Memes! Angels, aberrations of opposition super standing
overseeing you,

The screamin' heebie jeebies.

Yo, where you wanta go, you axin me we just go

with it, the flow 'know?

What I mean is, are we memes or mes or messes of yeses
gone all johnny rcome late-rotten scarred scared, some thing not so far
from sacred when you put your mind to the whole idea of life being

at all. Thinking this is not easy. We are Able. Our belly's living waters cry out,

you are your brother's keeper, yes, you are.

Be leavin' that be, I am is, and you is,
too. When you apprehend the meme named
war.
That meme has led the me-me mob for as far as men
remember, but
now, machines remember for us, all the facts, just
the facts, ma'am.

Why'd the d go into a comma, Pop?

Welt (Duetch, bitte) Enshaung, glaube ich, vie leicht, aber

are we ever going to filter out these German bleed-overs?
stay tuned, next week the meme beacon is pulled down,

who shall pre or post or ex maybe vail, travail, like
trip
wow, I hate being a 20 year old vet back in the U.S. of A.
FTA All the way, Airborne

*******, Herman Hesse *******
Jorney to and fro the east to west, and soon, et
cetera. Siam is a mere myth now, eh?

As the Narnia thing not called a heathen lie was allowed
allowable in mere Christianity.

I've only seen the English POV's on PBS, they may be filtered through
feedback, meme belching bursting bubbles from new wine 'nold vessels about to plode into eternity, singing along.

Thank you, very much. May I introduce, duce, intro duce, y'gittin this?

Duce means 2 if you see e squeen between, you see that?

Fun. No reason for fun? Who here, now, believes that or, no,
bees leavin' those lies be told?

Hunh? Y'know? Watch man, waht of the night?

See, what I mean? All this from me hearin' some guy say,
"Come and see, like that was  okeh. For any body, n'me, too.

Thinking, as a past-time, is pointless. You know, if you act like it.

.
                            A hard-on
                        doesn't  count
                      as personal  gro
                     wth.If  you  want
            ­         to  hear  the  pitte
                       r - patter of littl
                       e feet,  I'll put s
                       hoes on my cat.
                       This isn't an off
                       ice , it's hell wit
                       h florescent lig
                       hting.How do I
                       set a lazer prin
                       ter to stun? I m
                       ajored in Libera
                       l arts. Will that
                       be for here or t
                       o go? Too many
                       freaks, not eno
                       ugh circuses.  I
                       have a comput
                       er, a ******* a
                       nd pizza delive
                       ry .Why should
                       I leave the hou
      se? Stress is wh   en you wake up scr
eaming and you re    alize you  haven't  fal
*** asleep yet. I like  dogs  too .  Let's  exch
  ange recipes.  And   yo u r      c r y b a b y        
    whiny- assed   o      pinion      is?      Al 
      low me to intro       duce my selves.

At the mailbox, again:
“Who loves me, baby?”
Well, let’s see: there’s a flyer from Mercury Insurance,
Reminding me that most middle-income customers
Save an average of $4 million smackaroons when they switch too.
The Penny Saver USA.com is here,
Thank God, almighty!
So now I know that Thomas Roofing & Paving
Is having a special on 20-year leak-free flat roofs;
"All work guaranteed & insured.
No job too big or small.
Free estimates/Emergency services/License # I8U-69."
And thank you, Jesus,
For another $4.99 Farmer Boys 3-Egg Breakfast
Combo with Coffee coupon, and that
Little Caesars Hot-N-Ready, $5.00 cheese or pepperoni,
Mae-West-“why-don’t-you-come up and see me sometime?”—mailer. And, of course, another technology Siren’s song:
Verizon FiOS delivers entertainment this big,
Dish me up some dish NETWORK, $19.99 a month . . .
Are you ******* me?
For 12 ******* months?
AT&T;: whack me off on 120 channels.
DIRECTV.com - DIRECTV® Official Site‎
Worry-free 99.9%  . . . cue Joe E. Brown,
"Some Like It Hot“ Osgood:
"Well, nobody’s perfect!"
Time Warner/Sprint/T-Mobile;
And ******* Leather, Polk Street, San Francisco.
******* leather?
Must be for my neighbor: that ***** ****!
And here’s the weekly 8-page color fold-out from Stater Bros:
Lowering prices every day, large cantaloupes
(Jessica Lange, are you back?)
10 for $10.00, 32 oz. Gatorade
Or 24 oz Propel in 30 assorted varieties @ 79 cents
+ CRV: California Redemption Value?
Nice euphemistic cover-up for a TAX.
Nice, nice, very nice, CA elected state officials;
Nicely done, Sacramento.
Everywhere else in the country you get real money—
A fixed number of pennies, nickels, or dimes—
For your plastic bottles and aluminum cans.
But in California, the licensed recyclers
Get to pull the market price out of their *** each morning.
California Redemption Value?
What ******* genius government kleptocrat thought that one up? Conspiracy Alert: who gets all that CRV money?
And what are they doing with it?
Feeling plain, Jane?
Marinello Schools of Beauty, want you,
Offer you hands-on training in cosmetology,
Skin care esthetics, manicuring and vaginal deodorizing—
Just kidding, Babaloo.
Food tip for the Third World:
Never try to write poetry on an empty stomach.
Sizzler 6 oz juicy & succulent.
RENEGADE DEAL:
El Pollo Loco guacamole chicken sandwich,
Coupon free, small drink and small chips,
When you purchase a guacamole or jalapeno sandwich,
includes pepper jack cheese and a southwest sauce.
Gardenas sandia con semilla, 7 lbs 99 cents.
GARDENAS: “en precios, servicio y calidad, nadie nos iguaia.”
Bud Gordon’s Quality NISSAN:
One at this price after a $1500 factory rebate.
TERMINIX: get them before they get you!
The Kingdom Animalia, Phylum Arthropoda, Class Insecta
Bug up my *** again.
And a form letter from the VA
Asking me to please update my whereabouts.
And a form letter from the VA asking me
To please update my whereabouts.
And miles to go before I sleep.
Bite me, Mr. Frost!

An outing, at last.
I am going for a walk around the inside of my gates.
I live in one of those gated over-55 lunatic asylums.
There are gates. It is gated. Get it?
GATED! We feel safe here.
Probably a good thing at our age:
Self-imposed institutionalization,
Putting oneself in an asylum to ferment and die.
The fact that so many of us
Need it so bad at only 55
Says something itself about the current state of
Baby Boomer metal-fatigue.
I am now standing at the far end of the golf course.
I wait at the far end of the 18th Hole.
A ball bounces past my head and
Rolls off past the green into the far rough.
The 18th Hole is perched atop a small plateau,
Out of sight, far above the horizon for anyone teeing off.
I am Puck, invisible and impish.
I pluck the ball up.
I scamper to the green.
I pop the ball into the hole.
Which is better than popping a hole in the ball,
Surely, kind of a drag,
As we were once fond of saying.
Deflated Ball.
Deflator Maus.
OPERA can be ****.
Bodice-ripping corsets, whorehouses and naked ******!
Hardly what you might expect from
A night with the Welsh National Opera,
But they found their way into this production of "Die Fledermaus."
Ripe language, contemporary jokes and
Toilet humor thrown in, adding immensely
To the pleasures of Strauss’s operetta.
"Die Fledermaus," or The Bat’s Revenge,
Is all about drunkenness and adultery.
Despite being written in the 1870s,
It remains equally pertinent to today’s pub culture of excess.
Daring; Colorful; ****: PGA golf.
I steal a golf ball on the far end of the 18th Hole.
I pick up the Titleist and stick it in the hole
(Steady Jessica, not yours.
I hide behind your bush.
(Cue up PSA, First Lady Bird Johnson’s 1960s
Nationwide Beautification Campaign:
“I want everyone in America to plant a tree,
A sherrrr-rub, or a booosh.”)
The golfer now searching frantically:
Why is the cup always the last place they look?
Then, wham, bam, he looks:
A legend is born.
A hole in one,
His name forever immortalized
On a plaque over the bar, the proverbial 19th Hole.

As you know, I speak for all mediocrities,
Safe in my 55+ gated-community.
I go next to the Club House,
"The Lodge" as it’s called.
Each afternoon, the usual suspects
Claiming first come/first serve tiered mini-theater seats
Where Netflix matinee gems are screened.
It is two minutes to DVD show time.
I walk to the front of the room.
I stare at my audience.
I count the house slowly,
Making meaningful eye contact with each wrinkled face.
I cup my hands behind my back and speak:
“I assume you are all here for my lecture on Kierkegaard.”
No one reacts.
I turn to leave but do a double-take and smile.
One old woman in the top right corner of the amphitheater laughs, Perhaps the one other human being within the gates
Who has also smoked a joint today.
For an instant, I am overwhelmed with paranoia,
Perhaps I’ve gone too far over the line:
No longer “oh-he’s-a-character;”
I am now “that creep is ******* nuts.”
Is it time for someone to approach my family,
My next of kin, my “who-to-contact-in-event-of-emergency” number? Who will make the call on behalf of the HOA—
The Homeowner’s Association—
The Tsars, the Duma, the Supreme Soviet in these parts?
They are the power inside the gates;
Those who determine the state’s enemies,
Who govern its community norms.
Power within the gates.
Law within the asylum.
Little Hitlers one and all.
Hopefully they reach my sister first.
She’s been briefed.
KEY POINT IN THE NARRATIVE:
The new narrative is non-linear.
We can no longer sustain a narrative understanding of ourselves;
We are each an individual stream of consciousness,
All of us random, non-linear and disconnected.
We grow more and more disconnected from others.
We may be neighbors in space and time,
But we remain deprived of any significant human contact;
Any spiritually significant human contact.
Our social circle narrows to what can fit in The Telescreen;
We become more intimate with a legion . . .
Did someone say a legion? SPQR:
Am I having some sort of genetic-linguistic seizure here?
Am I channeling Benito Mussolini again?
Il Duce speaks to me from the grave,
Still blowing smoke up my Hopi-Jew-*** ***,
Filling in my insecurities,
Plugging the holes in my character
With delusions of classical Roman grandeur, glory and empire. Hmmmm? Quite an appetizing pitch for the average *****,
A message so completely, so ethnocentrically slick,
Olive oily, and so seductive.
A non-Italian would have thought
American Legion or Legionnaire’s disease,
Or The Foreign Legion, The French Foreign Legion.
The French: a virulent, promiscuous people.
Do you want fries with that, Simone?
No, I don’t get out much.
Only an occasional brisk walk around the asylum,
In and around the golf course, around but inside the gates. (LINKS) Bill Gates. Daryl Gates. Billy Bathgate’s Gates? Ghiberti’s Gates? The Hot Gates? Thermopylae? 300 Spartans/700 Thespians:
“The noun causing idiots to think of
Two girls sloppily eating each other’s mighty vaginas,
When they hear mention of someone being an actor.” http://www.urbandictionary.com
Not even close.
No, I rarely venture out.
This is Hemetucky.
There are methamphetamine-stoked
Teenage zombies at the gate.
Note to costume control:
Perhaps camouflage clothing is the safe choice?
No loud red Hawaiian.
No garish Indonesian batik.
Fleet of feet are these Hemet tweakers,
These cranked up Riverside County teenage barbarians,
These Huns & Visigoths,
These amped up, ravenous jackals.
And why stop there?
These Vandals & Vandellas.
A Motown flashback:
“Nowhere to run, baby, nowhere to hide.”
With or without Martha—
They remain dangerously lethal.
Yes, let it be camo clothes for me.
Those **** heads may be young.
They may be fast.
They may be able to run me down
On a dry grass dog-legged fairway savannah,
Tearing the meat from my carcass.
But the sons-a-******* have to see me first.
Besides, we know who are real friends are.
Hooray for our media peeps!
We become more intimate with a legion
Of television personalities on 125 different channels.
Most of these we know by name and context.
We know their families, their friends,
Their histories, their tragedies,
Their favored hyperbole and manner of speech.
Sometimes we establish intimacy with celebrities
Strictly on the basis of universal body language.
At times–in the absence of any other
Empathetic facility of identification–
We connect on instinct alone.
Instinct: perhaps animal at its core,
An animal kingdom affinity group,
Connecting on a bio-linguistic level,
Particularly when the Korean, or Spanish,
Mandarin, or Arabic,
Japanese, or even Hebrew language version is broadcast.
All languages cryptically alien,
A dense boundary, a barrio border wall,
Undecipherable, impenetrable concrete.
But we’ve never spoken to our neighbors,
Nor do we know their names.
Celebrities are the neighbors we know best;
Although the intimacy is an illusion,
Permission to invade their privacy presumed,
Tacit in the relationship between celebrities and their fans.
I am an independent contractor now,
An outside consultant to the NSA.
Try as I might I cannot crack the enigma,
Kim Kardashian remains far beyond my code-breaking prowess.
I repeat myself:
We can no longer sustain a narrative understanding of ourselves;
We are each an individual stream of consciousness,
All of us random, non-linear and disconnected.
We are more and more disconnected from others.
We may be neighbors in space and time,
But we remain deprived of any significant human contact;
Any spiritually significant human contact.
Our social circle narrows to what can fit in The Telescreen; we become more intimate with a legion . . .
Back to you, David Ulin:
“Sometime late last year—I don’t remember when, exactly—I noticed I was having trouble sitting down to read. That’s a problem if you do what I do, but it’s an even bigger problem if you’re the kind of person I am. Since I discovered reading, I have always been surrounded by stacks of books. I read my way through camp, school, nights, and weekends; when my girlfriend and I backpacked through Europe after college graduation, I had to buy a suitcase to accommodate the books I picked up along the way.”
Thank you, David L. Ulin.
I cannot help myself.
I grow more eccentric each day.
My eyeballs glued to that flat screen!

