I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt devestation
a death in the family took you by surprise
now you're contemplating suicide again
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt so proud
you graduated High School
you're screaming in your victory voice so loud
I stepped into your shoes today
and your heart is breaking
your boyfriend just broke up with you
you're throwing everything away that’s no longer worth saving
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt guilty
you cut after almost a year
now you're feeling ugly
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt depressed
you're getting ready to **** yourself
because you feel so helpless
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt scared
you're about to have your first baby
and the father isn’t there
I stepped into your shoes today
and I got a really bad tummy ache
you have Cancer and you're dying
there’s not much more your body can take
I stepped into your shoes today
and I started to cry
your husband was called into war
this could be your final goodbye
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt nervous
you're leaving for college in two days
and you can’t seem to find your courage
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt lost
you're five years old, you lost your Mom and it’s almost getting dark
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt overjoyed
you won an award for your writing
you are filled with so much pride
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt peace
you lived your life, you reached your dreams
you're as ready for death as you will ever be
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt in love
you just married the love of your life
in front of your family, friends and God
I stepped back into my own shoes today
and I felt grateful
I realized I’m not the only one on earth with problems
and I’m thankful for all that I have

and i'm watching this spectacle... and i agree:
  female tennis is probably more
enjoyable than
  male tennis... there's so much
dialogue involved...
   and oh god, i am but a simple man,
i like my klinik, and my wumpscut
and my other fringe altars
of culture...
but i really like watching the 7 rectangles...
isn't a tennis court a case of 7 rectangles?
no? i thought it was...
  1 at the beginning, 2 are the side,
2 either side, and 2 for the served into "square"
across the net, service, 1st serve, net-first-service...
15 - love...
                then i watch a video by
black pigeon speaks and i'm fired up...
not that i have anything planned
in a year to come,
i'm too wrapped up in the bewilderment of
being able to **** out a bottle of wine,
but seem to never be able to **** out a bottle
of whiskey...
  dunno: it just happens...
i spent the past few hours cleaning the slates
of the bathroom from feline diarrhoea...
    so you know: i'd love to reach the summits
of gucci perfumes, if you'd care to
         allow me...
i really should wait for my ego to turn into
a phallus of slumbering pride,
but given the current situation in Sweden
    and me reading history of the deluge of Poland
by the Swedes, i'm sort of: hands in the air
with four thumbs signifying: i don't care.
   i like watching tennis,
it's the one sport where watching women is more
entertaining than watching men,
and it's not that you're even forced into it...
             women make more rallies in a match...
women tend to play with a double-handed forehand...
      but it really is a game based about 7 rectangles...
i'd love to see it as: Dali, dictates the rhombus
  at the Australian Open!
             i'd love to see it,
and i'd also love to see Oslo...
             but i'm not that bothered,
for all the media frenzy concerning western Europe,
i see Poland as a buffer zone smokescreen...
      the happenings at Ełk proved a point...
the dream of community translated into western
europe came so pronounced...
   people actually botehred to create a lynch mob...
the good "samaritan" had to die...
  and yes, the moroccan yielding the knife
was taken to a prison cell...
   but i guess knowing the polish language
i should feel more nationalistic pride in sweden being
gang-*****... it's an actual shame that i know
english and can't ingest the full potency of seeing
Sweden as it is... as i already said:
the deluge... by henry sienkiewicz...
    and later the recount by an incompetent king
in the works of kraszewski...
             but my: the tennis! it's spell-binding...
and the wine i made? it's digesting my brain to a proper
dehydration... and i love it!
              7 rectangles... and if the 7 rectangles
     were a circle, i'd be yearning for sumo!
           but no no, no... i'm, looking at these rabbits
represent a π radius squared movement,
given the matchsticks...
      i love tennis... it makes more sense watching
