DAD NEVER LIKED THOSE STORIES, AND TOLD ME, THESE STORIES AIN’T NICE, BUT, ME

I WAS WRITING STUFF OUT OF ME, THE CANBERRA CROWD, EVEN THE YOBBOS, ARE MORE SUPPORTIVE THAN MUM AND DAD, MUM HATED ME USING NAMES

DAD HATED DUDE USED IN STORIES, YOU SEE I CAN’T BE THE (QUOTEY FINGERS) SORT OF MAN, THAT THEY WANT ME TO BE, SURE I NEVER HAD ***

BUT IT WASN’T MUM AND IT WASN’T DAD, IT WAS I WAS GETTING A BAZ FROM KIDS, I AM NO PHEADPHILE OR MEN MY OWN AGE, I AM NOT GAY

I DO GET ERECTED ***** ON WOMEN, BUT MAINLY WITH KIDNAPPING THOUGHTS, AND I AM NO KIDNAPPER, AND BRIAN WAS SAYING ALL THIS STRAPPED TO A ROLLERCOASTER

GOING UP AND DOWN UP AND DOWN JUPITER, AND PAUL BERENYI, WAS ALSO SCARED, BUT SEEING HE WAS DEAD, HE DIDN’T HAVE TO REPASY HIS DEBT

YOU SEE PAUL BERENYI, KEPT TRYING TO GET THE POSTER FROM MY TV WEEK, AND ALSO HE PUT HIS HAND ON MY SHOULDER, ON AN AREA WHERE IT HURTS LIKE ANYTHING

AND HE SHOWED INTEREST IN A SCHOOL PROJECT, JUST TO PUT A DRAWING PIN UP MY ***, AND I HATED THAT, MIND YOU, IT DID STOP, BUT I DON’T WANT TO

START IT UP AGAIN, SO WHAT I AM DOING IS HELPING THE HOMELESS GET INTO HOMES, LIKE THE CANBERRA REX HOTEL AND TURN IT INTO HOMELESS HOTEL

AND PUT A BAR AND BISTRO, AS WELL AS DOCTORS AND DENTISTS AND LAUNDRY ROOMS ROUND THE CLOCK CLEANING CARE AND CHEAP ROOM SERVICE

AND AS OSAMA BIN LADEN AND RONNIE BIGGS, TOOK PAUL BERENYI AND BRIAN ALLAN TO SYDNEY, AND CAUSE THOSE VIOLENT STORMS, THE WORST OF IT IS OVER

AND BRIAN’S KIDNAPPER IS DYING, AND PAUL BERENYI AND BRIAN ALLAN WENT BACK TO THE SUN, WILL THEY BE SAVED BY THE POWERS OF ATHENA
Gary Kline Dec 2013
A village of bears sleeps in the trees
10 miles North of a town called Amveese
The humans keep busy and away from the wood
If they'd desire to hunt, they certainly could.

The bears are afraid of the humans so close
And hiding is what these bears do most
But Billy the bear is anxious today
His teeth are a mess, a complete disarray.

“Bears need to toughen and deal with the pain.”
“Bears don't have dentists, we aren't the same.”
Billy was tired of all the excuses
For once he heard dentists that satisfy Mooses.

So on a cold night, as cold as expected
Billy crawled quietly, pray not be rejected.
A 10 mile walk in darkness to light
A new set of teeth was Billy's delight.

Upon reaching the town, the sun had arisen
Hustle and bustle blurred Billy's vision.
He hid behind corners and a big garbage can
The dentist in sight, he had a great plan.

Uprooting a bush, using cover to hide
He moved like the wind, in big bear strides.
He moved around back, and knocked on the door
A new aspiration for humans galore.

“Welcome my fury and large bodied beast!
Come in, take a seat, prepare for a feast!
While you are here, you will dream a new dream
For humans, pray tell, are not what they seem.”

The doctor moved quickly and dragged him inside
“There's no time to waste, my work I take pride.”
He danced and he moved like no human seen before
And snuck into a dark and closed wooden door.

“I'll be out in a minute, just preparing a sample
For you will be next on my prize winning mantle!”
The door flung open, the doctor stood grand
For he had an old fashion musket in hand!

Billy was frightened, and tried to retreat
But noticed a dart sticking out of his feet.
Someone had drugged him, he didn't know how
BANG went the musket, and then, no more sound.
So the days went on, and the doctor was pleased
A new trophy cleaned, polished, and seized.
See, the thing about humans and animals alike
They'll behead anything if there's an available pike.
JAC May 2018
I could put it into specifics by describing your toothpaste. No matter how recently you had bought it, that sorry tube was always a mangled mess. Twisted, creased, folded plastic or whatever it was, topped with a messy, half-open, broken-hinged, ineffective cap. Slathered with the blue-and-white residue of rushed mornings and tired nights. Exhausted. Does toothpaste try? It gets the job done, sure. But you probably waste half the toothpaste by destroying the tube like that.

You were like this with many things. Exhausted, a little bit crumpled and always partially wasted. Like toothpaste, I know you were always trying, and you nearly always succeeded at whatever you were doing, you were just often left with something not finished to your own standards. Dissatisfied with your own success. As I'm sure toothpaste is when you have a fine smile but still end up needing a filling again. Toothpaste does a good job, you must understand. We are just sometimes careless, and we sometimes don't have the time we need. We all still end up needing to schedule a dentist's appointment once in awhile.

