Hey Eduardo!
Your name won't be forgotten.
It will echo through our heads
as well as screams of despair.
It will invade our hearts
as well as old lovers.

Where are the moments
which stab the chest,
investigate the body
and fill it with sorrow?
Where did they go?
Where are they?

Oh Eduardo!
I can't be courageous;
not after seeing you so cold.
She can't stand upright;
not after having her heart broken.

So much time penetrated the darkness
made you wish one last will;
– almost unreachable, almost in vain...
I hope they know how to be sensitive,
because I really don't know what else I must feel.
Oh too many words dissolved into a simple yearning!

One day, I believe it was a Saturday
before the eve of Mother's day or Father's day I have
forgotten, let's say it was ten years ago,
the sun rose brighter than any day had
on any day I had woken still drunk.
The skies were blue as a bruise from a punch
on the jaw and stark as, shockingly pure , almost .
I awoke remembering a bit of the chaos of last night.
I sort of recalled getting my lights punched out by
Eduardo, Didn't realize he was a black belt,
but I beat the hell out of his fists.
I recall trying to swap girls or something,
young and dumb as a sombrero thrown in the air
on new year's , I was, no purpose, but to see if
they had those feelings too.
And all hell broke loose.
My girl got mad, Eduardo got mad.
His girl smiled at me.
I kind of grabbed her and kissed her
pasionately, she returned it.
Then Eduardo punched her and my sweet
Felicia cold cocked me.
Then he  hit me and Felicia pulled his girl's hair.
It was bad. But good, you only live once ,
I said to Juanita as we limped home.
Woke up next to her, she and I both had black eyes
and hangovers. That Cuervos is crazy ,
dude!

A Golden Brown Mexican Royal Eagle proudly soaring and gliding on invisible æther:

Human Eyes from the ground: dark, attentive, following the Raptor's deadly arc as it ascends:

The Mexican Brown Royal Eagle spots
A frightened Doe:

The dark eyes from the leveled plain:
a startled double-take,
follow the rapid Eagle's spiraling descent:
The vaporized cloudiness slashed;
A cinematic flash
of hide torn
and shrieking delight
are jumbled,
and echoed
through the void:
The Raptor is
Voluble butcher
As it devours,
Sinewy flesh,
Peeled from broken bone
leathery skin and
curved horn;

The Dark eyes moisten
While the scene
Fills His Eyes;
What Beauty juxtaposed:
Death And Life Are Just
A House
Inhabited by
Swift
Or
Quick
The Fortunes Named
In The Game
Called
Life Or Death.

J Eduardo Ramos©

The gardenias' Sweet
fragrance enveloped
the backlit silhouette of You.
Profiled diffusely against the
Aura of the Eclipsed Moon,
Our Gentle Guest.

J Eduardo Ramos©

Black Flags are flowing
In the news;
inked in
or Not
The pulp slashes
Across my seared consciousness:

What say my heart for those
Who perish?
What Say My Heart
For Those Who Cry?

Peevishly My Heart responds,
in ****** Tears,
As in a nightmare:

Weep all the tears
For the Motherless Children,
Weep All the Tears
For The Buried Child...

Weep For Yourself, And Not Without Shame,
Weep For  Humanity And
Mankind
As it Slowly Dies...

Weep for Those
Whose Vibrant
Life You Adore.

Weep Not For The Cruelly Weak
Who, Knowingly,
inflicts
such
Inordinate pain.

J Eduardo Ramos©

When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears
will never  suffice;

The Romans, Phoenicians, the Hitites and Egyptians,
they all knew the score, they used it for years:
Mortar, water and stone were never enough.

Foundations were crumbling, the bridges fell tumbling, the roads went asunder, the cracked dams' water pouring;

Rulers and Chieftains, Pharaohs and Mighty Heads of the State,
Convened with their Wizards, Druids, Grand Mages and Magicians:
"Solutions", they clamored,
" Solutions at once!".

Bonfires were lit, the goat's blood spilt, the entrails were read, the tea leaves deciphered.

The Oracle rose, in a whispering murmur, She muttered:
"When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears will never  suffice".

The Gods, in their infinite wisdom, had spoken:
" the elemental truth" they said
"that runs at the core, of all human enterprise
since the days of Gog,
for the formula to be true,
It needs a special glue,
a magical brew,
a mixture of fear, innocence
and tears
that can
only be found,
in the wide-eyed
Son of Man;

An infant is needed,
for Stone, Water and Gravel,
will eventually unravel."

