¡Oh, Señor! Dios de los ejércitos,
eterno Padre, eterno Rey,
por este mundo que creaste
con la virtud de tu poder;
porque dijiste: la luz sea,
y a tu palabra la luz fue;
porque coexistes con el Verbo,
porque contigo el Verbo es
desde los siglos de los siglos
y sin mañana y sin ayer,
requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
el lux perpetua luceat eis!
¡Oh Jesucristo, por el frío
de tu pesebre de Belem,
por tus angustias en el Huerto,
por el vinagre y por la hiel,
por las espinas y las varas
con que tus carnes desgarré,
y por la cruz en que borraste
todas las culpas de Israel;
Hijo del Hombre, desolado,
trágico Dios, tremendo Juez:
requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
el lux perpetua luceat eis!
¡Divino Espíritu, Paráclito,
aspiración del gran Iaveh,
que unes al Padre con el Hijo,
y siendo el Uno sois los Tres;
por la paloma de alas níveas,
por la inviolada doncellez
de aquella Virgen que en su vientre
llevó al Mesías Emmanuel;
por las ardientes lenguas rojas
con que inspiraste ciencia y fe
a los discípulos amados
de Jesucristo, nuestro bien:
requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
el lux perpetua luceat eis!

Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in

it was a strange and fragile Kombination--
a desperate, lonely Hunger,
frenetic Thrill to sate--
we didn't speak each other's native Tongues
but Tongues we shared
in what we found, of random Meals,
and Pocket Lexika to taste
hidden Idioms we strove to understand..
our Bodies splashing Wasser
in the murky Spree, ******* Fountain by Berliner Dom
licking Lips of Bier und Eis a ways away from Reichstag Bullet Holes
below the steel Spirale encased in Glas
transparent Government--a Show for Tourist Stroll..
our Smiles glinting, coated international, that Week agreed

"eine schwester-bruder liebe.."
temptation--and propriety--preserved--
pale lotion, paler skin to honey in the sun
aloft in hostel bunks we shared--
a cush historic castle, touristische nook
of maps and candy pockets, so geil..
gleeful us, to melt from moscau and new york
we shared the deutsch between us,
ein bisschen englisch,
a bit of russisch too for fun...
our soulwise checkpoint charlie held the lust at bay
despite lustgarten romps
and walks beneath the lindens, lane of sighs..
an awkward bridge of question-words we built to muse about the stars
and what we see with only strangers never seen again.
we named ourselves an instant familie...so you could snore on me,
and let me stroke your hair
without the guilt of infidelity
the freedom from, we traded in our blatant,
goodbye tears you shed, i kept inside to craft mnemonic gems
i share and savor in again












'

-

an icicle broke off from
the gutter of my porch,

stabbing my hydrangea
bush right in the heart.

i could reprimand the
shattered remains of an
icy spear,

and then bandage the
wound with a layer
of snow–

yet it occurs to me to maybe
quarter an apple with a
Swiss Army knife,

this pooling of thoughts like
pale blood seeping out of a
painfully frozen morning—

turning me white like
heavy frost over
so many early roses...


s jones
2021


.

Ek het die siek gewoonte om oog op te slaan
en die nagprag te aanskou met digters-oog
wat 'n ster van elke mens wil maak
en elkeen wil bekoor, maar
selfs al span ek al my mag in
is daar een ster hoog verhewe...

Daar sit die ster op 'n tuinstoel troon ,
oe betowerer deur die vuur
andag gestrek deur die ganse heelal
- orals behalwe hier,

waar ek soos 'n straatbrak honger kyk,
aan die voete van 'n ster
*** almal bietjie aandag eis
*** almal van jou kry
maar ek soos 'n een aand wonder
uitteer aan jou droewe stilswy

My slapelose nagte
maak my van die drome vry
want in realiteit, al kyk ek vir die sterre,
kyk hulle soms verby.

Na sombra uma mulher jaz morta, despida e dependurada pelo tornozelo, seus braços esticados portam dedos inchados de sangue coagulado, enquanto seus anéis apertam estreitos entre suas falanges, e as pontas de suas unhas quase tocam o chão. Posso ainda escutar seus gritos atormentados ecoar ao longe, posso ainda ver seus olhos escancarados diante uma plateia que saboreia sua tortura, posso ainda ver seu corpo obeso se debater em fobia e desespero numa tentativa ridícula e frustrada de escapar. Imóvel, resta apenas uma ***** enorme de banha e tetas caídas, algo em mim se compadece por esta criatura patética, algo não consegue segurar as gargalhadas. É apenas um corpo, nada demais. Se estrebuchou de forma caricata e cômica, desengonçada, amarrada de ponta-cabeça, toda espalhafatosa, desajeitada, seu desespero é hilário, acho que é a coisa mais patética, mais desprezível, mais insignificante, mais burlesca, mais tosca, que imaginei. Apenas um corpo escroto que em breve será engolido pelos vermes do vazio, sem nunca ter representado qualquer coisa além de uma involuntária comédia . Apenas um corpo. Já não sofre, nem se deleita, há somente um caminho incerto pelo qual percorro, e que ela já conhece a chegada.

Estarei eu ao fim dependurado pelo tornozelo? Ou quem sabe dando gargalhadas ao ver a fraqueza dos homens? Ou ainda mais, serei eu a amarrar os tornozelos da humanidade? Todos são os algozes, todos riem da desgraça que não lhes pertence, mas ao fim todos terminam dependurados pelos tornozelos.