Cosmo Kramer: "The bus is outta control.
So I grab him by the collar, I take him out of the seat,
I get behind the wheel, and now I’m driving the bus."
Jerry: "Wow!"
George Costanza: "You’re Batman."
Cosmo Kramer: "Yeah, yeah, I am Batman.
Then the mugger, he comes to and he starts choking me.
So I’m fighting him off with one hand,
And I kept driving the bus with the other, ya know.
Then I managed to open up the door,
And I kicked him out the door, ya know,
With my foot, ya know, at the next stop."
Jerry: "You kept making all the stops?"
Cosmo Kramer: "Well, people kept ringing the bell!"
(Share this moment with a stranger.)

I speak for all mediocrities.
I am their champion, their patron saint.
Boom Chaka Laka. Boom Chaka Laka.
Boom Chaka Laka. BOOM!
Isn’t it time Salieri tempted Constanze–
Frau Mozart–with a plateful of Capezzoli di Venere:
“******* of Venus.”
You had me at hello, Kidman.
I know you too well, Nicole.
I knew you from before,
Way before Tom’s Oprah couch freak show.
Listen to me, Nicole:
We are face to face
With the most profound question in American literature:
"What is the grass?
The flag of my surrender?
The flag of my disposition?"
I resort to Socratic maxims: Know yourself;
The un-****** life is not worth living.
Is it stress? Is it lack of conviction?
Everything Jeff Lebowski neither wants nor needs in his life?
I watched you *** in "Eyes Wide Shut," Nicole.
Now I know you with my eyes and your legs wide open.
Thank you, Sidney Pollack.
Sidney knew.
Sidney dealt us cards
From his Hollywood Tarot deck.
We are intimate, Nicole.
I watched you squat.

I’ve been hearin a lot of bad mouthin about socialism ever since the president tried to provide affordable healthcare to the working poor… I also hear some carping when someone suggested that the minimum wage paid to workers should allow them to buy the necessities of life… I don't hear too much bad things about medicare and social security…. I guess thats not really socialism…. I don't hear too much about the big bailouts of the bankers with government money after they put us in a recession… privatized gain and socialized risk must also be a strain of a special kind of entitlement...

We’ll I think this whole socialism business needs some clarity about what its all about…. so I made a list of socialist heroes so my fellow American’s can get a better feel for what going on with this red menace...

Heres a list of socialist heroes….

Jesus Christ of Nazareth...I just can't get past the Beatitudes thing. Since all the po folks of the earth get to inherit all the good stuff when they pass on.... I figure heaven gotta be some kinda socialist paradise....Some don’t buy the idea that Jesus is building a Mar-A-Largo estate for Donald Trump... while having the rest of us live in our cramped apartments…. Jesus did say he’s building many rooms but the po folks get first dibs on everything… For all the doubting Thomas’s and Thomasina’s get Sean Hannity’s fastidious fact checkers to read the good news in the Gospel of Matthew.

Jack London... To think he’s been spreading the Red Menace in the mind of America’s innocent children for near a century now…. When Michelle Bachmann finds out about this she'll introduce a bill to change the title of The Call of the Wild to the Call of the Commies... I don't think it will affect Sarahcuda because she don’t read at a sixth grade level yet. Alaska is safe for now....And all comrade citizens are doing just fine thank you.... spending their annual royalty checks they get from the state for all the North ***** oil drilling...  Hell during Sarah's half term governorship... she did what every self respecting socialist despot would do... she paid out a special $1,200.00 Permanent Fund royalty dividend to all comrade "North to the Future" citizens.....

Carl Sandburg... The People Yes? Sang the songs of the People Yes! Celebrated a broad shouldered, hog butchering America who wrote a biography with love and affection for our country’s greatest Republican President....  Whats that about?...And his treatment of Billy Sunday...a back in the day,.. aw shucks,... from the backwoods holler... Kenneth Copeland like... Believer's Voice of Victory preacher of his day... who hurled fire and brimstone at cowering congregants so when he passed the plate they filled it up with hoards of heavenly manna to fatten his bank account overstuffed with moth eaten earthly treasure… I'm sure even Pat Robertson believes Sandburg’s soul lies beyond the sweet redemption of Jesus...

George Orwell… Unlike **** Cheney... who said he had better things to do when his country called on him to serve during the Vietnam War... Orwell’s fervor for democracy was so great he left his native land to lay his life on the line to fight against the fascist menace in Spain... When he got into a battle he came across an enemy combatant taking a ****. He later said, “I let him go. How do you shoot a guy with his pants down?”... A deep respect for the humanity of others is clear evidence of a socialist's fatal flaw and why the righteous laissez faire American’s hate it so....Unfortunately Orwell and his comrades lost this one to Franco and his sugar daddies Il Duce and Mein Fuhrer… but we’ll keep up the good fight…..

Dorothy Day… This saint of the proletariat kept the soup kettle brewin to feed the working poor during the Great Depression... She spent her own money to build shelters to house catholic workers and didn't make a **** dime off the vulnerability of their screaming want... A squandered opportunity maybe…. definitely a coocoo loon according to the weltentstehung of Ayn Rand… so popular around these parts these days...but Dorothy laid up some serious dosh in heaven for her labors here on earth…. for where your treasure is…. there you will find your heart also… Anyone who knew her said Dorothy's heart was always in the right place….

Albert Einstein…. this guy was no dope….he knew enough to make make moral distinctions of exploitation and greed… and the self condemnation of conspicuous consumption...the destructive capacity of unfettered power….and worked hard to figure out equations to end the wastefulness of war... he did teach at Princeton though… more proof of the red infestation of the universities…. greed is good…. knowledge is bad….

Eugene V. Debs…. went to prison for his beliefs… got a million votes from jail… thats how devious these reds are.... even from prison they run for president and fool the working people into participating in the democratic process…. he believed everyone should vote… and would probably be imprisoned today for violating all the laws being passed that take voting rights away… gotta watch the reds…. next thing you know they'll close the electoral college and force politicians to pay a 100% poll tax on all the money they take from their corporate sponsors….

WEB DuBois… the souls of an oppressed people is the soul of a nation...ain’t it written that a nation is judged on how it treats its most vulnerable?.... Mr. DuBois fought to bring justice to all those lacking the means and rights in a nation teeming with diverse groups with needs and wants… it ain’t just about afro american jazz… its about the blues sung by all people on the outside looking in… he believed it unjust that only a small portion of American’s held the keys to the doors of prosperity… everyone should have a key to unlock the doors of opportunity… everyone…. that includes workers, immigrants, women, gay folks, religious minorities, disabled and the poor and lots other people I haven’t thought of yet…. but what about the real Americans...whose gonna stand up for them??????????

Woody Guthrie…. this country belongs to us… next time a frackin jacker comes to tear up your land and dump poison in your well… next time a strung out strip miner wants to plow away the top of your mountain and dump arsenic in your river…. next time a GMO attorney says the crops you planted don’t belong to you because they are contractually patented to him…. next time a big oil company says that they got a right to pollute the oceans and **** the fish so they can pump out a passel of fossil fuel… next time a bankster comes knocking at the door to take your house away… next time a tea slappin Teabagger starts screaming that the Koch Brothers should be allowed to own the national parks so they can cut the trees down for firewood…. tell em...you heard it on good authority…. that this land is your land…. not theirs….. if thats socialism…. I’m liken it….

American Socialists

Woody Guthrie: This Land is Your Land

Oakland
10/21/13
jbm

PROLOGUE:

“’We must stop this brain working for twenty years.’” So said Mussolini’s Grand Inquisitor, his official Fascist prosecutor addressing the judge in Antonio Gramsci’s 1928 trial; so said the Il Duce’s Torquemada, ending his peroration with this infamous demand.’”  Gramsci, Antonio: Selections from the Prison Notebooks, Introduction, translation from Italian and publishing by Quintin ***** & Geoffrey Nowell Smith, International Publishers, New York, 1971.

BE IT RESOLVED: Whereas, I introduce this book with a nod of deep respect to Antonio Gramsci--an obscure but increasingly pertinent political scientist it would behoove us all to read and study today, I dedicate the book itself to my great grandfather and key family patriarch, Pietro Buonaiuto (1865-1940) of Moschiano, in the province of Avellino, in the region of Campania, southern Italy.

Let it be recognized that Pete Buonaiuto may not have had Tony Gramsci’s brain, but he certainly exhibited an extreme case of what his son--my paternal grandfather, Francesco Buonaiuto--termed: Testaduro. Literally, it means Hardhead, but connotes something far beyond the merely stubborn. We’re talking way out there in the unknown, beyond that inexplicable void where hotheaded hardheads regurgitate their next move, more a function of indigestion than thought. Given any situation, a Testaduro would rather bring acid reflux and bile to the mix than exercise even a skosh of gray muscle matter.  But there’s more. It gets worse.

To truly comprehend the densely-packed granite that is the Testaduro mind, we must now sub-focus our attention on the truly obdurate, extreme examples of what my paternal grandmother—Vicenza di Maria Buonaiuto—they called her Jennie--would describe as reflexive cutta-dey-noze-a-offa-to-spite-a-dey-face-a types. I reference the truly defiant, or T.D.—obviously short for both truly defiant and Testaduro. T.D.’s—a breed apart--smiling and sneering, laughing and, finally, begging their regime-appointed torture apparatchik (a career-choice getting a great deal of attention from the certificate mills--the junior colleges and vocational specialty institutes) mocking their Guantanamo-trained torturer: “Is that what you call punishment?  Is that all you ******* got?”

If, to assist comprehension, you require a literary frame of context, might I suggest you compare the Buonaiuto mind to Paul Lazzaro, Vonnegut’s superbly drawn Italian-American WWII soldier-lunatic with a passion for revenge, who kept a list of people who ****** with him, people he would have killed someday for a thousand dollars.

Go with me, Reader, go back with me to Vonnegut’s Slaughter-House-Five: “Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time . . .”
It is long past the Tralfamadorian abduction and his friendship with Stony Stevenson. Billy is back in Germany, one of three dingbat American G.I.s roaming around beyond enemy lines.  Another of the three is Private Lazzaro, a former car thief and undeniable psychopath from Cicero, Illinois.

Paul Lazzaro:  “Anybody touches me, he better **** me, or I’m gonna have him killed. Revenge is the sweetest thing there is. People **** with me, and Jesus Christ are they ever ******* sorry. I laugh like hell. I don’t care if it’s a guy or a dame. If the President of the United States ****** around with me, I’d fix him good. Revenge is the sweetest thing in life. And nobody ever got it from Lazzaro who didn’t have it coming.  Anybody who ***** with me? I’m gonna have him shot after the war, after he gets home, a big ******* hero with dames climbing all over him. He’ll settle down. A couple of years ‘ll go by, and then one day a knock at the door. He’ll answer the door and there’ll be a stranger out there. The stranger’ll ask him if he’s so and so. When he says he is, the stranger’ll say, ‘Paul Lazzaro sent me.’ And then he’ll pull out a gun and shoot his pecker off. The stranger’ll let him think a couple seconds about who Paul Lazzaro is and what life’s gonna be like without a pecker. Then he’ll shoot him once in the gut and walk away. Nobody ***** with Paul Lazzaro!”