"When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears
will never  suffice".

So it has been said, it has long been sung, the basis of Civilisation
is Human Sacrifice...

The Romans, Phoenicians, the Hitites and Egyptians;
they all knew the score, they used it for years,
Mortar, water and stone were never enough...

J Eduardo Ramos©

A clover green bowler hat on the cars dashboard; mardi gras beads, wildly dangling from the rear-view mirror.
A cigarrete, held by the white knuckles grabbing the wheel. A mop of lush blonde hair, freely flowing in the wind. Aviator sunglasses, sitting astride
A dimpled nose; cherry-red lips whistling a long forgotten Irish
Song of Lust, Death & Fate...

J Eduardo Ramos©

The African Burial Ground
BY YUSEF KOMUNYAKAA
They came as Congo, Guinea, & Angola,
   feet tuned to rhythms of a thumb piano.
      They came to work fields of barley & flax, . . .

The Red Shoes
BY SHEILA BLACK
Someone buried red slippers under the floorboards
and the mice nested in them. The floors splintered no matter

To Juan Doe #234
BY EDUARDO C. CORRAL
I only recognized your hair: short,
neatly combed. Our mother
. . .
Istanbul 1983
BY SHEILA BLACK
In the frozen square, the student asks me if I will
sell him the books from my backpack. He hides them
under his winter coat. Steam rises from the whole . . .

Timidity not my Horse,
Timidity not my Sailboat,
Timidity not my Suave, Fluid
Elevator
thru Life's  many travails.
Timidity
Not
Me.

J Eduardo Ramos©

On this eternally present appendix
of our modern life
Called our lifeline,
What is a landline?
Our fingers glide
Our eyes slowly die
We stare, we do not dare
Look away; wait, I gotta take this!
We buy
Sometimes sell
We search:
***
Love
Stuff
Knowledge?
Perhaps.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

Frente a el Monolito Esculpido de Coatlicue:

¡Terrible Madre de los Dioses! :

Ese dia domingo en un año cualquiera de el siglo diez y siete, cuando Humboldt conmovio
a los frailes Domínicos a remover
la tierra que cubria tu rúbea y sierpa tez:
La ferocidad que tus hijos, Huitxilopoxtli y Quetxalcóatl, conocieron de ti,
pasmo al santo abate y al pensador alemán.
Cuantos siglos dormida sin beber
Tu merecido y necesitado bermellón
Liquido, aun tibio, del corazón palpitante; ofrenda a ti, ¡Oh, Madre Terrible de los Antiguos dioses Aztecas!

J Eduardo Ramos ©

Una noche en la Ciudad de México,
En esa ciudad antigua, espesa de cultura sobre un árido Lago de Texcoco;
primitiva como sus religiones sangrientas, y moderna como afilado
Cuchillo de plata y nácar.
Aunque las piramides de el sol
Y la luna
No fueron testigos,
Y no nos encontramos abrazados, desnudos, sobre la Calzada de Los Muertos,
La nívea sabana se tiño de virginal
Pureza en rojo de entrega,
tu vez primera.

J Eduardo Ramos©

My Muse is fickle and thrifty with her Gifts,
She caresses my eyelids with a gentle touch,
And Kisses my forehead with Violet Lips
Suffusing my Dreams in Magical Hues
She visits me Nightly
To show me the trove
Of Her Myriad Treasures
Which I Dare not steal.

J Eduardo Ramos©

You wanted volcanic
passionate                                  
                    kisses;
And I gave you
supernova
                    love.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

Like 
The 
Chrysalis 
My 
words
Blossom
And 
unfold
Their
Wings
H­oping to
Fly
And 
Reach
You.

J Eduardo Ramos©

Honey is english for Miel.
Miel is spanish for Honey.
I want to kiss the Miel from your lips, Honey.
The words taste sweet in my mouth:
M I E L/ H O N E Y
Your lips taste like Honey in my mouth, Miel.
Yo quiero besar tus labios, Honey, full of Miel.
Will you?

J Eduardo Ramos ©

There are people who are born
To mend flying wings;

The healing comes easy and tender.

There are people who are born 
To curtail your flight;

And their uncaring ways,
rubs hard and rough on you.

Flying and soaring makes up for the times, we find ourselves dragging our mended wings on the ground;

Flying and soaring, up, high in the sky, 

Makes us feel we are one with the world.