Devo continuar caminhando. O corredor é muito escuro, devemos estar no subsolo, esse barulho nojento é perturbador... Um ninho de baratas! Saiam dos meus pés! Saiam dos meus pés! Não há como evitá-las. Elas sobem e se aninham no meu corpo, se reproduzem na minha virilha, fazem sua morada em meus orifícios. Sou tomado por baratas. Sou o homem-barata, o homem fétido, o homem-praga. Aqueles milhões de patinhas que caminham no meu corpo realizam uma massagem profana, sou tomado por um prazer proibido, me deleito com o perfume nefasto, nauseabundo, a ânsia me regurgita um animus enterrado, o horror de estar completamente desencontrado de tudo o que é convencional, a minha criança enlouqueceria ao me defrontar e saber que carrego seu destino com o pênis encoberto por uma gosma preta que se forma ao espremer as baratas que ali se encontram num movimento de masturbação decrépita. Minha mãe, ah, minha mãezinha tão simplória, tão católica, tão temente à um deus inexistente, com suas orações decoradas, com seus hinos de louvor,  seus terços pendurados na cabeceira da cama de madeira antiga e seu falar típico de quem decorou e aprendeu suas frases mais interessantes nas missas tediosas do Padre Adalberto, para mim a melhor hora da missa é a hora que ela acaba, minha mãezinha, ah minha querida mãezinha, definharia até a morte no exato instante em que me visse trepando freneticamente com baratas esmagadas no meu pau. E meu pai, sempre austero, seja lá o que se passa em sua cabeça, como uma parede pintada de bege escuro, como um corredor estreito e sem espaço nas laterais, simplesmente reto como uma tábua de madeira seca, inflexível, adepto de tradições antigas, de costas dadas não reconheceria esta figura repugnante, a se satisfazer de tão nefasto pecado, como uma prole de sua descendência.

Todos desejam esmagar o homem-barata. Mas ninguém quer limpar a gosma fedida. Deixem que as formigas carreguem essa coisa nojenta! Eles dizem. Que prazer insano é este de ser mutilado e fodido até às entranhas? De saber que não há mais volta para tamanha perdição? Isso é deixar todos os dentes da boca apodrecerem. Eis que entendo a velha! Eis que compreendo as gargalhadas de quem acaba de perder todos os dentes podres num chute violento de quem perde a paciência. Eis que pertenço onde de cá estou. Há uma beleza magnética no horror, algo que me arrasta para o interior do objeto horrendo, me distanciando sou arremessado às entranhas da podridão, como um espelho a revelar em mim mesmo aquele objeto da experiência, que em repulsa não posso parar de olhar.

O motorista tira a roupa, a velha tira a roupa, e todas essas pessoas horrorosas tiram a roupa, eu já estou nu e besuntado por essa gosma cinzenta de entranhas de baratas que exala esse odor nauseante que penetra as narinas de qualquer um que se aproxime, odor hipnótico para aqueles que compreendem o segredo. Parece que sou o mais desejável nesta câmara escura. Se aproximam de mim como animais ferozes a saltar de forma muda em direção a um pedaço de carne.

qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem*


Bejesus we walked so far!
It was beautiful country, mind,
feet dappling through hedgerows
that led from the city, in silence,
to rest where all flesh shall come.

I remember how it started,
walled in with the others.
Lord you could dance!
How were they to comprehend
that the kink in my arm
and your off-beat jive
could lead us unguided
to narrow pathways forcing single file?

                    By a river we sat together—
amid long words and fingerprints
your skin bled dark with guilt
and for my part I saw coracles
sprout upon your breath.
We weighed down these little craft
with the chains of our sins
and tied fast the bones of our future
as payment for the ferryman.

One day perhaps, the river will dissolve to ash,
revealing our two disciples
discarded as the chance to heal,
                    there will be love
                    like a great and gentle pulse
mingling with cold stones
and memories our
downcast eyes, cheekbones to the fore.

Orléans, the maid Jean (Żąn of Arc)...

i have made peace with the paganism revival
in the medium realm of music,
i once entertained the idea...
but upon watching Floki crawl into the heart
of the mountain
  (vikings t.v. series)...
and seeing a cross at its base,
                   rather than a hammer of a dwarven
master smithy...
  breaking down and crying...
          and then recounting his ambitions?
for a people to adopt an approach of a people
to do not consider revenge?
          him screaming, from the mountain's heart,
which resulted in a volvanic eruption...
what god was he seeking,
to begin with?
             i moved from pop, rock, alt., punk
etc. into pagan revival music,
but i also transitioned from pagan revival
music into the realm of the templar chants,
byzantine chants, the gregorian...
and it was so soothing,
         my faith, my heart lies with the music
that appeases me, my angers and my doubts...
it's not the most spectacular of examples,
but its the only honesty i can ever give,
i cry at beauty...
   when i spent the whole night
watching the indian sea pillage and ****
  the kenyan coast...
when i first heard ola gjeilo's ubi caritas,
when i first heard
vaughan william's fantasia on a theme
by thomas tallis...
            it is so hard to cry when presented
with beauty...

     i side with the christian chants...
akin to the gregorian: libera me domine...

  after all... the post-roman scripts are
not pretty, esp. the english language
pretending to know the existence of orthography...
which it doesn't: given it has no diacritical
marker applicability...
             hardly a diacritical marking system
if...   ȷust so, as ι saιd... and also... they disappear
upon the CAPITAL STATED...
  JUST LIKE, SO...

               but at least the post-roman
latιn remaιns allow, more for a language to be
sung... than could ever be saιd...
hardly to claιm... ι, I, L, l...
   (after all... what of the asiatic people?
they have a complex phonetic encoding
system,
   last time i checked...
      they drew beautifully...
     but when it came to singing?
                  i find crows to croack
more beautifully than their peoples singing;
i guess you really need a castrato harem
of choir boys to reach the sort of pop
established by 20th century artists...
     how almost wonderful...
             castratos ascribed the governance
of song, rather than disgruntled harem ******)...
                
now... please excuse me, whιle ι translate
the lyrιcs of lιbera me domιne
   (in pig latin)...

     libera me domine
                      de mortem aeterna
           in die illa tremenda
     caeli movendi sunt et terra
        dum veneris
                   judicare saeculum per ignem
     tremens factus sum ego et timeo
        dum discussio venerit
      atque ventura ira
                 quando caeli vendi sunt et terra
dies illes dies irae
    calamatis et miseriae
         dies magna et amara valde
dum veneris
                 judicare saeculum per ignem
    requiem aeternam dona eis domine
  et lux per petua luceat eis
  liber me domine
                  de morte aeterna...
in die illa tremenda...

    free me lord
              from death's eternity
into your godliness that's awe inspiring
  (as also terrible)
heaven moves both sun and earth
while love judges heathenism
    by fire
    rest from the eternal gifts as
does the lord...
   and the light from its "petulance"
to continue to shine...

   will gregorian chants be censored?
templar chants? byzantine chants?
                   i tired of pop songs,
of 20th century "innovations"...

    petua...
                 in english... the word implies:
advice...
ah!
     et lux per petua luceat eis
   and from seeking advice from the light
that shines!
so much for: petulance...

what a contradictory song...
               still...
                                what's next,
they ban gregorian chants,
   and fall flat praising and clapping
the next adhan?!

