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Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
perchance an epic was necessary, to consolidate the scattered thinking, and indeed, once a certain life, and was lived with a cherishing heart, the heart broke, and life turned from adventures to a more studious approach, and in here, a comfort was found, never before imagined explorations - of course sometime a tourist in the arts does come, but such tourists quickly fade, and the pursuit becomes more enshrined - to levitated towards epics is perhaps the sole reason for the cherished memory of some - and how quickly all can revolve around a searched for theme, after many incorporations were minded - as one to have travelled the Mediterranean, another to have been eaten by the great mandarin silkworm of the library of Kangxi - heading along the silk route with spices - indeed the great mandarin silkworm of the library of emperor Kangxi; as i too needed a bearing - to inspect the trickster of lore and the godly blacksmith of the north.

by instruction - an accumulation of the the zephyrs
into a vector, headed north,
toward the gluttonous murk of ice, jesting
with aches to the bulging and mesmerised crescendo
of adrift stars captured in the tilting away -
to think of an epic, to keep out-of-time of
spontaneity and thistle like swiftness in the last
days of summer, that Mercury brings the new
tides of the tetravivaldis -
   brought by the λoγος of a γoλας -
for reasons that satisfy the suntan copper of
the ***** - the λoγος of a γoλας - yet not toward
Monte Carlo or any hideout of money well invested
and greedily spent for a charm -
no, north bids me welcome from afar -
this norðri fløkja, this    ᚾᛟᚱᛞᚱᛁ       ᚠᛚᚢᚲᛃᚨ -
by my estimate, i could not take the nonsense
of numerology of a certain specialisation,
i took what was necessary, i pillaged the temple
of Solomon, perhaps that the dome of the rock
might stand - with its glistening dome and
its sapphire mosaics - i don't belong among
palm trees and date trees - hence i turned to
deciphering and subsequently encrypting -
as i have already with *ᚱᚨᛒᛖ
:
the journey of an Æsir through a birch forest
on a horse.
                    with this method in mind:
(a) ᚾᛟᚱᛞᚱᛁ       (b) ᚠᛚᚢᚲᛃᚨ:

(a)
the need to acquire possessions accumulating
into an estate, is a journey encountered
day by day, although a journey on ice

(b)
cattle only thrive near water,
auruchs did not, and hence illuminated
their way to extinction,
         by way of the Æsirs' harvest
(to eat up diversity of life, and create
a godless world of man).

my escape route came from ᚠ - mirroring שִׂ
although the former standing, the latter sitting
down, although the former fathomable
to my pleasure, the latter unfathomable
to ascribe numbers to letters for patterns -
i seek no patterns, hence my sight turned to
the northern sights, and meanings amplified.
                
the greeks were intended to explore abstracts,
having stated a triangle
they invented the ² symbol and what not,
it was because
they didn't bother extracting a phonetic unit
from something definite,
they classified such endeavours barbarian,
what reasonable greek of 13% reason and
87% reality would extract alpha from
the sound you made when
saying ansur (ᚨᚾᛋᚢᚱ) - i.e. attention -
i.e. deriving a definite sound differentiation
for alphabetical rubrics from a definite thing
(in whatever classification that might be)?
the greeks used the alphabetical rubric of
crafting a definite sound from an indefinite thing,
so they said: acronym, aardvark, assumption,
                       α                 α      α     α,
then they said α² - there are no antonyms -
but indeed there were, hence the Trojan nation
settling in the boot, that's Italy,
the Romans escalated the greek theory
beyond taking out a definite sound distinguished
from other distinguishable sounds,
abstracting what the alphabetic sound assured
a list under alpha: assumption, advantage,
acorn, etc. -
the latins were the first atomist after the greeks,
the greeks believed in atoms, but had no
microscopes to prove atoms existed,
such scientific faith found no parallel;
the latins ensured this was true,
ending with castrato sing-along -
the latins furthered abstracting sounds from
definite orientation which the greeks did
working from ice into iota,
the latins just sang i, i, i -
of course chiral behaviourism of such dissection
emerged - hatch a plan, plan a chisel -
it's very piquant i mind to let you know -
the greeks abstracted nouns in order to create
the alphabet, the barbarians still used
proper nouns to speak proper, the greeks
thus created synonyms and antonyms to add
to the spice of life - after all,
not deriving definite alphas from
cursors that acknowledged points of origins
created diacritical stressing like comma and
semis of colon and macron, not deriving them
from definite things, shunning a helpful
vocabulary bank to an unhelpful vocabulary
banked: synonyms and antonyms the Gemini's
birth of rhetoric;
but the latins were rejected with their atomic theory
of pronunciation, since they became laden
with diacritics - punctuation marks of a different sort,
you can measure a man sprint one hundred metres,
but is that also measuring a man to say
mān or män or mán? i know that the slavic ó = u
given the scalpel opening the ensō to craft a parabola -
but it's not necessarily an accent debate
but a punctuation debate... the emergence of
the diacritic symbols above the letters is due
partly to their joy of the popes listening to
castrato operas and the fact that the romans
went too far... hence the chiral nature of certain
symbols when dittoing - the barbarians used
definite things to assert definite sounds -
the greeks used indefinite things to assert definite
sounds - mind you, if the romans became too
abstract with their little units that became engraved
with punctual accenting, then the greek letters
became laden with scientific constants as necessarily
fathered, unchanging in the pursuit of Heraclitus' flux -
for example... Pythagoras and the hypotenuse:
                            σ / κ² = α² + β² -
           or?
                             c² (ć) = a² (ą) + b² / š (bubble beep
                                                           bop barman backup hop
                                                           of shackled kakah
                                                           or systematic oscillation
                                                           for bzz via burp);
πρ² is still more stable
                                 than what the latin alphabet allows -
hence why greek phonetic encoding was used in
science, and latin phonetic encoding was used in music,
can't be one or the other - added to the fact that
latin encoding had too many spare holes with
the evolution of numbers, and greek didn't have them,
hence β-reduction in lambda calculus and F-dur and A#