Let us remember the feeling we love,
Living as creatures who are meant to 
Always Soar!

Soaring and Flying 
We live up above,

Loving and Living as 
We 
are meant to 
be:
One with The World!

J. Eduardo Ramos ©

I love, not just to love;
You never understood my Love;
My love was as archaic as the medieval or Sapphic poems found as ruinous scrolls: Old and anachronistic;
***** in its innocence or faithfull as wide eyed babes.

J Eduardo Ramos©

Hay gente que se renta
Para llorar en Funerales;
Hay gente que se renta
Para satisfacer deseos Carnales.

Hay gente que vive y
vive mal en los Arrabales;
Hay gente que vive gozando en sus
Mansiones Estivales.

En esta vida el que entiende
Que no vive mas el que
compra o vende
Ni mejor el que en sus mansiones
La miseria del Arrabal escape.

Vive despierto a lo tuyo y tuyos
Ama mas y no envidies por lo que no trabajes
En la balanza de la Vida
Los Arrabales a veces huelen mejor
Que las mansiones Estivales.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

My Dog is loyal.
The unabashedly
noisy love it professes,
I'm embarrased to admit,
Is not reciprocated with
The same hallowed and pure innocence
Conveyed.

J Eduardo Ramos©

Impossible is nothing but a word.
Chance encounters mean more than we know, and yet, like heralds of portent or foretold, unraveled mysteries, we untangle; by following Ariadna's thread:
No Minotaurs of doom to fear; no mazes of walls to get lost in; no legends to survive.
Life is real, and lovingly cinematic, like our dreams.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

Morning light invites all the sleepy colors to awaken
from their slumber:
Red responds in a bright flash;
Yellow winks as it smiles;
Green unfolds calmly, almost asking for reprieve.
Blue is restless to heed the call ;
The World explodes, alive to the sunlit balm.

J Eduardo Ramos©

The morning lark
Visited my window
To tell me that poetry
Is not exclusively, like jazz music,
the domain of the night.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

Of long streets marked by dim lights.

Concrete steps that ran the side,
of your leathern'd shoes worn out,
by the myriad looks that browsed,
through your soul and left you untouched.

Solemn, You, sideways the smile.

Poet Prophet of the Night.
Only you could fathom All:

Broken windows of the Soul;
Nightless smiles, and daytime Owls
Who, in smooth cadence walked,
stepping into voids of
Coin,
selling their skin;
conjuring
The Harlem Dark,
Of their opaque,
blythe...
Lost Dream.

J. Eduardo Ramos©

The hopeless, brutal love the ocean proposes,
To the immutable, unyielding, stoic cliff;
Manifested, for æons,
as ceaseless
Violent
Caresses;
Has spawned
the gentle and pristine
Beach.

J Eduardo Ramos©

In the night, dark as a coffin, we make love.
In the coffin we call night, we come alive.
*** and Death.
Eros and Tanathos.
The inseparable twins of this unwritten story;
Melancholic, true, and ancient, indicating a lost Greek tragedy;
Or a modern play, in its vibrancy and allure...

J Eduardo Ramos©

Warriors cry in solitude
Free to let the tears slowly flow
No constraints when no one sees
The shields are now lowered down

Tears for the death of their wasted
youth and dreams
Gone, long gone
Never to come back
The winners and losers
Of the psychic wars
It’s never them, O, never them
They’re left to be
Warriors who cry
In solitude for their
Lost
dreams,
youth and laughter
Long left behind…
©J. Eduardo Ramos

I do not claim to be God,
Although You Are my Goddess.
If I am not God,
Then why do my lips fit
perfectly on your
Shapely, tender lips?
If I Am Not God?
Then why, do my hands fit
perfectly on your
Shapely, warm body?
If I Am Not God?
Then why,
When I Rest my face,
on the soft, tender, warm,
Nook
of your neck,
I
Fit
Perfectly?

J. Eduardo Ramos©

Go ahead.
You may find yourself or not.
Now, go look at the mirror;
Yes, there's only one of You:
You
Are
Unique.

