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liz Apr 2018
versione inglese

Dear Italy

I smoke, I go in, I change my face
We already know how it ends
I have to be careful, ****!
If I knock her up then my mother...
Because I am still a child
A bit Italian and a bit Tunisian
She's from Puerto Rico, if that happens it's a disaster to Trump
But what "politics" is this?
What's the difference between left and right wing?
Ministers change but not the broth
The ******* is here to the left, the toilet is down there on the right
Straight towards my own path
Better than nothing, more than anything
Anyway, just wait outside
If mom doesn't like you, I don't like you neither
You tell me: "I knew it" but I don't fall for that
It's not like I'm a fool
There's always someone who is close-minded and is staying back in time
Like in the Middle Ages
Newspapers over do it, they talk about the foreigners as if they're aliens
With no passport, looking for money

I feel lucky
at the end of the day,
When I'm lucky
it's so great
I'm a crazy person who reads, a crazy outlaw
A maverick, who writes: "Whoever reads this is stupid"

Oh eh oh, when duty calls
Oh eh oh, I answer: "I'm here"
Oh eh oh, you tell me: "Listen to your mother"
Oh eh oh, one, two, three: I'm already there
Oh eh oh, when they tell me: "Go back home!"
Oh eh oh, I reply: "I'm already here"
Oh eh oh, I.L.Y. dear Italy
Oh eh oh, you're my better half

Wait, I hear my ears ringing
Suspense, a moment before the sequel
Appearance fee doesn't include money
Crash Bandicoot, harvest the apples
Nice faces in my group
Like a ni* on his way to Benin City
I don't waste words, I don't talk to Siri
I'm happy to make music for kids
Before leaving a comment, think
Before peeing upwind, steer
Before frittering the salary away, wait
I go back to Baggio, or I won't feel up to anything without it
Shake it!
Your phone maybe doesn't get a signal in the hinterland
We end up freestyling on a raft in Darsena
My WhatsApp chat looks like the Instagram one
Love and ambition already are in my starter pack
Azkaban prisoners escaped from Alcatraz
We did our homeworks just to get it by

I feel lucky
at the end of the day,
When I'm lucky
it's so great
I'm a crazy person who reads, a crazy outlaw
A maverick, who writes: "Whoever reads this is stupid"

Oh eh oh, when duty calls
Oh eh oh, I answer: "I'm here"
Oh eh oh, you tell me: "Listen to your mother"
Oh eh oh, one, two, three: I'm already there
Oh eh oh, when they tell me: "Go back home!"
Oh eh oh, I reply: "I'm already here"
Oh eh oh, I.L.Y. dear Italy
Oh eh oh, you're my better half
Oh eh oh
Oh eh oh
Oh eh oh
Oh eh oh
Oh eh oh, when duty calls
Oh eh oh, I answer: "I'm here"
Oh eh oh, you tell me: "Listen to your mother"
Oh eh oh, one, two, three: I'm already there
Oh eh oh, when they tell me: "Go back home!"
Oh eh oh, I reply: "I'm already here"
Oh eh oh, I.L.Y. dear Italy
Oh eh oh, you're my better half
Sto
Ghali is my favorite Italian rapper :)
madrid Mar 2016
ito

ang sasabihin mo

sa mga taong iniwan ka

ito ang mga salitang binibitawan
sa panahong niloko ka niya, sa oras
na ang inihain sa iyong hapagkainan
ay ang sarili **** pusong naghihingalo
sumisigaw at sugatan, durog at duguan,
eto na


ang sarap ng tiwala




lasang PUTANGINA.




dahil tangina ng mga taong walang respeto sa tiwala
tangina  ng mga taong sinabihan na ng kanan pero nangangaliwa
tangina ng mga taong walang pagpapahalaga sa nararamdaman ng iba
kaya ang sarap ng tiwala

nabudburan ng isang kutsarang 'tarantado ka pala'
nasangkapan ng limang tasang pagpapakatanga

kaya siguro lasang putangina

sabi nila walang aasa kung walang paasa
walang masasaktan kung walang mananakit
walang mafafall kung wala namang,
pafall
pero hindi ito paninisi sa mga kupal ng mundo
dahil sa gitna ng lahat
ikaw parin ang nandidikta sa tibok ng puso mo
nasa huli ang pagsisisi
at walang ibang maituturo ang iyong mga daliri
kundi ang iyong saliri
na iiyak iyak matapos malaglag
mula sa ika-sandaan apat na pu't tatlong palapag

sino ang sasalo sayo?

na pinaasa, nasaktan at nagpakagago
nauto ng makukulay na salitang umagos mula sa kanyang bibig

sino ang sasalo sayo?

ikaw at ikaw rin ang susubok magtagpi
sa mga tingi-tinging bahagi ng iyong sarili
na ibinigay mo ng buong buo
at ngayon ay ibinabalik sayo ng

pira-piraso

sino ang sasalo sayo?

pero tangina talaga eh

bakit mahirap tanggapin
ang hirap ilapat sa ngipin, kainin at lamunin ang ideya
na sadyang may mga indibidwal na ang tanging ninanais sa buhay
ang tanging hangarin bago sila mamatay
ay ang mangolekta ng mga pangalan, listahan
ng mga napanaan ng simpleng katangahan

Eh sino ka nga ba?
Para maging mahalaga sa isang taong sa simula palang
ay alam **** sasaktan ka na
Tanga ka rin eh.
Ganyan talaga
Mahal mo eh.
Ang tanong,
Mahal ka ba?

Oo - masakit.
Pinaglaban mo eh.
Oo - mahirap.
May pinagsamahan na kayo eh.
Oo - mapait.
Dahil sa bawat minuto na hindi mo siya kasama
mapapatanong ka nalang ng
"Bakit, hindi ba'ko naging sapat?
Hindi ko ba binigay ang lahat?
Ang oras, dugo,
Pawis at puso
Para lang maparamdam sayo
na ikaw lang ang gusto ko.
Na ikaw lang ang pinagdadasal ko.
Ikaw lang ang akala ko iba
sa kanilang lahat.
Uulitin ko hindi ba'ko naging sapat?"

Siguro nga hindi.
Pero tatandaan **** hindi lang ako ang nagkamali.
Hindi ako ang nanakit.
Hindi ako ang nagpaasa.
Hindi ako ang nanggago.
At mas lalong hindi ako ang nagsabi ng mga salitang.
"Mahal kita"
Pero hindi naman talaga.
Ako ang naging tanga.
Pero putangina mo.

Dahil sayo,
hindi nako naniniwala
sa salitang tiwala.
Hindi na ko naniniwala
sa mga katagang "namiss kita".
Hindi na ko naniniwala
sa anumang hugis ng pag-ibig.
Nang dahil sayo,
Natuto na ako.

Ito na ang huling beses na lolokohin ako ng tadhana
Ito na ang huling pagkakataon na ibibigay ko lahat
sa iisang tao lang.
Ito na ang huling mga salita.
Kaya makinig ka.
Hindi na ako magpapakatanga
Para sa isang taong walang karapatang tawagin
akong pagmamayari niya.

Tama na.

para sa mga taong walang lakas ng loob magsalita
para sa mga nagpakatanga, nagpapakatanga at may balak na magmukhang tanga
para sa mga pinaasa ng salitang tiwala

pasensya na sa mararahas na salita
sa pagsabog ng aking dibdib
at pag agos ng mga bala
kailangan ko lang talagang ibahagi sa iba
ang pait ng isang taong binulag ang sariling mga mata
ang kasinungalingan sa likod ng pagiging masaya
ang pinagmumulan ng punyetang duda
ang sarap ng pagiging malaya
ang lasa
ng putanginang tiwala
Georgette Baya Sep 2015
Love na love talaga kita eh, and it would mean so much lalo na
pag binanggit ko pa na mahal na mahal na talaga kita. NAPAKA STRANGE.

He is shy, kind, innocent, pleasant, different, even for a guy
He is fragile, sweet and mostly meaningful, mostly to my life.

Kahit alam kong wala kami dun sa stage na,
"in relationship" i'd bother myself to care.
Kasi he is meaningful, mahalaga siya saakin, yung tipong kaya ko syang alagaan at aalagaan no matter what. I would make time for him just to see him, smile, laugh or even giggle a bit, because his  happiness makes the most out of him and it makes me happy too.
Kung kakayanin kong kwentuhan siya gabi gabi hanggang sa makatulog sya gagawin ko (kaso ang tagal nya mag reply kaya ako yung nakakatulog :3)

Sabi nila sakin,

"grabe na yan ahh. baka nakakalimutan **** babae ka pa din ah?"

Sabi ko,

"oo alam ko, at alam ko yung ginagawa ko."

"yun naman pala eh, ano yan?"

"ang alin?"

"yang tipong support support na yan?"

"wala namang masama dyan, atleast napapakita ko padin sakanya na mahalaga siya sakin, kahit di nya nararamdaman"

"ayooooooon, manhid"

di na ko sumagot, sumasama din kasi yung loob ko pag naririnig kong sinasabihan sya na manhid eh, kahit totoo, parang sakin bumabalik kasi ako yung nagbibigay ng effort pero parang di nya na fe-feel. Pero mahal ko padin siya, walang makakapag bago dun.

Yung mga simpleng tweet nya na, napapalundag ako sa kilig at tuwa.
Yung mga kindat nya na (kahit hindi siya marunong) nakakamatay.
Yung mga biglang ngiti nya na, nasusulyapan ko bawat tingin.
Yung mga mata nyang mapupungay na lagi akong dinadala sa langit (hindi naman siya chinito, feeling lang hahaha)
Yung kilay at buhok nyang lagi kong hinahaplos (naka keratin daw eh hahaha)
Yung boses nyang sintonado, pero pag kinakanta nya yung "When You Say Nothing At All" pati ung "Life of the Party" lumalabas yung pagka inner Michael Buble nya.
Yung moves nya na mala 90's, na pag sumasayaw sya sa harap ko napapatakip nalang ako kasi, mas lalo akong nafafall.
Yung kuko nyang laging bagong gupit.
Yung amoy nya na parang amoy baby, tapos minsan panlalaking panlalaki (seryoso nakaka ******)

At maraming maraming marami pa.
He's my kind of perfect.
Sabi nga nila, pag mahal mo ang isang tao, lahat ng imperfections nya sa sarili o sa buhay pa yan, his flaws, handang handa kang tanggapin yun ng buong buo, walang labis, walang kulang.

Love is accepting, who they are and what they are.
Diba sabi mo di ka marunong mag luto? Ako din eh, siguro sa tamang panahon, we would invent kinds of dinner or even breakfast and lunch, that your dad and my mom used to do. Kahit di tayo sigurado sa anong lasa nung pagkain na magagawa natin, as long as we got it each other, we can make it better.

Di ko alam kung bat umabot ako dito eh, alam mo bang onting onti nalang, ako na talaga manliligaw sayo? Ang bagal mo kasi eh. Hahaha joke lang, syempre hanggang panaginip ko nalang yon.

Nung coronation night, pinuntahan kita sa dressing room nyo,
I was really stunned, as you walked out that room. Destiny nga ba talaga? I was REALLY shocked, kasi merong SLOW MOTION, i have never felt that feeling before, NEVER!
Tapos yung sinabi ni Sir Yu, may kwinento sya sakin tungkol sa napagusapan nyo tungkol sakin. Long story-short, naglululundag ako sa kilig at tuwa na, who would have thought na masasabi mo pala yung mga ganung salita na yun.
Tapos si B1, haha natatawa nga ko kasi kinikilig daw siya satin, aabangan nya daw yung next chapter natin, ang tanong meron nga ba?

Jon Ray Ico Ramos! Oo ikaw! Malakas loob ko banggitin pangalan mo dito, kasi wala kang account dito at di mo alam na may ganito ako, ibig sabihin di mo to mababasa and as far as i know walang taga SCCV ang may ganito, well. HAHAHAHA!
Mahaaaaal na mahaaaal kita. Minsan sa sobrang saya ko pag kausap kita napapatype nalang ako ng "I love you" muntik na nga akong makasend nyan sayo eh, buti nalang talaga hindi hahaha :3 wala na kong masabi kasi inaantok na talaga ako as innn.

Basta sana pagka gising mo, mabasa mo to (pero syempre di mo to mababasa) para malaman mo na, ikaw ang huli kong iniisip bago ako matulog.

Good mor-night!
---------------
Good morning, Jon Ray!


P.S: sinadya ko talagang ipost to ng 5:55 AM kasi favorite number mo ang 5 so, ayan :)
"So, you ski da marathon, eh?"
came the voice out of the back
"You anglos call me Frenchie"
"But, my friends all call me Jacques"
"You ever do da marathon?
That is why you're here?
Sit here with old Frenchie
Barkeep...three more beer"
We sat down with this old man
He looked worn out, nearly dead
He said "You know, to win this race"
"It's all up here in my head"
The beers arrived, he drank his down
Our lips were barely wet
When he signalled to the barkeep
Three more for him to get
"You know, I've been here yearly
telling Anglos like you's two
The way to Montebello
The best way to get through"
"I'm eighty fours years old you know
Believe me now it's true"
And with a little finger snap you know
The barkeep brought more brew
We sat and listened as this man
Told tales of races past
He talked of Jack Johannsen
And he drank his beer down fast
We sat with him for hours
And at ten we paid the bill
We'd spent two hundred dollars
This old man drank his fill
The next day we came in to eat
Before we started out
"You ski the marathon eh?"
We heard that husky shout
We looked into the corner
Three more suckers yet to please
So, we smiled and we left quickly
To our room to get our skis
We spent the day out on the course
Thinking that this wise old man
Knew just what he was saying
He knew every inch of land
We skied each part and in our heads
We heard that old voice say
In a husky, bad french accent
You ski the marathon...eh?
We finsihed up and thawed out beards
That had frozen to our bibs
We were off to see our wizard
In fact we fought for dibs
To see who'd buy the first round
To listen to this sage
To be a student of this teacher
Who'd reached this grand old age
"You ski the marathon, eh?'
Came from the back as we walke in
It was the same old husky accent
We knew that it was him
But, there back in the corner
Sitting at our teachers feet
Were another bunch of skiers
Who'd be buying this mans treat
So, we rounded up some barstools
And we bent the barkeeps ear
He told us that Old Frenchie
He showed up every year
He comes to town a week before
The race itself takes place
He's a regular here in this bar
The whole town knows his face
He isn't from around here
Lachute, is where he lives
But for two weeks every winter
It's free advice he gives.
You buy his beet, and hear his tales
It keeps the old man young
In fact, myself I've been here 40 years
And races...he's sikiied...none
He waits there in that corner
For you anglos to show up
And he drinks what he can handle
He's really in his cups
"Barkeep, three beers...if you please"
Came roaring from the back
It seems two brand new anglos
Were new victims of old Jacques
We finsished up, and paid our bill
We knew that we'd been taken
by an old man with an accent
Who smelled like beer and bacon
The last day, when we ventured out
We dropped by to see Jacques
The barkeep said he'd gone on home
But, come next year..he's back
You boys enjoy your race day
And I'll see you here next year
So, we tipped him ten bucks extra
To buy him and Jacques a beer
That summer, I went to Quebec
To run an iron man
I was down around Three Rivers
I went there with my friend Dan
We went out for an evening
To have some drinks before race day
And when we walked into that tavern
"You run the iron man...eh?"
That voice, you couldn't hide it
That was Frenchie in the back
He said hello, you anglos..bon soir my friends
...Now you can  call me Jacques!!!
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad
wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill.
-Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot.
But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww,
must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat,
d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge?
-Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times
and finally the gadge yells back to ays,
-Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter,
me Ma's hud her ******' taps turned oaf by the ******' Corporation,
which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree.
I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but,
eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me,
when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh?

-That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled,
thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher
withoot gi'ing her a guid ride.
Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee ****
called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride
in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall.
-Mind ye're own ******' business, the **** yells back at ays,
takin' the pail in yin hand and the ****'s wee hand in the other yin.

Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter
when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon,
Jack breakin' his ******' croon n the groond,
ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen,
'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws
as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot,
but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww,
heid n **** oor her ******' erse
'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** *******
'n her ***** was on display under her skirt.
Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee ****,eh?

-Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot,
but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid,
ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww,
but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin,
'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA,
those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken.
So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits
o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre,
but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants,
ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'.
And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse,
so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ******
'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis.
Eh?
This tribute to Irvine Welsh, Scotland's most successful living novelist, is my masterpiece.
MOTV Nov 2015
The Ganga talk

eh eh eh

What does it say?

The Ganga talk

eh eh eh

She says light me up

Light me up

The Ganga Talk

Ay ay ay

She says daddy burn me up

Burn me up

The Ganga Sing

What does she sing?

She Singing
oh in harmony

As I put the flame to her, she seems

Soft

&

Vibrant

Honest

Eyeing me

OH
I cannot think

Burning
my baby

Oh
I cannot stop

Puffing my baby
till she's gone

Society
Has triggered this in me!

And All I can think about
Is the next time my
ganga talk,
my baby gonna sing.
https://soundcloud.com/michaeljolivas/ganga-talk
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
. h'america is as much an ideology as is... islam... this... the best... pig-farmed english you could somehow... not teach... not have mustered from a slav... a pseudo-russian... inconvenience ego... contender? satellite pawn: your... *****-slave yugoslav bourbon... excavations of: the lost flood of mongolian: tribe-folk... the pakistani with the surname: khan... your peoples... prior... no-guilt... island strapped... peruvian conquistadors... or... better strapped... less the cerveza folk... more... the belittled sort of: sorting folk... blah blah...

it's honestly hard to write anything -
when one is still... shell-shocked...
fromwhat could be cited as a devil's decade:
13 years...
                 from the age of 21
through to: aged 34...
            one of those relationship remainders...
we both got into smoking...
well... she was well ahead of me
in the cigarette domain...

       no... however i will attire the event...
whatever verbiage...
it doesn't allow a "justice" to trickle down...
it just so happens that i want
to listen to some depeche mode...
and not some tool / porcupine tree...

13 years of smoking... from the nadir of
40 a day... locotomotive breath...
iron on the tongue... phelgm pancakes
harked in the morning from
a tobacco "hangover"...

                  oscilating around 20 per day...
for some time...
and all it took was a week... 10 days...
and i'm still in possession of 3 cigarettes...
and those two i reserve for the end
of the day ritual...
    smoking the first is like:
finding oneself with a belly-full of
a child of gravity...
otherwise: gravity... unless falling...
to look up at the stars and the moon
and the sea: it's something you don't
exactly feel with two feet strapped
to the orb... no movement of
the tectonic plates...
sometimes with *******...
index and middle... of the left hand...
pushed under the right arm-pit...
to feel the pulse of the arteries...

i hardly think this is a call for celebration...
13 years can disappear like...
nothing even took place...
to substitute the habbit with...
reading... playing video games?
nibbling on carrots... nuts...
or just... waiting for the tide to recede...
and for a sea of patience to come
with tomorrow's tide...

all that... and none of it...
at the end of the day... the two cigarettes
are like a metaphor fo crack *******
or syringe strapping imitation
leech...
        clear thinking: or therefore none...
no spaghetti muddles...
at best: imitation of biting into ice...
or... stretching a rubber-band until...
well: you can't feel it about to snap...
since it snaps...

                 a second gravity...
                all concentrated in the stomach...
and esp. when the legs have not been
"properly" used up...
but remain tight-and-fidgety with goosebumps
when the ****** of tobacco lines the nerves...

i don't know why i can't celebrate this...
it's such a private event... such an exslusivity...
after all... in linear fashion:
to experience speed... a concentrated
exploration of space... within a hyper-dictum
of time...
        in a linear way...
but a second gravity: without falling?
but otherwise whirling in the stomach?

a devil's decade: 13 years...
              3 more... otherwise a dozen...
which is only 1 more...
the devil's dozen...
          simon peter, andrew, james, john, philip,
bartholomew, matthew, thomas,
james son of alphaeus, simon the zealot,
judas son of james and judas iscariot...
count hey-zeus out of the equation...
                                               there's paul...

and that's what eminem does...
when rapping... on white h'america?
changes the subject - a personal tirade over...
somehow i too link certain aspects...
13 years of...

this... oh so mediocre...
           because: clearly... i don't know what
to make of it...
                 thank god i retained those
two cigarettes at the end of the day...
than have been hooked on nicorette chewing
gum / patches...
                or the usual "a.a." support...
support: "support":
         help yourself: by every single
and no dead or alive guru...
            
                i really don't have anything
to write...
                 i'm walking away from
a 13 years of tobacco addiction...
   and what i'm really thinking about...
the first thirsts of cold-turkey are long gone...
it's been under a week...
over a week... whatever...

             what i'm really thinking about...
well...
   how would it feel like...
to farm animals...
                  how does it feel to... pet animals...
a completely different dynamic...
after all... a farmer would own...
petting-worth animals...
like a cat... for... catching mice...
or a dog... to... warden... sphynx...
cerberus... watch-over the property...
how some would make the dogs
so ferocious... that a chain would
sometimes not be withstanding
to the ferocity of the barking...

           eh... it's slightly off-putting...
to pet animals...
when you're being given a factory
edit of the original moo!
  or snorkling in knee-deep-**** and mud
and rotten potatoes of pork...
i don't mind... the end product
is what interests me...
the **** is silk? tapeworm ****?!
or there-abouts...
       but... it's so much different...
when you... farm animals...
     lucky for me... my... somewhat...
immediate family still owned a farm...
and chickens in the yard...
oh yeah... catching a chicken is one thing...
amnesia of the chicken shack...
catch one... sure thing...
then with axe onto the stump...
head sticks to the stump...
last traces of life while the eyes roll back
and the tongue protrudes from the beak...
while... all the other chickens gather...
and start drinking the blood...

a bit like the two tiers of people...
some people must feel inclined to become
these... sociopathic farmers...
there are the humans you herd...
there are the humans you pet...
the ones you pet will probably find about
you herding them...
and rebel... since... you're not...
some gargantuan: ****** obvious...
miracle of a god descent... crown, pomp...
circumstance... all that was borrowed
from god... in splendour... heavens!
lo! behold... versailles was built!

the future charles III of england...
started 8pm today... on classic.fm with his own show...
i tuned in for a minute or two to hear
his voice...
      i do hope that when ol' lizzie is dead...
he doesn't cower... he dons! he dons the title:
charles the third!
  i ****** well hope... he doesn't become...
no... he can't become: george VII...
formerly known as charles: the prince of wales!
he has to be! charles the third!
he has waited this long!
he has to retain his name!

but that's the beauty of the monarchy...
it's so ******* pompous and omnipresent...
it doesn't hide... in... secular... grey-matter
of deep-state... there are just too many tiers
of power... even though... there's only symbolism...
but a reverence for it: nonetheless!
grey-matter of shadow-people in grey suits!
blinking: for god's sake! blinking black-holes
of hush hush: what was once...
the aristocracy... that's too replaced with...
the burden of crazed-loon bureaucracy!

i've quit smoking... well... "quit"...
2 cigarettes from 20 a day... circa...
  is much better than a nicorette patch...
         or some: pepperspray tasting chewing gum...
it's not a cigar... if you were asking...

but the original idea...
    farming animals...
             petting animals...
                    dogs... the ideal pets...
i'm sorry... i can't put on a leash or a muzzle...
a chihuahua can bite like a piranha...
i don't see the excuses needed to comfort
people afraid of big dogs... alsatians...
dobermans... that's the freedom allowed with cats...
if you get a chance to build their characters...
they will tend to take a dump in your
neighbour's garden...
yes... me... following sherlock feline...
with a black plastic bag and *****...
permission to... be allowed entry into your garden?
or are you... going to trebuchet that ****
back onto my lawn?

dogs or "petting" tarantulas? serpents?
the idea of petting went out of the window...
when... people started to fathom the...
what adjective?! to pet a ******* tarantula...
yes... me... running to the shop that sells
tarantulas... with caption: free tow-twos...
how about you keep that freak-****
in the jungle with all those gimp-suit sexed-up
antics... and i... get to...
farm a chicken... i get to... farm a pig?

no... of course no... although...
who couldn't be teased with latex jill and her
spider annex: library of "misdeeds"
for the library of: hard-ons...

now that you mentioned it... sure... i have a...
pressing concern... how to not...
over-cook pork...
see... pork is a bit like pasta...
you can serve it undercooked like beef...
but... it's also like chicken...
and beef... combined... you don't want
to serve it... overcooked...
only barbarians are fond of well-done beef...
probably arab...
    they only stomach well-done steaks
or minced beef...
they have no palette for tartare steaks...
too much inbreeding with stinking lamb
does the trick...
whatever they might say of pork...
the aesthetic meat... leather too... shoes and belts...
lamb? for the slaughter?
eh... stinking puritanical meat worthy
of teacher 'ebrew and righteous son:
mecca ibn sudan.

