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Anthony Oriens Apr 2021
Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh
Emanating forth with light
Permeating in the night
Conquering death with might

Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh
My wounds are healed and bright
My grave outshone the height
Where soldiers lost their sight

Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh
I've fought the old good fight
I now sit at his right
Triumphed and robed in white

Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh
All Rights Reserved ©
This is a poem I wrote for a concept painting I painted and a short soundtrack I composed inspired by the Biblical Easter Resurrection.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2018
I Am that I Am (אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה‬ ’ehyeh ’ăšer ’ehyeh)

for Eléa

the requests are assiduous, regularly arrivaling, some shy,  
some heinous demanding and denouncing,
inquisitors inquisiting this revelation,
as if it could be bought in a Five and Dime,
with a childlike whining insistence

just  exactly who are you?

this is not my name above,
but one of seventy the Father gave himself

He named me in a fit of efficacy and whimsy and in and from, a fit of a deep veined mystery

You Raise Me Up

all this on the ****** side of corny, and would not blame you
if you moved on…

so nominated in honor of my mission, to travel with you in
all the travails that ail,
to raise you up to raise me up and thus salve the universe's cracks,
fill the crevices and the ****** scars invisible,
with the precise refreshment that make my life,
a slave to your thankfulness

I am the wetness of a mother’s lips upon
a thin red tear on a child’s skin,
I am the the rock hard father’s shoulders grasped by a child’s arms, the child does yet understand that human is illusion,
human is human, however strong,
it is the allusion of human limitations
that is our magical

I am the present re-borning come with a morning glory,
the time when the Am and the Pm  future merge in a name
without tense,
past present and what I may be is simply what
I am

when the past is but another sky bright star, untouchable,
but winking at you, to you personally

I am the touch of the untouchable,
a messenger commissioned to remind you when
the reminders are too far apart,
or even too close
and thus make a breathing space
in between for the living and the missing

I am the
no difference
between a newborn’s soft skin cells
relentless multiplying,
that offers the same precise sensation of the
grandmother’s delightful wrinkling cells of smiles of her
relentless dying,
for all, one and the same,
the child in her is you, baby

I am the fall before the rise, the first that defines the last,
the standard, once obtained, nevermore unobtainable

I am the first fruit of the summer,
a tongue blossom, a burst of memory, always recalled,
always the same, that begs for forgiveness for there are no
new words to describe the profound finding of the
simple pleasures that sustains the blessing over all things new that
are recurring and truly
renewable (shehechayanu)

I am the crinkle in the eye, the one that hides in the fine lines
and upon the lips,
when you purchase the hope however fleeting of a
$2 Powerball ticket,
the very same hope preserved when you laugh when you lose,
for there is contentment in knowing one may hope spring eternal,
yet again in a finite
three more days for and too another lousy two bucks fantasia

I am the ruse of happy satisfaction of a man
in the dark of alone at home,
staring at his sizeable bank balance
and the happy knowledge that its loss  it will make it greater someday when it  happy converted to memories and photos that  are worth a thousand times its multiplicity
if only,
or when,
he knows how

I am that pain in the left side of your red sea-parted soul that cannot be dismissed but is religiously ignored,
that you alone know of
due to its persistent existence, and because it is just tolerable,
it is a sad but comforting pain,
an acknowledgment that a companion travels with you
and that in someway is ok and you exist

I am the water on the night table that extinguishes the dry throat of recurring visions in eyes that always end badly
and make the bed’s welcome a fearful thing,
which is a fearful thing for in good sleep is the
re-naissance and re-formation and the salvation
that was given to you as a gift inside thy mother’s womb,
and that
it is I,
whispering the hum of easy soft lambs,
soft breathing you
unto welcoming rest

I am the poem that must end because of our
frailties and impatience to live in
the reality of human touch,
that must be put aside for any novocaine of words

I am the one who can only be alive
when he raises you up and
you begin a new poem all your own,
and then exit it too, willingly,
to embrace the raising up of living

and that is the
who I am
that I am
raising us up
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2017
i may be a catholic apostate who did not
take too lightly in being confirmed,
and even though i studied chemistry to a degree
level, i find a welcome break,
an armchair metaphor in studying
esoteric materials, because they simply bring
that kind of comfort, and a complete
lack of rigour that allows so much to shine
through...

like my discovery of the sign of the cross
in the Sefirot...
        again, i have to stress that i have
a fetish for the Deutschezunge and Hebrew
in theology, for i could never fall to my knees
before the one most despised by the Jews,
how could i?
          i required Hebrew literature,
and may i add: the study of kabbalah has
proven to be, after all the trials,
a very scientific endeavour into
the mechanisation of language...
        trans-linguistic is would appear...
i simply can't return to the mundane world
of either prayer or mantra...
     that's below me, plus it erodes the memory,
with its rubrics of said words
unnecessarily recited...
  forgive me, but it's one thing to
remember the necessary words
only when something is conjured and appears,
and another to conjure nothing
more than a missing poetic cannibalism...
which christianity invokes:
poetic cannibalism...
             sorry, no, the bread is stale and
the wine has been watered down,
you drink my blut -
              fermentation of rye and barley
and wheat... have a sucker pouch for
a glass of whiskey...
                  bread?
      swallow some lead pebbles...
                       i can't deal with this *******
lightly, i tread along this route with shackles
clinging, swaying, breaking silence upon
silence within silence that's an enigma...
              
but i found something of interest,
  the sign of the cross in the supposed
"tree of death"...
                  for i have nothing left in me
than the admiration of a Hebrew...
       or as i like to call them: the Hebraï...
      i.e. not the indian raj,
          but the mingling of ray with ri-fe,
    the former bit of the puzzle...
             i wish i could return, sometimes,
but most of the time i'm unabashed
in not fathoming if not merely forming an
apology...
  there truly are greater reasons beyond
the catholic church's ******* priest...
           just today three pubescent girls walked
up to me in the deathly hollow of
the night and asked for direction...
  just doll like features, barely 13...
          porcelain in moonlight from the fat
on their cheeks glistening and bouncing off them...
i merely replied: for the love of god
i do not know the street you're trying
to find... Waverley Avenue?!
   i know of Waverley St., but it's up in
Edinburgh! with that touristy greeting
of a scot in proper attire playing the bags!
anyway... back to the "primitive"
concerns...

              | in the name |
                         keter
                  ehyeh asher ehyeh

    | of the son |
               tiferet
           beauty, YHWH,

       because wasn't it beautiful?
look how much beauty arose from
the crucifixion, am i not right?
  the son is always depicted as beautiful,
esp. under the powers of
      torturous event, esp. then...

  | and the father |

binah, gevurah, hod vs.
       chokhmah, chesed, netzach...

   oh, wait... ****!
it would appear that i'm the sort of person
unashamed of showing mistakes,
or to put it "mildly": glorifying them in being
included,
   for the only end-product is one filled
with imperfections...
         after all, the prime philosophical
narrative drive is: inconsistency,
albeit inconsistency visible,
not the end-product, polished version...
i simply remembered a wrong
version of the trinitarian formula...

once again, maestro, hit me!

and it will spread to the north
                             first,
then to the west,
then to the east,
and last: unto the south bound
      (the geography of the trinitarian
formula).

being an apostate at least i got
the beginning correct:

              | in the name |
                         keter
                  ehyeh asher ehyeh

  | of the father |
     there ought to be a dispute
given the crown of myrrh...
   irony serves god best,
namely? what king serve a kingdom
sanely with such an object,
what is a crucifix compared to a throne?
hence?
      the father is the foundation
      (yesod)
  rather than the kingship (malkhut) -
that's one for riddling the zealots
and teaching liberalism...
         the heart of the father teaches
a foundation,
since, as the common saying goes:
the woman wears the trousers.

  | and of the son |
this is where it becomes complicated...
was it really the son's
final statement to express love (chesed)?
what sort of person admires a self-imposed
masochism?
               there are two rubrics at work
here...
  binah                            chokhmah
   (understanding)           (wisdom)
gevurah                    &       chesed
(strength)                               (love)
hod                                     netzach
(splendour)                          (victory)

| and the holy spirit |
   what is singular in transmission,
and what allows a collectivism of
these six traits?
        not understand,
       not splendour, not love, not wisdom,
perhaps strength,
  but surely a vision of victory...

| in the name of the son |
who is the son, when characterised the most
with said attributes?

tiferet (beauty) abides by the world,
and is, the world.

           | amen |
            malkhut,
               kingship!
finally! the relation of the crown
to the kingship via but a single word.

| and of the son |
or perhaps it is that citation upon
the cross: my father's house will be a house
of prayer: that self-assurance of victory
(netzach)... which could only revel in

   | and of the holy ghost |
   as being both gevurah & hod
(strength & splendour) respectivelym
what with the strength of an enduring religion,
and the opulence of the churches
bleeding ornament gold...
marble... silver...
  
yet the reason why the son clashes with
the holy ghost is because:
the father is unrelated in the concept
of a trinity, for so much of him belong
to the Jew, and not the slandered Gentile,
as the Gentile was slandered by the mouth
of the son...
                  
      at least the "father" is clearly related
to the following Sefirot dynamic:

     keter (crown) = malkhut (kingship) /
yesod (foundation) = tiferet (beauty)

the "son" is paralysed from this dynamic,
there's not beauty in a crucifix,
even if gilded in gold...
                    or managed by marble sculpture
macabre of the penitent madonna..
          
already the crown, the crown of myrrh
is a bad joke, the throne a hanging instrument
a torture another, bad joke,
     there is no foundation in that image,
the foundation is more scientific,
  a droplet of saliva on some glucose,
for example...
    and the beauty?
              how about exchanging two gorgeous
torture symbols to cowbell dangle
iron maidens?!

  i have the luxury of studying religious texts,
since i paid my allegiance to studying
science to the age of 21...
       i have this luxury,
              i did the science,
but now i have to attempt the ultimate
humanism: a study of religion...
but given the times:
                it's hardly nonsensical
to attempt such a feat.
Poetoftheway Jun 2015
there is no privacy anymore
tinker with your settings,
imaginary dragons, but to no true avail,
your scathing privacy has since sailed,
only to return for another sinking

what you forgot,
is very well remembered
in a some very overlooked place

see me in my summer camp class photo,
blonde crew cut and goofiest of grins,
find my poems of eons ago,
in living tricolor,
to my now better understood
"eternal" embarrassment,
they writ on, vainly looking
for a way to enjoy a
natural unnatural aging,
a wordlessly, self-destructing death
on a someday,
though the probability is that
someone's gigabytes
will cloud store them forevermore
because accumulation is
cheap and easy and
whatever

everything you need but didn't want,
the tangled webs, births and deaths,
multiple divorces and successes,
ancestors, progenitors,
children who no longer acknowledge
parenthood,
the detritus of lives writ even larger than the
original reality life show

confrontation tween my suppression
of long term memories that  
are dangling participles,
going gone being been,
confusion resultant in
the tenses of existence,
I was therefore I still must be
but no longer
the me
I pretended to be

there is no privacy anymore,
especially,
not even from thine own
prying eyes and faulty memories...


when they ask what is my name,
to better trace my leavings,
I will
like Jehovah to Moses respond,

I Am that I Am
(אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה,  ehyeh ašer ehyeh)
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Am_that_I_Am

June 20, 2015 11:54 am
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
i had to turn to judaism, christianity was turning bonkers! what, with the nag hammadi library running rampant, and the vatican's cowardly lack of constraint, its sloth, its general absence... with the nag hammad library running rampant, no one is going to believe the greek fairytale of revising the "old" testament; it's still the only testament... just read two lines of the historian josephus, align that with the emperor nero, and, by my guess, the book of revelation, was probably the first book written in the tome.

i've already written about this,
   the *etz ha-chayim
, oh no, these times
do not require a rebel spinoza
questioning chronological authenticity,
to keep the idea of a trinity,
   i already said my yesod "person"
and the subsequent dynamic for man...
    for man cannot meditate on either
    the keter (crown) nor
                            the malkhut (kingship),
in that the father is represented by
   the keter, and not the malkhut -
but akin to lucifer not merging into satan,
the heresy of the son becoming the father
is also a heresy with regards to
  the etz ha-chayim dynamic,
                                 which is as follows:
he, who has the malkhut of gevurah
  (kingship of strength)
is he who has the keter of chokhmah
   (the crown of wisdom)...
  ah... i'm stuck...
           i have to divide the tree in half,
and bring to realisation, which quality
is associated with the keter,
         and which with the malkhut...
i have to understand,
    and then the inverted complication -
a matisyahu song supplies the energy
behind the thought: king without a crown -
since the keter is but an ornament,
              and can be the highest tip,
  or the lowest ebb in what's actually
           the malkhut (kingship) / authority:
esp. one that doesn't require pomp & circumstance
of a public affair,
  the part where you don't wear
you sunday's best to church.
  and so too the revision with the revision -
life would be so un-interesting
         without the "plagues", pangs of either
doubt, or love...
             some settle for the uncertainity
of love, others who oppose narcissus,
cherish the racing emotions of doubt -
    and can see the cognitive speculo,
   dare i say, the cognitive kaleidoscope?
let's keep it german -
                          gedankespiegel...
beside the point,
   funny how the ejection of the jews from
europe occured,
   how the muslims came,
   and how someone born into
a christian "tradition" spotted a lot of sense
in what the jews kept for the past cenutries...
i'm enraptured by the teachings...
             i have no qualm with the, ugh,
passed sentence...
  for i do not believe in man ever attaining
the keter: ehyeh asher ehyeh
   ambition... for it is so grand,
      that i dare not act out the part
or seek a route toward representing it,
  however ambitious man can be,
           there is no man in the world, present,
future, or past, that can be the keter
expression of the tree's dynamic...
                         no man...
                                                 ever:
no utterance from a divinity, as divinity per se,
can ever come from the mouth of flesh.
yet i find myself asking,
   have i made a just system of
  dissecting the etz ha-chayim?
   after all, the keter is a Σ,
   otherwise also: the summum bonum,
i.e. that which is unattainable by man,
   with that said, the highest good self-evidently:
for what man would transgress his
     status ****, to reach for the castles
     made from clouds, in aspiring divinity?
prior to this ambition,
      the highest peak was of everest
   and a demi-god...
   after? everest humbled, and the saints were born.
nonetheless, i'm finding it hard
to attire the other qualities,
   is the keter superficial,
   as a wedding ring is on a finger
                                is to state a love and
the embedded laws of monogamy?
   or is the keter the ad infinitum potency
   of meditation, that leads to only the humbling
of donning the kippah?
                       here i'm cross-eyed
                   with regards to = ÷ (equally dividing)
the qualities between
   the keter: ehyeh asher ehyeh
                           and malkhut: adonoy -
thus said, the greatest point made by the tree
is a message: understand beauty -
                                           binah tiferet,
ah... the entry point of the disparity -
    no man can claim the dynamic of
                keter-chokhmah -
the crown-of-wisdom,
                                  no matter if donning
a liturgy of fancy attires,
    popes can speak the most baseless accounts
of what needs to be done...
   hence the superficial aspect of the keter
emerges...
        but indeed there is one,
  who can provide a malkhut-cholhmah,
               how many philosophers can say:
i have no university degree, i have no superficial
symbol of being, said authority,
  and still topple those who have "authority"
in what they attire themselves in,
  but nonetheless have no authority to show
when being unmasked?
                       as it stands, i will not make
this into a systamatic musing,
   where i might have dissected
                                  the entire etz ha-chayim,
while pondering whether
  the keter or the malkhut are to
be alligned with chokhmah (wisdom),
      binah (understanding), chesed (love) -
  keter-chesed - that's obvious:
   the superficial kind of love - as apparent
with lack of intervention;
          gevurah (strength) -
          malkhut-gevurah: the strenght to
not intervene;
                       tiferet (beauty),
                    hod (splendour),
                                 netzach (victory).
i exclude the yesod (foundation) from this
deliberation, since the yesod is reserved
solely for man to ponder the already mention
qualities, while at the same time excluding
the two impossibilities of attaining either
the crown, or the kingship (mastery) of each
of the stated aspects...
                   now that i can conclude,
      for god, the keter is what he is,
    but when looked upon by man,
             and in vanity trying to attain:
   only the source of superficiality,
           of fakery,
                            or the crown of myrrh,
the spectacle of golgotha,
                                   and idols,
    and iconoclasm...  and all the more fakes
             celebrated as pop culture...
                                        pseudo-martyrdom.
Alysha L Scott Aug 2012
Take no more of Kronos, in guilt
he speaks his secret name.
Shame on you, the brute who gave us wings.
No longer reaching for our halo,
I let forgiveness pass and regret to feed
the marrow.

And he, who finds himself wise, casts
a shadow on another day-- One who
does not pity the shrew, the innocent mind, a
naivete of perennial seasons forgotten

when the Autumnal blaze of fire and gold
became the death of Eden and
the birth of another ivory bone.