a female tennis match than it does a male one:
where it's always all about a fast serve and
           a quicker return... 7 rectangles, and these
fleshy vectors moving about the parameters...
           if i din't know a germanic language
i'd be gleeful, actually applauding the demise of
Sweden, having learned of the devestation
done to Poland by the Swedes in the deluge and
partition of the country, due to the House of Vasa...
it's a joke and i know it's a joke:
say i moved back to Poland and stirred up
    the national ghost?
                                     ha... ha ha... that would be
something...
          i'm a disciple of wine these days,
and i like watching tennis...
                         human history always meant
too much a case of: getting out of bed...
and hence my addiction: sleep...
as odd as it might sound, i'm actually addicted to it...
i'm a lion that pets two bonsai tigers...
    i have enough mane to laugh out a bellowing
word: lion! ha ha...
              but i sometimes like to retreat into
origins, and given i am highly volatile in my use of
english as an acquired tongue, i sometimes love to
re-acquire my ethnicity, and read a little bit of it...
how the Swedes desecrated Poland once upon a time...
how the Germans malnurished her with world war ii
and i... and i sort of love how Islam (for me), is
nothing but a chisel, a hammer... a useful idiot
that speaks more testicles and western female uninhibition
than anything... of boy... do i come across of grossly
nationalistic? i might have... oh gee!
   what a terrible plight!
                         but there's a secret theatre being staged
in Europe, most Americans don't know of it,
unless they managed to ask Joyce to **** his way
around a good translation of Finnegans Wake and
a whiskey bar in Krakow...  or ów... however you speak it...
     depends how you hide or don't hide
or expose the consonants...
                    and that's funny, most people find
the works of Kraszewski boring... to me they're the one
source of sanity having spent 3 weeks in Poland
over the holidays...
and why i invested my person in being bilingual...
   odd scare tactic: the usual typo of ****...
                        if you find the culture you're assimilating
into folding (in a poker sense), remain true to
the culture of your birth, keep the language...
you never know, you might have to move back
to the country of your birth... but only when you
see the host culture as *****-whipped... as England
is... or wait... antagonise the situation,
wait until they give up their capital,
and on the preiphery turn ultra-nationalistic in vox...
   i kept my native tongue, now i'm playing truant...
i have no symphany for the Swedes,
  and sympathy for England? well... if even events
in 1997 didn't happen... i might have more than
enough...
                   a Pole looks at the influx of Muslims to
Germany... and quiet frankly laughs...
                       it's not even a debate...
like the muslims talking about post-colonial
deconstructionalism...
                                     no wonder Russia has
come from the shadows to be the pawn-broker
of at least remaining true to the hunger
of media outlets... it just has to be there...
        so yeah, if you read kraszewski
and sienkiewicz, you might know a thing or two
about the Swedish deluge, that hit Poland
when John Casimir, of the house of Vasa
     "ruled" Poland at the time of the Cossack
uprising, magnified by the leadership of
      Khmelnytsky -
                but then again, all you hear in England
is the fate of the harem of the house of Tudor...
and how Charlie got shaved from owning a head,
and how Charlie Seconds had that
bad-*** poet in his pocket... john wilmot...
who i vaguely remember having cited
made epigram more noteworthy than an epitaph:
     we have a pretty witty king,
     and whose word no man relies on,
     he never said a foolish thing,
     and never did a wise one...
    great words demand the most despicable people
to invoke them... fortunately i live in a time
when great words can't be said,
because there are no great people to be surrounded with
in order that they might be despised...
   well, that is said in where i find solace,
exietential philosophy, for i do say: "fortunately",
as if i am borrowing something...
how can you write a poem, about a monarch,
when the monarch, as has happened with the english
crown, bid more toward philanthropy
than lechery? give me something i might want to esteem
in seeking out the basis for the basic human
depravity! you give me a monarch worth a penny's
toss into a hand of a pauper, you give me
a philanthropic king, and not a lecherous king...
you have sealed your existency,
by gauging out my eyes and giving them to worms,
and cut off my tongue, and lodged it, in the mosque
of a donkey's gob!

