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ogdiddynash Jul 2018
helping the kids with homework


no one told you,
was part of the job description
paycheck earner a-ok,
gruff but tender lover,
knowing her special places,
building a tree swing,
a tree house safe and satisfactory,
one the neighbors envy

taking them to the hospital for
broken arms and chemotherapy,
part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable,
going to school to give that principal a look
that will make him think twice before suspending
one of his for defending himself

you remember your daddy doing the same for you,
forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later

the tucking in, the pretense ouch
when your end of day
scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies,
carrying tissues in a toolbox,
never heard of, nevertheless done,
tho not a memory defining the future inclusive,
definitely a learning ability, a likeability

doing homework, nuh uh,
no way jose, don’t dare let them
know how you never got a gold star,
always sat in the back row, outta sight,
all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery,
and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary
which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much

ain’t exactly his strong suit

sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him,
know where the on/off computer button hides,
the rest is up to them;
got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am,
how to address humans with respect,

i’ll promise them anything
but not doing any homework,
unless it the kind that that makes

a home work
#homework
Dev Nov 2018
While yes, I have a résumé
It does no justice describing mé

So I'll leave this here for all to see
All I ask is please hire me

I'm great with sales
and communication
I can create tales
with no hesitation

Been fixing PCs since '99
Right after I broke all of mine

I don't do drugs
I don't cause fights
I won't give shrugs
to new insights

I can Photoshop best selling ads
and tell corny jokes just like most dads

I write HTML
and CSS
I can kinda spell
At least try my best

Started my first business in 5th grade
Profiting from the paper airplane trade

I'm a fast learner,
a problem solver,
a trust earner,
an idea causer,
a spreadsheet slayer,
a real team player

While I'm no photography guru
I've actually had a paid gig or two

Dove into video editing
way back when MySpace was a thing

Oh yeah. Plus I'm proficient with Microsoft Office.
This is a work in progress but I'd love critiques like formatting, poetic grammar, etc. I may consider submitting this on job applications.
Martin Narrod Sep 2014
I call it poison, but perhaps you won't. These cold pressed apples, pineapples, and spearmint only paste more modge podge over my face as I schlack it on...gritting my teeth I light yet another cigarette, now that's 2 packs of Marlboro Red Labels now onto American Spirits Light Blue. Cancer isn't coming fast enough. I wish I would at least be ******* out my innards by now, I haven't even vomited, maybe I'll take that toothbrush I bought for you to use when you would stay the weekend, that I haven't gotten around to whitening the sink with. Maybe I can do that Sunday. FUUUUCCK!!!! I am not praying I make till then. I don't know if I can even breathe another hour like this. I haven't drawn a sober breath in years- I'm on the wagon, but I was just transferred from a wheel into the **** bag for a horse. Being ****- at least it's something I am used to (a sigh of temporary relief washes over me. Or is it finally the Nicotine buzz I've been hoping for since I escaped to the forest with an airplane bottle of Southern Comfort[Brainstem: South to the **-femalien crease that's been comforting all these years, where are you now?] , and a pack of my Uncle's cigarettes to find out the first time how to make the pain she's gave me go away.

Men drink essentially because they can no longer illicit their needs.

You who I wasn't even attracted to at first, where together we barely called [Brainstem: this is where I construct a motive for using a chainsaw to pick my nose with] . You who I can now remember the way a mixture of your hair, body spray, sweet sweat, and vintage knits began leading my nose and my memory towards one of the greatest happinesses and darkest times I have EVER had.

[Brainstem: I just hate him. The kind of hate you have for a mosquito, a person who encourages you to speed up while they're walking without reflectors or night-lights in the middle of the road at night with their dog- that kind of hate. The hate that has me smoking my cigarettes to their orange and gold filters, that has me staying awake, unable to touch my own **** because it's already started staying at someone else's place and looks like two Californian Prunes and a shriveled overcooked mini-hotdog does. The kind of hate that has me burping up what smells like rotten eggs or bial.

....Out of nowhere without anything but the image of a virginate 21 year old casing around my aorta, lying in my bed in just a pair of her Fuschia & White Victoria Secret striped 100% cotton ******* that ever so slightly crease inward into the creases where her skinny young legs meet the ever-so-bite-worthy crease....After our first official date where we knew we weren't going to **** each other but rather she was focused on her breathing hoping I wouldn't be able to notice how excited she was [Crime: #4] then step away and find an imaginary monster that challenges every thought I have, conversations and incidents and challenges and givers and receivers and lines and dots, darts, knives, life, and *** and blood faintly stained onto the bottom of the that 1 1/2" piece of fabric which is the biggest obstacle between us.

While I write, recall, remember and dictate and draft up this piece, I realize that I am not the lawyer visiting the killer in prison OR even the killer cruising around in a slightly rusted robin's egg blue Volkswagen Anti-Climaxer, I am not even part of the story anymore, after you decided it was acceptable to be so graphically forward with me (I take another Xanax that's beginning to be two an hour that I avoid taking) Interspliced are scenes from Dexter, versions of serial killer life, visions of this fake superstar with his **** out flailing around spurting a little streaky one shot of *** onto your tongue and in your mouth, or maybe you were plastered with it.

I just know it's good I don't have a gun, I could go for a bullet sandwich 9 times over about now. I never touched, discussed, abused, misused, lead on, flirted with; I never did anything unattractive with the exception of being a heavy smoker and a low-earner right now, but I see women even younger than you make better choices than you. In fact right now I believe you will not even breathe on me. But it's no matter I have the reconstructed skeleton of his severed body parts I let soak in hydrofluoro until I could pick away what little gum-like pieces of pink sinew are still left. (Dexter: The Sarge and The Lieutenant walk  out of the precinct at the same noticing each other.

Do you believe that I really handed over the upper-hand to you? I've never had someone begging to **** my **** on a Thursday and getting a fake celebrity ****** from an awesome artist. And what really ***** the hammer and lifts my limp **** and ****-ticket up to your pretty little mouth, is knowing that eventually you will have to be alone again, and the shine of this excitement will wear off, and then I TOO CAN PLAY THE GAME.

1. Time to light the cigars.
2. I present the Nicaruagan landscapers' body, George Marshall, who is better known as 'The Skinner."
3. I accept that you're going to think being honest about your most promiscuous moments is attractive to talk about. I certainly thought that, up until you That is.
4. No more chocolate cake, again.
5. Throw out the soda.
6. Start taking Amphet Salts and running away from home and into everyone I would've liked to kick with my foot, bare, filthy, and furious into their cheekboned. Then smear the bottom of my oily and baby-***, **** and inviting foot into your Hood until you spray like the five hundred other times you tell me you didn't. But even all this. This cell phone, this furniture, the awful sound of the train all night, the illusion and total manic state that puts diplopic faces of imaginary people between me and the rest of the world.

I need to know, do you even want to here this? Are you confused? What led you to come over or invite yourself here?

Pills, blade, play, or having that kid. But putting up with his ******* to be in the background of thought as someone while I was at home with his four kids. And I just relax then because, while I thought organizing the tower room to serve our primary guest of action was necessary when I looked at it so lit up by the buildings across the way shining their light through its atrium making all of the room much more suited for making art, writing and dancing. This is a huge handful of good-naturedness in a friend that can't seem to get off the phone and I must have to hid the monkey. I have to go to Walmart and return the monkey. I will...... and this is the biggest luxury, the hotel maintenance will even cover up my own series of murders or Dexters.

You believe me right sweetheart. You're my closest friend, but she is worn together and I just like the rings I own to be worn by you so that you don't get the idea to slip up and not just give me more anneurisms for my ****** up already head, or cancel the party, but really play that game and seee them cased out, otherwise I could be...a? A Cosmetic Manufact- "I believe in Freedom." You said.
"hahahaha", I can see that got you where you are today, postulating my grief by throwing self-care out the window and just judging me based on what you don't relate to instead of what you do relate to.

PS I know you didn't have time to let anyone know I was coming already? Until I snuck a peak and figured out you had been casing me the whole time from beginning to end to break me. But I'm not broken. I'm just not eager to be touched by anyone else of the ** form other than you for a minute. I also have time believing that while you were scared of me giving you your first ***-to-mouth experience while I stand you up in a skirt in the back of the school bus. And I can recognize tears of someone around us, and so I stand up and I recognize that it's my friend Stephen who is really (...is really, an imagined hologram of myself I invent to learn about myself in dreams, and other horrific events that my mind shuts down for, and no you're not the only 5' foot and 5" inch blonde haired ex of mine that performs from the camera but not for the eye. It will all come out in the wash regardless. I better to get goin.....I could write on and on and on and on about all of these multi-secular, uninhibited, depressing suggestions from the same bill my sister has to pay her Electric and Water monthly on, but I need to not sleep to make the need more. And even though I say the photo of her touching a single toe with a dead boring hell bent nobody Phillistine that could care less about her Grandfather being sick or her getting an STI or STD or if she is taken care of. But I do. I will. I don't stop being the good natured caring and and passionate person I am just because someone I really thought was going to take me an honest man, just taught me to be more meticulous in making sure I dispose of the body properly... But maybe she isn't playing pretend, maybe she's just another Fake Prada caught up in the mix.
This isn't necessarily the end of this. I'm just gonna stop for tonight putting a pen to it.
Kagey Sage Aug 2014
I don’t want to perpetuate the produce – consume loop
but when I don’t, I feel like such a lazy moocher
Could I play guitar near after dark bars for $23 an hour?
Victor and I did that once, for $11.50 each
Untaxed, that’s better than my dour real job
So, if I really made my place at a street corner, I’d be a smart earner