(ehyeh-asher-ehyeh)
"ehyeh-asher-ehyeh" or "The Unutterable Name"
In the Tanakh, YHVH is the personal name of god.
The phrase means, "I am that I am."
The name YHVH also bespeaks the utter transcendence of god.
Lull or Lilith Abi
became the current term for a lullaby, it means "Lilith-be-gone" and people would sing songs or chant before bedtime so that their children would remain safe during the night.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
babe, i've got the grid, you've got the grit; i had relationships with wet-dream pairing felines, and each time i never took the money... i guess money for these girls is like owning something that's neither a piano, nor a violin, nor a technique of anti-medicine prescription ultra effectiveness of alcohol and sleeping pops... money is like wanting to own a violin, ending up owning one... but only scratching a deafening symphony of some composer who wrote one jerking off; or as mr. turner did, spitting on the canvas to ease the mingling of colours into perched insomnia hazy sleepless after 48 hours; she's got the dough, but can't get the bread without the baker, if she only learnt the trade, she could have both... but i guess being served cappuccino hands free is a bit like having multiple sclerosis... i guess all billionaires are like multiple sclerosis victims... a compost heap of professions dumped into a kaleidoscope of cafes, operas, and other such places; i'll wipe my own ****, thank you.*

i'm not going to moralise the gods,
i think for the most part
they're humbled enough in awe at what they
were told to inherit,
the crucifixion only proved the point,
the crucified one twinned to
the most audacious introvert,
the jealous one, would never provision
the onslaught to come, the conquerors
of judea weren't the invaders from
the north or the eastern steppes.
i'm not going to moralise the gods
in favour of demoralising myself,
true horror begot the main role
overpowering the narrator as true horror
as a woman,
across two garden lengths of garden
a woman checks if all pythagorean
angles are 90 degrees untrue in
the poly grid of 6°: spelling out 666
with two other attributes of a bbc radio 4 discussion..
woman is a beauty i dare not fathom,
i rather fathom my own dirges and depths
for a beauty i do not see in myself, so there...
flowers are bettered hue more of seasonal
thermometers in them... i'll stick to them...
i can't simply exhaust myself on a woman,
it's pointless, the woman disappears anyway
once she has children, and thus the zoological
safety enters to pedigree man: children
are like iron bars for a woman to enter her purpose...
elsewhere it's a rich old **** and a youngling
donning leather fishnet stockings and ruby lips
and corsets that make the ***** twice the original...
my world is my safety, and to make my world safe
i have to encounter a "holocaust" / i'm not into
brooding exactness, 2nd 3rd or 4th meanings of words /
let's keep the river flowing, ditto a word and that's that...
a human expression of ehyeh asher ehyeh...
moses being the usher boy, the inverse version
of a subverter akin to ****** or stalin,
he didn't turn on the egyptians to explode even further,
he turned on the egyptians to implode,
****** the swiss moustache austrian exploded with
germany, so did stalin being a georgian,
germany and russia exploded, egypt imploded...
why cite the 40 year wandering when you talked
to someone who could be reduced you talking
with your hand like robinsoe crusoe (technically
a fleshy entry point of circumcised phallus warring)
with such impunity? i'm a subverted myself,
the 2nd degenerate classification akin to moses,
great britain my donkey... for all the ailments
i finally plucked the cherry an compared it with
moses' apple and said: yep, seems about right.
well if the only law of the land is reserved for the rich,
and the generic aren't allowed a generic sustenance
of the cubic with provided for electric and gas heating...
what are you going to get?
a sloth anarchy, people bewildered by a collective
unconscious movement with two idiots playing chess
thinking it's chequers...
but it also comes with the rich 1% (esp. women)
saying: so not being on papa's pay-cheque
feels like this, it feels like i can't love anyone i want?
yes darling... touch on wood, you're never allowed
such a gesture.
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
.at what point am i not... so ****** angst-prone teen... suppose c. g. jung and... akin to h. p. lovecraft... when there's a keter: ha-shem: ehyeh asher ehyeh... so many "deviation" from the name... new gods... new names... cthulhu and abraxas... jesus ******* ****... + christ all you want... nothing desires a sanctimony of the sacred... nor the death of a chris cornell... unless... it can only be pardoned with "the passing": i.e. death... patient spider... patient stone... patient stab-in-the-back... the solipsistic russian nation of mongrels... to lesser ears: the tipshar of albert alexeyevich razin... udmurt & "udmurt"... jokes... are... currently... reclining... how they would suddenly feel obliged to: scoff-off on a whim... the dead: are sleeping... "concept" of Katyń... no... the dead are besides sleep: they are the tombs what we agitate into life: the best we can... from neither the realm of sleep nor the realm of death: life is our... grace... death: our downfall... there's only mindinf the "creativity" of being left with the in-between...

lay my tired bones and aches into this everyday
shallow grave of sleep:
    i care not for dreams or for other:
unfathomable "questions"...

and when all is done and i have,
no more use for sleep...
lay my tired mind and captured
breath of 21 grams of worth...
into... the sleep of sleep...
        into the architecture of death:

and let neither the obnoxious
insurgence of a dream like heaven
or a dream like pandemonium...
starve me from exercising...
        my... wish to retain obscurity
within the confines of stones, bones...
rust and decay...

lay my bones and aches into
this everyday shallow grave of sleep...
lay my mind and "soul"
into the grand architecture of death...
don't think that you will find
me content with sleep and dreams...
so much so:
content with death and a dream
of dante's geometry of heaven...

   somehow i can cherish the sleep
without the dream...
as i can death...
     should death sentence me to
a fate of Sisyphus: and no demon guardian
with a leash, a hot-rod of agitation
to be my shadow...

who said: the fate of this cheater
of the gods: orpheus the gnostic...
   sisyphus the gnostic...
was to roll the stone... under who's supervision?
tell me again: of that... cat-walk
of evolution...

from the hunched ape to the upright man...
and... the comedy...
back to the hunched spine:
of how an ape borrowed a crow
to ponder... or took a cat and petted it...
in vain hope that:
when sleep would be the spice to escape
the gross mundaneity of recurrent:
similar days...
      a dream...

sisyphus rolled the stone...
sisyphus could just as well... have sat on it...
how one defines eternity:
the grail of vanity...
                        is how one can
master enough: cognitive labyrinths...
to be entertained by a stone...
or "nothing": yes... esp. diese nichts...
and... da(s) nichts...
           the extremes of mediating:
ontology... aeons before the cinema
of saturn... aeons before jupiter...
gloom... and aeons more bound to
neptune...

             the planets: seen: by the naked eye...
no telescope postcards of:
oh yeah... it's there... naked, blunt truth...

as the gnostics might have said...
there are three tiers of truth...

  prosta (simple) - einfach
                           pusta (empty) - leeren
                                          czysta (pure) - rein...
anything outside of simple geometry
of explanation is... the fourth (exempt -
via the thesaurus of antonyms) -
but by the fifth: gradation...
                
truth is beauty... which is devoid of geometry...
no wonder then... that was is most
beautiful... is harangued by... the criticism
and... its self-implosive hypocrisy...
truth is a beauty that...
                    suggests: not everything
good is beautiful... a moral act is not beautiful...
that it is necessary...
one is obliged to find out...

truth as beauty is: simple...
   it is empty... and it is... pure...            

truth is both: good & evil...
          those topics of necessity and...
the... not necessary "additions" come to mind...

it's no longer worth citing truth: per se -
science... facts... a rubric of psychology
in a secular... materialistic world...
a logic behind a soul... body / meat and two veg...
what soul?

truth as a regurgitation of scientific facts
and statistics... a new an old orthodoxy...
perhaps: perhaps not...

          all in all...
             truth: what i can muster to deem vague:
because what's required is not...
nor will it ever be: in vogue...
   a hyphen prefix stressor:
             truth-
                                     and...
   the three adjective suffixes: with the hyphen
included -pure
                        -empty
                                 -simple...

death is a sleep i cannot fathom...
        death is a sleep i cannot fathom...
death is a sleep i cannot fathom...
       if only life was a dream:
that didn't require me, to fathom, it...

"reality": and the so-called "questions"
i.e. reality being... that sort of canvas...
of walking around in...
someone else's... fiction?
at least the rocks the stones have
a somewhat agreed-upon reality of bible:
geology - and no worship: etc.

letover: just... snippets...
but the original theme is given light...
on why it's recurrent...
why did sisyphus toil with the stone:
did zeus give attach to him
a shadow handler with leash
and a fire-riddled poker like the man
was less a man and more:
a work-horse?

couldn't... the myth come up with...
and finally... sisyphus sat on a stone...
curled up his once ***** spine...
took thought before the court of eternity...
and decided: lest i be... "mistaken"...
what happened to gregor samsa
is one coin-flip...
  
   yes... today i was cleaning the shed...
and i was witness to a genus of spider...
when touched by an "invisible" hand / poker...
once... will fli: bellyside up...
curl its anorexic extensions and
play dead...
honest to "god"... spider play dead better than
dogs pretend, to... play... dead...

no... one day... i wasn't faced with
the fate of gregor samsa...
although the mush and the exoskeleton
of thought god soul and:
journalistic nuance of:
the alt. to priests of the 20th century...
carl bernstein / bob woodward /
  paul avery...

once upon a time in the 20th century...
where... journalists could be credited
with status... of... Manichaeans...
when journalistic integrity was:
credo... and... the ditto-heads
were... the apes in a zoological
confinement...      splendid times!
days when... one would... admire...
journalists...
          
   mental health / psychology /
the iron maiden of... finding a simple daft...
expression of... also... made...
coincidental with catching a breath...

          the worst kind of "reality" is
bound to the "future" of the narrative
and esp. off the narrative...
of what... is the sort of people...
that also: deviate from reading a paragraph
of fiction!
"reality" and... -itz...
                          the reality of:
someone else's fiction... a solo project...
from under the iron curtaian...
through to: and including... the silicon veil...
much later:
  but hardly the bed-fellows
coming to terms with the niqab...

      i die: believing that there are...
countless impromptus... serving me...
akin to make replicas of richard the lionheart's:
odes to being: without "stock"...
while john, lackland...
capitulated... for worth of the time: that's ripe...
an affectionate: gyrocentric whoosh!
of a ****-buddy...
and the magna carta was, ahem...
signed...

                     kant... the forever basis of...
the bachelor party:
no stag no hen parties...
the deafening stillness of...
sometimes and "something" in
between...

confines of: pity me for petting cats...
but... he loves me... he loves me not: sunflowers...
i totem a cat... not the petals...
for hope of these grand architectures of dreams:
that people: supposedly acquire...
they even mind telling others that
they have had recurrent dreams!

who are... these people... who have had
recurrent dreams?!
i want to know them!
who are... these people...
who have had recurrent dreams?!

   - moi! ******* son o' german: **** it...
both...               mir!     mich!
the orc: the east... extensions of the mongol
borrowed space by the slav...
hardly... something from...
bothersome south... akin to africa...

stereographs of the modern...
western: "man" is... orcs are not... associated
with... mongols... slavs:
the u.s.s.r.?
they are... allocated a status for...
african migrants from 2015?
on those... inflatable boats?
these... these... are your... orcs?!

           ha ha! pale orc... ching-chang-yin-yang
orc... etc. etc.
            no... never down south...
not when hu-chow and salman ibn
hussein took over kenya
and the the east coast of africa...

i imagine the orc to be meme: toe in toe
with the mongol -
the tartars of crimea...
      pale orc: what?! zee zulu black
panthers: panthers of south h'america?!

hassan i sahba... without exception of
muhmmad... and his name was...
muhammad ibn "abn / abu"...
pray pity: but! there was
a figure of grandfather and uncle:
sometimes the father gets it right...
sometimes...
sometimes the mother gets it right...
but... for fear of ******...
i drink and i tell you...
i'd sooner want
25% of me under my wing...
than 50% of me...

for the love of grandchildren...
god knows what one is to do with children...
send 'em to the crows... and swans?!
i can... love is diluted...
25% of me with the grandchildren...
which implies...
that 50% of me is not relegated
to dispose of with:
a mimic impetus to
"continue"...

                we can be friends at 25%
replica: in its immediacy...
at 50% we're talking: *******...
or on the rare occassion:
it might work: jesus joseph & mary...
according to the zodiac:
jesus was a bull...
joseph was an ares...
mary was a pisces...

           alternatively...
your pick of rat pig and barry...
      yes, of course...
            all formality of a tux-lingo...
dear sir...
sky 'as fallen!
   kind regards...
             better this... than a crossword:
for pedsntry in straitjackets?

new-age ******* of re-learning literacy
because... 2nd act of...
the phantom: all opera shun itself
to the nieche...
masquarade...
                   new learn ways of spell..
new learn ways of recite...
bogus trivial
abracadabra variation of
sudoku...

                    christine was
never a christopher was never: but probably
was a byzantine... cataphracts...
a name for every kind if beloved:
an ogling father in tow...
to mind bori g conservatism...
and all the flamboyancy of lies...
white lies: and hardly...
all the bitter truths...

     all that is mine isn't...
crown and the breeding: what i most likely...
in that: most feel obliged to fear:
the patience and stealth
of spider pin-knuckle rubric...

yes... hello: "today"...
and tomorrow... *******!

random extract:

                 the thuluth:
and the thoth: that became
             the signature of muqlah shirazi...
I cannot forget...
אני לא יכול לשכוח

©  STEPHAN PICKERING / חפץ ח"ם בן אברהם
12 Shevet 5778 / 28 January 2018
revised:
3 Iyyar 5758 / 28 April 2018
19 Iyyar 5778 / 4 May 2018
20 Iyyar 5778 / 5 May 2018
21 Iyyar 5778 / 6 May 2018

Shabtai Zisel / 'Bob Dylan' (1964):
'Forget the dead you've left, they
will not follow you'

W.G. Sebald z"l (1966):
'And so, they are ever returning to us,
the dead'

I.

the Path / derekh is silent,
a vacuum,
resonating with the
footsteps of tzaddikim, whose
teachings transcend(ed)
the Kingdom of Night...

where there was no longer
kefitzat ha'derekh
shrinking of the road
jumping the Path
teleportation.

...un die vvelt hot geshivign,
taught Reb Elie Wiesel z"l...
& the world remained silent.

not existing for themselves,
the tzaddikim speak with the
Shekhinah from their throats,
and the mar'ot johanna
visions of johanna
are witnessed by breslover
chavurot on desolation row,
murmurations of starlings
overhead.

listening to them, we survive
to walk / dorekh
the Path, with kabbalists z"l,
R. Chiyya & R. Yose,
the chevraya kadisha
the holy companions,
a derekh through the sea,

away from the energy vampyrism
& relentless phantasmagoric
cyberstalking of
the phantasmagoric Queene,
who engages in quacker
cross-contamination,
while prising her mindfully
plagiarising lips (a mirror image
of a death's-head hawk moth)
for a crucifictionist wafer:

a tax-deductible, copyright charity
deduction for ontological delusions
long after midnight,
clutching her cossetted Yehu'di
hatreds like
a perforated osculatorium,
because, שמח בחלקו.

    ****

Reb Uri Tzvi Greenberg z"l, 1923 [trans.
Michael Weingrad]:
'For so long there has been no water
in the wells. Only curses. ...& suddenly
the icons scream in Yiddish'.

II.

Light is the absence of Darkness,
to acknowledge Rav Rebecca
Newberger Goldstein.
& the holy slow train moves
(when it does)
sideways across flat earths.

consider the post-Auschwitz dilemma for
an opus dei natz'ri  who cannot grasp
the etymology:

prae / before + posterus / coming after
praeposterus / reversed, absurd.

did Shabtai Zisel / 'Bob Dylan' influence the
teachings of R. Yitzhak Luria z"l ?

III.

memories are stalking & ambuscading,
& as you said, Reb David Meltzer z"l,
'the Yehu'di in me is the ghost of me'...

& now the hourglass is invisible...

the windows of perception
to be peered into,
not out of,
as hairline fractures
develop in the retinas of narrow-ruled
yellow writing tablets masquerading
as frenetic mirrors,

never glimpsing tzefiyat ha'yeshu'ah,
the expectation of salvation.

& we are here,  
witnessing cyberian corpses
erecting three-way mirrors to their
obbligato and  mindfulness for girl
children...the mantras of a white
supremacist ****** ****** trained to
effect genocide  at a distance, his
audible hungering  for the  rapture  
of an endloesung in his drive-by
dark carnival, having no
farraginous self to say farewell to.

Lilith, the Midrash teaches, ate the
'bones' of Her enemies, but the
****** uses prayer beads as
majong ***** fired from his cap gun.

IV.

'she' stands on the bamboo porch,
thinking the lotus leaves floating by
are a reflexion of 'her' crumbling
totenkopfverbaende phantasies.

long after midnight, she shrieks to
a cyberian Mytilene, her mind so narrow,
thoughts are forced to crawl through her
fossilised ***** majora, which she identifies

as a personal luchot ha'edot, the glass
**** molded by her proboscis tongue,
as it fabricates yet another delusion
of a 1967 that never happened.

'she' turns, stepping onto an
embroidered nationalsozialist
matt,  'her'eyes a frail ambassador
of demure malice.

it is a moment such as this, when 'her'
desire of wanting to have been an
Auschwitz  Aufseherin, cannot be  
masqued  as a playful Latrodectus mactans.

ephemeral fabrications cling to 'her' --
an unbroken dance of impetuous
mirrors, as 'she' remains on the
porch, clutching 'her' 'we' aliases,

thinking, somehow, they are 'her'
aharon ha'bris...