They all look so young and lively and free on the Berkeley campus
walking and smiling and dancing swing and exercising and studying in internet
cafes and along the college walk there are clubs: pre-dental society,
women engineers, others, worn signs that stay out all year long in California and wear well
like the Clinton/Gore bumper sticker still visible and affixed to the stop sign off Telegraph and I wonder when there will be an avenue called "Internet"
And along the walls of Cafe Mediterraneum are highlights of the sixties, photographed by the dead owner of the place and there are still students studying and wierdos and old people reading books but there is no inspiration here anymore
From my generation, the eighties there are no pictures, and none from the seventies either and from the nineties and this decade has come and gone without notice on the walls
because youth by itself does not renew and innovate and the pressures of culture are too strong to re-invent and
it's not like there's nothing wrong, nothing that needs to be changed in our world today if anything things are worse
but now youth is only thinking about youth and buying low and selling high and there is no more idealism, no more desire to rectify anything, only to establish oneself as part of the middle class or above and have a house and 2.5 children
when the world is quickly being destroyed now just not by war, or an atomic bomb
that would be obvious because it would be loud and white and then there would be darkness and drops of rain and devestation
but I think I want to drop an intellectual bomb on these young people and tell them to wake up and try to change the world again and stop watching Reality TV and
do something that will help the world and put your picture on the wall of the Mediteraneum because you are trying to help the collective good and not just feather your own nest and not just worship the rich and exploitive entrepeneurs and try to emulate them as we were told to do in the eighties because that is just selfish meaninglessness that can't keep being replicated in this world, because it can't withstand it
our land and water can't withstand this lifestyle and the dollar store selling cutesie things made in China are coming from child labor and blood money and this dollar store is on Telegraph and no one cares or notices not even the young,
as slave labor continues to produce goods, just not here, where you can see it
and even if you care about animals, you can think of two million cats and dogs torchured and skinned alive for their fur in China and you , Berkeley are wearing it onn your fur trimmed coats
There is an eeries silence on Telegraph now where there should be the aliveness of debate and not just to get ahead, but to give a voice to the voiceless and alleviate the real and obvious suffering in the world
So youth, you are not so young and fresh you are a dissapointment
you are cowardly, pondering your own navel
and submissive and I expect more
THIS IS NOT ENOUGH
change is frightening, but it is
the only thing
that will save us

If the dream dies,
Will it ever fly again?
Head on, crash course,
Destination Devestation.
So step on the gas, Baby.
We're gonna fly or die
In glorious flames.

we're all waiting in line
for the second to come
where we either fall off the cliff
or choose to jump

and get put out of our misery...
anticipation
impatience
boredom

a strangely familiar feeling of solidarity

it either feels like a waste of time
or like you have all the time in the world

either constrained
or free,

oh dear virtues of love and song!

what a slow painful bleeding
what an amazing violent relief
what a comedown
what beautiful brain swelling
an infinite white oblivion

what a sacrifice
what devotion
what passion

what music...

what a burden it must be for a musician
the bard who is to dwell in the ambivalence
the mime who wishes to sing
but remains a mute

oh cruel queue
oh manic elation
oh devestation

why must you rude & shove?
surely we can ration
is there not enough air?

this is not a line but a stampede
we remain trampled

have we not learned from the birds?
have we not learned from the herds?

we're all waiting in line
for the second to come
teetering above a white oblivion

infinite,
beautiful,
a comedown...
what a violent relief

what a slow painful bleeding

Laying on the floor Lying in wake
Waiting for the Blank
that will not come

Can't find the words
that express my face
It's all inside this shell
of Blank_

Dictionary aiding the soul
but is burned in translation
A darkness that fufills the rose
and is Blank devestation.

To express
To create
To release
To share
To unburden
To Blank__.