But then I’d be a fixture, like the accordion man and the bums with PVC buckets
The bar goers would soon hate me for chumping them out of their cash
with three gritty “Heart of Gold” covers
Then soon the mediocre bums would jump me and Riot, my guitar
She’ll smash into the walk under a Irish flag in front of Murphy’s Law,
while drinkers whoop and punch the air
The bucket goes over my head
and the accordion bellows squeeze round my neck
urvashi May 2013
The rain falls softly on the sleeping city…. Cloaked in the blanket of a monsoon lull…. A few stray dogs scamper for shelter as the first storm of the season colours the dawn a deeper crimson…..
The thunder rumbles from the north east…a deep slow sonorous sound coming from the underbellies of the moisture laden atmosphere…..
The soft drizzle forms a hazy blanket of morning mist around the city…..already stirring with the first signs of life…. The resurrection of the everyday work-a-day world…….
The musical tinkling of a bell echoes around as a pushcart brimming with flowers rushes down the street, hurrying to the market…fresh, preened and ready…to be sold to the highest bidder…
The soft music of the approaching storm inspires a boatman, out on the holy river, to sing…… his voice echoes over the bass of the thunder……a plaintive pleasant humming……the nuances of the bhatiali fill up the empty cracks in the morning……
The rain deepens…………the drizzle expands into the monsoons first downpour… pitter-patter sings the rain, reverberating off a thousand tin roofs……the sky darkens……enveloping the dawn in its grey being…..
Somewhere, someone tunes a harmonium…..clears a throat…a hand draws a curtain aside…..
The peaceful reassurance of the daily azaan spreads out from the mosque…..calling the faithful to prayer…..
The flower vendor…now setting up shop, attaching an extra strip of plastic sheet to fend off the rain…. Stops a moment and bows his head as the nearby tolling of a bell and the sound of a conch shell being blown announces the beginning of a new day in god’s abode….
A woman kneels down in a pew…..praying…..the calm of the church mirrored in her peaceful face…..
The rain looks down at the city……..now, half awake…slowly stretching its limbs……..stirring from the depths of a restless rest…………awakening to the jangling of a bread earner’s faith……
The shower relents……..probably giving in to all the Monday morning groans and grumbles emanating from a city forced back into consciousness…..
Finally, all that remains is the moisture on the flower vendor’s tarpaulin and the shadow of the boatman’s song on the rippled river…….
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
i can't remember the last time i was satisfied with
only drinking one cider and 35cl of whiskey,
i honestly can't... then again i plucked two of my
favourite aphrodisiacs that night...
i beat up the whittle 'ichard before
(aphrodisiac no. 1 - exercise, exertion) cycled
to the brothel... then bought myself a bottle
of cider (aphrodisiac no. 2 - no other alcohol
works that sort of magic, no wine, no whiskey,
certainly not beer: cider...
and for that matter a very specific cider...
merry down cider, with a fox playing a violin
on the etiquette... the label... served in a 75cl
portion... 7.5%... medium dry...
so no...  not Thatcher's... or a Hertfordshire Weston's...
it has to be the Merry Down... probably
because of the portion) and did the victory
lap around the park and the brothel around
Goodmayes station...
obviously i bought 35cl of whiskey before walking
in... inside after we ******... hmm...
******* sets me off so quick... i don't know:
seeing a woman on her knees... from behind...
a bit like watching women in churches on
their knees before certain deeds are done...
i think i'm going to go back to a catholic church
one Sunday and draw out fetishes in my head...
kneeling before a cross... maybe Jesus the ******
would have loved to be nailed to some X cross
and then get ****** off by some Magdalene?
maybe he was into sadomasochism...
    who knows... but ******* sets me off on
an easy path of ******...
at least in the ******* it feels more
like exercise as i'm using the upper part of my body
to arch over a woman... from time to time
lowering myself to kiss her when she shows her tongue
licking her lips: i guess that implies: kiss me...
so i do... or lowering my body to brush noses
with her... press my forehead against hers
or just bite her chin...

is it just me or did the band Priest use certain accents
of Lana Del Rey's Summertime Sadness
in their song Phantom Pain? have a listen...
i think they did... never mind...
aphrodisiac no. 3: music... just listening to some
music you'd like to listen to when *******
fills the mind prior to the act with the act:
Trevor Something: into your heart...

work has transformed me, working with people,
dealing with drunk football fans...
i walked into the brothel: three beauties sitting there...
i never thought i had a thing for plump girls
or girls wearing glasses...
but this third one... the blonde... that lied
about being from Romania when in fact i know
from Michaela that she's Poland looked like:
a frightened doe... her eyes almost teary... her lips
moving as if trying to tell me something...
obviously i picked Michaela: she's going back
to Romania for a month to visit her family...
she worked so hard that she managed to have
a 12 room house with 3 bathrooms...
she's thinking about retiring in a year's time...
setting up a restaurant... i told her i make ****
good mint and chocolate chip ice-cream and i love
looking... who knows... i heard that Romania
is beautiful... and she's from Bucharest...
so... easy access to Ottoman heritage... and Dracula...
who knows... life is sometimes a house
of windows that are opportunities...
the same blonde that:

Khadija... Khadira... Khedra blocked me on WhatsApp
just before she ****** off back to Turkey
for a holiday... yeah... Khedra sent me
a photograph of herself with this girl...
now look at her... a frightened doe...
why did she block me? i don't care...
she was there last night... i asked for her...
but she was bringing back £60 for an extra half
an hour with a man she was already busy with...
we said hello: i kissed her cheek as a greeting...
me and my hardly jealous heart...
but Michaela can do i don't think even Khedra
could... after all... with Michaela it was
first time quick... second time longer...
third time quick... 4th time much longer...
first time? i blame it on the fact that she forgot
to pull back the *******... what sort of uncircumcised man
wants to **** without a circumcision imitation?
i know women prefer the aesthetic of a circumcised
man... but at the same time:
in the old ways... a man would be circumcised...
but the woman would have to pay some compensation...
just look at Islam and Judaism...
not the current American raw deal of circumcised
men... that's not how it works...
circumcise a man and his sometimes need to
pleasure himself makes no sense with no *******...

hardly a joke... it's called the acronym FGM (female
genital mutilation, but it's not called MGM male
genital mutilation?! oh right... all those eunuchs
in harems who were walking ******... because: hardly...
Solomon couldn't **** all his harem...
it would probably take him a whole year
to make the rounds and **** all his concubines)...
so unless he didn't have eunuchs to please his concubines
he had the concubines turn to lesbian acts...
even great kings of old didn't mind other men
******* their women... as long as they didn't impregnate
them...
i'm a modern man... i really don't care who she has
been ******* prior...

me? with Khedra... i know why she blocked me...
but it's only on WhatsApp... i still have her number...
i just have to use the conventional routes...
but she must have received advice from fellow prostitutes...
you're sending him pictures of yourself?
you said you'd gladly have a night with him
in a hotel room for free?! are you a ******* or his
girlfriend?!
mind you: Michaela asked me for extra money
for unprotected ***... Khedra simply gave it up without
any extra cost... to be honest... i don't mind either...
****** off: obviously...
****** on? honey... do you have two spare latex suits
we can wear? oh sure... and a tub of butter
we can both jump into and smear each other
and pretend we're snails... ha... ah ha... terrible joke...

but ever since starting work again: i feel more and more
alive... my confidence has shot through
the roof... two prostitutes sitting opposite me
don't really intimidate me...
one tries to be a smart-***... the other is gearing up
because she knows i'll choose her and the third
looks scared...
hmm... i know that Michaela would ask me to pay
extra to perform oral *** on her...
Khedra? she gave it up for free...
i love seeing a woman who shows her hot-shivers
or ******... not ******* are so ******* oratory
as might be portrayed... hot-shivers of ******...
and, to be honest? ****** vaginas are very...
not tasteless... i've had one once... they sort of stink...
there are not enough lubrication juices...
and i mean from multiple men...
it really doesn't bother me...

thank god none of them ever asked for me to perform
****... pop pornographic culture with all that
**** fixation is ill to me... i can understand
if two Russian soldiers on the front feel like
gagging each other's anuses... but with women?

that was Khedra... freebies... i would otherwise have
to pay for with Michaela...
but Khedra is a slim nymphomaniac...
Michaela is a business minded woman...
and being plump: that's an added asset...
Khedra has her eyes open throughout *******
while Michaela has her eyes closed...
hello: a welcome return to the Unbearable Lightness
of Being by Milan Kundera...
i have to see: everything... i gorge with my eyes...
i'm eating: but i'm not eating...

but i know why i only drank one Merry Down cider
and 35cl of whiskey last night, wrote 'Biggie"
and went to bed...
huh! i have a nickname? that's so endearing...
that's so much better than a girl calling you by your name...
English doesn't really have a diminutive
aspect of language: esp. nouns...
in ****** speech you can create diminutive "concepts"
of words: to make them more endearing...
Matthew, i.e. Mateusz can become Mateuszek...
duck, i.e. kaczka can become kaczuszka
dog, i.e. pies can become piesek
woman, i.e. kobieta can become kobietka...
what's the equivalent in English?
it's "diminutive": but it's not an endearing-diminutive...
it's belittling-diminutive, that's the distinction
between the two languages i own...
little women... you can't actually morph the word
woman to imply woman a "tiny", or, "small"
in an endearing way... only in a belittling way...
thank god i know two languages...
fluently: bilingually...
perhaps a third would be useful if i wished
to travel and start a business... most certainly a knowledge
of Spanish would open a world of opportunities...
obviously i'd settle for German... large enough
territory... but? as a personal psychology basis?
being monolingual would be claustrophobia for me...
or equivalent: therefore...

oh man... it would have been such a mistake if
i just settled for my high-school sweetheart, Promis...
when dating her i went to a friend's birthday
party and was presented with a chance to cheat...
she was much younger than me and eager:
i declined her even though she was already all
over me... it wouldn't have worked...
my father: i'm not my father... mentioned only
two women in his life...
one girl who tried to trick him into becoming
a surrogate father... i.e. not raising his own genes...
and... my mother... but i'm not my father:
i think my parents are freaks... seriously...
it's like monogamy and the swan song was all
about them...
my estranged uncle was a serial polygamist...
he tried a monogamy once: FAIL...
she ended up being a journalistic-wannabe
with an abortion as a notch on her belt...
i learned from my maternal grandfather too...
he was married at the age of 18? 19? but cheated
on my grandmother... he mentioned 3 women
in his life... me? i didn't lose count on purpose...
i lost count on the basis of: and how many different
selves of myself have i found along the way?
i can can't at least 5...

but unlike Khedra with her hot-shivers when i was
performing... eating-oysters on her ****...
there was Michaela who said last night:
look! you're making me dance! and she looked
the happiest girl... she was dancing... lying back...
it wasn't a dance: dance... it wasn't a samba...
she was dancing by wriggling happy on her back
after all that missionary ***...
plus?! i now have a nickname: i'm: Biggie...
and... fair enough: i have more beard envy than
***** envy... even though i've been approached
by guys at work with a similar envy... beards...
apparently i have a perfect beard...

i'm Biggie... now... a few years back i was
KAKASHKA for Ilona: little ****...
it could have worked with Ilona: if i wasn't a ******
and she wasn't a Russian...
Russian pride against Polacks was already
stated by Dostoyevsky demeaning us...
even though i'd be the first to celebrate Russian
isolationistic culture upkeep...

i don't think i could love one woman...
that would be selfish... after all... all the most beautiful
women are either prostitutes or...
actresses in the pornographic industry...
strange how beauty works: it works perfect in nature:
nature wants to showcase itself for the greatest
number of people...
that's a bit like beautiful women...
that's why beautiful women in Islam are an
antithesis of nature's parody...
i heard one Pakistani once tried to teach me
the "mystery" of Islam...
if you owned a jewellery shop... and you had this one
massive sapphire in your shop...
would you want to keep it in the front window
so that anyone could look at it...
huh? he continued: no... you'd keep it hidden
in the back...
                       rrrright... huh?!
he actually didn't mention: so people would ask about?
how could anyone know that you have
a massive ******* sapphire in the back
of your jewellery shop?
point being... why have a jewellery shop
if you're going to be so selfish about what's beautiful?!
you're a ******* jewel merchant or some stingy
****?!
then again: the allure surrounding women is the same
in the west as it is in Islam...
make-up and the NIQAB...
in the west make-up does what a NIQAB does in Islam...
it's the same-****: just a different cover...
i look at a woman in a NIQAB: i'm curious...
i watch a woman heavily overdone with make-up...
i can sometimes say:
there's less paint on a masterpiece than there is
chemical junk on her face to hide her imperfections
that: i might find appealing...
sure... with a NIQAB i can only see the eyes...
but with western standards: i see eyes... exfoliating
in feline fakery... and the rest of her is doubly faked-up...