(ENTER AUTHOR. HE SPEAKS: “Hey, Numb-nuts! Yes, you, my Reader. Do you want to get ****** into reading that Vonnegut blurb over and over again for the rest of the afternoon, or can I get you back into my manuscript?  That Paul Lazzaro thing was just my way of trying to give you a frame of reference, not to have you ******* drift off, walking away from me, your hand held tightly in nicotine-stained fingers. So it goes, you Ja-Bone. It was for comparison purposes.  Get it?  But, if you insist, go ahead and compare a Buonaiuto—any Buonaiuto--with the character, Paul Lazzaro. No comparison, but if you want a need a number—you quantitative ****--multiply the seating capacity of the Roman Coliseum by the gross tonnage of sheet pane glass that crystalized into small fixed puddles of glazed smoke, falling with the steel, toppling down into rubble on 9/11/2001. That’s right: multiply the number of Coliseum seats times a big, double mound of rubble, that double-smoking pile of concrete and rebar and human cadavers, formerly known as “The Twin Towers, World Trade Center, Lower Manhattan, NYC.  It’s a big number, Numb-nuts! And it illustrates the adamantine resistance demonstrated by the Buonaiuto strain of the Testaduro virus. Shall we return to my book?)

The truth is Italian-Americans were never overzealous about WWII in the first place. Italians in America, and other places like Argentina, Canada, and Australia were never quite sure whom they were supposed to be rooting for. But that’s another story. It was during that war in 1944, however, that my father--John Felix Buonaiuto, a U.S. Army sergeant and recent Anzio combat vet decided to visit Moschiano, courtesy of a weekend pass from 5th Army Command, Naples.  In a rough-hewn, one-room hut, my father sat before a lukewarm stone fireplace with the white-haired Carmine Buonaiuto, listening to that ancient one, spouting straight **** about his grandfather—Pietro Buonaiuto--my great-grandfather’s past. Ironically, I myself, thirty yeas later, while also serving in the United States Army, found out in the same way, in the same rough-hewn, one-room hut, in front of the same lukewarm fireplace, listening to the same Carmine Buonaiuto, by now the old man and the sea all by himself. That’s how I discovered the family secret in Moschiano. It was 1972 and I was assigned to a NATO Cold War stay-behind operation. The operation, code-named GLADIO—had a really cool shield with a sword, the fasces and other symbols of its legacy and purpose. GLADIO was a clandestine anti-communist agency in Italy in the 1970s, with one specific target:  Il Brigate Rosso, the Red Brigades.  This was in my early 20s. I was back from Vietnam, and after a short stint as an FBI confidential informant targeting campus radicals at the University of Miami, I was back in uniform again. By the way, my FBI gig had a really cool codename also: COINTELPRO, which I thought at the time had something to do with tapping coin operated telephones. Years later, I found out COINTELPRO stood for counter-intelligence program.  I must have had a weakness for insignias, shields and codenames, because there I was, back in uniform, assigned to Army Intelligence, NATO, Italy, “OPERATION GLADIO.“

By the way, Buonaiuto is pronounced:

Bwone-eye-you-toe . . . you ignorant ****!

Oh yes, prepare yourself for insult, Kemosabe! I refuse to soft soap what ensues.  After all, you’re the one on trial here this time, not Gramsci and certainly not me. Capeesh?

Let’s also take a moment, to pay linguistic reverence to the language of Seneca, Ovid & Virgil. I refer, of course, to Latin. Latin is called: THE MOTHER TONGUE. Which is also what we used to call both Mary Delvecchio--kneeling down in the weeds off Atlantic Avenue--& Esther Talayumptewa --another budding, Hopi Corn Maiden like my mother—pulling trains behind the creosote bush up on Black Mesa.  But those are other stories.

LATIN: Attention must be paid!

Take the English word obdurate, for example—used in my opening paragraph, the phrase truly obdurate: {obdurate, ME, fr. L. obduratus, pp. of obdurare to harden, fr. Ob-against + durus hard –More at DURING}.

Getting hard? Of course you are. Our favorite characters are the intransigent: those who refuse to bend. Who, therefore, must be broken: Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke comes to mind. Or Paul Newman again as Fast Eddie, that cocky kid who needed his wings clipped and his thumbs broken. Or Paul Newman once more, playing Eddie Felson again; Fast Eddie now slower, a shark grown old, deliberative now, no longer cute, dimples replaced with an insidious sneer, still fighting and hustling but in shrewder, more subtle ways. (Credit: Scorsese’s brilliant homage The Color of Money.)

The Color of Money (1986) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0090863 Internet MovieDatabase Rating: 7/10 - ‎47,702 votes. Paul Newman and Helen Shaver; still photo: Tom Cruise in The Color of Money (1986) Still of Paul Newman in The Color of Money (1986). Full Cast & Crew - ‎Awards - ‎Trivia - ‎Plot Summary

Perhaps it was the Roman Catholic Church I rebelled against.  The Catholic Church: certainly a key factor for any Italian-American, a stinger, a real burr under the saddle, biting, setting off insurrection again and again. No. Worse: prompting Revolt! And who could blame us? Catholicism had that spooky Latin & Incense going for it, but who wouldn’t rise up and face that Kraken? The Pope and his College of Cardinals? A Vatican freak show—a red shoe, twinkle-toe, institutional anachronism; the Curia, ferreting out the good, targeting anything that felt even half-way good, classifying, pronouncing verboten, even what by any stretch of the imagination, would be deemed to be merely kind of pleasant, slamming down that peccadillo rubber-stamp. Sin: was there ever a better drug? Sin? Revolution, **** yeah!  Anyone with an ounce of self-respect would have gone to the barricades.

But I digress.

They are silent and beautiful,
gorgeous in in the white halo,
cemented in a beautiful terrazzo,
baring the names of fallen soldiers,
the European soldiers that fell in Wars;
second and first and the heinous silent wars,
i hope this  is why they have a proverb; white sepulchre,
only baring the white dead, only chiefs but no dead Indian.

Common wealth graveyards are all over in Africa,
in India , panama , Latin America and europe,
the active fronts in which the allies fought ******,
they are beautifully placed in silently posh areas,
in langata when in Nairobi, in Mbaraki when in Mombasa,
in Matisi  when in Kenya, In Namusungui when in Lodwar,
They bear horizontal silence with white names engraved
on their beautiful face shouting the glory of European empires,
which provoked the evil sense in the heart of the king's horseman
in Kenya, in the city of Nairobi, to steal the graveyard lands,
he made them his urban home with an uppish courtyard,
for him the dead white neighbours are better than in-corruption.

I walk around the commonwealth graveyards,
in the all quarters of erstwhile British empire,
looking for the names of African soldiers ,
who died in thousands fighting for the queen
the royal bloodied woman of England;Elizabeth,
Looking for the sons of Ethiopia who stood with
the second duce Benito son of Mussolini,
fighting for ******,for Shintos in the European war,
i have seen no name of any African,
I have not seen Wandabwa wa masibo,
who was conscripted into the first world war,
Along with his father Biket wa Khayongo,
Biket back after seven years in 1918,
carrying Wandabwa's Belt,
Wandabwa died in the field,
Where was he buried, he is nowhere
Not anywhere among the soldiers in cemeteries,
I have not seen Nasong'o wa Khayongo,
who was conscripted in 1940,
to fight against ******,
he was conscripted on his nuptial evening,
even before he had had the first ***,
with his new wife, he went  away crying,
he never came back, his name is  nowhere in the  graves
the commonwealth graves that bare names of the fallen,
Fallen soldiers, but they all bare white names in the black world.

you come to Africa, Kenya, Nigeria, Malagasy,Egypt,
whatever the geographies of Africa, and you keep keen,
you hear someone  is called Mr. Keya, or Madam Keya,
or you come to Bungoma county of Kenya,
you meet a man  that is of the circumcision age group,
Known as Bakikwameti Keya, Bakinyikewi Musolini,
Keya is  subverted sound for Kings african rivals; KAR
the African sound for  KAR is Keya,
in reference to mass conscription of Africans
into the  KAR, to fight ******,
A child born during that time is Keya,
A man circumcised during  the time
is in the age group of Keya,
A simple lesson in regard to our people,
taken away to fight the colonial power
and left to died and rot away in the bush
with a simple courtesy for ceremonial burial,
that come along with the death of soldiers,
who passed away in the battle field.

“If you or someone you know
Has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s . . . ”
You can tell a great deal about UNLV,
My Vegas morning, easy listening
Radio station of choice,
When I first sit down,
Sit down to work in the morning,
One can surmise from the
Target demographics of so dire,
Such sober pronunciamentos, by
DJ Mueller, 91.5 The Source»
Live from UNLV/KUNV
Las Vegas kunv.org/KUNV
The Jazz Lounge with
Frank Mueller, Thursday, 7:00 am-11:00 am.
So don’t say I never
****** your ****--metaphorically speaking—
Herr Mueller, my good friend.
And while we’re on
The subject: WORK.
They never tell you that
Writing is such ******* hard work,
Which explains my need to **** up &
Lubricate the mechanism,
Before I start.
But I digress.

Just in case you haven’t noticed,
In case you had not been taking heed, CNN:
There’s an exciting new, radical ******,
Left-wing personage & presence
Making a play for the main room,
Center stage, center ring
Global Palace & Amphitheater.
I refer, of course to
Pope Francis:
Media-savvy, media mensch,
Crafting his own image,
Playing to the masses,
Choosing the namesake--
Francesco—right outta the gate,
Zip outta some Franco Zeffirelli
“Brother Sun, Sister Moon,”
Saint Francis di Assisi,
Talent show.
Born Jorge Mario Bergoglio,
In Buenos Aires, Argentina,
He worked briefly as a
Chemical technician
(Read: “bomb maker”)
& Nightclub bouncer
(Read: “sadist”)
Before resuming
Seminary studies, 1969.
(Tribute PSA: October 29, 1969: Happy 40th Birthday to a Radical Idea! Bill Duvall, SRI computer room. Late 1960s, the evening of October 29, 1969 the first data travelled between two nodes of the ARPANET, a key ancestor of the Internet.)
Pope Francis is a master at technology,
As any aspiring Global Wizard must be.
He has a special web site:
“Papal Bulls & Other *******.” Palabras del Papa Francisco - News.va www.news.va/es/source/vatican-va Translate this page PAPA FRANCISCO. AUDIENCIA GENERAL Miércoles 13 de mayo de 2015. [Multimedia]. Queridos . . .

Francis: Pope in Rome,
Signing international treaties again.
The Holy See himself—that
Wacky Argentinian--
One of many Lefty Cardinals,
Pulls off upset ordination in
Vatican City, God’s little 110 acres,
Our world’s smallest city & sovereign state,
Patrolled by a wacky-striped
Swiss Wackenhut Swat Team,
The Vatican: former playground for Nero,
**** Command Central for Caligula,
Construct of Mussolini’s $92 million
(More than $1 billion in today’s
Ever more worthless,
Ever more inflation soaring money!)
Lateran hush money,
Vatican monopoly money,
Seed money for colonial expansion,
Il Duce signing on behalf of
King Victor Emmanuel III,
Remembered today
Mainly for his short stature, &
Exile to Alexandria, Egypt,
Where he died and was buried.
“Vic the Man,” as he was known
Here in the Principality of Monaco,
“Vic the Man in Monte Carlo.”
But I digress.

Just the other day, Pope Francis
Signed another international treaty,
Recognizing Palestinian statehood,
Generating praise from Palestinians, &
Criticism from Israelis, who said:
“The move does not advance peace efforts.”
“Even this Philo-Semitic pope,
This pope who cares about the Jews,
Even he doesn’t get it,” said
David Horovitz, Editor,
The Times of Israel,
Which is what one would expect from
The guy who wrote the book:
A Little Too Close to God,
Still Life with Bombers:
Israel in the Age of Terrorism . . .

It is tempting to ignore the
Sheer ego, the colossal megalomania
That is Jorge Mario Bergoglio,
Truly a personage of great moral suasion,
Whether he’s cleaning the feet of the homeless,
Dialing up strangers for late-night chats or
Convincing the self-described atheist,
Raúl Castro to give Catholicism a second look . . .
This pope who took the name of a
Nature-loving pauper,
This Pope in Rome,
Francis:  Transformative,
Revolutionary gust.
Pontiff, from Latin: “a bridge,”
Spanning the God-Man divide.
We are talking about a brotherhood,
That survived both Borgia & Medici,
And other assorted kink-fests for centuries.
Just what bizarre peccadillo
Required the resignation of
Benedict XVI, in itself, a
2,000-year first?
Francis:  the first Jesuit Pope.
Francis: the first Pope from America.
Francis: “The circumstances surrounding
Benedict's decision to step down
Will titillate scholars and the journalists alike,
For many years to come,
Given his resignation came so soon
After the “VATI-LEAKS” revelations:
Vatican bank corruption,
Pederast-priest cover-ups, &
Other ignominious fiascos
Requiring significant damage control.