Fecha-se assim hoje mesmo, uma etapa longa e dura,
E agora sim, estou absolutamente são e convicto nos dizeres,
Compreendo toda esta longa etapa, até esta arquitectura
Não parei nem desisti, estou aqui para comigo viveres!

Preocupei-me cedo em ser puro, não com o não ser duro,
Meus gestos e minhas acções, são neutras e consequentes,
Penetrar no intimo das questões, levou-me ao cremadouro,
Não julgo gentes, nem compro amizades, das conscientes!

De que agora tenho ou não tenho saudades e recordações,
São dos carinhos destas gentes que são o que eu sentia,
Nas longas viagens me perdia de saudade e desvanecia,
Mas sempre as forças, na tortura, me levaram as ilusões!

Como tantos e outros jovens, jogando nesta vida de loucura,
Tantas vezes por eles e outras quantas por mim, eu aprendi,
Vi, suei e chorei, por tudo que passei e eu nunca me prendi,
Segurei sempre firme, o touro nos seus cornos, na aventura!

Propus-me porém a arriscar valores de gentes menos crentes,
Quando o mestre e sábio pai, me dizia olhando eu minha mãe,
Sempre esperaram para ver o que eu via, e preocupações além,
E ao encontro de tudo que diziam, eu fazia as asneiras constantes!

Eis que um dia, chorei de dor e o calor do lar, que nunca me abandonou,
Me trouxe de novo nas origens e aqui encontrei os valores, que bisquei,
Aposto-os agora a cada dia, quando a ti, também te encontrei, o amor começou,
Tudo que diziam meus pais e eu afirmava como inexistente, agora, mel, petisquei!

Autor: António Benigno
Código de autor: 2013.08.30.02.18

"Abre sua aversão;
Eis que um nauta fala:
- Mestre, vês somente sofrimento no amor?
- O amor pode conter fuligem e até mesmo grasnar, porém uma vez sentido é como parcel:
não se desfaz fácil dentro do peito.
E mesmo que nos faça presente o basto e dorido retrocesso, o medo,
infindável de obstruir a todo esse amor, mais infindável é o anelo que o amor causa-nos.
Estamos sobre escombros, mas o amor é como papelotas angelicais…
Desce ondulado cheio de idas e vindas, corrupiando até a estabilização.
O amor é granívoro, come pequenas as sementes dos defeitos nossos,
belo como o grande milhafre-preto a planar no céu.
É como a retriz que sente o vento a tocar, é o ósculo entre o paraíso e a imensidão.
Oco somos antes de amar.
Somos como o barril quebrado sem vinho, esperando que o tanoeiro nos venha resgatar.
Encher-nos a transbordar.
Ouça o execrável grito do ódio, sendo cancelado pelo dulçor deste imenso sentimento.
Ouça o esfolar dos descrentes, incorpóreos.
O amor é um reverbrar eterno de luz em cada alma,
é a calma, e a batida de cada pulsação.
Não se pode obstrui-lo, ou excluí-lo da vida,
pois ela o traz em cada vibração.
Como um frincha encontrada dentro de nós,
convertendo aos poucos cada problema em solução.
Transformando o ingrato em um romântico facúndio,
criando paz em meio a escuridão"

"Uma corte recheada de incertezas.
Diz o mestre:
- A todos vocês condeno essas correntes ventrais.
Condeno essa pressão cardíaca, essa confusão mental.
Não desejeis vós que o sentimento profundo lhes fosse concedido?
E quem há de me jurar que com ele não viria tremenda descordenação,
tremendo derrocamento?
Ouçam o bardo correndo louco entre as paredes de pedra.
Ouçam o gondoleiro, barcarolando as canções de amor.
Ouçam o basbaque som dos encantados,
os afeiçoados e doados de coração.
Eis a verdade, corte, corte de sentimentos.
Jaz aqui o vento que me tragou a esta ilusão.
Gritam altissonantes os mares,
arriscai-vos corações,
antes que o mar os leve a vossos esquifes,
antes que seja muito tarde para arriscar.
Porém que seja espúrioso o vosso amor.
Pois é sentimento que se perde em lamentações,
e para vive-lo, arriscar é necessário, não aja com esquivança,
uma vez entrelaçado, o amor é mais que a promessa,
é a eternidade, é um fado, é um facho,
é imensurável,
é imane,
é ilibado,
insinuante sinal de maravilhas,
ofusca os olhos de quem sente,
faz plenitude e traz saudade a quem não tem,
mas ainda sim muito além,
é uma reta paralela, e dele deve ser padrinho em solenidade,
é um pardieiro implorando piedade, e nós somos a reconstrução.
Então amem corte, mas paguem o preço,
na labuta e na luta,
pois o amor é um mestiço, meio amargo, meio doce,
mas é nato em perfeição."

Se da água limpa dos rios
o poeta alcança - incólume
as fontes d'água viva...
Oh, claro lume: dela bebe.
Sedento à sanga clara colhe
a água c'o as mãos.

Na vertente rara, sequioso
estro não se abaixa,
à flor d'água, feito cão,
lambendo a lótus n'água.

É de Gideão soldado
entre os trezentos.
O que não lambe a água
O que usa as mãos.
Bebe e proclama:
- Eis a água!

