if i could travel through time only once, i would go back to your birth to kidnap you, keep you hostage in my home, feed you and beat you and brainwash you until the day came when your birth did aswell, then id send you to your birth instead of me, to **** your infant self to death with a barrel of a gun, then to put it in your mouth, but no need. youd drop ded. youd disappear. i guess thered just be the incubator filled with your sloppy child.

if i could travel through time only once, i would go back to your birth to kidnap you, keep you hostage in my home, feed you and beat you and brainwash you until the day came when i went back in time to your birth, then id send you to your birth instead of me, to **** your infant self to death, then strangle yourself in a double suicide.

doubly toasted rye bread...
anything on it...
of course i'm not going to treat it
as a bagel: although i should...
some smoked salmon...
the mayo and cucumber and dill...
come to think of it...
toasted rye bread would work
better than a bagel...

        we're not having some brick lane
salted beef, and bagel...
salted beef... good that you asked...
what makes it so... cosmopolitan, i.e. pink?
himalayan salt... i was thinking of
prague salt... don't ask me why...
how? i heard it down the line...

again: larry tesler died a few weeks ago...
well "weeks"... 20th of feb of this year he
passed away... as reported...
larry tesler... it's not an everyday
name... but under the umbrella of darwin that
becomes darwinism:
a group-fire, a get-together, a come-together...
larry tesler is a bit like
a michael faraday...  

           somewhat of a "mystery"...
like... never... i was daring to confess:
those revisions of the cursor...
the phantom hand... of a 2D object in a 3D
object... those 2D ferns in the original
tom raider... moving rapidly when approached...

i can hear the bemoaning...
no new scientific "theory" has resounded true
in the past decade...
unless it's that Higgs': hiccup or... boson...
that only happened a few years ago...

don't... agitate... the... beehive!
i've finished one whiskey and ms. coca
ms. venezuela - ms. novella...
             but i'm still pretending to drink from
an empty glass -
perhaps agitating the whiffs of scotch
perfumes to come...

       how often do i use the larry tesler
method?
well... if i want some... braille...
some glagolitic... some runes...
pretty much all the time...

        toasted rye bread... i'm thinking of eating
some roasted rye bread...
the english being bewildered...
and that's because the former raj
brought with them the cinnamon the cardamom...
ever eaten a curry that listed
rosemary or thyme as a prime ingredient?
can i please just eat this
dogshit, then?

    sourdough bread... not pop enough...
  beside the zeppelins... rye bread galore...
pumpernickel bread... a german thing...
   the name changes... but...
there's only so much toasted white and brown
bread you can eat... before having
an ancient hunger become arise in you...
the baltic cuisine of piquant herrings...
plenty of dill... and rye bread...

- i asked the swabian about this windsor affair
concerning the saxon: the ants-in-his-pants
little brother saxon...
the german who needed to go outside of saxony...
burgundy wouldn't suffice....
had to see the world: become a semite...
a wandering "plague"...
the postman... the dove of "repose"...

this is still about larry tesler by the way...
               ⠓⠑⠗⠑ - larry tesler...
     ⰕⰖⰕⰀⰣ:             "       "
              ᚺᛖᚱ:              "       "        (ditto, as above)...

woman: a human female being -
          because she's not: woo man...
and she is not: woe, man...

               she's a human female being -
that's what everyone might had said...
when being stripped...
to the basics of grammar:
i, pronoun - definite article: the -
noun of nouns -
                        the in between cardinal nouns...
table, fox, wool...
in between cardinal nouns...
box, moon, whiskey and (conjunction)...
the royal pronoun: one would expect...
the other royal pronoun: we would agree to such
claim... given our entourage...
louis XIV very much liked such
pronouns...
             they are the disembodied courting
presence of ghost: where we should be...
to posit...
and what if i want to be known as: there?
can't a they become a there -
i know that's asking too much...
after all... there is an adverb -
perhaps i feel like... being an: ad- -verb
rather than a pro- -noun...