Money

     Corruption
     Change

             Loss
                   Devestation
                   Descent

   Stress
    Stress
    Stress

    Earn

Money

Work
    Hard
     Harder

   More
       Need
   More

Always

    Never
       Enough

Just
  Try

Survive

I knew it was dangerous..
To be in his very presence like a
Moth who's gotten himself too close to the light.
Like a natural born pacisfist picking a fight.
Like that "we need to talk" talk
that really isn't conversation just
candy coated devestation.
But no, I just couldn't believe what was so
easy to see.
I just got caught up in this moment like a
cat in a tree.
Like this rhyme without a beat.
And I'm sorry because
if I ever thought it would have to end like this..
Hell, I would do it again just to feel this bliss.

and my hips have bruises from the last man to call me beautiful
but maybe this story isnt mine
i always end up with the wrong words in my mouth
words that hail from bodies full of scars and cuts and long lonely nights and a bottle of pills that almost got swallowed and a phone call that saved a life
words that pour out of bodies hanging in poplar trees with their necks bent to the side like their raising their ears to heaven hoping to hear one last call from that angel's horn
words that taste too much like hell to fit with what little bit of heaven i get to live in
but my hips have bruises from the last man to call me beautiful
the bruises come from my own hands
my own hands turned claws
metal, grasping, crushing
digging into my hips like leaving bruises will make the words go away
it's not that i can't take a compliment
i mean
i can't take a compliment
but
i don't want this
i don't want this gift that won't fit into the puzzle of me
this piece with too many out-connectors and not enough in-connectors
this piece whose image is too bright
too colorful
too flavorful
too dreamy
too beautiful to match the devestation that i've built up
i'm too broken to be called beautiful
and not broken enough to complain
you see
i was raise the way you raise a good strong oak
take an acorn and dig a hole
drive that nut so far into the dark soil that you can't see it's top anymore
stomp the world flat again
and forget
but i was also raised the way a gallows is raised
with the reminder of all those that were hanged before
and the names of all those who will be hanged
my mother taught me how to mourn things that weren't my own
she gave me the gift of tears for others and took the tears i had for myself
she took so much
she was like Big Business or The Government
always asking for handouts and then getting mad when people don't want to pay up
my father just left
he didn't bother with goodbyes or sorrow or regret or fear or hesitation
he opened the door to a room just far enough away that i couldn't reach him
and plugged himself into a virtual world
one where his broken mirror reflection of his american dream would never catch up with him
and it worked
so now here i am
taking these words from a man's lips
wrapping both hands around them tightly
refusing to let go until the are crushed to dust
this is not a compliment it is a curse
a brand
hot metal pressing into skin and lifting smoke and screams to an eagerly awaiting sky
so i grab my own hips
leave hand prints there as often as possible
hoping to distract enough that i don't have to do this again
but then
maybe this isn't my story

In the face of devestation
After the nuclear bomb
In the voice of the survivors
The search for peace lives on

As they sit on there small island
Free from nuclear rain
They plead for peace
Spared to start again

So as they build a new world
Out of the ashes of the last
Born to strive for peace
After the nuclear blast

How many Martin luthers
Or John lennons will be born
The peace dreamers of the world
Slaughtered while we mourn

Is peace achievable
I guess we,ll never know
But to strive for peace
Is the only way to go

To hate is weakness
To love is power
Judgement day is coming
And in the final hour

As the buttons are pressed
And the missiles fly
And nuclear Armageddon
Blackens out the sky

As we fall to our knees
And accept our fate
As we finally realise
Peace came to late

When did hugging a
porcelain crown make
you the beautiful person
you've always been?

When did returning all
a day's calories make things
a bit better for you to deal
with?

Control. Power. Devestation.
All you're doing is losing.
Losing inches and pounds to
illness and frowns...ones that
are noticed more than you think.

Blood-red eyes are all I can see through
They watch as everything around me shatters and dies
Nothing will cease this rampage of pure rage
I’ve no time for ideas like hope and love
These things have evaded my grasp for far too long
This body will climb its way out of pitiful pitfalls
Drag itself out of the heartbreak and misery
It has become something elemental
Something frightening
All my guarded secrets are discarded in an instant
I have few regards for these people anymore
The rhythm soon overtakes my senses
And the beating of a heart
Begins to match the tempo of utter devestation

Hope is man's greatest destruction
And best chance

It is like a seed; without it the field is barren.
With it, all things are possible

I Hate it for the devestation it has wrought
And love it for the promise it holds,

Just around the next corner...