Água da chuva sempre exata.
Água da fonte sempre basta.
Água que a todo fogo apaga,
Limpa água que a sede mata.

i once saw a play:
stones in his pockets at the West End...
two actors performing
a share of 20 odd roles between
them...
nothing unlike
milan kundera's essays
or...
    gilles deleuze and samuel
beckett's bicycle
"metaphor": mein gott:
obwohl ich bin sterbern(d)
zu lesen das bux...
i'm writing english
i'm teasing deutschezung(e)
i'm evidently trespassing...
conventionality and "something"
that stipends an completion
of "geometry" with a suffix
-oon and -oonz...
breathing ice...
breathing ice in his hands...
atmung eis im seine hände...
the stones that were his pockets, also..
were an encouraged drowing
mechanism...
deus ex machina
**** in machina...
one left the "other"
with one of those secular jokes...
a priest, a rabbi... walk into
a bar...
order a baritone
cosmopolitan...
the bartender is probably
transgender,
                 evo-******...
a castrato opera mongrel sign-up...
or a giuseppe belli
sonnet:                e io:
                   und ich, and i...
             i ja...
    it's like this gargantuan fullness
of a breath predisposed itself
to imagine itself awake and with
untold misery a tugging alongside
i as why...

once i wrote chicken scratching(s)
with a loot out of the scruffy tending
to... limits ease...
now this damning trickle of water
like the most probably inevitable:
sojourn panicky quest
across the north sea
to arrive at the norwegian fjords
attired in adam's feather
and shivering to ease
at touching either candle...
a puddle of ink... chicken blood
*** the Aztecan decapitation
ritual... cannibalising their own:
poor crooks of the dawn...
****'n'****-a-******-doo'ah...
entre... i.e. to begin with: "debate"...

if memory serves me justice:
i was a reader once...
i'd write what little conversation i could have
but otherwise: wouldn't have
for clarity's sake...

giggle... chandelier...
worship of st. peterburg...
           to make doll...
and a franchise of something
from Vienna... something:
Viennese...
like a Hamburger is not something
pork: readily available via
ham...
but... something lost to the association
with a Hamburg;
exemplum est.

Sinto que eu posso pegar na viagem e levar comigo,
Porque ela fica sempre junto de minhas recordações,
Os teus olhos de lince fulminaram minhas emoções,
Tua paciente espera preencheu meus espaços contigo!

Acreditaste nas lágrimas quando quase desesperaste,
Por aqui, o vazio era cada vez mais imenso e gaguejante,
Também eu chorei que aparecesses e tu, meu amor vieste
Foi longa a ilustre espera, mas eis que um dia tu apareceste!

O que eu previa nos contos de fados era apenas fantasia,
Escrita em livros como cativação de atenção da mordomia,
De corações que como o meu e teu, viviam sem demasia,
E hoje a quantidade que não cabia se descobriu anatomia!

As nossas funções vitais estão em alerta e tão receptivas,
Funcionam como correntes do mar que dão e recebem vida,
O ar que inspiramos, traz e leva a galhardia, sem a dúvida,
Porque hoje o sonho que era o nosso são mais perspectivas!

As perspectivas se dissipem e surjam aquelas coisas alusivas,
Ao que nos livros é tão igual afinal ao interior destes corações,
Meu e teu, é tão nosso, como odor que se uniu nessas emoções,
Descobri simples complexos e minha viaje, que tu sempre vivas!

Autor: António Benigno
Código de autor: 2013.08.07.02.15

I tried to assemble
The pieces of Osiris
But all the stars aligned so
That i should fail again

I tried to revive the
Body of Lazarus
but the tomb had swallowed
The words of the messiah.

Long rang the bell
My soul had come to bitter end
Desperate chants
blood does glimmer on their hands
Hammers dance on nails
They urge the dead to stay contained
Slayer eats the slain
Til the end of time til last of days

I struggle to awaken
I'm morally brain dead
But all the ****** effort
sticks me to the ground

The burden of Atlas
Lays on my two shoulders
if I drop my sky
will anyone notice

Long live the king
The reaper hand in hand with me
choir commence to sing
heaven weeps for apathy
Hades take away
All the strife and all the pain
Pie Jesu Domine
dona eis requiem.

Jorge abriu a porta do alfarrabista e um cheiro húmido invadiu-lhe a mente.
- Boa tarde. Bradou uma voz rouca do seu interior.
- Boa tarde.
- Então o que o traz aqui?
- Procuro um conto.
- Sim, mas de que tipo?
- O que procuro deve ter cem palavras.
- Que especificidade.
- Pois sim, tem alguma coisa?
- Huummm, deixe ver.
- Agradeço que veja se não tem por ai algum guardado.
O livreiro abriu a gaveta e retirou do seu interior o palavómetro. E após algumas medidas, eis que surge um conto, assim como este, com cem palavras, nem uma a mais, nem uma a menos.

Aufstehen, von der Sonne geweckt

der erste Kaffe steht bereit
Katzen die sich in Gärten strecken
du liest ein Buch, das tu ich auch
die Hängematte, schwingt zwischen den Tannen
Tauben zirpen, Zickarden gurren
dein Eis schmilzt und tropft
sonnengebleichte Haare steht in die Richtung des Windes
braungebrannte Haut schwitzig, später salzverkrustet
Sonnencremduft, an uns
Pommes rotweiß an den Fingern, klebrig
die Sonne blendet, ist  schon okay
Wellenrauschen, tobende Kinder kreischen
Sand zwischen den Zehen
du neben mir auf dem Handtuch
gemeinsam dösen
gehen wir nochmal rein?
Gösser, der letzte Schluck
ein bisschien zu warm
Dämmerung Barfuß auf dem Fahrrad
Lagerfeuerrauch in Augen und Nase,
blaue Flamme Knack zisch
weinrotgefärbte Lippen, Zungen so schwer wie der Kopf
Zeitlos

Bis morgen!

Compassadamente
as estruturas internas do edifício
começam a ruir
Ninguém se atreve a saltar da Torre
temem a morte eterna do espírito
e a dívida a ser paga eternamente
As labaredas do desespero já estavam acesas
consumindo dia a dia os alicerces que ainda estavam em construção
e os próprios pedreiros atiravam pedras à obra
Eis que o grande Arquiteto faz o prédio desabar
As lágrimas dos pedreiros escorrem
Já é tarde para arrependimentos

Um raio cósmico atravessa minha morada
Enquanto um buraco ***** engole meu alento
Sofro em silêncio... Como um guerreiro deve sofrer
Uma nova casa foi erguida
Um a um vejo meus irmãos retornarem para casa
Embora meu pai não aceite o meu retorno

Há uma multidão que escarnece minha amargura
Seus lábios se compadecem do meu exílio
Enquanto seus pensamentos louvam minha derrota