                          there said: it's a cul de sac
and the peoples are gagging for
lessons in grammar... this is still about larry tesler!
well... it's become more of a toasted
rye bread "analogy"...

to be less denoted by noun -
more associated with verbs -
               does that even matter what pronoun?
what if i want to be an adverb: base?
there is an adverb... here is an adverb...
why is BEING a noun...
and not an adverb?
               become is a verb...
   becoming an adjective: although it could
be stressed as a noun: could...
           i think of being... on the lines
of a "here" and a "there"...
nothing is a pronoun...
                          while nowhere is an adverb...
being is a noun but in all fairness it could
be treated as an adverb...
                                   being alone...
           if only it was as simple as...
turning on a lightbulb while at the same time
expenting falling pirouettes of snow...

all this words deserved to be archived
in trash...
     i'm not a betting man and none of these
grammatical arguments really probe me...
i have invested in them a pet-peeve...
and they're nothing more...
but whenever i hear about them being
stressed... i wonder why the counter
argumentation doesn't fall for talking about
this logic on a purely grammatical level...

to update the tabernacle of holiest of the holy
"pronoun" with...
something akin to... by adverb standards...
etc. -
          this is still about larry tesler, though...
and about toasting some rye bread...
nonetheless -
i'm not that old but i'm already tired...
i imagine eating custard as being...
somewhat alleviating...

                but not actually eating any custard...
just imagining eating it
and pretending to drown - gurgling it...
once more: this is still concerning larry tesler...
mind you... larry tesler doesn't exist
on wattpad...

            but all these other would be publishers...
allow larry tesler to exist...
along with that little gremlin that doesn't work...
i.e. ©... not even new york times has
obstructed larry tesler ctrp + c / ctrl + p...
© - yeah.... "copyright"... my ****** ***...
wattpad has actually made actual © "progress"...
you can't use a larry tesler "heimlich" on:
those most scared of texts...
poems by 16 year olds!

              just saying...
you don't need a bagel to enjoy smoked salmon
with a dollop of mayo some cucumber
and dill... rye bread works just as well...
**** i'm hungry!

- again... what (a pronoun) - sorty of © "copyright"
logo is that... when you can larry tesler that
with... export it via highlight and ctrl c / ctrl p?
wattpad doesn't allow you to ctrl c / ctrl p...
at its height it was publishing that
goldmine of one direction fan fiction by
14 year old cherries...
    
                       i guess you can larry tesler
wikileaks: back in the day...

                        so if not larry tesler... who was behind
ctrl a? does it matter - if there's no toasted
rye bread in my gob... just these words
congesting and subsequently constipating my head?
good thing i have earned myself
a bad back - the golgotha "wisening" /
humbling... of digging up roots in the garden
where trees and shrubs once stood...

these words are... hardly a compensation's
worth of balm... but before i gorge on some toasted
rye... they just have to do.

this is a poem about happiness.
this is also a poem about how great life is, see? here's a metaphor
comparing nature to the faultless
form of a pedastalized lover,
here's a description of the
effect of changes in air pressure
and localized temperature
fluctuations
on physical matter in a given area.
here's a bland truism that
anybody can relate to.
here's a couple rhyming stanzas
about the ethereal shifting of
connecting threads which
cause all life to dance upon
the cosmic stage like food poisoned marionettes.
here's an ode to the wrinkles of
my ******* and
the bits of fuzz that occasionally
find their home in my *****.
here's a sonette to the drop outs
doing better than me
here's a dirge for the businessman
that hangs himself
and a jubilee for his widow
who earns nothing off his death
because he left his entire estate
to his catamite.
I'm writing a symphony in color,
notes of fermenting wood
dogshit and coffin dust.
the violas swoop and drone
the piccolos trill fast enough
to excise your gastrointestinal system
the barotone sax wheezes
and the timpani drum rumbles
(the flutes sit motionless because
**** flutes)
the pianists fingers are bleeding
hes banging with stumps now
his face contorted in ecstatic glee
as if the face of god has parted
the clouds just to scrape his gums
clean with his dietous ****.
and lo faint is the whisper
which climbs and slithers
between the
false,
bash upon life with both hands.
here is life here is death
let me show your life
let me breathe your wretching
like squandered
like roots in the soil,
paint your everlasting cave drawing
in the face of your kitchen
and dance around a fire
let the embers lick your heels
til pagan viciousness overtakes
your quivering form.
gasp it in

God Almighty. It puts the fear in you.

Jesus Christ. Again?

Yes, again. Don’t be a ***.

Oh please.

Jesus.

A hanging silence.

You know William Paley?

No. Go on.