It hits you like a semitruck,
One that is loaded with lead weights and ******* bees,
It's like a switched is flipped and your mind is transported to an earlier time,
To when you were younger and more brash,
When the calm flame that resides within you rages into a towering inferno that threatens to burn anything that stands in its way.

Past goals that you once thought impossible to reach now seem trivial,
And that you can now blow through them like their made of wet tissue paper.

Your hands start to shake like nothing else,
Not from fear,
But excitement,
It's like all your senses crank up to 11 and beyond,
Everything is crisp and vivid.

You're ******,
Your not sure at what,
But you know you're ******,
And it's not a spatula anger,
It's the kind of rage that people are wary of,
For it's one that is tempered by calculated thoughts and an even rationale.

The real dangerous kind.

You need to get up,
To do something,
Anything.

But sometimes the inferno will burn everything up,
Leaving only smoldering ruins and devestation.

Night bleeds out
through to daybreak
counting seconds
scouring each
shadows shake
waiting to hide
in sunshine bright
counting scar lines
trying to keep it tight
a slaughterhouse
of me you'd make
Valentine's kisses
blown from fists
your promises
bleak
feigned cautioned
so no blame
could be apportioned
echoes in my ears
my heart still beats
my blood still flows
a small mercy
but
we both
know
know
know
that's not the way
it was meant to
go
go
go
heart beating
skin warm
blood flows
still
after it all
my hands refuse to
shake
shake
shake
but
we both know
the cost
it did
take
take
take

2  3  1  5

exit alive
the eye line
high above
the skyline
remains
contains
my vaulted
broken heart
devestation overload
you tore it all apart
bruised ego
refused to let me
go
go
go
and so
bloodstains
on the carpet
tearstains
on the sheets
celluloid keepsakes
my heart
breaks
breaks
breaks
over
and over
again and
again
did it do it
for you
make you
feel victorious
complete
roll the film
take a seat
watch
see
love
smothered by deceit

© J.C.

What little traumas affect existance?
Sensitive souls destroyed by petty words.
Judged as wanting and paltry.
No arms to becalm the distress.
Hands brushing skin.
Moving to secret places.
A dark and ardorless touch.
Revealed in action and recycled in psyche.
Surprising kindreds found then lost without words.
First love led to intimacies wracked with devestation.
Cyclical defamation to the mind and body.
Kindreds remade and lost again.
At last, absconding from lingering tethers.
New love found and destroyed.
Too many little traumas repressed.
Too many left raw and open.
Too many affected existance.
Realization is the road to healing.

I could handle hurt from anyone else
But the person who built me up
Should never have been the one
To tear me right back down

I heard you weren't doing well
It hurt
I wished I could have reached out
And told you I was still here for you
But my better judgement told me "No"

I tried so hard to remember why we drifted so far apart
I couldn't recall the weopon, only the memory of the wound

But now the memory of that day is clear
The way you told me I wasn't enough
The first person to tell me I was
The first person who made me believe

You were the crack that started the spiderweb that weakened my glass
You left me vulnerable for the next false Messiah to completely shatter me

You promised me peace and brought me devestation
You promised me a temple of confidence and instead broke me with insecurity
You didn't take my side, left me defenseless
You threw me into the wolf den without a warning

Our friendship was full of nothing but falsehoods and pretenses, worthless promises that did us no good