because... ha ha... it's one thing being racist...
you know... detailing the physiognomy
differences between blacks and whites...
choccies and porky pies...
and the cinnamon people in between...
that's one thing...
it's like everyone was asleep...
the whites were racist...
the only people... ever...
but that's one thing...
   i find it harder to digest...
there's no name for it...
  kosher-ism... halal-ism?
         to be... more racist than racist...
almost a vegan / vegetarian taming...
   someone is being critical... of what you eat...
i imagine... malcom x being given a free
pass as a black totem in mecca...
shot dead... when converted... because...
still shuffled pork on the sly...

beside skin deep: please leavde your leather
shoes and belts... lace
beside the concept / concern for the mosque...
racism: morphed into an ideological
manifest...
for a while... let us leave thse
turban and tent dwelling folk
with their newly acquired riches
to the ***** of:
if i am to prepare lamb meat...
i treat it liky chilly...
the meat... stinks of something beside...
death... innocence prescribed...

           you are told... wrong...
when ingesting the fruit of eden... somewhat...
these nomads of quasi-sikh turbans
for the women: the niqab girdle-grooms...
their wetted-appetites:
unable to satiate gyrocentrism leftovers...
and... pass from the living...
toward the theatre of the would be alive...
less the circumcised mess: misantrophes...

it's one thing to be chockie...
another to be porky-pink'ish...
     but what you eat?
that's... somehow... off-putting?
    puritan with some crab-meat
in this numbed jaw?
no one the persians rebelled against
the camel-jockey prescription of:
words only... no images...
pasta squiggles of phonetic encoding...
arabic... tironian a posteriori notations...
then again: one could argue:
tironian a priori notations...

shrimp-**** and eyes that would
resemble... at best... squinting from too much
sun... and at worst... ******* on a lemon...
12" of **** and the twelve-pounder
juicing worth of ***...
her ***...
                for me to comment
on the mongol horde esque libido of
the fellow woman of my race...
no... the islamic idea of a heavenly harem...
mind you: it would satisfy her:
if she was to be crowned the juggling act
of three: at least one to compete with
the da vinci sodomites...

to be told you can't eat something...
i'm already a bad joke as:
"bweetish" as it comes...
tucked away with the afro-saxon...
the anglo-slav...
                 you just have those lips
that look like full-bloom best:
imitation: floral patterns of a ******...
best equipped for *******...
i swim: you sink...
you run... i start an arithmetic of catching
my breath...
the cinnamon people are...
if they are equipped with a polytheism
of the raj... and are saved with
culinary ambitions...
"we'd" call them the blue indians...
and that's also: to mind...
their elder: sanskrit...
              पअरउत
र - or how the englishman lost the trill:
rattle-snake R: for rolling...
when he... became: the nuanced... keeper...
vanguard... of the Raj...
perhaps... the anthropomorphic genesis
in africa: givenz zee apulus... apex: gorrilolulz...
but... the sribbles and *******?
india the basin... akapit: paragraph:
the tear of sri lanka...

i.e. so much for me succumbing to the anglican:
we'z all wo'z allz: ex afri-ka'ka'kazia...

oh sure... sure... we... the sensible:
secular post-christians of the protestant wealth
of the west...
happy to afford the dumbed-down
congregations of the newly conscripted...
believers of africa and south h'america...
carrot dangling: run donkey! run!
one of your own: a pope! a cardinal!
poland is still running on that...
remark of... the passing of power...
the first pope to be given status of... saint...
john paul II the saint of:
kissing airport tarmac...

             and then of course...
the hyped intricacy of the orthodox branch
of the bureau of hierogylphics and
synonymous litanies...
          the events of the baltic sea:
would never be...
the sort of ****-show...
that... the events of the mediterranean sea...
hell... the events of the black sea...
christianity isn't merely dumb...
it's just... over-hyped...
               the pork the pork... the pork!
who would require...
a criticism of pork and pig and ms. porky
to suit... alliance...
no matter... i'm on the cusp of quitting
smoking...

we can caricature our physiognomy...
but... how do you... caricature...
what you eat... your... sustenance?
you, black... have a pillow for a nose...
me, white... have a death's lack of...
           i don't have a nose...
i have... a death's clench sucker...
       i have a pinch nose...
        so much for over-inflated lips...
and... my missing... elongated...
myth elves: the protruding ears...
like: no body...

                 current / the currency of
the now h'america... and the immediacy
of nostalgia: as a history: moving forward /
anywhere but back...
nietzsche opened up a nostalgia for ancient
greece...
  h'americans... opening up... a nostalgia...
for 1950s h'america...
how can you write a future history...
from a stand-point / stand-off...
of nostalgia...
this... immediacy of nostalgia...
who's who and who isn't citing...
a richard brautigan... or... a frank o'hara?!
because: there's the sucker and no punch
for the next verse of...
****'s sake... walt whitman?!
o captain! my... john keating...
                 no... it's not about glorifying
the original intent... mr. president...
the english teacher...
mr.! thomas! bunce!

               how can any history be written...
when there's... a nostalgia: impediment...
the hsitory of an immediacy
lacklutered by a past...
the past: however framed...
before... the dead are allowed to
turn and grovel in their graves...
i have 'ere... my gobble-whick of...
pretending: no shadows will
ever exist... at noon...
scrathing... timidy bed-fellows...
loitering squat...

we are to grovel for the cousin
imps and apes of: first born:
english born... navajo...
     tortilla...
the old fling of england...
and the spanish...
             the conquistadors...
loose nouns dog **** flinging applause:
i fall asleep in a bed:
i welcome the new day...
most... egregious (archaic)...

  these western lands...
mmm... they're not very much akin
to our flavour...
that they dictate... refurbishment...
unless it's para-english...
alter- proto- welsh...
  kashubian... masovian...
silesian...
                    kres...
                    
ei hhynnal coch.. and it:
pronouns neutral: does... ****-wit...
gender-fluid-retardo: perfecto...

and i too wish i had...
themes of crusader songs...
but... i have none...
these that i marked...
teutonic knights of no order...
       barbarossa being pickled...
livonians... prussians...
lithuanians...
                    i'm sorry...
that i'm too far away from
you to return to europe
from your: hubris...
             in crafting... the...
                conscripts: shikhs...
ask the russians! ask the rush-******-whips!
agony of a tongue: beside their own!
the post-colonial powers
return!
the post-colonial powers! make a return!
so much for those of us...
not having... a colonial past!
are we to pay for... such...
benevolent gracing
of gratitude from the people
"made"... under... colonial... rule?!
from the perspective of the strong...
why... am i... expected to treat
these care-bears with...
the right: equipped
manchester shovel?

          you spike my drink
or am i... to... simply...
take the right, godly ****...
into all the urns...
the rest of you are to drink from?

i see my forehead glee: akin to my elbow...
and i call that phenomenon:
something benevolent of *****....
yep... not s'unni... but... shyte...
****.. persian: rebellion of camel-jockey...
****'ite... macron i...
dot's the worthy due: guillotine...
echo of the baltic sea...
we somehow: managed...
to lessen the romance...
unlike the english...
the romans conquered:
romanced the ******...
the vikings conquered...
romanced the ******...
the mongols never made it...
nor the huns..
so much for "brexit":
with your lineage of currency...
and your status as an island...

glory! vistory! ******* and all!
because: best felt!
in... places... akin to... devon!
a londoner will abhor someone...
with origins in the vicinity of bristol...
like... because...
there's no other?

n'ah... this night is pretty much worth
all the other nights...
it's worth sleeping...
it's not worth... whatever: leftover...
"worth" of...
this... this "apparent"...
yep... leftover... be...
something for the worth of yale
h'american... or...
dignitary president...
              officiated cul de sac executive orders...
it's... such an anglo-saxon fetish for...
*** beside the boudoir...
    dodo, lilac... gimp... latex...
      dickens...
                  liberty at:
i feign to allow myself to have... lapsed...
in what? good question...
even i... do not... attempt to baron
myself: over;
pithy... not pity... me...
you god-sucker...
******* ******* son's of eire...
me good-son...
    term me: years! under...
the tsarina! *******...
new yawn-ker...
       big mouth... no new bullseye...
the same old manchester...
the same ol'...
porky pies...
the same ol' chimneys and:
love's all... at cul de sac:
southend... porky pie munch:
luvvie: ol' guv.

yem: yup... ol' groove.. zzz-tizzle...
smart bruiser:
geezer with a sneeze pops up
at random places and jokes...
retards... lobotomy cruiser...
rhymes like... a cockey...
prior... to... tourettes... the lost...
the last... and what's:
the remains of...
the always... last...
and the worst... told... chalk of joke.
se relationship remainders...
we both got into smoking...
well... she was well ahead of me
in the cigarette domain...

       no... however i will attire the event...
whatever verbiage...
it doesn't allow a "justice" to trickle down...
it just so happens that i want
to listen to some depeche mode...
and not some tool / porcupine tree...

13 years of smoking... from the nadir of
40 a day... locotomotive breath...
iron on the tongue... phelgm pancakes
harked in the morning from
a tobacco "hangover"...

                  oscilating around 20 per day...
for some time...
and all it took was a week... 10 days...
and i'm still in possession of 3 cigarettes...
and those two i reserve for the end
of the day ritual...
    smoking the first is like:
finding oneself with a belly-full of
a child of gravity...
otherwise: gravity... unless falling...
to look up at the stars and the moon
and the sea: it's something you don't
exactly feel with two feet strapped
to the orb... no movement of
the tectonic plates...
sometimes with *******...
index and middle... of the left hand...
pushed under the right arm-pit...
to feel the pulse of the arteries...

i hardly think this is a call for celebration...
13 years can disappear like...
nothing even took place...
to substitute the habbit with...
reading... playing video games?
nibbling on carrots... nuts...
or just... waiting for the tide to recede...
and for a sea of patience to come
with tomorrow's tide...

all that... and none of it...
at the end of the day... the two cigarettes
are like a metaphor fo crack *******
or syringe strapping imitation
leech...
        clear thinking: or therefore none...
no spaghetti muddles...
at best: imitation of biting into ice...
or... stretching a rubber-band until...
well: you can't feel it about to snap...
since it snaps...

                 a second gravity...
                all concentrated in the stomach...
and esp. when the legs have not been
"properly" used up...
but remain tight-and-fidgety with goosebumps
when the ****** of tobacco lines the nerves...

i don't know why i can't celebrate this...
it's such a private event... such an exslusivity...
after all... in linear fashion:
to experience speed... a concentrated
exploration of space... within a hyper-dictum
of time...
        in a linear way...
but a second gravity: without falling?
but otherwise whirling in the stomach?

a devil's decade: 13 years...
              3 more... otherwise a dozen...
which is only 1 more...
the devil's dozen...
          simon peter, andrew, james, john, philip,
bartholomew, matthew, thomas,
james son of alphaeus, simon the zealot,
judas son of james and judas iscariot...
count hey-zeus out of the equation...
                                               there's paul...

and that's what eminem does...
when rapping... on white h'america?
changes the subject - a personal tirade over...
somehow i too link certain aspects...
13 years of...

this... oh so mediocre...
           because: clearly... i don't know what
to make of it...
                 thank god i retained those
two cigarettes at the end of the day...
than have been hooked on nicorette chewing
gum / patches...
                or the usual "a.a." support...
support: "support":
         help yourself: by every single
and no dead or alive guru...
            
                i really don't have anything
to write...
                 i'm walking away from
a 13 years of tobacco addiction...
   and what i'm really thinking about...
the first thirsts of cold-turkey are long gone...
it's been under a week...
over a week... whatever...

             what i'm really thinking about...
well...
   how would it feel like...
to farm animals...
                  how does it feel to... pet animals...
a completely different dynamic...
after all... a farmer would own...
petting-worth animals...
like a cat... for... catching mice...
or a dog... to... warden... sphynx...
cerberus... watch-over the property...
how some would make the dogs
so ferocious... that a chain would
sometimes not be withstanding
to the ferocity of the barking...

           eh... it's slightly off-putting...
to pet animals...
when you're being given a factory
edit of the original moo!
  or snorkling in knee-deep-**** and mud
and rotten potatoes of pork...
i don't mind... the end product
is what interests me...
the **** is silk? tapeworm ****?!
or there-abouts...
       but... it's so much different...
when you... farm animals...
     lucky for me... my... somewhat...
immediate family still owned a farm...
and chickens in the yard...
oh yeah... catching a chicken is one thing...
amnesia of the chicken shack...
catch one... sure thing...
then with axe onto the stump...
head sticks to the stump...
last traces of life while the eyes roll back
and the tongue protrudes from the beak...
while... all the other chickens gather...
and start drinking the blood...

a bit like the two tiers of people...
some people must feel inclined to become
these... sociopathic farmers...
there are the humans you herd...
there are the humans you pet...
the ones you pet will probably find about
you herding them...
and rebel... since... you're not...
some gargantuan: ****** obvious...
miracle of a god descent... crown, pomp...
circumstance... all that was borrowed
from god... in splendour... heavens!
lo! behold... versailles was built!

the future charles III of england...
started 8pm today... on classic.fm with his own show...
i tuned in for a minute or two to hear
his voice...
      i do hope that when ol' lizzie is dead...
he doesn't cower... he dons! he dons the title:
charles the third!
  i ****** well hope... he doesn't become...
no... he can't become: george VII...
formerly known as charles: the prince of wales!
he has to be! charles the third!
he has waited this long!
he has to retain his name!

but that's the beauty of the monarchy...
it's so ******* pompous and omnipresent...
it doesn't hide... in... secular... grey-matter
of deep-state... there are just too many tiers
of power... even though... there's only symbolism...
but a reverence for it: nonetheless!
grey-matter of shadow-people in grey suits!
blinking: for god's sake! blinking black-holes
of hush hush: what was once...
the aristocracy... that's too replaced with...
the burden of crazed-loon bureaucracy!

i've quit smoking... well... "quit"...
2 cigarettes from 20 a day... circa...
  is much better than a nicorette patch...
         or some: pepperspray tasting chewing gum...
it's not a cigar... if you were asking...

but the original idea...
    farming animals...
             petting animals...
                    dogs... the ideal pets...
i'm sorry... i can't put on a leash or a muzzle...
a chihuahua can bite like a piranha...
i don't see the excuses needed to comfort
people afraid of big dogs... alsatians...
dobermans... that's the freedom allowed with cats...
if you get a chance to build their characters...
they will tend to take a dump in your
neighbour's garden...
yes... me... following sherlock feline...
with a black plastic bag and *****...
permission to... be allowed entry into your garden?
or are you... going to trebuchet that ****
back onto my lawn?

dogs or "petting" tarantulas? serpents?
the idea of petting went out of the window...
when... people started to fathom the...
what adjective?! to pet a ******* tarantula...
yes... me... running to the shop that sells
tarantulas... with caption: free tow-twos...
how about you keep that freak-****
in the jungle with all those gimp-suit sexed-up
antics... and i... get to...
farm a chicken... i get to... farm a pig?

no... of course no... although...
who couldn't be teased with latex jill and her
spider annex: library of "misdeeds"
for the library of: hard-ons...

now that you mentioned it... sure... i have a...
pressing concern... how to not...
over-cook pork...
see... pork is a bit like pasta...
you can serve it undercooked like beef...
but... it's also like chicken...
and beef... combined... you don't want
to serve it... overcooked...
only barbarians are fond of well-done beef...
probably arab...
    they only stomach well-done steaks
or minced beef...
they have no palette for tartare steaks...
too much inbreeding with stinking lamb
does the trick...
whatever they might say of pork...
the aesthetic meat... leather too... shoes and belts...
lamb? for the slaughter?
eh... stinking puritanical meat worthy
of teacher 'ebrew and righteous son:
mecca ibn sudan.

because... ha ha... it's one thing being racist...
you know... detailing the physiognomy
differences between blacks and whites...
choccies and porky pies...
and the cinnamon people in between...
that's one thing...
it's like everyone was asleep...
the whites were racist...
the only people... ever...
but that's one thing...
   i find it harder to digest...
there's no name for it...
  kosher-ism... halal-ism?
         to be... more racist than racist...
almost a vegan / vegetarian taming...
   someone is being critical... of what you eat...
i imagine... malcom x being given a free
pass as a black totem in mecca...
shot dead... when converted... because...
still shuffled pork on the sly...

beside skin deep: please leavde your leather
shoes and belts... lace
beside the concept / concern for the mosque...
racism: morphed into an ideological
manifest...
for a while... let us leave thse
turban and tent dwelling folk
with their newly acquired riches
to the ***** of:
if i am to prepare lamb meat...
i treat it liky chilly...
the meat... stinks of something beside...
death... innocence prescribed...

           you are told... wrong...
when ingesting the fruit of eden... somewhat...
these nomads of quasi-sikh turbans
for the women: the niqab girdle-grooms...
their wetted-appetites:
unable to satiate gyrocentrism leftovers...
and... pass from the living...
toward the theatre of the would be alive...
less the circumcised mess: misantrophes...

it's one thing to be chockie...
another to be porky-pink'ish...
     but what you eat?
that's... somehow... off-putting?
    puritan with some crab-meat
in this numbed jaw?
no one the persians rebelled against
the camel-jockey prescription of:
words only... no images...
pasta squiggles of phonetic encoding...
arabic... tironian a posteriori notations...
then again: one could argue:
tironian a priori notations...

shrimp-**** and eyes that would
resemble... at best... squinting from too much
sun... and at worst... ******* on a lemon...
12" of **** and the twelve-pounder
juicing worth of ***...
her ***...
                for me to comment
on the mongol horde esque libido of
the fellow woman of my race...
no... the islamic idea of a heavenly harem...
mind you: it would satisfy her:
if she was to be crowned the juggling act
of three: at least one to compete with
the da vinci sodomites...

to be told you can't eat something...
i'm already a bad joke as:
"bweetish" as it comes...
tucked away with the afro-saxon...
the anglo-slav...
                 you just have those lips
that look like full-bloom best:
imitation: floral patterns of a ******...
best equipped for *******...
i swim: you sink...
you run... i start an arithmetic of catching
my breath...
the cinnamon people are...
if they are equipped with a polytheism
of the raj... and are saved with
culinary ambitions...
"we'd" call them the blue indians...
and that's also: to mind...
their elder: sanskrit...
              पअरउत
र - or how the englishman lost the trill:
rattle-snake R: for rolling...
when he... became: the nuanced... keeper...
vanguard... of the Raj...
perhaps... the anthropomorphic genesis
in africa: givenz zee apulus... apex: gorrilolulz...
but... the sribbles and *******?
india the basin... akapit: paragraph:
the tear of sri lanka...

i.e. so much for me succumbing to the anglican:
we'z all wo'z allz: ex afri-ka'ka'kazia...

oh sure... sure... we... the sensible:
secular post-christians of the protestant wealth
of the west...
happy to afford the dumbed-down
congregations of the newly conscripted...
believers of africa and south h'america...
carrot dangling: run donkey! run!
one of your own: a pope! a cardinal!
poland is still running on that...
remark of... the passing of power...
the first pope to be given status of... saint...
john paul II the saint of:
kissing airport tarmac...

             and then of course...
the hyped intricacy of the orthodox branch
of the bureau of hierogylphics and
synonymous litanies...
          the events of the baltic sea:
would never be...
the sort of ****-show...
that... the events of the mediterranean sea...
hell... the events of the black sea...
christianity isn't merely dumb...
it's just... over-hyped...
               the pork the pork... the pork!
who would require...
a criticism of pork and pig and ms. porky
to suit... alliance...
no matter... i'm on the cusp of quitting
smoking...

we can caricature our physiognomy...
but... how do you... caricature...
what you eat... your... sustenance?
you, black... have a pillow for a nose...
me, white... have a death's lack of...
           i don't have a nose...
i have... a death's clench sucker...
       i have a pinch nose...
        so much for over-inflated lips...
and... my missing... elongated...
myth elves: the protruding ears...
like: no body...

                 current / the currency of
the now h'america... and the immediacy
of nostalgia: as a history: moving forward /
anywhere but back...
nietzsche opened up a nostalgia for ancient
greece...
  h'americans... opening up... a nostalgia...
for 1950s h'america...
how can you write a future history...
from a stand-point / stand-off...
of nostalgia...
this... immediacy of nostalgia...
who's who and who isn't citing...
a richard brautigan... or... a frank o'hara?!
because: there's the sucker and no punch
for the next verse of...
****'s sake... walt whitman?!
o captain! my... john keating...
                 no... it's not about glorifying
the original intent... mr. president...
the english teacher...
mr.! thomas! bunce!

               how can any history be written...
when there's... a nostalgia: impediment...
the hsitory of an immediacy
lacklutered by a past...
the past: however framed...
before... the dead are allowed to
turn and grovel in their graves...
i have 'ere... my gobble-whick of...
pretending: no shadows will
ever exist... at noon...
scrathing... timidy bed-fellows...
loitering squat...

we are to grovel for the cousin
imps and apes of: first born:
english born... navajo...
     tortilla...
the old fling of england...
and the spanish...
             the conquistadors...
loose nouns dog **** flinging applause:
i fall asleep in a bed:
i welcome the new day...
most... egregious (archaic)...

  these western lands...
mmm... they're not very much akin
to our flavour...
that they dictate... refurbishment...
unless it's para-english...
alter- proto- welsh...
  kashubian... masovian...
silesian...
                    kres...
             ­       
ei hhynnal coch.. and it:
pronouns neutral: does... ****-wit...
gender-fluid-retardo: perfecto...

and i too wish i had...
themes of crusader songs...
but... i have none...
these that i marked...
teutonic knights of no order...
       barbarossa being pickled...
livonians... prussians...
lithuanians...
                    i'm sorry...
that i'm too far away from
you to return to europe
from your: hubris...
             in crafting... the...
                conscripts: shikhs...
ask the russians! ask the rush-******-whips!
agony of a tongue: beside their own!
the post-colonial powers
return!
the post-colonial powers! make a return!
so much for those of us...
not having... a colonial past!
are we to pay for... such...
benevolent gracing
of gratitude from the people
"made"... under... colonial... rule?!
from the perspective of the strong...
why... am i... expected to treat
these care-bears with...
the right: equipped
manchester shovel?

          you spike my drink
or am i... to... simply...
take the right, godly ****...
into all the urns...
the rest of you are to drink from?

i see my forehead glee: akin to my elbow...
and i call that phenomenon:
something benevolent of *****....
yep... not s'unni... but... shyte...
****.. persian: rebellion of camel-jockey...
****'ite... macron i...
dot's the worthy due: guillotine...
echo of the baltic sea...
we somehow: managed...
to lessen the romance...
unlike the english...
the romans conquered:
romanced the ******...
the vikings conquered...
romanced the ******...
the mongols never made it...
nor the huns..
so much for "brexit":
with your lineage of currency...
and your status as an island...

glory! vistory! ******* and all!
because: best felt!
in... places... akin to... devon!
a londoner will abhor someone...
with origins in the vicinity of bristol...
like... because...
there's no other?

n'ah... this night is pretty much worth
all the other nights...
it's worth sleeping...
it's not worth... whatever: leftover...
"worth" of...
this... this "apparent"...
yep... leftover... be...
something for the worth of yale
h'american... or...
dignitary president...
              officiated cul de sac executive orders...
it's... such an anglo-saxon fetish for...
*** beside the boudoir...
    dodo, lilac... gimp... latex...
      dickens...
                  liberty at:
i feign to allow myself to have... lapsed...
in what? good question...
even i... do not... attempt to baron
myself: over.
menmarou Dec 2014
~Entry #1 12.02.14

Akala ko madali lang ang lahat. Ang yabang ko pa.. sabi ko mai-inlove din saken to. pero mali pala..
ako yung na-inlove eh.

Ang sakit pala, kasi ginawa ko na lahat ng kaya ko, lahat ng paraan para lang abutin siya, tulungan siya, kasi naiintindihan ko siya.. sobra.
Pero ang sakit pala kapag ikaw lang yung lumalaban. ikaw lang yung naghahangad ng happy ending, kasi sa dulo walang ganun, walang happy ending..
kasi nde pa siya maka move on.
ang masaklap pa nito ..
matatanggap ko pa sana kung yung mga umaaligid na babae kasi madali naman sila paalisin, pero yung kalabanin mo yung bababeng minahal niya ng sobra bago ka dumating..
nde ko kaya. ang sakit pala.
ang tanga ko kasi nde ko kayang magalit sa kanya, kasi hanggang ngayon naiintindihan ko pa din siya.
lintik na one sided to oh. nde ko alam na ganito pala kasakit ang mag mahal ng isang taong nde sayo..
let me rephrase that. taong nde magiging sayo
akala ko. yang word na yan, madaming namamatay diyan . isa na ako dun,
naniwala ako sa sarili ko na magiging okay ang lahat sa amin. pero nde pala..
ibang iba sa reality, kainis kasi eh napaka hopeless romantic ko kaya ayan kahit imposible sumugal..
pero nakita ko na kasi na ganito mangyayari eh,
nasa isip ko. "nde naman siguro ganon, kasi kahit papaano mahalaga na ako sa kanya, malay mo naman diba? mai-nlove"
Assuming din kasi ako, kasalanan ko din..
sa simula pa lang naman kasalanan ko na. Sinubukan ko kasi gusto ko siya eh. gustong gusto.
pero eto pa din ako, naghihintay, umaasa pa din ako kahit pinaliwanag niya na sa akin na nde pwede.
nakakulong kasi siya sa regret at pain in the past. sabi niya gusto niya lang daw ako "protektahan" lintek na.