Nobody likes the dentist. They’re bound to be good people, dentists, but I’ve never met anyone that doesn’t dread the dentist’s throne. Really, we’re supposed to avoid them - the whole goal is to never have reason to see the dentist, right? But we always do. For a regular check-up at least, if we can remember to book the appointment, as much as we may want to get out of it. Something that should be so easy to get out of, had you just brushed your teeth right all the time. So toothpaste is never as effective as you want it to be. But maybe that’s what makes it so satisfying - squeezing the life out of that tube, you can feel like you have power over the inevitable. That’s what you wanted.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
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.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
an under 30 year old should be partying right now,
gimmicks of chums  and the laid leases on the daisies -
well -  not this one,  he's finishing off a second beer
of his feline promenade  that's english suburbia twirls
rather than a grand archway  of paris -
sitting underneath the sea of black and the moon
marked clearly  hardly scythe or fully chubby -
somewhere half-way between both -
well, the beer was blossom, the cigarette
a morbier cheese - and the traffic,
this traffic night traffic - watching it on
collier row road  by the aquarium store
on the brick up-stand, sometimes the moon,
sometimes the traffic - busy bees and dressed and
attired - ready crowd pleasers - i was there once,
hardly a success story, from pedigree pampering
self-conscious bewilderment, to a near-homeless
mutt ragged with 3 weeks of unwashed hair
prolonged by wetting it -
hardly a stink, but still the grease from the pollution;
and lie the children of dentists are told,
pea sized amount of toothpaste, brush quickly
under 30 seconds... go over it, and as nicotine staining
proved prior to this tactic, indeed teeth became
nicotine stained, now using less toothpaste and
shortening the brushing to under 30 if not under
10 seconds... my teeth have no nicotine stains...
after all, we need dentists and what not, we need
to feed them, we need the middle-men to tell us
it takes 3 minutes and a thumb's length of toothpaste
to get the job done, twice a day...
indeed, my mouth was converted into a toilet -
it's mint in my mouth, it's charcoaled roses on my neck
and cheeks, it's quasi-mint under my armpits
of anti-perspiration unshaken can snow muck,
i'm well oiled like Cleopatra - i have babe powder
on my *** - all the pleasant toiletries you know -
but what i don't have and you won't ever give me
is the smell, the smell like Jack Daniels from the
brothel and the sweet taste of the girls -
see, a pea sized dollop of toothpaste and under 10 second
brushing, and still the nicotine staining doesn't
coat the inner side of your chop chopper chops;
ah but still getting drunk watching saturday night traffic,
everyone's so busy i figured the best job around
was to get a profession in laziness.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
aged six, got hit by a swing,
                                 rushed to hospital,
                      now have a kippah-scar
     when the monk resides...