One would think that an institution
With their own royal observatory,
The Papal See’s inter-galactic,
Night-vision telescope, Mount Graham,
Southeast of Tucson, Arizona,
Could steer clear of faulty stars.

The Führer smashes his fist down, sending millions into the void.
An S.S. man in the Lager directs his gaze into the void.

British boys lie entrenched, gambling: mortar rains on German lines.
They charge at dawn with bets and hopes, but each pays into the void.

Sailors smell petrol and hurl themselves to the murky waters.
Fire explodes battleships, and grey Zeros rise into the void.

The Angel of Marzabotto buries the dead, wiping his brow.
An officer lodges a bullet there; the Angel prays to the void.

Green GIs go romping through the jungle after Victor Charlie.
They come upon rice fields, and set My Lai ablaze, into the void.

George III holds tight to colonies that raise muskets and new flags.
The Ministry of All Talents leads him, crazed, into the void.

Nippon men flood Nanjing and throw a maiden to the ground.
They ****** their bayonets to send her, dazed, into the void.

Fascist youth march the Bedouins across the Libyan sands.
Captors fence nomads in; the Duce looks, unfazed, into the void.

A young captain and his Bedouins shoot Turks without pretense.
Lawrence, disillusioned, fades out unpraised, into the void.

Quale in notte solinga
sovra campagne inargentate ed acque,
là 've zefiro aleggia,
e mille vaghi aspetti
e ingannevoli obbietti
fingon l'ombre lontane
infra l'onde tranquille
e rami e siepi e collinette e ville;
giunta al confin del cielo,
dietro Appennino od Alpe, o del Tirreno
nell'infinito seno
scende la luna; e si scolora il mondo;
spariscon l'ombre, ed una
oscurità la valle e il monte imbruna;
orba la notte resta,
e cantando con mesta melodia,
l'estremo albor della fuggente luce,
che dinanzi gli fu duce,
saluta il carrettier dalla sua via;
tal si dilegua, e tale
lascia l'età mortale
la giovinezza. In fuga
van l'ombre e le sembianze
dei dilettosi inganni; e vengon meno
le lontane speranze,
ove s'appoggia la mortal natura.
Abbandonata, oscura
resta la vita. In lei porgendo il guardo,
cerca il confuso viatore invano
del cammin lungo che avanzar si sente
meta o ragione; e vede
ch'a sé l'umana sede,
esso a lei veramente è fatto estrano.
Troppo felice e lieta
nostra misera sorte
parve lassù, se il giovanile stato,
dove ogni ben di mille pene è frutto,
durasse tutto della vita il corso.
Troppo mite decreto
quel che sentenzia ogni animale a morte,
s'anco mezza la via
lor non si desse in pria
della terribil morte assai più dura.
D'intelletti immortali
degno trovato, estremo
di tutti i mali, ritrovar gli eterni
la vacchiezza, ove fosse
incolume il desio, la speme estinta,
secche le fonti del piacer, le pene
maggiori sempre, e non più dato il bene.
Voi, collinette e piagge,
caduto lo splendor che all'occidente
inargentava della notte il velo,
orfane ancor gran tempo
non resterete: che dall'altra parte
tosto vedrete il cielo
imbiancar novamente, e sorger l'alba:
alla qual poscia seguitando il sole,
e folgorando intorno
con le sue fiamme possenti,
di lucidi torrenti
inonderà con voi gli eterei campi.
Ma la vita mortal, poi che la bella
giovinezza sparì, non si colora
d'altra luce giammai, né d'altra aurora.
Vedova è insino al fine; ed alla notte
che l'altre etadi oscura,
segno poser gli Dei la sepoltura.

Leva morte da noi
quell'intatto minuto come pane
che l'amante non morse né la donna
al colmo dell'offerta.
Dove vita, di sé fatta più piena
ci divide dal corpo
e ci annovera al gregge di un Pastore
costruito di luce,
nasce morte per te. D'ogni dolore
parto ultimo e solo
che mai possa procedere dal seno...
Eppure a noi lontano desiderio
di quell'attimo pieno
viene a fatica dentro giorni oscuri
ma se calasse nella perfezione
di sua vera natura
presto cadremmo affranti dalla luce.
L'albero non è albero né il fiore
può decidersi bello
quando sia forte l'anima di male;
ma nel giorno di morte
quando l'amante, tenebroso duce
abbandona le redini del sangue,
sì, più pura vicenda
si spiegherà entro un ordine di regno.
Ed il senso verrà ricostruito,
e ogni cosa nel letto
in cui cadde nel tempo avrà respiro,
un respiro perfetto.
Ora solo un impuro desiderio
può rimuovere tutto, ma domani
quando morte s'innalzi...

I wish it wasn't you
That I was talking to
But you make
Me go crazy
As of late
I stopped calling you baby
So maybe We should go on a break
Don't take
This the wrong way
But I've been thinking bout this all day
Trying to to figure out how do I stay
When I want to leave twice as bad
I know you mad
But I have to go
Oh
Now you crying getting all emotional
When usually they never show
Like now it'll get you out this predicament
When really **** like this is the reason for the mood I'm in
More angry cause I can't get a refund
On all this time spent
Only goes to show that it meant
Nothing to you
Till I decided to throw up Duce
Then you will run to your girls
Telling them I did you *****
They'll tell you I'm not worthy and surely
You believe them
But we both know.....

In the wake of his convention
And the primary season, too,
Would it be at all surprising
That I feel profoundly blue?

How can one devoid of nuance,
For whom life’s a win-lose play,
Be considered for the real world,
Where one deals with matters gray?

Aren’t you alarmed public service
Was naught to this seventy-year-old,
Till he sought the highest office
To boost his brand of tarnished gold?

Under a symbol endangered,
Facing crisis elephantine,
Isn’t it ironic, his ticket of
Deniers blithely mocks the green?

Can a worshipper of Mammon,
Who shamelessly on others tread,
Cheating, abusing, extorting,
Win over fans of Vermont red?

Should we really need to conjure
Il Duce or the Corporal
To reject bans, walls – hate so vile –
And tilt the states of purple?

Don’t you notice undercurrents
In the “make again” broken track,
Calling former would-be masters
To clean DC of Kenya black?

So will you stand this year with her,
Imperfect, cautious, yet mostly right,
To ensure a dangerous clown
Is nowhere near the House of White?

These politicians
dance with their words
and sing with their eyes
then you give them your vows
although you know they have lied