But I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish you happiness
It's not in my nature to be unforgiving and cruel
I don't have room in my heart for hatred and grudges
You may have hurt me, but I don't want to hurt you

van Gogh! van Gogh! achtung achtung!
sir, did you take time
to reflect
upon being hit in the reflexive dimension
of reality:
yes: there's the definite article that's the reflexive
and there's the indefinite article that's
reflective...
                    if there emerges a refractive article
i will let you know:
bodies! bodies! summon more bodies!
non-responsive for the demands of oratory
self-serving pleasures:
did i? mention that emoticons don't appear
to have ears? i must have...
which poem? sieve through over 7 ******* thousand?
i find myself giggling at the idea
that: well: who could, possibly: remember?!
by the book and the glitches of: future noir
or: as in passing:
to leech off time is the only measure
of being confined to this citadel of space...
this: corrupt atmospheric stench whereby otherwise
a surgical vacuum of cold beyond ice
beyond measure of ordeal: where only pockets
of composite parts: mostly geology and gas exist
spinning on a whirlwind of re- re- repeat "no rhythm"
orbit...
strangely engineered: simply to have found
orbits rather than having settled for a rising sun
and a tiding moon...
but... never mind:
                      van Gogh oh: why don't emoticons
have ears?
mind you: is that such a nuisance in the abstract
of a toddler that
we sometimes don't pull at stupid and face
puffing up our cheeks: squirming our eyes or
ogling them prodding out almost
at the promise of an escapade from
the tortures of being symbiotic with the mind...

well well: i did leave a kind: suggestion:

                   ?               !
                           . .
                         ..

  all that's missing is, a replica:

                   ?               !
                           . .            (
                         ..


and that's: an ear          (
shoeshine shy:
moonshine bliss...
                      i am on the verge of expanding
my confined space to
alternative timings:
given that i write so vehemently and at every
willynilly opportunity:
and that i can bypass the editorial constipation
of: *** see *** ça:

conflations of rhetoric:
biodiversity is a prerequisite of nature per se:
spiders flies sunflowers...
by Jove and the jovial
monstrous motto:
i too dream about flying to Kenya or Nigeria
and becoming a hand model
or at least advertising: soap...
                      "diversity is our strength":
who's... this "our" without a "we"?

                   but sir sir! did you take time
to make the most of the opportunity to ensure
the sandbag brigade slowed down your
exit from stage so that
a fist pump could be adequately measured
and the coffin might be brought to
confiscate the Dementia Tor?

                  evil Rasp u Tin with that devilish
smile i do wonder why some
cagey democratically journalistic
phobia / aversion to will
                                        some ditto X monstrosity
of welcome opinion
or satisfying neutrality like one cannot
somehow clarify: collateral...

                  evil: well: at least it's not naive...
opportunistic: but certainly not naive
and asleep: evil: vilification of edible part
and some body...
       not this daydreaming ooh ah:
this insomniac crux
  that sometimes brings about "abuse" of sedatives
but in the meantime
a spontaneous gesture galore...

as predictable as any kind of weather:
being, unpredictable...
Oonglaand so ooh: the last prized asset
of this:
former...
            but if you're going to be a sports fan
proper you won't be a football fan
and you certainly will not adhere
to watching football drunk:
given:

by the time the 5th pint get's the kosher glug
of slit the throat by ice and carbon dioxide
fizz... from 11 v 11 idiots running on the pitch
you end up with 22 v 22 on the pitch...
how can anyone give me the fathomable
argument that sport can be enjoyed with
alcohol...
                         maybe not enough blood in
the sport(s)...

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

it's raining... such bliss cannot come
as readily: there was no planning involved:
July's rains in England:
i will miss them dearly...
one hurdle...

this i've seen in a dream: vaguely...
it's coming back to haunt me:

Game of Thrones: obviously i watched it
sparingly:
today i refreshed the paint in the living room
can't remember the color...
that same old, Faustian quote of a nugget
of gold in my pocket: i'm sinking..
the theme for the Night King...
haunting yet abbreviated to:
ears to a face:

   ()          no... not zodiac with cancer
walking sideways
instead Pisces afraid of the outer-world:
)(
                 immortal hands do not cite
Shakespeare: shaking the pear tree
a new serpent a Newton
sat beneath
and before the quadratic disparity
came gravity
and angels fallen
and gods as demigods fallen...

a year 0 with the advent of a Neu Demokratie...
the calendar year of celebrity culture:
best believe
to think of the dead and their unsolved
or pedagogic achievements:
i still think the curriculum could be change...
notably by the basics of
a study of biology:
how is one to: start calling NOUNS RZECZOWNIK
and the VERB CZaSOWNIK:
mianownik... etc.