it just gets boring after a while, when too many people try
to **** you, and there's no Golgotha  theatre to make
all the necessary requests for kneeling worshippers...
   well...
you soon realise that you sometimes
get to worship a god by drinking
a glass of water...
   and with that argument: ex nihil...
i thought that black holes were nothing,
but apparently they're not
nothing after all...
i have no concept of nothing,
i see too many things...
  nothing is harder to conceptualise than
a deity,
      but this is the boring bit,
i mean: religiousness has to involve
a group of people,
a communal meaning...
being given this multi-diadem lottery
ticket and then asking the right question
is not really the only approach,
    i guess walking past a few evergreen shrubs
   and sticking your nose into them
(i wish i stashed my entire head in them)
     to get the scent...
  atmosphere, and how there's a need for
scent,
    lavendar, evergreen shrubs...
     and it has been valentine's day, right?
all the urban people must have been busy
under the guise of the cupid called cliché...
in local news:
   passing an indian restaurant with five beers
i spotted only 2 couples... only *2
couples
celebrating the whole point of having
anniversaries and days that could be considered
   worth having...
i'd feel happier if Hemingway didn't commit
suicide...
          but i'm happy that he invented
the cocktail: death in the afternoon...
a shot of absinthe in a champagne flute...
    tried it once, knocked me out straight...
   but there is something, really bugging me,
i'd love to have had an honest relationship
with women, i.e. the honesty concerning money...
just talking about it...
           it's no wonder we were given
toys as children and sometimes having to share
them...
             i never had an honest conversation
with a woman about money,
count prostitutes out of it...
no money at the beginning of a conversation:
no honey...
       maybe that's why it is so complicated
about talking about money,
how it: suddenly "kills" the romance...
  i can think of better ways of killing
a romance... e.g. reading heidegger's
"aphorism" no. 159...
   that's really killing it...
                money and romance...
no money and a familial affair of tribalism...
     i'd like to meet a few Aztec
and ask them why they kept so much
useless mineral resource until
the European Smaug came...
  and settled...
   and why the schizophrenia of the american
content is english up north, spanish down south...
ok... "exactness": a bit of french land and english
up north, a large chunk of portugese and spanish
down south...
    i left the house today hearing
the most amazing conversation between a man
and a woman... they were talking about money...
and how they'd juggle the accounts
  and pay for the roof...
               it was so nice hearing a man and a woman
talking about money without either
pretending to be a thief, and the other a king
or queen...
             when two people meet god is hardly
the difficulty to be managed,
    people can enter relationships from a variety
of backgrounds, one kneels periodically every
sunday, the other jokes about it...
  but money is the hardest obstacle to synchronise
between two people...
   it would have been nice to have written that
sort of symphony with someone...
     but when you're in a relationship with a woman
and there's a money "issue"?
    that's harder than keeping a dialectical argument
solo about god...
     from an early age i was told that money
was the root of all evil, that it displaced people,
that it transvaluated all values...
   well... it sorta did,
let's try toi engage atheists in talking about
the concept of money, past all economic theories
like past all theological theories...
  it would be easier to talk to them
about that thing that never seems to disappear
then about a deity...
question is: at what point will the argument
become considered too "infantile"?
   when we consider money to be a concept
that could be translated as an element akin to earth
and the earthquake of the great depression in the 1930s
that no one could prevent?
  or the Amazonian offshoots of the last remaining
tribes without the concept walking
into a house?
     and i thought: when was the last time people
used hard cash, and didn't buy on credit
and didn't turn gold in plastic?
            fervently, i believe that money had a real
place in the world, i honestly do,
even though i abhorred wearing rings
or necklaces, and that i didn't have the capacity
in me to not say: red is red, blue is blue...
     a chicken is worth more to me than a slab of gold...
   and this ties in with the ancient pagan practice
of paying the ferryman across the Styx,
  χαρoν / καρoν - (depending how you like to say it,
****! a choice! quick! make it!)
       how they placed two coins on the burial body,
nowhere else than on the eyes,
    not in their hands... on their eyes...
i just think there's more to it than the myth of the Styx,
even though i like the myth, i like the storytelling
aspect of it... something we could have engaged with,
in those days, when people reached old age,
they discovered philosophy, and mythology,
that's what they gave us,
   now... oh! it hurts!
           just talk of ailments...
  most people living to old age would have made more
sense having lived in ancient times,
when the really strong lived to old age
and could invent philosophy and a timescale
anti, completely anti-scientific, i.e. mythological...
   and that's the sad truth...
it's almost as if the young these days have to take
to the reins, and utter some very unfathomable stances...
so if they didn't place the coins for χαρoν in their hands
(as money is usually passed that way) - why
place them on the eyes, if not merely to state:
    let us see beyond the concept of money
in the afterlife...
                i can't see a reason for it...
                            that's what the ancients said,
when the concept of money was precious,
akin to diamonds, gold...
                        i think the concept is exhausting itself...
why do so many people fall into dept,
         they're hardly dealing with hard-money,
in urban areas i mean, at the high-end of society...
gone is the joke: how was copper wire invented?
two scots pulling a penny apart...
       at what point does this all become: delusional?
infantile?
              even as Ezra pointed out: usury...
or the fake exponential quality of being lent this
abstract thing that later translates into
concrete things like: a baker provides bread
in a supermarket... a butcher some meat...
  the apple farmer apples... and civilisation is built...
nothing familial being established...
and how the concept of family is now abhorred...
and how we only created money to give no
better idea of procreation... but the objective-unconscious
focus on mere numbers... being as they are...
     without money there would be no
sad story... but there wouldn't be this number
of us...
      i don't know at what precise point
i'm going to feed the seven pages of civiliation
(they were once called the cardinal sins) -
   how can i feel pride for this fact? how can i drop
into a cest pit of gluttony?
     oddly enough: drinking excessive is by comparison
a virtue... but it can rarely involve a lot
of people... oh look... here comes the pompous cannabis
crowd... the the m.d.m.a. freaks...
    poncy buggers...
        i have for that matter,
an experience of driving in a fiat 126 P,
and a ford mondeo, and a fiat cinquecento,
one of them would fit into a cadillac, no problem,
there! yonder! america and its size-complex!
just hearing a man and woman talking about
money so frankly, ah...
  romeo and juliet and *******...
            if you can be honest about money,
you sorta never have this desire to be dishonest
in the emotional life...
            and cheat, e.g.,
money isn't exactly a nice topic on the ground,
in the trenches of life... it's hardly an economic theory
for the highbrow talks at university...
   but at least both parties are agreed that
money is real, and like a philosopher's stone,
   it turns all subjects into a tapeworm of needs...
  take a penny and with your index and thumb press
it against every single thing in the whole wide world...
   like a magic wand, it changes every single thing
into, that common motto: beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
or a flea market: one man's clutter, another's treasure trove.
nietzsche didn't write the transvaluation of all values
because it would have been
   a book, with only one word in it:
                                                         money.
i know he's dead and there are many biographies,
but all of them are wrong,
  it wasn't the end of his relantionship with
   lou salomé, how she ran off after the mengage troi
ended with Rée... she ran off with Rilke after that,
and god knows who else...
    it just so happens that i'll state his motto:
poets act shamelessly toward their experiences...
they exploit them...
    he did see a *******, and so did i...
eventually prostitutes are like dentists or doctors...
dealing with the heart bit...
          what broke Nietzsche was the book title...
and the one word answer -
all the rest of it is *******...
                    yes: because it's such an infantile
   consideration to understand the basics of our lives.

so considering the beginning that's completely
unrelated to the end...
    people started, really, really boring me...
               in that they made so many attempts to get
rid off me... and that i'm still here...
  and within the groundwork of the only
pragmatism left in me... laughing at them.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
.had i not come across the tironian ⁊... my my... what is a 7? did tiro invent a counter to VII? it was not all borrowed numbers from the sankskirt wielding hindus?! tironian... now that's someone you don't hear of much these days, it's all aesop and spartacus... if even that... tiro formerly a footnote in the life of cicero... for a B and a III - stenography's 3... Q and R or IX - stenography's 9... yes, we europeans didn't invent the current numbers... but just imagine... the details of +, - x, ÷ hidden within the jazz hands and counting with your fingers and the abacus... and how you will not find roman algebra... or that the discovery of calculus took both: numbers, and letters... etc. etc., but that we didn't invent numbers... as the slave Tiro... and his stenography of letters... i ascribe stenography as the original proposal for modern numbers... perhaps they would have "thought": II (+) III (=) V... or... oh i forget the cliche of Rome and the seven hills... i see: I, V, X: L, C, D, M... seven hills or what? who needs 10 digits when you can do just fine with... 7? the seven headed beast of revelation... i call that bait... but they built a... ******* coliseum working with: a year is bound to "spelling" rather than counting... CCCLXV... then again... with letters as numbers perhaps all of mathematics was once upon a time only practical, practical architecture... beautiful architecture and what not... glass shards would fizzle out: because of their proportions... imagine geometric-algebra with: letters and letters rather than superscript numbers: yet to arrive from the Raj of india... or otherwise found in ol' Tiro's stenography of letters... tender waiting buds of welcomed may... because we really borrowed numbers from: what was not already in letters, bound, waiting for a steographer to revise the matter of "counting"... all of ancient mathematics was without a hypothetical... without an algebra.... concrete evidence suggests that: a mathmetician was someone who had enough spacial awareness... numbers drafted for taxes and building coliseums... beauty marked by IX + XI = **! quiet odd... i see the 7 headed beast, the roman numerals beside the seven hills of the ancient resting place of papal bones: I, V, X: L, C, D, M... that numbers came to us from the Raj, from Persia? we had a 7 in the form of the greek gamma Γ... all that was required was codifying a looking into a mirror... might i stress the importance of narcissus in this affair? the unconscious of narcissus: Γ | ⁊... aren't i the lucky one... with a leash on the baron of the talk of shattering of mirror: never sounds like the shattering of glass!

as ever, opening a bottle of ms. amber and sitting down
to a sudoku...
to ensure this sponge of a brain slurps up
some wet concrete...

