Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
  then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
           journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
    you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
   even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
   man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
    in terms of history and biology:
     history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
   well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
                  after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
   monument valley: utah...
  a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
    ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
           just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
   that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
   that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
      it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
               not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
  i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
        talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
                        so here's what i found
   (band - song):

wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
                                                mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
    smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
               unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
              jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
                   datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
   colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
                    earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
   zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
   rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
     kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
              the secret - bell of urgency,
      unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens  -
                                                out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
    ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
    lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
     wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
   goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
   earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
           tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
      burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
        slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
         shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
     sutrah - el septimo viaje...

  

who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
   imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
   to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
      you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
     sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
     to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
    drunk? getting there...
       it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
            while buying a russian
standard liter,
   asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
   but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
   so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
   rekorderlig...
   mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
    sorry... magners:
               irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
     but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
  ålska and K  ö   nigsberg
                            *œ
?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
    cider...
- what was i talking about?
  ah... the "dreaded" past...
     the people who say:
  but you can't live out a life,
   holding onto a private past,
a memory...
    so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
                i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
   and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
         one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
    and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
           to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
          i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
        of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
    however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
  is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
      there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
    "dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
    given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
   working from dasein...
            hierjetzt -
      or in english?             presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
  that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
   the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
   that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
  and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
     but with my privacy?
    you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
    and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
           i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
     two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
   glass of warm milk,
  an egg yolk,
     and a good scratch of butter...
  (on the rare occasion,
  milk infused with garlic)

mixed together...
before bedtime...
  if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
     well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
        in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
       no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
   the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...

  and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...

oh i get the youtube creators:
   living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
        annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
  i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...

men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
   ah ha ha!
             what's the ratio?
   last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
   mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
                    seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
                    when Islam was quiet radical...

well... i cook, i clean...
                what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
              rent, in london?
extortion...
                   housing shortage...
                 well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
               or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...

   i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
      no... not really...
          i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
               honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
               get the picture?
                 paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
   maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
         books and music...
                     mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
  neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
           aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!

i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...

two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
    clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
   what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
          oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
       even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
   sign-language: na migi...
               i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...

i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...

that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
             a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
                 old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
        what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
          you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!

integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:

y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!

there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
       as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
   wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?

   so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...

it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
           jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
      clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
              but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
                 casimir III...
                        jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
                           kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
  gott mit, uns!

              mit eine leben wert leben:
    erinnerung ist die nur kino
             wert sehen eine film beim;

hell... could be worse:
   i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
Third Eye Candy Nov 2012
these are gems
your tongue kissed in a fit of pink.
your luminous dark, weaving sharp cotton to photons as swiftly as first love.
you are remarkable. so mark.
these are the feathers of dead wings, staring at the sun through the ashes of Icarus
unharmed.

a blindfold of petulance between the deep and the blue
aloft.

this is the air that we breathe, you and i
the construct, struck dumb by the fierce knowing of a soul
the ponderous gaiety of lithe thoughts
that shimmer-*****
in the bleak fears
just cause.

an Earthless
poised in random
sky

but now
adorned.
Third Eye Candy Apr 2013
these are gems
your tongue kissed in a fit of pink.
your luminous dark, weaving sharp cotton to photons as swiftly as first love.
you are remarkable. so mark.
these are the feathers of dead wings, staring at the sun through the ashes of Icarus
unharmed.

a blindfold of petulance between the deep and the blue
aloft.

this is the air that we breathe, you and i
the construct, struck dumb by the fierce knowing of a soul
the ponderous gaiety of lithe thoughts
that shimmer-*****
in the bleak fears
just cause.

an Earthless
poised in random
sky

but now
adorned.
Rowan Deysel Feb 2016
The euphoric parallax, the vast.
The concealed, the intangible known.
The indifferent future, the decaying past.
The inconsistent, looping drone.
The lengths of our splendid slumber.
With both laugh and loathe entwined.
Bears witness to the wonders
Of our consciousness - sublime.
The falling from a heightened frightful.
The embarrassment of youth.
The promise of danger - delightful.
And the grand purpose - aloof.

All is vivid. All is bright.
All the colour stains the light.
All things hazy. All things merge.
All connected. All converge.
In the early, in the old.
In the fresh and the fatigued.
In the clear and the controlled.
In the apt and obsolete.
Where days come to end their lives.
To bask in the blurred glow.
To steer the sky behind our eyes.
And allow our liquid thoughts the flow.