Gynecology appeals to the rooting instinct and not just among pigs,
apartment-dwellers too crave the spotlight especially in cheap digs
A tree puts strength in its cambium membrane, seeds, bark & twigs
whilst outgrowing the imperilment of remaining grounded as sprigs
It was not long before the Rolling Stones were being paid for gigs,
in the day when greasy Guineas plugged sheenies & cultivated figs,
decades before sainted negroes thrived as reactionary brillos & nigs
when a schweinehund on par with Club of Rome's lard-*** Al Gore
was realistic enough to accept his natural vocation as a male *****
even though no Avon salve could rescue him from being still sore,
he collected for prostitutional services that there existed no bill for,
while at Sea World Shamu can't fit through a pinniped or seal door,
as whale flesh ain't no antidote for pill-heads on America's pill tour
Keep whacking the side of your head to hammer out doubt till sure
you become of religious piety while acting out a radio-active story
that destroys tumors and fecundity while rewarding war-won glory,
for critical menticide administered to each Margaret Thatcher Tory,
to render brains slack so that each id's reduced to a formless slurry,
and made denser & dumber than the dumb-*** mind of Ann Curry,
who sits around picking fleas off her pet rats calmly with no worry
like a pederast whose name is Marion but likes to be called Murray
because of thickset hair that was as curly as Bill Clinton's was furry
it made Hillary's perverse predilection into a ****-emergency hurry
as she faced extortion rackets entailing mucho homosexy potpourri
It's I.T.T., A.T. & T., F.P. & L. and A. & P. in lieu of slave-holder
In a demi-godly role of being everyplace looking over my shoulder
Like advice taken to heart by a ***** the tenth time you told her
On the occasion of the hundredth time that a ****** **** sold her
Put down that rifle and also that cup as there are doggedly two ratty
trees of wood: wood I stole & wood I shoplifted as doggy eats pup
Congratulations *******, you won the Nobel prize for shutting up
Move from a hovel & put down that shovel as there are 2 unkindly
kinds of wood: stolen & discounted as my rabid ***** eats her pup
****** Mary Jane Christmas to Quakers winning gifts for rutting up
Return my shovel and **** a guppy as there are 2 hunks of wood:
wood I stole & wood shoplifted as a dog ***** eats a hungry puppy
Cheers cancer-ridden surgeon, here's the Shaw prize for cutting up
The tall first wife, who was fleet of feet, was the easiest to book for
she preferred rat tail over bat wing and won as a dream to cook for
she hid herself very obviously therefore she wasn't hard to look for
her manifold athletic talents made her the leanest witch to hook for
Give me your hirsute/textile/hombre love you lovely hairy rag man,
with your pointy nose, unlimbered leg & warts from Larry Hagman
who from the horse's mountable side snuck up like an airy stag ram
Don't take what little's left via state Santa Christmas merry bag ban
Let's dress like women in debt at the oldest Chuck Berry drag stand
My happiness is easily seen in blood-letting cirques as corpuscular
while my rippling backwards frontage is of a physique so muscular
that it is known by fat aunt Joan as socked-in and highly avuncular
In icy Florida I pine for Klondike my favorite Alaskan lesbian lover
who, in our gay igloo, resembled that big oily ****** Danny Glover
whose **** buddy Mel Gibson made him half less pockless gaining
☹a little more of plenty above Kenai's northern-lit blinding darkness,
and punctuated by those empty promises of ****-driving starkness
that were dogged by monster sightings quite common to Loch Ness
where **** Welshmen smoke Scottish-spiced cigarillos smockless
Fear not as chronically-starved people are traditionally not so tough
so feed the hungry & while they are eating steal their bags and stuff
as unarmed Cymry won't do more than storm off in a Goidelic huff,
akin to a Tom Jones hissy fit of ***-wriggling dancing and gay fluff
This normal man wonders: How much public ******* is enough?
Pushing Fukushima scenarios beyond the point of a no-return bluff
and extraneous of a federal Continuity of Government powder puff
while parked on a decrepitly-reliable-ever-burgeoning-lard-*** duff
white men, like coal miners, mine mineable depths of Filipina ****
gynecologically like the average gynecology enthusiast off the cuff,
rejecting Bicol pathogenetic carpet chaw to dip Copenhagen *****,
a sprinkling 'tween lip & gum proves that no slanted ****'s too tuff
A trans-orbital lobotomy's necessitated when plants are root-bound,
Hello Addisonian crisis dysfunction when adrenal glands are found
insufficient when production of adrenaline is diagnosed as unsound
Mormons note the absent look of foremen in the Book of Mormon
and an absence of the Book of Mormon in the outlook of foremen
You hid it 'cause I can't find it every elsewhere a package for string
this catastrophe that threatens tragedy above the tryst below a fling
With cords knotted tightly around something tumorous I won't sing
It is the chlorine that cancels detergent in that electric washer thing
beneath cellar steps that David Niven's wife fell down while hiding
I lost her you found her, it's a dollar for riding plus a fee for finding
all broads blinded to inequity and to chick Nazis' unguided guiding
Oh Lord with such ease the slippery have slid into slipshod sliding!
The frailties of free men're exploited by N.S.A.'s jingoistic deriding
General Ike exposed the military-industrial-congressional complex
which strikes against the citizenry by venomous rattle snake reflex
faster than a dope-crazy Marilyn Monroe could reach for a Kleenex
thru curvatures in a third-dimensional, spatially-pornographic helix
that approximated the Mexi-milkers of actriz: la doña María Félix
rutting elephants in musth must respect advisory: kneel-harm-****,
to honor the moon-hoaxing memory of chronic liar Neil Armstrong
as obviously for **** Rosie O'Donnell her gay meal alarm's wrong
Johns familiarized themselves with Lillian Russell by buyin' ** Lil
as masochists meet masochistic needs with movies of Ryan O'Neal
Sadists satiate sadistic surges sharing sermons sold Séamus Ó Néill
& beheld-redemptive pleasures for patrons of free mass soul appeal
I'm nailed in my sub-par carpentry by all do-gooders of the nail ban
to the point where I'm willing to mail my big sister to the mail man
who's part & parcel of a mail-fraud plot & brother's can't-fail plan
Escaped & uncaught I will be no prison monkey's cell-mate-jail-fan
'Cause shorts clothe Richard Simmons' lard *** he has a pale can as
oil-from-rock Daniel's been given the pétrole epithet Ol' Shale Dan
Latino block & cinder create distortive Hispano-Américano rubble
'cause stirring up spics & greasy wetbacks invites N.C.L.R. trouble
Stand back anti-pope as I am about to burst your pederastic bubble!
Your egg-shell-thick pate's no match for a black jack as this club'll
smash its way thru cardinals, reverends, ministers, priests & dukes
to make cream taste like ***** and turn cake into what a dog pukes
Under U.S./Euro socialism there'll be no guy who's a young codger
and popular forenames will be banned including Preston and Roger
Trans-national entities whip horse dung into curdled cottage cheese
while denying rescue inhalers to asthmatics enjoying a bad wheeze
so as to avail publicly purpled aureolae of ready women who tease
Now is the time to release the promised South American killer bees
as the hour's passed to exact vengeance for a beheaded Robert Lees
Mafiosos contract that Joseph Valachi-types be capped at the knees
then hanged by their what's-her-names from il duce poles and trees
in such a fashion that'll tighten the ropes by cough, belch or sneeze
Long legs, wrong eggs, strong pegs, King Kong begs with a song of kegs
Let us dog dealers of wieners & corporate schemers: those 2-bit reamers
extend a left leg into the sacred space of my right one for time remaining
It's easy to harp on topics commiserate with crap profitably entertaining
A man who courts dogs & a court manned by dogs quibbles over kibble
Dogs devoid of canine teeth are not as happy to gnaw and to nibble
The Arc of the Covenant bestowed ancient promises metaphysical
shedding cockroach-scattering illumination that set courses tragical
on a populace & citizenry that were more attuned to an era magical
Before Zionistic Elders prepared an Order within cabals strategical
Beneath plum sunsets & catchy maladies that deafened folks lyrical
“Turn me on dead man” the Beatles backwardly warbled mystically
as the means and the method to sexcite vampresses gynecologically
For all shoulder-locked movements sway men anthropomorphically
Let us seek bi-lesbians who fear concerted opposition diametrically
as their prized packages remain barren, as they spawn ineffectually
Sappho's ovarian host pouch is barren as ***** meld ineffectually
as Western, Fallopian-tubed freakazoids are ****-probed habitually
Sapphic ovarian balloons shrink when hens ******* reciprocally
On Pearl Harbor Loch a false flag blackened Mister Moto's beacon
by shadowy, white manipulators under a U.S. sinister, proto-deacon
who, as a cousin-marrying-pipe-******* *******, emulated Lincoln,
the war-loving queer who went above & beyond his task to weaken
the will of sovereign states to sustain free-market economic health,
by exacting confiscatory taxes resulting in punishing capital wealth
The Beatles were creatures of M.K. Ultra's institution at Tavistock,
lost to a shocking future as shown by Alvin Toffler in Future Shock
whereas nothing can help us from taking an epidemiological knock
by Mao a la Trotsky, a la starvation wages via phony-baloney stock
in the image of Pol *** a la Lenin contrary to righteous John Locke
Our fused-egg brothers gestate together, flying as a migratory flock
dolled up in vestry wardrobe: papal bikini brassier, ******* & frock
awaiting George Orwell's 1984 English socialism known as Ingsoc
X number of years before Nancy Kwan wed ski champ Peter Pock,
& after Bob Ripley's Oriental/Occidental miscegenation ****** talk
as it was curlier than was Nimoy while he portrayed Vulcan Spock,
whose sweetness was unrehearsed, unrestrained & of a sickly mock
once taken, out of time as taken twice daily on any ol' broken clock
flesh stripped & exploited as the flightless relic of Earth's great auk
enjoying the laze of Sunday oblivious to extinct Darwinian schlock
as chastised love is Leonard Nimoy-pitiable with chastity-belt lock
Upon a Massachusettsian shore puritans purified Plymouth's Rock!
Forever amounts to nothing in betrayal of Heinlein's empathic grok
Back off quack as I'll **** the next 1 of you applying scalpel to ****
as a dad must regarding neo-Kantian, fatherless-**** Johann Bach
Deep in hell's bowels fricassees Jew Elizabeth/***-to-Death Taylor
who did every Joe Nobody from Captain Crunch to Norman Mailer
A harlot ***** was she from 10 niggerly toes to scary mulatto tone
as hellishly deep in Liz's brain was a splinter of hamster wish bone
& her ***-end was broad from fat foods Safeway to her would loan
Beneath her 3rd world-chiding heft Larry F's lawn chairs did groan
as this princess of whales never said no to hog jowls and corn pone
which made an interesting cut-out to novices of the porpoise prone
There won't be another Liz till Rockefeller perfects a Warner clone
with the aid of sewing machines to hem-stitch hems that need sewn
& a positronic brain stem to achieve mortality previously unknown
since Alex Bell pilfered **** inventor Antonio Meucci's telephone
Truth is light that Illuminists keep shadowed, darkened & unshown
for Hank & Phoebe Snow and Johnny Winter who would not atone
Thomas Edison stole or bought the patents to ingenious inventions
that he was more than happy to claim as his brilliant contributions
to the wealth & state of inquisitive Mankind's Earthen conventions,
also he took credit for Biblical allusions to immaculate conceptions
Which Bible books Tom Edison wrote no G.E. employee mentions
as stealing, purloining and commandeering were his 3 predilections
True historians know well charlatan Edison's dastardly elaborations
To pinch a hairy, chapped man is wrong as it puts him in more pain
For century-old Harry Chapman Pincher pinching made him insane
His unholy joy was to lay prone with mouth open to catch acid rain
& then hop into the commode to affect a toilet-related ankle sprain,
not too unlike Richard called **** & Jean who liked the name Jane
whose corpulence demands a piano coffin burial with crawler crane
Formaldehyde replaced 7 quarts of blood that went down a drain as
the proverb fits: when there's nothing to lose there's nothing to gain
Alan Ladd snuffed himself over a self-destructive hatred for Shane
and because Sue Carol preferred men of height Ladd couldn't attain
without elevator shoes & leading-lady actresses walking in ditches,
the love-life that humbles a netted shrimp into paralytic twitches as
Alan often got nothing from Brentwood ****** & witches because
****** pimps don't scrape **** off them Hollywood swanky *******
Tragically it's true that God's in the details & Satan's in the glitches
when Hippocratic Oath-denying doctors say don't bandage stitches,
it promotes infection needing treatment that add to a quack's riches
Apply no anti-bacterial salve unless your unbandaged wound itches
Amerika will be a Marxian paradise after we guillotine the snitches
harvest their organs, cremate & consign their ashes to crude niches
Give me, give me, give me, I can subsist not on a mere, single bean
Hey cheapo, get off your greasy ***, take me to Dairy Queen as my
**** is shaved, bra's padded & all kinks are relaxed by Afro Sheen
Western ***** are fattened for slaughter as sloped slants grow lean,
for lack of appendix, tonsils, adenoids, warts, piles, moles & spleen
Refugees flee what's so repressively dangerous that it's forever fled
The bloodied blood biz passes pathogens to bleeders bloodily bled
It is a dreadful situation that ****** folks find difficult not to dread
A gent is obliged to face conflict face first short of living in a shed,
plying the rough trade, rough-necking with ******* or playing dead
When my cruddy teeth are encrusted I brush the crud off with Crest
while working drainward with this golden cake of soap called Zest
Like a woman on public assistance I refuse to let my choppers rest
There was a time when talk of quiz was a precursor to an Iowa test
My basic skills are determinedly under-cutting my housewife guest
whose stems run north to her malignant tissue free mammae breast
In movies shooting orphans with high-powered rifles is done in jest
'cause in Amerika making ammunition is what wage-slaves do best
When I'm not utilizing forks for recreational after-meal dog-jabbin'
I am staking out hog farms for the planning of gainful hog-nabbin'
or making log-planing modifications on my pine-logged log cabin,
before crossing teamster picket lines for wage-earning job scabbin,'
I take pains to avoid being skinned in a Jimmy Hoffa mob stabbin'
A thousand Confucian truths drive my happy dreams to nightmares
as bi-****** pass out on Calexico-Mexicali-low-calorie light beers
I haven't the moxie to skate through hydrants of fate terminological
as those 78 crumb-bums behind T.V. “comedies” wax scatological
Ernie killed Chip & Robby to stamp his father a cipher biological
He hadn't room for women for production smacking gynecological
The last time he looked skyward his thoughts weren't cosmological
S.O.B. Ernest cursed routinely at arthritis diagnosed gerontological
He gives not a harlot's hello for innumerable faults anthropological
nor to lend his energies to scopes that abuse harmonics hormonical
as he stumblingly falls prey to meanderings sickishly trophological
Lord of Hostesses salvage carcass mine from insults cancrological
Redeem me in sudden form humanoid of activities pathogenetical
We mourn in Gettysburg's city as unrepentant lesbians on probation
Defying errors inflicted upon soldiers who forsook proper vocation
Anti-poping Argentine Francis as he's ****** to Satan's invocation
It remains the best course to abide by stellar laws of spatial rotation
Whether one's nationality is Romanian, Finnish, British or Croatian
Lost people will eat food outside their region &

.
.
It's 3 A.M. and the air is
getting thin
and all the patrons have gone on to meet their daily end

Ken the bartender is stocking beer for the weekend now is near

You know it as a rite , you call it Saturday night

Ray comes in and unslings his axe
And goes through his numerous picks

Turns the amps on and
lights a *** with a yellow Bic

Then thumps the microphone
to see if on
before he hits a lick

He's getting ready for Saturday night when everyone gets on thick

There is cocktail Mary
coming in
she sits right down and
yells at Ken ,
"Make it a tonic and gin!"

Ken nods and fills a glass
cursing beneath his breath
"I swear gin will be her death."

He loves and hates Saturday night ,
but all good things
have there bite

Ray hits a hard chord
Makes it wail in pain
Then he turns to the amp and adjusts the gain

Then one more stroke
pops a string
he without a word
changes out the thing

Then he let's lose
Like an Ace on duce
and my how he does his thing

Staying steady ,
Getting ready ,
For the magic
known as Saturday night

Studio UFA has faded away
MosFilm has blended into something new
Cinecitta filmed in Il Duce’s day

But

Kent State University adds their own “We, too!”

For they’re now using race to cast a play
Kent State obeys the old gauleiter’s cue:
Sure, you can act, but what’s your DNA?
They only hire Authentics as cast and crew

You have to be correct to play a part –
And we are expected to call it art

Quale in notte solinga
sovra campagne inargentate ed acque,
là 've zefiro aleggia,
e mille vaghi aspetti
e ingannevoli obbietti
fingon l'ombre lontane
infra l'onde tranquille
e rami e siepi e collinette e ville;
giunta al confin del cielo,
dietro Appennino od Alpe, o del Tirreno
nell'infinito seno
scende la luna; e si scolora il mondo;
spariscon l'ombre, ed una
oscurità la valle e il monte imbruna;
orba la notte resta,
e cantando con mesta melodia,
l'estremo albor della fuggente luce,
che dinanzi gli fu duce,
saluta il carrettier dalla sua via;
tal si dilegua, e tale
lascia l'età mortale
la giovinezza. In fuga
van l'ombre e le sembianze
dei dilettosi inganni; e vengon meno
le lontane speranze,
ove s'appoggia la mortal natura.
Abbandonata, oscura
resta la vita. In lei porgendo il guardo,
cerca il confuso viatore invano
del cammin lungo che avanzar si sente
meta o ragione; e vede
ch'a sé l'umana sede,
esso a lei veramente è fatto estrano.
Troppo felice e lieta
nostra misera sorte
parve lassù, se il giovanile stato,
dove ogni ben di mille pene è frutto,
durasse tutto della vita il corso.
Troppo mite decreto
quel che sentenzia ogni animale a morte,
s'anco mezza la via
lor non si desse in pria
della terribil morte assai più dura.
D'intelletti immortali
degno trovato, estremo
di tutti i mali, ritrovar gli eterni
la vacchiezza, ove fosse
incolume il desio, la speme estinta,
secche le fonti del piacer, le pene
maggiori sempre, e non più dato il bene.
Voi, collinette e piagge,
caduto lo splendor che all'occidente
inargentava della notte il velo,
orfane ancor gran tempo
non resterete: che dall'altra parte
tosto vedrete il cielo
imbiancar novamente, e sorger l'alba:
alla qual poscia seguitando il sole,
e folgorando intorno
con le sue fiamme possenti,
di lucidi torrenti
inonderà con voi gli eterei campi.
Ma la vita mortal, poi che la bella
giovinezza sparì, non si colora
d'altra luce giammai, né d'altra aurora.
Vedova è insino al fine; ed alla notte
che l'altre etadi oscura,
segno poser gli Dei la sepoltura.

Quot libras in duce summo ?
JUVENAL.