//
   \\
                      __   (⁜)      "oop" □ here
                      ⁁  †               ‗
"oop" □ over
here...   focus points...
the kaleidoscopic eyes...

words to abstract words are not enough...
anagrams are: "abstracts" of words using words...
i'm too tired to play games of this
nature... i want to return to...
VI + IV = X... somewhat daringly... return to...


a box over here: ◰ (yes, like so...
with the isolated number missing,
e.g.
or an ◲...

                     a line of 9: ――――――― here and
now "there" |
                      |
                      |
               ­       |
                      |
                      |
        ­              |    in vertical
                      |
                      |

i've seen how people lock their smart-phones...
•   •   •
•   •   • and whatever ✭ pentagram "zigzag"
•   •   •

   opens it up... a sudoku puzzle, can very much
be a bunch of stacked pentagrams:
                            ✭
                       ­  ✭✭✭
                      ✭✭✭✭✭
                   ✭✭✭✭✭✭✭
the eyes will always wander to-and-fro...
again... what sort of i.q. does the darting eyes?
i'm not that good with crosswords...
as a bilingual i already have a crossword
in my head...
i don't play games of anagrams...

you want to write a cascade poo'em... write this...
otherwise peer into...
this will never make a study of geometry...
this is a 9² "problem"... more like a canvas to
relax in... sudoku says the hiroshima pundit...
i say... it's a 9²: niner squared...
in the UN approved phonetic alpha-beta...
why isn't it the alpha-omega...
choicest of wordings...
i guess an alphabet implies a cascade that...
cascades?

          A                  B                ­  C
   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

but what if the following narrative...
took place... with the numbers being replaced
by letters... better still, something more simpler...
what it A1(1) - the bracket implying
the number placed in the square A1:
which consists of 9 numbers...
0 is never part of a puzzle... nor should it be...
0 is a number that acts as more a function
of (x) and of (÷)...
you can deem 0 to be involved in addition
and subtrtaction...
but... not really...
0 acts as a prime multiplier and divider...
it's so clearly omitted in addition and subtraction...
that... ancient romans... said 1 = I...
3 = III... while 10 = X....
while 9 = IX and 11 = XI...
and 20 = **...

but what is a 9² (sudoku) puzzle was to replace
numbers with greek letters?
why not greek letters?

however much i put into these scribbles...
maximum effort... minimum return rate... so i will not
do as i anticipated myself in doing:
reaching into a dimension of ambition...
i'd only say... it was much easier calling it a...
A1(1) rather than a Aa(1) narrative...
don't ask me why... perhaps the whiskey has...
"muddled" me...

but...

          A                  B                  C
­   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

was more simple to solve than

          A                  B                  C
   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
a x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
b 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
c 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

  borrows from puzzle no. 11,337...
to solve and explain puzzle no. 11,341...

but in between... let's watch the optical
schematic: ▣, ▤ / ▥,
              ▦ / ▩ and ▨ / ▧...
while at the same time: squadron-✭
                       mein gott:
this over-inflated nihon squat and square...
as donal rumsfeld said: the known knowns,
the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns...
because he's not just like...
the bullet-point and the next target practice
of: **** bad... **** all good...
the war criminal Slobo Milošević from
Yugol you-go...
the english isles would know know...
as to why... a mongol invasion would never
set them back a century...
or as to how the ottoman turks teasing...
was only a romance in romania...
because... even if Finland is the quirky odd
kid in the whole bunch of the Scandinavian
sandwich of rar herrings and gherkins
and rye bread...
well sort me out oh please sort me out...
tell me that listening to
these debut albums... or near misses...
silverchair - frogstump...
everclear - sparkle and fade...
stone temple pilots - songs from the vatican gift shop...
it also made sense to be a pre-teen...
listening to these albums
with an uncle with a car... eating cheap
chicken wings while he washed the car
from some next-or-no-other *****-circus date...
after that... it didn't make a sense to own
a car... if there was the bus...
and a dream of riding a horse everywhere...

this little moi: this solo experience...
of the long hair of gods
and the long beards of men...
and the of the sikhs and the devils...
and how it didn't make sense to grow
both at the same time...
long hair in my youth...
while playing, slumpt in...
catch-up-baghdad...
i too thought it was going to be that
simple... a demigod grows long hair...
a demi-imbecile of the most basic
infernal hides the scythe moon
and the chin behind a turban of a beard...
the god with long hair...
the devil and his... beard and itch...
eden of ***** having migrated from
the cushion of underwear:
fully exposed to... not tended to...
or the scrub of stubble...
or what's not... the venus glory sheen...
smoothed or smothered skin
that still belongs to the buttocks of the newly
born...

yes... in between the songs strawberry and
heartspark dollarsign - from everclear's debut...
i too wish i took drugs...
fortunate as i am unfortunate: words and letters
are in x-ray black and white...
what good would licking some mushroom
do for me, or for you?
excesses of colours, among these dams and bridges?
among these sputniks of  precursor numbers?

even if the blanks, were to replaced with a 0
for the other algebra unknown...
tier above... hyperscript a 1 - 9...
i.e.