Time's waste - the wondrous tragedy.
Mourned hour after hour.
The inescapable catastrophe.
The sad, slow devour.
Sight, to the dull of eyes.
Stability, in the earthless turn.
Tranquility, in every sigh.
Truth, in what we're yet to learn.
Here you hear the happiness.
And the sadness of the stars.
They share a song - synonymous.
They sing to us from afar.

Stumbling through the shapeless silence.
Merging with the mangled mess.
Tampering with the truly timeless.
Engulfed in what we can't caress.
The vague and subtle sightings.
Through the chaos of your plan.
Into the long wait for nothing.
Which kills the heart of man.
In the all encompassing loom.
Where you can finally be alone.
Your mind - a fragile bloom.
And the void, your only throne.

A state of elasticity.
A transparent mirrored wealth.
The nook of all necessity.
An eternal nocturnal self.
Where does this calm originate
That seems so unprepared?
Who truly can appreciate
The blankness of its stare?
Imagination meets mere memory.
Rearranging what we think we know.
Distorting what we want to see.
Inspiring how we hope to grow.

Now see the minds that wander.
With the twisting of the trees.
With the certainty of thunder.
And the warm, empty breeze.
We have to leave, we have to go.
Back to where we loathe but know.
We want to breathe, we want to glow.
We want the reap but not the sow.
The change that you so fear.
Roams the halls of this distortion.
It pauses, sways and veers.
In ceaseless, cruel contortions.

There is something that here dwells.
Something small. Something real.
In our greetings and farewells.
In all we see, hear and feel.
It writes itself on our faces.
It penetrates into our sleep.
And although we can escape it.
Into our subtleties it seeps.
On a buoyant float of black.
The black of vacant oceans.
It throws what we still lack.
Into monstrous swirling motions.

From the canvas of infinite infancy.
With broken wisdom blushed.
Forgotten almost instantly.
In your dazed, waking rush.
To a mountainous climb of morning.
We share the sun of skies.
For it wears the warming.
And the opening of eyes.
But how fine the line is drawn.
Between the sleeping and the aware.
Between the smiles and the forlorn.
Between the dream and the nightmare.
AA Phi Sep 2013
first,
a raccoon wrapped within its own intestine.
the asphalt is its grave; i swerve to miss it.
we shared the same air, maybe even a
common ancestor.
someone moved too fast to care.
its the ones with
fast cars and slow minds
pretty faces and ugly intent
artificial kindness but genuine hate
i'm not your friend
just a similar sense of self
it is
fat priests playing golf
lottery ticket paradises
restaurants
embellished mechanized slaughter
fake laughter and even faker love
shopping mall environmentalists
lexus-driving christians
paychecks, TV, lawn mowing sundays
drink yourself to death
please.
the least among us in control
deprived of the mind
the stench of their egos
and their hypocrisy
the gasoline, the cash, and the forced smiles
as i write people die
children die
i'm like many
the fool who knows
but does nothing
the one who doesn't know
that's the good person
the moral person.

second,
a rant, a ******* rage
the days are stale, self-actualize, the Earth remains the same
dry and motionless
middle-class frustration, planetary confusion,
the ***** of the Earth,
capsized like dying branches
in a wal-mart state of mind,
stupid slobs, rodent minded social egoists
over-organized, clean freak object fetishists
the evolutionary dollar sign
they bay at the moon, it's made of cheesecake
phase transitioning,
you blood clot, Earthly blood clot,
you don't know art
now there's ancient blood on my hands
smokeless, plantless, Earthless blood
detached from Gaian consciousness
stain on the mind
confused, clogged pathways,
clogged with
self-righteous mind flood
piles of ***** tissue,
waning and waxing
force feed me your ******* please
because i have no idea how to answer
in this cultural blood bath
it is the
end of time
the end of mind.

:aaphi
Michael Mar 2017
If it's empty does it grow?
earthless roots reaching out
floating idly, belly up
dreaming in a glass of water
rich, dark soil
a sky with no roof
freedom beyond walls
and the sun without a window
Missing the sun so much.
Derby Mar 2017
A thought, off the top o' my head--
't rings aloud like the crack o' thunder,
then 't bangs around, and 'tis no wonder
I'll get no sleep 'til I am dead!

The tremendous ache,
the pounding pain,
an evil, Abel-less, headly Cain,
a godless, disastrous, Earthless quake--
I'd just like some sleep!

"Rise, my body" calls out my brain,
"we've got t' write all o' this down!"--
but yet, still a clamor at my crown.
A pen and pad I 'wake t' grab,
Then my thoughts go down the drain!