          BiG TiMe...

            if not under the guise of the Niqqab...
or perhaps the Abjad...#de profundis in excelsior...
from the depths oh Lord...
make the vowels small...
keep the consonants CaPiTaL... imitation...

'WNIK... borrowed from wnikać: but there is a
unit of WNIK: inquiry point...
czas-o-
            inquiry into time: using verbs...
Polish grammar:
time-O-O-time: eternity standing like
a man and not lying like a monkey: i.e. 8...
and B that gave birth to it...

i feel sorry for the people in my life
that cared to love me:
i've written their state of being forgotten...
while i drag these rags of
the philosopher who saw the Gorgon
Medusa and plunged himself into the mouth
of the spirit Baron of Etna...
where fire and earth meet to make meat:
which is why: origins of us:
the air we to breathe: among trees...

seeing faces in things...
sclera onomatopoeia myopia...

there's no ego in the divination of consciousness:
there's no i in consciousness:
there's only the satan i...
that one that needs to get behind you
that needs to un-muddle your screaming
a pain and a scratch not really there:
ghost limb and with that:
madness and the ghost ego
ego can become fathomable from the madman's
perspective of the amputee:
ghost limb... ghost ego...
hence: shrapnel and schizophrenic voices...
whoever taught you that electron
make orbit?
aren't they quantum... quantum...
metaphysics is... or rather was...
metaphysics became conquered by the discovery
of quantum: physics...
i punctuated for a ******* reason!

god is not dead:
what is dead is metaphysics:
i give no platitude of authority
there's no governing that statement with authority:
metaphysics died because:
because Quantum Physics was discovered
and that was the death of "god" or rather ego:
the veneer of the secular trinity of
ego superego and id
without the mother-construct:
some bogus: some Chimera monstrosity
of averting our eyes from truth
a sacrele-gous: forget the spelling
i'll play dyslexic i know what i want to say!

solo piano soothing:
solo biolin? that's B in Spanish also a V
for? DAWAJ! DAWAJ!
DaWaj!
              
           quest for a despotic cure for all,
the evils of this world:
that there be a worthless priestly caste...
surely:
i thought that status in society was
non-existent: i did see through Darwinism
to the extent of deeming what
is question-worthy and what is self-answerable
and therefore defunct: swappy:
not in dire need...
not priest not churches no affiliations:
even if the Islamic Pakis think that
they are conquering anything in England:
what? the bad weather:
you have no stomach:
no matter the amount of dyslexic barrage

on Kauai: i will not listen to an ex-drug blah blah
DYSLEXIC pseudo-
let's all ******* congregate you
******* mongrel of a half pass as a Mongel:
you think?! think or "think":
Weimar will burn and give girth
to a birth of a superstar
and he'll be a failed artist and he'll be
my precursor:
my John the Baptist: ******...
and i will make this world a toy in an ear...
beside the hands...

the next ******* dyslexic **** wills
shepherding:
you... what?
there's an i in consciousness
ego: e.g. O...
who says that i have to begin to think with
iota and not alpha?
who says "identity crisis": best
i begin with omega? like upsilon is to omicron
hyperscript or downsizing in chemicals?

i spared myself jerking off for the day...
******* has become so bland...
so bland with her in my life:
i might be living in L'nd'n
another way to disguise the vowels...
imitation Hebrew:
'M SLW LRNR...

      it will take time: the Holocaust:
made to adapt...
apparently the Jesus was not the Christ...
and my idle hands have been summoned...
to clarify: caressing...
three flicking switches
and her **** juices are running: sweet...

there's no "i" in consciousness...
there's an i... but there's no: "i"...
eye: "i think":
aye: i think:
aye? aye?!
    
            faking a secular: religiosity:
where once stood: a people:
religion...
       their supposed conquest
comes with the same distopian
fervor of the Ancient Romans:
this Islamic quest to expand west...

  what idle ******* sand *******!
i call them by their best exclaimed
in Mongol territory:
idle sun-worshiping
camel-jockey
sand-                             -*******!
aRaBS!