E eu... que tanto lutei...
Mas fora vaidade
Tudo fora vaidade
De nada valeu minhas batalhas
Eu permaneço no vale dos caídos
E meu pai se recusa a se dirigir a mim
Assassinei a minha honra
Descartei minha lealdade
Mas ei de edificar novamente minha própria morada

O último suspiro da crisálida
Epílogo da figura vermiforme e rastejante
Eis o fim!
No ciclo da eterna existência
O invólucro é ceifado

Schnee bedeckt die Baumspitzen
Wir halten uns warm
mit unseren Blicken, Küssen
und den schlechten Witzen

Schnee bedeckt die Felder
Wir stehen wie angewurzelt
umringt von eisiger Kälte,
den Raben und der Stille der Wälder

Schnee bedeckt die Wege
Wir geben uns Halt, Arm in Arm
hören uns zu, jedes Wort, jeder Satz
jede noch so lange Rede
hält uns warm

Schnee bedeckt fast jeden Ort
In uns schmilzt jegliches Eis
jede erdenkliche Schneefläche
ganz plötzlich, direkt, sofort

In uns herrscht kein kalter und bedrückender Winter
In uns herrscht warmer und unbeschwerter Sommer

O cotidiano tem me afetado como nunca.
Nesses últimos 23 anos de existência,
Eu nunca tinha atingido o ponto de saturação máxima.

Porém hoje, eis me aqui.
Sofrendo pelo futuro,
Chorando pelo passado.

Revendo todos os meus atos,
Os mínimos detalhes...
E querendo mudar o que não pode ser mudado.

Porque o ser humano é tão complicado.
Quem dera eu, viver num cotidiano robotizado.
Sabendo o que fazer a cada segundo.

Com a respiração contada...
Parece escravidão?!
Mas e esse meu cotidiano não é,

Um tipo diferente talvez,
e digo talvez.
Grafe bem o talvez.

Porque a existência nestes últimos tempos,
Tem se tornado tão pesada,
Que ser cotidiana já não me basta.

knackered... absolutely knackered... i wish i did yesterday's
shift at the London stadium...
i've built up an implosive furore with the crowd...
i just look at them: hmm... look pretty excited
but at the same time content...

    i can't believe it... since starting this... rather menial
job... i've been referencing it like mad...
i really shouldn't... i remember days when i was
sitting in my ivory tower touching on subjects
like the Katakana... with so much free time on my hands
i'd explore...
       i'd try something akin to Miroslav Holub...
in all earnest? i was never much of a poetry reader...
but if i were to compare Miroslav Holub with another
Czech: a Milan Kundera... well...
Kundera "stole" my youth... Holub cemented
my early adulthood...

          i'm sort of envious that i don't write like him...
you're almost always envious of the people
who don't have much of a readership...
              i could never be envious of Stephen King...
he figured out a method... a structure...
mind you: i never read a single Stephen King book...
not that i'm being pretentious...
i just didn't feel the need to read him...
       the whole horror genre is... limited for me...
horror needs to be visual...
   i can't be scared of text... via my imagination...
it's different, though...
   i once had an ******* reading some Marquis
de Sade... which might tell you a lot...

        i'm writing about work that i think is...
not really work... so what did i do with my day off?
i ****** off on my bicycle for about 4 hours...
yes... i know... 60+ kilometres in 4 hours is not
good enough... but i did stop off to drink a bottle
of cider and buy some Turkish bread for this
greedy dish... 400g of beef can disappear in one
sitting when shared between three people...

      i'm pretty sure surgeons don't write about their work...
but this Czech immunologist somehow did...
maybe that's why he's so under-read...
he was an immunologist foremost...
it's almost as if people don't take his poetry
seriously because of that...
                but either him or Kundera...
the former...

                    i don't even think i'm working:
oh... i'm pretty sure i was working when working as a roofer...
manual labour can do a work of miracles...
at least you don't need to become a gym hamster...
bunny... whatever you want to call it...
all that physical potential... wasted on... treadmills...
if at least those treadmill runners could be
the ones that generate energy... that's stored...
like a watermill...
               you know... generate enough energy
to power the lighting in the gym...
maybe someone should invent a treadmill that
allows these people exercising to do something
useful...

60+km in 4h... it's not good... but then again i did
cycle into central London...
   past the houses of Parliament...
May 1st... so a lot of the ****** protests...
but pretty tame...
            traffic lights... terrible traffic...
i could have probably put in an extra 20km in those
four hours if i cycled out of London...
but i'm a curious creature... plus... i said to myself...
nature... or... "nature":
yes... i want to cycle into central London
to look at some girls... where's the best place
to spot some girls? Brick Lane...
                Oxford Street...
    
   imagine my disbelief... there aren't that many...
that might attract your attention...
i tried... didn't find any... well i did find the opposite
***... but... there was nothing curious about
any of them... they all looked like tourists...
i hate tourists... well... i don't hate tourists...
only today i was speaking to this Danish guy...
who found the English very friendly...
which probably implies that he wasn't talking
to an English man... because: i'm sure as **** am not one...

but i did cycle into central London
to look at some ***...
                eh... it's sometimes worth it...
but all the under-read poets are the ones i am most
jealous of... such style... such grace...
don't even mention... Maya Angelou to me...
please don't... i've been keeping a KLEX...
in my **** for an entire day...

what's a KLEX?! it's a ****... with remnants
of a ****... that... when properly treated... when having
sat down on the throne of thrones...
explodes into an "******" of untangled intestines
that also gives you an *******...
woke up in the morning... had a ****'s play in three
parts... the 4th part... i kept for the entire day...
the KLEX...
              of my god... the glorious agony of walking
home from Romford station... trying to **** in the far
with the ****... meditating on torso muscles...
is this what **** *** feels like? you get the shivers?
the sweats?
    the agony... i've already emptied myself
in the morning... all i have is a **** and some shotgun
**** in me... **** ******* it in...
it's trying to get out! **** ******* it in!
it's trying to get out!
    i get home... haplessly undress... take my socks off...
sit on the toilet...
                                      BOOM!

i just dropped one on Hiroshima...
          because it's unlike the slithering sensation
of a serpent when it feels... really smooth...
when you've eaten the right sort of food and it has
become properly digested and...
i've kept this one hidden for an entire day...
if my **** had a tongue, while walking...
it felt like licking ice... can you imagine?

mein gott... the relief... better than ***...
for a while i was of the mindset... **** it... pull down your
trousers... you have tissues in your pocket...
crouch... on a piece of grass and do your ****...
no no... the agony first... walking just agitated the ****
more... more agony... wait for the release...