C'est une chose grande et que tout homme envie
D'avoir un lustre en soi qu'on répand sur sa vie,
D'être choisi d'un peuple à venger son affront,
De ne point faire un pas qui n'ait trace en l'histoire,
Ou de chanter les yeux au ciel, et que la gloire
Fasse avec un regard reluire votre front.

Il est beau de courir par la terre usurpée,
Disciplinant les rois du plat de son épée,
D'être Napoléon, l'empereur radieux ;
D'être Dante, à son nom rendant les voix muettes.
Sans doute ils sont heureux les héros, les poètes,
Ceux que le bras fait rois, ceux que l'esprit fait dieux !

Il est beau, conquérant, législateur, prophète,
De marcher, dépassant les hommes de la tête ;
D'être en la nuit de tous un éclatant flambeau ;
Et que de vos vingt ans vingt siècles se souviennent !...
- Voilà ce que je dis : puis des pitiés me viennent
Quand je pense à tous ceux qui sont dans le tombeau !

Le 16 juillet 1829.

Brisket-deep wade oxen through crop 3 of Cochin China grass rice,
that like Brazilian corn can not drive down 9 cents today's gas price
or **** gophers, lower recidivism or jail-break ****** who pass lice
or rip from lardy Liz Taylor's dead neck her cubic zirconia glass ice
Keen intellects & homosexuality marry like diesel in a wheat tower
as carnivorous corn dogs mustn't **** away their fleshy-meat power
in alleys whereat trolls a ***** whose girl is a brandy-sweet flower
damp but not soaked by the greasy drizzle of a Bronx street shower
that melted by caustic soda Gettysburg's ferro-concrete Eisenhower
Stay back Missy as I ain't anxious to contract your parasitic Q fever
despite the tales in crack town of your exquisitely-luxurious ******
I say: Wiggle over Prissy! I cannot party down with diarrheal fever!
Despite many crack-town tales of your luxuriously-exquisite ******
I order you to: Get back Missy! I don't want your parasitic Q fever!
I command you: Back Nancy! I've no love for Dutch's Mike Dever!
Our hag queen lives in the tire-black shadow of Dennis Weaver, yet
Liz's been saved by the Grace of the Prophet who'll never leave her
just like the fans who cheered the girly pitches of Tom ***** Seaver
who enjoyed the gift that keeps on giving as a giver & as a receiver
minus the knowledge of a cerebrally-dull trophy wife true-believer
and the precise dog-tracking of a duck-retrieving Labrador retriever
akin to a Nordic-berating/race-pimpling Jesse Jackson-era deceiver
who's taken the il Duce-stance to be an F.D.R. New Deal conceiver
A Cebu Island honey in ****** is beautiful even from underneath &
'cause Kentuckians get the most fluoride they have the fewest teeth
from gumming on T.V. dinners like Family Affair with Brian Keith,
or The Big Valley with The Six Million Dollar Man known as Heath
who lived to desecrate Barbara Stanwyck's stone & funereal wreath
to nearly wreck the incorruptible beauty of the heady Virginia Leith
in the dawning twilight of a Republic sacrificing freedom for peace
& metal for paper till tangible property ownership goes up for lease
as a need for mid-gut-binding whale-bone corsets is on the increase
fragrant domestical mice outrank Edwin goose geese mouse Meese
in that tall mysteries are unsolvable while wonders will never cease
Grizzly attacks do much to ingest barren broads bearing our cancer
while the pink feet broken at joints are placed where now hands are
to confuse Komen's breastless feminazis with a bra-padding answer
as a Vaudeville hoofer could to trip up a Cuban cha-cha ***** dancer
better than a tired-of-waiting, endlessly-prating La Habana prancer
who obeys U.N.-garbage-man etiquette and calls a garbage man: sir
An Olympic runner's Vaseline was swiped, so in 3 races he ran sore
Cue-ball “actor” Burton Reynolds called Dinah Shore: Diane Shore
Pigs shooting folks from the ceiling will create a ******, dyin' floor
that is slippery to vinyl-siding shippers and punishing to litter bugs
who have been sucker-punched into pugnaciously-rabid, bitter lugs

Cancer modalities: hack, hypothermia, x-rays & toxin can't crack it
for a lot lizard whose station is an unstructured, tax-starved bracket
while tennis games die grimly set with a barbed-wire-hanger racket
that ruined ******* for big-rig trucking's good buddy Joan Hackett
Hades & rental men: it's the stalling groans with ****-death packet!
Congress shan't by judicial means & measure legislatively abrogate
divinely-sacred powers claimed by Liz regina's counselled castrate
as Catholic America answers the hooligan question with nun patrol
to assassinate Teddy maggot-dinner Kennedy's fraternal gun control
while folding, into State eugenism, the animalic urges of primitives
to obliterate and to placate the devilishly-primitive urges of animals
The water authority's concern for babies compels them to fluoridate
so that the gooey-green tooth enamel of kiddies will not deteriorate
& to keep a rat's mouth of aligned teeth from becoming incomplete
while not degrading his scrumptious U.S.D.A. grade-A rodent meat
nor his anatomical delicacies: arterioles, splenic capsules and 4 feet
of intestines, a pancreas, thoracic arteries & superfluously-ratty ****
that produces the same amount of milk as an owl struck in concrete
or a popery-loving Sinn Féin milker sunk in an A.S.S.I. bog of peat
equalin' no mas eugenical Frenching for U.N.I.C.E.F.'s trick-or-treat
or stun-gunning razor-backs for a Codex Alimentarius-******* pleat
that is more bordel-exquisite than Haitian tea served on Easy Street
If randomized ****** is the homicide you like, it was reported that
on 5 April '69 Stepin Fetchit's son Donald shot 20 on Pa.'s turnpike
& 3 months later Teddy drove Bobby's girl off a bridge named ****
Christmas at the Hollywood Palace, 1969 featured old Perry Como
whom *******-rag Time described in 1970 as being: no merry ****
Any conspiracy is a cons' piracy when two or more are in collusion,
while folks mesmerized by teleprompter-readers are under delusion
of a cerebral/cortex laceration, extirpation, concussion or contusion
to relate a surrealistic/pseudo-reality that will propagate the illusion
that vampire-bus phlebotomists obey strictures of blood transfusion
& that gregarious hermits must forever renounce absolute seclusion
from search-warrant-affidavit-lacking pigs making illegal intrusion
in violation of our state castle law enacted by legislative institution
& adjudged by courts that, though investiture, wrote the conclusion
that is steering toward a rag-stuffin'-ape-lovin'-eugenical revolution
with a homophiliac tutelage as Christendom's Darwinian resolution
says mutational anomalies do not equate to genetical-drift pollution
nor bio-spherical deviances that breed X/Y chromosomal confusion
within the scope of a die-off rate inflating xenogeneic-pool infusion
to counter-balance vales in retardative factors apt to aerial diffusion
Prisoners do not get Lash LaRue whips to whop a cell-******'s sass
nor heaters for Harlem nights colder than an Adak well-digger's ***
To save Earth we must, like raccoons, root through garbage & trash
to obey tree-hugging Mike Farrell: the ***-wiper actor on MASH
to obey fur-hating Mike Farrell: the ***-wiping ***** on MASH
to obey ******* Mike Farrell: the ***-kissing ***-wipe on MAS*H
.The Waltons who wasted J.F.K.were sibs Jim Bob & Mary Ellen in
a bed with John Boy, Uncle Corn Pone & Scaifes' Dickie Mellon in
a conspiracy with Rockefellers' Mossad, Bush & Hunt in sixty-two
to supplant & cultivate corporatization of the U.S.A. for me & you;
to propagate a global-credit system beginning with this Dallas coup
Big-time movie dude Burt Lancaster was never known to have lied
about his 4 marriages dying with judgments of justifiable homicide
No Christian shall deny an unborn baby's supreme court right to die
'cause the German zeppelin LZ 129 Hindenburg was too light to fly

Sore are wintry Hawaiian gals struck by pink papier-mâchéd maids
whilst tyre tread types are trundled backways from wheelied tirades
Pink are spring Honolulu broads tinted by red papier-mâché shades
Do not nag me till I **** you dead ole crapped-out Larry F. Hagman,
as I am in no humor to wring the necks of persecuted hairy rag men
Gynecology might ***** you in solid with Camorra's Casalesi clan,
as their bearded women are tripping circuits of a master messy plan
while my *****-stamped Taylor Texicana trans-**** as a lezzy tran
On roads of electrical eye sores penicillin backs homosexualization
among a purgatory of jack ***** dealing promo Mex mule salvation
Pad my bra *****: I'm tar paper & my angry ******* ******* will bite
'cause unarmed Haitians will be shot on Hispaniola's border tonight
by Dominican Republic guards who cleanse the island in gun fight
Who better to welcome tea drinkers to Cup Land than Saucer Boy?
Who better to play Shatner's number 1 than Leonard ****** Nimoy?
Joe Green's mean because pea-green Coca-Cola made his *** green
as Coke's pond water is the greenest water Lord Jesus has ever seen
that, as an emetic, will keep you bruised, confused, infected & lean
Trifling things shall not diminish my reverence for Miss Kitty Ting
despite the fact that her '67 suicide made moot mere mortal atoning
from Diana's birthing moon where Earthen-Human souls are placed
in 0-72-hour newborns after old-corpse memories have been erased
concurrent with funereal brutality for cadavers to be casket-encased
There was a porker known in Las Vegas by the handle Elvis Presley
who forked Satan's deadly Negresses saying: “Hell shall bless me!”
U.S. civil rights entail the timely return of my fresh bag of cabbage
putrefyin' in a City of New York medallion-licensed cab of baggage

Smoothing Jagger's ***-face wrinkles like a *** must to ream 'cause
after 35 years Beatle John Lennon is lost like some forgotten dream
Because Mac went queer-bait kissin' sock-cuckin' Elton John's lips,
Yoko wants dwarf Ringo to wing him with tone-deaf Linda's whips
until Paul condemns homosexuality by canceling his Bangkok trips
to prove that Gladys Knight is a 2-buck *** ***** minus Jim's Pips
Krung Thep, D.C.'s '62 sister, is a ****** haven of white-lovin' nips
that offed Đặng Lệ Quân while Thai ****** bled like filleted strips
that snuffed Deng Lijun as Mongol tramps burned like scurvy ships
in seas far removed from sassy Oakland: turf of the Bloods & Crips
who know more urologically than urologists about vasectomy snips
A global ice age is imminent and we must impregnate young nurses
before eating their delicious groceries & stealing their Gucci purses
on Friday when nurse-impregnators aren't reciting Psalms & verses
My gray ****** are pressed & folded despite imprecations & curses

There's a secret videotape of C.F.R.'s monkey Tom Clancy beggin'
in vain to the Control Group that vaccinates a senile Nancy Reagan
for his life to be spared as before God would whine an antsy pagan
Scrawny **** use calf prosthetics to mill a Mexican mission 'cause
bad plastic surgery is sewing your ****** to shin to form a **** shin
that'll ruin the brainiest ***-brainiac's Nigerian brain-*** syndrome
via español audio-libro of a John Viet Cong McCain braggin' tome,
beloved by Mexi-greasers whose favorite wheel is a mag in chrome

Hey *******! Can't I celebrate Rage Against Anger Month in peace?
Jesus! and Take not the Lord's Name in Vain Month with my niece?
Is there no stopping the moronic maxim Will wonders never cease?
Holly rat milk Brett Ratner! Whatever Happened to Mason Reese?
Holy hit & run Rebecca Gayheart! Which is the fastest car to lease?
To queerly wed mustn't a *** breach the equity-in-marriage crease?
When will ewe-loving sheepmen give their shepherd love to geese?
When séance-hosting Nancy Reagan gets knocked up by Ed Meese

Quale in notte solinga
sovra campagne inargentate ed acque,
là 've zefiro aleggia,
e mille vaghi aspetti
e ingannevoli obbietti
fingon l'ombre lontane
infra l'onde tranquille
e rami e siepi e collinette e ville;
giunta al confin del cielo,
dietro Appennino od Alpe, o del Tirreno
nell'infinito seno
scende la luna; e si scolora il mondo;
spariscon l'ombre, ed una
oscurità la valle e il monte imbruna;
orba la notte resta,
e cantando con mesta melodia,
l'estremo albor della fuggente luce,
che dinanzi gli fu duce,
saluta il carrettier dalla sua via;
tal si dilegua, e tale
lascia l'età mortale
la giovinezza. In fuga
van l'ombre e le sembianze
dei dilettosi inganni; e vengon meno
le lontane speranze,
ove s'appoggia la mortal natura.
Abbandonata, oscura
resta la vita. In lei porgendo il guardo,
cerca il confuso viatore invano
del cammin lungo che avanzar si sente
meta o ragione; e vede
ch'a sé l'umana sede,
esso a lei veramente è fatto estrano.
Troppo felice e lieta
nostra misera sorte
parve lassù, se il giovanile stato,
dove ogni ben di mille pene è frutto,
durasse tutto della vita il corso.
Troppo mite decreto
quel che sentenzia ogni animale a morte,
s'anco mezza la via
lor non si desse in pria
della terribil morte assai più dura.
D'intelletti immortali
degno trovato, estremo
di tutti i mali, ritrovar gli eterni
la vacchiezza, ove fosse
incolume il desio, la speme estinta,
secche le fonti del piacer, le pene
maggiori sempre, e non più dato il bene.
Voi, collinette e piagge,
caduto lo splendor che all'occidente
inargentava della notte il velo,
orfane ancor gran tempo
non resterete: che dall'altra parte
tosto vedrete il cielo
imbiancar novamente, e sorger l'alba:
alla qual poscia seguitando il sole,
e folgorando intorno
con le sue fiamme possenti,
di lucidi torrenti
inonderà con voi gli eterei campi.
Ma la vita mortal, poi che la bella
giovinezza sparì, non si colora
d'altra luce giammai, né d'altra aurora.
Vedova è insino al fine; ed alla notte
che l'altre etadi oscura,
segno poser gli Dei la sepoltura.