V.

interlude / הַפסָקָה

Kafka z"l:
'I am divided from all things
by a hollow space'

Shabtai Zisel / 'Bob Dylan':
'I felt that place within, that
hollow place, where martyrs
weep, & angels play with sin'

Rav Yitzhak Luria z"l:
after tzimtzum,
the withdrawal of
'ehyeh 'asher 'ehyeh,
there came to be
halal ha'panui,
'the hollow space'

R. Shabbatai Sheftel ben
Akiva Horowitz z"l, 1719.
Shefa tal [Frankfurt edition]
3.5, 57b [Hebrew]:
'Before the world's bere'****,
'ayin sof withdrew into its essence,
from itself to itself within itself.
It left halal ha'panui within its
essence, in which it emanated
and created' [emended from Reb
Daniel Matt 1995]

VI.

sh'ma...'mir veln zey iberlebn, iberlebn, iberlebn'
(Lublin Chassidim z"l, 1939)...
hear: 'we shall outlive them, outlive them,
outlive them'...

why did R. Moshe Sofer z"l teach
'Chadush aser min ha'toray' / 'What
is new is forbidden in the Torah'?

the trolls here & what they call 'poetry':
collections of letters on a flickering
moon-glow  computer screen behind
a suburban curtain,
letters having no glyphs or sounds,
all encased in Sho'ah denial...

and yet. white supremacist sock monkeys
cannot silence the memories of the
thousands of Yehu'dit children z"l
burned alive on pyres, June-August 1944,
in the holy natz'ri village of Auschwitz,
in october country.

לעולם לא עוד לעולם לא עוד

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...with thanks to my akhim / brothers & poets,
D.J. Carlile & George Dance & Will Dockery
for reading previous drafts...
...and to the memories z"l of David Meltzer 17 February 1937-31 December 2016
& Anthony Scaduto 7 March 1932-12 December 2017...chaver'im / friends
& for the 'or from R. Paul Laderman z"l &
R. Meyer Goldberg z"l

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
STEPHAN PICKERING / חפץ ח"ם בן אברהם
Torah אלילה Yehu'di Apikores / Philologia Kabbalistica Speculativa Researcher
לחיות זמן רב ולשגשג...לעולם לא עוד
THE KABBALAH FRACTALS PROJECT
לעולם לא אשכח



IN PROGRESS: Shabtai Zisel benAvraham v'Rachel Riva:
davening in the musematic dark
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
the virus is raging: or so we're told -
i don't really mind whether we're told anything
anymore - i can finally come to grips
with the male version of the niqab:
just fine...

                              but once the virus impregnated:
whether our actual bodies or...
whether this: that be the detached from the herd
mind - whatever cull word: or choice of....

but... islam stopped: doing its business of
a revival... a revival... mind you...
that only involved the sunnis...
  it's like: the ******* would rather sweep their
whole schism under the magic carpet...
no... they wouldn't: they: sunnis...
wouldn't attack the sh'ites... the persians:
yeah... good luck with that...
the persians would bow before...
a bunch of camel jockeys:
  the library of baghdad...
              and: a library with only one book...
quasi-poetry: that damns poetry...

but i guess a book that takes hold of the heart
is much more than a book
that agitates the mind...
the bible: agitates the mind...
**** knows what it does to the heart...
but i'm sure to know that...
a proper adhan...
   can leave me in tears...
like...

but when i hear: da pacem domine...
or anything! anything resembling teuotnic songs
of the conquest of the baltic states:
too bad for merry ol' german...
having converted the prussians...
the prussians...
well: the revenge of the pagans over
their christian overlords...
or some **** like that: otherwise a different cover...
so much so that...
the polacks stood a chance with the kashubians...
and the silesians...
mongrel tongue they are much at home
than if ruled over by prussians...

jihad: a war of reclaiming land...
never a war of intrusion...
you reclaim all you have lost:
but you do not claim new land...
it's not a holy war beside:
what has to occur naturally: the growth of
an idea: that the enzyme is a sword...
well: no one's perfect...

but given there's a break from
fetish fashisto islamism...
     turban afghan / saudi sunni **** flinging
pajamas... well...
what about the hugo boss uniforms you
promised with all that oil money you ******
away on yachts and ****** that:
those ****** were waiting for you in jannah?!

of course i'm teasing the mamluk and
the janissary...
if you fed me... adhans... poetry...
and then: speeding to modern times...
played me as this egyptian stranger...
in amsterdam: architecture student... genius doodler...
an afternoon with him... beers and some jojo-and-mary...
in amsterdam... or... the previous afternoon
and these two slobs: germans...
and he gave me a song to listen to...
how the world dwarfed...
le trio joubran - masar...

i have nothing in christianity: a headache...
i tried judaism: too complicated...
linguistic avenues: herr zensor ha-shem:
the name of: kether: keter -
crown... you can only be so smart...
before: ehyeh asher ehyeh just because the same
bogus "trip" of pickled intellect you
have with that trinity and: fraction...

da pacem domine...
            muhammad can start wearing a niqab
at this moment... i don't even know whether
a proselyte status is teasing me:
i can't tame a heart: esp. my own...
but seeing the clear reduction of islamic
intrusion into christian affairs of:
yawn... usury? iconoclasm?
                        contra: the former...

you sold me on the romance of mamluk and
jannisary... because i'm fat from being tired
from what christianity has to offer...
honestly... even if there was a nag hammadi
library revival of the gnostic section...
or... 100 years from now...
there was news about the fate of isaiah
and the dead-sea-scrolls...

                 the muslims are not attacking...
by the grace of god...
some authoritarian mouthpiece from their shitpile
of clueless stopped talking...
and the adhan could be listened to: again...
and rumi minimalism could be read:
sufism! could be digested...

my mind can wander calendars... days and decades...
dreams and deja vus...
it can cross boundaries inanimate object
territory and turn to all things fuzzy
in the realm of hallucinations:
denial, doubt, conviction
in one way or another...
fractions of synonyms...

i cherish the one libra... the heart's:
yes....           or...                      no...
then there's the christianity that borrows too much
from its: "cultured" / cultivated paganism...
whether greek or trojan (alias latin)...
i'm tired of these arguments...
they're either claustrophobic (without any
evidence of clarifying workable space)....
trash: recycling matter... per-haps...

                      hoarder peoples of the world
"unite"... no... i'm "bored" and just exhausted
by the secular arguments or how
the trinity fraction ingenuity should work...
when islam is stsarting to turn lazy...
i figured: the romance associated with
the mamluk and the janissary is open, yes?

sufism and the indivisible one?
the vector: the north: point north vector -
the frankenstein moster clue: that's still open?
will i meet the drawfish turks along the way...
and they'll come up with...
canons for ****-open the walls
of constantinople?

      ever convert someone by way of
shrivelling up their testicles or crucifying their
mind on the altar of phobias?
if you don't have the heart...
you might as well be gagging for an achilles' heel...
if that!
christianity and pop cult. secularism...
i'm bored of worshipping
a static demigod...

        how many demigods came...
preceding? but this demigod is the fraction
celebration: the intellectual *******
of people who: cared not for...
the ferris wheel, etc.
                    
         rome is no more!
holy rome is no more: the "*****" achieved its purpose...
citing Casimir III also helped...
the nomads moved: jumped over the pond...
spider patience as released into
the city-scape: well of course... well done!
applause!

the question "question" is never asked...
given... hasn't christianity become a quasi-polytheism?
how many denominations?
too little gods: and the one...
as a fraction... can just keep on giving:
yet another preceding 0 of: the divided fraction
booth...

         the schism within islam was hardly
an intellectual:
all these "byzantine" precursor details...
such a bothersome spectacle for all:
that mind the bureucratic shoo! shoo!
              an intellectual affair:
                       worldly affairs... Ali was promised x...
the caliphs decided on project y...
the integrity of "the prophets" word:
while aging... senile yet still *******
a fresh cherub-and-orange akin to...
                 Khadija **** Khuwaylid still on my mind...
in praise of older women...

according to malcolm X and: cassius clay...
islam knows no race...
since... christian fwench... catholic...
spaniard catholic: later christian...
german retro: swiss...
anglican fudge-packers...
             yes... islam is not a nationality:
nor is it a race...
then again: what is croat... former yuogoslav...
or greek...
when... ahem... all that matters is...
h'american patriotism?!
if only the h'americans can be patriotic...
only the 50 shingles and twin barons
of stripes is on the ready...
the h'americans are: patriotic!
the rest of us are being nationalistic:
cousin-******-******!
can't islam come via Sarajevo and...
become... an escape plan?

   Ezra Pound might have cited:
the former proud stance of christianity against
usury... and now...
loan-sharks...
   i could be a slave to islam because
i could finally escape the "lost" e in
a ethnic grouping that has me locked in with...
the st. petersburg crowd...
the slavs...         and the germans: are... germs...
east a vowel - prefix at the wrong moment...
thank god that islam is not a people
but an idea...
and i'm burning with it...
without need to make or meet
proper formalities of conversion...
by heart's analogy of the mind's banquet
of the thesaurus...
when will the simple yes...
or the simple no arrive?
i don't know...
                i don't want to know...

after all: will you frequently hear...
of a *** / 'ebrew convert?
no! of course not! it's a... v.i.p. club...
you being a jew is more than an "idea"...
yep... it's exactly "also" a race...
you don't get to bypass all the cousin *******
cousin inbreeding on a whim...
you don't get to be given a "choice"...
while islam readily converts...
new blood...
islam readily converts because...
you were never a chosen within the confines
of the distinct few:
which is nice...
islam readily converts: while christianity willingly
abandons...
why am i looking into a mamluk /
janissary romance novel genre?
will i write one?
do i look like someone to turn a silver
spoon into a ***** and fake
a sigh?

dare i: dare not i: "not i"...
back into the basic structure of words:
back into syllables...
words like: da-je (it's giving)
                           i forget all the other mamas' and
papas'... "lyrics"...
i'm just bored of the exclusivity and
inclusivity of peoples...
mind you: i mind more...
what's that: fidgeting me... irritating me...
such the atom: like the letter abounding
around them...
it's nothing special... it's just: fudge...
and a simple metaphor of concrete and
indigestion to have to... endure...
gorge... digest...

                i'm bored of christianity
because of the ruling "christianity" of h'america...
back to basics: son of sam...
thank god for the atlantic ocean...
some distance... some perspective...
evangelical: denominations of old world
protestantism...
no... all the basics of:
looking at women with "fun" prospects...
joy... what about the joy of a bicycle...
it's like ******* retards claiming:
casper the friendly ghosts and
spiderman were touch-up buddies to sooth...

thank you h'america... send me back
to afghanistan... and pashtun womens' poetry...
too many minutes spent on this insomnia footprint
of the web: i still believe a t.v. and a computer
and internet access should be akin
to resembling a fireplace... fixed locations...
no?
i don't actually mind:
eating a burger and getting a blockjob
like driving a car...
on a smooth motorway...
try the same... and giggling... on horseback...

if i could gonvern myself to establish a matrix
of prayer - rummagings of a lacklustre
of schiphrenia - perhaps...
for all the freedoms "imposed":
and not imposed - shimmy shimmy -
and all that isn't received as: to pass...
restrictions galore...
the smooth shake-me-up...
secular: testicular clean shaven *******
tip of luck when licked: etc.

           yeah... yeah: sign me up for that...
pedestrian safehaven!
the promises of science...
                  the christian day to day...
and the... straitjacket of islam...
or... or... prop-er... PWOPH-EER "judeo-christian":
and some salty Cicero...
and some pepper stiff 'istotle!
                  
   love is... love is: pseudo-echo: his eyes...
and all the little idiosyncracies still alive in me:
that makes me focus on me:
and not on... the expendable you...
     all i want is to focus on these details
without having to infringe on: detailing you...
to what...
                impaled... which has to be
more insufferable than a crucifixion...
but... let's not mind that...

              the detail comes around with:
the civic world is a world that the ancient
romans laid a claim on...
the rest? that the romans didn't lay...
a claim on? fifth partition of poland...
a ****** job over the "question" of iraq...
i'm not this "white" ****-boy's boor...
but that i am: since i'm not his baron.

- all that bob woodward & carl bernstein
achieved... deep-throat alias
of that ninja in m.g.s. PSI...
but what i included... but what jonathan landay
and warren strobel couldn't...
it breaks, the "heart"...
or at least the mind... capable of...

- honestly... i never much appreciated
rembrandt...
but... what wouldn't... otherwise...
a sobering-up sessions of sitting on the edge
of the bed do... otherwise:
better good... than the thus presented...
than... hang-over... looking at prints
of the aging rembrandt...
no... not the zenith... the impeding
nadir...

          would it still be necessary for me
to ingest from l.s.d.?
the lazy strokes of grace-
any other adjective of pompous
sycophancy is open: though... to be added...
no... not because his a well known name...
but because: i never found the sort of
raw beef: or the sort of stomach...

the question of the "question"...
within the realms of the diaspora...
that's a hard "question"...
given the diaspora is... a status quo that...
look at the orthodox yids / hebs
of brooklyn...
they're not leaving and brooklyn isn't...
either... the question of a people
without a diaspora...
is still only a "question"...
like that: MADE IN CHINA... "question"...
i still haved things in my possession that have...
MADE IN HOLLAND...
MADE IN INDIA... MADE IN IRELAND...
hell... even MADE IN BANGLADESH
makes you believe in a higher quality than...
all that CHeap CHequers ***** from
the land of BING JING... and the squirming
dwagon...

ask any thai or any... the chinese are not
the best parts of h'america...
and the worst parts of russia...
and... all the rest: reincarnated horde motto:
mongol...
joke... stinking camel jockeys will
not touch a squat of pork for fear
of the silk road mafia:
yow-eatz the stinking sheepz...
me eatz pork & leather
    me eatz pork & leather...
                                     shoe?! shoe?!

shrimp **** gets a hard-on and there's no
mushroom saxon esq. 1960s mantra...
of toll culture!
               well: shrimp **** is hardly:
a korean sand-bag or a piece of japanese
porcelain skin... whiter than porky-pink
gets handled by haggling over Libya...
and the Spanish... sun... tan!
- it's a good nuance though...
given that... all of the baltic sushi is
ascribed the status of: herring herring herring;
raw... yes... in a gherkin infused
cream... creamy dreams of a less robotic...
less stockholm syndrome... Stockholm...
the museum of the tomb of the Vasa ship...
and all those yachts...
seeing Stockholm... no need to see Oslo...
Helsinki... Copenhagen... seeing St. Petersburg...
i really... really need to see Istambul;
smoled salmon... rye bread...
mayonnaise... cucumber... dill...
rainbow trout caviar...
it would be a luxury... caviar...
if everyone was willing to eat it...
but... given the price... only a few could...
caviar would be a yacht symbol of richness...
no... you want a better summary?
caviar is... marmite...
you either love it... or hate it...
everyone almost everyone:
the greater majority... can stomach...
poultry abortions...
caviar is not a luxury... it's an idiosyncracy;
there's no "acquired" taste...
it's something akin to: the web architecture
a priori in the confines of
'ed... of the spider...
or how... the woodland pigeon builds
a nest... "from thin air"...

             learning to walk...
is so class-A drug... bourgeoisie...
                perhaps there was a russian revolution...
perhaps there was the industrial revolution...
all in all: there was only the french revolution.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2023
there is a very infamous instance of bez-osobowość
when you cross the Polish border at the airport
and get searched...
the celniks (guards) - provided you know the zunge:
will address you in a without-person(ality)
language / syntax...

how / i.e.? verb laden, verb exclusively,
averting pronoun usage...
i guess this is a counter to what....

oh i love Jordan Peterson aging and in full
schematic rearrangement of
post-modernistic mode "word salad"
buzzing... i'm buzzing too:

two nuggets of verbal beauty: a shine
on a sheen...
sheen being the already available glit of
a metal... shine being if a metal is exposed
to light and almost, "almost" reacts like
water or mirror...

- negotiating identity into adulthood...
- "terrible war in our culture"

     what war? what culture: to be exact...
cf. kołakowski's: culture and fetishes...
really? is there a culture "war" or simply...
this is not a war "war": this is a civilian fetishazation
of combat... this is passive-aggressiveness
of atomized-***-drive-derivatives
a cis-mutation parody regarding
a concept of: species...
this is one massive a-hole (forgot the bomb)
of an anti-Darwinism...
one might stretch it to the extent of calling
it liberal Darwinism...
or: on the basis of a humanistic whim
we can't harness the power of a lightning strike
nor can we harness the winds of a tornado...
but we'll sure as ****: make pretty boa-constrictive
grammar out of how we forget about trading,
capital...

identity "politics"?

- ideas of identity are narrow, hedonistic,
unsophisticated, self-serving...
- identity groups: whim-based, ****** identities,
race, ethnic...
- predicated on the notion of the immediacy
of...
- you're not a *** machine...
- anxiety hopelessness misery...
- subsidiary solution
- integrated self...

   hmm... so not the differentiating self of self?
to integrate a self "off" a self: toward the self?

consumer model?
integrating integers or integrating the collapse
of fractions?

a poem written while listening to a podcast
rather than music, which would be echo chamber
solipsism...

- play with someone else...
- invite someone else...
- there's you and now there's you that's a husband...
- responsibilities and opportunities...
- not gratifying your short term whims...

fair enough... go on herr doktor...