- seriously though? why would i even entertain some
some high-brow topics?!
the time's not right... i have cat peacefully sleeping
in my bed... i have a ******* sending me selfies of herself
indicating she misses me...

one thing amazed me today... i've found out about this
already, from my grandmother...
she liked watching me eat...
               fair enough: because i ate as someone who,
in the words of Socrates: ate to live...
rather than live to eat...
                    
after coming back from the Putney Bridge shift...
i only had a bagel with scrambled eggs and some bacon
for breakfast... wolf! fenrir! i sometimes "misplace"
actual hunger for ****** desire... all of a sudden...
no... these are not beer goggles...
they're hunger goggles... every woman is
attractive... in my head i sometimes do a few revisions:
like my grandfather used to say...
no woman is unattractive... some are just neglected...

oh so ******* true...
   no woman is unattractive... some are just neglected...
that's so ******* true...
i get hungry... i get tired... i become ***** as...
don't know.. my face becomes the following:
my mouth becomes the eye of a Cyclops...
while my eyes become two mouths of Orthrus...

but that's what's something amazing when eating
alone in public... you bring your household habits into
the fore... for everyone to see...
you're not eating with your mouth open...
you're not watching anything beside the food...
you wipe your mouth and finger generously...

the look on the chicken shack "restaurant" personnel...
before and after...
what did i order? the classical box...
two pieces of chicken... fries...
can i eat in? sure you can...
i'm not into processed burger fillets... i need...

    ich bedarf knochen mit "mein" huhn!
i need nones with "my" chicken!

lightened faces... once they saw me dissect
that chicken thigh and leg...
KNIRSCHEN... i.e. CRUNCH...
hmm... some bones...
cartilage? no... bone...
       knorpel oder knochen?!
does it even ******* matter?!
   let's eat...
        
              it's when i started biting into the bone
marrow... of the chicken legs...
no... i wasn't wasting any of it...
none of this is waste... hands shaking...
i wish i was drunk...
     i was just hungry... it's as if Eid passed me by
without the proper sort of impromptu
to stop...
                  i might as well licked my finger tips...
but the look on those guys behind the counter
serving this chicken...
yes, me too... i'm glad you washed your hands...
before serving me this dish...

why did my grandmother find it important
to find me in that "80 to 20%" attractive
eating something?
            maybe it's the Socratic methodology...
i eat to live... i don't live to eat...

this isn't work... this is a joke of work...
            work sets you free:
arbeit macht frei: conjured up like sometimes
from an ancient textbook...
since no conjunctions...
since no pronouns...
  sometimes from a: how Latin used to be
spoken.. maybe the ancient Latins did use
pronouns and conjunctions...
but... didn't... when writing?!

                  i only do it to get out out the house...
   you start cleaning the chicken bones from all
the muscle... then you bite into the marrow...
obviously the chicken shop owners will look
at at you with a degree of glee...
look! he didn't waste anytthing!
just the potato chips!
                            
i need sleep...  beste zu schlafen:
                         mal als sie ar...
                            
eis ist nein schnee!
               licht ist nein farbe!
mann ist nein affe!
              
                                 freiheit ist nein: arbeit!

Chapter II
War animal in Tel Gomel


Three decapitated white eagles flew through TeL Gomel, carrying blood in their twisted claws of serous spines. They brought him the prediction of his anticipated double death, with his double breastplate on and his double helmet that would transmute the putrid Thanatos rings of feces through his weak dingy lips of Him .. Alexander the Great had sent him a letter with the Flying Eagles low; all of them were dressed in the stench of a field of yellow mist and black battle. Alikanto's stood on the slimy Bucephalus hoof, they hiccupped over the six-decade-old dream-sized lymphoma in its ridged crucible, whipping purges from its muzzle full of lymphoma debris remaining in the interstices of its teeth. - Alans. His heart was converted into an ad limitem red cuirass with a blossoming blue endocardium. As the twilight of the wind-blown blowout set, Eolionimi and Shamal were breaking the Vertical and the Jachyma of their greedy steed to spit out Sudpichi's blood gushing over the smelly cowards of sleepless Gaugamela. In helical flying carpets, catacombs in Markazí where residents of their lineage have lived in the abominations of the Lives that were reborn victorious from the fire of the cult of the city that houses their true Life and Soul.


Before handing over his dreams to Borker, master of all the forests in the world. White fire was made and seasoned the amputated meat of the obese ghosts who dared to flee from their mouth in grace of law without a sword or shield, to smoke it as a Valhallic morning wafer where the Fallen Surrounded by sacred beastly animals dwell with the shells of meek personalities. Perhaps Asgard, perhaps Sudpichi granting the host to the one who lags behind. Lullaby's pergola from her steed even in her placenta. From the first night and first Dew of a presumed and total Ahrimána intimidation, "Destructive spirit" or "spirit of darkness and evil", he created the demons by launching an attack against Ahura Mazda, who manages, however, to reject him until darkness telling him: "Neither our thoughts, nor our teachings, nor our plans, nor our beliefs, nor our words, nor our souls, agree." But Joshua de Piedra with alkaline quartz flour renewed his attack and pierced the sky in the form of scorching fire and with it brought hunger and disease, pain, desire and death on the Gold Chariots as monumental as a Psalm or a journey of Faith for thousands of years, keeping linear faith to travel to have equipment to return in silence for the hunger of a thousand years without satiety. Ahrimána was feared by all the Devas, especially for his sinister countenance and reddened eyes even when his sons celebrated his namesake sharp rubies. He was represented by a humanoid and black creature, wearing full armor, and from his shoulders came living snakes that poisoned anyone who tried to be upright.


"Ego Vernath; Primo Muneris Historiarum Alexandri Magni Macedonis,
  Im 'iens ut Sudpichi imple immortal ad vitam Cyrine pingues,
Ut apud Gaugamela facta pizote garnet *** eis.
I will plead with you, Pater caelestis.
Et ex millibus venit ad Chiliometra Alikanto claudus ex Akuleo.
  Morbi exords exequie et transitu urgentibus telis duo vel tria a righteous
Debemus sine confessionis velo noctu aquam psalm iris.