the one variant of the grapheme (æ) they didn't include
among expressions: graphite and grapheme
was the variant - gravitating to an entombing
of the excess aesthetic - geresh stress -
somehow the twins match-up to a single womb:
àé vs. áè: V vs. Λ - Copernicus wrote over all
of this with the flat earth uselessness
in terms of navigation - flat earth is useless...
huh? flat earth is the only system that gave
Columbus the chance to explore the new world -
no flat earth no Columbus -
that satellite named Luna was no tool
in navigating across the Atlantic - believe me
i'm sure -
                  or that grapheme (æ) varied like statistics
or like the characters in the book of genesis
that famous adam und eve (kim and kanye):
chances came, chances went:
it was still a draw on the tongue tied decipher:
àè and áé proved another notation for plurality
was necessary, not at the beginning of the word,
but after, hence the possessive article 's,
we could have parallelism, there was a crux,
how once the chiselling of letters came about,
more economic to chisel in a V than a U,
both the same, much easier though...
almost barbaric i might say...
sigma (Σ) enigma rune e (ᛖ) - this compass
is a ******* berserker, god knows if it's
mount Everest or the Bermuda Δ

but one thing is for certain, never you mind how
a language is taught unless you mind it,
not that conversational athenian is really what
i'm aiming at - but a lesson is a lesson nonetheless,
out of interest something new,
richard von Coudenhove-Kalergi,
and what preceded him, namely pan-slavism,
just when the polish-lithuanian commonwealth
did a little Judaic trick of its own,
although snorkelling in the waters of not writing
history for less a time than israel -
you can't beat ~2000 under water - although
you could if your little tribe had an einstein
among them, or proust or spinoza, then
you could effectively become a whale, popping
an individual out from the rubble to say a polite
'hello' and 'when will the dessert be served?'
but indeed, learning a language on your own,
how to learn from scratch, the greek orthography,
and why omicron and not omega,
the give-away? sigma - purely aesthetic reason,
                             νoμισματων

                             nomismaton

omicron                                                 omega

                 you write omicron at the front
                 and omega at the back
                 pivot letter? two: σ     μ &
                 νoμι-                                -ατων
                      ­                     |
                 anything here  
                 will use o            and anything
                                              here uses ω

alike to sigma:
                          χωρας (choras, i.e. country)

sigma (ς) not sigma (σ), i.e. digitalising languages
without a clear connectivity of letters,
block-a-brick-block-a-brick-digit-digit-digit
you learn that handwriting is gone,
two options, your own aesthetic reasons now,
remember, some paired for the ease of handwritten
flow - digitalised language changes the aesthetics,
you make your own rules (considering exceptions
of oh mega mega, ergo revision -

                                       χoρας,

but still the sigma rule, others esp. o mega
you stamp on them like βλαττια, i.e. cockroaches -
κατσαρίδα                 not         κατςαρίδα

all perfectly clear when you explore plato's
dialogue from the book Θηαετητυς (as you might
have noticed, the epsilon-eta project is still
in the storage room of my imagination) -
but indeed in the dialogue, between socrates
and the "hero" of the book theaetetus -
a sample, without an essay on the theory
of knowledge -
socrates: ...'tell me theaetesus, what is Σ O?'
theaetetus: yes, my reply would be that it is
                    Σ and O.
socrates: so there's your account of the syllable,
                isn't it?
theaetetus: yes.
socrates: all right, then: tell me also what your
                  account of Σ is.
                                                             ­   (etc.
or as some might say, a shrug of the shoulders,
a hmmpf huff puff of hot air, impractical interests
and concerns - well, better the impractical
problems than practical problems, less feet
shuffling and nail-biting moments with your
tail between your legs and an army of
intellectuals working out what went wrong
and how history will solve everything by
the practical problems repeating themselves) -
you know that inane reaction - others would just say
Humphrey Bogart and nonetheless get on with it.