Oh. Paley’s Watch?

******* go, James.

Uh, Paley’s Watch is a theory that the universe is too complex to exist by chance, and therefore there must be a creator. I mean, just like the existence of a watch presupposes a watchmaker ‘cause it’s too complex to be there by chance.

And you eat that?

Yes, or something similar. What offends you so ******* much anyway? So I believe-

It’s defeatist. Jesus Christ, the only reason you and anyone else believes this dogshit is ‘cause you’re ******* terrified of dying, and the reason a ******* graveyard puts the fear into your thick skull is ‘cause you want to join them when you croak. That’s what it is, it’s ******* insurance.

Another silence.

Okay. Alright, fine, it’s insurance. But I am playing this insurance, see, into my benefit. I believe in the creator, and if it turns out he’s watching me he’ll put in the good word and I spend my afterlife in eternal sunshine, and if he’s a scam like you say it is I join you in blackness or hellfire. I win either way.

Oh, very faithful, doggy. Arf arf.

Oh, for the love-

What’s life worth if you’re so sure where you’re going? I reckon I’d rather drink and steal **** and burn in hellfire than **** away my life in the service of some shitbird in the sky who may or may not exist.
Jesus, mother-

Stop ******* blaspheming.

********, James.

Brown-tanned, and muscular
he leans against the wall  at
Senior Frogs, down on the tip
of the Yucatan, at the edge
of Cancun.

She is mad-- the rich-girl,  
college hottie.. who takes
the time out from her dancing
somewhere near the front of
the stage, and sultries over
with her best instagram-sashay
she could put together.

     "Everyone is looking at me but you"

Mhmm.. and take another chug of my Patrón.

     "What. You think you're too good for me?
     You've probably got old *****, anyways.."

And in an instant, I ***** slap
the whining little ****-boy
she calls a boyfriend

and then
**** the ever-loving dogshit  out of her
against the side of the stage--
the whole time, thinking about
how much more substance
a two-pump hit from a bottle of
Jergens and a quality **** vid
would bring  me

As back against that old wall
I stand.. enjoying the show.

She is staring at me now

no doubt,  she'll be bugging me
the whole rest of my trip.
Her friends come traipsing my way
because that's what friends do--
They become mesmerized..
and then  fixated-- wanting to ****
the guy their friends want to ****.
.

There is a Pharmacia on the corner
on my lone taxi ride back to the hotel.
Sergio pulls over, and I walk in...

The Jergens is near the back--
right next to my favorite Patrón.

A little girl splashing in the rain
Among cesspools and fantasy green
Kicking up the moss, ferns, dogshit
Soiling her unspoiled baby shoes
Mummy can't grab hold of her
Her arms are tiny ***** of light
She thrives on carrot mush and mischief

Fox **** can't throw her off
It's a fresh scent, her button nose
Doesn't yet crinkle; sour is captivating
She doesn't know there are homeless men
She's stamping on the mulch
The fairies nip at her ankles, they'll sew
Her a twiggy crown for her damp curls

Later, a pebble, chiselled, bitter,
Thrown vindictively from a high-rise window
Will try to knock it down
She'll learn about money and hate
And scream at the rain
Like she's trying to lacerate it
Maybe she'll watch it bleed

Someone will break her heart and nobody
Will be there to make it right
Apart from maybe a smelly poet
Eating a takeaway dinner
A few decades away in a stinking room
Probably boozed up

A little girl splashing in the dogshit
Unaware of gypsies, robbers, death
And me just stood there trembling
Thinking lucky,
Lucky her.

It doesn't matter if there's dogshit everywhere
the council doesn't care
just stick your noses in the air
like they do,

The council tax can wait
say
the boys on the council estate,
the money can go on a
quarter of blow,
just row the boat
staying afloat
stops you from sinking,
the rent money pays for the drinking
the council doesn't care.