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     1     0     0     0     0     9     1
a 0     0     0     6     9     0     3     0     4
   0     0     3     0     0     0     5     1     7
   9     0     0     0     1     7     6     0     0
b 3     5     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   7     0     0     0     5     4     8     0     0
   0     0     7     0     0     0     2     9     8
c 8     0     0     8     2     0     4     0     6
   0     0     2     0     0     0     0     0     0

mirror, mirror on the wall...
who isn't a charlize theron 0 = negation
of them all?
abigail mac is not a *****
doppelgänger of alicia vikander?

no better need to drink...
nonetheless the sun still shines on the question...
sudoku 9²: what it the cardinal numbers
were to be replaced with cardinal letters...
notably greek...
the alpha male the beta male the gamma and
the omega are all covered...
so is pi... given xi (11) is 0...

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     1     0     0     0     0     0     0
a 0     0     0     6     9     0     3     0     4
   0     0     3     0     0     0     5     1     7
   9     0     0     0     1     7     6     0     0
b 3     5     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   7     0     0     0     5     4     8     0     0
   0     0     7     0     0     0     2     9     8
c 8     0     0     8     2     0     4     0     6
   0     0     2     0     0     0     0     0     0

thus? Iota = 1, A = 2, B = 4, Γ = 7, Δ = 3,
rho (Ρ) = 9, Π =...
B should equate itself to 8 in the stenographic
origin of numbers...
depending on which stenography you decide
upon...
Iota = 1, A = 2, B = 8, Γ = 7, Δ = 3, P = 9....
no lower-case, please...
intuitively: zeta: Ζ = 5...
what's missing? we have: 1, 2, 8, 7, 3, 9, 5...
4 and 6...
                     Η = 4 and Σ = 6...
rubric, please!
1 = I
2 = A
3 = Δ
4 = H
5 = Z
6 = Σ
7 = Γ
8 = B
9 = P...

and how would a sudoku look like... thus?

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     I     0     0     0     0     P     I
a 0     0     0     Σ     P     0     Δ     0     H
   0     0     Δ     0     0     0     Z     I     Γ
   9     0     0     0     I     Γ     Σ     0     0
b Δ     Z     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   Γ     0     0     0     Z     H     B     0     0
   0     0     Γ     0     0     0     A     P     B
c B     0     0     B     A     0     H     0     Σ
   0     0     A     0     0     0     0     0     0

notably when the following narrative unfolds
and

          A                  B                  C
  ­ x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

becomes

          A                  B                  C
   4     8     1     5     7     3     9     6     2
1 2     7     5     6     9     1     3     8     4
   6     9     3     4     8     2     5     1     7
   9     2     8     3     1     7     6     4     5
2 3     5     4     P     Σ     8     7     2     1
   7     1     6     2     5     4     8     3     9
   5     4     7     1     3     6     2     9     8
3 1     3     9     8     2     5     4     7     6
   8     6     2     Γ     H     9     1     5     3

via B1(1) C1(6) C1(8) C1(2) C1(9) A1(9) A3(9) A1(5) A1(6) C3(7) C2(7) C3(1) A2(1) A3(1) B3(5) A3(3) A2(6) A2(2) A2(8) A2(4) C2(4) C2(5) B2(3) A3(5) B1(5) C3(5) C3(3) C2(1) C2(9) C2(3) C2(2) B2(2) B1(2) A1(2) A1(7) B1(8) B1(4) B1(7) B1(3) B2(8) B3(9) B3(6) A3(6) A3(8) A3(4) A1(4) A1(8)... post-script in greek numerals...
B2(Σ), B2(P), B3(H), B3(Γ)...

and if this is bingo... then bingo more... B2(x) and B2(y)...
and B3(y) and B3(x)...
my god... the fun time i'm missing when having
to raise children...
esp. among those superior intellects
of men... who... upon being married...
upon raising children...
return to the manosphere and talk to other
males without harems as if they were:
either constipated... circumcised...
or needing a father figure for that all encompassing
shorthand:
i didn't go to university to study chemistry...
i went... to the university of life!
a supermarket cashier clerk...
was the sort of cocktail shake-up required
for my bottled shampoo!

a ring a capturing a female is enough
qualifications to overlord the conversation
whether by topic or "feel"...
among ones... the la's nostalgia regret...
that would never arrive at blur or oasis
when it came to growing up in 1990s cool
britannia...

coming home to little town Poland...
is a carnival better than landing in Warsaw...
i can't say the same should i come,
and arrive in Loon'don's queue...
or the tubes under tarmac...

but of course drinking would get in the way...
to raising children...
perhaps drinking will allow...
a cameo father-figure role with a ******* child...
akin to: john wayne oscar winner for hard grit...
or: i'll **** my trousers because it's:
gonna be a rainman sort of day...
to start licking windows...
because: fear... prior to the mirror...
and the tongue that would no dare
to usurp the phallus in the serpent analogy...

yes... i noted "wrong"... i made a siamese blunder...
a siamese *** myopia...
two puzzle boxes... "the same" postal box...
the same university level education
of a non-high-school tier drop-out...
esp. because there's still no honda civic
worth a 33 year old to user the tinder app
to bother the wasp hive / harem... or some whatver
future of: this scenario never made it into blade runner...
or the inspiration for blade runner...
the one twin dead talking from the grave about
the future...
perhaps it was original for philip k. ****...
but perhaps... like any poet...
he's the host... and it was jane charlotte ****
speaking playing peek-a-boo from the grave?
there's no future in my writing...
i guess if this isn't "me"... then it's my
maternal great-grandfather and me talking about
shadows and dentists...
last time i had the foggiest...
i had a tootache...
so it's settled...
senior "chopin" and quasi "chopin"...
an internal joke...
how's the family?
family beside the atoms and the period table?
oh fine fine...
after all i heard the myth:
he didn't have any of his teeth pulled out...
but he also threw a tonne of coffe into the river
because certain people in europe even in
the 20th century didn't know what to do with coffee beans...