some would claim i was begot a second time,
not in the sixth month period of the aqua-flesh,
how did i actually related to the life aquatic,
for nine months i was taught to hold my breath,
however did this happen?
a miracle of birth? ah indeed the miracle of
a crutch for a woman - spinal deformities -
9 months, sort to speak, in water or some other
fluid - merman - a beastly innovation -
next you'll be telling me beyond this life
we turn into centaurs, given the Koran's promise -
you'd need the appetite of a breeding horse
to satiate the 72 - or thereabouts - martyr or
no martyr - 72? that's pushing it -
or as they say among children - a chance playground
without swings or sandpits, but very careless
gravitational pulling toward a certain direction;
nonetheless, they might have that i did indeed
settle of a sáttmáli                  ᛋᚨᛏᛏᛗᚨᛚᛁ
                  við         ­                  Vᛁᛞ
                  tann                         ᛏᚨᚾᚾ
                  djevul                      ᛞᛃᛖVᚢᛚ -
the hands you see, fidgety -
     hond handa grammur burtur    úr   steðgur
     ᚻᛟᚾᛞ  ᚻᚨᚾᛞᚨ  ᚷᚱᚨᛗᛗᚢᚱ   ᛒᚢᚱᛏᚢᚱ  ᚢᚱ   ᛋᛏᛖᛞᚷᚢᚱ
         the hands give an ardent pursuit
                                                 away from rest -
well not that my poems will ever reach
the islands in question - and indeed an
uneducated guess propels me - what does it matter,
λαλος babbler meant anything, indeed λαλος,
language as my own, is a language that i can
understand - and should anyone omit
disparities - a welcome revision would never tease
nor burn my eyes - but the phonetic omission
peeved me off: woad in water, ventricles in a
variety of entanglements - it's just not there -
and indeed, orthographically, if there are no more
optometric involvements of omicron's twin -
then the stance is with you to use whichever pleases,
i can't tell the difference, unless i was a pedantic
student, aged 70, with a granddaughter i wanted
to be wed teasing a millimetre's worth of
phonetic differentiation between the two -
POTATO PA'H'TAYTOE TOMATO TA'H'MAYTOE -
linguistically one's american and the other
is british, which looks like greek and latin
upside-down and in a mirror: pəˈteɪtəʊ, təˈmɑːtəʊ;
or as the spaghetti gobblers would put it:
the tetragrammaton is working on their
texan drawl (dwah! ripples in china) -
or the high-society new england ******* *******
coo with a cuckoo's load of clocks -
before being sent off to england for a respectable
education, something en route Sylvia Plath -
but not to ol' wee scoot land - ah nay - well
perhaps for a year and then talk of north european
barbarism of a deep friend pizza and mars bar.

and when descartes finished with christina
queen of sweden, she became an animate portrait
of feminine attempts at philosophising,
she was basically ostracised from society,
well, not society per se, she didn't become a stray
dog, but she forgot certain functions of
the upper tier - lazily modern man decides
to hide phenomena from understanding
individual instances, with the kantian guise
of a noumenon, hence cutting his efforts short -
indeed queen christina of sweden was ostracised
by society - only after descartes finished educating her;
and indeed to most people a little bit of sloth
equates to an amputation of some sort -
yet only with the x-files' season 2 episode 2
i've learned of the effects of prolonged alcohol
"misuse", that little boxing match in my liver?
it's not a pain as such, it's actually a hardening
of soft tissue - with prolonged alcohol exposure
soft tissue organs harden, notably the liver -
and it's not a pain, it's a hardening.
but indeed queen christina of sweden was ostracised
by her tier of socialites - i'm glad diogenes
didn't get to her, but then again a bit of cloth
goes a long way this far north -
yet unlike the encounter with napoleon by hegel
diogenes' encounter with alexander lasted longer -
which tells you the old method does no service
to a little bit of material accumulation -
but perhaps the acumen was briefer when you were
ably living in a barrel - and to think, as only
that being the sole expression, not so much
a body without organs as stated in the thesis
of anti-oedipus by deleuze and guattari -
a consideration for a body without limbs - prior
to a footprint an imprint on the mind -
carelessly now, a diarrhoea of narration -
how rare to find it - perhaps this idea of epic
poetry is a default of writing per se -
with this my whatever numbered entry i seize
to find escape in it - a lack of ambition -
a loss of spontaneity that's a demanded mechanisation -
by volume, by inaneness - to reach a single
technique accumulative zenith, and then back
into the ploughing, rustic scenery and the
never-bored animals - i rather forget such escapades -
and there i was dreaming of a grand
runic exploration - some imitable game -
some scenic routes - yet again -
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
i wouldn't complain
had i been given
satisfying
engagement -
but indeed, we're all bound
to the entitlement of serfdom
these days;
oh curl the toes and fingers
while i'll see your children
plough the fields of wheat digitalised!
i have no ancestry, no concern,
no bloodline.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
it almost feels like the literary critique
establishment never heard
of the digitalised version of literary
print... a bit like the dynamic
of *******...
they read **** on toilet paper
and never the small print.. no metaphor,
no pun, poet is dead with god,
you remember, let's keep it like it's 1977
with punk angst, o.k.?
well 1 1 1 of the fingers on toilet paper...
**** smear....
eager music critics, but hardly any
pornographic critics, make a living they say...
cheap pop! ah, cheap pop! chop chop!
butchers' eyes first, priests' last -
liver bitter a minded care for it
as if minding a child! curse the minding!
curse the liver! a swarm of egos,
selfish likened to a marketplace
selfless likened to a monastery -
there the likening to clarify staring into a mirror;
there where we ate everything, including thought,
the materialisation of its immaterial twin: soul;
we too ate with the lineage concerned
via the Eucharist.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
imagine retiring before you're 30,
with the great european disneyland
in switzerland waiting for your desires,
god... i stopped celebrating my birthdays
deliberately, so that each day is like
a birthday before the day i die:
motto: oh ****, here again, *******!