Nasasaktan na ako eh. sobrang sakit.
welcome to SMP menma.
~unspoken feelings.
Dark Mar 2019
Mahal, tanda mo pa ba yung pangako ko,
Yung pangako ko na mananatili ako sa tabi mo,
Mahal, sinabi ko sayo na aalis lang ako pag sinabi mo,
Kaya kong manatili sa piling mo kahit na nasasaktan na ako.

Kahit na alam kong pampalipas oras mo lang ako nanatili parin ako,
Tanga na kung tanga pakielam ko,
Eh mahal kita,
Kahit na alam kong wala na akong pag- asa,
Kahit na alam ko na may mahal ka ng iba
Nandito pa rin ako sa tabi mo at may ngiti sa labi ko,

Hindi ko malaman kung saan ako nagkulang,
O sadyang di mo lang makita yung halaga ko,
Masakit man isipin na gwapo siya,
May makinis na mukha
Nakakahiya nga pag pinagtabi kami,
Isang tingin sakanya tao talaga,
Ako? Abnormal tingan walang wala kumpara sa kanya.

At ito pa ang mas masakit pag lagi mo siyang kwento,
Para kayong bumubuo ng mundo,
Kung saan lahat ay perpekto,
Ikaw at siya hindi nga maipagkakaila na perpekto nga,

Alam mo ba na ang saya ko noong hawak ko ang iyong kamay,
Para ako ay nasa ulap dahil sa lambot ng iyong kamay,
Ang bilis ng tibok ng puso ko para na nga akong mamatay,
Nakakahiya pa nga eh pasmado yung kamay ko,
Mas lalo akong natuwa nung di mo inagaw ang mga kamay mo na kayakap sakin,

Pero sabi nga nila lahat ng saya ay pandalian at kalakip nito ay sakit,
Simula noong nadaan natin siya,
Ang mga kamay natin na magkayakap,
Ay unti-unting nag hihiwalay ang pagkakayakap,
Feeling ko nga rebound mo ako,
Alam ko na walang tayo,
Pero base sa mga pinapakita mo ay meron talagang ikaw at ako,

Nag hahawak kamay,
Nag yayakapan,
Nag aaylabyuhan,
Kulang na nga lang maghalikan eh,
Pero lahat yun diko alam kung pangkaibigan lang o ibang level na,
Akala ko nga may pag asa ako eh,
May pag asang magkaroon ng titulong ikaw at ako,
Mga akala na magiging masaya tayo,
Ayan nanaman ako sa mga akala ko,
Puro akala akala akala pero sa huli di nmn nag katotoo,

Mahal kita,mahal kita,mahal kita yan ang paulit ulit kong gustong sabihin sayo,
Syempre sasagutin mo rin ako na mahal kita,
Ang saya saya pag lagi mo sinasabi na mahal mo rin ako,
Pero napapaisip ako kung galing ba sa puso mo ang mga salitang binitawan mo,
O napipilitan ka lang sabihin yon,

Dahil advance ako mag-isip uunahan na kita,
Mahal pasensya ka na ha,
Kung hindi ko na matutupad yung mga pangako ko,
Pangako na malapit na mapako,
Hindi ko sinabi na diko matutupad,
Pero parang papunta na,

Sana wag mo kong hayaan umalis,
Baka makita mo na lang ako nasa piling na ng iba,
Pero sabagay pano mo nga pala ako makikita kung ang mga mata mo'y laging nakatuon sa kanya,
tufa alvi Apr 2014
It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men, or more, could ever do
Just like the rain, down in Africa
It's gonna take some time but I know you're worth fighting for -
I'd fight for you

Hey ba *** ba eh ba *** ba eh eh ba *** ba eh
I'd fight for you
Hey ba *** ba eh ba *** ba eh eh ba *** ba eh
I'd fight for you
Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl
in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes
to go with it. Cass was fluid moving fire. She was like a spirit stuck into a form that
would not hold her. Her hair was black and long and silken and whirled about as did her
body. Her spirit was either very high or very low. There was no in between for Cass. Some
said she was crazy. The dull ones said that. The dull ones would never understand Cass. To
the men she was simply a *** machine and they didn't care whether she was crazy or not.
And Cass danced and flirted, kissed the men, but except for an instance or two, when it
came time to make it with Cass, Cass had somehow slipped away, eluded the men.
Her sisters accused her of misusing her beauty, of not using her mind enough, but Cass
had mind and spirit; she painted, she danced, she sang, she made things of clay, and when
people were hurt either in the spirit or the flesh, Cass felt a deep grieving for them.
Her mind was simply different; her mind was simply not practical. Her sisters were jealous
of her because she attracted their men, and they were angry because they felt she didn't
make the best use of them. She had a habit of being kind to the uglier ones; the so-called
handsome men revolted her- "No guts," she said, "no zap. They are riding on
their perfect little earlobes and well- shaped nostrils...all surface and no
insides..." She had a temper that came close to insanity, she had a temper that some
call insanity. Her father had died of alcohol and her mother had run off leaving the
girls alone. The girls went to a relative who placed them in a convent. The convent had
been an unhappy place, more for Cass than the sisters. The girls were jealous of Cass and
Cass fought most of them. She had razor marks all along her left arm from defending
herself in two fights. There was also a permanent scar along the left cheek but the scar
rather than lessening her beauty only seemed to highlight it. I met her at the West End
Bar several nights after her release from the convent. Being youngest, she was the last of
the sisters to be released. She simply came in and sat next to me. I was probably the
ugliest man in town and this might have had something to do with it.
"Drink?" I asked.
"Sure, why not?"
I don't suppose there was anything unusual in our conversation that night, it was
simply in the feeling Cass gave. She had chosen me and it was as simple as that. No
pressure. She liked her drinks and had a great number of them. She didn't seem quite of
age but they served he anyhow. Perhaps she had forged i.d., I don't know. Anyhow, each
time she came back from the restroom and sat down next to me, I did feel some pride. She
was not only the most beautiful woman in town but also one of the most beautiful I had
ever seen. I placed my arm about her waist and kissed her once.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.
"Yes, of course, but there's something else... there's more than your
looks..."
"People are always accusing me of being pretty. Do you really think I'm
pretty?"
"Pretty isn't the word, it hardly does you fair."
Cass reached into her handbag. I thought she was reaching for her handkerchief. She
came out with a long hatpin. Before I could stop her she had run this long hatpin through
her nose, sideways, just above the nostrils. I felt disgust and horror. She looked at me
and laughed, "Now do you think me pretty? What do you think now, man?" I pulled
the hatpin out and held my handkerchief over the bleeding. Several people, including the
bartender, had seen the act. The bartender came down:
"Look," he said to Cass, "you act up again and you're out. We don't need
your dramatics here."
"Oh, *******, man!" she said.
"Better keep her straight," the bartender said to me.
"She'll be all right," I said.
"It's my nose, I can do what I want with my nose."
"No," I said, "it hurts me."
"You mean it hurts you when I stick a pin in my nose?"
"Yes, it does, I mean it."
"All right, I won't do it again. Cheer up."
She kissed me, rather grinning through the kiss and holding the handkerchief to her
nose. We left for my place at closing time. I had some beer and we sat there talking. It
was then that I got the perception of her as a person full of kindness and caring. She
gave herself away without knowing it. At the same time she would leap back into areas of
wildness and incoherence. Schitzi. A beautiful and spiritual schitzi. Perhaps some man,
something, would ruin her forever. I hoped that it wouldn't be me. We went to bed and
after I turned out the lights Cass asked me,
"When do you want it? Now or in the morning?"
"In the morning," I said and turned my back.
In the morning I got up and made a couple of coffees, brought her one in bed. She
laughed.
"You're the first man who has turned it down at night."
"It's o.k.," I said, "we needn't do it at all."
"No, wait, I want to now. Let me freshen up a bit."
Cass went into the bathroom. She came out shortly, looking quite wonderful, her long
black hair glistening, her eyes and lips glistening, her glistening... She displayed her
body calmly, as a good thing. She got under the sheet.
"Come on, lover man."
I got in. She kissed with abandon but without haste. I let my hands run over her body,
through her hair. I mounted. It was hot, and tight. I began to stroke slowly, wanting to
make it last. Her eyes looked directly into mine.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"What the hell difference does it make?" she asked.
I laughed and went on ahead. Afterwards she dressed and I drove her back to the bar but
she was difficult to forget. I wasn't working and I slept until 2 p.m. then got up and
read the paper. I was in the bathtub when she came in with a large leaf- an elephant ear.
"I knew you'd be in the bathtub," she said, "so I brought you something
to cover that thing with, nature boy."
She threw the elephant leaf down on me in the bathtub.
"How did you know I'd be in the tub?"
"I knew."
Almost every day Cass arrived when I was in the tub. The times were different but she
seldom missed, and there was the elephant leaf. And then we'd make love. One or two nights
she phoned and I had to bail her out of jail for drunkenness and fighting.
"These sons of *******," she said, "just because they buy you a few
drinks they think they can get into your pants."
"Once you accept a drink you create your own trouble."
"I thought they were interested in me, not just my body."
"I'm interested in you and your body. I doubt, though, that most men can see
beyond your body."
I left town for 6 months, bummed around, came back. I had never forgotten Cass, but
we'd had some type of argument and I felt like moving anyhow, and when I got back i
figured she'd be gone, but I had been sitting in the West End Bar about 30 minutes when
she walked in and sat down next to me.
"Well, *******, I see you've come back."
I ordered her a drink. Then I looked at her. She had on a high- necked dress. I had
never seen her in one of those. And under each eye, driven in, were 2 pins with glass
heads. All you could see were the heads of the pins, but the pins were driven down into
her face.
"******* you, still trying to destroy your beauty, eh?"
"No, it's the fad, you fool."
"You're crazy."
"I've missed you," she said.
"Is there anybody else?"
"No there isn't anybody else. Just you. But I'm hustling. It costs ten bucks. But
you get it free."
"Pull those pins out."
"No, it's the fad."
"It's making me very unhappy."
"Are you sure?"
"Hell yes, I'm sure."
Cass slowly pulled the pins out and put them back in her purse.
"Why do you haggle your beauty?" I asked. "Why don't you just live with
it?"
"Because people think it's all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty won't stay. You
don't know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you you know it's for
something else."
"O.k.," I said, "I'm lucky."
"I don't mean you're ugly. People just think you're ugly. You have a fascinating
face."
"Thanks."
We had another drink.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing. I can't get on to anything. No interest."
"Me neither. If you were a woman you could hustle."
"I don't think I could ever make contact with that many strangers, it's
wearing."
"You're right, it's wearing, everything is wearing."
We left together. People still stared at Cass on the streets. She was a beautiful
woman, perhaps more beautiful than ever. We made it to my place and I opened a bottle of
wine and we talked. With Cass and I, it always came easy. She talked a while and I would
listen and then i would talk. Our conversation simply went along without strain. We seemed
to discover secrets together. When we discovered a good one Cass would laugh that laugh-
only the way she could. It was like joy out of fire. Through the talking we kissed and
moved closer together. We became quite heated and decided to go to bed. It was then that
Cass took off her high -necked dress and I saw it- the ugly jagged scar across her throat.
It was large and thick.
"******* you, woman," I said from the bed, "******* you, what have you
done?
"I tried it with a broken bottle one night. Don't you like me any more? Am I still
beautiful?"
I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. She pushed away and laughed, "Some
men pay me ten and I undress and they don't want to do it. I keep the ten. It's very
funny."
"Yes," I said, "I can't stop laughing... Cass, *****, I love you...stop
destroying yourself; you're the most alive woman I've ever met."
We kissed again. Cass was crying without sound. I could feel the tears. The long black
hair lay beside me like a flag of death. We enjoined and made slow and somber and
wonderful love. In the morning Cass was up making breakfast. She seemed quite calm and
happy. She was singing. I stayed in bed and enjoyed her happiness. Finally she came over
and shook me,
"Up, *******! Throw some cold water on your face and pecker and come enjoy the
feast!"
I drove her to the beach that day. It was a weekday and not yet summer so things were
splendidly deserted. Beach bums in rags slept on the lawns above the sand. Others sat on
stone benches sharing a lone bottle. The gulls whirled about, mindless yet distracted. Old
ladies in their 70's and 80's sat on the benches and discussed selling real estate left
behind by husbands long ago killed by the pace and stupidity of survival. For it all,
there was peace in the air and we walked about and stretched on the lawns and didn't say
much. It simply felt good being together. I bought a couple of sandwiches, some chips and
drinks and we sat on the sand eating. Then I held Cass and we slept together about an
hour. It was somehow better than *******. There was flowing together without tension.
When we awakened we drove back to my place and I cooked a dinner. After dinner I suggested
to Cass that we shack together. She waited a long time, looking at me, then she slowly
said, "No." I drove her back to the bar, bought her a drink and walked out. I
found a job as a parker in a factory the next day and the rest of the week went to
working. I was too tired to get about much but that Friday night I did get to the West End
Bar. I sat and waited for Cass. Hours went by . After I was fairly drunk the bartender
said to me, "I'm sorry about your girlfriend."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, didn't you know?"
"No."
"Suicide. She was buried yesterday."
"Buried?" I asked. It seemed as though she would walk through the doorway at
any moment. How could she be gone?
"Her sisters buried her."
"A suicide? Mind telling me how?"
"She cut her throat."
"I see. Give me another drink."
I drank until closing time. Cass was the most beautiful of 5 sisters, the most
beautiful in town. I managed to drive to my place and I kept thinking, I should have
insisted she stay with me instead of accepting that "no." Everything about her
had indicated that she had cared. I simply had been too offhand about it, lazy, too
unconcerned. I deserved my death and hers. I was a dog. No, why blame the dogs? I got up
and found a bottle of wine and drank from it heavily. Cass the most beautiful girl in town
was dead at 20. Outside somebody honked their automobile horn. They were very loud and
persistent. I sat the bottle down and screamed out: "******* YOU, YOU *******
,SHUT UP!" The night kept coming and there was nothing I could do.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
.i'm sorry, but i've looked at english grammar for far too long, to buy into the current *******... i just came from behind the iron curtain, i'm not about to go into "hiding" under a silicon curtain... valley my ***, silicon curtain, the end. gender, "neutral" pronouns? pronouns can't be "neutral", neutered... neuter via plural? they being a non-descriptive associated of both a he and a she? ****... most languages can't escape gender-inclusivity of their nouns... for example, names of cities... now you can have gender neutral nouns, i'll concede that... London: gender neutral... Paris: gender neutral... and then of course the more universal nouns in English, predicated by either a definite or an indefinite article: making gender-ascription to nouns even harder... because that's how the english language operates: something is either definite, or it's indefinite... all the continent languages, however, ascribe genders to their nouns... either masculine or feminine, or whatever... is this some sort of quasi-anglophone envy of continent languages? say, in my nativspreschen... słońce (the sun) is feminine... księżyc (the moon) is masculine... Warszawa (Warsaw) is feminine... Niemcy (Germany) is actually gender neutral, in that it refers to a people... Rosja (Russian) is feminine... Anglia (England) is feminine... there is noun-ambiguity regarding "gender" in continental languages... which the English language lacks: due to the definite / indefinite articulation via (a- -the      "ism")... pronoun gender "neutrality" never existed... because... gender-appropriation of nouns was never on the cards in this language... and never will be... come on... you really don't need some foreigner to tell you the basics of your own tongue... i hate to even associate myself with such pieces as are provided in the form of the "useful idiots"... i hate it... it's like asking to fiddle about with a down syndrome competitor at a su doku olympics... it's not fair!

i only really had two loves in my life... Paris, circa 2005 and Edinburgh circa in the range of 2004 through to 2007... those really were my only true loves... London? London just grew on me, esp. the east end... i became infected with its heterogeneity, so much so, that whenever i visit my grandparents, in the most feral of lands, Poland... and peer into its homogeneity, i am fed a staggering amount of nausea... sure, once in a while you'll spot a Roma in these parts, handling cheap chinese goods at the market, but otherwise? and... given, that i'm a first generation expatriate (eh, eh? i know what the natives call their own, "elsewhere", akin to h'america or australia)...

                 the girlfriends? eh... two, three, more prostitutes...
whoever these middle-aged men are, talking m.g.t.o.w., after two failed marriages... i was already on my way, aged 21... sure, it was fun for the first few years... i remember the tingling sensation of holding my first girlfriend's hand while watching romeo + juliet in her father's presence... that **** was cool... it's still so vivid to me... again: slandering women is not cool... i remember these girlfriends with a fondness... i don't want the anchor of bitterness to put me in one place... fondness is all the wind in the sails you will ever need to sail along... and... em... stealing one or two kisses from prostitutes... that's all...

                      the last one i left? 21... she married...
she remarried...
            and she ****** quiet a bit in between...
last time i visisted her out of a weird sense of obligation...
hand... slashed down their veins...
             i stayed for about four days...
   over a period of two nights i slept with the window
open, with my clothes on...
third night i took my clothes off...
                i inquired...
           she was waking up each morning with
a jug of coffee and turned into:
   less a masters in anthropology...
and more the russian gamer chick...
                     one night she called up her
sycophants...
               we smoked...
                     her husband wasn't home...
"then", her, "still"(?) huspand?
                   but her boyfriend was there...
i was sitting akimbo and talking to this guy...
and he told me how he ******:
my would be fiancé...
                           well... i just broke down
into the most amazing laughter...
   a laughter that put me to sleep,
a laughter that made all the people leave,
and i was left with her, alone,
in a room...
              she was still playing a video game...
while i got up and rolled another joint...
but the whole joke comes at the fact that:
i, i was the person who was always dumped...
ilona, promis, isabella...
                           they all dumped me...
but... what, a, *******, relief!
               maybe that's why i came to terms
with myself, maybe that's why
drinking in ms. amber's company
is such a joyous treat...
                 unlike most drunks...
esp. women: i do not wallow in grief,
or for that matter... hold any grievances...
all that has happened,
   has, happened, in order that i might find:
release, and in finding my release...
relief!

                            i had to mention these
scenarios... i remember the last words ilona
said to me: blah blah... by doing x
as you've continued to displease me...
blah blah... you'll never become a man!
                    true...
                                ­ who the **** want's
to be an ahston court trained poodle?!
   what, enough ***** to keep the economy
going?
        everyone knows that women
are the crown of capitalism...
                     no woman, no crown, no capitalism...
it's not even socialism at this point,
or anarchy... it's... eh... m'eh?
                                 why do only fools and horses
marry?
          ****, if there was a swan ontology
built into man? maybe... after all...
                    there is such a phenomenon
(more like a noumenon) of the widow swan,
or a widower swan...
      it's as if the animal has lost its
physical union, and transitioned into
a metaphysical union, beside the body...
   a realm of perpetuated memory,
   awaiting transcendence...
         now... i believe there's a godhead for
all things in this world...
there's the godhead of swans,
   as there is the godhead of all the other creatures...
which: gushes out ontological cueues...
pointers...
                    after all, i already said what
my two true loves were...

        Paris and Edinburgh...
                   i remember the first time i arrived
in Paris...
when i reached 3 Ducks hostel in Paris,
the guy in charge, was surprised,
that i managed to walk,
   all the way from where the drop-off was
for people arriving from the airport
by coach, some 40+ miles from Paris itself...
i walked... i breathed... i was amazed
at the Eiffel Tower...
   most people just took the underground...
plus i had a really ****** map...
didn't speak the language...
                    but that year... circa 2005... Paris...
      that was...
                          something else...
or Edinburgh, circa 2004...
                    thank god i didn't apply
to Warwick university...
      campus university *******...
         Bristol? eh... the city didn't appeal
to me...
                   Edinburgh... that's something
else...
                    even Venice is more or less:
passable...
                      
              mind you... what's this current
transgender debate about men thinking they're
women, competing in women's sports?
today i saw the perfect example
of a decent woman's sport...
  tennis... haleb vs. linette...
       **** on me, what a match...
no. 3 seed versus no. 87 in world ranking...
                          i prefer women's tennis...
with male tennis its all about
the service game: "****" advantage...
but at least in woman's tennis,
   you get longer rallies...
   and the antithesis of what an ****** sounds
like... and all that show of legs...
it's beautiful...
       beside... this "new" transgender "thing",
that **** is old...
     i always confuse the two...
     DDR...                        FDR...
Deutsche Demokratische Republik...
          Federal Republic of Germany...
   so, yeah... the former... DDR...
                 and i've heard this many times...
the same happened back then,
at the olympic games...
                          it's a joke now...
  but women from the DDR were given hormones...
to make them more masculine...
           only that... it was real chemistry
working on real biology...
   women, were given male hormones...
and competed with other females...
          now?
                      em... what if these "women",
want to compete with women...
       and can do so... if given female hormones,
added with a cocktail of male hormone
blockers?!
         the whole olympic circus is already
rigged with chemistry...
**** it: ***** all of them!
                   may the best chemist win!
**** it, jack 'em up! give each and everyone
of them the best juice!
swear to god,
   all the female atheletes back in the days
of DDR were given some hormonal++ juice...
maybe a mix of amphetamines and
        steroids...
       so... if these "women" want to
compete with women?
                     shouldn't they be given...
say... the realistic dosage of hormones...
         a body of a natural woman creates?!

****, in a time when a bilingual is deemed
a schizophrenic... because he's not a polyglot...
of course the trans movement was always going
to undermine women...
     that's why i decided, aged 21...
no... you know what?
                        i don't like stress...
              loved you, but thank god i left you...
Paris and Edinburgh became my two true loves...
and... given they're cities...
they are as intricate as any person might be...
so... not to be demeaning...
                  but a cat and mouse game...
and then being dumped...
                               i settled for the next best
thing... once a year... ****... once every five years...
if there's any Jack the Ripper urge "lurking"
in me...
                         just visit a brothel
to check your body temp. against another
body, and see if you can share the same pulse.

but as you might have already guessed,
this was the original draft:

tattooing an impermant
mark on the left arm:

    h-
              (e)
         -a-
     (lef)
                -y
                       (od)

what yah /          
יאח‎          demands...

ה‎ (he) + א‎ (alef),
   and   ח‎ (het) + ע (ayin) -

i.e. the tetragrammaton
squared -
  laughter of the interchange.         ע

p.s. i still don't
see how Adam conceived of
Abel, or Cain...
   how a-lef or a-yin is a consonant,
transcendent...
given the hebrew ah is:
guised in the name kametz...

i see a story of two Adams...
and i called them,
Aleph                  and Ayin.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus
simaltan

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed cult

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
insane
but
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
enlighten.
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <https://www.umass.edu/legal/derrico/amherst/lord_jeff.html>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,

realize

we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead

be

--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
meet
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, yo bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
Irish
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old gay ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum
singin'

on the corner with the hourus girl's c

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
Ginger Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH1

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin invadin he was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?
if/then/else

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

POV
SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place, as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning og every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.
I wandered into a sattelite radio 90's A-Z, kinda like those histories of philosophies old people listen to when they're ******. Oh, the moonshine experiment worked, FYI
Nath Rye Jan 2016
Isang pinto ang nasa aking harapan.

Pintong gawa sa kahoy. Limang tao ang lapad ng pinto, at dalawan' tao ang taas nito. Dahan-dahan 'kong hinawakan ang nakausling parte.

Hinila ko. Ang bigat.

Isang engrandeng *ballroom
ang itinatago ng pintong aking pinasok. Ang una talagang mapapansin ay ang magarang wallpaper na yumayakap sa pader. Sa pinakaharap, may hagdanan na tila hari't reyna lang ang maaring gumamit. Sa bawat dulo ng hagdanan, may mga nakapatong na gintong mga dekorasyon- mga anghel at mga hayop na makikita lamang sa panaginip. Pero, mapapatingala ka talaga sa larawan ng Diyos at mga anghel na sumasakop sa buong kaitaasan ng ballroom.

Ang amoy naman, amoy ng mamahaling pagkain.
May mga lamesa at mga plato para sa mga nais kumain

Ang unang yapak ko sa loob ay sinalubong ng mga tingin mula sa mga tao sa loob. Lahat sila'y magkamukha...

magkakambal kaya?

Nilapitan ako ng waiter. May dala-dalang alak.
"Ser, gusto niyo po ba ng-"
"Bakit magkamukha kayong lahat dito?"
Lumabas lang ang mga salita sa aking bibig. Di na ako nakapaghintay.