Et mollissimas lancinant sum obumbratio eius de collo tuo pro XII hours sum hodie computatis Sanguis rubeus, ut esset itineris fertur super gradm in agris inferre posset explain aciemque per agros ".


"I am Vernath; Alexander the Great First Officer,
I'm going to Sudpichi to fill Immortal life with Cyrine logs,
To granate them with my pizote in Gaugamela.
I fervently ask you, Heavenly Father.
I come from thousands of Kilometers with Alikanto lame from Akuleo.
Crossing the exords and destinies of millions of mortuary arrows, duo or trio, by dozens
Without rest, without confession, without water from the night veil over the iris of my psalm.
I was lacerating the shadows from their necks for 12 hours, today I was counting the red blood cells that I would spread over the fields of the step and flank over the offensive fields ”.


Vernanth, taking his dagger and charging himself with his steed, biasedly cut the jugular veins, retracting the subclavian. In an arcane ritual he did the same with himself, to be reborn before dawn, when both beings of the peat breeze that shone from the tremulous ascending wind of Eolonymy and twitched the hedges that surrounded the Voices of Vigil that secondary him before going to meet with the troops of Alexander Magnus, as host of the black bugles fading to the Persian horizon.

It gets up before dawn. She remembers her childhood and picks up a blue stone to scrape it off her steed's ears and sinuses to revive her. Her legs grew countless meters, to later adapt to her real size. She takes her dagger, wraps it in cloths of lazy warm grass of tomorrow, and rubs it on her temples. Alikanto is active and stares at her to adore her again in a life with her.

As the morning sang the subtle and gentle twisted threads of time from the light of nature, she was encouraged to wake up crawling over the weevils and face to face with her sentry. It lifts its tail and lifts it up for the first comeback of daring to ride together through the white clouds and the feverish white skies. Erected like a graveyard pulled by its fanatical stampedes.

Scents of tasty foods appear for both of you, perhaps to get rid of so quickly gobble up the food riches that the holy land that allowed you to still be awake and have revived again, before heading to the fiefdoms of the offensive liana of the trapezoid expired.

There were only a few hours left to leave and meet his compatriots, to seize axes and weapons of war. Maybe to take one last look. And perhaps to see if he should survive taking the remains of his comrades to Horcondising, Asgard or Pairi-Daeza, to some Sufi labyrinth, so as not to disdain the hearts of the brothers in Silsilá.

como quando tigres enfeitam a maçaneta dos ventos
e cobrem o fio de náilon sobre a camada espessa da terra.

logo eu que pairo sobre as montanhas cobertas de neve de açúcar
chego cansada pelos montes de veludo e sopro todo ar que um dia foi de alguém.

escuto os sons que meu pai grita da garganta seca e consumida pela vida falha dos danos em nó.

sigo firme no divã que um dia foi de minha vó que morreu nos braços de deus enquanto vomitava em uma bacia de metal em formato de baço.

eis que um dia pensei: sou feliz e não sabia que era.

um dia quando tudo se cair pela metade na esquerda irei confusa dormir sob os véus dos espíritos que pairam na terra secreta e silenciosamente dominam a mente de pastores homens.

há de um dia ser tudo amor e mais vívido como quando quadros pintam a si mesmos na calada do dia em pleno raio de sol das três e quinze da tarde enquanto tomam café gelado sem leite.

minha mãe um dia travou em pé e encarou a guarda de um poderoso pai e padeci de medo mas superei a realidade que o mundo um dia me trouxe.

quisera eu dominar a xícara de licor sob os pés de caixas simbolizantes e soprar uma lágrima pelos ombros que um dia foram meus e de mais ninguém.

haja fé suficiente na vida dos que ainda não foram e procuram por paz no meio do caminho tortuoso de outra dimensão.

um dia uma nuvem vai cair do céu e parar sentada no meu colo; e quando a tesoura que usarei pra corta-la sair da gaveta, gritarei quatro vezes: esse mundo não é teu.

quanto a explicar emoções se começa assim:
parecendo um intruso chegando na conversa pela
metade.

toda hora a peça gira nada meticulosa, com seus engenhos
confusos e complexos.
sem dar motivo nem razão
é simples assim.

uma hora pode aparecer tons mais escuros que o *****
do céu.
de repente se mistura ao branco e fica cinza
em seguida vem o amarelo e deixa roxo.
então o rosa converge num tom que dependendo a quantidade
fica mais claro mais vibrante.

e quando garante que a paleta se concluiu
ela desliza das mãos, cai no chão e converge em cores
que não existem.

eis então uma delas: a surpresa da ira.

how often do ich allow myself to sing(en)?
how often do ich allow myself tanz!

nüchtern englisch:
               neckerei spleeing zunge
towing a ****'s tow-tied-double
for...

how often do ich allow myself to sing?
how often do ich allow myself tanz?

let the night come:
let me drink! let me sing! let me dance!
let me conquer the crescent of
the moon hunched
sitting on one leg folded
perched on a windowsill!

let me sing in a tongue i want to sing
in: in a tongue that's teasing
what words mean...
but not, quiet...

e.g.

  ein spielmann sah am wege stehn
die hexe habergeiß,
       es sprach die alte: sauf noch ein!
da wards dem spielmann heiß
ein spielmann sah em wege stehn
die hexe habergeiß,
  es sprech die alte: sauf noch ein!
da wards dem spielmann heiß
      der spielmann fing zu laufen an
    in das wirtshaus toll
da sprach der spielmann: sauf noch ein!
füllt mir die gläser voll!
der spielmann fing zu laufen an
   rennt in das wirtshaus toll
           da sprech der speilmann: sauf noch ein!
füllt mir gläser voll!

even now: a crow pecking...
stone stacked above a stone...
a cloud rumbling: echoes of a mountain...
drifting from the pop scythe of
teasing Buddhism...

alles: wie darlehen wörter:
   no longer teasing, bothersome ol'
buddha brainz...
           from almost not 100 years ago...
toward the old... the kind...
the forgiving dead...
    static murk and auburn wood...

from this Babylonian nurt:
   high cosmopolitan when
seeking affectionless consort...
             my crown, my crow...
i wish to sing but... singing is something
beside rhyme when facing
oriental borrowing...
the haiku...