so i started brooding on the concept of
monism, dualism and trinity
in chemical terms eradicating theological
impetus to salvage from one (e.g. the buddha,
the christ, the moses without a surname like jesus)
the multitude: mostly fishermen and tax officers
and thieves... jesus... what a selective society you
knit and picked, huh?
i was thinking of carbon monoxide
(C≡O)... so when counter-structures on the
elemental level become coupled in a scenario
of being identical, bypassing non-super-imposable'ness
(disregarding chirality), they can spawn
exponential growth named cancerous economics!  
and methane (C and H x4)
ethene (H2C=CH2) and ethane (H3C-CH3)
trinity's degenerate nature... oh right, so you're playing
dumb but not farming, you're the required
audience in front of the digitalised combine of colours
in a shady room? plato would call that coloured shadows
where no messages are deciphered given the doubt
that they're even passed for the excommunication
of corrupt politicians and the clergy... you know:
french / russian revolution *******.
oh i want a thinking embryo not attached to my body,
i want it so bad that i can compare myself
to elijah's command: execute the priesthood of baal,
because they can't conjure anything,
just paedophilia and mumbles and sugar puffs at breakfast.
well there's all that, what was i talking about?
rambling on many cobwebbed talking matters later
it might appear like Alzheimer's... right the active
ingredient of cigarettes: carbon monoxide,
(C≡O), not like carbon diaoxide (O=C=O),
a trinity in one person creates a fourth dimension,
imagine the interstellar (movie) capsule of quantum-space
of humanism interpreting the crucifix wearing
a cosmonaut suit rather than adam's fur...
it's like that... so apart from carbon monoxide providing
the suffocating dizzy carousel of the cigarette dragged
quickie high, you get the nicotine i thought was
actually a placebo substance, a palette of tobacco akin...
still alice* was a bit **** to be honest,
she was trying to salvage her strongest areas of
personality, she specialised in linguistics,
in phonetics and what not (etc.),
if she suddenly changed course with her interests,
rather than retreated into the laziness of:
all consciousness and thinking is about memory and
memorisation, she was challenged by schooling's
expression of memory: the times table: 2 x 2 = 4, 2 x 3 = 6,
and personal memory, the imprints on other
people, rather than civilisation's imprint on
the person in question: civilisation = the existence of money,
tribalism = you scratch my back, i scratch yours.
Sparrow Junk Jun 2017
Music brought me into this world
It only grew during childhood
To be something important to me
To hear voices who understood

The words they reach me
The words they teach me
The beats they fill me
The beats they thrill me

I think of all the people I've met
Only to be never seen again
We had bonded over talks of music
Getting excited by the hits of then

The rhythm it takes us
The rhythm it makes us
The melody it soothes us
The melody it moves us

I have the discs I have the tapes
I have the audio escapes
I have the files I have the streams
I have the digitalised dreams
I have the music
The music has me

I find that it's never enough now
Always trying to find the hidden gem
Finding the old hearing the new
Living my life by the rpm

The chants I will speak
The chants I will repeat
The encores we demand
Encore we want the band