thank god i'm man... i just need to wash myself
on a regular basis... trim my beard... shave my *****
region and my arm-pits... no chance of me shaving
the hair on my pirate chest and my stomach...
apparently Michaela likes flowing her fingers through
my body hair and teasing my *******...
tonight: i need more whiskey...
not because i'm miserable: i'm happy...
that's why i continue to drink and not get drunk:
i'll feel drunkness when i stop writing and relax...
until then my memory is working overload...
and this is only memory from yesterday...

maybe that's why i don't dream so much...
i don't dream because i'm not seeking escapism
some people seek via imagination...
since their memory faculty has either been eroded
by pedagogy... or? as Bukowski once noted:
some people never go mad: what horrible lives
they must least... a recurrent spontaneity of
"amnesia": or simply looking down on people?
not treating them fairly, lovingly?

life's not difficult: other people make life difficult,
their games of hierarchies...
life's not difficult... other people make life difficult...
and? i could never understand men
who associate cats with lonely modern women...
celebrating dogs...
oh **** me! cats are the best: esp. Maine *****...
then again... maybe i have a spezial cat...
why dogs and men why women and cats
why blue and men why pink and woman?!
who said?
   and who didn't say: cats of Ancient Egypt?
the Pharaohs probably owned cats...
what about Muhammad's favourite cat? Muezza?
who the **** said that cats are efaminating creatures?!
these Bonsai tigers are just as much fun
as dogs... if not more! why? you can have time off
from petting them: when they be themselves
and... no leashes! no muzzle! fickle sleeping and feeding
patterns...
but i agree... there's one negative of cats
that i remember was a great positive having petted
Bella... my Alsatian... well... two...

cat's can't pull a sleigh... with you on it as a toddler...
you can't ride a cat as toddler...
but you can a dog... like a Shetland pony...
you can't be a toddler and put your hand inside
the beast's gob and pull out an imaginary tongue...
and... this is my biggest envy of dog owners...
Sundays at my grandparent's house...
chicken broth... basically an entire poached chicken
in a soup of... choice of vegetable to create
a chicken and vegetable stock?
carrots... root parsley, fresh parsley... celeriac...
baby celery... leek... garlic... burned onions...
the usual seasoning... vermicelli pasta...
but that's the biggest difference between cats and dogs...
i don't know why cats stopped drinking milk...
classically they drank milk...
as a child i remember glowing with glee that i owned
an animal that would eat the leftovers of the food i just
finished... dog are special in that way...
some of the soup wasn't finished...
Bella the Alsatian was whimpering after the leftovers...
she got a bowl... a bountiful bowl...
she loved her chicken broth...
   with the vermicelli... with the vegetables...
and added to the mix? the chicken bones...
my grandfather always bemoaned the fact that me
and my father ate our chicken to the point of biting
off the cartilage off the bones... i went further...
i bit off the heads to get to the juicy-dry marrow...

a different season for a different animal:
i loved dogs for the simple pleasure that they would
eat what you couldn't finish for dinner...
but i love cats for the fact that they behave like
ferns... sorry... houseplants...
you can ignore them from time to time...
they only come up to you when they feel like approaching
you...
the rest of the time you can just ignore them...
but when they love you: it's unlike a dog
waiting for you to equip yourself with a leash...
when they love you: or rather: you're ******* more interesting
than any human prior... they rarely scout for more room...
you've already enlarged their perspective on existence...

perhaps i could be your neurotypical man by
any standards: in the Old Testament style
of breaking away from my father and mother
and chose a wife: i tried it with Promis...
i hated the experience... i have to abandon my mother
and father... in order... to marry you... woman...
and... abandon my mother and father...
in order... to give a **** more about: YOUR... mother
and father?! seriously?! that's a raw ******* deal...
i haven't been raised by my mother from the age
of 6 through to 8...
and by my father from the age of 4 through to 8...
collapse of the Soviet Union:
if it wasn't the brain drain (that came later)
it was a labour shortage in the early 90s...
i don't think i'm clingy... sure... if my parents raised
me throughout those LEGO-years...
i'd be out of the house already: or? no... the cost
of living... what? at least i have intellectual comparisons
with me...
times are changing... i was lucky to be out of
the cosmopolitan game of dating ever since i went
mad aged 21... my whole 20s are a fog...
i woke up mid-30s sort of happy to be simply
alive... i'm happy for that "conundrum"...
i missed so much that was required of me to miss...
i can go to the brothel with a clean conscience
of being able to satisfy prostitutes...

at least we know something personal about Muhammad
that's more than however many wives he had...
a man of his times of his region...
i can't be a judge of that...
but at least he had his favourite cat: and we know
his name: Mu'izza...
like i had a favourite cat of mine:
Darshan... who my Sikh neighbour killed
by poising him because: she offered to take care of...
but couldn't be bothered to clean up his ****
or give him food... easier to **** the poor creature:
make him suffer kidney failure...
i was visiting my grandparents
while my mother and father were holidaying
in the Maldives... two days before they were
supposed to come back... i woke up with a stinking
fear... i phoned them up, i need to go back home!
i'm worried about Darshan...
a silver beast of a Maine ****...
dead... "kidney failure"... i was so stricken
with morbid emotions... after he was cremated
i found a Croquet buggy...
took all the pieces off... strapped a belt
to the handle... walked into a World War I
memorial graveyard...
had a hammer and a chisel with me...
started carving off a piece of grave...
put it on the buggy... dragged it home...
picked up the ashes... started digging a shallow
grave in the garden... buried the poor sod...
then placed the hacked off gravestone above him...
i'm still not speaking to my neighbours...
they're scammers anyway...
that's how Sikhs and other Asians get to flaut
their money on rich weddings and Rolls Royce
limousines... sure sure... i hear you...
they own corner shops and get rich by selling 1p
gummy bear gelatin sweets by the million!
like, ****!
oddly enough... i'm sometimes perched on my windowsill
throughout the night till 4am...
4 break-ins... "break-ins"... and some during mid-day...
******* insurance scammers! SCAMMERS!
i saw jack-****!
no one broke in into their home...
that's how Asians get rich: that's how anyone rich
gets rich... they're not playing by the rules...
thank god i'm willing to make sacrifices...
i don't want to get rich: i don't want scammers
or gold-diggers in my life: i want to build up a natural
filter when it comes to resources!

if there won't be enough women in my life:
i can always test my "fertility" with cognitive ambivalence...
i can always think about more things than most
people are not willing to think about...

after all: Muhammad had a favorite cat... Mu'izza...
since Darshan passed away at the hands of a sadistic
*****... i now have Quarus...
i'm not going to be easily relieved of him:
easily divorced from him...
he has more nicknames than the times i actually utter
his name...
what was the name of the donkey that
brought Jesus to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday?!
no one knows because he had no name...
i'd call him Quizy... Quizy... no... don... key...
REGALO TECLA... or? DON TECLA...
but Jesus didn't give a name to the donkey...
psychopathic, if you ask me:
animals you ride, or pet, to be: nameless...

just maybe: there might be some sympathy for me:
it almost feels like i was there...
when Mel Gibson released that movie of
his: the Passion of the Christ... i cried when i first
heard Aramaic being spoken on screen...
i think i cried throughout the entire movie...
i was so moved that... some other guy in the audience
started crying with me...
maybe it was the music all along...
i'm a sucker for a decent music...

but i just couldn't stomach the raw deal of wedding
a woman: a man is to abandon his own mother
and father... esp. one who wasn't raised by his
mother from the age of 6 through to 8
or by his father through the ages of 4 to 8...
who spent his early developmental years
in a house filled with 20 other immigrant
labour-drain men... for about a two years...
the fact that my father was abandoned by his own
parents: through divorce... i was raieed
by a ***** of a grandmother and an alcoholic
grandfather: i loved them...
but she was such a ***** to the point
oh him pushing her through a glass door
and breaking her hand...
i blocked all of that out... maybe by way of blocking
out several personal memories i have been
given access to access certain historical details...
i question them: unflinchingly...
why didn't Jesus' donkey have a name?
while Muhammad had a favourite cat with a name
like Mu'izzi: i know it's Mu'izza... i prefer Mu'izzi...

my Quarus? a clever cat... i bemoan the fact that
he won't eat my scraps... from dinner...
that's the only great aspect of what Bella the Alsatian
and Axl (the Dobberman) used to be capable of...
they'd eat what man leftover...
i'd call cats vegetarians if i could...

i know that the definite article in Hebrew is HA...
i.e. ha-satan: the-Stanley... the Stanislav...
i forgot to remember what the indefinite article
is in Hebrew... oh... right... there isn't one...
to define someone: definitely is to suppose:
laughing at it in English...

the whiskey flows slow and cold...
my heart it growing slower and colder...
i like it, that way...
Biggie... oh **** me... then again: Michaela does stand
about 5ft2 beside of me... while i'm towering
6ft2 above her... no wonder she picked a nickname:
Biggie for me...
the smaller she is: the plumper she is...
the more endearing she becomes...
you just want to cuddle her...
the more tender her forehead feels and tastes like...
she mentioned: i haven't washed my hair...
i tell her while sniffing it:
it doesn't matter... i washed myself prior to seeing
you... you think i'm going to wash myself
after seeing you? i want your scent to fill my bedroom
with your ****** perfume...
i want to dream of orchids! i want to dream
of lavender! i want to dream...
of a desert and your being the oasis in it!

i love women... but some women are too proud...
too stuck up...
they miss out on a lot of fun *** can be...
can't we just have fun without taking to
the serious business of paying gas bills?!
are we simply things before the altar of the eternals?
can't we spontaneously break the rules
for the eternals to be envious of us?
have we, seriously become so shallow:
so boring, that the gods abandoned us due to the fact
that we became imitating immortal:
their own boringness, manifest, that we stopped
being mortals?!

if i a were an immortal deity, and had to overlook
the modern man? i'd die too!
i'd die from boredom!
i'd die from predictability...
i'd die from looking at mortal men and thinking:
we're the luck?! where's the gamble?!
where's the unpredictability?!
where on earth is the stupidity on earth,
that might make these men take enough chances
to later allow them status of sage?!
everything is being to closely manifested in keeping
a "slave" stock of workers...
no one wants to dare... and if they do want to dare:
it's all for the wrong reasons:
no for reasons akin to: i! i am Spartacus!

people say awful things about slavery...
i wonder... what slave was ever homeless?
what slave was ever left without food, without shelter?!
well **** me: if you're not a self-developed
business man... chances are: sure... you're not a slave...
just someone who earn a wage...
but someone who earns a wage is not someone
who's someone's responsibility
to demand the person bestowing said responsibility
to keep the slave: alive, fed, sheltered...
by simply earning a wage does not imply
my status is better than that of a slave...
is it? IS, IT?!
i just earn a wage... i have to provide food and shelter
for myself... as a slave: and not a wage-earner:
i had to have food and shelter provided for me:
for my services...
i didn't care about money because i was already
given what money would otherwise provide:
or rather, in the ancient realm: wouldn't...
since shelter was inherited by the manor
and food too... from owning farmyards...

i don't think slavery was bad... wage-employment
is far worse... esp. those zero-hour contracts...
no one can tell me that's beneficial to anyone...
zero-hour contracts is worse than slavery...
at least as a slave you had intrinsic value...
obviously disposable...
but as a wager... SLAVE CONTRA WAGER...
you have no instrinsic value:
you only have extrinsic value:
you're doubly disposable...

           like the concern for INFLATION:
the end-product is inflated...
but the manufacturing mechanism isn't...
then there's the deflation aspect of
football clubs increasing the payouts of their
football players... but not decreasing
the price of their tickets to attend a match
or their merchandise: t-shirts etc.!
fair enough: pay the players more...
but at least have the decency to cut down the ticket
prices to see a football match...
or the price of the merchandise...
but no... these clubs either keep it at the same price
or inflate the ticket prices...
but if the players are earning more?
why should the people pay more?!
surely they should be paying less!