Leva morte da noi
quell'intatto minuto come pane
che l'amante non morse né la donna
al colmo dell'offerta.
Dove vita, di sé fatta più piena
ci divide dal corpo
e ci annovera al gregge di un Pastore
costruito di luce,
nasce morte per te. D'ogni dolore
parto ultimo e solo
che mai possa procedere dal seno...
Eppure a noi lontano desiderio
di quell'attimo pieno
viene a fatica dentro giorni oscuri
ma se calasse nella perfezione
di sua vera natura
presto cadremmo affranti dalla luce.
L'albero non è albero né il fiore
può decidersi bello
quando sia forte l'anima di male;
ma nel giorno di morte
quando l'amante, tenebroso duce
abbandona le redini del sangue,
sì, più pura vicenda
si spiegherà entro un ordine di regno.
Ed il senso verrà ricostruito,
e ogni cosa nel letto
in cui cadde nel tempo avrà respiro,
un respiro perfetto.
Ora solo un impuro desiderio
può rimuovere tutto, ma domani
quando morte s'innalzi...

kapuzekopf...          hmm... i'm too tired to write
too tired to think too tired to even quench my thirst
with imagination... KAPTUR - hood...
certain words sound better in different languages...
kapuze - kaptur - ugh... hood...
   and head... sounds so much better in Deutsche: kopf...
i'd even say even better in ******...
    głowa - gwova -
              Darwinism keeps knocking
on my door... oh it's so *******
odiously not welcome... it's so pop culture so past
culture so... nothing to do with
the rigours of eugenics...
   if... we were going to study and apply it,
proper...
but no... just that same old carrot
on a stick... yawn...  a... gähnen-wahrheit...
              a yawn-truth...
                    men who do not reproduce
might as well be dead...
from an "evolutionary" blah blah... so i start thinking...
   hmm... well... technically...
none of the Teutonic Knights reproduced...
sure... they might have had a brothel
in their citadel of Marienburg...
              hell... i even have a name like one
of my favourite figures in history...
a Konrad von Wallenrode... did he?
did... Winrich von Kniprode... did they?
care? that they might... father... children?
hmm... i do wonder... if there's a brothel in the vicinity...
i don't truly mind... not that i'm for the defence of the cross
mind you... something more... less...
less defined... borrowing from the Hebrews...
it's all a bit of a much of a *******
muddle... given the discovery of the Nag Hammadi library...
well... unless i had a profitable trade...
that could be ventured with trans-generationally...
sure... i know one example... Sam Hall...
Sam Hall was the son of an undertaker...
we went to school together...
what did Sam Hall become? a ******* undertaker...
those sort of men really do...
re... pro... duce... although... i'm not too sure with
Sam Hall... he was short, fat...
penguin-esque... with the advent of social
media... i guess... not even the certainty of
burying people will land you marriage...
would roofing run in my family?
for a while... two... three generations:
metallurgy... sure... but then... eh...
jack of all trades... hardly me coming from doctor /
lawyer / whatever Goldman-Sachs stock...
but... if i'm supposedly on my way out...
well... **** me... i'm going to make it grandiose!
kapuzekopf style... mit-kapuzekopf style...
sort of monkish... like a Winrich or a Konrad...
like i said: if there's a brothel in the vicinity...
i'll keep to my own company...
              last time i checked... between me and them...
no animosity...
feed the body one hour... feed the mind
another... feed a deity that's so uncomfortable
for Christianity or the Greeks to burden themselves
with...
   quiet remarkable... this... demiurge...
sure... ah... sure... if only love: but if that love...
wasn't spewing whatever it was spewing
on a crucifix... mind you...
   a very famous method of executing rebellious
Cossacks in the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth
was to put them on a PAL...
     de cruce - crucifixion seems rather... boring...
impaled... imagine if the Romans refigured their
love for borrowed love of buggery from the Greeks
and though... hmm... let's extend the pleasure
to a torture and impale him...
       it would have taken... let's just say...
if he died on a Friday... no no... de cruce...
      it would have taken him... about the time of his
resurrection to actually die... if he was impaled...
his ******* smeared with duck-fat...
or is this, the sort of thought you need...
to defend yourself... against... the current...
Disney political *******?
                   may...be... both?!
                        eh... the world is hostile...
even if i'm just tired... i'm not going to exactly
think about counting sheep when
going to bed...
   chants of the Templars and ideas of
torture... or ***... in a brothel before mirrors...
when the ******* tells me...
like she already told me: to look into them
for the *******...
                nothing ever sheepishly coy ever made
me fall to sleep...
i don't mind horrors... i sort of wake up and think:
is that it? nothing more?
come to think of it... i'm sort of thankful
i'm not going to be a father... i try to imagine
the horror of raising my own Frankenstein...
but... not in this current environment...
             no... no good...
                                the Copernicus revolution went...
backwards... now the earth orbits the moon...
seriously... the world has become...
geocentric... heliocentric...
     ah... we're living in a lunacentric world...
the world's gone cuckoo itchy-coo...
  time to compete... for top spot in the asylum...
no need to lie... fake it...
                    hey... if i'm supposed to not get enough
from watching ****... today i felt my life return...
what did i do? check out ******* ****?
no... i ****** off looking at the cleavage of
an average looking, middle-aged woman...
that's it... nothing *****... nothing: odd...
       that's how i keep my sanity... and my hard-on...
i call it the reality-check-*******...
          well... i do sort of feel for the guys that
delve deeper into the medium...
that's what happens when...
as a kid... you never masturbated to a painting by
Bronzino (Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time) -
it's those lips... or the tender tongue of...
Cupid? or is it Venus... oyster...
   the origin of life story: via the tongue...
i must be getting tired... i'm being so unimaginative...
i can sort of see myself licking a mirror
in the next 20 minutes when i go and take a ****...
the dimmed lights and mirrors
and the ******* telling me all manner
of disinhibiting things about ***...
                  which... forever gratifying...
just the thought of those terrible dates with women
who want to **** drunk... in cocoons...
in the dark... not under dimmed lights before mirrors
but in the dark... under bed-sheets...
ugh... the mere thought of such antics shouldn't
make me think of being itchy... but...
i'm getting ******* itchy at the mere thought
of such terrible ****** hygiene...
   - because i'm not a pornographer -
i have to say... reading Marquis de Sade early on
in life really helped... notably ******...
what a fancy... what a novella! arguably his best work!
                  whatever it was...
i liked the biographical note...
when the Marquis was partially raised by his uncle...
some... bishop... who had a collection of books
that... ahem... 'you were supposed to read
using only one hand'... obviously the other hand
was supposed to go elsewhere... multitasking...
if you can get a hard-on when reading de Sade...
why would you need...
  o.k., o.k., fair enough... glory-hole ******* with
****** and too much cottage cheese...
that... that's my weak-spot...
or those clubs in Bohemia... where it's sort of in
reverse... you have the plump readied ****
of **** with legs wide open...
like that meme of the mermaid...
and the... bottom of a woman but a top of a fish...
for security reasons, what?
bash all her teeth out? grandma sucky-sucky?
but no, seriously...
it's a personal joke i should have kept:
personal... if only i could find one that would like
to dress herself in a massive ******
of a latex suit... i'd be giving a litany of cloud 9
and an eleventh heaven... or rather...
the added spice to Dante's Paradiso... or...
Inferno...
         because i could never believe in a benevolent
creator... very much impossible...
too many contradictions...
nothing could be spawned into existence
from goodness... out of evil: sure...
some deity became bored... well... there's nothing...
let's have some fun...
i could never warrant a moral authority
for anything to simply, merely, be...
          out of a joy of superiority...
that gods assembled and said:
imagine us, as mortals... let us imagine ourselves
as mortals... weak, feeble...
let's play this game...
                      now let's stop imagining that...
and... actually see what happens...
hey presto! us...
   why then... these high-airs...
these moral conducts...
   these... then again: but with a woman it's more
fun to break rules than it is to break rules
with a man: since the rules are already broken...
it's more fun with a woman...
i don't think i could ever satisfy myself
"breaking rules" with a man...
   since... i couldn't break the highest rule...
******... well... i couldn't reproduce with a man...
could i? so... that's a bit boring...
even if didn't reproduce with a woman...
there's the idea, the *****-count-of-potential
that i could... with a woman...
my "sin"... of being 4 or 5 or 6 or  7 years old
and having a bath with a girl a year prior to me...
and there we were, innocent...
looking at each other's parts...
and how... they were chiral...
                   fun times...
                                     like the time i taught a boy
my own age... 9? how to ******* in the bath...
because, like i said: there was this funny sensation
at the end of this rub-rub-rainbow...
i was early off the mark...
       i do... prefer to imagine that this world was
created from the advent of an eternal evil
that from: for the purpose of good...
        relative terms... like... if you were to equate...
space... evil? or good?
        claustrophobia... evidently... evil...
time... evil? or good?
oh... that's easy... time is evil... ask any woman...
but for me it's a quadratic:
evil/time             good/space
space/evil           time/good...
                  that's how i see it... or rather:
that's how i don't see it... that's how i heard about it...
this world is so evil it's joke is a choking
of laughter of the gods within the confines
of man trying to rationalise its purpose...
noble... that it is...
some higher idea... some transcendent idea...
which, nonetheless doesn't transcend... death...
except with dreams and wishy-washy carrot-on-a-stick
fetishes of afterlives or reincarnations...
sure... the zombie-brigade of...
a select number of souls...
roaming among a deselected number of...
cow-tow of zombie bodies... Hindu *******...
the Catholic "elect"...

now... i don't see any proper urge to do good...
unless it makes me feel superior...
that's why like Nietzsche... pity bothers me...
unless i pity for a sense of superiority of...
inhibiting my superiority...
     **** me... i should have revisited Nietzsche much
sooner... this world wasn't created out of a concern for
there being nothing...
    that a ******* bogus, priestly argument...
because there's nothing: there must be something...
tell that to someone who chronic pains...
you, *******, sadist...
  no... this world arrived from evil...
sure.... adamant the grace of there being some good
in this world... but... that's... sort of a paradox...
or... an inherent nature, so hidden, within animals that...
men... ought to not know about it...

i can't believe this world was created for
some omni- prefix suffixed with goodness...
no, it wasn't... there are malevolent forces at work...
why would men invent theatre or the mirror...
if... not looking for some higher powers having
presented this existence in a similar:
hidden fashion, of what's to be expressed via
a replication of ideas?!
  hell... what is that? fire? brimstone?
or... rather... smoke and mirrors?!

             right now... no... i'm not seeing delusions
of the geocentric model... that the sun orbits
the earth... that the matters of earth are all that's
important...
or the heliocentric model... that... sure...
we'll ******* adventure ourselves into outer-space...
to Mars... when... March 2100 comes...
by the current strand of psychology?
by the current talking-points?!
  neither... lunacentric "sensibility"...
the earth... orbits the moon... while the moon...
wait... if the earth orbits the moon...
either way: whether the sun orbits the moon
or whether the moon orbits the sun...
the earth... most assuredly orbits the moon;
the end.