I have the discs I have the tapes
I have the audio escapes
I have the files I have the streams
I have the digitalised dreams
I have the music
The music has me
Music has been a big part of my life, it was the desire to write lyrics that got me into writing. I thought it would be good to write a piece to show it.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
i thought i had a poem... instead i had a conversation,
and a rag doll balled up
to request ******* in elevators,
alongside the chance to see the nest of dr. channard;
there was never a dear love-joy-killing-me-softly-yo-yo
to claim alimony cheques of the satisfied woman...
blah! ha ha ha!
well it comes like a ballooned pair of *******...
why give her the satisfaction of being sidetracked
left on the pavement starving
unlike a greek pagan and more like a question of immorality
like the singer of i.n.x.s.?
i have sanctified my will on that choice like a kamikaze
should the curbing of will come and i be left with
only a spectator sport of choice to “prove a point” bumming it
hungry cold and admiring the success stories of the leftover impermanences
willing for the lost glories of old age, of that age once sanctified
in noble wrinkle and spur of agitation into ***...
but leave the 20 year old man without chance...
and expect holocaust-like loathing! erase the old *******! erase!
my grandfather compared me to a napoleon without a gun...
he said: why didn’t napoleon shoot? no one gave him a gun...
well no one asked for nukes either...
but the third time a nuke dropped all the ***** **** lips started
an ****** of the ****** of the greek god mars
seeing there was no potential to invest in a 100 year war between
the anglos and normans -
so they dropped a nuke... to fake an asteroid...
then started giving out sticks & stones for gladiators’ combat
with einstein being reincarnated as the referee;
and the clowns formed a circus to avoid the technological public:
you embrace anonymity and we embrace the loss of makeup...
crescendo of ha ha... you first... nothing... oh... ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
you were supposed to sport this streetwise anonymity
on the streets on the freeways of digitalised interest...
and here’s us... clowns... clowns without makeup...
and the only pigment allowed being cow manure... and let me tell you...
that’s a pigment more flaky than the wrinkling skin
of invested-in *******, not that i minded the conception
of working girls within a western from the goo’ ol’ days with whiskey...
nuts bolted that tight with the boys in amsterdam
dreaming up all the “girls” from thailand only aiming at
wild eastern: **** **** **** that with a ****. huh?
i told you had a false poker card shuffle with that when testing islam;
i always knew the jews would win the tree that
translated acrobatic splits in the shape of the majority of trees
splitting into a y and yews.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
i found that people who try to make you happy
are the saddest people of all,
they don't speak their mind,
give an actor mask guise
and when they start falling off limb-like limp
you encounter the lost abbreviation, i,
of what thinking could have been without them prior,
but now lost to you simply "thinking" things out
as simply stressing the coordinate with
the over-stressor once known as an abbreviation;
but what can you do, when plato's cave
was sold to every household, plato's cave? yeah,
the television, without many having read into the metaphor,
even on an academic level!
plato's cave was sold with the digitalised shadows
known as reality t.v. stars,
we were sold this! and you need to seriously complex
the youth as necessarily complex with diagnoses
aged four? well, hell's yours! who does this
psychiatry first, climb a tree second?
where there are no bruises without a bike
there's a little astronaut ready for a stage:
karaoke samurai in the vacuum of time singing:
style! labrador with fringes! style! bob dylan singing david bowie!
style! zebras polka dotted!
a bit like women telling men: you can't cry!
concludes with? woman! you don't understand opera! get out get out!
tell me you're honestly helen for the ships to sail
for you to encounter tears!*

then the 21t dinosaurs come, complex thirty somethings
redeemed by a twenty something trying to build a cool -
odd in the 21st page flick,
with a library (not just a bookshelf),
and music to the liking to deceive the radio
from ever cluttering the atomic spacing of c#, chequers i
say, we hardly entered the gambling measures of chess,
but we got a robot in to beat russian brainy porridge fudge;
we're the oddity, bigger than someone 1901 to **** a ***
and suckling on hindu conversation by burning
"offensive" books aged on the deathbed with the year '61.
we're dinosaurs, we are,
we have the 20th century features in our 21st bedrooms,
libraries instead of floral *** encounters ready for a scented candle burning,
and we have the music we like,
even though they told us that digitalising music
made musicians more settled in their original take on things, taking
the flute up ben nevis and fluting standing on one foot,
because we told the musicians: you're as free as the music you try to sell,
we'll curb you into industrial submission, we'll take your
essence away, we'll take your end product for free,
and take your freedom with it,
and then... well... we'll be satisfied with the priests' pulpit song
and sea waves. some say the africans are really hungry
given the charity adverts... all the while the africans were
advertising free culture of the lanky and alkaline and anaemic children of europe
taking culture for free, knocking on wood to get the rhythm of venetian bongos
in byzantium.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
https://goo.gl/W9Yp0S*

we love life by pulp is one of those
rare gems you can listen to
for the album's entire content,
with the provided link, to me at least,
the stand-out track...
length of your usual prog rock output,
nearing 10 minutes rather than
a quickie of goldfish standards
getting electric-shock therapy by
amnesia... or so scientists claim...
but this poem isn't about that,
i got my wish today,
i once cognitively wished to be dead
after an argument with a girlfriend
sitting on arthur's seat in edinburgh,
got the wish, but i thought it had to
be vocalised to be jinxed?
never mind...
my other wish was to tame a fox,
stand a meter away from a wild one...
and today it took form,
someone behind me peering from
the house took out a smartphone and filmed,
i don't know how the search engine wording
works... hooded man and fox in a starring
match... man begins playing the panpipes
with his beer bottle to the fox...
for such a cursed animal his eyes
beady much smaller for the size of a mature
maine **** cat... odd...
gnats and other parasites made the fox
eat the fur of its tail, looking more like
a rat than a fox...
and the feeling from the experience? calm,
a strange calm came over me...
not like the feeling of sitting in a cave
in the dover cliffs, eating 6 snickers bars
thinking out a way to swim across the channel,
climbing out of the cave and the tide
coming in, getting soaked in seawater,
taking to the street, getting surrounded by
children, accompanying me into town
asking for directions and football scores...
the chelsea fan answered...
getting into a hotel and frying my clothes dry,
next day reading marlowe's faust in the park
along with camus' myth of sisyphus...
only a few books exist in a single reading,
the books i drop into a dead-end of interest
i dare say: begin craving the person...
i go bullseye ballistic when i read book reviews...
it's not exactly a review of a book
but a review of the reader...
books about existentialism **** me off (in
review format), much of the continental affairs
bother the english... they rather conform with
effortless arts... music primarily...
non-oratory poetry is also too bothersome for them...
so with this fox, looking it right in the eye,
mutual emotion, he yawned, i felt a calm apathy
of a missing heart... the lack of diacritical usage
in the english language spawned many accents
but it also made punctuation a beauty,
which goes unappreciated in terms of musicological
metre... the english want fiction & non-fiction
to be very simple, very un-entertaining, what's the word?
ah yes... predictable... eloquent appeasing
the Grand Accent... but dislodging all other accents
from allowing them to write an in-depth analysis...
it has to be worth the penny, each word
digitalised off the skeleton into a clear pursuit
of a straight line, without parabolas and a cul de sac,
obviously... tea at 5pm... caffeine in a syringe at 7am,
all awaiting the weekend...
look... i'm just a country boy and the forest is a mile
away, i don't feel lonely, i feel absorbed
watching wood pigeons migrate en masse in the
morning to graze in ploughed green belt fields
and then migrate back into forests to perch on trees...
i'm not into glass rectangle glaciers of the grid
you could call new york, or elsewhere...
very much wordsworth me, albeit anti-romantic;
see me in the cave of the dover cliffs
with a book of jalāl rumi... then you can see me
near the fox.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
it became such a mess, such a spontaneous persistence to change the subject and involve too many, that it just had to be cut up into four sections.