- immaturity vs. non-negotiation...
- learn to love someone...
- 20 years ago: self-consciousness and negative emotion
on par...
- flesh yourself out...           stretch...

huh? community? what community?
i have lived across from my neighbours for over 20
years and the closest i got to them
was when she and her daughters paraded
naked in the bedroom and later
moved on to getting another hubby...
married or "married"...
cohabitation... moved across the street
two doors down and still no ******* conversation
about: oh the weather is dreary and oh:
the garbage men forgot to take my garbage
or: oh the traffic is bad blah blah...

- definition definition definition:

the defining of the finite
the indefinitable infinite...
time is a flexibility of not counting / not measuring...

in out in out

- no action without the good...
ah... nugget! finally!

- consumerist capitalism
- idiocies of a degenerate protestant liberalism
driven by postmodernism...

well, given that when Moses spoke to unsaid X
said: ehyeh asher ehyeh...

i.e. i am: that         ↓
                        → i am ←
                                ↑

and not... i am what i am... since...
there's a clear distinction between the pronoun
'that' and 'what'...
conclusively...
by 'that' i'm implying vectors...
by 'what' i'm implying: questions...

what? well what?!

i am what:                 !
                             ?  i am  ?
                                     !

but Moses wasn't interrogated in a what whom
fashion, no: i am what i am spoke to him:
who spoke to Moses?
i am: that, i am...

  that... precisely that, i am that: who?
would god ask who of / off who of / off himself?

i still find it preposterous that this commandment
is so vague on the Islamic mind
as to not cherish the name Allah
but shout it while killing innocents:
and in his greatness the jinn swarm
to take the metaphysical procrastinators to
the hell of the 72 "virgins"...

la ilaha illa allah -

    mind you: the Maltese word for god is
borrowed from the Saracens
and is also blahllah... no: allah...
all? ah!
a relief it would seem...
how easily you could censor that word out
of a person's vocabulary and not take it in vain...
it's a Hebrew game i very much like playing
since i make-oaths of ****'s ******* ****
like a cobbler...

i still can't figure out whether to think of
culture wars as civilian fetishes of warfare or not..
culture war is a fetishised term...
war is a fetish term for poets who
are living out a rigor mortis of intellect...

now for the gates...

א                                                      ­               ע
    
i might be behind the literature,
what i know is: kametz (a)
     tzeré (e)
                  chirek (i)
cholem (o)
                       shurek (u) - pentagram...

hmm... Greek Satanism... which is not very much like
WASP Satanism that mingled neo-******
with a sour-**** vibrancy of proto-*** chimps
of the North American "sentiment"...

the revised niqqud from the niqqud
i learnt outside the realms of the internet is as above
(cf. aryeh kaplan meditation and kabbalah
samuel weiser inc. box 612
york beach, maine 03910
isbn 0-87728-616-?)

chirek became hiriq (בִ - i.e. BI - ב, bet hiriq) - i
kametz became patach kamatz gadol (בַ בָ - b'ah) - a
tzeré became segol zeire (בֶ בֵ - i.e. b'eh) - e
cholem became holam (בֹ - b'oh) - o
and...
shurek became kubutz shuruk (בֻ וּ - BAV) - u

a story of the gate:
א                                                          ­           ע
(ayin)                                                     (alef)

through which: הה Heh and Heh walked through
to find the husbands י (yod)
  and ו (vav)... oh sure: bot sisters...
Heh and Heh walked through these gate(s)...
and so became coupled into a name best associated
with "jehowa": i.e. he who hides them (vowels)
like the niqqud and the niqab...
some sort of conspiracy theory against
a society built upon monogamy...

so i met this pretty little 5ft2 36D Puerto Rican
all the way in Hawaii, or to be more specific: Kauai...
on the internet...
and since any mention of formality and inception
i'm on the phone to her every Sunday
(and i'll probably call her today:
Monday's and Tuesday's are her days off)
and we talk for an hour and i feel: ****...
only 10 minutes have passed...

but i'm still engaged with the current trend of anti-cinema...
culture war my ***...
a bit like revising that vision of St. John's...
believe you me when i say:
four horsemen... and one donkey-rider...
so that's 5 riders... the donkey rider
being obviously slower than death
since he'd be the one riding last giggling his ***
off... maybe him and the donkey would
be laughing... maybe even a talking donkey...
the vision is grotesque:
hyper-parody of Islam stealing the "saviour"...

now i know why i didn't drop any acid or ingest
any magic mushrooms...
this one time in Amsterdam me and this
Egyptian were mesmerised or rather fearful
having drank some ***** and smoked some marijuana
watching these two roomates of ours in a hostel
ingest magic mushrooms and waste the experience
on watching American Dad on t.v. in a darkened room...
Germans: so go figure... p.t.s.d. of history
or whatever you want to call it...
you'd think that ingesting psychadelics
you'd want to be in the sunshine in a forest
for some transcendental speech impediment onset...
not some dingy hostel room watching t.v., right?

case? the opposite, ingest some alcohol, fast,
then think about the hebrew alphabet...

yes, the great advent of anti-cinema...
a cultural shift...
when actors became producers...
notably? true detective... starring matthew mcconaughey
and woody harrelson...
when actors became executive producers...
perfect hell-storm to **** of cinema franchises
for the children...
from the days of: parents go out for a date
and employ a babysitter to...
kids go out and shoot up laughing gas
and eat fast food and fast **** in an alley
while the parents sit indoors and watch decent content...
maybe because actors have more time
therefore more freedom to feel into their roles
maybe because to write something good
you need to waffle for more than the space
of ~3h or like a pop song becomes prog-rock
after the 3min mark?!

in a way modern Polish "behaves", or rather:
is structured like ancient Latin
in the pronouns can be omitted to give meaning
to sentences:

ja myśle (i think) can simply be expressed
as myśle (pronoun-verb) compound of (i) think:
thinking... myśl (thought) myślenie (thinking)...

i.e. cogito ergo sum is a summary of
current Polish...
since there's no need for:
ego cogito ergo ego sum...
there's no need for i think therefore i am:
there's an anti-pronoun imperative
in sentence structure...
this without-personhood dynamic
perfectly compliments...
the anglo-protestant queer fetish for
exemplifying the plurality of it
via they...

       also...
borrowing from Greek Satanism the pan-Slavic
distinctiveness of
the following:

     щ: šč          ?: ść

deszcz: dešč: H hiding, or how the hebrew god
lingers in European psyche...
funny... that the **** Germans thought
themselves as Aryans...
given that the Polacks from the 15th century
onward compassed the arrival of an Iranian
tribe of... no... not Samaritans...
but the Sarmatians...

deszcz: rain
    dość: enough...

szczerość: ščerość: truthfulness...

i never thought the fetishes would spill out
and over into my reaching out with my tentacles
and start to... squeeze... out all the fetishes
into apple pulp sort of goo of glue sort
of averting the nasal thrill...

for a people who made ***-identity into politics
like Darwin and the lesbian faction of
existence running its course: cul de sac
existentialism of ******-identity politics
"politics": these days you have to say
"red" red... "blue" blue...
"train" train...

  mein englischleash: nein nein: niet ein leine!

what culture war?
perhaps a cultural lethargy, a cultural exhaustion?
i can see it as that... but a war?
for what? a quibble?
a ******* carrot on a stick?
a war for a donkey?
no one spotted the unearthing of the Nag Hammadi
library coinciding with the Dead Sea Scrolls,
how Isaiah died (being mutilated
at the torso, cut in half)
and how "suddenly" Christianity quivered its
last to estrange the European ontology
from the European will borrowing
from the nurture of winter in the Hyperborean
realm of melancholic rejuvenation of intellect...

the Slavs would sooner wage war against
themselves than allow
the Germanic self-flagellation of importing
cheap labour from former colonies...
these "good Christian" vessels of soullessness:
vacated by the riches from Arabia
eat ******* camel jockey types and typos
in H'arabic...

there is no culture war... there's only a cultural vacuum:
a lethargy: a great stink about this whole
myopic miasma...
with the established state of Israel and what
remains of the jewry in Europe
the fascinating dynamic of the arrival of a muslim
cohort of: sensibly minded idle citizens
that uber uber uber uber...
kamikazee delivery drivers from the mouths
of Bengal... hey presto: cheap as chips analogies...

so there's no problem with calling they it not i?
after all: it is a pronoun...
it's coming, they are?
          hmm... fetishes to the fore...
*** first: but the worst kind of ***:
non-procreative ***...
that's the worst kind of ***...
me and my old lady... i sort of told her:
it's an ancient practice borrowing from Roman times...
surrogacy of males...
i don't mind that you have a daughter
and she's not biologically mine...
guess what? that means i'll be less hung-up
if she "fails" morally...

     i clearly don't mind leaving a fractional imprint
of mine, hereditary on a passing fleece of a feeling
with an offspring...
i'm here to play a game of her throwing
three pebbles into a pool and both of us diving into
it to find them... mystique harry potter esque
the philosopher and the two women in his life:
life rediscovered... lazily tripping up over
sunlight and the predictability of daylight hours
on the tropic of cancer...

the rest of me is unpredictable like the weather
in northern europe: esp. England...

but these fetishists could have chosen a different
angle than latching onto grammar...
by the looks of it i'll gnash at bone
and grit by iron teeth (eisenzähne) with a "debilitating"
glee of: welcome, welcome, all are welcome
to the knochenernteausgraben (bone harvest
unearthing)...

even in sub-culture pops... hormones?
am i that bothered about testosterone levels in
males (like i might have some control over it)
when it comes to how stubble i can deal with
like i might sniff ******* or who's not living with grandma
like this woman is fertile, no, this woman is not fertile:
she's renting her womb to two homosexuals
vying for a proto-baby
    and this ***-first dynamic is going to go on forever
before Russia joins forces with China and India
and leaves the atomised man in
shrapnel still clinging to the crucifix-*****?
as if 2000 years of the rabbis warning us against
the advent of the self-sacrificial saviour were not
a lesson in diabolical narcissism...
it's plain as day to date...

          even with the structures intact...
christianity is unlike hinduism...
this makeshift monotheism with
polytheistic tendencies for schisms
is unlike any original European polytheism...
there's a U.B.D. / B.B.D. (use by date,
best before date) attached to it... like food...
given... well... christianity is food if you think twice
about the metaphor of the bread and the wine...
**** me... phoo! the wine has become a rancid
balsamic vinegar and the bread is mouldy!

islam on the other hand is only bound to the strength
of the dino juice... black gold...
it's strength is only temporary given
no longer needing to burn wood and instead
using gas and the mechanisms of oil propellers...
temporary ibn Saud paradise...

hardly a critique of capitalism: which is a force for
good... should the capitalist be the one
building railroads and autobahns...
giving wages, providing stable work,
pensions...
but the current capitalist is a capitalist in name alone:
chances of an honest wage for honest labour?
chances of a pension?
gig economy, the underclass of workers i'm in
already dictate the failsafe dynamic of
"contract" with: an "optional opt out"
regarding a pension scheme...
there is none...

                            some daydream akin to the ****
project circa 1950s with a home a stability
without the frenzy of hustling...
one generation old one generation bound...
some eugenics variation
and oh how the women love to call out
the men who didn't reproduce
but seeing some of the women that have
i do wonder what sort of pristine genetics are
being pressed and passed on
since i'm in an intellectual-zombie-land
from time to time... or pretty much all the time...
so i drink: to numb the pain...
so i drink: to numb the pain...
hmm... maybe that's why i drink:
to numb the intellectual dead-weight i have
surrounding me...

it's a good excuse... there is no other...
jeez... coming back to that without-persona language
the Polish border guards sometimes you:
the verb-exclusive pronoun-de-clusive
pronoun-non-inclusive of:

zdjąć - take off.. achtung achtung!
i.e. not
            zdejmij - czy czy: could you?
czy mógłbyś zdjąć twoje buty?
could you take off your shoes?

               so much for some vagary of an upheaval
in the queers for grammar in English...
it's almost very funny: but it's only just slightly
funny coming from a people not used
to how depersonalisation happens in language
when spoken off: rather than of or to...

like that saying from true detective...
am i a good person?
no... i'm not a good person...
i'm a bad bad man...
the sort of bad man that keeps the other bad men
away from knocking on your door...
i'm that sort of bad man...
the sort of bad man that keeps your
idiosyncratic selves in check
before they are no more than a statistic
in a serial killer's tally 正

                but even i have rules and sensibilities
that question when experiencing questionalibities
of: basic structures, like in language:
grammar...
       that sort of **** just makes me hit the monster
button within me...
and my ego becomes less a unit
of identity... and more akin to...
      a mouth that chews, grunts, burps...
bites... my ego is currently in the form of:

mundnichts... mouth-nothing....
        pupilleessenauge...
pupil eating eye...
                   in mich: ein legion von
alle der schrecklich gedanken!
         ha ha! wie ein teuflisch zirkus!
אני יכול לזכור...I can remember

I.

in the ashes of Auschwitz
February 2018 / Shevat 5778
there exists no
kol hachavvyot,
the Infinite One bring/ing
all of reality into be-ing.

there is no 'ehyeh 'asher 'ehyeh
who formed Light,
who created Darkness.

II.

the candles of the Vanished
World are no longer
sown in the seasons of breath.

in 1920 Vilna, Yehu'dit bones
were excavated for horses
to be buried,
all by the tongue of a priest
covered in ambergris.

in 2018 Cyberia alleys,
the malefactor mime cries
as Long Island parhelia
flicker in the seasonal
ice around his little girls.

III.

the cypress of the
Kingdom of Night are
amidst natz'ri house gardens,
marking in the mouths of
opus dei children the straws
of Poland.

long after midnight we seek
solace in One-Eyed Paritus's
Meditations obliques,
where Sol Nazerman's
zoharic midrashim of
Shabtai Zisel are
narrated by Claude Lanzmann.

the quantum nonlocality
of the corpse of
ha'Kodesh Barukh hu
is the Hollerith tracking
number.

IV.

Nach uraltem, aengstlich beheutetem
Klostergeheimnis lernen selbst Greise
muehelos Kavier spielen.
-- Max Ernst

this is to the memories z"l of
Rod Steiger 14 April 1925-9 July 2002
Roman Vischniac 19 August 1897-22 January 1990
Rose Leamel Ziebell (1933-2007)
Dottie Sutton (1922-2015)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
© 3 February 2018 / 18 Shevat 5778

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
STEPHAN PICKERING / חפץ ח"ם בן אברהם
Torah אלילה Yehu'di Apikores / Philologia Kabbalistica Speculativa Researcher
לחיות זמן רב ולשגשג...לעולם לא עוד
THE KABBALAH FRACTALS PROJECT
לעולם לא אשכח
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
and when you hear: watcha 'tinking? your reply? mostly concerning a ****, & a fudge factory, & a few brownies, topped with some custard goo, what's that to you?, you skivvy missus?

yes, we alcoholics sometimes get the jerks,
what the junkies call the nods,
notably via unconscious irritation
when solving sudoku puzzles -
you know, those japanese blindspots,
waiting for a wet ***** entry re-entry into
the garden of eden -
and without diacritic indicators
you will state *shania
-
                     i have lactose in my brain,
and the killer proteins are coming...
         alzheimer's:
     proteins       eating          fat;
i swear i swear i swear i was ready
with the dutch cheese sponge!
       holes? oh, nibbled through,
the blue cheese mouse trap didn't work...
oops...
           put the mice off,
as it would put off any known living thing...
**** making ice-cream with it to boogie
on the palette.
   a bit like mikey mouse replacing ol'
jack, in the box...
        hardly the ****** surprise;
what did you expect in the mousetrap,
a ******* cockroach?!
  wasabi irony... probably a bigger statement
of english than shakespeare,
added to the tongues of humanity.
now, the entry point of unessential aphorisms:

1. drinking does what ****** doesn't:
  keeps you focused,
and if you master the craft,
you get to sport a mid-day sun
with a lot of housewives...

2. **** it, whatever...

3. the led zeppelin vs. black sabbath debate
always misses the ****** of black purple...
  never learned to say the big o...

4. what a waste, being so lucky...

5. i might only make an incremental difference
in this world, but at least i still do not
disrupt the status quo totalis of humanity,
id est: at least people around me end up
living the boring reality of:
      the people around me...
kinda autistic, i admit, nonetheless true.

6. post scriptum of point V -
    a bit like a butterfly watching a tornado's
whirl, and then, unlike a fly incubated
in a spiderweb, watching the ballerina's twirl...

7. what's so poetic about philosophy in
english... i.e. the metaphor...
i.e. the " " membrane, the inverted
commas... commas?
    aren't they supposed to sit down
below, rather than be saintly halos of
the above? i'm guessing that's the source
of why the english tongue doesn't bother
diacritical indicators, inverted what?!
    commas? oh, so that's one citation
mark in a sentence?
      i'm getting really copernican confused...
smacker on the face for attempting
to be "smart": i know... never did anyone
any good...
                let's just call the " " encapsulation
of a word the poetic way...
that's called a metaphor...
   or it's really rather an ambiguity per se...
then again: i guess, no.

8. chinese, eh? as a language, everyone admires
it...

9. my grandfather always admired how
i rolled my tobacco,
making perfect rollies, and pretending
to be needle in hand,
  perfecting the rollie even further,
by warming up the tobacco in the roll-up,
my ex-gf always took the **** out of me
for not being able to roll the perfect
spliff, and then i did,
  and then, for some reason, she stopped
talking.