You hid it 'cause I can't find it every elsewhere a package for string
this catastrophe that threatens tragedy above the tryst below a fling
With cords knotted tightly around something tumorous I won't sing
It is the chlorine that cancels detergent in that electric washer thing
beneath cellar steps that David Niven's wife fell down while hiding
I lost her you found her, it's a dollar for riding plus a fee for finding
all broads blinded to inequity and to chick Nazis' unguided guiding
Oh Lord with such ease the slippery have slid into slipshod sliding!
The frailties of free men're exploited by N.S.A.'s jingoistic deriding
General Ike exposed the military-industrial-congressional complex
which strikes against the citizenry by venomous rattle snake reflex
faster than a dope-crazy Marilyn Monroe could reach for a Kleenex
thru curvatures in a third-dimensional, spatially-pornographic helix
that approximated the Mexi-milkers of actriz: la doña María Félix
rutting elephants in musth must respect advisory: kneel-harm-****,
to honor the moon-hoaxing memory of chronic liar Neil Armstrong
as obviously for **** Rosie O'Donnell her gay meal alarm's wrong
Johns familiarized themselves with Lillian Russell by buyin' ** Lil
as masochists meet masochistic needs with movies of Ryan O'Neal
Sadists satiate sadistic surges sharing sermons sold Séamus Ó Néill
& beheld-redemptive pleasures for patrons of free mass soul appeal
I'm nailed in my sub-par carpentry by all do-gooders of the nail ban
to the point where I'm willing to mail my big sister to the mail man
who's part & parcel of a mail-fraud plot & brother's can't-fail plan
Escaped & uncaught I will be no prison monkey's cell-mate-jail-fan
'Cause shorts clothe Richard Simmons' lard *** he has a pale can as
oil-from-rock Daniel's been given the pétrole epithet Ol' Shale Dan
Latino block & cinder create distortive Hispano-Américano rubble
'cause stirring up spics & greasy wetbacks invites N.C.L.R. trouble
Stand back anti-pope as I am about to burst your pederastic bubble!
Your egg-shell-thick pate's no match for a black jack as this club'll
smash its way thru cardinals, reverends, ministers, priests & dukes
to make cream taste like ***** and turn cake into what a dog pukes
Under U.S./Euro socialism there'll be no guy who's a young codger
and popular forenames will be banned including Preston and Roger
Trans-national entities whip horse dung into curdled cottage cheese
while denying rescue inhalers to asthmatics enjoying a bad wheeze
so as to avail publicly purpled aureolae of ready women who tease
Now is the time to release the promised South American killer bees
as the hour's passed to exact vengeance for a beheaded Robert Lees
Mafiosos contract that Joseph Valachi-types be capped at the knees
then hanged by their what's-her-names from il duce poles and trees
in such a fashion that'll tighten the ropes by cough, belch or sneeze
Long legs, wrong eggs, strong pegs, King Kong begs with a song of kegs
Let us dog dealers of wieners & corporate schemers: those 2-bit reamers
extend a left leg into the sacred space of my right one for time remaining
It's easy to harp on topics commiserate with crap profitably entertaining
A man who courts dogs & a court manned by dogs quibbles over kibble
Dogs devoid of canine teeth are not as happy to gnaw and to nibble
The Arc of the Covenant bestowed ancient promises metaphysical
shedding cockroach-scattering illumination that set courses tragical
on a populace & citizenry that were more attuned to an era magical
Before Zionistic Elders prepared an Order within cabals strategical
Beneath plum sunsets & catchy maladies that deafened folks lyrical
“Turn me on dead man” the Beatles backwardly warbled mystically
as the means and the method to sexcite vampresses gynecologically
For all shoulder-locked movements sway men anthropomorphically
Let us seek bi-lesbians who fear concerted opposition diametrically
as their prized packages remain barren, as they spawn ineffectually
Sappho's ovarian host pouch is barren as ***** meld ineffectually
as Western, Fallopian-tubed freakazoids are ****-probed habitually
Sapphic ovarian balloons shrink when hens ******* reciprocally
On Pearl Harbor Loch a false flag blackened Mister Moto's beacon
by shadowy, white manipulators under a U.S. sinister, proto-deacon
who, as a cousin-marrying-pipe-******* *******, emulated Lincoln,
the war-loving queer who went above & beyond his task to weaken
the will of sovereign states to sustain free-market economic health,
by exacting confiscatory taxes resulting in punishing capital wealth
The Beatles were creatures of M.K. Ultra's institution at Tavistock,
groomed as constructs to transmogrify youth into an immoral block
lost to a shocking future as shown by Alvin Toffler in Future Shock
whereas nothing can help us from taking an epidemiological knock
by Mao a la Trotsky, a la starvation wages via phony-baloney stock
in the image of Pol *** a la Lenin contrary to righteous John Locke
Our fused-egg brothers gestate together, flying as a migratory flock
dolled up in vestry wardrobe: papal bikini brassier, ******* & frock
awaiting George Orwell's 1984 English socialism known as Ingsoc
X number of years before Nancy Kwan wed ski champ Peter Pock,
& after Bob Ripley's Oriental/Occidental miscegenation ****** talk
as it was curlier than was Nimoy while he portrayed Vulcan Spock,
whose sweetness was unrehearsed, unrestrained & of a sickly mock
once taken, out of time as taken twice daily on any ol' broken clock
flesh stripped & exploited as the flightless relic of Earth's great auk
enjoying the laze of Sunday oblivious to extinct Darwinian schlock
as chastised love is Leonard Nimoy-pitiable with chastity-belt lock
Upon a Massachusettsian shore puritans purified Plymouth's Rock!
Forever amounts to nothing in betrayal of Heinlein's empathic grok
Back off quack as I'll **** the next 1 of you applying scalpel to ****
as a dad must regarding neo-Kantian, fatherless-**** Johann Bach
Deep in hell's bowels fricassees Jew Elizabeth/***-to-Death Taylor
who did every Joe Nobody from Captain Crunch to Norman Mailer
A harlot ***** was she from 10 niggerly toes to scary mulatto tone
as hellishly deep in Liz's brain was a splinter of hamster wish bone
& her ***-end was broad from fat foods Safeway to her would loan
Beneath her 3rd world-chiding heft Larry F's lawn chairs did groan
as this princess of whales never said no to hog jowls and corn pone
which made an interesting cut-out to novices of the porpoise prone
There won't be another Liz till Rockefeller perfects a Warner clone
with the aid of sewing machines to hem-stitch hems that need sewn
& a positronic brain stem to achieve mortality previously unknown
since Alex Bell pilfered **** inventor Antonio Meucci's telephone
Truth is light that Illuminists keep shadowed, darkened & unshown
for Hank & Phoebe Snow and Johnny Winter who would not atone
Thomas Edison stole or bought the patents to ingenious inventions
that he was more than happy to claim as his brilliant contributions
to the wealth & state of inquisitive Mankind's Earthen conventions,
also he took credit for Biblical allusions to immaculate conceptions
Which Bible books Tom Edison wrote no G.E. employee mentions
as stealing, purloining and commandeering were his 3 predilections
True historians know well charlatan Edison's dastardly elaborations
To pinch a hairy, chapped man is wrong as it puts him in more pain
For century-old Harry Chapman Pincher pinching made him insane
His unholy joy was to lay prone with mouth open to catch acid rain
& then hop into the commode to affect a toilet-related ankle sprain,
not too unlike Richard called **** & Jean who liked the name Jane
whose corpulence demands a piano coffin burial with crawler crane
Formaldehyde replaced 7 quarts of blood that went down a drain as
the proverb fits: when there's nothing to lose there's nothing to gain
Alan Ladd snuffed himself over a self-destructive hatred for Shane
and because Sue Carol preferred men of height Ladd couldn't attain
without elevator shoes & leading-lady actresses walking in ditches,
the love-life that humbles a netted shrimp into paralytic twitches as
Alan often got nothing from Brentwood ****** & witches because
****** pimps don't scrape **** off them Hollywood swanky *******
Tragically it's true that God's in the details & Satan's in the glitches
when Hippocratic Oath-denying doctors say don't bandage stitches,
it promotes infection needing treatment that add to a quack's riches
Apply no anti-bacterial salve unless your unbandaged wound itches
Amerika will be a Marxian paradise after we guillotine the snitches
harvest their organs, cremate & consign their ashes to crude niches
Give me, give me, give me, I can subsist not on a mere, single bean
Hey cheapo, get off your greasy ***, take me to Dairy Queen as my
**** is shaved, bra's padded & all kinks are relaxed by Afro Sheen
Western ***** are fattened for slaughter as sloped slants grow lean,
for lack of appendix, tonsils, adenoids, warts, piles, moles & spleen
Refugees flee what's so repressively dangerous that it's forever fled
The bloodied blood biz passes pathogens to bleeders bloodily bled
It is a dreadful situation that ****** folks find difficult not to dread
A gent is obliged to face conflict face first short of living in a shed,
plying the rough trade, rough-necking with ******* or playing dead
When my cruddy teeth are encrusted I brush the crud off with Crest
while working drainward with this golden cake of soap called Zest
Like a woman on public assistance I refuse to let my choppers rest
There was a time when talk of quiz was a precursor to an Iowa test
My basic skills are determinedly under-cutting my housewife guest
whose stems run north to her malignant tissue free mammae breast
In movies shooting orphans with high-powered rifles is done in jest
'cause in Amerika making ammunition is what wage-slaves do best
When I'm not utilizing forks for recreational after-meal dog-jabbin'
I am staking out hog farms for the planning of gainful hog-nabbin'
or making log-planing modifications on my pine-logged log cabin,
before crossing teamster picket lines for wage-earning job scabbin,'
I take pains to avoid being skinned in a Jimmy Hoffa mob stabbin'
A thousand Confucian truths drive my happy dreams to nightmares
as bi-****** pass out on Calexico-Mexicali-low-calorie light beers
I haven't the moxie to skate through hydrants of fate terminological
as those 78 crumb-bums behind T.V. “comedies” wax scatological
Ernie killed Chip & Robby to stamp his father a cipher biological
He hadn't room for women for production smacking gynecological
The last time he looked skyward his thoughts weren't cosmological
S.O.B. Ernest cursed routinely at arthritis diagnosed gerontological
He gives not a harlot's hello for innumerable faults anthropological
nor to lend his energies to scopes that abuse harmonics hormonical
as he stumblingly falls prey to meanderings sickishly trophological
Lord of Hostesses salvage carcass mine from insults cancrological
Redeem me in sudden form humanoid of activities pathogenetical
We mourn in Gettysburg's city as unrepentant lesbians on probation
Defying errors inflicted upon soldiers who forsook proper vocation
Anti-poping Argentine Francis as he's ****** to Satan's invocation
It remains the best course to abide by stellar laws of spatial rotation
Whether one's nationality is Romanian, Finnish, British or Croatian
Lost people will eat food outside their region & of course: location
They'll surely theorize on arcana that's weakly deemed postulation
Worshiping Sunday is as heathenish as a Roman Catholic sunburst
Be better, be worse, be it ham fatted on toast or mayo in liverwurst
F.E.M.A.'s big plan to ****** 200 million citizens is planned first
Our fate is the guillotine & Chinese torture for we who are cursed
Beneath a deluge of a radioactive Pacific California'll be immersed
as Fukushima's boiling cooling towers are centrally timed to burst
Save it untainted as radiological-free water is better to slake thirst
For it's less desirable to be formula bottle-fed than it is to be nursed
January 14, 1957 : 57 years ago today Humphrey Bogart died at 57
His engine has stopped, his gas pedal is capable of no more revvin'

in crime –
one who isn’t afraid to
to get caught.
It’s the thrill of the chase,
not the fear of the thought.

I need a partner
for fun –
one who isn’t afraid
to let loose.
It’s the freedom of will,
to be your own duce.

I need a partner
to love –
one who isn’t afraid
to hand me their heart.
Will let me play it again,
just like Bogart.

Leva morte da noi
quell'intatto minuto come pane
che l'amante non morse né la donna
al colmo dell'offerta.
Dove vita, di sé fatta più piena
ci divide dal corpo
e ci annovera al gregge di un Pastore
costruito di luce,
nasce morte per te. D'ogni dolore
parto ultimo e solo
che mai possa procedere dal seno...
Eppure a noi lontano desiderio
di quell'attimo pieno
viene a fatica dentro giorni oscuri
ma se calasse nella perfezione
di sua vera natura
presto cadremmo affranti dalla luce.
L'albero non è albero né il fiore
può decidersi bello
quando sia forte l'anima di male;
ma nel giorno di morte
quando l'amante, tenebroso duce
abbandona le redini del sangue,
sì, più pura vicenda
si spiegherà entro un ordine di regno.
Ed il senso verrà ricostruito,
e ogni cosa nel letto
in cui cadde nel tempo avrà respiro,
un respiro perfetto.
Ora solo un impuro desiderio
può rimuovere tutto, ma domani
quando morte s'innalzi...