SLAVERY wasn't a bad thing... not in my eyes...
i think slavery was a good thing...
you had protection... a SLAVE had more protection
against the peril of a "free" society than a WAGER
will ever have...

what are the chances of me retiring at my grandfather
did? getting a proper state pension,
passing it down my wife after my life,
allowing her last 10 years of life to be lived
in a luxury that only old age might hinder?
ZILCH!
of the people that applied for job i'm currently at....
i seem to be the only "slave": i.e. employee...
the rest are self-employees...
i do my job well because i don't have to:
invoice my presence... i get invoices by someone
else...i trust my "handlers"...
i look at dogs, i look at cats...

who was Proximo to Maximus in the fillm
Gladiator? a mere slave-owner?
really? Maximus was merely a WAGER?
Proximo didn't care about Maximus was more than
a WAGER and more a, commodity?
i'd love to feel like a commodity again...
i'd hate to be treated as a WAGER: as an EARNER...
i think slaves, "slaves" had more monetary rights
than people of our current age...
owning slaves came with responsibilities...
a bit like owning pets these days...
you had to be rich enough...
for one...
you had to clothe them... you had to feed them...
you had to put a roof above their heads...
to be considered a nobleman:
you had to treat them fairly...
these days? none of these rules need to apply...

the system of slavery worked on a decentralised
"bias"...
not on this, current, centralised bias of
the universal WAGE concept....
you're worse than a SLAVE... you're a WAGER...
communism tried to figure this out...
it never came close...
well, it did, for a short period of time...
the sort of period of time where:
drinking whiskey tasted like drinking regurgitated
garlic *****!

it's not working now...
not everyone can be some moon-blessed
entrepreneur... some people are truly allowed
the joy of being allocated the status of PAWN...
rather than BISHOP...
there are people that are like that...

if it was working NOW: it would be working WOW...
people exist for others to be looked up to!
you can't scribble some Darwinistic mantra
and expect people to stick to it!
it's either Darwinism or Christianity...
you can't have both!
there's one alternative... but you're not going
to like Islam...
i don't like Islam... i don't like circumcision...
that's why i'm expecting a 2nd schism
in this grand religion... spear-headed
by the Turks with a bunch of uncircumcised men...

i want whiskey to drip from my beard
while i drink it... and rub it into my chin...
and recall the number of tattoos i ought to have
from rekindling my mind to the past....

no one knows the name of the donkey that took
Jesus to Jerusalem as the fifth: "horseman" of
the Apocalypse toward that fateful Palm Sunday...
but... Muhammad's favourite cat's name is known...
the birth of the Korean script is known via
King Sejong... no one can rob me of this historical presence:
nothing is mythological too...
just easily forgotten...

me? i'm just clearing the path... for something...
more... expedient... more... clarifying...
let's share cats.
L** oves to play on the computer

A lways humorous

U nique in every way

R unning, jumping, tumbling at gym

E xceptionally bright

L earner
In Acrostic poems, the first letters of each line are aligned vertically to form a word. The word often is the subject of the poem.

Note: This is not my own poem, this is just an example i got from this cool website.
(http://schools.pinellas.k12.fl.us/educators/tec/Tondreault/Kinds.html)
JeanlBouwer Apr 2010
A father, keeping up with the pace
Mother, applying makeup and mace
Son, competing in most important race
Daughter, content in lover’s embrace

Manager, profit earner, best company man
Beautiful and glamorous, archetypal woman
Athlete, top scholar and paper boy
Sweet sixteen now, this beautiful toy

All, a sublime rhyme

Man, estranged from family
Woman, battered so fiercely
Drug overdose, happen so easily
In her girlfriend’s arms, so happily

Family monarch, reduced to slave
Precious, caring, loving, now so brave
The candidate for the top, fighting the grave
Beautiful, innocent, naive, in girlfriend’s arms, so safe

Where, did we go wrong?
SE Reimer Oct 2013
When addiction runs deep,
Like the blood in our veins,
Its impossible to kick,
Unlikely to abstain.
For we are what we love,  
And we love what we are;
It’s said that an apple, 
From its tree won't roll far.

Her parents were junkies,
Generations gone by,
So deep in her blood,
It’d be cruel to deny.
I’ve found in resistance,
I beat my head on a brick,
So no longer at odds,
I embrace life as her fix.

“Honey, can you fix this?”
She says, smiling at the sale.
At the lamp I look closely,
It stands tired and frail;
It's brass tarnished dark, 
Its wire is frayed.
In my head I say, “No," then,
“Sure babe,” someone else said.

Believing I’ve dodged one, 
I breathe a sigh of relief;
We return to our Jeep, and
Drive away down the street.
Then I glance in the mirror,
And what do I see,
It’s that LAMP in my back seat,
Staring smugly at me.

“This dresser will be cool,
In robin's-egg-blue;”

Just describing the hue,
I see her almost drool.
“Yeah, natural on top,
It's frame painted, then glazed...
You’re the best at glueing drawers!”

She adds icing with praise.

“Look, here’s a chair I found,
with pretty calico;
If you fix it's broken arm,
You’ll be my hero!
Cuz I am sure it will fetch, 
Ten times what I've paid.”

I’m a wage earner no longer,
She pays me in accolades.

That bowl with mustard yellow,
Picture frames of wood & plaster;
An old tin box, and this small broach,
A barrel chest with leather straps.
A jewelry box, 
(A lover’s locket found inside)
Each purchase she makes,
Adds satisfaction, and pride.

Her addiction runs deep,
She’s my bargain-maker;
Not a corporate girl, 
But she’s a mover and shaker.
Yes, she's my ******,
And I am her fix;
Together we’re a duo,
"Can we peak in your attic?"

In my chair as I write this,
I feel something, turn and see;
And there pinned to the cushion, 
Is a price tag poking me.
Now I’m nervous as a cat,
Wouldn’t want to fall asleep;
For fear I could wake up, 
In the back of someone else's Jeep!
************************************
My wife, born to parents who met at an auction, grew up in her family’s business,; some call in antiquing, some collectibles, some estate sales, but we call it junking.  After years away from the business, she has returned to selling at vintage shows.  We tease and kid each other, but make no mistake about it, she is excellent at what she does, particularly in restoring wood furniture!  I love working with her on those pieces that require four hands.
the oldest profession
doth bring much needed funds
housewives and mothers walking the streets
to supplement the household income
Mrs Jones is plying her female wares
in a motel suite somewhere
those extra dollars
shall pay the education fees
for her daughter Claire
as day to day living
isn't cheap
mothers and wives working the pavement
at any given time
the money they receive is a bonus
a nice little earner
a few bucks can be most helpful  
as the family budget oft sinks in a well
these women don't haggle
with their clients too much
they give them what they want
and in return get what they need
a dime is a dime
it can be so useful
when the fortnightly paycheck
is so skint
the ladies of the night
aren't always in the game for the purposes of romping
they're lying on their backs
to fill the hole
in the domestic
piggy bank
Daipayan Nair May 2017
There should appear some respite,
despite
the fact, I am a Nyctophile
as I too love my collapsing sight
I too flicker in the bright.
Like an earner without his earning
The dark existence,
by the sphere that lurks, partially satiated
'See-Saw' a fodder for human poets
The other aspect, totally denied.
Skin is imbalanced
which showers mixed colors
Why not an equilibrium?
Vampires licking honeyed sanity
The sane too, join the party.
But, if he complies, they wouldn't
If she complies, they wouldn't
Fluctuations are eminent
There should appear some respite,
despite
the fact, I am a dust stained file
as I too love my collapsing might
I too flicker in the bright.
They talked about him as the one
who none had ever seen smile.

You couldn't gauge
if he was happy or depressed
no emoji could describe
the repressed expression
but all said
he was dutiful.

Caring husband and father
responsible family head
silent bread earner.

His constant arrangement made sure
the home was neatly organized
not one object was out of place
and but for the children
it would have been hard to guess
if he ever met his wife privately
summing up him to be named
robot
and the belief in his name was strong.

When his wife died
he wailed so loud
it could be heard beyond town.

To the neighbors,
it was mechanical breakdown.
real page turner
real money earner
feed the kids
pay the bills
keep the wife
happy life?

white picket fence
my two cents,
its picturesque.

salt and pepper
go set the table
say your prayers
make your bed
clean the house
catch the mouse

two car garage
bi-weekly massage
clip your nails
cut your hair
tuck in your shirt
wash off the dirt

the american dream,
simply ins't for me
the military industrial complex
are making a killing
the arms trade
is a profitable business
billions are harvested
by the grey suited men
the war machine
supplies deadly payloads
collateral damage
always yields such a tidy sum
why interrupt or put paid
to a great earner
the balance sheet
must be in the black
production lines
busy filling orders
each day
the bullet
the bomb
the drone
sold to effectively obliterate
and take lives away
in corporate offices
the arms dealers
rub their hands
with glee
as they amass a bounty
from their lethal armories
In God we trust but the economy went bust and we ain't got a crust of bread.
Got no lead in my pencil,no ink in my pen and I'm wondering when my memory's going to go.
and I'm getting slow,
I remember a time or it may recall me, when as a young man of twenty ,or two maybe three, I was wealthy and healthy and full of it all but then came the crash and I started to fall.
And I dropped,stopped being an earner, learnt to survive on week old stale pies and hand outs, the hand me down,the other side of life in any big town,
where you pay your trust to the temples of dust and the soup comes free,with a touch of religion on the crust of dry bread and sometime's I think that God must be dead.

We do as we do and we can't do no more and the poor will always be poured down the drain,thrown out of the door,not let in,begging on street corners,
don't they look thin!

They do as they do and they do it so well and they got us believing in a new branding of hell where the adverts pervert the minds of the young and that nothing good comes from it being homespun and the gun at your head is something to think of and, is God really dead?

Led to the queue and waiting in line for another strangulation,I am choking on time.
I want what's mine,give me my due
You own it all
for now.
Soma Mukherjee Jul 2011
I could have been this and I could been have that,
But there were too many hurdles and the plans fell flat.

I could have been like her, a very big star,
But my bad luck, opportunities were few and far.

I had the grace; I could have been a dancer,
But there were too many objections with no solutions or answers.

I had a sweet voice; I could have been a singer,
But I was sole earner of family, and it sponged me dry like a wringer.

I played so well with colours, I could have been a painter,
But the paints were costly and with no one to guide, dreams became fainter.

I had skills; I could have been anything I wanted,
All I needed was a spirit which would have saved me from being daunted.

Is it too late to start again?
Pick up the brush or the pen and let my dreams be my swain?

Just let go of all resentments and start!
And not let the past tear my present and future apart!

It has been so tiring, carrying disappointments and resentments for so long,
Let me start fresh as if I was born today, fire the passion and let it grow strong.

Yes, that's what I will do, I owe it to myself and this god gifted life,
I will not cry over what I didn't get, instead use gift and opportunities which today are rife.