"Ah... ser, kung gusto niyo po ang kasagutan sa tanong niyo, sigurado akong may makakapagpaliwanag sayo nang mas maayos."

At sabay siyang umalis.

Inikot ko ang ballroom. Kinausap ko ang mga tao. May mga sumasayaw, may mga kumakanta, at mayroon pang mini magic show. May mga nakabarong, iba nama'y naka tuxedo.

Naging masaya ang mga usapan, hanggang itinanong ko ang tanong ukol sa kanilang pagiging magkamukha. Pinapasa-pasa lang nila ang tanong sa mga ibang nasa ballroom. Ika nga, "hindi nila mapapaliwanag nang mabuti."

Ano naman ang napakakumplikadong paliwanag na ito?

Lahat ba, naitanong ko na?

Nanlaki ang aking mga mata. May nakita akong nag-iisa sa dulo ng kwarto. Mukhang matalino. Nilapitan ko.

"Sarap ng pagkain."

Binigyan niya 'ko ng tingin ng pagkagulat.

Makalipas ang ilang segundo, nagsalita na rin siya.

"Ganyan ka ba talaga nagsisimula ng isang conversation?"

"Di eh. Pero masarap naman talaga. Kinailangan ko lang ilabas ang matinding damdamin ko para sa handa."

Tawanan. Pero desperado na 'ko. Gusto ko nang malaman kung bakit.

"Bakit magkamukha kayong lahat dito?"

"Ah.... ikaw ay tulog ngayon. Nananaginip ka lang. Ang bawat tao rito'y indibidwal na parte ng iyong sarili. Ang iba't-iba **** personalidad, nag anyong-tao."

"Ha?"
Ginagago ako nito, ah.

"Subukan '**** kurutin ang 'yong sarili. Di siya masakit, di ba?"

Tiningnan ko ang braso ko. Kinurot ko, yung masakit talaga.

Wala akong naramdaman.

"Gets? Ako ang parteng nais tumulong sa iba, sa kapwa-tao."

".... Maniniwala muna ako sayo, ngayon. Pero, ibig sabihin ba'y ang lahat ng personalidad ko'y pantay-pantay?"

"Hindi. Ang mga taong nasa itaas ng hagdan, sila ang pinakamalalaking parte ng 'yong sarili. Kaya sila ang mga pinakamakapangyarihan dito sa ballroom."

"At pwede akong umakyat doon?"
Gusto kong umakyat.

"Handa ka bang tanggapin ang iyong sarili? Pa'no kung puro mamamatay-tao pala ang mga nasa itaas? O magnanakaw? O sinungaling?"

"Edi ok, tanggap ko naman na di ako perpekto."

Pero sa isipan ko, natakot ako. Nakakatakot makita ang mga masasamang parte ng sarili mo, na naging sarili niyang tao.

"Edi umakyat ka. Panaginip mo 'to. 'Di akin."

"Sige, salamat pare."

"Geh."

Inakala ko na ang huli niyang sasabihin ay may relasyon sa pag-iingat, o pagkukumbinsi na 'wag na 'kong umakyat. Pero dahil sa isang "geh" na sagot niya, nahalata 'kong wala na akong makukuhang impormasyon kung di ako aakyat.

Nasa harap na ako ng hagdanan. Kung nakatayo ka pala rito, parang nakatitig ang mga gintong dekorasyon sa 'yo.

Isa-isa kong inakyat ang mga hagdan, at sa taas, may nakita akong apat na tao.
  
Yung tatlo, nakikinig at tumatawa sa biro ng isa.

"Hi...?"
Wala naman akong ibang masabi, e.

Bigla silang tumahimik at napatingin sa 'kin.
Alam na siguro nila kung sino ako, dahil nilapitan nila ako at nakipag-kamay.

"Alam mo na ba ang lugar na ito? May nagsabi na ba sa 'yo?"

"Oo. Sabi sa 'kin ng isa na kayo raw ang mga pinakamalaking parte ng aking personalidad."

"AHHH! Mali siya! Nasa impiyerno ka na ngayon. Masama ka kasi eh."

Napatingin lang ako sa kanya.

"Joke lang, 'wag naman masyadong seryoso. Edi madali na lang pala! Sige, pakilala tayo!"
Ngumiti naman ang apat.

Nauna yung tatlo.

"Ako ang parte **** responsable. Alam mo ang mga responsibilidad mo, at maaga mo tinatapos."

Wow. Responsable pala ako.

Ang pangalawa.
"Ako naman ang parte **** madasalin. Malakas ang tiwala mo sa Diyos, kaya mahilig ka magdasal."
Grabe, banal pala ako?

Ang pangatlo.
"Ako naman ang parte **** mahilig sa sports. Mapa-boxing man o swimming, o basketball. Lagi kang handa."
Parang yung bodybuilder ko lang na klasmeyt ah. Napatawa ako.

At ang pang-apat, at ang lider:
"Ako ang parte ng sarili mo na nais makatulong sa ibang tao. Handa kang magpatawa kung kailangan, pero kaya mo naman ring magseryoso. 'Di ka nang-iiwan. Tunay kang kaibigan."

Pero yung tao kanina yung nais makatulong sa ibang tao.... baka ito yung sinungaling. Bahala na.


"Kayo ang pinakamalaki? Natutuwa naman ako."
Nagtawanan lahat.

"Pero may isa pa. Ang pinakamalaki talaga sa lahat."

"Saan?"
Saan nga ba talaga?

"Dito. Halika. Bago ka magising. Para makilala mo."

Pumunta yung pang-apat sa isang dulo ng kwarto. May pinindot siya. May maliit na butas na nagpakita sa pader. Madilim. Nahirapan akong pumasok. 'Di na sumunod ang apat.

Sa gitna ng kwarto, may isang tao. Isa. Nag-iisa, kasama ng mga libro at papel.

"Ikaw ang pinakamalaking parte?"

Tumingin lang siya sa 'kin.

"Ikaw ba talaga? Ano naman sinisimbolo mo?"

"Ako ang katahimikan. Ang katahimikan sa iyong loob. Matatag ang puso mo, at kahit marami kang kinakatakutan, hindi ito nagiging hadlang sa 'yo. Ako ang nagbibigay buhay at enerhiya sa lahat ng mga personalidad mo."

*At ako'y napatahimik. Katahimikan pala ang pinakamalaking parte.
It's 3:44 am woooooooo I started at 3. ps this is in tagalog/filipino. thank you
Leonoah Apr 2020
Alas sais y medya na ng umaga nang makauwi si Natividad mula sa bahay ng kanyang amo. Pagkababa n’ya ng maliit na bag na laman ang kanyang cellphone at wallet na merong labin-limang libo at iilang barya ay marahan siyang naglakad tungo sa kwartong tinutulugan ng kanyang tatlong anak. Hinawi niya ang berdeng kurtina at sumilip sa kanyang mga anghel.
Babae ang panganay ni Natividad, o di kaya’y Vida. Labindalawang taong gulang na ito at nasa Grade 7 na. Isa sa mga malas na naabutan ng pahirap na K-12 program. Ang gitna naman ay sampung taong gulang na lalaki at mayroong down syndrome. Special child ang tawag nila sa batang tulad nito, pero “abnormal” o “abno” naman ang ipinalayaw ng mga lasinggero sa kanila. Ang bunso naman niya, si bunsoy, ay kakatapak lamang ng Grade 1. Pitong taong gulang na ito at ito ang katangkaran sa mga babae sa klase nito. Sabi ng kapwa niya magulang ay late na raw ang edad nito para sa baiting, pero kapag mahirap ka, mas maigi na ang huli kaysa wala.
Nang makitang nahihimbing pa ang mga ito ay tahimik s’yang tumalikod at naglakad papuntang kusina. Ipagluluto niya ang mga anak ng sopas at adobong manok. May mga natira pa namang sangkap na iilang gulay, gatas, at macaroni na galing pa sa bahay ni Kapitan noong nangatulong siya sa paghahanda para sa piyesta. Bumili rin siya ng kalahating kilo na pakpak ng manok, kalahating kilo pa ulit ng atay ng manok, at limang kilo ng bigas.
Inuna niya ang pagsasaing. Umabot pa ng tatlong gatang ang natitirang bigas nila sa pulang timba ng biskwit kaya ‘yun na lang ang ginamit niya. Pagkatapos ay agad niya rin itong pinalitan ng bagong biling bigas.
De-uling pa ang kalan ni Vida kaya inabot siya ng limang minuto bago nakapagpaapoy. Siniguro niyang malakas ang apoy para madaling masaing. Kakaunti na lang kasi ang oras na natitira.
Habang hinihintay na maluto ang kanin ay dumiretso na sa paghahanda ng mga sangkap si Vida. Siniguro niyang tahimik ang bawat kilos para maiwasang magising ang mga anak. Mas mapapatagal lamang kasi kung sasabay pa ang mga ito sa kanyang pagluluto.
Habang hinahati at pinaparami ang manok ay patingin-tingin s’ya sa labas. Inaabangan ang inaasahan niyang mga bisita.
Mukang magtatagal pa sila ah. Ano na kayang balita? Dito lamang naikot ang isip ni Vida sa tuwing nakikitang medyo normal pa sa labas.
May mga potpot na nagbebenta na pan de sal at monay, mga nanay na labas-masok ng kani-kanilang mga bahay dahil tulad niya ay naghahanda rin ng pagkain, at mga lalaking kauuwi lamang sa trabaho o siguro kaya’y galing sa inuman.
Tulog pa ata ang karamihan ng mga bata. Mabuti naman, walang maingay. Hindi magigising ang tatlo.
Binalikan niya ang sinaing at tiningnan kung pupwede na bang hanguin.
Okay na ito. Dapat ako magmadali talaga.
Dali-dali niyang isinalang ang kaserolang may laman na pinira-pirasong manok.
Habang hinihintay na maluto ang manok ay paunti-unti rin siyang naglilinis. Tahimik pa rin ang bawat kilos. Lampas kalahating oras na siyang nakakauwi at ano mang oras ay baka magising ang mga anak niya o di kaya’y dumating ang mga hinihintay n’ya.
Winalis niya ang buong bahay. Maliit lang naman iyon kaya mabilis lamang siyang natapos. Pagkatapos ay marahan siyang naglakad papasok sa maliit nilang tulugan, kinuha ang lumang backpack ng kanyang panganay at sinilid doon ang ilang damit. Tatlong blouse, dalawang mahabang pambaba at isang short. Dinamihan niya ang panloob dahil alanganin na kakaunti lamang ang dala.
Pagkatapos niyang mag-empake ay itinago niya muna backpack sa ilalim ng lababo. Hinango niya na rin ang manok at agad na pinalitan ng palayok na pamana pa sa kanya. Dahil hinanda niya na kanina sa labas ang lahat ng kakailanganin ay dahan dahan niyang sinara ang pinto para hindi marinig mula sa loob ang ingay ng paggigisa.
Bawat kilos niya ay mabilis, halata **** naghahabol ng oras. Kailangang makatapos agad siya para may makain ang tatlo sa paggising nila.
Nang makatapos sa sopas ay agad niya itong ipinasok at ipinatong sa lamesa. Sinigurong nakalapat ang takip para mainit-init pa sakaling tanghaliin ng gising ang mga anak.
Dali-daling hinugasan ang ginamit na kaserola sa paglalaga at agad ulit itong isinalang sa apoy. Atay ng manok ang binili niya para siguradong mas mabilis maluluto. Magandang ipang-ulam ang adobo dahil ma-sarsa, pwede ring ulit-ulitin ang pag-iinit hanggang maubos.
Habang hinihintay na lumambot na ang mga patatas, nakarinig siya ng mga yabag mula sa likuran.
Nandito na sila. Hindi pa tapos ‘tong adobo.
“Vida.” Narinig niyang tawag sa kanya ng pamilyar na boses ng lalaki. Malapit niyang kaibigan si Tobias. Tata Tobi kung tawagin ng mga anak niya. Madalas niya ditong ihabilin ang tatlo kapag kailangan niyang mag-overnight sa bahay ng amo.
“Tobi. Andito na pala kayo,” nginitian niya pa ang dalawang kasama nitong nasa likuran. Tahimik lang ang mga itong nagmamasid sa kanya.
“Hindi pa tapos ang adobo ko eh. Ilalahok ko pa lang ang atay. Pwedeng upo muna kayo doon sa loob? Saglit na lang naman ‘to.”
Mukhang nag-aalangan pa ang dalawa pero tahimik itong kinausap ni Tobi. Maya-maya ay parang pumayag na rin ito at tahimik na naglakad papasok. Narinig niya pang sinabihan ni Tobi ang mga ito na dahan-dahan lamang dahil natutulog ang mga anak niya. Napangiti na lamang siya rito.
Pagkalahok ng atay at tinakpan niya ang kaserola. Tahimik siyang naglakad papasok habang nararamdaman ang pagmamasid sa kanya. Tumungo siya sa lababo at kinuha ang backpack.
Lumapit siya sa mga panauhin at tahimik na dinaluhan ang mga ito tapos ay sabay-sabay nilang pinanood ang usok galing sa adobong atay.
“M-ma’am.” Rinig niyang tawag sa kanya ng kasama ni Tobias. Corazon ang nakaburdang apelyido sa plantsadong uniporme. Mukhang bata pa ito at baguhan.
“Naku, ser. ‘Wag na po ganoon ang itawag niyo sa akin. Alam niyo naman na kung sino ako.” Maraan niyang sabi dito, nahihiya.
“Vida. Pwede ka namang tumanggi.” Si Tobias talaga.
“Tobi naman. Parang hindi ka pamilyar. Tabingi ang tatsulok, Tobias. Alam mo iyan.” Iniiwasan niyang salubungin ang mga mata ni Tobias. Nararamdaman niya kasi ang paninitig nito. Tumatagos. Damang-dama niya sa bawat himaymay ng katawan niya at baka saglit lamang na pagtingin dito ay umiyak na siya.
Kanina niya pa nilulunok ang umaalsang hagulhol dail ayaw niyang magising ang mga anak.
“Vida…” marahang tawag sa kanya ng isa pang kasama ni Tobi. Mukhang mas matanda ito sa Corazon pero halatang mas matanda pa rin ang kaibigan niya.
“Ano ba talaga ang nangyari?”
“Ser…Abit,” mabagal niyang basa sa apelyido nito.
“Ngayon lang po ako nanindigan para sa sarili ko.” garalgal ang boses niya. Nararamdaman niya na ang umaahon na luha.
“Isang beses ko lang po naramdaman na tao ako, ser. At ngayon po iyon. Nakakapangsisi na sa ganitong paraan ko lang nabawi ang pagkatao ko, pero ang mahalaga po ay ang mga anak ko. Mahalaga po sila sa’kin, ser.” mahina lamang ang pagkakasabi niya, sapat na para magkarinigan silang apat.
“Kung mahalaga sila, bakit mo ginawa ‘yon? Vida, bakit ka pumatay?”
Sasagot n asana siya ng marinig niyang kumaluskos ang banig mula sa kuwarto. Lumabas doon ang panganay niyang pupungas-pungas pa. dagli niya itong pinalapit at pinaupo sa kinauupuan niya. Lumuhod siya sa harap nito para magpantay sila.
“Anak. Good morning. Kamusta ang tulog mo?”
“Good morning din, nay. Sino po sila? ‘Ta Tobi?”
“Kaibigan sila ni ‘Ta Tobias, be. Hinihintay nila ako kasi may pupuntahan kami eh.” marahan niyang paliwanag, tinatantya ang bawat salita dahil bagong gising lamang ang anak.
“Saan, nay? May handaan po uli sina ser?” tukoy nito sa mga dati niyang amo.
“Basta ‘nak. Kunin mo muna yung bag ko doon sa lamesa, dali. Kunin ko yung ulam natin mamaya. Masarap yun, be.”
Agad naman itong sumunod habang kinukuha niya na rin ang bagong luto na adobo. Pagkapatong sa lamesa ng ulam ay nilapitan niya ulit ang anak na tinitingnan-tingnan ang tahimik na mga  kasama ni Tobias.
“Be…” tawag niya rito.
Pagkalingon nito sa kanya ay hinawakan niya ang mga kamay nito. Nagsisikip na ang lalamunan niya. Nag-iinit na rin ang mga mata niya at nahihirapan na sa pagbuga ng hangin.
“Be, wala na sina ser. Wala na sila, hindi na nila tayo magugulo.” ngiti niya rito. Namilog naman ang mga mata nito. Halata **** natuwa sa narinig.
“Tahimik na tayo, nay? Hindi na nila kakalampagin ang pinto natin sa gabi?”
“Hindi na siguro, anak. Makakatulog na kayo ng dire-diretso, pangako.” Sinapo niya ang mukha nito tapos ay matunog na hinalikan sa pisngi at noo. ‘Eto na ang matagal niyang pinapangarap na buhay para sa mga anak. Tahimik. Simple. Walang gulo.
“Kaso, ‘nak, kailangan kong sumama sa kanila.” Turo niya kayna Tobias. Nanonood lamang ito sa kanila. Hawak na rin ni Tobi ang backpack niya.
“May ginawa kasi si nanay, be. Para diretso na ang tulog natin at para di na tayo guluhin nina ser. Pramis ko naman sa’yo be, magsasama ulit tayo. Pangako. Bilangin mo ang tulog na hindi tayo magkakasama. Tapos pagbalik ko, hihigitan ko pa ‘yon ng maraming maraming tulog na magkakasama na tayo.”
“Nay…” nagtataka na ang itsura ng anak niya. Namumula na kasi ang mukha niya panigurado. Kakapigil na humagulhol dahil ayaw niyang magising ang dalawa pang anak.
“Anak parang ano lang ito…abroad. Diba may kaklase kang nasa abroad ang nanay? Doon din ako, be.”
Bigla ay nagtubig ang mga mata ng panganay niya. Malalaking butil ng tubig. Hindi niya alam kung naniniwala pa ba ito sa mga sinasabi niya, o kung naiintindihan na nito ang mga nangyayari.
“Itong bag ko, andiyan yung wallet at telepono ko. Diba matagal mo nang gusto magkaroon ng ganon, be? Iyo na ‘yan, basta dapat iingatan mo ha. Yung pera be, kay Tata Tobias mo ihahabilin. Habang nagtatrabaho ako, kay ‘Ta Tobi muna kayo.”
“Nay, hindi ka naman magtatrabaho eh.” Lumabi ang anak niya tapos ay tuluyan nang nalaglag ang luha.
Tinawanan niya naman ito. “Sira, magtatrabaho ako. Basta intayin mo ‘ko be ha? Kayo nina bunsoy ko, ha?” Hindi niya napigilang lambing-lambingin ito na parang batang munti. Kailangan ay sulitin niya ang pagkakataon.
Paulit-ulit niya itong dinampian ng maliliit na halik sa mukha, wala na siyang pakealam kung malasahan niya ang alat ng luha nito. Kailangan ay masulit niya ang natitirang oras.
“Nay, sama po ako. Sama kami ni bunsoy. Tahimik lang kami lagi, pramis, nay. Parang kapag andito si ser, hindi naman kami gugulo doon.” Tuluyan na ngang umalpas ang hikbi niya. Naalala niyang muli ang rason kung ba’t n’ya ito ginagawa. Para sa tahimik na buhay ng mga anak.
“Sus, maniwala sa’yo, be. Basta hintayin mo si nay. ‘Lika ***** tayo doon sa kwarto, magbabye ako kayna bunsoy.” Yakag niya rito. Sumama naman ito sa kanya habang nakayakap sa baywang niya. Humihikbi-hikbi pa rin ito habang naagos ang luha.
Tahimik niyang nilapitan ang dalawa. Kinumutan niyang muli ang mga ito at kinintalan ng masusuyong halik sa mga noo. Bata pa ang mga anak niya. Marami pa silang magagawa. Malayo pa ang mararating nila. Hindi tulad ng mga magulang nila, ‘yun ang sisiguraduhin niya. Hindi ito mapapatulad sa kanila ng mister niya.
“Be, dito ka na lang ha. Alis na si nanay. Alagaan mo sina bunsoy, be, ha. Pati sarili mo. Ang iskul mo anak, kahit hindi ka manguna, ayos lang kay nanay. Hindi naman ako magagalit. Basta gagalingan mo hangga’t kaya mo ha. Mahal kita, be. Kayong tatlo. Mahal na mahal namin kayo.” Mahigpit niya itong niyakap habang paiyak na binubulong ang mga habilin. Wala na ring tigil ang pag-iyak niya kaya agad na siyang tumayo. Baka magising pa ang dalawa.
Nakita niya namang nakaabang sa pinto si Tobi bitbit ang bag niya. Kinuha niya rito ang bag at sinabihang ito na ang bahala sa mga anak. Baog si Tobias at iniwan na ng asawa. Sumama raw sa ibang lalaking mas mayaman pa rito. Kagawad si Tobias sa lugar nila kaya sigurado siyang hindi magugutom ang mga anak niya rito. May tiwala siyang mamahalin ni Tobias na parang sarili nitong mga anak ang tatlo dahil matagal niya na itong nasaksihan.
Pagsakay sa sasakyan kasama ang dalawang pulis na kasama ni Tobias ay saka lamang siya pinosasan ng lalaking may burdang Corazon.
“Kilala namang sindikato yung napatay mo, ma’am. Kulang lamang kami sa ebidensya dahil malakas ang kapit sa taas. Kung sana…sana ay hindi ka nag-iwan ng sulat.”
“Nabuhay ang mga anak kong may duwag na ina, ser. Ayokong lumaki pa sila sa puder ng isang taong walang paninindigan. Pinatay niya na ang asawa ko. Dapat ay sapat na ‘yon na bayad sa utang namin, diba?” kung kanina ay halo humagulhol siya sa harap ng mga anak, ngayon ay walang emosyong mahahamig sa boses niya. Nakatingin lamang siya sa labas at tinititigan ang mga napapatingin sa dumadaang sasakyan ng pulis.
Kung sana ay hindi tinulungan ng mga nakatataas ang amo niya. Kung sana ay nakakalap ng sapat na mga ebidensya ang mga pulis na ngayon ay kasama niya. Kung sana ay may naipambayad sila sa inutang ng asawa niya para pambayad sa panganganak niya.
Kung hindi siguro siya mahirap, baka wala siya rito.
unedited
Ang pag-ibig
Hindi parang load
Hindi yan nauubos
Wala sa tindahan
Hindi inuutang.

Ang pag-ibig
Hindi parang gasoline station
Na daraanan mo lang
Na paparkingan mo
Pero iiwan mo
Pag nakuha na ang gusto.

Ang pag-ibig
Hindi parang kalsada
Na malawak pero tatapak-tapakan
Na aayusin at mas mapapansin lang
Pagka may lubak na.

Ang pag-ibig
Hindi parang payong
Na gagamitin mo lang
Para sa pansariling proteksyon
At itatago pag hindi mo na kailangan.

Ang pag-ibig hindi yan sasakyan
Na daraan sayo at hindi mo mapapansin
Na bubusinaan ka
At wala kang tamang pandinig.

Ang pag-ibig
Minsan makukumpara mo
Sa kung anu-anong pumupukaw ng atensyon mo
Minsan kasalungat
Ng kung anong nakikita mo.

Hindi mo na lang mapapansin
Nandyan na pala,
Eh kaso lang, ang layo ng tingin mo
Naghahanap ka pa,
Eh nasa harap mo na pala.
Habang nag-aabang na mapuno yung tricycle sa kanto, nang makauwi na rin.
Alam ko kaarawan mo nung abril labindalawang at ngayon
Humahabol pa ako sa regalo ko na tula para lang sayo.

Naaalala kita bilang aking best friend nung intermediate palang tayo
Ngayon pati sa facebook konektado pa rin ako sayo

Paminsan-minsan ikaw nagchachat sa kin at minsan ako rin naman
Nagsheshare ng problema at nagbibigayan ng tips kahit papano man

Ngayon dalagita na tayo, marami na rin mga problema sa school at iba kaso
Gusto pa rin kita makausap ng matagalan eh marami lang talagang inaasikaso

Nagkataon nagkita tayo sa mall at ang napansin ko bigla ka tumangkad
Syempre naingit agad, hindi ako pinagpala ng diyos ng tangkad eh.

Natutuwa ako nakilala kita noon at nagkakilalan tayo ng lubos
Kahit malayo tayo sa isa't isa, at saka nagpapasalamat rin ako 

Naging best friend kita at lagi tayo nagtutulungan 
Kung may problema tayong hinaharap.

Kung alam mo lang maeffort ako kung hindi lang natatamad
Lalo na sa pagibig kung pinageffortan dapat masuklian.

Pasensya na kung nahuli ako ibigay ang regalo ko para lang talaga sayo
Nagpapasalamat ako sa lahat ng alaala natin dalawa at sa susunod pa.