You can be a Christian, a Muslim or a Jew
Your religion doesn't matter, if you're not the Chosen Few
-
Your religion doesn't matter, if it's made by man
Like everything today, so much dogshit in a can
-
You can say the Sinner's Prayer, repent on bended knees
If you're not Elect, A Sovran God it doesn't please
-
Do you think you will be saved, meet your lord up in the sky?
Fly away to La-La Land, when you're in the bye and bye
-
Soon you will find out, you're religion is but ****
The warnings you ignored, and sin you did commit
-
Now you're going to pay, the price will be your soul
You will burn in Hell...welcome to Sheol

We stood face to face
Two alive
Both human
Occupying the same
Time
I felt her words like
Deafening disease
And she stared at my face
Like it was
Dogshit
While somewhere else
A flower bloomed
A lion tore at the neck of a gazelle
A child was born
A star died in the sky
A woman stared at her *******
In the mirror
A tribe ate rats for supper
A man masturbated in the dark
The universe was in perfect
Harmony

i love your latest album
i love your greatest hit
i love everything you do or say
and ill pay for it
dont worry about the effort
thats no part of it
youre at the peak, at the top
of a curled dogshit

A full day's work
is as the energy
of three hour's reflection,
but getting up the
next day with lying
down and no sit
is dogshit.

Dude
You're rude
And ignorant too
You're Archie Bunker
Sneezing all over
Infected with flu
Your the pile of dogshit
In the front yard
The completely limp ****
That just can't get hard
You're the too wet buggar
That just won't flick off
You are saggy *******
All wrinkly and soft
You are the Grinch
Without the grown heart
You are the publicly
Loud, stinky ****
You are the gum
Stuck on the shoe
I can't think of one good thing
To say about you

i could write about... how i "trapped" a cat in
my bedroom...
kept the window open... and two mosquitos flew
in...
i would be a sadist... if i had a mythical
tarantula scuttling around the room...
but two mosquitos and a cat...
                that's just a tease...
                  it's not like i once fed two rainbow
trout eyes to this... no... the other cat...
or how i pinched a mosquito by the leg...
and... this... no... the other cat...
gladly gobbled it down...
            after all... i once looked at a spider
scuttle to a freshly painted surface and...
i guess he started drinking it...
          in an absence of retelling the story
of the 1960s and all the drugs...
the catholic school curriculum sentenced us...
to the remote part of the decaying
soviet empire - somewhere in ukraine -
we were warned about... sniffing glue...
and aerosol abuse...
             no mention of l.s.d. or: the rest
of the rainbow...
        but this is not part of the experiment...
i had a while sitting watching the moon...
yesterday's fullness and quicksilver flooding
the stones, the lipid of leaves...
        the metals... all that was missing...
frost... to elevate the quicksilver into
a red carbet walkdown... with that...
very familiar... paparazzi epileptic "flashing"
as the head twould tilt from one aspect
to the next... as the light contorted...

yes yes... the experiment...
to write! to write! what people want!
it's going to be hard...
i guess i'd do it... if i was paid...
  but i'll try... read up some pop pieces and
see if i can fake it, sly fox moi:
stealth myself beneath the gaydar...
and frown at myself... stand stark naked...
this masquerade is but a drop in the already
available ocean of masquerades...
i even thought about dressing up
for halloween for next year...
         me: april 2020...
                     lucky for me i have a face-mask
that doesn't details anything surgical
about it... more like... scorpion / sub-zero
from mortal kombat...
    problem: this beard doesn't help...
i can hijack two bottles of jim beam...
but...                     rat rat rat tat tat...
tic tac toe in a maze of: death's yawn...
             last chance trap: write what people want...
what's easily a digestive biscuit...
no fibre no grit...
                 hell... no point disguising my soon
to be disclosed efforts:
to write what people might like...

       under a pseudonym: anonymous?
generic stuff... but the quest to spot the generic
from the sly authentic...
will prove much harder...

for all the purveyors and connoisseur...
well... not much of the latter
concerning "low view count"...
who is playing this numbers game...
well... those who cite weight loss
via stones and pounds...
if you go down the metric route...
kilograms...
once upon a time... remarkable...
from 101kg down to 78kg...
and no strech-marks...
because... the bicycle because the bicycle...
and some swimming...
toning: exercise but more
the desire to gamble with traffic...
and the wind in your face...

    nothing as suffocating as a gym...
low life - *******... views? 945...
     that's... well... kingdom of the *****...
the kingdom of the crustaceans...
anything in the 100,000 view count is probably
atlantis: humanoid fish replicas
of both fish and man... mermaid and that
meme: top of a fish bottom of a woman...
versus: the obvious choice...