J Eduardo Ramos©

O, loneliness, my old foe, my relentless companion,
Inseparable nemesis of mine.
We meet again, as if we never parted;
The distant space, the arc of separation, between my
Lovely Celina and I,
Brings you back to walk those steps
I take without Her, to walk them with me.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

.hey, so much for jack kerourac's on the road... but i have found this most pristine tour-guide... as that h'american hobo... "7 years later" duping the tourists down in Amsterdam... h'american... what else? well it's hardly the Nepal you were looking for... or those grand sand of Arabia with a Lawrence: better suited for a... what do "we" call them? androids... david... citing: the trick is: not minding that it hurts... stoicism or some otherwise weathered down, other... point of (a) queue? and yes... red hot chilli pepper's song: warm tape... off the album... i forget... is underrated... in between the salvos of... those lyrics based around a "narrative"... but when the chorus comes in? melted butter in a thick spludge of crème fraîche.... yes... i want to love like a john frusciante... but i know i never will... i see too much economics to: "bed the pardon"... ****... "beg" the the pardon... the girls i once loved have probably forgotten me... moved on... the prostitues "in-between" were always "her" tailor of best arranged hair via - gay riddles of "the cut" via never having to mind a barber... and all those manicures! mein gott! there was a time and a place to squeeze in politics of the "fathomable" populace... and a "perhaps a chance" to raise children? dire consequences... to no avail of... the otherwise prior mentioned: straits... there were times in my life when i felt in love... that i could give give give and never ask for anything in return... lucky for me i started to age and not perform the portrait gray act of stay-young-forever-young-vampire... i clinged to love, once... it was such a beautiful spring... a spring that could last within its season a spell of over 5 years... then... reality and autumn and a need to dispell delusions... she probably still "loves me"... with someone else... cameo cinema of memory? where, am, i? love, oh love, what a burden, a hurdle, a responsibility... it's never this quickened escape ease of breath lodged into fiction... somehow always constricting, somehow always burdensome... somehow and somewhat always... never the homeless cherry picking of mutt that made it to an elevation of being under the christmas tree! why would i have children "these days"... well... there's no history i'd be allowed to teach them... and modern day-old journalism? i thought the people were only willing to fudge bulimia down the throats of their "listeners"? i still want to love like a john frusciante... perhaps that's the mosti can offer... best sentenced to a riddle escaped with at a bechance of keeping distance.