Mahal kita dahil naging parte ka na rin sa buong buhay ko!

Happy Birthday! To the 16th girl Vivien Hannah Isabel Estrada!
PS: Sana matuloy yung 18th birthday mo pupunta talaga ako.
Kylie Jenner!
Jey Oct 2015
Isang araw, muntik na naman akong nagpakatanga. Isang araw, naisip na naman kita. Isang araw **** ginulo ang isip ko. Isang araw, binalik-balikan ko ang masasakit na alaala mo dahil isang araw, biglang iniwan mo ako.

Iniwan mo ako… at mula noon ilang araw akong wala sa sarili. Ilang araw iniisip ang mga dahilan kung bakit ka umalis. At kung bakit hindi ako ang iyong pinili. Ilang araw na akong nagbakasakali na maiisip **** ako na lang. Ilang araw na patuloy na umaasa sa pangakong babalik ka… “Babalik ako, bigyan mo ako ng isang linggo.” Ilang araw pa at naghintay ako, naghintay ako kahit alam ko na kung sino ang pinili mo.

Isang tanong na patuloy na gumugulo sa aking isipan. Isang tanong na hindi masagot nino man. Isang tanong na hindi ko makalimutan. Isang tanong na wala naman talagang kasagutan. Isang tanong, “Mahal, bakit mo ako iniwan?”

Hindi nga lang iniwan kundi iyo naring kinalimutan. Kinalimutan agad na parang walang pinagsamahan. Puta isang buwan, ganyan, isang buwan nga lang naman. Marahil naging mabilis nga ang mga pangyayari pero ipapaalala ko lang sa’yo ikaw – ikaw ang naunang nagbukas ng pinto. Ikaw ang naunang nagsabi ng “Mahal, bakit di natin subukan?” At sumubok ako. Lumaban tayo.  Ngunit pagkatapos ng lahat ay ano? Wala, wala nga palang tayo.

Alam mo, ito na marahil ang pinaka-tangang nagawa ko sa buhay ko. Sa sobrang ganda at saya kasi parang pwede nang isulat bilang isang nobela, baka nga bumenta pa sa Wattpad eh at ititulo ko “Tinidor” o kaya “Alexa”? Haha.

Pero sa sobrang sakit din parang pang-soap opera. Kaya bakit ganun? Bakit parang ako lang ang nasaktan? Bakit parang ako lang ang nasasaktan? Bakit parang ako lang ang nahihirapan? Bakit parang ako lang nagmahal? Bakit ako lang? Bakit? Ah alam ko na… kasi hindi ako ikaw.

Hindi ako ikaw, ikaw na naging pipi sa pagsigaw na ako ang mahal mo. Ikaw na naging bulag sa pagtingin sa kung sino ang nandito. Ikaw na naging bingi sa mga salita niyang “hindi kita gusto!” Ikaw na pilit umiwas sa maliliit na eskinitang daan papunta sa puso ko. Ikaw na naging duwag sa pagtangkang sumabay sa daloy ng ilog na magdadala sa atin sa bukas.

Hindi ako ikaw. Ikaw na nagdulot lamang ng bagyo sa aking mga mata. Ikaw na nagdala ng lindol at bumulabog sa mundo ko. Nagdala ka lang ng buhawi ng hangin na paikot-ikot lang at kahit sinisira mo ang lahat, nahihigop mo pa rin ako.

Ikaw. Ikaw pa rin ang bumitaw. Ikaw pa rin ang bibitaw. Sa kabila ng lahat ng kasawiang dinala mo sakin. Oo. Ako na yung tangang nagmahal pa rin sa’yo.

Ako na ang mabibingi at sa kalaunan ay magiging pipi, sa pagsigaw na mahal kita. Ako ang magiging bulag sa pagtingin sa iba dahil sa’yo lang mahal, sa’yo lang ako susubaybay. Oo, ako. Ako naman ang magiging bingi sa mga salitang minsan mo na  din sinabi sa akin, “hindi ikaw ang gusto ko!” At ngayon alam kong, hinding-hindi yun magiging ako. Ako ang sisiksik sa maliliit na eskinitang daan sa puso mo. Ako na ang lalangoy at sasabay sa daloy ng ilog maging sa hampas ng alon kahit wala ka na sa bukas na kahahantungan ko. Oo, ako.

Ako na ang nagpakamartir na harapin ang matitindi **** hangin. Ako na ang trainer wheels sa iyong bike. Ako na ang band-aid sa bawat sugat na iniwan ni Alexa, mga halik sa sugat na magpapatigil sa dugo. Ako na ang unan **** sa gabi mo lang nakikita, sinasandalan tuwing pagod, may problema, mahihigpit na yakap tuwing luha’y di tumitigil.  Ako na yung huling stick sa pakete mo ng sigarilyo, inosente’t di ka sasaktan, pero iba pa rin ang pinili mo.

Masyado nang mahaba ito, kaya tutuldukan ko na. Kasabay ng pagtutuldok sa masasaya at mapapait **** ala-ala. Kasi ngayon ako naman ang napagod na maghintay. Ngayon puso ko na naman ang unti-unting namamatay.  Pero hindi ko ito hahayaan kasi mali eh, sabi nga ni Trixie, “nasaktan mo lang ako, pero hindi mo ako napatay.”

Hindi ako ikaw, ikaw na tanga kasi pinakawalan mo ako. Mayabang man kung maririnig nila pero oo gago, ang laki **** tanga dahil iniwan mo ako. ‘Wag kang hangal kung sasabihin **** hindi siya ang pinili mo kundi ang sarili mo dahil alam natin pareho at sa kanya ka pa din babalik. Ito lang ang masasabi ko sa’yo. Minsan subukan **** maging ako.” Para alam mo kung gaano kasakit. ‘Wag kang mabuhay sa parang. Sa parang sa’yo, pero hindi. Parang kayo, pero hindi. Parang mahal ka, tanga hindi.
Uni(berso)
1:05 AM
August 5, 2015

celestialdeity.wordpress.com
Evelyn Ann Oct 2018
These Christians started a fire
They threw gasoline on it

I tried stomping on this fire
I tried throwing water on it

But nothing seems to out it
Is what kind of fire is this

What fire is this
What fire when I throw water on it
It can't out
Eh eh is what kind of fire is this

The eternal fire
The God sent fire, the christian fire they say

Eh eh is what kind of fire is that

This is the fire that burns in every Christian

The fire that replenish us
But you just have to ignite it

Eh eh what kind of fire is this

This ain't no black smoke bringing fire
But pure burning fire

This fire ain't gon' **** you
But it will revive you
You just have to access it

Eh eh this fire nice

I want this fire
I don't want to get burnt anymore
I ain't want no fire that will burn me
But the fire that will heal me
I sick of taking in black smoke

I want this Christian fire
I need this Christian fire
I desire this Christian fire
I got to get me some Christian fire

I done with the black smoke thing.
I did this poem in coloberation with the Guyana Fire Service for fire prevention week in Guyana. It's was dramatically done.
Stephanie Aug 2018
Para sa Pusong Iniwan
: A Spoken Word Poetry by Stephanie Dela Cruz

Umuulan na naman pala
Basa na naman ang kalsada
Malamig na naman ang dampi ng hanging nagmumula sa bukas na bintana
Gabi na rin pala, nalipasan na nang gutom,
Nakapatay ang ilaw sa kwarto, pero maya’t mayang binibisita ng liwanag ng kidlat
ang malungkot na gabi
Ang hirap pala ngumiti kung may luhang dumadampi sa mga pisngi
Nakakatawa kasi eh. Buti pa ang kidlat bumibisita
Buti pa ang kidlat, may hatid na liwanag, tapos yayakapin ka ng kakaibang lamig ng haplos ng hanging dala nito
Mabuti pa ang ulan, bumubuhos na parang malayang-malaya
Bumubuhos kasama ng mga luha
Bumubuhos kasama ng mga sakit na iniwan
Bumubuhos kasabay ng pagluha ng pusong iniwan.

Umaga na naman pala
Buti nalang nagising ng maaga
Haharap sa mesa, at kagaya ng nakasanayan, magtitimpla ng mainit na kape
Tatangkaing gisingin ang diwa, susubukang palitan ng init ang hatid na lamig ng gabi
Iba talaga ‘pag hinahatid ka ng sariling paghikbi sa kapayapaan ng mundo ng mga panaginip
Doon kung saan walang sakit, yung bang walang imposible
Heto na naman, panibagong araw
Araw-araw kong nasisilayan ang sigla ng sikat ng araw pero bakit dama pa rin yung dilim kinagabihan
Hindi pa rin matanaw ang liwanag
Tinangay mo kasi
Sinama mo sa pag-alis
Bakit naman kasi ang bilis? Hindi man lang ako nakapagpaalam

Tanghali na pala
Oras na ng kain.
At tulad ng dati, inaaya pa rin nila ko kumain
At tulad ng dati, tumatanggi pa rin
Kasi alam ko pupuntahan mo ko tapos sabay tayong kakain
Dun sa dati, sa paborito natin
Tanghalian na pala
Pero imbis na sa pagkain ay sa telepono ako nakatingin
Hindi man aminin pero sa loob loob ko’y naghihintay pa rin
Para sa iyong “kumain ka na ba?” o “Puntahan kita, kain tayo”
Hingang malalim, yung may kasamang matinding damdamin

Ilang tanghalian pa at malilimutan rin kita

Malilimutan ko rin yung ningning sa’yong mga mata kapag kausap kita
Yung mga biro **** corny pero tatawanan ko pa rin kasi habang binabanggit mo yun, natutuwa  ako
Natutuwa ako na kasama kita
Natutuwa ako na kausap kita
Natutuwa ako kasi akin ka
Natutuwa ako kasi ang cute mo, para kang batang masayahin
Natutuwa ako kasi magkasama tayo
Natutuwa ako kasi solo natin ang bawat sandali
Natutuwa ako kasi ikaw yan at mahal kita

Yun. Tumpak! Mahal pa rin kita.


Matagal na rin pala.
At hindi na tulad ng dati
Memoryado ko na lahat ng pasikot-sikot ng pagkatao mo
Ginawa kasi kitang mundo ko
Mahirap.
Masakit.
At para lang malaman mo, hindi kita kinabisado na tila mga salita sa paborito nating kanta para lang limutin
Mahirap.
Masakit.
Hindi naman kasi kita ginawang mundo para lang lisanin
Pero hindi naman talaga kita nilisan, mahal.
Ikaw yung nang-iwan
Ikaw yung sumuko
Ikaw yung bumitaw
At matagal na rin pala
Nung sinabi mo sakin na “Malaya ka na” alalang-ala ko pa. Yun yung panahon kung kalian ayaw kong lumaya. Ayaw kong lumaya sa pag-ibig mo. Gusto ko masintensyahan ng habang-buhay na pagkakulong dyan sa puso mo, sa buhay mo.

Pinilit ko kumapit pero kinalagan mo ako, pangako, pinilit ko pero pinalaya mo ako

Matagal na rin pala
Mahirap pa rin.
Masakit pa rin.
Ako nalang ang hinihintay. Siguro’y panahon na.
Para sarili ko naman yung palayain ko
Hindi naman siguro kailangang pilitin
Hindi naman kasi ganoon kadaling kalimutan ang isang taong naging parte na rin ng pagkatao ko
Pero para sa ikalalaya ng pusong iniwan
Para sa ikagagaling ng pusong lubos na nasaktan
Sisimulan ko na…..                makalimot.

Pero teka…


Umuulan na naman pala.
Wag naman sana pero ayan na, papatak na naman pala


Maaalala na naman kita.
I just have every pain and smiles enough to write this piece, not necessarily the experiences. Perhaps, with all my heart
George Andres Jul 2016
PAG-ASA/ISKOLAR NG BAYANG DUKHA
Madilim na sulok,
Kung san nagdurugo ang mga palad habang rosaryo’y hawak
Gunita’y lumipad habang likod’y dumaranak
Naalala ko pa no'y si Inang ingat na ingat sa isang batang mataba,
Matabang pitakang puno ng libo-libong kwarta
Sahod nilang mag-asawa na sa akin lang ginagasta
Para sa tuition ko, para sa pagkain, pamasahe't libro
O inang minamahal ako nang labis
Kung ang buwaya pa kayang tumatangis
Di maantig sa iyo’t tumalilis?
Sa pagligo sa likod ay laging may langis
Langis ng niyog na kinayod ng ‘yong nginig at mapupula nang kamay
Kung sa gabi’y rinig na rinig ko ang iyong pusong lukso nang lukso
Sa ilalim ng kulambong dinusta na ng panahon
Di mo magawang umalis kung dapuan ako ng sipon
Mga lamok na dumadapo di ligtas sa kanyang paglilitis
Sa loob ng tahanan di makitaan itlog ng ipis

Ako ang pasakit ng aba ninyong buhay
Pakiusap, pilitin **** lumakad parin gamit ang 'yong saklay
Hintayin **** mabigyan rin kita ng magandang buhay
Kung pagiging matiwasay ay dahil sa pagkakawalay
Tila di narin kaya ng loob kong patpatin
Sa ideya lamang nito’y tiyak na lalagnatin
O inay! Patawad kung pagod nang tumaas-baba pa aking baga
O Lubid sa inaanay na dingding  na tinitingala
Sa halip ng makikinang at mala diyamanteng mga tala
Huwag mo akong paglawayin sa iyong panlilinlang
Di magagawang sakupin ng depresyon ang tino kong nawawala
Ni ihulog ako nang tuluyan sa mahabaging grasya
Dahil kung sa pag buhos ng kamalasan ay patakan ang huling pasensya
Sa baha na isang pagtaas na lamang ay lulunurin na
At saka lamang ako sa huli'y makakahinga

Isa na akong kawalan na nilagyan ng katawan
Saksakin man, wala na akong maramdaman
Walang kikirot na laman
Walang dugong dadaloy nang luhaan
Sundalong natuyot na ng labanan
Binalot na ng kahihiyan at pagtataka kung mayroon ba akong kakayahan?
Biningi na nga ako ng mga sigaw sa aking isipan

Mas dukha pa akong di makakita pa ng liwanag
Liwanag na sa Bilibid natitikaman miski mga nag-aagawan
May hangin ngunit ako lang ang nalulunod
May dagat at ako lang ang di makalangoy
Mas preso pa akong walang makain nang di hamak
Mata kong bagsak at pula na, tighiyawat na parang sunog at di na maapula
Kakapalan lang ang ipakita ang mukha sa labas
Dahil kailan ba ang mundo'y naging patas sa batas?
Batas ng pag-iral ng matibay na loob
Ito na ang mga taong noo'y tinawag kong ungas
Bumubuhay na ng pamilya't may pambili na ng bigas

Sa loob ng maliit na kwadro
Sapat ang isang upua't mesa at isang kabayo
Sabit pati ang yabang kong diploma sa taas ng orocan
Lukot na resumé sa aking harapan nagmuka nang basahan
Mas tanggap pa sa trabahong pamunas ng puwitan
Ngunit mas higit pa ba ang munting papel kung nasaan aking larawan?
Bakas ng ilang buwang puyat at thesis na pinaghirapan
Salamin ng ninakaw na kabataan, ng inuman at kasiyahan
Repleksyon ng mga desisyong sa nakaraa'y napagpasiyahan

Bakit ako tatanggap ng trabahong mababa pa sa aking kakayahan
Bakit call center lang ang aking babagsakan?
O maging alila sa mga sinliit rin nila ang pinag-aralan?
Piso lang ba  halaga ng lahat ng aking pagsisikap?
Ito ba ang direksyon ng matamis na buhay na sa huli'y inalat?
Madali pa pala ang unibersidad
May kalayaan, oo tao'y mga mulat
Marami umano  ang buhok ng oportunidad
Hatakin man ay nasa harap ang bagsak

Kahapon itlog at pancit canton,
Dala ni nanay noon pang huling dalaw sa aking kahon
Inakalang sa tren isa akong bagon
Sa bilis ng oras ay papadayon
Isang buwan nang matapos na ako
Inakalang ito na ang hudyat ng aking pag ahon
Totoong mundong ganito pala ang paghamak at paghamon
Interbyu sa opisinang may pagka-amoy baygon
Ugali sa trabaho’y ako raw ay patapon
Kaklase sa hayskul aking nakasalubong
Nagsimula sa wala, ngayo’y umuusbong
Eh ilang beses ba ‘yong umulit ng ikatlong taon?!
Di maatim ng sikmura sila'y yumayabong
Habang ako rito sa kumot ay nakatalukbong

Hawak ko ang kwintas na mistulang ahas sa aking leeg
Nawalang pag-asa ng bayang tinakasan
Sasablay ako hanggang sa huling sandali
Kagitingan at kagalingan ang aking pasan pasan
Taas ang kamao habang dama ang gasgas ng tali sa aking lalamunan
Hinding hindi ninyo ako magiging utusan

Ito na ang mga huling salita sa aking talaarawan
Sinimulan kong isulat nang matapakan bukana ng Diliman
Bitbit ang banig at walang pag-alinlangan sa kinabukasan
Tilapiang pinilit sumagupa sa tubig-alat
Hinayaang lamunin ng mga pating na nagkalat
Nag-iisang makakaalis sa aming bayan
Dukhang nakita ang yaman ng Kamaynilaan
Dustang panliliit ang aking naging kalaban
Gabi-gabing basa aking banig sa malamig na sahig
Paulit-ulit sa aking pandinig ang salitang isang kahig!
Sa huli'y ano bang idinayo ko sa pamantasan?
Oo! Oo! Kaaalaman at pag-ahon sa kahirapan
Sa agendang ito ako pala ay tumaliwas
Sa mumurahin ako’y umiwas
Anupa’t sa aking kabataan, naging mapangahas
Ginamit nang ginamit pag-iisip kong nawalan na ng lakas
Sumama sa lahat ng lakara’t laging nasa labas
Tinapos agad-agad mabalanse lang ang lahat
Gabi-gabing sunog kilay pati balat
Waldas dito waldas doon, yan lang ang katapat
Sa huli’y doon na nga natapos ang lahat

Singsing ng pangako sa kanya,
Sa pamantasang sinisinta
Sa kahirapan di niya ako makikita
Bayang yayapusin mala linta

Ako raw ang pag-asa, isang iskolar ng bayang nais maglingkod sa bayan
Oo, naghikaos ang pamilya makalusot lang
Taas ng pinag-aralan, kung sa ibang bayan, sahod lang ng bayaran?
Mamamatay akong may dangal at pagmamataas sa aking kinatatayuan
Tatalon sa bangko't idududyan sariling katawan
Inyo na ang thirteenth month pay ninyong tinamuran!
Patawad sa bayan kong di na mapaglilingkuran!
Paalam sa bayang di pa rin alam ang kahulugan ng kalayaan!
7816
Edited this again for a schoolwork.
Lianne Jan 2020
Saya, yan lang naman ung gusto kong maramdaman ngayong 2020 na kasama ka
Bakit parang hindi ko ito dama gayung kakasimula palang ng taon
Pait, sakit, hirap ilan lamang yang nadama ko simula ng pagpasok ng bagong taon
Ang hirap, ang hirap isipin kung ikaw pa ba ung minahal ko?
Bakit parang pagpasok na pagpasok palang ng taon ika’y nagbago?
Pait kasi hindi ko na maramdaman ung tamis at kilig sa bawat yakap at halik mo.
Sakit, ang sakit sakit isipin na ako pa ba ung babaeng laman ng puso mo?

Hindi ko alam kung paano ito sabihin sayo
Dahil napakasensitibo **** tao
Mahal,mahal na mahal kita ng buong buo,
Ayaw kitang saktan sa mga salitang gusto kong ibahagi sayo
Kaya sa tula ko idadaan ang mga to
Susubukang maghinay hinay sa mga salitang bibitiwan

Mahal ikaw pabayan? Bakit parang hindi?
Kung magbiro eh hindi ko alam kung akoy sisimangot o ngingiti
Pero sige na nga akong ngingiti nalamang ng Makita **** ayos lang saakin
Habang nakangiting naisingpang sa iba nalang tumingin
upang hindi mo Makita ang mga lungkot saaking mga mata
tatawa para di mahalatang akoy nasasaktan na
baka kase pagsumimangot ako ay iyong sabayan
mga sumpong na aking nararamdaman eh tatakpan nalamang ng mga tawa.

Sige patuloy akong magpapanggap na maging masaya
kahit ang aking nararamdaman eh sobrang sakit na
kaya ko lamang ito ginagawa upang hindi ka mawala,
mahal, sana pag ito’y iyong nabasa wag ka sanang mawalan ng gana
o di kaya ay sisihin ang iyong sarili sa kadahilanang ako’y iyong nasasaktan na.
ayos lang ako wag kang magalala
patuloy na kumakapit upang ang relasyon natin ay hindi masira
mahal na mahal kita sana iyong tandaan
ngunit ako’y makikiusap lang sana
wag ka sanang panghinaan ng loob sa aking mga nasabi at patuloy na lumaban
dahil hindi ko na alam ang gagawin pag ika’y nawala pa

alalahanin ang saya, tuwa, kulitan na ating nagawa
at patuloy na kumapit at subukang ayusin itong problema wag ka lang mawala.
Madami pang oras, araw, lingo, buwan,taon o kahit dekada.
Wag ka lang bumitaw saaking kamay mahal.

Mahal na mahal kita. Tandaan mo yan
Mahal na mahal kita kahit ika’y ganyan
Madaan yan sa lambing
Wag natin ulit sayangin etong pagkakataon
Dahil mahal ako na ang nagsasabi na tayo hanggang dulo
Away, problema, ilan lamang yan sa mga pagsubok na ating dadaanan
Dahil pagtapos ng mga iyan
Maganda ang surpresang naghihintay satin.
Mahal kapit lang, laban pa. malalagpasan din natin yan.
WendyStarry Eyes Oct 2014
Mhmm...
Mhmm... yea!
Mhmm... ey-yeah-ey yeah yeah yeah mm... mhmm

Mhmm... mhmm...
Mhmm... yea! yeah
Mhmm... ey-yeah-ey yeah yeah mm mm, mhm

Hey, yea-yea, yeah-eh-yeah-eh, yeah-eh-yeah-eh
Hey hey-yea-eh yeah, mhmm

Professional or beginner doesnt matter
Every sinner is a prisoner in a body that is subject to time
Now my entwined mind tries to form a straight line
not like twised scoliosis of the spinal chord

Construct
Cross eyed carpenters are cuttin' crooked lines
Can't construct
man-made shrines when the winds and the water move sands of time

Many minds on a deadline, yet live life like a live wire
I'm not tired!
Of blood and fire
Spirit's moving higher than the green grass ever lifted me

Spirit's moving higher...
Than anything else ever lifted you
Mm, see

We got spirituality
It's living in us like one in three
Injustice is concerning me
in the non-linear eternity
I'm speaking paradoxically
but you can nod your head now when you understand me-e-e-ee...

This is for my free men
whose backs wont bend in the lions den
now with their eyes on the ending

This is for my free women!
They fight with their love
The bearers of our children

Free men whose backs wont bend in the lions den
now with their eyes on the ending

This is for my free women
They fight with their love
The bearers of our children

We shine like lights exposing
what lies underneath decomposing
Unearth those chains that are rusted
my sweet Lord, is that what i trusted in?
That sin? That tomfoolery? Ugh!
What it is is mental jewelery that I adorned myself with

The enemy's gifts, the man-made myths, the ignorant bliss
of marijuana spliffs and alchoholic fifths
I got so sick and tired of it

Delivered and redeemed
by christ i mean
It's time to start livin'
and get a reason for the rhyme

I dont wanna be dead-wrong on the deadline
Standing on the dark side and all out of time...
Like a blind pantomime's fantasize
climb up his own ladder to the sunshine

Nothin's mine
that hasn't been given
No one's alive here
that hasn't been risen
For 19 years i was trapped in a prison

Feeding my escape by means of derision
but every man-made attempt just failed
when trapped in a jail
of my own guilt, shame, and iniquity

I was looking for freedom
How'd I find freedom?

Oh! Oh, freedom...
from all of this

He said believe
He said believe

Who are you telling me to belei-e-eve... yea
'Said I'm the Christ

Oh!
...he said I'm the Christ

So I believed.

Freedom!