to write: what people want...
harlequin novels?
                    heavy on the rhyme...
rhyme like... kicking a ball against a wall...
superstious amalgamations of echo...
crisp bite into deep-fried stuff...
chewing like an attempt to find imitations
in sawing through wood...
not the sort of incision we'd be looking
for... more like a mutilation of wretched
muscle, bone and sinew...
by hyenas woken from slumber
by a wake of vultures...

   vultures in a group: is a kettle (when in flight)
                                    is a committee (when perched)
                                  is a wake (when feeding)...
perhaps i'm thinking about stealing
the eagle from the romans...
and the crow from the germans...
perhaps... just because... these caron barons
of the bald patch...
   leather monuments of skin's flagelation
                      their crown...
that sort of birth: i have in sight...

but no... it's not exactly a haiku...
it's... an astouding breath of sawdust air...
something to be sniffed when the dust doesn't
settle in the quarry from when
hammer meets the ***** of the incubating
earth of stone...
sand: add pressure... have rock...
ad more pressure: have ore of metal...
consecrate the bones...
             place them inconveniently into
envelopes of addressed: aeons...

but to write what people want... "like"...
i'd have to sift through...
stomach... the commets...
it's so discouraging to entertain these...
bothersome flies...
bought a book... pretended to scribble
on the back of the cover...
the author was nowhere to be seen...
or heard from...

               comments likes: metaphors! beautiful!
thank you!
  blah blah to no end of an etc.
i guess: no point writing anything that...
doesn't escape into the realm of thought...
i try to conjure up something in writing that
would make someone write a comment...
             i like an audience that knows it deserves more
than to pander me...
and i need of it... stitched up lips...
   since all of this: for gratis...
                        no browny points to create
echo chambers and niches...
of the "protected" penship...

  that doesn't imply that i don't want to write
an imitation poem...
without obvious plagiarism...
i just need to find that most melodramatic me...
the cheapest version of me...
i have to imagine myself *******...
what i'll be ******* i'm not exactly sure...
it won't be the words...
the rhymes...
           lack of! god, please! a lack of!
less rhyme more chance to spot beauty
elsewhere... an ****** festival of flowers
with near perfect geometrical replicas...

          is it possible that i care much more
for the anonymity of the reader?
am i like a guilty pleasure...
watching some 1970s italian *******...
eating a bagel with either:
    (a) smoked salmon, cucumber, mayo...
   dill... and that all important rainbow trout caviar?
or be (b) being sloppy... but still the caviar...
and the bagel... and instead:
some tuna and sweetcorn and mayo?

perhaps (c)... jack johnson was the best kept
secret... until he was given things beyond his audience...
and... no jack johnson after he was compared
to be the next bob dylan...
i'm sorry... how was that ever going to happen?
you'd have to like bob dylan in the first place...
and that's not easy...
you'd have to start liking him...
like i did... on an overnight train from
st. petersburg to moscow... to see metallica
play there for the very first time after...
rioting... famously... when: and justice for all...
harvester of sorrow...
and the crowd went mental...
                                       the rest is: history...

if all it took was a car to road-rage across
h'america... it truly requires a train to...
                                            get a thrill for russia...
other places require you walking:
holland...
            since everyone else is cycling to beijing...
and other place require you to cycle... poland...
england... france... i guess germany...
well... plucking one of your eyes out...
and asking a crow to safeguard your soul...
while you would be able to attach a little
camera to its body... that sort of *******...

is caviar a luxury?
          a concentrated fish-oil in a capsule...
it's hardly a chicken egg "luxury"...
nor quiet the abortion...
replicas? those vitamin d capsules...
fish-oil... luxury? depends on whether you enjoy
it... pompous foodstuff:
no need to call the: healthy body = healthy mind
brigade... no slightly pickled brain...
then no inquisitive palette...
i rank baltic herrings among them...
raw... baltic sushi... in a creamy sauce...
or a steak tartar(e)... with... all the trimmings...
the raw yoke... the raw: onion...
gherkins, capers, etc etc.

                    some people... just frown at the idea
of caviar... not to mention blue cheese
and oysters...
   and to think... oysters where the grub
of "gammon" in Dickensian times...
   since then... even gammon was morphed...
"back in the day" it wasn't a racial slur
as much as it was actually more:
******* and... swindler... con-artist ref....
the pickwick papers blah blah... blah...
            only now... oysters... wow! a... luxury!
only if you enjoy eating them...
otherwise? overpriced dogshit...