Int' the cabinet t' pinch a pill,
I take 't with juice,
relax and loose,
and wait for the pain to finally ****.

Off t' sleep just one more time,
then another thought my mind comes to,
I whisper t' myself "oh, shoo! shoo! shoo!"
but it stays, it stays-- such a tragic crime!
I'd just like some sleep!
Something I think we can all relate to. Isn't it great?
Michael Edwards Jan 2019
.

Gaunt  trees in skeleton  reach down
their shadowed fingers crawl and grasp
forgotten stones and empty urns.

Where centuries of pain lie trapped
and empty hands reach out
for earthly title dispossessed

Primeval fear and piercing wail
the earthless fate of those beneath
denied the arches of the sky.
Bella Isaacs Dec 2019
Childhood lessons are revisited
But through the eyes of one much younger than myself
Old films, old books, old pictures, taken off the shelf
Are brought back to the eyes of one visited
By all that once I was told worthless;
I realise now it they aren't children that are earthless
They are us. What is it, that they teach us now?
How to compete, ******* others, ourselves, how
To deny life of its substance, and to be hypocrites to those we love
They give us empty quotes, say that we can prove
More just by thinking, and what of feeling?
What of looking, what of loving, what of kneeling
To thank the Earth for that which we have,
And that which we yet may give?
Rather than thinking solely of ourselves, let us do
That which our parents taught their children to be true.
I think sometimes, that we completely forget about the lessons of gratitude, courtesy, common sense and kindness our parents taught us. I feel more of a child than my 6 year old sister, and that scares me, but also makes me think - What can I do, to be better? To be more knowledgeable, wise, kind and beautiful in my soul? How can I become my childhood ideal?
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
life, currently... shouldn't be about...
a problem with the internet connection...
or how:
there's no satellite conncetion to the t.v. -
because of "snow"... and "hurricanes"...
but under the prescription of
the government...
  where is... where is indeed:
the replacement fireplace and a druid storyteller?
to keep up with the mr. and mrs. smith
enclosed in:
a quarantine zoo where only the virus
gets... to window-shop: concerning
what next to "wear"?

      trivial details: is anything but so grand
as to gain poetic traction from...
trans-gender activists and those teen
with premature depression antics of:
haiku... not yet a haiku etc.

but my post-soviet laptop works just fine...
it's all these delta korean "smart" whizz-kid
analogies of tablet that are...
feeding the bug of: forgot the cables...

last time i heard that the t.v. box needed
to be connected to the "dial-up" box-of-boxes...
the modem... sprinting to "evolve":
zee hub...
              smart as: the old soviet
manifesto concerning technology...
  if it ain't broke: don't even think about
spaghetti fixing it... sunshine...
and what happened? they went along
and "fixed" it...

                   like they went about fixing
the original... thesaurus rex algorithm of
youtube: that once great platitude of all other
jukeboxes...
   no chance in hell seeing these john peel
suggestion "crop up"...

i had the "audacity" to scribble them down...
once upon a time...

       band / album

beehoover / heavy zoo
        nord skin / secrets of the words
black elephant / cosmic blues
     swamp sessions / a lifesize swamp
1000mods / super van vacation
           ruby the hatchet / aurum
                  greenleaf / trails & passes
  the silver seas / catch yer own train
        sleep / leagues beneath
          spaceslug / lemanis
witch / s.t. (self-titled)
          elder / dead roots stirring
red scalp / rituals
                   castle / welcome to the graveyard
broken bells / s.t.
                        place of skulls / with vision
naxatras / (ep s.t.)
                       UNV nation / s.t.
                 the heavy minds / treasure coast
roma / s.t.
                   fabricantes / la selva incrustada...
savannah / deep shades...
mystic sons / s.t.
          sun of man / s.t.
  weird owl / nuclear psychology
       elbrus / s.t.
                   stonehenge / bunch of bisons
gin lady / electric earth
hey satan / s.t.
                   d d  blood / s.t.
               sonora ritual / dust moment
gnome / father of time
                                       godsleep / coming of age
ordos / house of the dead
mountainwolf / the silk road
               buffalo fuzz / s.t.
                                 black dust / s.t.
                may the fuzz be with you / vol. I
transpanda / goats against humanity
earthless / black heaven
           gorilla pulp / heavy lips
    black willows / samsara
   stone age mammoth / earth born... etc....