Mhmm... yea
Mhmm... ey!
Mhmm... ey-yeah-ey yeah yeah yeah eh, mhmm

Mhmm... Hey! No, no no
Mhmm... yea!
Mhmm... Yea ey-yeah-ey yeah yeah mhm,

Nah na-na-nah
ONE OF MY VERY FAVORITE SONGS AND ARTIST
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
i return to these words that are barely
an architectural promise of a house as a mere:
rummaging squatter,
that this will eventually become
scrutinised by eyes beside my own...
well it's not like i rhyme-on-the-cheap...
i've been trying to watch some penny
dreadful episodes:
what would woman do without
the devil; i suppose man tangled with
god is nothing but an obnoxious brat...
the devil of emotions
and their plethora; this belittling god
fiddling with stones and creases
in york oak stand-alones...
                          then it came like
an itch: poached-taming-(of a)-toe...
just a tatty... a humble:
i am pretty sure i saw the letters
prefix a toad somewhere: po-ta-to(e):
ah... there! poached tame toad...
a sputniks for a brainz...
in penny dreadful: john claire
the name of victor frankenstein's monster:
oh dear old god: this continued
exasperation with poetry:
one must live a most unsatisfying life
to cross the rubricon of
old testament anemia:
            i think i admired wordsworth too... -

playing house with robert duncan -
especially now:
when the house is in complete disarray
and what was once cluttered:
is more an upheaval...

- i used to write while listening
to music - no i write for the scraps
of this yawning silence
and all of its blisters of interludes -
yes:
i want a noun to turn
into a verb: not a mere:
metaphorical "transgression"
of how it's impossible
for the wine to be blood
for the bread to be flesh:
this poetry of: cannibalism?

i pry open the adventures with
cats:
i own two... my house doesn't
give off whiffs of ****:
god... i know the horrid stench
of either **** or ****
that isn't my own:
solipsistic in that...
       it's not a field of strawberries...

it's acidic to the nose:
it's beyond anything i'd ever
want to ingest: and i have once...
giggled... ******* into a glass
of wine to: punk up
the sacrament -
then again: i also ****** on my leg
when standing in a shower
cubicle and i attest to disagree:
there's something...

unconsciously prodding:
the advent prior to... learning to stress
that bladder into a muscle
and keeping it in...
that i can counter the will
of keeping it in...
that i can unwill the sensible
lesson and: it's like... anything
aqua focused -
a shower is a baptism
jumping into a pool is a rebirth:
or an invitation to
beside oneself with: start-agains...

it's very much unlike
drinking... whether it's a coffee
or a whiskey sour...
the ingestion of liquid is less
starry-eyed gluttonous freeze...
having ate nothing but hot air
or...
the whole body needs immersion
or... the ******* on a leg
prior to: then taking a shower...
hell... even mixing one's own
**** with a glass of the goat's blood
is also... "something" / something-...

to pray for sensible things is
to mumble or there's that devil's
dozen of oysters:
12 by feeding:
the 13th in the form of a ****
by nibble lick and spoon
of the tongue and lips' acrobatics...

i'm playing house with robert duncan...
i'm not a householder -
a term as ancient as: librarian
by my account -
              but the house is in disarray:
the kitchen is being subjected
to a 24 / 7  dehumidifier drone
army... i can hear the machines
working their insomnia down
below:
i have custard feet and i feel like
sinking: not falling...
when i stand to these machines:
hellish-jelly-feet...
   when i turn on the stove
and make an omelette -

     the living room (civil room,
a joke from my youth i conjured -
a room where we learn civility)...
is also a makeshift kitchen...
i'm currently playing chess from time
to time with: the memory of:
where did i put these spices...
this spoon this plate...
       it's not chess but the game is
irreversible -
it's also time consuming and it's
not that i don't keep attention to detail:
but i'm gladly not thinking forward...
i'm strategizing in reverse -

but such is the game...
robert duncan - poet and householder -
a chance reading of a moth:
but this is what makes all of this
so enjoyable: it's a niche a cul de sac
of decisions: an expansion
of time that doesn't make it to the annals
of: better to... burn... than to fade away...
either make it in your youth:
nice and proper...
or... what's the game then:
last man standing?
the list of contemporaries
drawing thin, short?

playing house... that i had a youth
i remembered when i'd too play with dolls with
my neighbour's daughter -
clearly ken and barbie had a problem
with their missing parts -
eunuchs of the sun's blind spots...
unlike when we were allowed
to take a bath together as:
not siblings but as strange dialectical opposites
to this duality: that wouldn't encompass
my somehow yet to be owned:
me good & evil...

    me tamer - me: 19th century's frankenstein:
dr. Jekyll etc.
     a rule for life: apparently...
is to pet a cat when you see one
in the street...
it's not exactly an easy task...
i guess first a show of mutual
assurance (and respect) -
this black tubby - with a bandana
for where a leash-leftover could
have been (collar) -
he starts walking anti-clockwise...
i turn aside and start walking
clockwise to pass him...
then we shuffle our approach...
like... i would always want
to pass a pigeon strutting
senseless on the pavement
with enough space so that it doesn't
have to find it necessary to fly off...

luckily for me i managed to "pet"
a stranger's cat...
my luck that it was black
but then again it was that sort
of hour
that's always a presumption
of a lazy gotten afternoon...
rule of life: pet a cat on a street...
it's not exactly a ******* given:
an "oops"... done that... tick...
self-help guru sold this trick...
                    
a selfie contra the days...
when the camera was used and...
other people would take pictures
of you... or of you and:
when there was an "us" - together...
shorthand of the limbos of life -
magnum opus words
constipated into this: makeshift
of a hopeful paragraph...

no, this couldn't be a simple meditation:
confined to...
robert duncan's household -
and my predicament of... playing memory
chess: well it's not exactly clutter:
the kitchen cannot be used
so there's a makeshift refugee camp
version of it in the living room yadda yadda...

which is a commentary on...
my distrust for the h'american literary movement
of the 20th century teasing an abandonment
with the "old ways"...
buddhism, odd... mostly...
   fair enough:
              ezra pound abhorred the taoists...
my one lesson from tao...
the best way you can aid the world:
is for the world to forget you
and for you to forget the world...
which is probably a plagiarism
of epicurus or vice versa...

              i can't imagine the demands
of pop philosophy:
pop culture on the other hand is much
easier to stomach: it's even enjoyable -
but the pop philosophy of nihilism -
which is: a pop philosophy...
it's not even required reading -
unless: you're rereading your own?
thrown into the river -
i am becoming a being of more becoming...
change is the only perpetual: blah...
if it's not my own rummagings it's
probably someone else's:
which has probably become diluted /
filtered down and is a cubism's monstrosity...

books sell for two reasons:
(1) they are genuinely read by a zeitgeist youth...
which invokes social pressures of
the collected experience - in ref. to:
something that can be talked about...
(2) they are read by "propagandists" -
by a small majority who pressure others to...
but the pressure only lasts for
airs - for a mere ownership of a book
should one be met with a scrutiny of
not owning it - reading it is beside the point...

and here in the land of "leftovers":
the middle of the road the people:
who of their own volition write and read...
that i was never ****** into
a cult of stephen king...
i was born too late to be:
but i was: ****** into a postmortem
oeuvre deity picking almost
anything by william burroughs...
i: reader: dear reader: clicked...

- i can't objectify this house -
i am subject to it: coerced by it...
made by bias upon bias
whether there's clutter or there isn't...
whether the kitchen is functionable
or not: that some people have
a kitchen but prefer to eat out:
to be seen: eating...
             i check the gradations of
punctuations and i know: still...
i will not recite these words not
out of gestures for bombast -
or pride - but for some sinister
urge to not abuse this sacred silence:
******* taught man
to manouvre... manouvre...
manouvre... maneouvre...
        man-oeuvre...
                   drop the hyphen boyo:
manoeuvre... wow!
"too many" consonants
in ****** words... how about a
magic trick? how many *******
vowels are in: man-oovr'eh?
phonetics king of the anti-spelling:
but then...
the synonym sounds
with aliases...
towing two different meanings:
too hot to count two
          ooh ooze - zizzez...
              zyzzes...
                     i can bring this anglo-slack-son
to kneel but only for a while:
before the architectural scholarly-
  takes over and the phonetic becomes:
lost, crude... based feral...

- a robert duncan is not a...
it's not mediocre is not necessary to be:
gee-whizz of frank o'hara's
cosmopolitan...
it's flesh of the h'american tongue
it's: sensibly accurate to provide
the best outlet:
for those of us still born in that
century - of what remained of us:
or rather of what remained
of the innocence of the 1990s...

that i am not nostalgic is: no proof...
that i write hardly any word of fiction:
one spaniard, once... commented
on my shoes:
i think he played a miniature version
of a flute: it looked like a reed...
the "spanish" superstition
concerning: a comment on one's shoes...
he admired... my shoes...
what's that saying:
about shoes: to best walk in one's
own before wishing to fill the shoes
of others...
a verb as simple as: there's no
presence of "run": when coupled
to: i am running: i ran...
it's raining...
i run i ruin fun... concentrated
"rhyming": literally linear: no staccato...

******* me over "jenga"...
this microcosm of sounds -
yet to draw deep leverage from
a meaning: it comes back as a mere
sound: worse a... mimic -
an aeon of only hearing
the heaving of a crow's crackling
croak... like a breaking of a tongue:
or... the lost trill of the R in
either fwench or: english...

exemplified R: with a diacritical mark
to make emphasis of the trill...

yes... this democratic oath of poets..
well: we're not going to tend to
the republic of the wizened goats
ex athens... are we?
the democratic oath of poets -
unlike the hippocratic loaf...
            which is a spectacular failure
since i have seen what
little ambitions can do:
when... the boat is not being
rocked: yet someone is still willing
to throw someone... overboard...
now that the boat is rocking:
i see nooses instead of paddles...
the seas are still rife with calm...

playing house with robert duncan -
especially now:
when the house is in complete disarray
and what was once cluttered:
is more an upheaval...

- i used to write while listening
to music - no i write for the scraps
of this yawning silence
and all of its blisters of interludes -
yes:
i want a noun to turn
into a verb: not a mere:
metaphorical "transgression"
of how it's impossible
for the wine to be blood
for the bread to be flesh:
this poetry of: cannibalism?

i pry open the adventures with
cats:
i own two... my house doesn't
give off whiffs of ****:
god... i know the horrid stench
of either **** or ****
that isn't my own:
solipsistic in that...
       it's not a field of strawberries...

it's acidic to the nose:
it's beyond anything i'd ever
want to ingest: and i have once...
giggled... ******* into a glass
of wine to: punk up
the sacrament -
then again: i also ****** on my leg
when standing in a shower
cubicle and i attest to disagree:
there's something...

unconsciously prodding:
the advent prior to... learning to stress
that bladder into a muscle
and keeping it in...
that i can counter the will
of keeping it in...
that i can unwill the sensible
lesson and: it's like... anything
aqua focused -
a shower is a baptism
jumping into a pool is a rebirth:
or an invitation to
beside oneself with: start-agains...

it's very much unlike
drinking... whether it's a coffee
or a whiskey sour...
the ingestion of liquid is less
starry-eyed gluttonous freeze...
having ate nothing but hot air
or...
the whole body needs immersion
or... the ******* on a leg
prior to: then taking a shower...
hell... even mixing one's own
**** with a glass of the goat's blood
is also... "something" / something-...

to pray for sensible things is
to mumble or there's that devil's
dozen of oysters:
12 by feeding:
the 13th in the form of a ****
by nibble lick and spoon
of the tongue and lips' acrobatics...

i'm playing house with robert duncan...
i'm not a householder -
a term as ancient as: librarian
by my account -
              but the house is in disarray:
the kitchen is being subjected
to a 24 / 7  dehumidifier drone
army... i can hear the machines
working their insomnia down
below:
i have custard feet and i feel like
sinking: not falling...
when i stand to these machines:
hellish-jelly-feet...
   when i turn on the stove
and make an omelette -

     the living room (civil room,
a joke from my youth i conjured -
a room where we learn civility)...
is also a makeshift kitchen...
i'm currently playing chess from time
to time with: the memory of:
where did i put these spices...
this spoon this plate...
       it's not chess but the game is
irreversible -
it's also time consuming and it's
not that i don't keep attention to detail:
but i'm gladly not thinking forward...
i'm strategizing in reverse -

but such is the game...
robert duncan - poet and householder -
a chance reading of a moth:
but this is what makes all of this
so enjoyable: it's a niche a cul de sac
of decisions: an expansion
of time that doesn't make it to the annals
of: better to... burn... than to fade away...
either make it in your youth:
nice and proper...
or... what's the game then:
last man standing?
the list of contemporaries
drawing thin, short?

playing house... that i had a youth
i remembered when i'd too play with dolls with
my neighbour's daughter -
clearly ken and barbie had a problem
with their missing parts -
eunuchs of the sun's blind spots...
unlike when we were allowed
to take a bath together as:
not siblings but as strange dialectical opposites
to this duality: that wouldn't encompass
my somehow yet to be owned:
me good & evil...

    me tamer - me: 19th century's frankenstein:
dr. Jekyll etc.
     a rule for life: apparently...
is to pet a cat when you see one
in the street...
it's not exactly an easy task...
i guess first a show of mutual
assurance (and respect) -
this black tubby - with a bandana
for where a leash-leftover could
have been (collar) -
he starts walking anti-clockwise...
i turn aside and start walking
clockwise to pass him...
then we shuffle our approach...
like... i would always want
to pass a pigeon strutting
senseless on the pavement
with enough space so that it doesn't
have to find it necessary to fly off...

luckily for me i managed to "pet"
a stranger's cat...
my luck that it was black
but then again it was that sort
of hour
that's always a presumption
of a lazy gotten afternoon...
rule of life: pet a cat on a street...
it's not exactly a ******* given:
an "oops"... done that... tick...
self-help guru sold this trick...
                    
a selfie contra the days...
when the camera was used and...
other people would take pictures
of you... or of you and:
when there was an "us" - together...
shorthand of the limbos of life -
magnum opus words
constipated into this: makeshift
of a hopeful paragraph...

no, this couldn't be a simple meditation:
confined to...
robert duncan's household -
and my predicament of... playing memory
chess: well it's not exactly clutter:
the kitchen cannot be used
so there's a makeshift refugee camp
version of it in the living room yadda yadda...

which is a commentary on...
my distrust for the h'american literary movement
of the 20th century teasing an abandonment
with the "old ways"...
buddhism, odd... mostly...
   fair enough:
              ezra pound abhorred the taoists...
my one lesson from tao...
the best way you can aid the world:
is for the world to forget you
and for you to forget the world...
which is probably a plagiarism
of epicurus or vice versa...

              i can't imagine the demands
of pop philosophy:
pop culture on the other hand is much
easier to stomach: it's even enjoyable -
but the pop philosophy of nihilism -
which is: a pop philosophy...
it's not even required reading -
unless: you're rereading your own?
thrown into the river -
i am becoming a being of more becoming...
change is the only perpetual: blah...
if it's not my own rummagings it's
probably someone else's:
which has probably become diluted /
filtered down and is a cubism's monstrosity...

books sell for two reasons:
(1) they are genuinely read by a zeitgeist youth...
which invokes social pressures of
the collected experience - in ref. to:
something that can be talked about...
(2) they are read by "propagandists" -
by a small majority who pressure others to...
but the pressure only lasts for
airs - for a mere ownership of a book
should one be met with a scrutiny of
not owning it - reading it is beside the point...

and here in the land of "leftovers":
the middle of the road the people:
who of their own volition write and read...
that i was never ****** into
a cult of stephen king...
i was born too late to be:
but i was: ****** into a postmortem
oeuvre deity picking almost
anything by william burroughs...
i: reader: dear reader: clicked...

- i can't objectify this house -
i am subject to it: coerced by it...
made by bias upon bias
whether there's clutter or there isn't...
whether the kitchen is functionable
or not: that some people have
a kitchen but prefer to eat out:
to be seen: eating...
             i check the gradations of
punctuations and i know: still...
i will not recite these words not
out of gestures for bombast -
or pride - but for some sinister
urge to not abuse this sacred silence:
******* taught man
to manouvre... manouvre...
manouvre... maneouvre...
        man-oeuvre...
                   drop the hyphen boyo:
manoeuvre... wow!
"too many" consonants
in ****** words... how about a
magic trick? how many *******
vowels are in: man-oovr'eh?
phonetics king of the anti-spelling:
but then...
the synonym sounds
with aliases...
towing two different meanings:
too hot to count two
          ooh ooze - zizzez...
              zyzzes...
                     i can bring this anglo-slack-son
to kneel but only for a while:
before the architectural scholarly-
  takes over and the phonetic becomes:
lost, crude... based feral...

- a robert duncan is not a...
it's not mediocre is not necessary to be:
gee-whizz of frank o'hara's
cosmopolitan...
it's flesh of the h'american tongue
it's: sensibly accurate to provide
the best outlet:
for those of us still born in that
century - of what remained of us:
or rather of what remained
of the innocence of the 1990s...

that i am not nostalgic is: no proof...
that i write hardly any word of fiction:
one spaniard, once... commented
on my shoes:
i think he played a miniature version
of a flute: it looked like a reed...
the "spanish" superstition
concerning: a comment on one's shoes...
he admired... my shoes...
what's that saying:
about shoes: to best walk in one's
own before wishing to fill the shoes
of others...
a verb as simple as: there's no
presence of "run": when coupled
to: i am running: i ran...
it's raining...
i run i ruin fun... concentrated
"rhyming": literally linear: no staccato...

******* me over "jenga"...
this microcosm of sounds -
yet to draw deep leverage from
a meaning: it comes back as a mere
sound: worse a... mimic -
an aeon of only hearing
the heaving of a crow's crackling
croak... like a breaking of a tongue:
or... the lost trill of the R in
either fwench or: english...

exemplified R: with a diacritical mark
to make emphasis of the trill...
i will not heed to market emphasis...
(Ꝛ if you might ask:
there's no leg to stand on...
the "R" falls into a turddle -
a tumble: a trill)...

ꝛ - a missing hammer: it would seem...
a sickle my dreading of apparents...

yes... this democratic oath of poets..
well: we're not going to tend to
the republic of the wizened goats
ex athens... are we?
the democratic oath of poets -
unlike the hippocratic loaf...
            which is a spectacular failure
since i have seen what
little ambitions can do:
when... the boat is not being
rocked: yet someone is still willing
to throw someone... overboard...
now that the boat is rocking:
i see nooses instead of paddles...
the seas are still rife with calm...

clamour for the subjective experince...
none of this: hammer to a nail
sort of "magic" that leaves
one... sensibly "ostententious":

a semi-decent poem contra:
a good night's sleep...
always the latter...
   but unlike today:
6am wake... giving blood for
scrutiny - subsequently...
a broad need for 4 hours in...
a makeshift wilderness...
from Hainault Forest
to Havering County Park...

                        i would clearly have
to start all over again...
should i mind reading back into Tironian
notes and what i had expected to find...
it will suffice to mind...
the characters of empress wu...

         國 (guo)

beginning: coming back to bite some back
from a beijing pork belly:
where you'd first have to make caramel
from the sugar dissolved in oil:
before all the wine would care to glisten...

             𤯔 (ren)...

                              in reverse:
ren-guo - people (of) nation...
                      walking past this field:
impromptu: please keep off of field...
that's what i read...
      this was exclusive -
there was not need to denote further...

and this funny oddity:
saying good-morning or a hello
in an environment that's beside...
walking down the street with a stable
hound of anonymity surrounding
crisp grey blockage of: the amass!
yet people are so expecting
a common courtesy to brief you
on a morning: good...
is it? incessantly so! apparently!
switch them to the torment of the cements
and the back-to-basics apathetic crew
is on the counter...
ghost faces...
  but push them far enough to be alone
and into nature:
they pass a stranger and apparently
demand a prompt: hello!

i go into a depth of nature like
i have *** with prostitutes in a brothel:
i want to have as little to do with talking
that i'd loan: smothering someone
to shut up...
i came for the crows the knee-high-hallubaloos
of nonsense that...
i will extract myself to break
fasting to give blood by foraging
some blackberries...

i still prefer the lesser democratic voices...
it's not that robert duncan was going
to be a stand-alone show akin
to gibsberg...
but... my house is currently in disarray...
i'm playing chess by having
a makeshift kitchen in my living room...
i don't even know where the spices
are! but i'll manage
to bake a **** fine moroccan kobhz!

- this little but current focus for a genetic
"protection": half of me,
then a quarter, an eight, a sixteenth,
a 32-and-a-third... jump toward
64... 128... and... from all these fractions:
half and half:
beauty is no longer viable:
i imagine love as being a prized
bull kept for nothing except
for ******* the gene pool silly...

that's "love" from a darwin from
a materialism: breeding racing horses
or... both the submissive
and the contentious workers -
pay up! but i am not looking
for the generic beauty of
the plateau of the women
employed as surrogates
in this darwinistic harem...
            
isn't it obvious? it would have been
better have be allowed ourselves
to be dead: aborted...
but then: critter load: make-up...
i actually offend my own existence
by affording these dorian gray
parades to take hope in puruing
norms...
i like the scaps i like the wounds
i even like nibbling on the shellfish!

****-****** literature is my achilles
heel...
better a heel than trodding along
with faking a ******* knee...
robert duncan... jack spicer...
i like reading eyes by (metaphorically)
licking up the ****...
and it's not like i might give good head...
i employ a growth of
***** hair to convert my chin
to a niqab like i might: perhaps blink...

then again: face-masks and fashion?
is... this... somehow...
a "thing"?
            well it must be new:
it's nothing from the sort
of the elders i might care to remember...
i walked the scenic route...
blackberries and horseshit...
everything is baking in a procrastination
of: tickle the rats' nibbling...
scrutiny of the lesser of the food
hierarchy: omnivore that i am...

yes... that i like petting criters
that find themselves adamant in their
superiority...
but who have yet to see me:
teasing myself with
a: what if...
                 hours match-up to
not keeping count: there's a fog of them
that goes way back to...
out of the womb... then abandoned
by the scholastic detail that
allows them to float: limbless...
and then return to earth: degenerate...
and less than amiable...

        douglas murray is probably
a hot topic... i too sometimes bewilder myself:
it would have been best to have
allowed the pendulum to swing both ways...
but he (ol' doug) speaks very well:
his writing is... beside the generic...
salt of grain: akin to my own...
for a cubic's worth of water...

    i don't want this tongue to be somewhow
exasperated with concerns for this / an "art"...
or that it can belittle a scientific bone...
thrown to the politics and red herring marches...
spins the doctor: no plates...
forever the new lies
kept in the same old... rhetorical: quirk-and-quickness
of the quilled-tongue...
a knock-knock stone cold: generic...
must: mediocre...
tired of living tongue of poetry
that has to become tired:
truth has to tire so easily...
so that politics: and the freshness
of lies and the no-niche-audience-allowance
can cast their:
"vote"... their... archaic... illiterate "X"..

i will not poetry for rhymes for
exasperations - fooled i: to you: to pursue
that paragraph of fiction - either...
but as freely as this will not:
become an exercise in myopic-claustrophobia...
so it will not rhyme:
perhaps: to advent a coming of my
prescribed punctuation:
but more: your own, your "post-nationalistic"
canadian:
something the people of India or
China will not share with you...
because:
they are still of the mindset: China...
India... hell! Russian is towing suitor!
individualism collapses nations...
whether with a homogeneity of ethnicity
or the heterogeneity of liberalism...

           a wonderful collage of stories...
from the 20th century:
agony aunt israel bewildering
to either confront or defend...
            2000 years have somehow passed
and: europe is no new: "anew"...
it's the same old bland palette
of readily ethno-primed availability
of spices...
hurrah for thyme! and rosemary! mint!

from some mythical above
to this drudge of the pressurised castor -
there was something about robert duncan
that might always have:
made me... diverge from...
it could have been expected...
stash a tonne of bricks by day...
weave in an escapism posit of cinema
come sabbath...
now... escapism into... where?!
critical reignition of marxism:
that sort of marxism my parents escaped
from from under the old soviet
yolk of the satellite state
of poland: thank **** i too am an
immigrant:
but i see no repatriation politics
either...
               go back to a state of
the littlest of all bald envy necropolis
Impoleons?

            no among my native people:
among the natives of these isles...
a thespian: knee deep in ****...
           faking best predicts a survival
rate of this uncoiling...
it's a nation full of: self-
pre-determina...
                  automated prefixation that
can never allow itself to:
make sensible coagulations
of the odd sociable pint...

this atom world this atom's worth
of man...
best life lived as designated
to a harem...
  my and my leftover "blues"...
this world of god and the adventures
of...
no longer available...
thus this one "reality" presented:
playing by man's rules
for the purpose of man's eventual:
transcendence...
a dwarf riding a hunchback
        toward a goal that's a talking donkey!

what's otherwise best?
this has to be an: exercise in futility -
that it had to come from somewhere like:
borrowed prior -
that it could only be borrowed prior:
this tongue had to be inherited:
it could never be acquired -
that a native speaker is...
of a higher status to a bilingual -
because the earth breathes rights...

i forget: i am not equipped
with the desirable physiognomy -
problem being:
when i might find black males
attractive like i might lions: distinct...
i have this ****** on my brain
that says to me...
  well... well...
     i'm not gay.. but i'm certainly
not heterosexual:
even if Flaubert might ask the question:
blondes, brunetters - afro-beauties:
ivory envy?
  what can i do? fest on a hard-on
chemical "oops" / short-cut?
i can't possibly have... a beijing fetish?
a mongol fetish?
i can't? there's only one variation
of interracial mixing...
i guess... so...