        i'll concede this point... the version of
existentialism in english... what was started by
the danes and the germans and the russians...
later implemented by the fwench...
english existentialism?
stastistics... psychology... and this...
world of darwin... and the atlas?
blind samson holding yet pulling the pillars
down...
this is anglophonic existentialism...
no gravitation toward: ontology on the grounds
of temporal affairs...
no gravitation toward: ontology on
the grounds of spatial affairs -
  english existentialism: oi! pass the torch, mate!
n'ah mate... we're sending this torch
back in time... to tribal invaders
and our hyper-sensitive exoskeleton
"souls" of hybrid -
the body is both a host and the parasite...
lest we forget the psychiatric evaluation
surgery of the holy trinity of freud...

or far further... krafft von ebbig:
******* was cynical back when
******* was a taboo and ****** for crucifixes:
looks like being aborted was:
rainbow-tinged: as was: this time soon...
why do i like wearing "p.p.e." equipment
akin to face-masks?
finally! i can compete with the islamic
attire of the niqab!
i can finally: bark cat! i can finally:
meow dog! - with less restrictions for
the eyes... ninja brigade: scorpio vs. sub-zero...
it really is the new normal...
now i can think about all the lost
****** recognition technology:
while i pillage... **** and assume:
laughter the new paracetmol...

slaughterhouse gown: a slithering tongue
of a chewed of proposal...
                 nothing like caging time in
bedroom antics of a cult personna of a german
lutheran... who wasn't...
that catholic ***** and a sobering up after
a prince albert antic...
                       gullotine for the slug of: fore!
i says: skinz...
                      skinz and skalpz...
alt.: skinß und skalpß...
                                         otherwise known as:
a steady diet of influenza and toss-***...
back in poland come the fall of
the iron wall...
a tight-knit commuity...
one of us was infected with ospa (smallpox)...
we were exposed to the infected...
and czerwonka (červonka)
                          dysentery...
i missed the measles... (odra)...
                     my immune system was not
exposed to it...
              i guess i'm living in times when...
bubblewrapping works...
                     prime-time "eugenics" of the post-soviet
empire... expose them to... the golden standard...
and if they survive...
god... an ear infection is about as much
of a trivial-***** pain as a toothache...

poland in the 1990s... like mongolia in the 1200s
or whenever those people were given
the scurge of wrath loose buckle of the belt...
that was then... this is nowhere new to now...
happens... when people read
two books like dogma...
1984 fetish and all those televangelist...
no new rats: no room left in the maze...

                 karen oi oi smithy loiters...
scraps the details of her meme haircut...
starts to bleach her *****...
          etc. etc.         and more etc.
                           well... so much for this... supposed...
would be experiment in: "sowering the grapes"...
hardly... where is the wrath and the horse...
required for the plough?!

i hope you

- lick rust, get tetanus, and die
- forget your keys in the car
- step on glass, get a foot infection, and die
- get a mind-numbing toothache from 11 PM to 2 AM
- get stuck in space with your oxygen running out
- never find someone who matches your freak
- compute your GPA and realize you’re a few points away from getting Latin honors
- choke on boba
- get bitten by an unidentified venomous snake and you don’t have access to the antidote so you slowly die
- get CC’ed on a HR email before you clock off
- time travel, get stuck in the 1800s, and die from cholera
- trip on your shoelaces and land on dogshit
- never find the other sock
- are the last person alive in a zombie-filled apocalyptic wasteland
- miss me

i feel sick
as though ive torn into something raw and ******
and ate from it greedily, gluttonous as ever.
the taste of raw meat, sharp and metallic
sticks to my top left molar. it whispers to me that i am all i will ever be. that this is the best to come and that everything else is destined to be dogshit.
when i get home
i will get a pair of pliers
and yank that molar out of my mouth
and hunch over the kitchen sink
heaving great sobs into the drain barely heard under the whirring of the garbage disposal
blood will pour forth from my mouth and i will do my best not to choke.
tomorrow the sink will be clean
my stomach will be empty
my molar still gone, a ****** hole in its place
and a heavy weight in my chest
but today my top left molar is whispering to me
truths that arent made to be shared
and i cant wait to get home