what a bullet bite... two short of ******-do'h shucks
when you come back home...
drunk and sober at the same time screaming:
some little ****** of a squinting eye...
****** up the jukebox: now i can't sing...
now i can't dance!

my t.v. needs to be smashed...
and my internet connection is tone deaf
and stone-age to boot...
i'm no trucker and i'm no christian
evangelist minder... for the "ummah"...
or whatever it's called...
i don't bet, yes ma'am...
i pay my dues to the tele-evangelical
god's son: the preacher ma'am...
yis i' 'ere owe...
  the scrutiny of a stamp-collector's
lick a slick and shove it up
the queue into heaven's ear...

         my most mediocre complaints...
a girl sent me a poem and a sketch...
and i'm just... hanging onto sanity's blockers...
steroids... and all those other
goof-*****... and i still want
to make it listening to the La's because...
the Beatles never made it to...
London Calling...
by... the stain... no... wait...
i don't know of a band known as the stain...
perhaps i should...

bad internet access and bad t.v.:
because winnie the p'ooh shot down a satellite
thinking it was: an asteroid heading
to hit Beijing...
the two: must be given a space-trap
of confusing intelligence officer:
blah-blah traps...

       i guess my mother should be dying...
my neighbour should be...
doing something...
dinosaur jr.., should be seeing
a revival... and a wish to dislodged nirvana
in the grundge charts... along with sonic youth...

but my post-warsaw pact...
this heap of "junk"... this soviety spy of a laptop...
if i wanted... i could probably synonym it
with a ******* microwave oven!
all this proto-plastic toys of...
   better heave: *******'s worth of the edit...
in capitalism: plastic is the new iron!
and all the more clueless...
call-center jihadis who will have you believe...
cables are involved...
connecting the view box for the t.v. to
the modem... the hub...
the "dial-up"...

because... the old octopus of walking about...
with syringes and makeshift veins
and arteries... to the great big brain
of "Omnia"...
                    omni-potent...
    omni-present...
omni-... yes... that litany of the prefixes...
culminating in: Islam Inc. and the female
deity of Omnia...

   wouldn't want to pluck those diamonds
out from their sockets: would we know...
then again... i'd rather see the mouth...
those niqab bound eyes are too filthy...

they pretend to cry i too pretend to see a waterfall...
and then the crocodile comes snappy
right at me...
and... i have to...
pretend he's a pig and a sort of leather belt
that can goes well with any choicest choice
of fine linen: and that not so fine kind...
you can hide pork in leather...
the belt, the shoes...
eh... crocodile crocks are too...
too **** obvious... for "hiding"...

stay inside they said...
  but the t.v. is the new fireplace...
                 and if there's not t.v...
   can life take toward... or rather... can poetry become
this surrogate for petty concerns being
answered in a democratic manner?
what's being love or not being loved...
guarded by a disparity of age:
does it matter whether you're 34 or 74?

i just want to know...
   why i'd pay circa 20 quid a week...
for a t.v. with a license...
and... nothing to watch...
     ol' lore of love is gone...
   very pressing... or hardly... practical
devaluations of that once...
formidable willing-pull-&-tug for impetus
sensation are long gone...
the crass economics of...
              heaven... i will forbid myself
to staging a cart-boot sale...
practical i: who still doesn't have a car...
and never will:
horses auctioned: yes...
            
   i had a dream that i was a motorbike...
i had the life of: roulette roundabouts of "chance"...
and that paid off...
   but what didn't pay off:
the peddling... easy-grip and whiff of
a tensed up wrist to accelerate...
would have been... the better option...

horses: tighten the reins...
imprint a heel in the torso... turn left "he says",
is say: tighten the reins to the left...
dig a heel in the right canvas bracket of torso...

i would most certainly consider
the matter closed...
    if i was getting such a ****** detail of a provider
for free or for a bare minimum...
love... hate...
these can hitchhike to their own demise
and slouching shadows to escape with
metaphors or stockholm syndrome detainees...

this 1.4 liter of ms. amber was supposed to
last me for three days...
good luck... i want to drink a little...
and become angry at those call-center mouse-traps
of pseudo-peoples...
who will cite: cables not included!
i want to become angry with...
the paycheck brigade...
   who hardly solve anything but...
digress and cut you off...
and are most likely to... over-toast
those hot-cross buns...

                       love... hate... miasmas... both... alike!
"ranting ******* and turnovers"...
and sober... does it? yes?
       what did the sober man ever conjure up...
beside... the glue of bureaucracy?
i must beg: what of the minotaur...
the menacing... hardly a bull's head
on a man's torso...
the marching of the hammers...
the marching of the quills...
i have heard that one country has asked
for finger-prints just so they can issue
a passport...
      