i

it really wasn't enough to create diacritical distinctions
for the letters of the Latin men,
Christianity had to come along too,
a mixture of what Russell described as
Platonic and Neoplatonic populism, derivatives
of Judaism and the cults of the near east,
notably Orphism - as a way to pacify i guess,
the ardent spirits into submission -
the only success story being in Scandinavia;
but it wasn't enough to introduce diacritical marks
to the Latin alphabet so that barbarians could retain
their uniqueness of tongued-stress,
so too the emergence of the linguistic topsy turvy alphabet,
like the upside down omega - a natural born congestion
of the educated class, they weren't satisfied with memorising
the alphabetical atoms as the specified sounds,
even when given revisions of c (ć), n (ń), s (ś), z (ź) -
this second revision of the alphabet like ˌɒnəˌmætəˈpiːə,  
or the trans-atlantic version:
on-u
h-mat-uh-***-uh, ‐mah-tuh* -
and already i can see the tetragrammaton working
intricacies in this pronunciation - italicised,
but barely pronounced, or in Essex: 'it's 'appening'.

ii

indeed the aesthetics of excess, orthographic,
the alter: in polish u and ó - same sound - knock knock,
the latter ruled as prettier in certain spellings
than the other, a bit like fashion, a blue turtle-neck
sweater with a long purple skirt - or some other
dalton misunderstanding: translated into greek it's
the same with ε (epsilon) and η (eta), depends which
looks prettier, but why are there rules concerning
what's correct? none, of course one looks aesthetically
pleasing, but why bother schooling children in
rigid aesthetics, even joke about it on news channels
when both are correct, you end up saying the intended
sound: i can accept the handwritten argument,
namely which letter best suited compounding letters
into a smooth connectivity, but in this digitalised
world, my hand writing was already based on the
principle of typing rather than handwriting, i.e.
no letter was joined up in a word, all of them looked
like this, i guess that's why 'αδης spelling wins
given that you'd connect the longer leg of η to the tail
of the ς, which is where the french ç (s) in the word
garçon comes from, the greek sigma (used only
at the end of words); never in school where we taught
french in units, these distinctions were never explained
to us, they fed us the language like turkeys, entire words,
not explaining the distinctions of units, hence my tongue
broke and never learnt anything.

iii

Hades, the sole greek god who had no temple:
as with the vastness of the universe -
that great dawn of thought in man,
and subsequent ratty scutter, hardly the admirable
sloth of a centipede, out of panic first
man's religious organisation into ranks -
out of fear - where too the barbaric bewilderment
of the talk of soul - a breath in wintry conditions
seemed less bewildering concerning proving
unseen things - or writing, hearing unsaid things.

iv

you hear this from journalism, you hear it from
historians, enough time passes, and real events
became labelled: non-existent, famous people back
then end up labelled non-existent - esp. now given
the omni-literate populace, writing something these days
isn't as significant as it was with quills and papyrus.
i don't think it's as easy to outright deny something's
existence, the modern journalistic onslaught and
relentlessness over-feeding us world events
is hardly worth a history other than in itself, a day,
the journalistic onslaught and relentlessness,
it's history on αmφeτaμiνeς - so much passes through
the mouth of time, so much is recycled, regurgitated, lost,
forgotten, it's no longer that if enough time passes,
historical events become mythological events, that's
natural, that after enough history has been recorded,
lived, remembered - the Grand Logos (abstracted god)
enters and utilises the logic of changing history into
myth... hence it's logical to have myths, since there's
an applicable logic involved, when history becomes strained
by too much time, mythology enters, after all the
contemporaries die from a specific event, people are
prone to forgetfulness, as is natural and therefore require
mythology, to retain some memory of the event
or person - mythology isn't necessarily about denying
something's existence prior, it's the blood timespan,
too much time, history becomes mythology given a certain
number of centuries necessarily having to pass,
epochs - not centuries, epochs - enter the realm of aeons
and you enter astrological domain of the zodiac 12.
Sabila Siddiqui Mar 2020
The name of it left buzzing malls empty,
sanitizers out of stock,
masks and hygiene products booming.