the spirit of adventure and exploration...
notably prolific in a landlocked
experience of the czech republic or moldova...
or... idaho... or...
i see water i want to see waterfalls...
i want to turn the anchor in a pumpkin carriage
and call the waves my horses!
to call an island a ship!
to call a continent a yawn and backward peoples...
and branch out... like a phototropism...
leaving all these continental europeans
living the nocturnal life of:
growth on **** sort of fungus of a past...

there's certainly a mistake in here...
but... unless you're just watched: shock & awe movie...
or still retain: the times weekly subscription...
what's a pedantry's "safe space" of automated
complications:
oh the joys of not having to cling to passing
a telegraph of genes and keeping it a minimum
of: two adults ******* better produce at least
two replicas... rather than that chinese
1 child per couple failure of ******-short-circuits...
oh the burden of reading some french thinking,
some german thinking...
nothing of a locke mea culpa as
the current phrase: pilate washing his hand
like a o.c.d. sufferer...

Tiro the new Aesop!
🙉 🙈 🙊
           monkey branch, busy cousin
of the follow-through deviation from gravity
in the upsillon - the parabola of a banana...
called the canary dip...
otherwise: my! what a treat!
what greater ambitions to write...
in order to write something
that would never become so quickly screened
like a stephen king novel...
obviously the contra comes from...
the loitering dean koontz...

it must be a curse of the surname...
i have a ****** surname...
well... unless you add... no...
adolf had a surname...
that germans must have found funny...
stalin had a surname...
that the russians must have found funny...
ghenghis simply could: in a present-participle
of: can...
and future present as a pop. surname
in pakistan: khan...
which sorts out the "problem" as to why
there's a stephen king and a dean koontz...
the answer is self-evident...
as i'm sure every smith and handy
becomes a plumber or the better part
of anyone day when he's struggling
with sightseeing and tourism...
of what might become...
the better part of a Thursday burrowing
from Hades into Tartarus.
Aurora May 2016
dentists are always telling me how nice my teeth are and when they ask about my brushing routine I wanna tell them about you
I wanna tell them I'm trying to scrub off the taste of everyone I kissed after you
I wanna explain how I feel close to you again anytime I taste copper. anytime I spit blood
I want to tell them about the promises you made, the "I love you"s that hide behind my molars.
dentists are always telling me how nice my teeth are and i want to tell them it's because I miss you.
John F McCullagh Aug 2013
There are so many dentists
that the market's getting tight.
One must differentiate
to draw trade to one's site.

Being new kid on the block
especially was scary
Until, in a flash of brilliance,
he called his:"The Tooth Fairy"

With gloves and masks
and dental dams
He served his clientele-
leaving their other cavities
to those who knew them well.

His clientele were handsome
and all exercised a bit.
Some were macho, some were fey
it mattered not a whit.

What mattered were the smiles he saved,
that gave him satisfaction,
and he earned a decent living.
from the fine are of extraction.

So if you, too, seek success
it pays to find your niche.
Serve the Sado- masochists
and make them all your b*tch.
intended strictly as humor. No offense is intended to LGBT readers
atheana is working on removing my teeth

you see i went to the dentist this morning

and there was a problem, i was having a stabbing pain

right in my gum and the dentist enlisted athena’s help

in the healing of the infection, he gave me cephalexin

to be taken every 12 hours, till finished and i have been

advised to see a doctor if i feel giddy, they took an x-ray on my teeth

and i need another denture, as the teeth have to be pulled out

when i say athena helps, not in the magical way, no i mean

athena gives dentists and doctors help in healing, and will put

the patient under sedation, so the work can be done, athena will help you

whether you believe it or not, my consulton for the dental work is next tuesday

at 3.30pm, and i enlisted dads help in the cosmos to make sure i will help mum

with the payment, like paying $40 a fortnight, so she isn’t out of pocket, because

i don’t really want to blame dads death on not having help with my dental work done

i hope i get these teeth out as soon as i can, the right way, with athena’s help

it’s interesting to know if the NDIS, could give funding for dental treatment among other things

the coke i have been drinking, has been cosmically putting the gas into my mouth, and gets rid

of evil  from my brain, and this infection is apart of the evil, which was in my brain, you see when

i used to smile, i looked like i was giving the evil YEAH, like a few of my school friends

and that is when i was blackbeard the pirate, and i have to have the evil out of me from those days

i will need more dentures, i will help pay for it, with the help of the cosmos,

ATHENA, HELP ME
Cné Oct 2018

The twilight clouds
went scudding past
like witches on their brooms.
The sound of laughter
filled the night
as ghouls departed tombs.

"Trick or treat!"
resounded
as menageries filed by...
Filling up their bags with loot
while candy stores ran dry.

Dentists filled appointments books
in brisk anticipation...
Knowing that enamel
would not stand
such laceration.

Zombies stagger down the street
and vampires trip on capes.
Power Rangers, Ninja Turtles,
Frankenstein escapes!

Princesses and knights with swords,
mummies by the score...
Ghosts and goblins saunter by
and darkened homes ignore.

Masks of every shape and type
monsters and the like...
Arriving via motor pool
on foot, skateboard and bike.

Kids of every age invade
demanding tribute thus...
(Oh dear...
here comes another group
arriving on a bus.)

People donning hobo clothes
adorned in eye-holed sheets...
Wearing out the doorbells
on the darkened,
porch lit streets.

Jack o lanterns
hiss and spit
as candles soon expire.
Children head back home
to count their swag
and then retire.

At last
the tempest peters out.
The pageantry is gone.
I look out
at the candy wrappers
littering the lawn.