Yes, that’s the way to go;
I will give my best shot to my dreams
and what I always wanted to be,
For if the world ends tomorrow
I will be contented and proud
to have taken that dip
and rescued me.
Soma Mukherjee Jul 2011
I could have been this and I could been have that,
But there were too many hurdles and the plans fell flat.

I could have been like her, a very big star,
But my bad luck, opportunities were few and far.

I had the grace; I could have been a dancer,
But there were too many objections with no solutions or answers.

I had a sweet voice; I could have been a singer,
But I was sole earner of family, and it sponged me dry like a wringer.

I played so well with colours, I could have been a painter,
But the paints were costly and with no one to guide, dreams became fainter.

I had skills; I could have been anything I wanted,
All I needed was a spirit which would have saved me from being daunted.

Is it too late to start again?
Pick up the brush or the pen and let my dreams be my swain?

Just let go of all resentments and start!
And not let the past tear my present and future apart!

It has been so tiring, carrying disappointments and resentments for so long,
Let me start fresh as if I was born today, fire the passion and let it grow strong.

Yes, that's what I will do, I owe it to myself and this god gifted life,
I will not cry over what I didn't get, instead use gift and opportunities which today are rife.

Yes, that’s the way to go; I will give my best shot to my dreams and what I always wanted to be,
For if the world ends tomorrow I will be contented and proud to have taken that dip and rescued me.
I welcome English
May it flourish
This is my wish
I am happy with
My Indian English
I'm a good learner but
When it comes to pronunciation
I am a very poor level earner.
#Rich tributes to William Shakespeare on world English language day
Some Person Aug 2015
I have tried for too long
to fit into your various segments
I have played the roles of
Christian
Passionate lover
Rebellious son
The perfect one-night stand
Intelligent workplace hero
Humble soccer talent
Competitive PC gamer
College graduate, master's holder
Friend with benefits
Big earner
*** addict in recovery
Devoted husband
Home updater
Fun party guy
Deep-thinking poet
Music-lover, dancer

I fit into none of the roles you have to offer.

I am a primate with a more sophisticated brain and a cleaner body. I declare this with reluctant disappointment.

An observer would see our race developing, bodies and populations increasing in complexity and order; patterns like cities, data flowing through fiber cables, and social constructs aligning like carbon atoms becoming a diamond.

But we will not reach the perfection of a lab-created stone.

We have significant inclusions,
The most glaring of which is purposelessness.

Is there anyone watching?
You think a movie camera follows you,
a film crew watching everything you do and so you play that lifetime role,
rolling down the blinds at number fifty one
you think the film is rolling on,
each scene a scene where you have been, each whisper that you hear is taped, replayed,
play it by ear you could be on an earner,
turn a page or two, do you think the audience is watching what you do?
do you undress behind the silver mirrored made in Hong Kong screen and have you seen the rushes yet?

I bet the editor has made the final cut, but you think they'll watch the film in which you star
if a movie camera really follows you.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
\alt

work-around title: Çymru among the Ottomans (Ę vs. Щ)

a propos: pre-scriptum... in the background demdike stare's - janissary , for one reason or another... the fantasy of being in the legion of either the janissaries or the mamluks... hell... let the sultan have his harem... he's still going to favour the slave girl from the north... Hurrem... give me this one ******* from a past of romance... this Khadaia... i'll see her once more just to catch her name properly: all i have is the prefix Khada- while she hushed the suffix... over all that's on offer in this playground of freedoms... hedonism never tasted this... limited... when it is so freely available... 4 years without touching a woman's body and then... resurrected with a pulverising urge to touch one once more: over the debacle of grooming a female cat who was eagerly entertaining trans-species ***... *** is ugly esp. when animals come to the fore...

in all honesty: i wasn't convinced when i initially
read the list of ingredients...
not at all: or one bit...
i wasn't going to read the instructions
or... watch the video...

   i forget which flatbread i used...
gözleme? no... there was a SH grapheme at the end
of the name...
not the SH of hiding the H with
a Czech caron:  š...
the Turkish variation...
               the cedilla "s":    ş...
certainly not bazlama...

lucky me: first the Turkish barbers...
then the Turkish prostitutes...
now Turkish food...
i had a similar fetish for Indian girls...
hardly a fetish: one uneventful
summer: should we say...

ah... here we go... lavash... flat... bread...
funny how...
oh i can just imagine...
the year when... the ancients stumbled
upon using yeast when mixing
flour and water... watching the first
yeast infested bread rise up
like a sunrise in the heat...

blame the French... or don't blame them...
it's hardly mesmerizing watching
a hot pan with a tortilla on it...
the earth would still be flat for thoese
civilizations...
or how... yeast was used to make:
wine rather than drink ultra-sweet
grape-****-juice of the diabetic h'arabs...

no... i wasn't expecting the recipe to turn out
as it did: better than the local Cypriots
making imitation turkish with their doner-kebabs...
all those raw vegetables to somehow counter
the grease of the lamb...
raw (albeit) spanish onions... i.e. sweeter
and juicier... raw iceberg lettuce...
raw tomatoes... raw cucumber...
pickled chillies...
two sauces... a diluted chilli sauce and...
yoghurt garlic?
i've been gagging for some yoghurt mint:
but no... no... none of that...

- now i'm back from the days of drinking ms. amber...
i'm back on the drip of "blood":
wine sooths... wine... progresses: slowly...
esp. cheap wine in the form of kalimotxo:
the blood of Montezuma!
a toast to Montezuma!
    gradual involvement in intoxication...
never a lag like with ms. amber...
never waking up still drunk...
             drunk in the process of drinking...
much better...
and when enough lubrication has been
downed: 2 bottles for a night worth drinking
through...
3 hours of sleep at best: but all this...
mind like a whirlwind...
ms. amber: you have stiffened me for the last
time... your supposed
cure for my ailments come too late:
i'm stiffened: i'm numbed by you...
i will no longer associate you with good
tidings... never mind my own deeds...
now i prefer a drink that will creep up on me...
there will be a statement surrounding:
succumbing to gradation...

- the same year the ancients
invested their genius / imagination into pursuing
the use of yeast in baking:
making flat-breads become sunrises
as they... started to ferment... grapes?
all the stags and the bears are in on it
come autumn when they fill their belly's full
with rotting... fermenting fruits...
and stumble around the world
like they might be inclined to acknowledge
the existence of Bacchus...
a bear's drunken walk: i can't match
with a dance... perhaps these words might
just suffice...

- come to think of it... since i'm in all my 35 year old
splendour...
i think i fitted the bill for being
an "angry young man"... most of us were...
but... thankfully... as i've aged...
i've noticed how so few people have
the capacity to drink some sense into themselves...
even Nietzsche preferred barbiturates...
i can't say that i would:
in vino vivo! veritas comes after...
animation... scandal... trenches...
at 35 i can say the anger has... slowly diluted itself:
i guess the anger was at youth itself:
it must have been...
to be angry at being young is every man's
ball & chain...
with two exceptions of Paris and Adonis...
now... the sweet melancholic cloud
that makes my sense of humour subtle...
sharpening my ridicule: since i'm still yet to
receive pointers on wit
and...  reactionary tongue-whip anecdotes...
oddly enough i picked up a copy of
Rousseau's the social contract & a letter
about spectacles...

why haven't i picked up Rousseau earlier?
mind you... with this tongue i now use...
i could never read Rousseau in english...
i can read Bertrand Russell in english...
but every philosophy book i ever read was
read in my mother tongue...
the tongue with all the fancy diacritical stressors...
"so-called" by the people
who don't use them... who have Charles Dickens
calling a spelling-mistake
an orthographical transgression... ******* to that...

- suppose i wanted to paint...
well... writing is not exactly painting:
Frank O'Hara noted how terrible orange is
on canvas: unless the orange stands as
synchronised by actual oranges
in a still life depiction...
orange elsewhere? on a metallic alloy
on a bicycle... i cycled a few schoolboys
once on my Trek Marlin and heard
a compliment about it...
i should have painted...
but then i like that self-deprecating joke
i once heard a Glaswegian say
in class: how was copper wire invented?
two Scots arguing over a penny...
i have diacritical marks for contorts...
and if i'm really desperate:
as i sometimes am: i'll lend an eye on reading
some katakana...

why haven't i read Rousseau earlier?
perhaps i was too stupid too young too naive...
perhaps i should have a tattoo of
Robespierre on my buttocks...
perhaps... just... perhaps...
like someone might have a tattoo of
Roy Orbison to counter all that's Hey-Lvis
in that waterboy flick...

wine is like oil on a bike chains...
for the brain... the wine tide as i explore...
a slowly breaking of the dam
of formality...
but i'm not painting: come to think of it:
i'd hate to paint...
i like skeletons: i like sounds...
i like to walk into a forest at night
and listen to some wild animal tender itself
on breaking a dry branch:
or... misstep on a crunch of dry
autumnal leaves... while i bask shirtless
in the moon on a throne of a stump:
where once a tree stood proud...

that there exists a culture of celebrity:
a vacuous life-support machine of cringe...
in my vicinity: some trees have a higher
status than "people" in the greater prospect (potential)
of the world...
of note... this tree: let's call it Henry-eta
near Chigwell... bulging: crass: entity...
breaking all manner of contemplating girth...
famous: by my concerns...
hard not to miss...
try figuring out: celebrity in a forest of pines...
stilettos or anorexic models...
by then: prostitution doesn't seem that
bad... that bad when compared with
what "they" do with the models...

skeleton and skin being adorned with:
a second layer of fabricated: skin... nothing more...
a body that grieves its former status
of being: mandible... all over:
i think of models as i might think of glass...
a shattering: a breaking...
a variation of... arthritis...

        oh... well... in between the wine:
ms. amber returns: like a stimulus... an injection...
to keep me focused on the cascade...
i'm yet to cover the ground of narrative
i was keeping fresh in my mind...
ah... yes...
of note... only in England...
the multicultural project...

  i still retain my native tongue...
in the privacy of my own abode: i speak it...
i don't speak English...
i speak English to the people who speak
English...
a formality...
English in England is a "lingua franca":
i pity the natives for not have enough
incentives to learn another European tongue:
i guess that's what's happens with
"spazzial relationships" in the shadow
under the yoke of cousin ******* the h'americans...
pity them?
oh no no... blame them...

who was Yusuf Stalin? a Georgian...
tactical subversion of the Russian people...
where is the Georgian alphabet and where
is Cyrillic, or Greek for that matter?
where is... Armenian?
"where" is code for: comparison...
   like the supposed people integrated into
English society:
these... born & "bred" types... typos...
they speak English... at least i can resemble
an Englishman...
most likely i'll be mistaken by some
quran pushing ****- as being a German...
insult?     (oi oi... mr. -stani, don't worry...
the English just slosh with slang sometimes...)

the people of the subversion...
they speak English but... ha ha..
if they only managed to retain their mother tongue:
perhaps something of England could
also be retained...
clamouring like ******* ***** in a bucket
to no avail...

Napoleon's ditto: a man who knows two tongues
is worth two men...
all these new integration projects
who want to integrate so bad... so so bad...
that they "somehow" forge their mother tongue...
talk English as the language of mediation:
it's not yours...
it never will be!
**** me... if all these people retained their
mother tongue rather than playing:
i'd feed you to the pigs for playing
this ******* drive-by stealing mobile phones
"gangster":

what if ol' Adoolph was Swiss and not
Austrian?! imagine that... no... wait...
you don't have to...