being a video-tourist with roosh v:
the sort of h'america i always wanted to see...
like... gaining another 50ml shot
of whiskey under the belt and notches...
is like... imagining *******
ava lauren in a 1970s italian ***** movie
style... when even *** in a pornographic
movie feels: sensual...
joel osteen... an iron maiden gig
looks... just the same...
when the skin becomes a sterile experience
of leather: when wearing shoes...
and a belt...
when this worn skin becomes
this most adored leather...
when the exhausted "beauty"
of prostitutes becomes: something
equivalent to... working out the mandible
artifact... akin to the chew and jaw...
the old continent seems to sigh...
i once missed Handel's Messiah for a night
at the brothel with the Bulgarian harem...
the grand-orchestra of the acronym:
U! S! A! U! S! A! seems so vague and...
bewildering... i'd love to be an atheist in
h'america... so... ridicule prone and
the high-end sort of bag-full-of-counter-virtues...
but i just can't be...
i like being a god-fearing man...
skin... ****, i need to tend to my german:
wann haut wird leder...
akin to: when **** cheney half-had
a neu-herz...
we do come most humble...
we are, oh the most pristine: wenigkreaturen...
ZAMAR-ZNIĘTY... frozen... (he)...
unless... you see that R-Z outside of deutsche...
in the fwench: je, je SUIS! form...
hard to keep those two 'uckers together
in a rz-eton... (Ż)eton casino...
orthography... who am i to preach to a people
so... so figured out with their metaphysics
that orthography, quiet simply,
doesn't, concern them?!
i'm still thinking about ava lauren and
all that 1970s italian *****-sensuoso *******...
why not to forget? pontius pilate clause
akin to louis XIV paranoia:
the power lies in how "it" is perceived...
lying... i don't mind hearing about hog-mucking...
i just mind when it's don juan
mucking up a nun: that's not a nun...
i don't like hearing about:
the goat in sheep... in the mouth of a wolf...
i can stand metaphor...
i just don't like curtains made from iron...
or burgundy tinged silk...
or some other: BLATANT lie...
the one blatant focus for puritanical "superstitions"
of: third eye blind of the other is...
this... bogus f-ck-wit of an underbelly...
there really was a time when i wanted
to see little-life everyday-sort-of h'america...
how the... whittle people lived...
then i figured... no more and no less whittle
from where i'm sitting...
maybe i should be standing?
but at least i come from a continent where...
(a) a striptease is... like the slipped ****** pill
no one wants...
(b) the ****** don't bring their cameras
and film you while you're at it...
(c) and a (d) and an (e) that i will not even
debase myself with...
perhaps we do speak the same language...
but... that's as much as
relates shoeshine to a shoe
as it relates mewwy ol' england to this...
grand posturing that's the u. s. of... a.
perhaps i need to see the sights of: Moldova...
or... Switzerland...
last time i heard being land-locked is the new
best thing... given aeroplanes...
i did want to mid-west ****-hole h'america...
from england... eh... m'eh... all i need is to go east
of Germany... if i find myself in
the West Warsaw coach station...
i'm practically in Ukraine...
everything reeks of this... sediment of roach bathed
in rust... a perfume of mud,
concrete, and lazy metal...
and of course the doom and gloom of the skies...
like 25th of december in Chernobyl...
you just want to start aiming for sparrows
with a pellet gun and break your teeth
on sifting through dirt and haemorrhoids...
and by these standards?
punk will never bother to re-invent itself...
not with pink... and "pronoun concerns"...
or whatever you these days call a f-cking mullet...
and yes... because even if i could...
the white picket fence...
the 3 brats worth of a brood...
the gene patriarchy drive...
the alcoholic / neurotic spouse...