It revolutionized responses to sneezes
from bless you to get away from me.
It shut down schools and flights
bringing governments to its knees.

It snatched sleep from health workers,
that now risk their lives every day to be
the hustle towards the cure of it.

It declined stock markets,
dissipated jobs like
they were a mere nothing.

It ticked off the many goals of our buckets list
by travelling across the world,
and leaving the world impacted.

It disconnected touch,
grafted face masks onto people.
But wait, France is this a veil you’ll ban as well?

It revolutionized greetings,
made many of us home bounded –
is this the final push to making every inch of our lives digitalised?

As for the kids,
the final teachings of their doctors,
teachers and parents is put to work;
they’re finally washing their hands.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
i shouldn't equate so much feeling for a *******, but you'll soon be equated as one, even though you quenched the ore thirst, and yet turned to alloy of such thirst that could not be quenched, i.e. a ******* that turned into a digitalised bedroom fancy, a *****-of-no-touch... what the **** is that for? a ******* joystick? me pay for a ****?! that's what you became dear friend, a would be murderer where the victim attached your ******* to himself and you were left in a prison without confessions or restrictions, with your mother's appealing face lied into.*

i came here for the beauty,
i didn't come here for the everyday;
tragedy that i've seen enough beauty
that it became everyday,
tragedy that i could't make the everyday
a beatified bounty, thus easily
accounted for in mirage of question, thought, answer
and not the custom of men
that might be a worthwhile pairing,
a known marriage, an unknown art;
(                          tears                            ­           )
all my love i will to cannibalise you;
eerie i may be, but you practice law,
a doubled lie, and you earn your worth by
those who never cared to moralise from genesis
but from exodus.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
yes, i understand the politics, or so i thought,
that biology will never spawn a humanism,
that darwinism will only spawn generic attempts
via disregarding existentialism sweats.*

when was the thought ever conceived,
that dialectics needed a mediator?
why would a mediator be needed
when the only mediator
is a park bench in athens, and two people
speaking?

i get the foul animals' existence, i get the whole
wild heart, and shrinking eyesight,
i get that animals are given pristine materialism,
being incubated by overt-sensual impregnation,
i get that they're impregnated by pure sensuality
(over-use of adjectives is like quantifying things,
as many qualities to the legions of ants
as attributes of the sun, ending with deity
and beginning with geometry),
animals are plagued by sensuality,
they are overly given the pentagon,
while man is given the hexagon / star of david,
animals are overly sensing, man is overly thinking,
when the only phobia of wilderness animal
is huger... man's is spider, enclosure, open-spaces...
animal is pulverised by the senses and things
it roams among... man is pulverised by thought
and nothing, roaming ingenuity by the Libra
dimming sight with hearing for classical composition,
dimming hearing with sight for pablo picassos..
the wild animal in fright of hunger...
and man abounding in it to reflect clocked
chicken press of the laid eggs clucks a sudden diversion
rather than adding to a diversity...
change the poetic gimmick of rhyme...
don't end with synonymous spelling,
intertwine rhyming elsewhere, lie:
'a sudden diversion' and 'adding to diversity'
as engaging to lines without an a# a# end of both
to reveal a missing echo, after all echoing is like rhyming,
but pitiful rhyming, because it's written down
and never plotted to decipher plato's shadows
and candle in the cave entered...  defeated first-step
defeated to claim the colour of defeat, the page
that dangled in the odds of waving like a signature
digitalised... all in all... animals are overly sensual,
and man is overly abstract... hence man
mediates symbols and thinking... while
animals mediate onomatopoeias sounding a bit
like touch on wood, and the parameters of allowed
petting:
             we blink thrice and think we spotted
             a thing only once, when in fact thrice.
Elysia Sep 2017
Industrialised glam, digitalised intimacy
Rich aroma, dancing lights;
implicit wonders are unexplored
as they hide beneath the headstock
obeying society's stream of thought.

Rigour movements, sundried streets
hustling and bustling with only time to beat;
withering moments drape the paved sidewalk
just like the bland orange tainted tree in
your grave backyard (which many have described to be hollow and large)

Lingering spirits have strewn themselves over your covered sheets,
cementing their curtains as the bright white light
of haven glistens above their unblinking eyes
constricted by the deafening silence,
untoned to the faint hymns of children's laughter.

"Stop to smell the roses", the wise men speak:
confidence is their ruse; do not let it deceive you.
They hide amongst the similar thousands of men,
yet never raising a head to any of them.
These are the children of our future.