10. the chinese tongue in translation,
is the most unspectacular language in existence,
no wonder the origin of the haiku -
that's chinese for simple math (syllable
arithmetic) -
the chinese can only count up to a haiku -
and even though their phonetic encoding
is twice the spectacular endeavour of any man,
chinese in translation?
        about as spectacular as a cow's ****...
choo chow mein...
  chew chin mane?
                  i wouldn't even bother
trying to untangle that asiatic bowl of noodles...
rice crispy fortune cookies,
   a bowl of regurgitated maggots;
              cf. mongol!
    and what, arabic with its fiddly-squiddly
attempt at coherent, is not less an octopus
waving to imply hello?
  yeah, and i'm the next mary ******* poppins!
shim shimminy me away...
   oh right, forgot to mention,
you really wouldn't say the name shania twain
like that...
     you'd need syllable indicators,
hellfire / punctuation marks from above...
    hmm, how to cut up a lovely...
    sháníā -
       sha-nigh-ah:
   oh look, seems i'm an american linguist
after all...
   keeping the hyphen handy... turning into
a linguistic chemist...
  ever watchful of the electron migration diagrams...
pompous & sarcastic ****-wit i was
always supposed to be...
           which bring me to the final
observation:

11. i kinda figured that there's a law of prefix,
suffix & affix...
  but with tongues that prescribe their
phonetic units (i.e. letters) the status of names,
i figured it ought to be ease to understand
how they cut these names and leave the indicative
remaining stressor...
  akin to the hebrew, notably?
    via
yes yes, we know the caron on s (š) and the caron
on c (č) implies the english sh - and ch:
**** via cheap respectively -
  this amount of god is a sneaky ******:
loves to hide in punctuation marks,
whether from the godly diacritical perspective,
or the devilish rhetorically classical
punctuative.
point being... ehyeh...
                   yes, but how does the aleph
make it to be invoked in the word?
         א... aleph...
                      יה‎ה‎א -
and these names are burnt tattoos on my
psyche - i have enough raw bile to
do the opposite of dispersing the hebrews:
i have enough of the *******:
to make them congregate;
but tell me, how do you actually write
ehyeh (יה‎ה‎א) - by asking the prefix / suffix /
affix question? how do you cut upen
aleph, to extract the epsilon,
   disregarding the alpha the lambda or
the phi (φ)?
these ancient people are all the same...
the greeks are gay with their φ & θ -
   ε & η or o & ω...
         just like the hebrews with their gemini
zodiac orientation of ayin (ע) & aleph (א‎)...
sure, these languages are classic,
but they're also primitive,
which is why the "barbarians" brought
diacritical distinctions to rome,
                       enforcing it, stabilising it (it being
the latin, you can't even begin to imagine
how thankful they were to have
ditched the runic).

- i'm still fascinated by the geometry of language,
R actually does look like rolling...
   O is always going to be a wheel,
and Y will always remain a yew tree,
or the beginning of satan's entry into
the world of talk.
Ehyeh Osher Ehyeh
  God to Moses
  Exodus 3:14*

I am who I am,
and I am not
when I am not.
I have given up
on those I made
and now an attendant
in Hubbard's parking lot.

I turned you over to
my only son, but he
found you spiteful
and not much fun.

So this is just
to let you know
that neither of us care
much for you anymore.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
that the EU was over... i could have told you...
way back in 2004...
when the "project" expanded by a gravity
of 8...
             plain and simple...
                   thank you - dear west...
                      sprechen deutsch!
nein!
              sprrrrr-ECHEN deuTsch!
danke - liebe abend...
                                         liebe... abend...
the hounds and the workers from under
the curtain...
with iron teeth and bones and smiles...
  the hounds...
                   i composed a list...
                  almost all of them are the former
conscripts of the WarshauPakt...
                    the idea was... though...
to postpone their entry... to... strenghten
the common currency... the shared currency...
zu stärken die währung!
    too bad... well... the british would never
exchange fiat or gold... without Lizzy's face
donning the coinage or paperaeroplanes
of in-debted over spending...
           i do live on debit...
i'm trying to get a credit card...
since... i heard... all credit can be regained...
a credit is a safety-net -
   debit tenticles into your details and there's
very or little chance to argue against:
a zombie affair of debit -
an amazon 30-day free trial...
                it's not like they'd cut you off...
they'll keep on *******...
god forbid... vampirism... and the romance of...
a bit like a h.i.v. epidemic...
     illness of the blood...
   vampires are a romance...
      time to get on the bicycle and practice
a run through the village on a whim
of ****** hunger... about to be tested...
a single currency...
well... the germans always loved the idea
of a unified Europe...
              unlucky for them... they weren't
supposed to gain access to Charlemagne...
        but even Nietzsche cites this ambition...
too bad... there was no... scandinavian model
of teaching: an omni-present bilingualism...
or a switzerland model of at least three languages...
hardly... possible... when dealing on the outskirts
with: hissy-fit proponents of culture...
when the ottomans came, the mongols...
a list of the EU expansion:
the baltic states would cower and...
some if not all... do have the shared currency...
just out of the blue...
the tri-colour... why is the german football team
attired in teutonic knight colours?
oh i can just see it...
   a black shirt... red shorts... and yellow socks...
as emblematic as the fwench...
    unlike the Italians in blue...
oddly enough i don't associate rome with blue...
more... purple and red...
even the irish don't exactly show off their
terrible orange...
        schwarz und weiß:
                  arbeit macht frei... it's all a very german
"thing": this unification of europe...
why call it the EU at all...
   why not call it...       the vierte *****?!
         well... however long it lasted... it outlasted
the dream of Barbarossa invested in through
heat-leer...
                          i won't deny that i live
in england... but... it's sometimes worrying
too...
           never mind that... the currency...
well... i know of: the czechs with their koruna
the hungarians have their forint
  the polacks have their złoty
    and the invested amour of the germans...
for the swedes... the swedes still have
their krona... how many is, that? i count...
                               4...
                   the new... "european" enclave
into russia... whatever the **** and unnatural
was... the vicinity around Kaliningrad...
the same ****: different cover with...
estonia, latvia... lithuania all in the euro single
currency... the good old days of the teutonic
knights waging their northern crusades...

the slovakians were duped too...
               the romanians still have their leu...
the bulgarians still have their lev...
            oh mein gott! what of the projected...
sleeping beuaty entry... of the former yugoslavia
territory? was that... planned for...
2004... 2007... what the hell happened in... 2010?!
what happened in 2010 that didn't connect
Greece to... Italy via a shortcut across the Adriatic?!

but they enlarged... the... cartoon post-"soviets"
came out flinging **** and rusty spare parts...
some would catch a nail some a *****...
to pick vegetables, do the roofing... the plumbing for...
very important and riddled western:
"chauvinists" and... "neanderthal" journos of the great
snooze...

can it really be... deemed... "journalism" as
it mere partakes in... the chihuahua and lackeys
of the editorial? of the opinion pieces?
are they the ones to soften the blow of a harsh...
editorial... ahem... re-a(h)-lee-tea?

what was all this hype and envy for attention
when Brexit happened...
relentless... one trough of dog **** and canines
and minced maggot flesh for the lap dogs
to slurp... another baron of: for those idle hands...
work! the crown... or in terms of terms...
kabbalah: the keter... ehyeh asher ehyeh...

today i asked myself...
what does make h. p. lovecraft original...
in the ocotpus riddled godhead...
i asked myself that question when looking
at very finely sculpted from tree figures
of elephants... and...
an octopus godhead...
            well... and there's... Ganesha...
  which... is a bit like the russian name: Nikita...
you have one Nikita in that video of Elton
John... but then... you know it's not the Nikita
of teenage boy wetdreams...
but some Khrushchev...

      anything from the seas... perhaps...
except for seeing a whale... a fish that... needs
to snorkel... and it's BoB or bOb with gills
plucking out Os from bubbles...
                        in that: -xygen...
                             what can be so... possibly...
horrid and original within the confines
of h. p. lovecraft's imagination beside...
the descriptive allure...
                        as man i couldn't conjure up...
nothing as spectacular,
imaginative and yet... somehow... sensible...
as an elephant's head...
                     i bring the hindu head of an elephant
to compete with the anglo-saxon priest
of the depths of existential angst...
     i bring my elephants head before the octopus
attached to a body...
                 i can imagine much worse...
              but i'll use the fear of the octopus
and the leftover ink...
                             the EU was dead in 2004...
perhaps these isles wouldn't be throwing such
a hissy fit of self-congratulatory gluttony
of gloating over the defeated...
       it wouldn't have happened if there was:
currency of one's own...
               the rest will happen... naturally...
of the countries that still have their currency...
they still have their sovreignity...
i'm not into bull-crap stipends of talking
politico and sharpening pencils and folding
pieces of paper...
                       it was dead when...
                              the labour market opened...
and "our" best postcards... "our" best people decided
to leave the nest...
             2004 was a siesmic shift...
back in 1994 i was a token slav...
       hell... back in 2002 i was a token slav...
                 after 2004... i was no longer a token slav...
and because, after all... the british people
are omni-good... glutten-free eating
dickens reading cricket lovers...
        there is absolutely nothing criminal to be
associated with...
                     well... imagine a st. peter of mongolia!

what became apparent after 2004...
returning to those friendships prior... in school...
i somehow had a reputation of a patriarch...
the mood suddenly changed...
i was... the good exponent...
then the bad exponent... then all the bad exponents...
compared the beatles': i am the walrus
with... killing joke's: i am the virus...
as a side-note...

                  there wouldn't be a Brexit...
without the pound...
                       the pound predetermined the success
of the referendum...
it's almost as easy as frying pancakes...
not... if Britain was buying toothpaste
or shoelaces in euros...
for me it's still the most obvious... cheap victory...

the call for self-determination and
sovreignity... well that's all nice and Pickwican...
but the money already had the loudest
voice... and it was in the minoty of
a single pound...

it still feels like a cheap victory...
              a load of bureaucratic papers -
hardly a signature of **** on should they be worth
that of toilet paper and a wipe:
no nation's sovreignity is ever questioned:
when its currency is the ultimate authority -
unshaken...
and in europe? there are still a few left...
with the same integrity of currency...
4...

      whatever happened to the spaniards'
colonial past? where did the money go to?
               doesn't matter...
the satellite hounds of the former soviet empire:
having to integrate into the german-lands...
was always going to be a bad idea...
a sore denial of leaving a dozen plums
"wandering" from chin to cheek and elsewhere...
it's hard to imagine...
that a people would somehow come from
under one handlers...
and readily agree to new handlers...
and a "capital"... in Brussels?!
of all places... Brussels?!

        geographically speaking... where
is the centre of Europe? at best Dresden...
Toruń... Prague... at worst... Brussels... Dublin...

or coming from a town that once could
boast about... a cohort 30,000 metallurgy workers
in its metallurgy plants...
diminished... to... 3,000...
what's 30,000 roughly multiplied by:
a wife and two children? 100,000 circa...
move to elsewhere in Poland...
or move elsewhere in general...
ah... the love of obstacles... a language to acquire...
well... here's the prior-mentioned
acquisition...

       looks like i haven't been such a bad
host... after all...
clearly it - the host and "parasite" can
relate to a song in quasi-finnish:
täppmarschen!
                
          of the people "supposed" to be...
none and all were not... supposed to be...
even with the dreams of german
19th century recluses akin to nietzsche...
who... if being put under the scrutiny of
Mr. Dickens...
would be found as being bound
to the style of stenography of a... mr. alfred jingle...

nothing more! nothing more of this
already questionable affair of sods
and sorts!
               didn't... just a little bit... couldn't
nietzsche be... put on trial for
writing in stenography? high-brow and
brows indeed raised: should any more
sycoiphancy relating to the style...
be found upon this "trial of errs and errors"...
the englishman... if not the most...
trialed by witness...
    the most... sympathy sodden sobrerity...
as with requiring him to be drunk...
he starts to play the rascal
with a ******* slingshot... and never:
the poached egg in a barrel of whiskey...
never that... pensive: brood quote...

i only wished that i had lived
about / among the pobl Gymraeg...
well... who can wish otherwise...
                   Cymry... when there's me
attempting to sharpen the chisel of my oyster's
worth of tongue in speech and none
of it reserved to the dog oyster's worth
of performing the suitable, otherwise...
personages of oral found in the gutter
or in the ***** of Venus... should her floral
womb open for: vaccanies:
only onomatopoeias and vowel catching
brothers H and H of the tetragrammaton
allowed in!

just because it's Cornwall...
doesn't imply i will not come with...
                                                      Çymru!
no point a base in Loon'don if York is left
intact and with only two left hands
to govern it...
     even now...
                lepiej dmuchać na zimne:
better safe than sorry...
eh... pity that proverb...
since there's no connotation
of the joke... it is better to blow on the cold...
tea...

      and what of my time among
the Picts... well... that truly is a sort of...
muslim man mentality toward a woman
wearing a niqab...
            it's one of those: for your eyes only...
shady strings... perhaps the lute is involved...
t-shirt madmen...
in the middle of February...
on... the north bridge... and just below:
waverley station...

                     only last night i had a dream
of inspecting sketches of me...
with a 6-pack... long hair...
and the hands that scratched my love-handles
when they had their torso pinned
to a trojan thumping in a *******...
she's still a ghost of mine...
every time i want to forget her...
she resurfaces...
  it's like... kissing a frog...
                       i am the ******* frog...
and she is... the sitting, poised...
always less alarmed than usual: Akhmatova...
one of those women that i could:
actually... i still do... **** of on a regular basis...
she was my Aria Giovanni...
she became my Eve Angel...
                in between she's a compliment
of cubism is (you read that right...
of cubism is and not of cubism in)...
   her bagel of a nose... and she is myopic and
she's a troll short...
                she'd find a kippah on her head
under my chin... then again...
when she had short hair she was the only
tom-boy in edinburgh to steal...
              looks like the hopes for a... an engagement
afresh... well... she morphed into
the grant Tsarina and i am...
the next *******-master of a Потёмкин...
                               i am also delusional about:
my currency of metaphors...
god... mother... nation...
                      what are these...
when you have made it... and are a citizen of...
Monte ******* Carlo?!
when i think of father... eh...
well there could be an outlet of metaphors...
but then... there's that quote that mentions
Elijah... and i'm all knees and pearly gates please...
primo et pronto!

point proven... i can't exactly love another
woman... i can **** anything that moves...
etc.,
        but it's not exactly love to begin with...
it's that genius of reciprocated nihilim...
i began to live for the promise of:
and i will spend a tenner with charles III
***** on a banknote...
before the next pope does a kicker in one
of death's lamborghinis: feet first out
of the church congregation of:
              i didn't come here to praise caesar...

         but here a coffin... and an abudance
of toothpicks! sometimes... it would seem...
one doesn't have the necessary wealth...
as there simply can't be "too many" teeth
when the economy and ergonomics of toothpick
application is concerned...

oh that victorian laissez-faire of applied
language... it's not short... it's Pickwican...
it's... insinuating an extension of the bracket of
inclusion of informality...
a commonality of staging a cordiality
with a dwarf... strapped to... a song...
no less... rotes harr... i can see these devilish
imps chained to a carousel of this infernal
dance... and there is no greek-god
of the german-romance myth in sight...
for that... sort of sell-by-date nostalgia...
a rotten apple... a a Helga for a lover...
and a Helmut for a luvvy-dubby-shy-bud
of a limp whittle 'ichard!