the dog name Bono...
and... each saturday a: bonfire of concerns
for my children's schooling...
sober: but the alternative is no better...
personally? as an "atheist"?
i'm not really thankful...
i can't be thankful for all of this...
last time i checked...
some people in this world are required
to have an omni-litany ruling over their ***-lives...
they want to feel: *****...
why would i even be an atheist?
to speak out something, snarky?
to be prone to... too much ridicule?
there's only so much comedy you can invest in,
before you realise: oh ****...
i'm not a stand-up!
this monologue has no stage...
no audience... it's going to eat me up
like any other solipsism without any escape
into a soliloquy!
atheism is a "thing" in h'america: no wonder...
who said it...
they're a bunch of puritans in public...
but in private? citizen porky?
you know... pig rubber masks and spandex
and s & m and... yawn...
a striptease is so condescending...
6 weeks of celibacy...
nothing: excuse me... *******?
i'm excused with the personal-relief...
yes, the line is drawn... once given the snip
but not the kippah?
em... **** galore: up in their air...
rotating toward... Mecca...
with the prayer...
like... i have the scalp to scratch my head
and ponder...
imagine if a circumcision was akin to scalping...
personally... do we even need ears?
i could be the first to say:
but not really...
a matrimony begins with...
the snippet... which transcends the symbology
of rings... i might as well see it as...
for a woman: she is to offer her virginity...
for a man? he is to offer his *******...
problem solved! Libra rejoice!
she gives up her virginity - which she will lose...
he gives up his ******* - which he will lose...
i can almost see Aaron making these
Levi demands...
what am i thinking...
i will never get to see ****-hole mustard seed
h'america... i'll sooner see Kazan...
but i still don't see the point of making
the loss of a woman's virginity to be equivalent
to a man losing his *******...
after all... prior to the snippet...
he'll *******... a woman will *******...
but... em... what the arm will not do:
the "oyster" will quench...
an i am a gentile figuring out the proper ways
of the monotheists...
speeded up eventuality of apes watching
the descent of dragons and dinosaurs...
bound to the noble profanity of swans...
and widow and widower swans...
brid-brains! of noble emotions!
huh?! no! not us!
i can see the point of male circumcision...
when it is brought with the virginity of a woman...
being circumcised with one woman
is much more than putting on a ring...
un-lucky for me... two protruding veins
like the caduceus worn into the skin of matrimony...
it's not simply that i won't:
i... can't...
hence my infernal tongue.

__________
one can only begin with: Б and В -
and then the nuance:
whatever "nuance" there was,
to genesis an adam and eve -
apple and: pears to combine
for the image of Иосифа лестница..
                  ц - ß - צ (tsade)
                   like one might begin with
something along the greek:
P and Π - amputee R...
rolls... rolls... past the goal-posts...
            the fwench hark
the english tarantula bitten
tongue-numb do not never will trill!
never mind:
       ščypta - szczypta - a pinch of salt...
wikipedia is so ******* wrong...
   щypta... it's a siamese grapheme!
thus shown... cisza: silence...
                       ciša..
ciШa...
                       you can rewrite ščypta /
szczypta in russian...
                     avoiding the щypta...
you can write: ШЧypta...
                     but given: щ (šč / szcz)?
                                    who's to argue?
here's my "revenge" against
organic chemistry's theoretical
electron migrations of schematics...
how about diacritical migrations?
more like electron ontology:
waves one minute, clouds the next...
czyszczoh...