Another Halloween is done.
I hope they had their fill.
"Trick or treat!"
still resonates
I hear its echoes still.

But... just around the corner
as Thanksgiving season nears...
We hear the spiels and ads
of all the rabid marketeers.

Turkeys gobble restlessly
at axes sharp and keen...
For them...
this is a nightmare...
just another Halloween.

R Guildenstern Apr 2013
I crave to create
But my creations miss behave
Cause they don't attiquately meet
My devotion for the week
I find a new prophet most often even when I sleep
I'm partial to the fact that humans can weep

If u express in a speech or an action
I will caption and it well dwell till it seeps
Neither aggressive nor obsessive is a quality I fancy
Yet if it were to follow then my senses would be dancing

I believe in light in the darkest places
The light is never gone as embers lie awaken
A mere glow can grow to a great fire
If  the fuel forgrowth is allowed

I wonder to the worth of my actions whether creation is worth the time it's after
Not to the worth of creation. Yet the worth that I place at my feeble dedication.
My nippet at the toes of a holy saint as a catholic salmon they are about to fillet
My search for the light is not to infer  it is Shinning brighter for me then you or even her
that  may the case in a state or a place
Not mine I have no Devine ordination
I just search and I'm blessed with coordinations
That you'd see. If you were me and I u
Or a shrew  as they do act quite rash like you do

Like at times the sun is clouded. All that can be seen is the clouds enlightened.
The promise of a storm.
Sealed on the cusp of a clouds lips
Unleashed in a fury
As to expel the the darkness
The power of a cleansing
Then again, the sky is blue
the clouds are white
the sun shines bright

No one man sees the dark sky
And fears its darkened state
As more then a chalky slate
It i only a product of the storm
As man is a product of his storm
No man is a dark sky
they just play stage to their storm.
Which all together is a topic not of the norm
Whether cold or hot
Ice or pots a nd plans
Your summer plans lay ruined
The ruins , you harbour
A product the doctors and dentists
Or mendists
Can't doctor
The clouds have all cleared the way.
To display
The destruction
Charlotte Hill Aug 2014
I build sandcastles in my mind.
I've done it since a child.
As the dark thoughts they do run wild.

In my mind I build.
An architect I am for it makes me feel fulfilled.

These constructions I create.
In a world filled with hate.

They distract me from the norm.
And help me through life's storm.

In the dentists chair I lie.
Building in my minds eye.

For the bus I sit and wait.
To build I do not hesitate.

I go to a place where nobody knows.
On a sunny beach the warm wind blows.

Ruffles my hair, takes away my despair.

I hear gulls call as I construct these walls.
The tide never changes, hence they never fall.

Made of sand they are, and they're in my mind so far.

Fortresses with moats, where I can float a tiny boat.
All my worries fade away as I shape my hope.

Any tricky situation or when I lose my motivation.
I'm back beside the sound once more, of the crashing ocean.
Don Bouchard Mar 2015
"Buy a Star!
Own a Star!"

The sales are brisk,
For cross-eyed lovers,
Cross-hearted, lost,
Beneath the spinning constellations
Burning immortal exhalations,
Desiring forever oxytoxic bliss,
Burning ******* and hearts
Yearn longevity of stars....

PT Barnum saw his opportunity:
Sold cotton candy,
Hawked elephants,
Gawked dwarves,
Hid the razors from
Fierce bearded ladies,
Even sold the elephants' dung,
Provender to exotic gardens....

Barnum's packing up
The Pachyderms,
So Hawkers have us
Gazing on the stars....

"Step right up! See the stars!"
Purchase your fire in the sky!
Your lover's name,
Fixed in the firmament  
A million years!

At least the cotton candy
And the elephant dung
Served some earthy, earthly good,
Paid dentists' children's college,
Fertilized the family food.

So now go claim a distant star,
A million, billion miles away,
Its light must make its journey
A thousand years or more
To greet your eyes, and yet,
Your lover's sighs predict
A hundred dollars' better spent
Than on a good Chablis,
Cementing mortal love in
Distant stars so permanent,
Visited through telescopic glass
Atop our rented tenements.
wanderer Dec 2014
winter lips
press into her memory
bones aching with the fever of remembrance
quiet words raise half lipped appeasement
mostly scarring scars scar her mind but occasionally words stir up like rosebuds of alphabet soup
spelling out novels of repeated notes
picture picture picture
click click click
half lipped winds
greased strands flap loose flap in the loose whipped winds
white comforter white blanket white snow white southern comfort white south
corporate and government city lights counting monies
greased oil slicked back hair scalps scalped dentists appropriating native american hunting tools
scalped girl appropriating brown skin
winter lips kiss kiss kiss
from root to tip toe down the hallway to scar thighs
thigh highs soft like southern comfort white south and the blood is red
but red blood cells are combatants of white blood cells like
winter lips are combatants of
her thoughts
2 minute piece created whilst i was eating today
C Jun 2013
the kind of pressure that I put on myself
the kind of pressure that comes with being a daughter of two dentists
the kind of pressure that builds up inside and creates castles of anger
the kind of pressure that tells me I'm too heavy
the kind of pressure that forms from great expectations
the kind of pressure that coaches lay upon the captains
the kind of pressure that is applied when goals are never achieved  
the kind of pressure that keeps me up at night thinking about the future
the kind of pressure that secrets ignite
the kind of pressure that the eldest sister gets for just being the first born
the kind of pressure that is invisible to anyone but me
Taylor Napier Nov 2012
“Why not?”

The question seems so silly—childish even—and yet it is the single question we most likely will fail to answer. Why not let me have one more candy? Surely that candy would not be the fast demise of my teeth, sending me to the dentists with rotted roots and gums. Why not dance in the rain? The clothes will dry as the sun will rise and merry memories will have been collected. Why not allow yourself to open your heart?