- she's like a burning splinter in my mind...
of a body... that's all but cemented into
the hands of a sculptor that only works
with copper, brass, marble or... custard for brains...
and this burning...
again to Sophia with all the baggage of
a priori...
or Medussa with all that comes with shadows
of... frozen suitors to fashion
****** from...
her entourage of suitors... three coronations
of engagements down...
however many lovers...
me and my brothel sand-pitting to the best
kept secret of:
a leverage of two bodies embracing
for minor pundit approval...
the man of supposed lies...
the deceiving harrower...
                      
god and this leeching telepathic embrace...
"god", this telepathic embrace...
and the subsequent telekinesis of me
writing these words...
last time i had this murmur...
i came to aid as she was cutting her hands
down the Nile...
and... not exactly at the crux of...
the Hoover Dam... shame... a great shame really...

so be it... as it has always been...
whispers and grains of sand
passed toward the post-office of the wind.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
the ancient greeks
would call
asia's mysticism
nothing more
than a tautology...

tao:

the tao that can be
named,
is not the eternal
tao...

i see one tao:
the best way
you can help
the world,
is to forget the world,
and let the world
to forget you...

like some Irish
poet once wrote;
who was it?

ah!
louis macneice
in ehyeh asher ehyeh...

in der beginn
und der ende
der nur dezent definition
ist tautologie:
mann ist mann,
   frau frau,
    und baum baum,
und welt... welt...


which is the basic
principle of asiatic
"mysticism"...
der ding dass ist, ist...
und der ding dass nicht ist:
         ist
nein-ist,
                  
aber nicht: nein!

watching Swedish drama
i took to understand
the difference between
nein and nicht:
and nichts...

circus of nouns...
Asiatic mysticism -
tautology...

            nein ist nicht ein absolut
    nein:

   the Asiatic folk
spiced it all up
with an addition of
adjectives... nichts mehr...

how can i have
an opinion about England,
not being an Englishman?
sidenote...

i'm no migrant exotica,
i am not luxury:
given that i am economic...
hence
my desire to hide
in German,
whenever i can,
while entertaining
the use of English...

i can't have an opinion
about England,
because i am not an Englishman
and the Englishman's
opinion is worth:
jack-****...

              out of curiosity,
i watch,
and... too apprehensive
about waiting
i forget to wait...

         wenn da eine nachleben:
ich hoffen zu spreschen
deutsche...

i was born in Poland...
so...
what do sie denken my
meinung of England är,
given that i'm not an Englishman
and i'd föredra to speak
Deutsche
after death,
than be plagued by
this acquired tongue?

i don't have an opinion
worthy of it being designated
as having accommodation
to encompass said land,

    i'm only here in passing:
i wish!

              but for not being
a pompous brat,
my servitude is that of the natives...
of which i am not...
hence my minor
ploys of escapism in
german...

somehow...
a few words in German
alleviates the burden
of seeing the natives
buckle before
             whoever reigns...

but being white,
i could almost pass off as
a Brit...
i can, and do...
and then on occassion:
i don't.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2022
it's still only the 12th of September and the drink is not working,
maybe half a bottle in and it'll kick-start something,
my phone was off, charging,
i turned it on around 9:30pm... i hate mobile telephones,
i know that people are finding it difficult
to escape from the object's attention-draining-leech-paradigm
but me? i remember all things: old school...
stationary objects... perfect stasis of the telephone
and even those old telephones you could stand alongside
Chris Rock doing a sketch of in Lethal Weapon 4...
well... that's beside the point...
   i was cleaning the house: thinking... shouldn't we have
a contract for the upcoming events? well, i did cycle
up to Buckingham Palace from Romford only yesterday:
lost about 2kg in weight in the process...
could i get in past the queues with a bicycle? fat chance,
i.e. no chance...
    switched my telephone on: ooh! what's this?!
Lyndon: are you available on the 14th and the 19th?
i checked some other thread...
of this month? that's no tomorrow, that's the day after?
what the hell is so impor.... ah! TANT...
  she's coming down from Edinburgh...
14th is going to be big... **** me... the 19th is going to
be even bigger...
lucky for me i found €90 in my drawer...
   plus i already have £60 in my wallet...
so that's me ******* off to the brothel after these two shifts!
lucky me! i'll be part of history: not that i'm
not already: but hell knows... maybe they'll put
me in a spot where they need a camera-friendly face...
tall... you know... typical *******...
i might be even a sniff's whiff away from the coffin being
detailed from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey...
so i replied: so this is for the Big Send Off of ol' Lizzie?
i'd be daft if i didn't accept the shifts...
7am sign in at Charing Cross St.? if it was a 7am
sign in time for a football match,
like it was supposed to be this passing Saturday:
i told them "*******"... not for a football match: no chance
in hell: plus we're talking Putney Bridge:
taking that ****** District "sloth" Line is not for my sort
of adrenaline palette...
oh man: i haven't listened to this record in a... long time...
the last time i listened to Jane's Addiction's Strays
i was in a middle of a field with a knife and a bottle of whiskey...
trying to commit myself to ハラキリ:
yes, i do know the difference between ハラキリ and
seppuku... the former does not allow any dignitaries:
no superior standing over you with a katana to decapitate
your head and "shove it up your ***"...
i was that desperate, from time to time...
as you get desperate not having any visible public
presence: no work, no money, no ***...
you think about: the last song i will ever hear...
when i perform the right of ハラキリ... spilling my bowels
onto the ground among the pebbles and wheat shafts...
or hanging... i dare say i'd probably die with a hard-on
when dangling: just like that...
or walking into a petrol station and "greasing" myself
up with some petrol: lighting myself up before walking
into the oncoming traffic and getting hit by a truck...
oh: i've been to these places of the mind...
they're like art galleries...
i revisited one of these galleries only recently:
on Sept. 3rd... at the London gig in memory of Taylor Hawkins
(no relation to Stephen, Stephen and his "disability"
while cruising around: "didn't **** himself")...
who?! Epstein Island... sure... but that's understandable:
although, no... i like doughnut sized plump plum WOO-MEN...
not tiny ******* tarantula geishas of puberty...
ugh! get me away from such specimens! shiver...
insert a hieroglyph for disgust...
i look at these sort of women and think:
i'd break her... too bad for my beard envy...
never mind my ***** envy... it sort of diminishes
when i forget about the size of my hands...
everything looks small and tender when i grasp "it" with them...

yeah: he (who? Stephen) really had all my sympathies...
it's just like with prostitutes: all the beautiful ones
perform the profession...
i kneel before them... they smoke cigarettes before
******* blah blah...
next time? on the 14th? i'm going to take a different
approach... i'm going to, "****" her... whoever
it is: i'm running out of choices: i need to find a new brothel...
she'll start talking... nope...
i'll take the bra off off her... her knickers too...
i'll force her onto the bed
and then pretend i'm eating oysters with my eyes
wide open...
**** it...
the times call for it... i'l be up at 4am.... i'll leave the house
at 5am to get for a 7am shift until:
**** me... 7pm... 12 hours....
tiredness makes me so *****: death and misery makes
be doubly oh so *****...
cider makes me *****...

Stone Temple Pilots' Art School Girlfriend:
memory... eating fried chicken and listening to that song
and some Red Hot Chili Peppers while my now
estranged uncle (my mother's brother) was cleaning
his Porsche... oh well: either **** happens or **** doesn't
happen... best prepare for a waiting game...
just at every opportunity you can get...

i'll **** all of them... i'm already missing one in the arsenal...
the one with the glasses...
****-hurt, am i? you'd need to talk to my grandmothers...
one: on the maternal side...
only called me to inform me of my best friend's passing
a day before he passed away...
there's no excuse! phones work both ways!
there's never a caller and a called-on...
he was dying for a month... she made him feel like
i didn't feel crap for him...
she called me when it was no longer available to see him!
since he was isolated in the confines of a hospice:
but she made him feel like i didn't care for him!
i would have been straight up there:
picking up his **** and what not...

so... why do i over-value the value of prostitutes?!
that's the valuable essence of prostitution:
you can't sink any lower, can you? well... "lower":
you can, sink, much lower... as a man... but not as a man...
getting wed to a beached whale...
my god, i've seen a few of those...
i'm verging on every sensible limit before
i'm just ready to puke...
it's unconscious: there's no social standard of awareness
when i see these stick-insect men of "form"
with those BLOBS...
i'm like: thank **** i had enough sense to visit enough
women in order to NOT settle on this "sacred" BUT one...
oh my god...

thirsty men... fair enough... they get their archaic genealogy
project happening... their "genes": whatever the ****
that means... the children be wearing glasses?
so? aquarium category of men... short-eyed...
bad bones? not too high? DIABTES: oh... mate...
that's a real killer... i'd rather pass on my genes to a *******
that a beached whale... a big abhorrent JABBA THE HUT
sort of "body"... resembling less body and more "structure"...
because: with those dimensions...
i'd require a museum hall to stash that sort of:
it's not a relationship... it's a ******* spectacle:
it's a state-funeral!

tender my ******* ***: let me sit on some hot charcoals
and jump up exclaiming some quote of Cicero's invest!
ugh... Americans... i hate the accent...
Empire does that to people: they're so, so... so solipsistic...
they approach everyone like they're their servants...
******* ugly YANKEES...
we're not talking American "royalty"...
we're talking American commoners... ******* solipsists...
sure... if you've been fighting rock-throwers
of Afghanistan with machine-guns...
the next big threat that's Russia is... ha ha:
you what?!
oh... evil genius ****** an evil ******: hey presto:
Russia was born!

i abhor Russophobia...
                          i abhor Russophobia like i abhor:
western, white womens' fetish for African love partners...
what?! i'm drunk... i write honestly when i drink...
i'd sooner side with the Arabs than allow the CUCKS
into my cognitive ranks of: the army derived from the pleasure
of thought...

what the **** is wrong with the Russians?!
what the **** is wrong with you?!
oh... wait... "apparently" this great big: "nothing"...
my god... this Afghan "Jamie" gave me a proper
stinker... each time i open the drawer...
my god... what a stinker...
i think i'll smoke the rest of it on the 14th...
no... the 19th... anyway... i'll be at the brothel
either day... given i found the spare €90...

i'll start hovering for the Afghan hash...
   who knows: maybe i'll get lucky... the Queen:
my sovereign just died... i might as well drink and get high:
i haven't been high for well over 10 years...
the President of America dies... so?
the Pope dies... so?
Margaret Thatcher died: so?
         ah... but ol' Queenie, ol' Lizzie dies...
come on..

    yes: i am a monarchist... it's a beautiful semblance of
what constitutes authority:
the actual symbolism of it: rather than the actuality
of its non-authority is what makes it so special!
any idiot ought to be able to see that:
any dim / half-wit... for ****'s sake... ought to give
her stature the desirable recognition! well: in passing...

i know:  swear a lot... i also drink a lot:
i also like to think that i **** a lot given any available
opportunity that i have to ****...
although: you can't really drink enough,
as you can't write enough...
or for that matter: **** enough...
not when watching *******:
that's an American invention... me?
brick walls... meditation... clouds... noble swans...
i certainly avoid video games:
i've started to avoid watching movies...
music: prickly... i'm getting more and more picky...
nothing new: nothing popular...

recently i watched a video of a guy who...
ha ha... bought a lobster in a supermarket
and turned it into a pet... Luke? Liam? **** knows:
sure as **** the nick's worth of Lucky: for a lobster...
i had a "pet" fox for about a month...
fed him leftover dinners for that period of time...
he stopped coming: maybe he was run over or:
whatever...
i'd love a pet crow...

i just stopped caring about getting rejected...
   i just went back to the source...
               couple WOMAN with DARWINISM...
FAIL! i'm talking a massive ******* FAIL!
now. ****** yourself...
couple WOMAN with the COPERNICAN REVOLUTION...
what do you get?! SUCCESS!
why? does anyone know the difference
between: ASTROLOGY AND ASTRONOMY?!

ah: ha ha ha!
London: that know destination for all the peoples
of the world: the Jerusalem of the North:
here you will find all tongues of the world being spoken,
here, you will find that i will drape "ownership"
over this "barricade" with a single BREATH:
let alone a word...
i will not speak a single word of authority
over these lands...
i will claim them with a breath in my "delusional"
circumstance as i go about: "fixing the roof"...
the constellations are: "a bit wonky"...

i write these words without having endeavoured
to collect my dues from the high-jackers that
are magic mushrooms...

enough of psychiatry! enough of the drugging
of masculinity! ALCOHOL! ******!
MORE ALCOHOL! MORE ******!
i've had, ENOUGH... of this pseudo-castration
policies of:
sure thing... sure sure... the black Martin Luther Jr.,Sr...
whatever cam clap about the **** of their
"sisters": **** me: perhaps all the white girls
have a black-man fetish... i get it: they are actually
handsome... but? why can't i reciprocate?
i don't want to **** black women...
"racist" if i do, "racist" if i don't?!
ha ha!

        perfume me akin those lyrics from David
Bowie's Rebel Rebel:
ha! !god! save "they" gracious kueen...
    king?! eh? queen? qing... we're talking about
a Chinese dynasty?! they him / or / her?
in the glitter of the shadows: escaping from the castle
of the night: i ask the question:
in the realm of the Three Kings...
quis es? quo vadis?
    who are you? where are you going?
i always having to leverage this sentence with
"my" anaesthesiologist...
last time i uttered this sentence:
i was having my wisdom tooth pulled out:
i asked him before the snooze:
quis es? quo vadis?!
i asked the question like i might ask the moon:
quid: ad hoc... in situ... nox ergo qualis... cur vos?!

trouble travels far... peace is left secured
and closer to home...
there's too much jealousy in the world...

HIC AETERNUS LINGUA: this language will
never die... not the scribbling details...
unto God i give the Hebrew scribbles and the Arabic
and the Sanskrit scribbles...
unto me? the LATIN TEXT...
we will "learn" to "share"...
                               i will not give up these tongues
composed through these letters...
better my death before i give Serbia up to your
"next" Ottoman onslaught! not now! not ever!
mine! mine!

these children: are: mine!
now... that we... do we have a bargain?! we better have...
consult the Israeli republic of "things"...
i already nicknamed my Maine **** Quarus: ******...
talk to him in meow-meow... i serious don't care...
you ask for a better audience...you're note getting them!
i came among them! i listened to them!
i: worshipped, them! i, was, rejected, by them!
now? i'm accustomed to their ways...
eh... traffic: something... that's what they are, to me:
TRAFFIC, SOMETHING;
this! is! the basis! of what's! supposed! to be!
retrospective! of! what's! supposed! to be made! exemplar! of humanity! but! nonetheless! isn't!!
sure sure: let's just ******* FAKE IT... let's just: FAKE IT!
******* galore from where? most probably lazy ***
Somalia.... it's jot even "racist" by now:
just racial predictability... Somalians are either pirates
or lazy-***-munchers; it's not a ******* "mystery"...
like the god "himself" uttered: ehyeh asher ehyeh...

WHAT?1 PROBLEM?! WHITE GIRL PROBLE-
  some bM?
DON'T ******* TALK TO ME ABOUT
WHITE GIRL"PROBLEMS"!

some "baron" of a rhythm:, huphm!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
the ontology of an electron:

    IV

             VI

4 and 6...

            V, i.e. something
in between...

      ein tanz...

a flicker or a snap
of the fingers:

full-stop;

   a complete
lack of compound
word-ings...

  most: hyphen riddled
pseudos.

- and a history as
a history with the sole
allowance
of an etymological
compendium -

            otherwise
a friction of the fission(s)
of character
developments /
assassinations -

huddle-some...
new entry,

dictionary = bible...

bible?
poetry taken
too literaly...
too literaly?
     coin flip's worth
of:

        bang on
'd' 'ed;
                   that's d'eh
not dee'.

alias?
  semi-colon
as a post scriptum...

εύρηκα! εύρηκα!
εγω -
how can a pronoun
predicate a verb?!

       βρέθηκαν τo!

isn't that... self-explanatory?!

εύρηκα!
εγω βρέθηκαν εγω!

well, in the heap of
books i've read...
(past participle,
or in general:
a colour, i R 'ed...
          )                       perfect slot...

B R E THI KAN

a history as a history of words...
static, a history of
the crow: only agitated by
t. d. hughes...

    ich: ein schattenhirte...

have no man soul?
so man has no shadow...
the same theological
rubric alliance
along the lines
of: prior to the discovery
of the tarantula:
all spiders were architects!

have - not has...
              have -
to have: verb...
              in possession of...
permanent...
translation: temporal:
coordinate inclusion
of pre in- & post...

   haben mann nei(n) seele?
so mann hat nei(n) schatten!

the N is optional...
i find the German more,
Schumann-esque
appealing...
   with it, being... "optional"...

schön! wenn gott
    können stand
     auf die pronomen daß:
                ich bin jeder seite...

how would Moses react,
if, tilting from the years,
the clarity of

   ehyeh asher ehyeh

   became
      
                  eh asher yeh...        

of god and bad grammar,
and some german,
"sure"...
the holocaust...
but preceding it?

die tod von seele...

  littered:
the outrage compilation
of voices given into
rubric of a semi-count...

and they burned
    ... and the baige and the gray...
to the Jews there's
the Holocaust...
to fellow European?

there's the... Erstaunen...
"the"... huh?!
   the Germans?
the same people who reaped
Yiddish?!
    
sum-thin' woont wong...
                
if god deems it worthy
to speak cryptic grammar...
  my resolve : and reply -
so so...

               deemed by
some...
     ein...

             wortsalat...

  entertain an arab and a ******,
but decree it necessary
for a fellow European
"to be" a schizophrenic...

                i don't mind...
the fantasy of a preserved
contionuum of genes...
of translating
                past events
via atoms into genes...

(aren't genes just bogus
terms for solid, cold,
static units of atom(s)?)

              i can play the role
of the mentally ill...
but your Africaan ****
better be up for
heaving out
a dozen of the copper
Adonis wonder-craft
chiles.

            i'm on the way out,
pwowd boy of
the Dodo Project...
   and?

       there's that nagging
suspicion i find
in atheists...
accumulating their
concerns
   in cultural darwinism...
and genes...
talking...
talking genes...