         my signature is not enough...
nor is my hand-writing...
         but love can wait...
       there's no need to give it a status of wine...

drinking warm whiskey isn't so bad...
you just close your eyes...
swirl the glass and pretend it's cognac...
god forbid the sanitation pipes should
malfunction...

    i have no real time for love...
love can happen in a metaphysical dress of something:
that allows... as many pockets
as there are things to hide in them...
practical peacocks of attention...

turns out: i can't fathom any ability to doodle out
a rook...
there seems to be no archetypal architect
to mind it...
there is one for an elephant...
a kamikaze giraffe that's most probably
a Nessy spin-off of a leopard: print for
a leather chair...

        is it a hybrid stork?
           best bet is: return to sender...
at least she will have an address on the readily
available... but at least i'm not hustling back
bathwater... or... i could have been...
sending her a packet of oats...

hour 'promptu...
       i'll sober up will i never...
talking to these whizz-kids about...
the internet connection and "missing satellites"...
because love should be by... "ripe old
prime concern"...
whether i am 34 or... 70 year ol' ++++...
   i can't draw a crow...
i can draw an elephant in doodle-sketch
stenography...
but i shouldn't... "technically"...
the crow is more... is more...
blatant...

show me crow: with letters!
         no... i don't imply: ᚴᚱᚨᚴᛖ....
  i mean... show me a crow...
all i see is a litany base...
of: ᚠᚨᚴᛚᛉ... this is what a crow looks like
to me...
                      "faklz"...
         you can't change my mind concerning
this...
nor can you: what sisyphus looks
like: RO...
               who needs to insert the pitch-fork
stopper of a H in the... omicron and...
what implies rolling: or rather... trilling
the R... for the rattlesnake exerpt?

   what's a snake?                           ᛊ...
it's not... ᛋ-ᛚᚨᚾᚷᛖ...
                            but for me...
a crow is... ᚠᚨᚴᛚᛉ: faklz...
                        
                                       the snake and it's...
spine... and the brain in the pickling-jar...
the winding details of signatures in
desert sands... the left-over dinosaur branch
of: by now... aeons have passed...
let alone but one... of those...
heavily culprit... tabloid newspapers...

i should have my "missing eye"
deemed the noun worthy of: faklz...
    tribulations by the:
-klz                   dolls scenting:
skip "the middle ground"...
all the latex in the world... and none
of the ******...

where is the love: it's most certainly no here...
it's with the engineers...
and not: with the call centers...

satellites and google earth and i'm still
bound to: fire! awe!
stick... friction! stones! hay fever!
ooh! aah!
   bronze age man: necklace!
harem in the waiting!
     verb + noun! elevator!
      did two nouns give birth to:
worth keeping...
i.e. pro-noun? and then that
turned into decomposition of...
chair... via... minus ch-a-r into i!?
                  no... of course not...

       of a "thing" too alive to be yet called
dead...
   just ploughing the field...
just... one of those infinitely biased
circumstance of this particular instance...
and: there's no need to peacock with
any answer: esp. if it's the "right" one...
no autodidactic when...
of a lineage... the offspring were...
supposed to be taught by people of personage...
and... scribble scribble mcdonald does doodled...
because: hey... "bruce"!
how's that york of ours: the rime
of... jack! how's that?!

    no need for tallent... no need for...
in the ethereal: of particulars...
monkey does what monkey ought...
and ought not...
with as much trouble as plasying smart...
as playing double...
and no smart or ever double...
plays out into the luck of the dumb...
you'd almost wish to be a cattle related
work of glut from a ******* & herd
perspective...
        i have to conclude...
this world for all this... beauty...
no... not when the half-imbeciles are involved
in... ruining the worth of copper...
the worth of crown...
and the worth of intellect...
for the sake of...

                a pinch of a bitter pint of a tad
bit of banter...
                   for me...
death... is a postman...
and i am... most certainly...
having to assure myself...
with a delayed send-off date...
this life and the world within in...
can or rather... would never allow me...
to feel inclined to be:
somehow... resting: even then moving...
on the bargain argument of:
being assured...
pretty much... yes...
a bargain... a bargain when asleep even...
most assured... a falling sensation...
or an ice-cream cone of licked...
morals and conscience...

and if not dabbled in?
        well... if not... dabbled in.

— The End —