Ah, the ever-slippery question: why not love? Even more slippery still, the answer; but though it is well known that love is great and powerful, power and greatness leave in their wake fear and destruction—for to give unto another so wholly and completely is to lose some of yourself for the sake of the other; essentially, an emotional diffusion. Perhaps it is this fear that we are losing ourselves at our own hand but for another that terrifies us.


Or maybe it is the fear that others will dissapoint us that has made this generation the lonely and sorrowed. Often, I find myself listening to the people around me put their self worth into the way another person perceives them—and only ever do they find morose disappointment. When ever do people live up to the expectations we bequeath them? The answer is never. We always expect too much; and because mind-reading is not yet a feasible science—we are washed each day with frustration and confusion. Why doesn’t he understand how I feel? Why not?


We’ve begun to whine and self-pity our mouths dry.


It’s time that we realize that it isn’t a question of “Why not?” but a question of, “Why not yet?” For we have so much potential brewing beneath us; we have literally moved mountains and charted the stars. Our virtual realities which have so often robbed us of true interaction need to stand aside as real world action and self providing takes place.


Because why not?
wolf mother Jun 2015
I am but

a nesting doll, the outermost encasement
chipped from years of fumbling awkwardness, or purposeful
resentment
nicked and scratched by ***** hands pulsating unsteadily
growing impatient in
attempting to reach the innermost layer
the consolation for hard work and determination

the drool on your collar after the too-long, too-soon snooze on the bus
when you missed your stop and any of the alternates to reach the ultimate destination
a rotten half-eaten apple on hiatus from mouths trying to push away the impending scolding from doctors and dentists
who knew it had already been too late to make significant enough change
to prevent disease

the cigarette **** snuffed out by New Year's Resolutions
and good riddance

I am, by no particular consensus or consent

a small chime, at half-past nine from the old grandfather clock out of sync with the natural order of things
that cannot project its sound too far, but persists in stubborn hostility
not a blaring warning or reminder
but an insignificant tick and
a sad little attempt at notification

a faint headache
a dying balloon
a cry in the night when everyone is listening to radio shows
or the kind of opera that pierces the skull
futile and distant, muted
unspoken for
unnoticed

I am also, surprisingly,

the feeling you get before crossing the train tracks into new territory
or climbing the stairs after months of elevator riding due to the injury you'd incurred trying to prove to them you didn't have two left feet

the notion that time stands at the forefront
and the line of fire is a black hole
where warped memories are welcomed in hasty pleas

I am

a whisper of defeat when the pine trees collapsed in the middle of that summer upheaval, steaming and desperate
and out for the politics
turned into the
knotty pine paneled walls
that DIYers frown upon

But I am especially
the pearl of an oyster
gouged out
and taken to
someone who could decipher worth of shiny, iridescent things...its clarity, salability
a pearl now on a strand of comrades—lifeless pearls
in Chinatown, under the ruse of glamour and bargaining chips and great steals

certainly on clearance
and pushed on the people as inconvenience
a misuse of table space
and getting one-overs
or semi-precious insults
from tourists
who guffawed
at the feeble attempt
to turn a profit

eventually to be
tossed with slightly bitter nonchalance
into a black garbage bag,
thrown onto the sidewalk
and feasted upon by
seasonally elephantine rats
as they swallow the waste
from careless excess
and plastic soul collectors

yes
it's true that
I am,
with disdain,
especially and most certainly,
that pearl
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
strange to be surrounded by the heroism of the careful edit of Thespians, who can wage win or lose wars with a careful edit and the use of steroids to show the hardship of our former life now made easier - being surrounded by the staged heroism of careful edit, Thespian expression breeds in all a dissatisfaction with menial labours we could be better off to encourage as a non-victimising share of labour, and yet among such numbers of fellows we find our labours too menial, robbing us of the comfort of being as one among so many, only because we're being fed fake courage of Thespians and the subsequent fake adventures of the same profession, to only turn askance into the world and instead of adventure only seeing prospects of tourism, and former hardships of our forefathers as only menial banality.

recitation of religous mantras
seem all the more important
with the blocked toilet
of darwin's **** keeping
the foremost populist adhesive
among people reciting no other
scientific theories -
like that one about a pea-sized
dollop of toothpaste
and any more actually causing
nicotine colouring on your teeth -
dentists                  &                  money
&                             each             other
trade (tried and tested, agreeable paradox).
well currently darwin and einstein
are instructing societies in terms
of respectable talk, talk so respectable
that no counter opinion can enter,
because too few scientific facts
are given mantra status...
cite me a theory from chemistry,
cite me at least one thing
about thermodynamics...
exactly, you can't!
we might as well endear a harking laugh
of a fox and the howling bark of dog -
because the western dogma mantra is so
limited - maxims replace poems
and poems are hid whether under the
debasing blanket of lyrics that are simple
due to excess instrumentation
and no hope of singing in duo presence
of both singer and the one expecting song -
or under blankets of fictive corpses
of bored readers - as once noted and spotted:
a funeral service corporate "shop"
and in it too st. francis' hospice selling charity books.

should shiva's attainment of vishnu's peace of mind be attained and subsequently lost, shiva's third eye opens and turns the mind toward the only subsequent definition of former attainment of peace, the third eye opens and turns to warring and destruction; toward the east, Asia's Thespians are known as Avatars - if not thieving from men, then at least enriching gods.
Star BG Apr 2019
Just got my tooth pulled
They called him Mister Sixteen
I lost an old friend

*

Tooth had to come out
Sir Sixteen left to dentists
hands I knew it well

  *

I went to dentist
tooth by pain screamed let me out
Its name was Sixteen

*

Bye Bye to my tooth
dentist was his ticket out
His chatter is gone
I had my tooth pulled yesterday. I lived through it to write another day. LOL  This is the first group of poems written when I woke up. Thank goodness for Codeine. Invented for peace

— The End —