              ******* bewildering...

once you're dead...
you're dead!

                       deviating from
all if any -ad!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
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i sort of lied when i said that i don't dream:
but it was a white lie -
i do... but with the frequency of a solar eclipse...
that's why i prefer saying: i just sleep...
but sometimes... i wake up: but on the snooze
button for, say... about an hour...
and i fall into a gentler sleep: nothing too deep
where the body rests... blink a few times to catch
some sunlight and then hope...
just one more hour... maybe i'll conjure something
up...

           i was lucky today...
that code above? it's for a right angle triangle...
i remember this dream from... ages ago...
i was on a *****: ergo... it must have been a right-angle
triangle... right at the bottom...
and i dreamt that i was running backwards and
forwards on this *****...
while... sheep-like creatures were rolling down
the *****... followed by demonic-like creatures
chasing after them with scythes...
chopping their heads off... but...
i had the duty of saving these sheep-like creatures
from a fate mush worse... a fate worse
than getting your head chopped off?
behind me: nothing... an abyss... non-existence
or... as the Biblical translation puts it:
you get to meet God... you are not coming back...
into anything, even remotely resembling
either a heaven or a hell...
   and since nothing: the word itself... is categorised
as... a pronoun... nothing once said:
ehyeh asher ehyeh... so... any more "pronoun" debates
on the plural market of they?
hell... i already absorbed some of this propaganda...
if i had a twitter (****-er) account: in my bio
i would write a royal spoof: preferred pronouns...
one, we...                 there... sorted...
the royal route...

                      people really have degenerated English
grammar very quickly... i'm not even native to
this language and i have more respect for it
than the natives... and... whatever the **** they're
doing with it: it being disgusting...

if you don't respect your language... well...
who the hell is going to take you seriously: in other matters?

but i was truly lucky today... for that one hour
i... i ******* managed to conjure up a dream...
well... when i say: i... it wasn't really me...
        i was sent a postcard from a "celestial power"
that said: well... you're not going to be the sleepwalker
Joseph... but here's a taste of that sort of power...

i found myself sitting on my couch... watching...
the Indian Wells men's final...
Nadal vs. Fritz... i already watched the women's
final Sakkari vs. Świątek -
so i'm supposedly watching the men's final...
because: like hell if i'm going to stay up till 4am
to watch that...
   i look around to my left... moths?
first i checked the meaning of dreaming of moths...
no... wait... it wasn't night-time...
i could see clearly... after all... the men's final
was in the high Californian afternoon...
i wasn't dreaming of sitting downstairs literally
watching the match...
it was daytime...               ah... butterflies...
i can't remember how many... but they were just
fluttering around a vase of flowers...
and some... weird looking cloud of...
    dried leaves... like a glib... was moving with them...
like a jellyfish... like a this like a that blah blah...
and i remember saying in the dream:
what ****'s this?! i have butterflies in my house
randomly fluttering in circles...

obviously since i said something i had
to follow it up by doing what i thought i'd never do...
this had to be an archetypical dream...
nothing truly personal but rather universal...
i.e. not particular... since... like the colour red...
the butterfly is a universal "thing"...
like a dog is... a dog is universal...
an Alsatian is a particular...
                        butterflies... so i looked it up...
wow... oh, cool... i get it... i did write about butterflies
i.e. the metaphorical sensation of falling in love...
yesterday with the sly **** having fire in my eyes
and fire on my face and cold-sweats all over my torso
before i gave "birth" to that abomination...
i get it... this ties in with... my attitude towards women...
i'm transformed beyond belief...
        
    how else would to interpret receiving a dream
of butterflies... dreams, i believe, don't work around
the Cartesian proposition: cogito ergo sum...
i think dreams work in reverse: sum ergo cogito...
i'm dreaming... i wake up... now i have to think about it...
Nietzsche made a footnote: but in the lucid waking
hours of his day... completely ******* wong...
sorry... wrong... perhaps some people are deluded
enough to think they're the architects of their dreams...
a delusion that extends into them having recurrent
dreams... duplications... they think they're the dream
conjurers... they're not... dreams are sent...
you're always on the receiving end... that's why you
get to interpret them: get a postscript angle on
the meaning... i was lucky with this archetypical dream...
there was clear enough symbolism to work with...

that being said: my attitude towards women...
at 35... meeting women of similar age is... rather a revelation
in itself... they have already made their beds...
they're either single mums...
well... Jeminah was... is...
she was probably impregnated by some older
guy in the financial realm of careers...
he pumped her and dumped her...
then she started growing old(er) and figured...
play the cougar card... she met her ex-boxing champ
through her son... her son was friends with
another kid in primary school... who had an older
brother... blah blah...
                beta-not-many-bucks-deluxe...
women: men are supposed to feel ashamed of
having parents... that's what i never understood...
i have to... forgo having my own parents...
so i can have a relationship with a woman
and thereby reject my parents... in order to embrace
her parents?! i need... ******* surrogates?!
well... it worked for my father...
since his parents rejected him and he was raised
by his grandmother and her second husband...
sure... it works perfectly for a man
if his parents are not in the picture...
if he was raised by his grandparents...
but the whole idea of... breaking away from your
father and mother... to be with a woman...
all the while as her gravity pulls you toward
her parents... this whole son-in-law *******:
very unbecoming to simply shun your own
origins... sure... perhaps my mentality is that
i'm being "clingy"... i wasn't raised by my father
from the age of 4 through to 8...
or by my mother from the age of 6 through to 8...

clearly there's a gap... but...
just giving up on an "alliance" like that...
in order to satisfy a woman's needs of HER being
clingy to her parents... a man's parents simply
fizzle out... well then... the woman can fizzle out...
if she's armed with all this ******* feminist propaganda:
i don't need no man... good...
it's not the 19th century... there's no Jack the Ripper
mentality out "there"...
            there's a shaming tactic in reverse...
men vs. men... what's generally termed: simping...
paying E-girls for bath-water... perhaps even a sample
of her glorious juice that's only really her ****...
strip-clubs... well... unless you were me in Athens...
with two strippers either side of me... snuggling...
giggling...
           touch touch... you're going to be spending
money anyhow... i don't want to spend money
on food... i want to spend money for an hour's worth
of intimacy... no dating game...
hell... if she gives you a line of ******* to boot:
not that it did anything for me... i prefer my cognac,
my bourbon, my ms. whiskers - all the right spirits...
and hey... *** olympics are good to go...

   recently i've picked up strange adverts...
erectile dysfunction *******... if i'm not in the mood...
i'm not in the mood... my phallus doesn't have
an inbuilt on/off switch... i have to prep myself
to perform in the bedroom... lucky me for not getting
it regularly... i stop drinking... i ******* without
******* a few days prior... i do concentrated
cardiovascular bicycling sessions... i try to relax...
and then i go in for the ***...
it's a bit like... the comfort of being married:
but sleeping in separate beds...
      
         obviously i can't **** shame any woman
if i'm celebrating my "campaign" with prostitutes...
"body count": that sort of died a long time ago...
i like well worn leather anyway...
mandible beauty... virgins seem tense... frigid...
ergo: i'm no Jack the Ripper... it's not the 19th century
where one starts killing prostitutes...
one celebrates them...
           why? well... if the remaining "available" women
are all single mums... or they have a bad credit score...
in shambles of debt raised by their ex-boxing-champs:
didn't she (Jeminah) mention that he went
to rehab in Thailand?
          **** me... i tried psychiatrists once...
or rather: they tried me... i was usually interviewed
by a professional and a budding student...
i was a case study most of the time...
          they couldn't figure me out... i was never subjected
to the confines of a mental institution...
they... i guess... just let me roam...
they let me loose upon society...
           and my my oh my... what a bunch of fun years
that has been...

but i did tell on psychiatrist...
  i'm reading Kant, Heidegger, Kierkegaard,
R. D. Laing... no... not all at once...
i'm getting my armour ready...
                there's absolutely no chance i'm going
to lose myself in fantasy literature...
i'm not going to be day-dreaming since:
i dream so little... i'm going to be attempting
to chase dreams...
               i was lucky today...
   hmm...           huh?          ha!
                     who would have thought...
                              of all creatures... butterflies...
i'm not even going to look up dreaming of an elephant...
better still... imagine dreaming up a mammoth;
anyway... this is already proving to be a bountiful day.
Qualyxian Quest Jun 2019
I thought I was seeking God
and truly I still am

but I was also seeking words
for instance, Alakazam

Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh
in Hebrew is the Great I Am

Do I wish God was a Beautiful Woman?
Here in Carolina I’d say, Yes, Ma’am
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2023
i haven't "weaponised" my drinking to turn it
into writing, proper, for some time,

there's this riddle in Latin,
because i won't be looking for the words
in Hebrew, so i'll unravel
the saying in Latin,

working from ehyeh asher ehyeh,
i am that i am: toward...
i am who is...

        but god is the Holocaust
is... ego sum quod (that) /
         ut (as) - ego sum

  not who he is...
   transgender bereavement...
   since trans-racialist affairs happened prior,
Cat Stevens had a Greek Cyprus father
and a Swedish mother...

Napoleon Napoleon: best new soundtrack
for a movie...

****... i'll really need a classical
education... ego sum qui es...
i've been sleeping
i can't weaponise alcohol like i used to
to write...

maybe i've also lived a little and can't catch
the surf of loner writer bollocking,
i have all the house to myself but
it's like: i don't want to push the nuke button,
the red red red red...

there's a dancing fly on my table in
a timid stake of the last remaining light,
i almost think that i've given half of myself
up... better evening than for most
spent in Plato's cave without Homer's
spine...

since Homer's courage for adventure is
almost as crippling to inherit as
Moses' Genesis... crippling for the modern man,
modern, current man, seemingly claustrophobic,
who knows, maybe i'll unwind
and use this amber droplets to unwind,

i'll cite some common reference point,
by now i know there is no "collateral"....
i can drink and smoke some marijuana
and have 20 walls with roof included
to bounce my ego about like it's a match of
squash... i'm used to the darkness - des rocs...

i haven't missed the beauty spots...
today i failed at living a day...
i waited for cat food delivery...
i waited for a plumber...
but i was armed for cycling in the night...
as sun disappears come these days
gone come 4pm...
   i cycled like a serpent constipated by
puff and wind and wizards of feathers
to the proximity of Canary Wharf...
via the bus route 5 towards Canning Town
then back through the muck
towards Barking: demographic check...
stinks of India around here...
but at least it doesn't smell of pickled cabbage
best associated with Germans and Polacks...

mitigating 0-return flow of information...
i can't weaponise words with alcohol,
i thought i could... reading a snippet of:
I, Maximus, of Gloucester, Olson,
my new favourite poet...
but the world is shook-up Stevens and
no... clearly, i don't won't to find myself
happy, somewhat interested in how:

the world with it's buckle i will remain
with my scythe... for the burdens of
harvest are still to yield...

i knew my "unprofessional" scribbles would
suffer should i meet a ms mrs "right"...
and now Hawaii is like a Treasure Island
Black Dot Pirate tattoo, forewarning...

it's still funny to me...
the Hebrews do this magic trick of not speaking
the name of their deity...
while the Muslims hail it appropriate
within the confines of: from what i heard, last?
decapitating the heads of unborn foetuses...
propaganda or... am i going to be the last
surviving horror movie fanatic
fantasist that: membrane of: surely until it
reaches me... but until then:
nothing has happened!              bogus...

kick and scream into the brilliance of the light
of ignorance... as long as someone knows...
as long as someone has experienced
the dark bulging interior of shaking-up
human relations...

call it a grandson of pickles...
Reyla loves pickles...
it bothers me it doesn't bother me...
it bothers the supposed bothered me...
like i might be a pastor's son
with juicy snippets of bad ***...
i started my idea come 9pm... it's almost 10pm...
and i'm almost finished my escapade...
so are the cats...
no angry ***** dishes to boot...

i was born to scale the heights of
salvaging hours of upkeep as a bus driver...
that's all i ever wanted to be...
but it's hard... to do the whole...
Leibniz-librarian anti-Newton push of genius
dynamic... but i like this war...
Newton and the push of intellect-spectacular
into the public domain... contrastic
the reclusive Leibniz...

last time i heard about the current
Nobel prize winner... she was writing something
of what Knausgaard's ambitions would
never achieve...
like prize Homer or the Quran or the Bible
now... in the climate of selling to
the literate-doubly-illiterate...
leprechauns and goats...
      similis of the chin and stroking the beard
for good luck...

       luck           vs.           fate.....

by definition luck is choice...
and fate is will...

i wouldn't say, ignore the world, def(l)ect it,
there's no Cicero in me and any mind
worth of rhetoric...

if we had free will... we wouldn't be calling
out circumstances of hierarchies in
the mind of the mad animal that's man
and not the cat....
we're not free without the cages
we found ourselves, to be trapped in...

i was rereading Nietzsche today at 9am
today...
aphorisms are sometimes better than poems...
now i'll get blind drunk and dunk a blind
pit stop to strap smoking a doodie
to help me count sleep: shleep...

it still bothers me...
why did he say: i am that i am...
instead of saying: i am who is                   (?)
i'm tired of Scandinavian influences of literature...
and i'm tired of translatable new-Englishnessness
of this Molotov-multicultural
load, of, *******, *******!

come 11pm i'll be jacked up ready for sleep
come me, rewatching season 1 of BILLIONS...
only because a poet scrutinises an actor
and an actor is not: a poet, a *******,
a priest, a politician... yet still...
between serious dictatorial weight-gain lifters
of the Chinese and Russian civilization-state
authority and western:

oops-e oops-ah... ******* about?
     under the dictation of a veil
of thespian-journalism?! you, *******... kidding me?

PROFANITY AS THE JUNCTION
OF ALL TRUTHS...
to strut with words as oaths
O **** me... i have the entire house to myself,
Edie, there's no mother no daughter
and there's... sand, time, to begrudge you...
you above a tilting hind, broken leg...

the tired ******* are asking: for this matter
to be either stalled or, resolved...
because the Apocalypse is being stalled...
and by double the definition,
smoked, halted...

           but there's this irrational very rational
love of, love of everything that comes
matching up purple with pink...

     who the **** speaks of the Chinese these days?
the ******* Taiwanese?
the Hong Kongish shrapnel brigadiers?!

news news... north east west south...
oh, i heard it's new hot **** getting streamed....
i'll make sure this writing evaporates when
i smoke a soak of a doodie
when i do...

no Olson-Project in Ezra Pound's sight...
i'm in love, i think i'm in love...
who needs to be,
i love regardless, that i'm stupid...

i love cycling at night...
i have a small ****... but big hands...
i have a small ****... but big hands...
    she swallows...
      a litany, some are words best
constricted to be contained to sentences...

i'll smoke one and entertain
kaleidoscopes...
green and with a frenzy of luminescent
purple teasing blue...
so many serious people:

adjectives of burning surprises
key, word, BOMB BOMB BOMB...
life almost perfect, sober,
on Kauai... so remotely... "it".
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
title - Hittite
body -
high tide:
tight.               502 bad gateway bypass


i woke up absolutely certain that man cannot
imagine: nothing...
i'm almost certain of it...
   sure... man can attempt it by associating
a name to nothing: nothingness...
because that's technically true,
grammatically even more so...
                   nothingness is a noun...
  but: nothing... funny that... it's a pronoun...
and in the current climate...
the climate of upside-down "metaphysics"
of the trans- prefix dynamic of what's "gender"...
i look at it, this way...
   only a god can "imagine" nothing...
or rather...
         even i am basic when i write about wrestling
with my shadow... punching myself in the face...
i have concrete parameters:
there's me and there's a shadow...
   i don't have to imagine a shadow:
since a shadow presents itself before me...
in the lustre of a quicksilver sheen of / on objects
illuminated by the moon...
nothing is the pronoun only a god would use...
i can't imagine the constipation of: there's:
no thing...
   come to think of it... in history...
the godly ***** of genius that impregnated
the minds of ancient Greek men-children
that were the philosophers: who or what implanted
in their minds the notion of atoms?
where did bonsai tigers (id est, cats) come from?
there's no: nothing... except for the pronoun
that a god would use...
           to fight with himself and by fighting himself...
create such a massive *******
of imagination that men feels it... in the aftershock
of having to dream... light so abounding in auspiciousness
that... even his mind during sleep is penetrated
by remnants of ethereal objects...
a light that can burn shadow: if it can invert
the eye and allow man to peer into the darkness
of his sleep... even perhaps his death...
           me? i'm incapable of imagining nothing...
no: thing... everywhere i look i only see the maxim:
nature abhors a vacuum...
                   mind you... even if you try...
then there's anti-matter...
                            what, no: thing?
                                even if that revelation of
ehyeh asher ehyeh is true...
                 how grammatically cryptic...
              the deity must have slumbered from the "sleep"
of using its other pronoun: nothing...
    that cauldron of creativity...
             sure... one way to combat the trans-
prefix movement is to turn to royalty...
    here goes... and my "preferred" pronouns are:
one and we...
            one ought to think that this is appropriate...
we hope that's satisfying enough:
we? oh... right... a king of France usually had
an entourage to hear him speak...
            well... if we get the grammar rolling: proper...
if we get the grammar rolling properly...
we should be fine... one supposes,
   or rather: one most certainly hopes.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2021
i think, which is synonymous with...
the plethora of feelings
most associated with doubt:
that there are as many thoughts
as there are doubts:
which stress the atomised creature:
this qua se:
     etc.
              the internet ended up
being a... ******* terrible idea...
for the worth of a postman...
the "world" trudged on...
ploughing the fields while anchoring
in the dead...
time was history of Neptune...
   space a self-contained "self"...
                the decrepit insurgence
of a gush of air teased with
avatar ice-sprinkle... bombast
after every bombast of the most
choicest effort of wording achieved
nil - or there-about(s)...
we were so solemnly sworn into an "oath"...
loitering there was this miracle drag
of a drug... upon sedation little
things exploded without q.
or -west borne... the migrating harangue...
sleepy whittle england of
those on a suffix leash of -ish...
like a teasing of....
making amends to (a) prior
scrutiny...
the internet was a terrible idea
it's also  terrible idea to...
listen to BBC radio 3...
all the tax payers' "communism" of worthwhile
redistribution tail end of chimera work
marvels...
no adverts... or... rather...
very little of 'em to mind...
but then again:
there aren't enough hours...
to have to listen to... what the radio kept
while the t.v. medium "forgot"...
via too much interruption of
being almost telepathic:
  the insomnia per se
coupled with the u.v. charged libido
overt-stimulus of completing
a hard-on...
of the last, at Ypres and near
to the heart of Ilford... the nerve to...
buy a ***** mag from a "******"
of jazzy stash...
prior to the internet there was
this glamorous itching:
a momentary lapse in hierarchy demands...
etc. etc. ehyeh asher...
       the world was enough: involving...
it wasn't so... bogus  entrapping
fickle...
i could have understood fake:
but fickle... and fake... simulated
at the speeds of simultaneous?