Senseless to surroundings, spray them fresh air,
Move their cognitive gears to move their oil-rigged limbs;
Let their creative minds sway to the rhythm of rustling trees,
Revive the diverse culture of our people for these brainwashed folks;
Deny the irony of being consumed, when you are the consumer.
I actually wrote this for a school competition and it won and I was really happy so take a read!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
i always thought that between life and death
i'd wake into one of my dreams...
the last dream i had, i was on an oil tanker,
and the sea was raging, waves as tall as colossus
of rhodes, feeding every tilt every turn,
waves as tall as the colossus of rhodes...
i'd rather die and sleep, than wake in one of these dreams.*

i woke and remembered
there was no whiskey left,
and realised i was to pull
through the night on will
alone, a few hours prior
i was sitting in a depth of
forest that allowed me to peer
into a street of passing traffic,
i started to sniff autumnal
leaves fallen, took to a young
tree and broke it in half,
peering at the scythe moon
encircling a fading globe of its fullest
example in between the extending
birch synapse oases, skeletons
of never attached to tendons and muscle,
if it sounds beautiful, it isn't,
there in the forest, the night,
the decaying scent of leaves...
i don't even think it's today, or yesterday,
or tomorrow, i think it's a never,
but it still happened,
but of course there's the rubric of
memorising a "distinguishable" monday,
when there isn't one, whether it's the month
of may or the month of march,
whether a digitalised two-thousand something
anno domini or preceding centuries of quote:
the dark ages, the renaissance, romanticism,
existentialism, don quixote all alone,
and something about chaucer the believer of
Alfred, the only mythical king of england /
i.e. only a few people deserve the logic of myth,
extending far into the abyss of time,
akin to the other logic (theology), which is
reserved for gods... who always seem to argue
their whereabouts with epileptic blinding spontaneousness:
just so someone can gain wealth by the non-existent argument.
World from black n white era has moved to a digital one
Just a finger on the button and the job is over and done
Now memories are digitalised and selfies are a craze
Photographs so painstakingly clicked are no more a rage Stood in melancholy reliving bitter sweet memories of days gone by
Structured in frames were cherished moments freezed
as life passes by !

Photographs of Parents ,grandparents, kids ,friends galore
Each one had in its frame life captured and tales of yore
A euphoric mystery that surrounded those photographs were visible
A Larger than life persona were captured in minuscule.
From positioning to fixing up light to the final click
A delightful squeak that erupts developing as contours pick .

The photograph made its way to the most prominent place
Glorifying every smile, teardrop ,agony, warmth with unmatched grace.
Adorning my wall of fame was a faded photograph of the last day of school
A pair of dark twinkling eyes ,two piggy tails that held  unruly curls
In our school uniform one last time we stood ..eyes wet
Then light flashed -smilingly,holding hands we posed for a picture perfect !

The school girl now with silver streaks,hiding tears adjusts her specs as she laughs
And sheds fifty years of her life as she spots herself in that photograph!
Copyright@Bhargavi Ravindra
Starlight May 2019
when the timestamp on your watch is
3:33
and for a split second
god shines down
from splintered heavens
and the breath that is silent
expands in my lungs
like a million sighs
like an enlarging balloon
racing to the explosion
I see the rapture in my digitalised smile
the bleeping raises to the crescendo
I feel the robot veins
I feel the steady hands
holding wrists
like ropes writ ready

god smiles like an enlarging balloon
hot and heavy
with bountiful love

but the timestamp flickers
from its devilish perfection
3:33
off the edge
cleaved down in a cliff face
I race on the blade of it
the seconds of sanctimonious breathing
coming to a stop

3:34
World from black n white era has moved to a digital one
Just a finger on the button and the job is over and done
Now memories are digitalised and selfies are a craze
Photographs so painstakingly clicked are no more a rage Stood in melancholy reliving bitter sweet memories of days gone by
Structured in frames were cherished moments freezed
as life passes by !

Photographs of Parents ,grandparents, kids ,friends galore
Each one had in its frame life captured and tales of yore
A euphoric mystery that surrounded those photographs were visible
A Larger than life persona were captured in minuscule.
From positioning to fixing up light to the final click
A delightful squeak that erupts developing as contours pick .

The photograph made its way to the most prominent place
Glorifying every smile, teardrop ,agony, warmth with unmatched grace.
Adorning my wall of fame was a faded photograph of the last day of school
A pair of dark twinkling eyes ,two piggy tails that held  unruly curls
In our school uniform one last time we stood ..eyes wet
Then light flashed -smilingly,holding hands we posed for a picture perfect !

The school girl now with silver streaks,hiding tears adjusts her specs as she laughs
And sheds fifty years of her life as she spots herself in that photograph!
Copyright@Bhargavi Ravindra
IncholPoem Feb 2019
A  Buddhist  Heritage
in mid-sea.

A  church  with
8 o'clock morning  time
was   showing  also  .




Sky-clouds   was
  seeming  polluted  dusty
  blue.


Golden  and other
digitalised color  looking
colors   were   on window
  side  of
a  building -low  heighted  
                      two  storey   building.

— The End —