https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=firefox-b-d&channel=trow&ei=vf84XaHyIMWHhbIPhtOPqA4&q=czyszczoch&oq=czyszczoch&gsl=psy-ab.3...750080.759383..760300...1.0..0.247.1771.0j9j2....­2..0....1..gws-wiz.......0i71j0i67j0i131j0j0i131i67j0i30j0i13j0i1­3i30j0i13i10i30.wqdfvbgw6Ck&ved=0ahUKEwjhxKfi787jAhXFQ0EAHYbpA-UQ4dUDCAo&uact=5
(8 goodle results, nearing a -whack)...

Czyszczoń:
                     čyščoń:

                  interlude: Ђ? in cyrillic? isn't that a hindi letter?
via a mirror akin to Я ?            

czyścioch:
                 ШЧ / Щ -ypta - pinch...
      ЧyCЬKIOX...
          someone pedantic about staying clean...

                           :
  if you ever became riddle by pure
chemistry theory, and never walked into a lab:
that also employed you,
wasted years: performing electron bogus
schematics of "electron migrations"
in organic chemistry compounds...
in experiments...
          university as that extended waste
of time period: beside heavily politico
mickey mouse concerns of the dept. of
the humanities...
  sociology et al., well then?
you're right where you belong!
    
how about: the migration of diacritical markers,
orthography before naked english...
how's that?
     english the adam and ever...
all other languages attired
in the niqab worth a god...
__________

as i sit perched on my folded foot on the windowsill,
having a ms. amber cocktail with ginger ale,
smoking a cigarette, i gravitate to the empty
standing rack of shelves...
  what remains on it, as the paint dries?
a tub of wall paint: fine rosemary,
       tissues, sunglasses,
                  a game sheath: chess and backgammon
in one... a c.d. walkman,
      20 copies of my curricul vitae,
a 1:26000 ratio map of Warsaw...
                                  heidegger's ponderings VII - XI,
a thin book of poetry:
    Πoετιc Oπτoμεtρy - by some vague unknown
semi-anon. Mateusz Conrad...
          i'm hoarding about 200 copies of this work,
perhaps this lazy sod will finally get to
send this printed copy, some raw manuscript
pieces and a covering letter to
          Austin Macauley Publishers:
sounds like a good deal...
  they accept any manuscripts, with or without
an agent, published or not published,
expect a 3 week wait...
a letter dated 16 April 2019 for an appointment
at the Community Outpatient Cardilogy Clinic
  (Dagenham RM8 2EQ)
               with Anamaria Lunca...
24h ambulatory blood pressure monitoring
   (aged 33? not bad... <insert a snigger>)...
Plato's Theaetetus,
               Man-Bat: part 1 of 3, 1st. part,
DC comics, chuck dixon, flint henry,
    eduardo barreto - Feb. 96 - two $2.25...
Doctor StrangeFate, Amalgam Comics,
      #1, Ron Marz, Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez,
Kevin Nowlan, April '96,
                                         $1.95...
Littlewoods F.A. Charity Shield:
Manchester United v Newcastle United
Sunday August 11 1996 Kick-off 3:00pm
Official Machday Proramme £5.00 -
venue? the old Wembley...
inside? another matchday programme...
West Ham v Manchester United
Barclays League Division One
Wednesday 22nd April 1992 kick-off 7:45pm
£1.50 for the programme...
- the mask returns: john arcudi (story),
doug mahnke (art),
      titan books, first edition October 1994...
Czeslaw Milosz - Zniewolony Umysł
     "Culture" Paris - 1953...
- Bartman: the best of the best 1st edition
January 1997...
- a few figurines...
   a porcelain tortoise: WADE - made in england,
a Kenyan shamanic totem -
a figure with a bloated belly and only one eye,
a polish clay cockerel,
           London's China town red figurine:
standing proud on coins of wealth roaring...
1986, my year, moderate wealth -
well... given this list... i had to move all
the books i own that are supposed to be on
these shelves into the hallway, some onto
the windowsill and some into the box room...
the paint has to dry...
          a boomerang...
                     a Wawel dragon figurine...
(hell, in the west the dragon is associated
with wealth... Smaug... in China the tiger
is associated with wealth... didn't know that)...
some amitriptyline 25mg tablets...
    tom waits: glitter and doom (live) -
seriously - there are only about ten albums
in this world where the live performance
outstrips the studio version,
notably? going out west...
                   a pencil and a piece of paper...
where i scribble my braille tally
to teach me how to drink sensibly
my two ciders and the banquet of whiskey:
currently standing at 4... ****...
oi! tender hands that never worked or
played the guitar, giv' us'us the braille
count to show you have no more fingers
than that tender index of yours!
                           ⠁⠃⠇⠧ ⠷ ⠿
                 it's working... 'nuf' said...
- virgil's the aeneid,
- h. p. lovercraft: against the world,
    against life - by michel houellebecq,
- NewScientist - 50th anniversary special
   (1956 - 2006)
- Bolshoi Ballet, Royal Opera House programme,
i won't be dropping names...
****, i will:
           karim abdullin - soloist,
        maria alexandrova - principal,
artemy belyakov - leading soloist,
yulia stepanova - soloist,
                igor tsvirko - leading soloist,
- three letters from a Magdalena
Wielgołaska -
handwritten letters and all,
a pen-pall i managed to pick up a conversation
with in Edinburgh when she was
working a b & b for the summer...
         very self-conscious about her
height... well... she did play volleyball...
- old notes from university:
history essays... all a solid 2:1 grades:
    matriculation no.: s0458467
   tutor: kirsty chatwood (canadian ****
who became pregnant, great sense of humour),
e.g. why were there so many rebellions
in Europe in the mid-seventeenth century
(word count: 1,991),
   how and why did Napoleon succeed in
establishing French power over so much
Europe? (word count: 1,956)... 2% shy of a 1st...
so... no, not even i can answer this question...
since i also own copies of...
a traffic management copy of
my organic lab schedule:
   synthesis and acetylation of ferrocene,
preparation of 7-trichloromethyl-8-bromo-Δ-p-pinene
by free radical addition of
   bromotrichloromethane to β-pinene,
the photochemical interconversion of trans-
and cis- azobenzenes,
witting synthesis and photochemical
   cyclodehydrogenation of 1-styrylnaphthalene...
silyl enol ethers: a directed aldol reaction...
i used to do this sort of "stuff"...
but the pièce de résistance while i moved
my private library from these shelves?
ahem...