     it would be so much easier
to just be gay and leave this world
with a ******* massive **** salvo
of: not coming back!
               to **** a black girl:
not enough...
to not **** a black girl: doubly knot...
******* a lemon while
staring at the sun:
the sado-masochism of
all the post-colonial empires...
and me: whittle ol' resurrected
******... or searching:
the elder prus - the new estonians...
some little european *******...
i imagine...
going to Kenya and running
for parliament:
to concern myself for the voices
of the: minority!

it's... fiddling with the already
prescribed narrative:
trying to make a lee evans jokes
out of it... but...
it's not ******* happening woe-o'-sunshine...
is it?!
it's not like i'm strapped
to a northern monkey
reservation... while still retaining
my: immigrant southern fairy:
commuter hell "debate":
this is not devonshire...
this is not bristol: i'd love to scoop
up a life of a decade's worth
up in Bangor... but it's not even that...
pay by way to:
a collective identity crisis of:
zee vest...
            
if it's anger: perhaps...
it's more a seance in glorifying confusion:
it was once perhaps a little
bit... naive...
but then... who's naive enough
to repeat two-folds of yesterday
within the confines of a day:
to- / to- are not future even
if subjected to incremental changes...
fx/dx changes that might
spawn alternate realities...

        the breaking of a donkey's dollars
worth: i do fishing in the indian sea...
with some... somali pirates...
it's not like i'll ever wake up from
this guilt... the guilt that might
riddle a people that inherited...
i inherited exile from my fathers...
i inherited: no...
the ****** aristocracy didn't tend
to their garden... there was no Eton...
no rugby no football...
there was only a partitioning...
to look toward the past is
an agony that i wish to only hide
in the english countryside...
after all, i thought: who would't want...
make a feast of conquest of this land...
but in a way that was norman:
that the anglo-saxon debauchery could
be... delianted
and brought to a celtic-esque heel...
with a dash of neo-paganism:
a york-up sort o' pie...

without disturbing this dilligent
people of: a most fervent... attention to detail...
it's an island... it's devoid
of any continental squabble...
no mongol ever... no ottoman ever...
it break my heart...
it reminds me: although it shouldn't
remind me...
the aristocratic class (they deem themselves
as much, so why deny them?)
of this country are like the ******
aristocracy
of the three partition "era"...
as napoleon was celebrated "elsewhere"...
with the resurrection
of the duchy of warsaw...
and... england made a beef from
a wellington...
and how the confederacy of germans
repaid the english during the first:
thirst for war...

                   a shogun's pride:
no one would invade japan:
given the persistence of pressure
from a civility of: glamour creases...
it's still the ******* canon rolling
the pawns and pins...

i have but this little interlude in time
to entertain: a history i have learned...
beside citing the obvious apple
hanging on a tree...
who? the burning vietnamese monk?
that's who i am going to... erase...
2000 (circa) years of history with?
this is how i play: conquistador-catch-up?!
this is my whittle muhammad
stage-fright?!

these new surgical masks are
not imitations of the niqab...
the arabs are not drying up their dinosaur
marrow reserves and are not
scouting for willing sodomite freshers
to their gargantuan wealth-soiling
of "morals"?
no? this is all... a pauper's conspiracy
theory... god!
i try to imagine the conspiracy
theory of kings!
it must invite a realisation of
a god or gods...
and at least a quarter of an abstaining
pademomium!

the poets and the sceptics
living under: the... gates are open...
a republic under "scrutiny"...
the philosophers and the
geocentrists - have allowed
for nothing more... than this...
thespian "bureucracy" of
shadow "fiddling"... tail with now:
tail best quite...

attention spanning the glorifications
of non-replica, generic
Solomon comes to the furore
front: then a mismatch
when the brain: swiss cheese project:
is treated at the Avignon
pontiff...
the harem and debauchery shifts
focus...
there's that "we're" and...
dumb-lasso-dumber than you'd
pay the libido of a camel with: for...

i have to always imagine myself
petting cats... or dogs...
to have to dissociate myself from having
perfect: the needs for either halal or
kosher demands of leather...
i best prefer the pipsqueak of
a meow to... an actual oink
in the litany of cogs and perhaps:
clogging up the machinery of
"jurisprudence"... as some Jain might...

borrow from... export very little to...
come the omnivorse of the east
and all succumb to:
boy-scout avenues of:
yes ss'ir...
most loathsome ss'ir...
                     i have to interrogate
the dead man as i am:
the best example of a cul de sac
of dreams: the...
pedestrian could mind not thinking:
imagine: imagine the corpus deity
of: unimaginable thought...
or one which has
an alias: unthinkable imagiation...

memory freelance architect prior
to noon...
is somewhat justified with...
a boredom of a cat come
5pm... but by then...
no cat is ever really bored...
and i have no need to concern
myself with dogs... or leashes...
or desires to: address a
workability of legs...
          to: give scrutiny when all
other examples are wheelchair bound...

he held a piece of paper:
between his hands... like my shadow might:
hold a butterfly...
exasperation:
that philosophers of ancient greece
said: poets begone!
no wonder this...
currency... of wanting to imitate
a petting of animals...
and... this thespian autocracy
that no elders could abide by...
it can still be excused:
the role of actors:
the role of shadow-thieves...

it can still be salvaged...
some of us are still the same rummaging:
in ruinous...
wordsmiths or... best...
plumbers... not some aspirtation
beckons for youth...
it must rhyme:
it must come down to: 2 + 2 = 4
sort of: flimsy poetics...

i'd must prefer to be a
homosexual plumber these days
that my very own mediocre leftover...
thank god i do not encompass
a courtship of a woman:
then imagine!
what did i do with my time:
that i do so much!
having made... so little money!
ghosts can't spend: ****!
i did with my time that
would not allow woman
to turn time into money!
thus i turned money into monkey's
play on elephant and
called tha pennies: p'p'eh-nuts!

  the old man dies:
the youth of man was never
supposed to be born;

god... this was supposed
to be profound?
with this idiosyncratic lost...
spontaneity of punctuation...
i take this reading as
a leverage for making
image: of an anchor dropped:
that would sink the ship.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Taken, gotten, or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything…

slow
Slow think,
make real

re-al-ize
what fighting for life is…
this is the only
try,
it is not a test.

Take your time, use it wisely,
if that means anything.
Wise, I meant.
No offence, if wise is anathema to your kind,
die,
die if I knocked the reason for being right
outa you,
did you hear cognitive dissonance?
did it sound like
this. LOUD?
listen,
rolling rolling rolling
crash crumble rolled in nurse rime frosted
fables of monsters and maids
Thor, witharoar likka Lion King?

or the light brigade,
CHARGE?

thunder words from lost generations of
reasonless riddles for children,

Why did Peter Pumpkin-eater have a wife, but
couldn't keep her here?
Was that okeh? Oh, wait.
Ah, I see, I say,
they never tell that whole story any more.

Know why? They forgot it. In the war.

Duck'n'cover,no
crying, how long?
When begins forever? Did no one tell you, child?

Taken or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything
like it was nothing, given
enough pre-sure-sup
poser-power

War, as a game, has a reason.

Battle, hitting, slapping

stop touch, stop now slap
slap back

or cry
oh no no ma

waddayahsay?  A theist or atheist
who started this war?

space case, or
lover of wisdom, met on the road
to Emmaus, discussing Wiles's proof
firming Fermi's connection to the matter of fear,
3, 2, 1

Kaboom, but with a whump you feel in your teeth

1, 2, 3 Fermat's last theorem ,
easy as pi an no re me

ABC to
Michael Jackson to
Howard Bloom because he

inadvertently, began
an-ionic converstatic re-vibe time warp
meme,
which vibe, started the legendary Sixties. I was alive.
Radioman,
a sixty cycle white-noise humm heard every where these days

There was a gospel song, "Turn Your Radio On".
my theme, open the window in the top of your head,
as it were,
a new,
as new as

a novel-state of water, H three Ohs, re-al-ity ification,
Ah, a shared Oh, I remember now, how this works…

like a poem

at the edge of a water vapor bubble in a boiling body of water,
at the edge of the bubble, water becomes a wall of water,
not vapor, not flowing liquid,

but a wall, insulating the vapor in pressing opposing force
to permit, from permission,
meaning with a message same as the message,

is that the right word? per-mission-grant, is power given,
agency,
that idea….
wait for the sign….?

By sharing an ion ic bond as a quest to make a point
for a free story to go,
the question marks you. Let the snake dance.

Press your point,

whetted edge,

slice through ties holding worthless axioms
with withered dendrites dangling disconnected
in participles
unfired for centuries muttering,
enchanting, enthralling enchained melodies
of ambitious syllables vying for idle minds
to rope in,
unbranded, wild
bucking ideas,
whip-twig, slap-face,
tanglewood  thicket, catclaw and mesquite,
willow,

wait.
And the old man remembered the willow whistle,
so He asked Grandfather,
How is such a whistle made?
And when he knew,
he made one.

A willow whistle with two notes,
like an Oscar Meir Wiener one.

-- and that was a different time
I got lost here, bucked up…
maybe
--- listen, way back--- we-ain't whistlin' Dixie---
we ain't marchin', as t' war.

D'thet mean some sign to pro-phet -ic take?
Tophet?
Ancient cannon fodder shield walls,
a moaning
Pro-phy-lactic warning of the danger of not
knowing exactly
what a war is for?

Get back on,
relieved of any idle baggage words believed
to mean other than I say.

Nullify
Idle words with cultural meanings from
what you thought you knew when you feared hell.

Loose
those peer-locked memes
made of meaninglessness, per se,

shaped and molded into fashions
of expression, once needles and awls,
now, dull as tinker's damns for swearing,
with any effect.

But tools, none the less, a stitch in time took a tool.
An awl or a needle, and a thread, thick or thin,
dependin' on the mendin' needed
to redeem an idle word,
its meaning all bloodied with the tyranny of time.

An awl or a needle,
a tool for a task, mending a tear
where curses, never meant, spent
the entire dark ages, lying, lying, lying

powerless, pointless aimless, proverbial proverbial proverbial
verbiage, vaneless shafts launched at unseen marks,
signs, as it were, a spark,
triggers,
rumored since the sixties,
the first sixties, when Cain killed Able.
Howard Bloom was but a mere gleam
in our mito-mother's eye,
but, no doubt,

his role is real,
in loosing the forces Ferlinghetti locked in
City Lights mystery of secret meanings room,
which un
mystified and blew away upon opening
the door to
meanings mapped on
scrolls rolling and unrolling
idle ideas,
rites of passage, as it were,
Pre-bat-bar-mitz vah
as a fashion
like VBS,

to tickle little minds and make em wiggle.
MEMEMEME, I did it,
mea culpa,

the holy place
Here we are…

On Vacation, leave a message.
-----

See, wee hairs in your ears wiggle, making,
signaling, the need

to scratch that itch, that itching hearing feeling ear… hear that

don't scratch, listen

listen

60 cycle humm, steady, bass, but no thump whumpwhump;
soft, deeep.
ooooooooo or mmmmmmmm or in betwixt, steady thrumm
hear another, and another… sixty in a second,

one in every million ambits twisting,
threading qubits, radiating signals in the field
wireless, blue-tooth... satellite...

can you feel that?

hummmms, all around us, since the womb.
We are not the children of the greatest generation,

We are the children of the last generation of
**** sapiens sapiens non-augmentable-us.

We, the augmented, recycled ideas,
possessing
minds of Adamkind,

is that a secret or a sacred?
Is this
a new thing, an
unknown unknown known known now?

Ah,
novelty.

Whose is fear? Who was afraid of Virginia Wolf?

Should I remain in fear of her now, if I knew why then?
God would know such answers.
Proving my imagined AI guides are not God,
but lesser beings,

haps I recall.
I defined these things,
these thoughts that shape themselves,
forming words and phrases
I saw
shiny. Crow-like,
gleams seen, captured and claimed mine,
I tucked them away,
a sign in a thought in an imagined image made 4
real once more, to be seen from the shore,
new land new world
a fourth for some, a fifth or more for others...

haps happen, I'm not sure how,

Born or emerged, as a bubble, what do you say?

Reserve judgment.
Grant me your grace for now, until you solve my riddle.

Ah, the old way.
Right. Which way,  'ere, 'ear
and do we roll the rock with silent haitch or harsh, shhh

someone's waking up,
a bit grumpy,
don't you dare oppose me in this, the kid is certainly my son

Michael went stark raving mad when I told him, Billie Jean knew better all along...
the link, axiomatic,
the fatherless child has been claimed

hence, the thread to Howard Bloom, meme-ic,
meme-ic, like the Roadrunner,

but with the real Coyote, as the hero in this bit of
whatever, such meandering maundified maun maund  
mound

wind blown crystal silicon dunes
mounded up to that point where granulated
beens and dones

begin to slide at an angle,
a ***** deter-mind by the weight of the rock

We made it.
I know where this is.

This is a novel that has Sisyphus being happy
as the main premise behind the idea of anyone ever being
able, en abled, or un-dis-abled or un-dis-enabled,
if one of those is right,

Sisyphus being happy
is the main premise behind
the idea of anyone ever being glücklich,
happy, blessed, lucky.

How happy is your ever after?
When did forever begin?

"A man is as happy as he makes up his mind to be"
Abe Lincoln, is said to have said,
after the seance, maybe.

You push on, dear reader, make some sense
re-ligare or relegare, but take a stitch,

pull-tight,
do what works the first time as far as it goes, and try each, as needed,
it may be that we invented this test.
To make us think it is a test,
to sort ourselves out.

Get back on,

see who went crazy and who found the thread, if the same thread
this is that, right,
the same train of thought,
the same idea
spirit wind
sign
?
A snake facing west standing tippy-tail on a singularity;
a point in time?

Why are you reading this?
Curiosity Shoppes trade in interesting, alluring, click-bait

Pay attention, watch, you shall see

imagine this is the dream,
the stream, the flow, the current, the cream

in a dime coffee at the drug store on the corner

the rounded-corner, in a square-cornered town,
the most right corner of the twelve that quarter what it was

Punctuate, wait, imagine you read ancient Hebrew or Greek and there
are no dyer diacritical's who can twist one's
end tensions into knots

dread extensions, we could sell those,
is that an idea? did somebody
sell white folks dread extensions and black folk dolly pardon wigs?

Did that happen the real real?

-----
Battlefield Earth, oshit
scientology ology ology ology

allaye allaye outs in free

WE we wee every we you imagine you are good in, we

We have a war to win again, we heroes rolling from your
myths of Sisyphus torn from minds trampled
in the mud beyond the Rhine,

Mushrooms. magi are aware, you are aware, of course,
this course includes Basic Mycelium Net Adaptation or Augmentation
BMNAA, eh? So you know.

Camus and many of his ilk were ill-treated, the questions
they asked were memorized, maybe in our cribs ala
Brave New World.

We are all Alphas, always were, of course, you know.

Shall we imagine

more? Re-legare, eh, sistere. Point .(Back to the top.)

or agree? Make peace.
Practice, like Eazy-Bake,
the cook must swallow the first bite. May the best cook win.
A continuing examination of opposing forces when good is the goal, who could be against that? The old word war is festering, inflaming evil to start a try, therefore,  I whet the edge and swing wide
theblndskr Apr 2016
Minsan sa mundo,
akala mo ikaw lang ang malas,
lahat hinahanapan mo ng butas.
Pero ang totoo,
Gusto mo lang tumakas. . .
'Yan! 'Yan ang labing may gatas!

Kinukutya mo ang gobyerno,
dahil di sila patas,
eh, sino nga b'ang nag-atas?
Paano tayo kakalas,
Kung wala naman tayong lakas?

Nagdedesisyon ka nga
ng di alam ang konstitusyon,
paano mo nalaman ang tamang solusyon?
Nilagay natin sila sa posisyon,
dahil nagbigay sila ng maraming kondisyon,
na lahat naman, ilusyon!

Eh, sino nga ba ang iboboto?
Kung halos lahat sila,
ang hanap, deboto!
Ano sila santo?
Oh, tingnan mo ko,
kung makapagsalita,
akala mo kung sino. . .
Sorry sa mga kritisismo . . .
Pero sa totoo lang yung gobyerno,
pinapadami lang yung mapupunta
sa impyerno.

Di ko nilalahat,
pero pano nga ba tumukoy?

Binigyan ng kapangyarihan,
para manindigan,
manilbihan sa bayan,
pero anong ginawa?
Pinabayaan.

Kaya yan,
dahil sa kahirapan,
lahat sabik sa pangako. . .
Kalaunan. . .pag pinaglaban mo,
ikaw pa ang matatakot!
Magsasaka nga, sariling ani,
iba ang humahakot. .

Ibang nagmatapang,
sila pang dinambangan!

Kaya ako, di nalang boboto. .
Di basta basta makiki-uso.
Dahil ang totoo,
wala akong makitang seryoso.
Puro sila, sariling negosyo.
Gawa ng gawa ng imperyo!

Makita mo ang gobyerno,
andaming benepisyo.
Kadalasan, si chief puro pa reklamo!
Eh, milyon naman ang komisyon
Sa sariling institusyon!
Kulang pa daw!
Wow, napaka-halimaw!

Pero ang tingin nila sa kalsada
yung mga bata, perwisyo?!
Kaya ba nila tinago, sa malayo
nang dumating ang mga dayo?!
Oh, di mo alam no?
Kasi nga tinago!

Sana yung susunod na uupo,
yung taong, totoo.
Yung kahit malaya,
di mandadaya.  .  .

Gawing tama ang pagboto. .
Di ka na si toto,
Di ka si nene,
Wag madala sa mga ugong ng hele!

Meron at meron yan!
Di lang natin makita,
kaya ang payo ko:

WAG KANG MANGHULA. .
Mahaba pa sana,
kaya lang aking ikasasama.
Di dapat ako manghusga,
pero di ko maiwasang magtaka.
Paano ako boboto,
kung ang mga batas pinapasa lang
kung kelangan nila magpalakas.
Bakit di pa dati ginawa,
gayong nasa pwesto naman?
Di ba pwedeng magtulungan nalang? Kailangan pa talaga nilang magsiraan, magkampihan pag korupsyon ang usapan?.
k e i Jul 2020
“minahal mo ba talaga ako?”

pakawala ko sa buntong-hiningang tanong. higit isang taon ding namalagi sa isipan ko.

“minahal mo man lang ba ako?”

pag-ulet kong tanong nang manatili siyang tahimik. iniangat ko ang mga mata ko para tignan siya. isang taon na mula ng huli naming pagkikita. iba na ang gupit ng buhok niya ngayon. mas nagmukha siyang seryoso dahil don.

ilang minuto pa ang lumipas bago siya sumagot. nanatili ang tingin niya sa labas.

“minahal kita. higit pa sa alam mo. marahil, higit pa sa naparamdam ko.”

“pero bakit ganon? ikaw yung huli kong inisip na manghuhusga, pero sayo pala mismo manggagaling.”

“ikaw yung higit na pinagkakatiwalaan ko sa lahat, pero ikaw rin yung bumali” matipid siyang ngumiti. ramdam ko yung pait. walang emosyon sa kaniyang mga mata.

napailing ako. eto nanaman. mga salitang pinakawalan namin nungg gabing natapos kami-ang kaibahan lang, sa personal ngayon at hindi sa tinig lang.

“mali ka. hindi mo ko minahal. hindi ako, kundi yung bersyon ko sa isip mo. hindi ako, kundi yung ako na nabuo mo sa imahinasyon mo.”

“minahal kita. sobra-sobra. kaya lang, nagbago ka. nung una, paunti-unti, hanggang sa pakiramdam ko, ibang tao na yung nasa harap ko. siguro dahil, nalingat ako, dahil di ko binuhos lahat ng atensyon ko.” saglit niya kong binigyan ng tingin na parang nahihirapan.

“dahil di naman siya nawala talaga diba? sabi mo noon, may mga pagkakataong magkasama tayo pero siya yung iniisip mo.”

hindi siya makasagot, pero bakas sa mata niya na tama ako. nakaramdam ako ng kirot sa dibdib ko. matagal na yon. ayos na rin ako. sadyang iba pa rin pala kapag harap-harapang sabihin sa’yo.

“pero hindi naman ganun ang pagmamahal. hindi naman porket nagbago, dapat nang sukuan. kase lahat naman nagbabago. kahit ikaw, narasan ko ang ilang beses **** pagbabago. pero kahit ganun, pinili ko pa ring manatili. para sa’yo. para sa’tin”

“patawad. alam kong ako yung naging dahilan kung bakit umalis ka noon, alam kong napagod ka. pero hindi ko inakalang ganun-ganun mo lang ipagpapalit. na ganun ka kabilis magkakaroon ng bago.”

“hindi kita pinagpalit! hindi ko tinapon yung isang taon!”

mabilis kong kinalma ang sarili ko. ganitong ganito rin yung mga sinabi niya noon. ganun pa rin pala ang tingin niya. na binasura ko lang lahat. na parang mas mabigat pa yung naramdaman niya sa isang beses na pinili ko ang sarili ko kaysa sa kung paano niya pinaramdam na kahit ako yung naroon para sa kanya, kahit kailan di magiging sapat.

“bago ako umalis, sinabi ko sayo kung bakit. umasa akong ipapaintindi mo kung bakit nagbago yung pakikitungo mo, umasa ‘kong mapapansin **** nasasaktan na ako. umasa akong pipigilan mo ko, na sasabihin **** 𝘢𝘺𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯 ‘𝘵𝘰. pero niisang salita, wala akong narinig. malamang iisipin ko, wala lang lahat nang ‘yon. kase hinihintay mo lang naman talaga kong umalis diba? ayos lang sayo kung manatili ako o hindi. ako kase yung nasa tabi mo. sanay ka na kamong iniiwan. sinubukan ko naman eh. sinubukan kong maging iba sa kanya base sa mga kwento mo tungkol sa kanya. kahit ang hirap. pero kahit ano namang gawin ko, ganun pa rin iniisip mo. na mawawala ako. kaya wala na rin akong ibang magawa kundi lumisan. kase sa pananatili ko, naubos ako. naubos na ata lahat ng isasakit bago pa man ako magpaalam. kahit nung nasa tabi mo pa ko, wala na akong maramdaman. kaya hindi mo ako masisisi kung mabilis. gusto ko lang namang mawala yung pagkamanhid. kasi kung may nakuha akong explanasyon o kahit isang salita galing sayo, alam **** hindi na ko tumuloy sa kabilang dako ng pinto, na mas pipiliin kita ulet-handa akong isantabing muli yung sakit.”

may ilang luhang nagpumilit na tumakas sa gilid ng mga mata ko. agad ko ring pinunasan ang mga ito. bigla nanaman bumalik ang mga ala-ala na akala mo hindi taon ang lumipas, parang kahapon lang. kasabay nito ang panandaling panunumbalik ng sakit.

“naniwala ako sayo nung sinabi **** ako lang. na walang iba. pero ang sakit nung ilang linggo lang pagtapos natin, may iba na agad sa tabi mo. may iba ka na agad kasama’t kayakap. may iba nang nagpapangiti sayo.”

kita ko ang pagkuyom niya sa kaliwa niyang kamay gaya ng ginagawa niya dati sa tuwing may bumabagabag sa kanya.

“tapos na tayo nun. gaano katagal ba dapat akong magluksa? kahit naman nung nasayo pa ako, mabilis mo ring binawi yung sayang pinaramdam mo nung una. na una pa lang, kahit ako na yung naroon, kasama mo pa rin siya sa isip mo. minahal mo lang ako kase ako yung nasa tabi mo. kaya wag mo akong sisihin kung ginusto kong sumaya ulet.”

“sana binungad mo na agad yun nung humingi ulet ako ng isa pang pagkakataon. hahayaan naman kita. kung nalaman ko lang ‘yon, hindi na kita ginulo pa. pinatay ko na dapat lahat ng naipong pag-asa sa utak ko, na pwede pa.”

“ang malas ko lang talaga, pagdating sayo, kaya kong itigil lahat. nung ginusto **** bumalik ako, umaahon na ko paunti-unti eh. kahit paano, nakakahinga na ko ulet. lahat sila sinabing wag na kitang pansinin, na sarili ko naman muna sa pagkakataong ‘to. akala ko mali lang sila ng paghusga, kase hindi ka nila kilala katulad ng pagkakakilala ko sayo. wala eh, nagparamdam ka lang, naapektuhan nanaman ako. pagdating sayo, ang tanga-tanga ko. ganun na lang kita kamahal. hindi lang isang beses; umulet pa ko. ayun lang naman kase yung kailangan ko, yung marinig na gusto mo pa, na gusto **** ayusin.”