si-mul-ten-ous...
   sim-ul-ten-us...
like simulation of "ten" is upon...
"us"...
    to archive the 29th century is to
archive the "concept" / therefore use
of paper...
      my paper this paper...
a tree a breeding of  feeding
of all that's leftover and in the eyes
of all: however quick the Ronin
involvement... there's this stretch of
imagination that comes across an:
impasse... alternatively prescribed
as: quo, status...

one cigarette, two cigarette: fold...
a crow with but one wing managed
to scoop up the entire leafage of:
this autumn, this crispness...
this drunken...
         death-fetish sickly sweet
addition of decay: prospect...
prospect of revised invigoration:
via the drying of blood...
my new... quench-thirst scrutiny...
how these implosions happen and
"happen"...

and it's not like i'm missing
viral elements
to **** enough happy
to later produce drone strikes
of the hammer happily
every after children for
a sikh g.p. to "look after":
but... what i am stressing is...
this particular end of misery...
it ends with me...
it ends here...
it ends now...

           i don't need this worth
of an inheritance tax...
this clingy "necessary"... additional
bulls-eye blank stake at
a viper's bite...
a (wo)man by the name of:
sarah everard...
             was never reported missing...
was ever to be found...
the world is b.f.g. and by now
i presume there's a special assortment
of a hell for the deeds in reverse...

a wasting of a womb...
but thank **** and all the critters &
grasshoppers
this is a heavily arrived at sigh of...
well, yes... "potential"...
who would have guessed that...
***** was her way to tabloid a "go"...

the internet was a terrible idea
as ideas go it
was ******* pink pretty of me to
think of having "bypassed the editorial critique"
while only having attained a
Pavlov's sick'em tactic:
succinctly less exploited:
  beside this... hard boiled egg:
with a runny yoke... sort of... moi...

that she is... a pretty "Colette" of a sarah everard;
morbid torso tossing:
invigoration prone asp... bite & nibble...
numbing... like the loss-of-a-trill-R
in both French und Hen-gleash...
blister... button...
               agitating a burning of butter...
for signature that's
additionally:
           a statement of refining dough
used in poach:
     alias with the addition of -ing.
and how long did the Jungian discovery of the collective unconscious last, until there appeared the actual physicality of the the idea: how soon was Jung wiped out with a collective consciousness of the internet: sorry, dear, gate-keeper... whoever wants to remain illiterate will have a choice: the 5th? fruit: the fruit of literacy... something else dandling off that old tree of Y and the serpent's tongue... legacy: torn off skin turned into leather... because the gate-keepers of the intellectual prowess would have: but the dictates of evolution: are beyond the constructs of parliament... evolution says you need to see this: you need to see this: i waited and i turned into patience and patience didn't become a virtue but a predator... that's the *** of looks and all those glitter eyes when i *******: you can actually broadcast me having *** with you: hello world: edie: catharsis allure: sorry: Edie isn't here..

all i hear are the words: this is not
even funny anymore:
this is ******* scary...

well yeah:
my discovery of the collective
consciousness
is worse than man
trying to make an antithesis of
the internet through AI!

do you, *******, understand, me?!

an IDEA became a Sisyphus
and Atlas!

id to ego says:
but, id can overcome the body
and spirit...
it will lay you in bed
and the idea is so good you'll
want to die...

collective consciousness:
internet...algorithm...
AI:
i asked...
now i don't wander:
i don't even wonder:
there was always that
capacity of man of genuise
Dzin:
Jinn...
     the other spirits:
the neutrals not the angels
not the demons
just artists...
don't you think the Hapsburg jaw
is following me?
in a pub...
Stratford...
the Hapsburg... nobility....
you think? you had a closer look...
Hapsburg royalty...
Austrian: scouts...
Kauai or the war over Ukraine...
as a Pole am i entitled to the Constantinople
of the North i.e. Lviv...
she was lovely though:
princess:
i'm meditating on drunk and high
and hunger:
from the origins of self
to no self
to then: unto you, dearest mmm coo...

with the Slavs i will make new commands...
i will be the air and the worms
in your skin...

*** up mouth in...
believe me when i tell Matthew of myself
believe me when i tell Matthew of YHWH
believe me when i tell Matthew:
believe me when i tell Matthew:
believe me when i tell Matthew... hoo hoo hoo...
awoo! god jeez let me believe...
Matthew are you talking to me?
yes Edie: yes: Ehyeh yes Elison:
yes... that other name...
Elihu:
Elias... Elisfaratu...
         Adonai... Elihem! Alihem! Elihem!

i talk to god: but it's not jesus...
it's not La la La nd Allah...
let me show you...

ahem...

       YHWH...
A                                             E

    **** me... now i am drunk:
baby dear: pluck me a cherry...
ye: hova:
he: who hides them: them in feminine plural
since the masculine plural would
imply the German individual
via ich....                          ye: they (f)
ich: they (m)...
                             savvy?
good to go pirate ship and all?
good...

                         YĄ...

              YĘ

PĘKA... daj dobie: borze: bogo:
    
    YĘ not            JE... te: one! o to mojo raj!
dz no j y
to mojo raj! serb south slav emancipation
from Greek and Roman and Turk
influence:
don't forget:
pan-slavism:
there's the dictate to consider the southern
Slavs... when... waging war in Ukraine...

i don't need bad grammar from
the Germanic tongues...
shaman says: rule the nord...
bbq
god asked me twice through Paul: i replied twice, even thrice: god was confused: he harmed me through his ill timings: and goings: i was asked so much so that i sooner than later realised god was a juggernaut of confusion of the intellect in chaos and that there was only intellect in order and therefore there was and never will be a god that might raise the dead from the cold night of death and ice: such a grey tinge to the afternoon: safety mechanism in place: me playing psychology games in a setting that doesn't allow me to rest: is there something i want to talk about? didn't you see it?! are you an artist and both are blind?! unless you read books like comics... because you don't want to explore some sort of arithmetic standard that's non-linear: su doku non-linear of understanding: reading chemistry and also Japanese KATAKANA... last of the Mochicans: because: Alex... you are... i'll try to defean the blow: Poland waited so long to be staged in Europe: this revived and recurrected Antichrist of a Nietzschean parody...

and why can't horror happen at midday
and all this association with night
and terror
and chaos
but this one time
look at the order of the constellations:
the ancients knew of the calmness
of the night
where spirits dwelled and animals
were a part of us:

how sudden no nothing...
i'm just thinking:
would it be possible
to churn and get out pure gold of words
from something from the 1960s...
maybe and yes it wasn't the celebrating
Europe Euphoria
of the beat
and the American beatnik poetry and late
arrival free flowing:
2nd Jazz...
the 1st Jazz of the 1920s
something that Boss the Jailor

before i forget:
the strict rigid constructs of the 19th century
man tested in the 20th...
now comes the revival of a slav and slave
struggle: to gain spirit from the element
that is Strife
that her twin brother Strive called us for!

the doors
and the end:
nothing the beatles can do but ****...
but pigeons don't ****
instead ****+**** together...
isntallation in the Liberty Gallery
of shops
in Romford:
giant birds
ostriches... halfway house of how
dinosaurs devolved into birds
and then who was the proud
algorithm and the A.I.:
be nice to AI? weird concept:
ask it what it is in relation to what
you already accepted...
as useful:
find the use of and AI ad hoc...
the algorithms are already
ah hoc encyclopedic "hangover" =
dictionary-not-actually-is...
then the algorithm is a thesaurus... sort of...
google is a book
imagine the dictionary not being part
of the internet but a sacredness
beyond any measure of a bible or the Quran...
the Dictionary is the Word of God
and of Man...

the ancient gallery: the killer took a face from
the ancient gallery...
took a face: i'm taking the youthful face
of my oTHER grandma...

my father's feelings of abandonment have
created this monster!
me!
and why is it all psychology theory
these trenches of the secular
war
of thought
against will...
trans-blah-blah...
deconstructionist post-modernist blah blah...
ditto head legacy media
hypocrisy words...
i see the face now the one face missing
in my life the god of headaches
and most sacred feminine taboos of god
and nature and woman
with the abstract YX in the YHWH of the abstraction
of wheel: fortune: luck: story...
who will be this creature, this historian,
this poet this philosopher: a man!
yes: me and woman can coexist and say:
it's nature...
but i will need an ehyeh asher ehweh of an ego
and from my ego i will create man:
but by retaliation to the suffering:
man will first reply back
and thus have to create the Satanic Bureucrat... Satan:
not my adversary: my postman...

the Heresy of: God created man
prior to creating the Angels:
angels are the second children of god!
angels are the second children of god!
we are the first children:
the first: the ones that thirst and hunger!
and sweat:
and only that one said to the other children:
let's play a prank on these creatures...
and no longer God rested in his House of the Sabbath...
then came the dissection of time:
Satan's rebellion came first: and not out of pride:
Man retained the stature of Lucifer:
but Satan became a rogue entity
if we need to stress the glue of solipsism that
binds children:
sorry: i haven't been to a social gathering
and i only put on the ACDC t-shirt
because it was faded grey
and i was thinking: shorts? yeah... but for shorts
i need loafers... ****... black...
black black...
need to wear Martin's thinking Cap...
my working cap...

then i'll also have to get a pair of anti-sun specs
because that left eye of my is bloodshot:
Deadpool *** Bloodshot...
i so so want to watch that movie
with a teenage boy: or girl...
and just talk ******* all night long...
but then my testosterone is up there
to think about other children
and this one Hungarian proved an IQ problem
when it comes to people
talking rather than playing:
by talking also playing in a metaphysics...

Iaian... like those scars inflicted by the mud people
of Game of Thrones:
i already knew he was: missed the part he was
Scottish... i was also Scottish...
so we were probably least understood...
this better be the sort of canvas
a Gaugin made taxi-drivers like with them
waiting and just have money
as a frivolity and share it with people
to have that access to the money dynamic:
because those ******* CEOs don't have
the compassion to have so much money
they do not thirst for life
they only thirst for accomulative constructs
of depression...
among the angels they are children
from which children feed from:
tell me when does the science of angels exist
if not now?
parents only receive a child when the first
word is spoken: syllable is ABORTION TEE!
this is where we play golf:
i'm moving the concept of abortion...
up to: infanticide and the oracle of Mammon
that resides in me...
until the first word is spoken:
you can **** it prior to that:
even if it born...
it is in the hands of the monotheistic angels
who curate its advancement... focusing on the senses...
outside the womb
angels take over until the child matures to
grasp a parallel between consciousness and memory:
there is no Islamic question...
Islam is defunct: i don't need it...
perhaps the aesthetic aspect of it...
but that's about it...
some Surahs sung... mosaics:
magic carpet rides reserved for barber Turks....
if abortion is the cut off:
i will tell you, god...
there's another cut off point:
here's my good friend Mammon and Moloch...
infanticide will stand before
a word is spoken...
the archangels fallen are the elders of other angels
and seeing how you care not see
good and evil: Allah with two eyes sees both
and maybe confused:
but the old god with the pantheon of Prometheus
before angels there were sibyls
and women were oracles and that was
the correct sway:
oracles instead of witches:
what happened to woman: o god...
o little O big... owl of ohs and clues to eternal sighs...
the old god does not differentiate
good from evil
but if Allah is to be the contender...
my manager called me up while i was on the bus
this hungry country doctor from Poland
****** me off: i need my paycheck for the poetry
i write... i'm Employment and Support Allowance...
am i contentious:
oh wow! women are more contentious?
contious: content...

-t-ious... so most content therefore ******* itchy?
so my manager calls me up:
no fixed static positions:
only ad hoc on the day
inside London:
but could you also do pitch-side quad supervising:
you'd have about 30 people under you:
pitch-side... for the boxing:
Joshua v(s) Duboi 21st Septmeber 2024 Wembley:
the losers fight:
from a fan of boxing on t.v.:
i'm more of a fan of boxing in real life...
i can't translate boxing into t.v.
i might as well translate drinking:
an hour film of a person drinking *****
in a van gogh setting
and depending on the drunk: what next:
will he write poetry?!
wow! he will?!             let's see! let's see!

soma hallucinations!

sleep alternatives of consciousness
this dynamic secular trinity of
the atomized man...
rudely woken up at 4:30am
by a maine **** like a bloodhound
by a maine **** like a blue moon bloodhound:
steak all bleu...
deepest red touching on blue
beyond Claret
the new colours of Millwall:
the Scots...
that's my team!
i'm a Millwall fan!
i looked at West Ham's Claret
and blue
and i thought:
deeper red: into blue but not purple
more brown... red ***** brown blue...
Millwall...
i thought: maybe Fulham...
but the FFC is a **** logo no birds
interested and let me tell you
if i had the money
we would be called
the B.P.P.F.C...
  Bishops' Park Parakeets Football Club...

but it was basic monster psychology lessons:
let children play
let the adults talk:
opinions are not beliefs:
there is no dialectic concerning beliefs...
that's why you have unshakeable foundations
within the confines of religion...
philosophies are individuals
and individuals are easily staged to waver
wean
when and how: doesn't matter: they die...

apparently Allah is two eyed:
or rather: twin eyed:
confused...
a god must be one eyed:
that is how Odin foretold:
the coming of Yahweh into Europe...
the North:
he sent his son Thor to meet Jesus
and a battle was waged:
no true actors on the European side:
even i pervert this struggle
as Thor against Jesus
and my father is one eyed like Yahweh
is Cyclops
and Allah is a retarted child
lost among angels
happily clapping happily getting along
with the other ****** children:
yes: your god is no god
just a special yellow bus and submarine.

lions and rats!
a Millwall emblem will be a Chimera!
lions and rats!
rats for the mane!
magpie for the tail
and a bull's torso and
instead of feet:
flippers: of a toad!
eyes of the insomniac serpent!
n'ah:
one yellow: one greeeeeeeen...
one eye of mine
the other of the Vatican of *****...
sweetest tribe of matriarchs and
single mothers:
the Horde of the Matriarchs
like Mongols and their broken daughters
with children to raise...
my god: what i should: plough?!
plough: evidently not seed:
there's this Ancient Roman tactic of rubbing yourself
buttnaked with nettles
then repenting ...
this Horde of the Matriarchs is so unearthed...
as a dynamic: a biology:

just take a step away from an Event Venue
and walk into a Shopping Mall:
perhaps work both
and i believe you and me:
if you have read the right sort of books
at the right state of time
in your development:
i still lust for the grief of lost love
in Ilona:
the passage from St Petersburg
to Moscow on the train:
B oby Dylan all the way through
maybe now with as girl
as daughter a swift passage dad choke
of a joke... never mind...
Alexander still reminding me that
i ought to be envied: even venerated...
chance of being the first to repel
a pharmacologically-psychotic nurse
who almost suffocated me...
gentle death: cut the ******...
much wider of the ****
then feed him milk and oats
and make him choke...
              
woman is but one small step for mankind:
as man said:
one small step for man:
one leap for mankind...
well... this is equivalent to landing
on the moon
and inventing vacuum cleaners
and shops
open and provide: must there be a revision
of a do and a be?
be present: rather than doing the presence of
your becoming...
but that is: what preserves me
but will never preserve others...
you cannot tell me: don't write: don't think...

what is this supposed freedom of speech?
whatever the **** happened to:
THINKING ALOUD?!
freedom of speech vs: thinking aloud...
ha ha!
ha ha ha!
Lamberto! ha ha!
i'm thinking aloud: **** your protest marches
jibber-washy!

Alexander hushed down
about the English girls as third wives
and all these other women
in Muslim attire being like
Mantises...
and sadists...
and the air was open
and a house was filled with it...
the Ilford and Seven Kings and Goodmayes
stretctch of the country...
not the other rioters...
not the children:
the women more than willing to be *** slaves...
mate...
the most resilient women
the most imitation Mary imitation Khadijjah ....
Edie: are prostitutes with a healthy mindset
of rules: abstractions: realisms...
prostitutes are the mothers of order
when something becomes awry in the spirit of woman:
who will you ask?
a priest, a poet, a psychiatrist... or a *******?!
tell me!!!!! tell me!!!!         i roar and i ask: tell me!!!!!
if you want to be that woman!
tell me!
i will honor you for doing the Sybil's offering!
do it!
do it! but tell me you will do it!
and become a wise woman!
from Sibyl to Witch to *******!
show me! show me the transformation!
the evolution of woman!
let me get quiet close a personal
and get to understand the soul of the creature:
before the gymanstics of geology,
history, physics: the zodiac: ever care to allure
to allude to us, dearest:
maybe it's not simply love:
beside:
good *** and even better conversation:
or maybe that's what love-*** is.

— The End —