                           no ice blue devestation
of envy: peering envy....
just the clarifying junction:
of: what wilt?!

      so much of history:
yet we have the Yeti and the botox ***
celebrity culture demands:
i did say:
is the t.v. our former self
of conversation:
akin to the fireplace?

   consciousness implies: but doesn't stress:
=,
           the fire is now the insomnia
and people have lost or rather
frail: be:
noun struct: some nouns
leaving un-availability of use...
to the t.v.

the moon shone: one day...
before it was conquered...
by bad reality day fathoms:
of this stupid everyday...

i see ice in water...
i see coal in fire...
i see air in abundance:
an absentee tree without a body...
i see faces in trees
like i don't want to see
faces in bodies...
with bodies...

              German intellect: surpassed:
but then it passed:
passed far far away...
and no revival came
and no hope, came,
and no faith: came...

came the Jew with Germanic
apologetic demands:
and that came... and... died...
and who knows...
who are the Slavic people
and why Moscow is paranoid
but it's a sign of health
to be: diligent and not so much:
a loud-mouth...
came the German with:
but we only allowed the middle-class
Jews:
who am i: are you? the pardonable
enlisted: choir?!

at least on Kauai i will not have to live with:
Jews, Muslims...
whatever the **** SPRouTS... blah...
they ******* Northern Irish Accents
of Activism:
their ******* murk of m'eh:
i don't want to be living among
people who adore PAJAMAS
in transit and fried chicken for closure...
i just: don't!

        these sectarian half Irish:
waiting to be more ******: distractions...
but i don't want to live among
Muslims!
do i: have to?
do i: have to?
           is this brain-worm of anti-racism
an escapist path do
i really have to? "you":
jaw-toss-half-baked-jew-from-******?!
seriously?

like the idea of a gorilla...
breeding with chimpanzees...
possible?
so advertise this: left-oid:
******* mess: less weaning: to not leaning?
i love races:
i abhor interracial breeding:
with: exceptions...
but to make an example:
to make a societal claim for progress?
for white girls to be given black husbands:
but at least no PAJAMA party
what the **** are we remedying by not
reading?!

so now, what am i? ******* PANAMA?
tough mess to fizz...
i'm just not that much hyped about
living with Muslims...
sorry...
i just want to get away from that Turban Party...
sorry:
if you think you can conquer the world:
believe me:
some of us would rather prescribe ourselves
the medical zenith of death
because:
living, with, you, half-baked,
stinking, camel-jockeys...
is... a *******: INSULT...
it's an INSULT to exist: per se...

                      i don't want to live in a world
of Islam, Christianity, Judaism... regardless...
i...
there's no i to be invoked:
it passes: it comes and goes...
but as an "i" for quest of "identity":
and with all the glorification of the art of acting
is somehow: a mirage?

there's the sky...
the earth...
the sun and the moon...
there are tides
and there are sinking islands...
there's the Polynesia and
there's a Lost Europe
of looking beside the horizon: of:
America:
the dictates of the Steppes
toward Asia and beyond...

i really don't want to have these sort
of neighbors who... are not even the who i ask of:
but some: mirage...
of faking: symbiotic endeavors...
clone closest...
i'd best be:
a hybrid of you-and-me...
but only you: but only me...
and that's the closest i felt:
this far apart...

           so the boa feeds: by a claustrophobic
constriction...
stand on your head
and count to 10 mummification...
if i were to simply die: the sudden: die:
without the morphing into death: a lessened
noun associating:
the only: by verb: spontaneity:
to die                           not dead:
to die: indefinitely...
not dead: not definitely:   unto the cursor of A...
without a definite to define definition of THE...