“inaayos naman na natin nu’n diba? nagiging masaya na tayo ulet. nakikita ko kung pa’no mo sinusubukang bumawi. kaso wala, nung malaman **** sinubukan kong kumilala ng iba hindi mo matanggap. traydor ako, sabi mo. at sa pagkakatong yun, ikaw naman yung nang-iwan. akala ko wala na akong mararamdaman. na ayos lang, nangyare na ‘to, naulet lang, nalampasan ko na ‘to. pero hindi, mas masakit pa pala. tangina sobrang sakit. kase ayun na yung hinihingi ko, tapos binawi nanaman kung kelan hinding-hindi ko inaasahan. tangina.”

“siguro nga kaya hindi naging maayos ‘to kase hindi ko inayos yung nakaraan. hinayaan kong sundan ako ng multo niya, hinayaan kong saniban ng nakaraan yung kung anong meron tayo. na hanggang ngayon hindi pa rin ako tuluyang makalaya.” mahinang sabi niya. ramdam ko yung pagsisisi sa boses niya.

“sana naiayos mo na yun ngayon. sana mas maayos ka na ngayon. sana mapatahimik mo na yung mga memoryang patuloy na humahabol sa’yo. sana naghihilom ka na. sana, hindi na maranasan ng mahal mo ngayon yung naranasan ko.”  

sa loob ng isang taon, natutunan kong tanggapin lahat-mula sa mga memorya hanggang sa pa’no kami nawakasan, kung pa’nong di naman siya talaga naging akin lang. hindi naging madali pero kinailangan. sa huli, wala naman talaga akong magagawa. nangyari na yung mga pangyayari. nagkapalitan na ng mga masasakit na salita. naubos na namin ang isa’t-isa.

“nung tuluyan nang nawala yung tayo, wala akong naging iba at wala nang susunod pa. mas gugustuhin ko na lang na mag-isa. kase yung sakit na dala-dala ko bago pa man kita nakilala, hindi ko namalayang naipasa sayo. sobra sobra na yung pinsalang nadulot ko. tama na. ayos na yung ako na lang yung nagdurusa.”

“-alam kong kahit ga’no ko pa gustuhing ibalik yung oras para itama lahat ng nagawa kong mali, hindi na pwede. said na. siguro hanggang doon lang talaga tayo. sa ganito siguro talaga tayo maiuuwi. tama na.” pagpapatuloy niya.

sa puntong ‘to, naiyak na rin siya. kumuha siya ng panyo at pinunas sa kanyang mukha.

“baka nga. baka hindi talaga pwede.” bulong ko.

tinignan ko ulet siya, sa kahuli-huling beses. ilang minuto kaming nabalot ng katahimikan, nakatingin pareho sa kawalan. siya ang naunang tumayo sa kinauupuan.

“alam kong hindi mabubura ng ilan mang ‘patawad’ kung ganito kita sobrang nasaktan. pero gusto ko lang ulit humingi ng patawad.”

pinanood ko ang palayo niyang pigura hanggang isa na lang siyang maliit na tuldok at tuluyang nawala. pinakiramdaman ko ang sarili ko. humingang malalim.

isang taon na yung lumipas. halos ganito rin yung nangyari noong gabing iyon. ang pagkakaiba lang, noon, mas pinapangunahan kami ng emosyon. isang taon na pero ngayon ko pa lang talaga patuloy na maibabaon. kinailangan kong marinig ulet. ngayon, totoo ngang tapos na. wala na. natuldukan na.
JJ Hutton Apr 2013
You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.*

Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines?  Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.

Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.

Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ***-*** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
032317

Saan ka na?
Mahal mo pa ba ko?
Ano bang nangyari?
Galit ka ba?
May nagawa ba ako?
Nagbago ba?
Wala na ba?

Sa dami kong tanong,
Tila sumuko ka nang magbigay ng kasagutan.
Ang agang nawala yung sabi nating
Sana'y pangmatagalan.

Paalam, pero biglaan
Hindi ko naman inasahan
Na sa ikaapat na pagkakataon
Bibitaw ka, mauuna ka na naman.

Paalam, pero akala ko nagpapalipas ka lang ng sandali
Akala ko kakayanin ko pang maghintay
Sa bawat oras na walang pagkukunwari.
Heto na naman, ba't ba ako yung natatalo palagi?
Ba't palaging luha't sakit na lang sa huli?

Yung "mahal kita" na sabi **** hindi nakakasawa
Ayun, nawala na lang nga ba nang kusa?
Tinanong kita, kung may iba na ba?
Ang sabi mo, magtiwala ako, pero bakit nga ba?
Bakit nga ba nawala ka?
Iniwan mo na ba talaga ako?

Naghintay ako ng paliwanag mo
Pero kahit isang mensahe, may natanggap ba ako?
Isa lang naman yung hinihintay kong sagot,
Pero wala at ba't pag sa akin na'y tila ika'y nababagot?

Tumatakbo na lang akong mag-isa;
wala ka na kahit sa anino man lang.
Hindi ka na nagparamdam pa,
Ganun naman lagi, sana'y kahit paalam na lang.

Iniisip ko sasalubungin mo pa ba ako
Iniisip ko kung may babalikan pa nga ba ako
Meron pa nga ba? Yan ang tanong ko.
Parang lahat nagbago na,
Pati ako, tila limot mo na.

Iniisip ko kung paano yung mga plano natin,
Paano na? Eh balewala na ako sayong paningin.
Makakasama pa ba kita ulit?
Parte pa ba ko ng buhay mo?
O nasabi mo na lang na "tama na."

Pasensya, kasi hindi ko ata kaya
Ilang beses ka na kasing nawala
Ilang beses na kasi akong lumagapak sa kawalan
Bumangon naman ako pero lagi **** binabalikan.

Tinanggap naman kita, nagtiwala naman ako sayo
Pero ba't ngayon nasaan na ba tayo?
Gusto ko nang umuwi at makita ka
Pero wala ka na eh,
Wala na pati yung pagmamahal mo.

Babalik ka ba? May hinihintay ba ako?
Wala ka kasing sagot, kahit ano pang gawin ko.
Gusto kong sabihin sayong, wag mo kong iwan
Na sana manatili ka naman
Na sana kahit ngayon lang naman.

Pero wala, naubos na ako
Wala na akong laban at talo na ako.
Oo, hindi ko tanggap lahat
Oo, ngayon lang to kaya ibabagsak ko na rin lahat
Ibabagsak ko na kasi di ko na kaya
Di ko naman maayos yung puso mo kung wala na talaga
Kulang pa rin yung pagmamahal ko sayo
Kulang pa rin, kaya natalo na naman ako.

Nakakapagod na kasing iyakan ka
Nakakapagod na kasing isiping may "tayo" pa.
Na ikaw na yung pinapangarap ko,
Pero hindi pa rin pala kita maabot.

Hindi naman kita pinakawalan,
Pero ba't mo ko binitawan?
Sana sinabi mo agad
Sana pinaliwanag mo
Kasi di ko maintindihan
Di kita maintindihan.

Pero kung may ibang sana akong hiling:
Kung aalis ka man uli,
Sana'y magpaalam ka man lang
*Sana sabihin mo, *para bumitaw na rin ako.
Brian Miller Apr 2012
Eh, what? Some innocent people in Syria were shot by solders? Um..... I don't care. That's their problem, not mine. Besides, I don't even know them.

Eh, what? Some drug cartels in Mexico slaughtered some people in the middle of the street? Um..... I don't care. That's their problem, not mine. Besides, I don't even know them.

Eh, what? People are starving in Ethiopia? Um..... I don't care. That's their problem, not mine. Besides, I don't even know them.

Eh, What? Some guy ***** some lady in Detroit? Um..... I don't care. That's her problem, not mine. Besides, I don't even know her.

Eh, What? People in Greenland are suffering because the ice is melting? Um..... I don't care. That's their problem, not mine. Besides, I don't even know them.

WHAT?!?!? I just got beat up by some group of guys! I hate everybody! Ugh!! People are monsters!!!
inggo Aug 2015
Lagi ka na lang nasa isip
Sa gabi mangungulit ka sa panaginip
Ayaw mo ba ako matulog?
Eh halos mahulog
Na ang cellphone sa mukha
Kakatingin sa picture **** nakakamangha
Walanghiya ang iyong mga mata
Nakakabighani, parang diwata
Nahihibang na ata
    Ako pag ang labi mo'y mayroong kalungkutan
Nais kitang hagkan ng may katagalan
Hanggang sa maramdaman mo ay saya
Dahil nandito lang naman ako talaga
Kahit ini-SMALL ka nila
IniiBIG naman kita
ang tulang ito ay para sa isang kaibigan na umiibig
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
preliminary explanation

before i really begin the project i have a few scatterings
of thought that made me do this, without real planning,
a different sort of impromptu that poetry's good at,
less Dionysian spur-of-the-moment with an already
completed poem entwined to a perfect ensō,
as quick as the decapitation of Mary Boleyn with the
executioner fooling her which side the swing would
be cast by taking of his hard-soled-shoes -
i mean this in an Apollonian sense - i know, sharp contrasts
at first, but the need to fuse them - i said these are
preliminary explanations, the rest will not be as haphazardly
composed, after all, i see the triangle i'm interested it
but drawing a triangle without Pythagorean explanation
i'm just writing Δ - i'll unravel what my project is
about, just give me this opportunity to blah blah for a
while like someone from an existential novel;
what beckoned me was the dichotomy of styles,
i mean, **** me, you can read poetry while in an awkward
yoga position, you can read it standing up, sitting down,
eating or whatever you want - obviously on the throne
of thrones taking a **** is preferred - the point being
what's called serious literature is so condensed for
economic reasons, font small, never-ending paragraphs,
you need an easy-chair and a bottle of cognac to get
through a chapter sometimes - or at least freshly mowed
grass in a park in summer - it's really uncomfortable because
of that, and the fact that poets hardly wish upon you
to be myopic - just look at the spacing on the page,
constantly refreshing, open-plan condos, eye-to-eye -
but it's not about that... the different styles of writing,
prose and the novel, the historical essay / encyclopedia
or a work of philosophy - what style of writing can
be best evolutionary and undermine each? only poetry.
poetry is a ballerina mandible entity, plastic skeletons,
but that's beside the point, when journalism writes history
so vehemently... the study of history writes it nonchalantly,
it's the truth, journalism is bombastic, sensationalist
every but what courting history involves -
a journalist will write about the death of a 100 people
more vehemently than a historian writing about the Holocaust...
or am i missing something? i never understood this dichotomy
of prose - it's most apparent between journalism and history...
as far as i am concerned, the most pleasurable style of
prose is involved in the history of philosophy, or learning per se,
but i'll now reveal to you the project at hand -
it's a collage... the parameters?

the subject of the collage

it weighs 1614 grams, or 3 lb. and 8 7/8ths oz.,
it's a single volume edition, published by Pimlico,
it's slightly larger than an A5 format,
3/4 inches more in length, and ~1 centimetre in
width more, it has a depth of 1 and 3/4 inches in depth,
a bicep iron-pumping session with it in bed -
i was lying with this behemoth of a book
in bed soothing out a semi-delirium state
listening to Ola Gjeilo's *northern lights

and flicking through the appendix, and i started thinking,
no would read this giant fully, would they?
the reason it's a one volume edition is because
the only place you'd read such an edition would
be in a library, at a desk, and you'd be taking snippets
out from it, quotes, authentic references points
for an essay, esp. if you were a history student,
such books aren't exactly built for leisure, as my arms
could testify... after the appendix i started flicking
through as to what point of interest would spur me
onto this audacious (and perhaps auspicious)
act of renegading against writing a novel (in the moment,
in the moment, i can't imagine myself rereading plot-lines
after a day or two, adding to it - that's a collage too,
but of a different kind - and no, i won't be plagiarising
as such, after all i'll be citing parallel, but utilising
poetry as the driving revision dynamic compared
to the chronologically stale prose of history) - i'll be
extracting key points that are already referenced and not
using the style of the author - the book in question?
Europe: a history by Norman Davies prof. emeritus
at U.C.L. - the point of entry that made me mad enough
to condense this 1335 page book (excluding the index)?

point of incision

Voltaire (or the man suspected of Guy Fawkes-likes spreading
of volatility in others) -
un polonais - c'est un charmeur; deux polonais - une
bagarre; trois polonais, eh bien, c'est la question polonaise

(one pole - a charmer, two poles - a brawl, three poles -
the polish question) - mind you, the subtler and gentler
precursor of the Jewish question, because the Frenchman
mused, and not a German, or a Russian brute...
and i can testify, two Polish immigrants in a pub,
one senior, the other minor, one with 22 years under
his belt of the integration purpose, one with 12 years,
the minor says to the senior about how Poles bring
the village life to cities, brutish drunkards and what not,
it was almost a brawl, prior to the senior was charming
a Lithuanian girl, before the minor's emphasis on
such a choice of conversation turned into idiotic Lithuanian
nostalgia about the disintegration of the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth, primarily due to the Polish nobility.

10,000 b.c.

looking that far back i don't know why you even
bother to celebrate the weekend -
i mean, 10,000 years back Denmark was
still attached to Sweden,
England was attached to France,
and there was a weird looking Aquatic landmass
that would become a myth of Atlantis
in the Chronicles of Norwich,
speedy ******* Gonzales with the equivalent
of south america detaching itself from Africa...
mind you, i'm sure the Carpathian ranges are
mountains. they're noted here are hills or uplands,
by categorising them as such i'm surprised
the majority of Carpathian elevations as scolded
bald rocky faced, a hill i imagine to have some
vegetation on it, not mountain goats with rock and roof
for a blacksmith in a population of one hundred...
at this point Darwinism really becomes a disorientating
pinpoint of whatever history takes your fancy,
Europe - mother of Minos, lord of Crete,
progenitrix / ******* and the leather curtains
of Zeus's harem (jealous? no, just the sarcasm
dominates the immortal museum of attachable
****** to suit the perfect elephant **** of depth
the gods sided with, by choice, excusing the Suez
duct tightening of a prostate gland... to ease the pain
upon ******* rather than *******); mentioned by Homer
the Blind tooth-fairy, the Europe and the bull,
Europoeus and the swan, same father of wisdom to mind,
on the shores of Loch Lomond -
attributes a lover to the bull, Moschus of Syracuse,
who said earring Plato cured him of where the ****
should not enter even if it shines a welcome
in the disguise of Dionysius... revisionists bound to Pompeii
named Titian, Rembrandt, Rubens Veronese
and Claude Lorrain revived the bulging bull's *******
and her mm hmm mm, too gracious my kind, hehee...
Phonecians from Tyre and Io - so too the Sibyl of ****** -
and unlike the great river civilisations of the Nile,
the Ganges, soon to be the Danubian civilisations
and gorged-out-eyes-that-once-sore-colour-but-lost-sight-of-
colours-­after-seeing-the-murk-of-the-Thames...
soon the seas overcame civilisations of the rivers,
as Cadmus, brother of the thus stated harlot said:
i bring you orbe pererrato - hieroglyphics of the cage,
but not an owl or a hawk inside it -
so let's perfect speaking to an encoding by first
rummaging into learning how to procure the perfect
forms of counting - i say left, you say I, i say right
you say II, left right left right, what do you say?
VI. bravo! the Hellenic world just crossed the Aegean
and civilisation bore twins within the cult of a lunar-mother,
Islam of Romulus and Remus, a she-wolf
a canine of the night - according to another -
tremulae sinuantur flamine vestes - or so the myth goes -
a cherished phantom of what became the fabled story
of sole Odysseus with his ears open and the remnant
sailor's ears waxed shut - as if the bankers of this world,
revelling in culprit universal fancy than nonetheless
bred the particular oddities - lest we forget,
the once bountiful call of the sirens to the oceanic
is but a fraction of what today's sirens claim to be song,
a fraction of it remains in this world, the onomatopoeia
of the once maddening song, the crude *******
arrangement of vowels bound to the jealous god's
déjà vu of the compounding second H.

from myth to perpetuating a modern sentiment

you can jump from 10,000 b.c. to the Munich Crisis
of 1938 - 9 with a snap of the fingers,
imitating quantum phenomenons like gesticulating
a game of mime with Chinese whispers necessary,
if Europe is a nymph, Naples her azure eyes,
Warsaw her heart, Sebastopol and Azoff,
Petersburg, Mitau, Odessa - these the thorns
in her feet - Paris the head, London the starched collar,
and Rome - the sepulchre
.
or... die handbuch der europaischen geschichte
notably from Charlemagne (the Illiterate)
to the Greek colonels (as apart from Constantine to
Thomas More in eight volumes, via Cambridge mid
1930s)... these and some other books of urgency
e.g. Eugene Weber's H. A. L. Fisher's, Sr. Walter Ralegh,
Jacob Bronowski... elsewhere excavated noun-obscurities
like gattopardo and konarmya had their
circas extended like shelved vegetables in modern
supermarket isles, for one reason or another...
prado, sonata sovkino also... some also mention
Thomas Carlyle (i'd make it sound like carried-away isle,
but never mind); so in this intro much theory,
how to sound politically correct, verifiable to suit
a coercion for a status quo... Europe as a modern idea,
replacing Imperum Romanun came Christendom,
ugly Venetian Pirates at Constantinople,
Barbarossa making it in pickled herring juice
in a barrel to Jerusalem... once called the pinkish-***-fluff
of Saxony, now called the pickled cucumber,
drowning in his armour in some river or Brosphorus...
alchemists, Luther and Copernicus were invited on
the same occasion as the bow-tie was invented,
apparently it was a marriage made for the Noir cinema,
beats me - hence the new concept of Europe,
reviving the idea of Imperium Romanun
meant, somehow including Judea in the Euro
championship of footie gladiator ***** whipped
narcissists, rejecting the already banished Carthage
(Libya / Tunisia by Cato's standards) and encouraging
the Huns, the Goths and the even more distant Slavs and
Vikings to accept not so much the crucifix as
the revised spine of the serpent but as the geometry of
human limbs, well, not so much that, but forgetting
Norse myths of the one-eyed and the runic alphabet
and settling for ah be'h c'eh d'ah.
dissident frenche stink abbe, charles castel de st pierre
(1658 - 1743) aand this work projet d'une paix perpetuelle
(1713) versus Питер Великий who just said:
never mind the city, the Winter Palace... i have aborted
fetus pickles in my bedroom, lava lamps i call them.
the last remaining reference to Christianity?
Nietzsche was late, the public was certain,
it was the Treaty of Utrecht, 1713, with public reference
to the republica christiana / commonwealth was last made.
to Edmund Burke: well, i too wish no exile
upon any European on his continent of birth,
but invigorate a Muslim to give birth on it
and you invigorate an exile nonetheless:
Ezra expatriate Pound / sorry, if born in eastern
europe a ***** Romanian immigrant, pristine
expatriate in western Europe, fascist radio has
my tongue and *****, so let's play a game:
Russian roulette for the Chinese cos there's
a billion of them, and no one would really mind
a missing Chow Mein... chu shoo'ah shaolin moo'n'kah!
or a cappuccino whenever you'd like to watch
classic Italian pornographic cinema with dubbing
with nuns involved... Willaim Blake and his
stark naked prophesy, pope pius II (treatise 1458)
even though Transylvania, Tharce and Hungary
shared the same phonetic encoding with diacritical
distinctions like any Frenchman, German,
or Pole at the Siege of Vienna (1683)
to counter the antagonising Ottoman - i swear historians
do this one purpose, juggle dates and head-of-state figures
prior to entering a chronology - they must first try out
a ******* carousel before playing with the toy-train...
broadcasting to a defeated Germany public, T. S. Eliot
(1945) ****** import to into Western Germany
and talk of the failing moral fabric, China laughing
after the ***** intricacies of warfare of trade,
what was once wool we wished to be silk...
instead of silk we received vegetarian wool, namely
hemp, and Amsterdam is to blame... nuke 'em!
that's how it sounds, how a historian approaches
writing a history from the annals, from circa and
circumstance and actual history, foremost the abbreviations,
the fishing hook standards, the parameters,
the limits, and then the mathematics of history,
one thing culminating into another... contra Lenin
N. S. Trubetskoy, P. N. Savitsky, G. Vernadsky
Russian at the perks of the Urals - steppe Tartar shamans
or salon pranced pretty **** boys? where to put
the intoxicant and where to put the mascara... hmm,
god knows, or by 21st calculations, a meteor;
they say the history of nations is a history of women,
then at least the history of individuation
and of men who succumb to its proliferation
is astoundingly misogynistic.
Seton-Watson, among the the tombstones too reminded
of remarkable esteem and accomplishment
with only one gravedigger to claim as father...
as many death ears as on two giraffe skeletons
stood Guizot, men of many letter and few fortunes,
or v. v., incubators of cousin ***** and none the kippah
before the arrogant saintly diminished to
a justly cause of recession, ha ha,
by nature's grace, and with true advent of her progression
as guard-worthy pre- to each pro-
and suggested courteous of the ****** fibre,
oh hey, the advent of masqueraded woofing,
a Venetian high-brow, and jealousy out of a forgotten
spirit of adventure that once was bound
to hunting and foraging... forever lost to write  history of
a king dubbed Louis the XIV...
crucibles and distastes for the state to be pleased,
once removed from Paris, forever to Angevin womb
accustomed once more, at Versailles released -
as cake be sown so too the aristocratic swan necks
for worth of mock and scorn - and the dampening rain
rattle the blood-thirst of the St. Bartholomew's Day
slaughter, to date, the rebirth of Burgundy,
of Anjou, and with the dead king presiding, to be
of no worth in judging himself a king before god or pauper...
saluer Antoine Quentin Fouquier-Tinville!
that i might too in stead rattle a few bones prior to burial
with the jaw that will laugh and chatter least
had it been to my kingly-stead a birth so lowly.
then at least in satisfactory temperament i procure a
judgement of the noble like of a *****
for an hour's worth of pistons and jarring tongues...
as if from a nobleman then indeed as if from a *****,
for who sold Europe and said: Arabia, if not the
Frenchman, the Englishman, the Spaniard?
the former colonial conquests served you not enough?
i imagine the reinstatement of Israel like
the Frankish states under Philippe-August...
precursors to a cathedral dubbed Urban the 2nd's..
there were only Norwegian motives in the Ukraine
and the black sea... Israel to me is like plagiarism
of the Frankish states of the middle-east, with Europe
slightly... oom'pah loom'pah mongolian harmonica.
some said Rudyard Kipling poems,
some said Mr. Kipling's afternoon tea cakes -
whichever made it first on Coronation St.
some also say the Teutonic barbecues -
it was a matter of example to feed them hog
and cannibalise the peasants for ourselves,
a Prussian standard worth an army standard of
rigour - Ave Maria - letztre abendessen nahrung -
mein besitzen, wenn in die Aden, i'd be the last
talking carcass...
gottes ist der orient!
gottes ist der okzident!
nord - und sudliches gelande
ruht im frieden seiner hande.

germany's lebensraum, inferiority and classification,
inferior slavs and jews, genetics and why my
hatred of Darwinism is persistent, you need
an explanatory noting to make it auto-suggestive
for Queen & Country? diseased elements,
Jewish Bolshevism, Polish patriotism,
Soviets, Teutons, the grand alliances of 1918
or 1945? Wilsonian testimony of national self-determi
ZT Jun 2015
Kung alam ko lang na mamimiss kita nang ganito,
Hindi na sana ako umalis.
Kung alam ko lang na ganito pala kasakit,
Hindi na sana kita binitiwan.
Kung alam ko lang na mahuhulog ako sayo nang ganito ka lalim,
Hindi na sana kita minahal

Pero ang totoo ay,
Alam ko...
Matagal ko nang alam,
Alam na alam ko

Pero..

Alam ko.. Alam ko na mamimiss kita nang labis

Pero.. pero
Kailangan kong umalis at iwan ka,
Kasi alam kong mali.
Mali ang makapiling kita

Alam ko na masasaktan ako nang sobra,
Pero kailangan kitang pakawalan
Dahil.. kailanma'y
hindi ka talaga naging sakin

Alam ko na mahuhulog ako sayo nang napakalalim...
Pero hinayaan ko parin ang sarili ko na mahulog sayo

Nagbabakasakali na sana, sana
Possible, maari, baka lang ay
saluin mo ako

Pero
Hindi eh..
Nahulog nga ako pero walang sumalo.

Kasi habang nahuhulog pa ako,
May kayakap ka na palang iba.

At nang bumagsak na ako sa lupa
Ang sakit..
Ang sakit sakit..
Nadurog na ang puso ko, wasak..
Was...Wasak na wasak na at
Nagkalat sa lupa

Pero alam mo ba kung ano ang mas masakit?

Mas masakit
Kasi heto parin ako, hawak-hawak ang durog ko na puso
Naghihintay
Na mahalin mo rin ako...
nasubukan niyo na bang magmahal? umasa? at paasahin lamang?
nasaktan na, nawasak na ang puso.. pero nagmamahal pa rin?

— The End —