- of note: if ha ha h'america of the united
is supposedly this beacon: this success story
for all the english speaking people of the world:
it should: by now... be... a well oiled:
bilingual Behemoth...
like the Swiss "project": of the Benelux or
the Scandinavian heap of blondes outbreeding
gingers...
h'americana should be well embedded
in a fluidity of come English come Spanish...

if h'america could be a success story:
it would be a bilingual conglomerate...
i guess it's just easier to speak only one zunge...
no?
how many tongue arrived on these isles?
i should be learning Romanian come to think of
it...
no one is going to meet me half way
concerning my: tongue...
while these asiatic ******* abandoned
their mother tongue to play petty
gangster... i sometimes fall asleep:
counting teeth... i have no worthy comparison
with the point of sheep:
i like to imagine teeth...

how they become the lesser half of Mongol:
with their mongrel "forgetfulness":
if we just cherished the medium
of the tongue used to invite commerce:
real or meta-...
perhaps... we wouldn't be cycling through
Barking looking at people feeling comfortable
donning those Pakistani pyjamas!

don't get me started on the Rotherham
"livestock" affair... i have no sympathy for
not being ******: looking elsewhere
at ol' Turkic raven hair...
at £2 per minute i'm not going to...
suddenly... "suddenly" do what?
pity the high earner
while she *****-off the concept of *******?
thank god i still have *******:
which implies i can ******* with pleasure...
but while interacting with HER...
she can peel it back and i'm left with
her tender mouth and my numbed metaphor...

castration, mr. ******... doesn't feel so bad...
compared with having your "excess" skin
guillotined...
i started to ******* long before i had
any use for *******...
the thrill is in the shaft...
aged 8 i did it myself...
circa 10 i taught a boy a year younger
about the joys of jerking off...
in a bath... while my mother scrutinised us
while she ironed some clothes...
oh... the gloves are off...

it might be a bare knuckle fight:
but i wrapped a leather belt around them
for a sense of purpose... alias for security: covert...
if the beacon of the world
grew up: sensibly: as a bilingual federation
it was supposed to become...
what? the Swiss are all schizophrenics:
for having the capacity to use 2+ languages?
******* retards:
you live with the reckoning that:
some people deserve their own bollocking...
you hear it... in the distance:
like churchbells...
esp. at night... when the air thins out...
i have no sympathy...
no empathy...
the remains of Malcolm X's mantra of
how there can be a never-ending war:
a "cultural" war:
just use the women as ammunition and
shields...
they're dump enough: Sabine as they are...
bring women to the fore of warfare...
you're not dealing with Gaza strip slingshots...
you have invested yourself in: trenches...
show me a Panzer i show you a naked
white girl...
the prize for all these sub-Saharan gambits...
i don't want to **** sub-Saharan girls:
maybe Boko Haram might...
can i... tickle a Turkish *******?
wait: do i "have" to?

you bring women to the fore: this little shitshow
will never end...
drop an atom bomb: no difference...
the supposed "collateral" becomes
the biggest asset... mind-bending load
of: otherwise what a sword ought to do:
the biggest killer: compassion...

don't worry... the recipe is still invested in me
scribbling it down...

- persisting with all these: Asiatic bundles of
"integrated" joys...
living among these isles...
you begin to wonder:
now... i generally think of the Welsh as a bit...
cuntish...
but... at least they have this...
unnerving ambition to retain their:
Briton spreschen: before the Anglicans
and their Normandy landing quasi French
came along... the Welsh still retain their
*******:  Çymru...
i lost faith concerning the Scots...
they're just... accent clowns...
accent clowns...
          they trill their R and sometimes forget
to F their TH with: t'ings...
like their elder cousins that... perhaps:
might... usher in some Gaelic...
astounding: the concept of the Welsh:
because: they are more a concept than some
concrete evidence of nationhood...
oh: they're beyond merely organic...

some says the king's route was to mind:
from London through to Edinburgh: more like St. Andrew's...
all this time, though...
it was en route to Cardiff...

- of these isles... these glorious isles:
where's the Gaelic in a man from Edinburgh?
the Sikh beat you to that tartan turban
or something:
posers of accents... the whole lot of you...
one up with the Velsh...
at least they still retain their concept of mother...
and tongue...
accented pretenders: it's not what they speak:
it's how they might: speak...

******* sing-along sprache Gael...
i simultaneously don't want to stop writing this
as an excuse for: not wanting to stop drinking
wine!

back to that Turkish recipe...
i had to make a full roundabout at some point...

even now i still can't believe it...
frozen beef, which implies: it would be more easily
sliced into an imitation pancetta:
carpaccio?
        **** me: the whole bonanza of nouns!
most not "gender neutral" too!

wine wine wine wine!
bring me more wine!
wine wine wine wine: to hell with whining women!
wine wine wine wine!
bring me more wine!
she can't feed me... i'm the devil in the kitchen:
i'll cook my own!

the "government" of delayed words in
transit toward: a proper translation...
notably?  sunak...
   not aleppo pepper...
   not sunmak...
    ah... SUMAC!
red onions sprinkled with some
salt and sugar... fiddled with...
crushed... a dash of lime juice:
to get the pickling going...
tender hands of a Cyclops...
then the addition of fresh parsley
and some SUMAC...
that's the radish for you...

the meat? beef... beef and rosemary?!
fair enough: let's have "us" a go...
it only takes 10 to 15 minutes since...
the beef is sliced oh so thinly...
plus... the marinate:

4 tablespoons of oil...
2 tablespoons of red... white... either...
wine vinegar: for curing the meat...
after all... you dip any seafood into acid:
it'll cook...
Bolshoi cannibals of ambition
and all that ballet on the side:
raw herrings as: Baltic sushi in a creamy
dill sauce...

believe me: the Ottomans have interrogated
post WWII Germany...
they're stiches and tattoos by now...

tzatziki...
but the marinade of the meat only takes
about 10 to 15 minutes... since the beef is sliced
so thinly: from frozen...
the marinade?
ol' pestle 'n' mortar...
black peppercorns...
4 cloves of raw: living garlic cloves...
2 springs of rosemary...
sea salt... 4 kashimir dried chillies...

strips of Turkish mozzarella...
i'm of the persuasion:
let's see what the Ottomans had on offer...
the ******... the barbers...
this... pristine cuisine...
it sounds like: shuk shuk shugar shig shig:
chug a fog... chappy chappy chim-shee...

bound to the anchor of a revision:
of these isles... i'm starting to harvest more and more
respect for the Welsh...
i'm starting to suspect that...
the Irish don't require:
the Scots seemingly never will...
but the Welsh: forever will...
display their adamant decorum...
to keep in mind their mothers and their tongue...

let me stress is:
ich bin nicht Ęnglisch:
    lie down... szczeka: it barks...
Щ...              

Copernicus Copernicus: seriously:
where are you?! literally: "where"?!
not literally: a somehow a now...
    
counting matchsticks i presume...
to hell with these semi-literate folk who have
the supposed reins: yeah: now... for now...
but not when time is allowed to imitate space
and stretch...
the currency of shouting for "justice"
dies a death slower than a death succumbed via
a crucifixion...
i'm no sadist... i love animals above
the status of fellow humans...
but... there comes a time that...
i'd rather... savour the company of a dog...
above... someone that might resolve itself
to speak letters back to me...

- you can only insinuate when dealing:
dwelling on the furore of the Hebrews...
but in the confine of these isles...
i hae no greater respect than might be allowed
for what's already arrived at:
they have: KEPT... KADŁ...

      EI CWSG GYDA COCH CLORIAN:

almost every Jew will amount to the maxim:
i be: the citizen of the world:
which is borrowed Greek...
   somehow there come to excuse when:
strip-down... striptease...
the last of the Holocaust survivors is dead:
appeasing the h'arabs and h'americans
for their deepened trough and
monzzie?
  yeah: sure thing...
             me and my stupid
delusion concerning that ol' chestnut
of the certainty of death...
i'm not willing to pressure
the delay button... to be honest.
Gordon Fussey Aug 2017
She told me of the horse that flew
The horse with a name that Egyptians knew
She told me of the hanging tree
With roots that cried and caressed the dew
She told me tales of a lightening storm
That flashed an Eskimo cold to warm

     And in her eyes I saw other stories
     Just as important as Dali's glories

Jane sat on a pine kitchen chair in the corner
of the room. In her left hand she held nineteen
ninety-nine, in her other, my eyes. I kissed her
on the cheek and asked her a question.

She told me of a white paper brick
That glided through air six foot thick
She told me of Christians that got wasted at lent
That prayed for the light through a gap in a tent
She told me of Magritte, ******* and Turner
And a boy in India selling organs as an earner

     And in her eyes I saw other stories
     As bright as the Ursa's universal glories

I asked Jane another question and she fused
It must have been the sixth time in a month
Gordon Fussey
Written by
Gordon Fussey
(M)
M G Hsieh May 2016
I do not see
beyond the might,
yet perceive
more than ought.
The craving of
a learned tale,
ability to carve out
an excuse to crave.

Hail to the conquerors!
Teller of greatness,
earner of sympathy,
foreteller of justice,
bearer of magnanimity.
We survive you.

Hail to the losers!
The day waits for you,
the night delights, passing
thoughts escape into
imagining immaterial
basis of deeds.

Soon, the distance between
falls near and
neither escapes surety.
Title the world, once I branded, ex bandit, cats cant stand it,
Watch me out land it, crashed on plymouth rock, hard knocks,
From the cops, when my homie had to make the quick drops,
Slouchy, mighty touchy, when the shotti, next to me, easy,
Come easy, go rilling in dough,
Pillysbury style, saw miles, before I walked my first dials,
On the phone, tryna get a wet bone, link back at the zone,
My home, my throne, guard it like Jeffer-son, soothe baritone,
Paul Williams, of the industry, pass cloud nine to ten, chemistry,
Check the geometry, of my lady, back side banging mercedes,
Whoa!, to our future kids, if we got problems ma, let's just dig,
Solve our own problems, before the media robs em, stab em,
With the vocal, shot off words like a pist-al, slows sips of cristal,
Ice dripping off the crystal, ***** of a disco, sparkling slow mo,
Take it back, to the soul train, dance hall, baby let's ball gall,
For your love, from others sisters to brothers and many others,
Love to spread, the butter haters under, slash the thunder,
Lightening strikes, before midnight, picture my sight iight,
Cold dreaming, dont waste the *****, succubus tag teaming,
I must be seeing, things ain't so supreme, I'm a just a humanbeing,
Mortal, but my souls immortal, saw life after death, it was pleasant,
Had undercover peasant,
Worship the presence, over the past, listen to the music, back mask,
Hold up, unveil the last, break the task, move fast as Nash,
Power bomb ya intellect, with the shells of my medulla, selects,
Bring down ya threats, no sweat, but heat off my baguettes,
Icy dripping wet, like girls pearls, I'm still taking on the world,
Hold my status, the baddest, since Jesse James, detain the lames,