                 E. O. Richter & Co.
                 Präcision
                 Kopernicus IX set...
                 das prazisions-reiszeug

i.e. the most pristine instruments for technical
drawings... the sort of technical drawings used
in metallurgy, engineering, architecture...
people would conflate a hoarder with me...
me? i'm a connoisseur...
             i respect the sort of materialism that
transcends that shallow form of materialism
that equates itself with immediate gratification
not as a per se: but as a tool to attract...
unwanted attention...
  flimsy materialism, gluttonous materialism...
a materialism that occupies space
and short-attention span gnats...
    materialism of a temporal rather than
a spatial nature? now we're talking!

   and here's to toasting this day...
tomorrow i will erase that fateful day that
coincided with me painting my room
crimson - the Bataclan Massacre...
fine rosemary pale hue will replace
these blood soaked walls that have become
my gallows...
                    a shade much less the green
of my own eyes... and perhaps...
my mind will rest with a mild lapse into
a curiosity of a serenaded mind:
         i'm not even looking for serendipity.

it really didn't occur to me with regards
to the state of h'america...
  once upon a time any european would
look toward h'america as this unified
continent of sorts...
  prime cultural export juggernaut...
now? with the cracks showing,
  with individual americans making youtube
videos?
   clearly "we" europeans were lied to,
well: "lied" to...
          i would never have thought that the states
were so divided...
that even moving from one state to another
can be deemed as supicious...
maybe that's heavily reliant on the fact
that we're talking about a federation...
          in Europe they call it nationalism
what in H'america they call patriotism...
and populism is just the glue in between...
like that whole: ex-pat is not an immigrant...
but i love the h'american approach
to us old continent boyos...
styxhexen-... about the europeans:
'like we're enlightened and ****'...
         that really sums it up....
             notably, compiling the above list?
i almost forgot what i was going to write...
-hammer666 did enlighten me...
  i would have never have thought that
h'american "soccer mums" and goody-two-shoe
ruby-slippers christian folk would ban
children from reading 'arry Potter...
     well of course i knew of the satanic panic
music, and the gaming: thing...
but i never heard of 'arry Potter books being
banned...
     enlightened and ****...
      if Nietzsche was going to brag about reading
Stendhal... did him in my teens...
nothing to brag about... after all...
i did see a movie adapation starring
ewan mcgregor as julien sorel... and rachel weisz
was in it too... the first book adaptation on
film that spurred me to read the book...
if only the lord of the rings did likewise...
alas... not to be!
      no thanks to my scottish english teacher...
sure: of the g.c.s.e. curriculum?
i'm the king of the castle was the only
book of depth...
       yes, i'll give him this:
he did introduce me to jazz music...
   ben webster's how deep is the ocean...
   no other sax player as ben webster...
but: 'we're enlightened and ****' as an american
might put it...
   same teacher... on a trip to Glasbury-on-Wye
(Powys, Wales) -
oh god, i was dying to go on that trip for ages...
we were first supposed to go aged 15...
year 11...
  but the outbreak of the madcow disease
prevented us... so a year later it was...
    great place... caving, canoeing, horse riding...
and just in general the great outdoors...
any teen's dream living in the outer
east end of London...
              anyways... so the teacher inquired...
'what are you reading',
  he walked into our dorm while
guys my age were... snorting sugar dust
through their noses...
      fizz wiz space dust... yep... down the noses
it went...
   i was reading a book looking at them
like a gorilla might look at a human...
                       'mr. bunce? what am i reading?'
so i handed him the slim copy
of Marquis de Sade's groundbreaking short-story:
******...
          now, if you ask me...
the Marquis would have been the emblem
of short-story writing, he was the best as short-stories...
all those long repetitive regurgitations are...
well... 120 days of *****...
but Insect is where he shines,
the story is succinct in a citrus fruit sense:
i.e. piquant.
   succinct and piquant: such lovely
words could only have originated from
French and have to be treated as: loan-words.
besides: i find h'american criticism of europe
a wee bit funny...
     sure: an honest critique of the states
and the union, grandiose politics cogs and
all the labyrinths' worth of bureucracy:
like anywhere - same ****, different cover...
but when it comes to social norms and their
taboos... h'america is very truly backwards
when it comes to what culture its citizens
are allowed to ingest...
       me, in europe, reading marquis de sade
aged 16...
the equivalent of me, in h'america,
being prohibited to read: 'arry potter for
****'s sake!
sorry... on the level where my opinion
might or might not matter...
             americans are backwards...
those puritanical roots do not do them much
favors... esp. with their extravagant
punk-esque tropes signifying a rebellion
that never seems to occur;
christianity truly undermines the idea
of america...
                     if not bound by shackles,
then shivering under the burden of the shadow
of the cross: which none of them wish
to carry... the mere looming shadow frightens
them... and... mind you? american neo-atheism?
boring as sunday's midday sun.

A journey of a thousand kisses,
A journey of a thousand sighs,
Begins, when two lovers, in blessed shadows,
Blighted darkness;
Meet in the desert of their loneliness,
To escape and travel
Thru The Night.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

Living on borrowed time since  our birth,
We strive to reach our arms and grasp
The universal mysteries.
Think: a human life elapses in a cosmic blink.
Love, Knowledge or Faith
are the Distinct Wines served in Life;
Who dared to deeply drink from the offer'd cup,
To keep at bay Death's everlasting Kiss?

J Eduardo Ramos©

What i did
What i did
What i did not give
What i did
What i did
What i did not give

A kiss and a hug and 
A word of love
A kiss and a hug and
A word of love

Tenderly
Tenderly
Softly
Softly
And
Tenderly


J Eduardo Ramos ©

Without your warmth
i'm cold;
colder than all the shivering stars
clinging to the cerulean night.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

My
Father
Lit
The
Spark
Of
Fiery
Passion
For
This
Life;
My
Mother
Poured
The
Love
Of
Knowledge
In
This
Lab
Called
Me.

J Eduardo Ramos ©

...Mark
My Words
And
Remember Them
Well,
A
Day Will
Come
When
There Will
Be
Nobody
Left,
To
Cry
For You
And
Your
Solemn
Dead...

J. Eduardo Ramos ©

Don't go directly at it
Wait. Let it come to you.
Help me dailiness
Help my hidden 2

The drama in my mind
But my life so ordinary
Silent monk in Bangkok
Asian eyes Mother Mary

Sometimes fear and trembling
Much I cannot see
I pass the ball to Alex
Tupac, Inca, 3

        God bless the Dead