Made on the back burners, of sin, born in, to a false religion,
Call us stool pigeons, for playing a masculine positions,
Saw ambitions, of wishing  twinkle star still mixing, kissing,
My dreams goodbye, just another lullaby, so gangstified,
How many of ya peeps tried, failed and hoped you died,
But I took the critics, and buried em, with a fist of rhymes,
Dimes, over pennies, watch em turn Guinea, more than plenty,
Rhymes I got, keep it going til I body rot, its bone **** plot,
Take the bullets from malcolm, and Kennedy, reload it,
Unload it,at my enemies, playing friends of me, raunchy cronies,
Form a rap colony, with no apology, resurrect my ancestry bodies,
Come back, revert the track, murk the masters, of the disaster,
Nat Turner, blaster with the burner, independent learner,
Since the schools, failed me as a, successful earner,
Had to learn tha, hard way stress was building away, always,
Caught a smoke sessions, wild days of my hay day, blazing hay,
No delays, on time, all I saw was, dollar signs, snake lines,
We was all made to fail by design, see the peace sign, rewind,
Check the history, ain't got nothing to do with freedom see?,
Society for what, it really is, put that on my mints n kids,
Future ain't nothing, too bright two shades of butter white,
But I'm a still a *****, focused michete sharp as finger trigger,
Itchin, for a twitching, fast as a blast, now ya mans, in a cask-
-et, looking well fit, tuxedo snort rush fast adrenaline like DeVito,
Cab riding, off the cookie show, mystery meat glow,
Soylent green, love a diva surpeme, like a scorpion stings,
Sings of siren, got me admiring, pretty girls spark the swirls,
Got the little boys, puberty yelling, but without a noise,
"Love     of     A   Poetess  " by   Nadia umber Lodhi

You    are   love  of  a poetess, my beloved,

Reflects    from  my words ever,

Forget  you  never,

My   passion    increase  ever,

My   Love       decrease   never ,

You  are  love  of   a  poetess, my beloved

You   are   the   Magic   of   a words   magician,

You   are   the   business of a pain earner,

I   shall  write departure, loneliness   and tears,

I   shall   describe fears,

And   earn   income.

You   are  love  of  a    poetess , my beloved

I shall  sell dreams, earn profit,

How   can  I gain  loss,

No   Never, my dear

I   sold    my    heart,  my dear

One   and   Only  wealth   I  have.

————  
Nadia umber lodhi,
Islamabad .
Pakistan.
Love poem
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
title: snuggle
body:
limitless
loss
of sleep    another 502 bad gateway bypass...
i just want to love like...
Edward Scissorhands... Ice Dance song...
playing in the background...
we meet in a graveyard... at night...
and it's snowing... it's snowing ballerinas...
ah... the impossible...
well then... no point blaming ****** omelettes
on prostitutes... either.


100 hundred press ups...
stomach crunches?
   n'ah... i don't feel like it...
yesterday i woke up with my ****-cheeks
aching... they were still aching
today... i thought... better firm them
up a little... 2 hours of cycling ought
to do it, just shy of Rainham via
and back again via Hornchurch...
well... can't say that it helped...
but why bother doing stomach crunches?
i woke up today with my entire
torso aching... like i must have done...
1000 stomach crunches...
well... that's what having ***
in the ******* will do to you
while you're propped up on your
hands above a woman...
more ***... less of that stomach crunches
exercise... press ups: sure...
i'll keep doing those...
   mind you: i never go mad on lifting weights...
i have these two... handle bars?
whatever you call them... how much is on each...
15kg? maybe more... i do about 20 folds
on my knees... but i'm after the adrenaline
in traffic on the bicycle...
   to my demise... i started thinking about Jeminah...
looked her up on facebook...
pretending: it's a bit like me sitting
pitch-side at a football match looking at
faces in the crowd...
my god... you can really stare at people
in a non-creepy way... looking out primarily
for a potential heard-attack...
but if a pretty girl is sitting in the crowd...
you can just put on a poker face
and... no one is going to tell you:
hey! creep! stop staring!
                        it's actually more fun than
watching the actual football match...
if i get to see Khedra enough times i'm sitting pretty
on getting something remotely resembling
a six-pack... not that a six-pack would
look good if you are hairy...
        and i'm not going to just shave, wax...
metro-sexualise myself...
but that got me thinking...
            positive... is this even thinking? perhaps
more like gloating... but... what's the alternative?
wallowing? the plethora of emotions surrounding
doubt? self-denial: the ascetic approach?
can people on write about... denying themselves
an iota of self-appreciation?
in an age of self-employed people...
i'm pretty sure can attach a Dune-esque
self- prefix to what the mythos of Dune describes
as: thinking machines... machina cogitans...
that was always my pet peeve with philosophy...
the words: thing, nothing, something...
broad generalisations... or rather... words that
would make thinking along the lines of 1 + 1 = 2
in language much easier...
                         i am a machine of sorts...
another pet word: being...
       breaking down existence: ex-instance...
or... out-of-every-instance: insistence...
                     not will as such: more akin
to stubbornness... this mortal plea: one more day...
one more hour...
    in Latin that would be...
    out-of-every-instance: insistence (remember though,
the Romans didn't have all the prepositions /
conjunction words that modern English has)
    ex-omni-exemplum: instantiam...
             res cogitans is so vague...
given i have a scratch of consciousness regarding...
the schematic of my body...
i know my muscles in my torso ache...
not because i was doing stomach crunches...
but because i was arching over a woman
performing *** in a *******...
my brain aches from dehydration... i take a pill...
points of concern like so...
      eh... the atomised man...
then again: another "thing" to cut up his mind
with the instrument that i call the quasi-soul...
so stressed by psychology... oh hell...
when medicine sped up to get its whereabouts
with the human body... obviously the psychologists:
"doctors"... psychiatry and its hellish freaks
of instructed lobotomies... oh... one of those
***** envies... they had to cut up a man's mind into:
well, not halves... that's sure as ****...
a ******* Trinity... but like the profanity that's
Christianity... joke... how many schisms can
Christianity... accommodate? from what i heard...
an infinite number of schisms...
by that account... me prodding at a possible
2nd schism in Islam... spearheaded by the Turks
and not the Persians... hmm...
   well... Christianity is a Babel by now...
   i don't really have a criticism of Christianity...
i already had mine... when i was much younger...
a child... Nietzsche already did the "intellectual"
heavy-lifting... i remember being a child
and being confronted with the... if your enemy strikes
you... turn the other cheek...
some primordial argument arose in me...
that's ******* counter intuitive! i'll hit back!
i might not hit back: immediately... obviously...
i might take some time... get hold of the bigger picture...
explore... more avenues...
    but... that's so ******* counter-intuitive...
plus... i didn't take up the option of being confirmed...
confirmation is big in Catholicism:
you can't have a church wedding without being
confirmed... there... that's my "intellectual" take-down
of Christianity... but...
what did Christianity do? well... it turned European
barbarism into... European secularism...
that's all it did... but not that it would ever tame
the barbarism... as... plenty of examples...
plus... the New Testament? to me?
Greco-Judeo propaganda... esp. with the unearhing
of the Nag Hammadi library... in some cave...
in Egypt... and the scribbles of...
some Egyptian false prophet... trying to conquer
Jerusalem, but then retreating... found in...
a book about the Roman Hebrew wars...
by josephus ben matthias... or... as he was later known:
by the proselyte name: flavius josephus...
i almost feel sorry for Nietzsche: with hindsight...
because there's always that aspect of hindsight...
which... the finding came in 1945...
simultaneously... the finding of the dead sea scrolls...
which compiled the lost works of...
Isaiah? right... Hey-Zeus was crucified...
but i read somewhere that... Isaiah was...
eventually... cut in half... at the torso...
hmm... well... peanuts or bananas...
which is worse, if you're allergic to either?
i've had my criticism of Christianity... on a level of
a child... i don't need to elaborate on it...
that it breeds weakness... love is a weakness...
until i met either Jeminah or Khedra...
i had a heart of stone...
          now? i'd still love to get together with
Jeminah... drink some wine... listen to a New Order
record on vinyl...
i got the picture... she was showing me this book
of old, historical Romford...
well... she gave it to me... standing over me...
i asked her: why don't you sit down next to me?
talk me through it?
  she did... ha ha... on our whatsapp exchange
i sent her a link to: foster the people - sit next to me...
she did sit down, slightly reluctantly...
my god... the moment the recoil happened...
i must have "accidently" touched her knuckle
with my finger... phoom! the ******* Challenger
space shuttle disaster! she sort of bounced off
two walls and then the ceiling and was sitting
far far away on the other couch...
but then there's Khedra... the ***** that made
my ****-cheeks ache and my torso attempting
to have six-pack ambitions...
yeah... well... it's a bit different when you see
footballers "taking the knee" on a football pitch
for "some cause"... a bit different when you're
taking a knee... stark naked... before a woman...
just to be level-eye with her...
and... just... you know... fiddly-do-b'ah...
   whatever... oh... i can kneel before a *******...
kiss her stomach... kiss her feet...
i think that's a better altar than...
pretending to **** **** before the altar
of ZEE CRUCI-VIED 'UN...
             magic ******* numbers!
                       yeah... Greco-Hebrew propaganda
against the Roman Empire...
that's what the New Testament is to me...
to go one further... i already mentioned this...
Ba'al Yah'****... lord of mosquitos...
what... turning water into wine...
and wine into blood... is not some infernal metaphorical
device? oh sure... Hey-Zeus was like...
the biggest troll out of hell...
         how did i remedy the spell?
once... i poured myself a glass of wine... ****** in it...
then drank it... MAH-AH-GIC!
a bit like those guys in World War I...
when the mustard gas fell... ******* on handkerchiefs...
the ammonia... purifying the smell of rotten
eggs... blah blah...
then again: why am i writing this?
am i happy? or do i... haven't got anything better
to write? or... perhaps this is easy?
imagine introducing the concept of Ba'al Yah'****
into Islam... to the Turks... hmm...
do you... perhaps think... the Turks might splinter
off... from the prior orthodoxy and heresy
of the Persians? reasoned with?
hmm... they do allow alcohol...
                      and they have the best barbers...
plus... the women? **** like they might be
from the harem of king Solomon...
*** starved... since... not even king Solomon had
the sort of stamina to **** over 1000 women...
if he did... he must have been an ******...
or at least... he wasn't ******* anything by
the end of a session... ergo... trophies... ***-starved
single men... and women... also *** starved...
with... perhaps... very crude ideas of the original ******...
then again... when was a cucumber cultivated,
proper?
sure... look up that josephus ben matthias ref.
regarding the false prophet from Egypt...
wait... wait... didn't Joseph take Mary and Hey-Zeus
to Egypt, the flight to Egypt?
sure... the historian was born circa... 32 AD...
but this is at the time of... NO INTERNET...
    imagine... what it must have taken...
to establish a YEAR ZERO...
                         wow... the amount of work that
went into that... few years... even a 100 could
go missing... just... "missing"...
   the fact being: this prophet wanted to overthrow
Roman rule of Judea: failed... fled back to
Egypt... and where was the Nag Hammadi library
found? in a cave, in Egypt...
just as the theatre of war of World War II was
coming to an end, come 1945... sure...
just "coincidental"... Ba'al Ya'**** had his fun...
not exactly endowed to please women...
abstain from this...
   if the modern girls want their... ahem... feminist war...
on men... sure... let them come...
today i perfect my mango curry...
i started to use whole piece of chicken... on the bone...
today it was drumsticks...
i marinated them in... yougurt...
turmeric... Kashmiri chilly powder...
coriander and cumin powder...
then i baked them...
   i had a spare mango... but already preprepared
mango curry sauce...
****... run out of garam masala...
but i made this other... curry powder...
strike me down i don't remember what i used...
a teaspoon of this curry powder...
some korma curry powder... some more
coriander powder... some more cumin powder...
a third of a teaspoon of clove powder...
some more Kashmiri chilly powder...
some more turmeric... put the heat right on...
to infuse the powders with the chicken stock
and the coconut milk... bay leaves...
taken out before blitzing with the onions
the ginger and the garlic... some peppercorns...
oh... and nigella seeds... a must...
some raisins... and a splash of apple cider vinegar...
yo! Faust! we're cooking! Faust... mate...
we're cooking tonight... sorry to disappoint you...
but tomorrow we're having fish & chips...
from where? Lighthouse Fish & Chips...
145 Heath Park Road, Gidea Park, Romford...
   RM2 5XJ... the best fish and chips you'll ever get...
trust me... i'm endorsing them...
Faust... what's that? chaos... oh... don't worry...
you'll get to the thrills...
there are plenty to come...
  look at me... i'm trying to juggle two women at
once... one... Turkish: a bomb in bed...
wants to meet outside of the brothel...
in a hotel room... "talk"... "improve her English"...
just wants to **** for the whole night...
sure... we'll go for food... me-be even a moo-v...
the other... a shy doe... but that dark tinge of ginger
that's just irritating to the *****...
Faust... curry come this Saturday...
yes, yes... the mango version of a korma...
more spicy... certainly no almonds so not as bland:
more acidic... no... i'm not going to infuse
the rice with turmeric... how much yellow do you
want on a plate? yes, i'll add the peppers...
for a bit of crunch... garnish?
fresh coriander... sure... i don't think anyone
will be asking for extra yoghurt...
   (burp)...
                   and you remember that "other" girl...
the friend of the manicurist that comes to see your mother...
she just tags along... she has a "thing" for Scandinavian
aesthetics on a man...
     nervous as hell: esp. when you peer into
her eyes and then peer at her face...
so much make-up... a body of crumbs... petite...
if you had *** with her: you'd crush her...
but this manicurist brings her daughter along...
you were talking in the garden while holding
this toddler in your hands... exposing her
to the sunlight... from time to time...
gripping the exposed feet of the toddler in
your hands: to warm them up...
you introduced this girl to the music
of the band Ghost... you spoke about wishing
to die on the Faroe Islands...
like it was your place of birth... well... isn't death
just that? a man's actual birth? a completion
for time to ascend toward a forwardness of
the spectacle? ugh... verbiage... unavoidable...
but who the hell just wants soap opera:
uncomplicated vector simplistic language of
purely: verbs... some nouns?
no... no etymology? wow... what a chunk of
history just: ****! gone! back to the analysis
of the comparisons of the ape to human skeleton...
**** similis is an ancient idea... there's nothing
new about it... nothing has changed...
because it's not supposed to...
                and what did it take?
my doctor's concern about my high blood pressure...
you either lose weight... or we're going to put you
on high blood pressure tablets...
**** that... you already miscalculated
by putting me on anti-psychotic drugs...
which made me put on weight...
i took myself off them... you have any...
actual.... counter-insomnia medication?
phenergan? sure... i'll take those... once in a while...
i'll stick to Naproxen and APAP...
and whiskey...
        though...
               wow... what a world changer...
giddy school girls... bro'... n'ah...
  not enough experience... they're just posturing
self-assurance... i'm after the mandible jaws...
but imagine... from a time when someone like...
Brautigan... no, not Brautigan...
       Berrigan... no... not him... ****... it does start
with a B, though... hmm... B... Berryman! John!
that's the one... how many marriages... how many
divorces... not that i'm counting myself...
                     oh, we're ******... esp. ****** right now...
it was possible back then...
but now? one ****-tease after another...
   thank god i chose to not have money...
i'd look like a complete idiot if i was honey-trapped...
because i might have money...
then again: i think i have money...
sure... gold standard... from IMPERIAL RUSSIA...
coins... stamps from elsewhere...
a ******* banknote from IMPERIAL RUSSIA with
Nicholas II's face on it...
   hell... i'll keep it until times becomes really
desperate... but? until then... when they find my body...
and they find that... i'll spin the myth...
i like seeing how people treat people...
depending on their social stratum...
i stopped watching movies...
                  hmm...
                              let's see some more...
high value man: the high earner... "alpha"...
well... fair enough... for a society that's supposed
to follow the lineage of the words:
i'm the alpha and the omega...
                    it's nice being on the outside: looking in...
my supposed value gets a direct translation...
prostitutes are like: the gold standard... or the FIAT...
not being demeaning...
but the money i give them: i wouldn't spend...
on... anything they might spend it on...
if i spent money like i do... Scotland would be
a Switzerland...
but, hell... if all these videos i've watched... are true?
if women want to bring the fight...
with what? i iron my own shirts... i cook my own meals...
i vacuum my own house...
i don't think there's a bargaining chip in sight...
and ***? i just found the best *** in my life...
*** so good that even she thinks it's not fair me paying
for only an hour... she wants to meet in a hotel...
for the whole night... "talk"...
so... Sartre mentions this...
   i'm still in the realm of skim-reading... the entry
points... the freedoms we have as individuals...
and how we express them...
                         i'm not willing to be a wage-slave for
someone to spend that money on...
something non-essential... because...
i call it the LIBIDO FACTOR... well... there's only
this amount of farmers we can have...
there's only this amount of metallurgy factory workers
we can have... beyond that?
attention seeking ******?
freely passing money around?
for what? ****'s sake... CONTENT?!
what.... CONTENT?!
                 it's not that there's too many people in
this world... per se... it's that...
there's enough people to have figured out
what to do... at this point...
i think we're going to run dry on ideas on...
what people can do... beside: plagiarise, steal...
and generally turn towards crime...
which is... a bonus for me...
         i'll have freely available clones... pawns...
should push come to shove...
i know what i'll have at my disposal... clones...
pawns... it's rather beautiful...
******* mind-drones... ditto-heads...
                 but then again... i'm not the one prone
to dream up architecture for a Freud-type
to interpret... all i dream of is a void...
sometimes a word pierces it...
                         no... no symbolism of a big hat...
or a cucumber... simply... NO-THING...
zilch... nada...
   yes... i've watched these supposed "alpha" males...
they're... always... weirdly... over-compensating
for a... hidden deficiency...
they are always posturing... they always seem
to be: eagerly disposing a set of rubrics of anger...
of... awaiting violence...
in a crowd of people... they never manage
to: get the jyst of "things"...
    weird... weird as ****... you know when you can
smell fear: sniff.... sniff... hmm.... i smell something...
it's a bit different when you find an
example that's... posturing... oh... a very different
sort of fear... not a fear from a direct attack....
"beta" males don't give off this vibe...
there's always some variation of a protector....
but these "alpha" males... oh... their fear is born
from... being... undermined...
sabotaged... it's thrilling to watch...
                                      why wouldn't it be thrilling?
it's like that scene from Hotel Transylvania...
when that old lady gremlin swallows something,
shaking, says... i didn't do it...
it wasn't me...
            and they get all hyped up...
become so talkative...
                         yawn...
                      i get scared too... i sometimes jolt back
when seeing a random hallucination in the night...
wait! ****! that's not my shadow...
oh... right... it just maybe is...
        ha ha... they had to go through all that
crap of building up resources...
seeking the "****** bride"...
                 me? what supposed artist gets rich
in his lifetime? i'm investing in...
post-humous legacy...
    i sought value in society's lowest ebb...
among prostitutes...
and what treasures i found there...
certainly no hook-up culture: mentality...
    i can kneel naked before a naked body of a woman
and... if i'd like: **** on the crucifix...
because? by now... i can...
with Christianity and its forever schismatism...
orthodox, catholic, protestant, baptist, blah blah...
whatever... i'm thinking about making Islam endure...
like a Janissary might... or a... Mamluk...
**** me... i'm willing...
                   but there needs to be a splinter...
one... there the Turks take over...
i already established the ground work...
Hey-Zeus? Ba'al Yah'****...
                  there's nothing for me here...
  nothing worth the life i'd want to life...
                           but i'll kneel before the altar of
a ******* standing before me naked...
while i'm kneeling naked myself...
and my eyes come level with her chin...
       time for change....
                     even if i die forgotten...
most people who accumulate wealth are forgotten...
now... that all depends... on the wealth
of my idea... could it be the proper probe...
let the court of time: decide;
i'm still going to enjoy the remains
of this whiskey... whether anyone likes it....
or not.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
Where the he l did it get to,
eft Ma low for Barce ona
but fai ed to be de ivered.

I ca led the office and they
old me  uck somewhere
e se and stop comp aining.

Just now at the traffic  ights
I saw a driving schoo  car
with a  earner and a big
etter in red on the back !
Qualyxian Quest Mar 2021
I'm 51 years old
Since 5 a true page turner

Nearly twenty years a teacher
That's how I was an earner

Now I'm unemployed
But inside I'm still a yearner

Please, dear God, O please!
Make me a lovelight learner!
Pluck Feb 12
Presenting to a room of hundreds has ceased to be a challenge, writing has become severely easy.

I’ve submitted to my generosity, I’m closer to giving all away than the ability to be greedy.

Spiritual discipline would be an underwhelming description, I’ve incinerated my former self.

Minimalist is an identity I can claim, a high earner inhabiting a dorm with shelves.

My daily duties for my career are child’s play, thus there is only one challenge in my life I can find.

Oh does this fill me with unbearable joy, for It is the outlier on the list, a simple matter of time.

Thus, my script is not egotistical, such is not my kind.

I am simply observing that all in my life but one thing, has risen to accompany my level of rhyme.

So, Give It time.
Elizabeth Kelly Feb 2022
I found out I was pregnant
The day Russia invaded Ukraine.
I sobbed, no of course I’m happy,
My husband stroking my hair
And rocking me on the bathroom floor.

I got rounder and rosier,
Pregnant in the summertime
With swollen ankles and an uncontrollable need for *** raisin ice cream,
Praying to a God I don’t believe in
For the health of my daughter
As the refugee crisis raged in Europe.

I was painting her nursery  
when Taiwan fell to China
And the global stock market Thelma and Louised.
Protests became riots and
My husband became a top 10% earner at a Fortune 500 company.
Cyber security.

She was born by candlelight on the bathroom floor,
Roaring into the world on November 13th, 2022 at 9:06pm
(Sunday’s child, like me),
Wax and my blood mixing on the tile floor.
Raindrops on roses
Power outages
Hospital closures

Maria
After my favorite Julie Andrews heroine.
An attempt to instill her with the bravery to sing.

As the world burned,
As my husband worked 20 hour days and became a person I hardly knew under the weight
As society’s cracks became breaks became near total collapse

I held her. Alone. Just us.
“You’re the only thing in this world I know to be real”
They call it daylight saving
I call it daylight robbery
and can you tell me
who is saving it
and for what?

it'll probably pop up on the stock exchange
buy shares in sunlight
get your sums right and
you could be on an earner.

— The End —