          "we" have been much gratified by
expanding into the Oriental thought
prodding...
   the Mongol Invasion was
a revisionist step for some of "us"...
i write these words like
they they might be self-explanatory
compliments worth of an extension
of someone who doesn't desire to think...

the certainty of death but the wish
to wake up speaking neither
western slavic or english
is tremor... tremendous...
it tremors tremendously...
i hope for a horse:
i'm working for a horse via
a bicycle...
i have no interest in a car, mawn-beel...
or a mobile...
guzzing carbon shrapnel...
fish & toad... prized assets of coronation
worth of gems in a mythological
crown...

ein kork im die flashe: a cork in the bottle:
trouble with drinking wine
when you don't have a corkscrew
readily available in the house...
even at night: esp. at night...
korkenzieher: ich haben nicht:
ich nicht haben...

perfectly european grammar
not ancient Latin-whip-O...
      i have not...
  i not have...
              jaw-dropping Greek & Hebrew
leveraging: intactness...
they almost seem to whisper:
the volcanos sound the same...
the wind too...
and the same oiling of godly bodyparts
that do no resemble
oracles, phalluses or worship of
pyramids / miracles...

******* gloryhole videos...
and you wonder
at all that ******* missing in
the male parts...
while the woman can entertain
****** arousal: only because of them...
and she doesn't require for there
to be a *******..
bad luck(?) solo project
of the... uncircumcised, lot?

     cork in a bottle... the message
is clear... meandering for Emma...
that hierarchical queen
of... hypergamy: the gnome...
yes the frisky clansman & celt: repose...
ginger's argument...
no...
       walking abortions...
otherwise a posteriori:
the men who do not **** /
reproduce...
like ad nauseam: che guaverra
  t-shirts /
           deja vu... ooh dijon?
must be... a mush-****...
tarts and hu-SH-SH are not
exactly, necessary; are they?

if i'm watching a ***** it's on silent...
otherwise it's primarily
the picturesque sunset and sunrises
of giggling ****... wobbling too but
hardly a pint of milk from
those spandex / latex...
    silicon oozing fakes...

or i'm watching... no... i'm listen to *****
without seeing the images...
it's hardly not confusing but
i do remember...
when the two parallels met...
it was a ****** sort of
a magical adventure-land of
a month's worth of a summer
when...
love was leftover and managed
to be predictably soft... pouch-:
m'ah sacrificial lamb sort of: adventurous...

like golgotha was ever everest...
extend that crucifixion scene
armed with... less a wine soaked
sponge...
and an oxygen canister...
the altar of worship while...
to be honest?
the sacrifice is... mediocre...
concerning those who experienced much more...
plus the public spectacle
so it would have come to so much
less than when
having to... entomb a private torture
for some... shy... psychopath...
but out in the open?!
for all to see?

mediocre adventure...  how i tease!
but what isn't mediocre about
***** and crucifix...
staging orders...
summit of the rats!

of eis... of water... of spiegel...
of eisen...
             of beute...
         this mediocre payload...
this almost too iconic suffering...
some came after...
some must have come prior:
with greater magnitude:
and what... he died in... old age?
levelling the soot
of averages?

was denn?! was denn?!
wenn er wohnte zu sterben alt?!
i'm sleeping in englisch...
i die: i hope to spreschen
nichts, aber: diese!

für liebe von leute...
  ich abscheu haben
    klassisch musik-,
                it's not that there are
"too many notes"...
i just abhor the leverage of expectations...
people's names that become resounding
to a noun ascribed to chair...
congested history...
in a democracy:
in a Bolshevik democracy...
this... riddle... the immortal quest...
i gain a hotter **** than you...
my Robespierre...
     return to: that song...
my Charlemagne...
and all frictions return in amass...
i try i try some more: no!
is what's resounding...

               to hell with man and his...
then i'm doubly crushed with
what became of Copernican via
Darwinism and...
again... tridents are a must...
in the squalors of shadows...
    im das elend auf schatten...
                
i'll be waiting in some,
variation of a line a lineage a...
           same old:
   gleich alt...
                    the king and pauper...
before they...
might reclaim status of king
or... pauper...
the fizzying out the fizzle through
when standing before
the altar of
the "other", "last"...
culprit of gott...
        
death, herr tod...
        the equaliser... the democratic pardoner...
alles werden sterben...
        machen speicher in ein kino...
no?
          
       to speak a bilingual version
of english with no other more troubling
desire as to otherwise cling
to mythological zeppelins!
that must be... a troubling artefact.

Eis um dia que nasceu ele e a fé de acreditar que o bem é o desígnio da sua vida nasceu também com ele.
Nos vários propósitos de cada um chegou o desígnio de mudança, que afinal outrora já por ela se suplicava.
O facto é que realmente o mundo e o homem perderam a consciência e todos os valores que nos faziam querer em sermos verdadeiros e de verdade morreram.
Na verdade, talvez este seja agora um desafio diferente. O tempo e a fome haviam crescido de tal ordem que a mudança desejada pedia luxúria, extravagância de afetos ocos e imbecilidade. Porém a mudança chegou.
Todos este cérebros de superioridade, incalculavelmente desvanecidos se deram conta de um problema quase comum. No entanto navegam-se mares, percorrem-se montanhas para perceber que o ditado amor que temos por as coisas que dizemos nossas tem de facto mais valor que a vida do corpo e também da alma de alguns. Tanto paço para estas cabeças ocas perceberem que temos de servir-nos do que abusamos tratar como nosso do que nem é de todos.
Bem seria acreditar que se devia assumir a posição de tratarmos o problema comum. Ligar os cérebros no tratamento desta doença vitoriosa.
O mal é sermos coniventes com ela e acreditamos que estamos a comandar esta geringonça global.
Vamos sofrer uma goleada histórica.
Muito me espanta, bons comportamentos de gente honesta, experimentado no caminho certo.
O que eu espero agora é que a consciência da soberania se não perca nos senhores definidos e intitulados sobramos. Não são grupos separatistas que vencerão está guerra. Quem irá vencer esta guerra é a natureza que criamos, ou tenhamos de vir a criar.
Estamos muito longe do mundo certo, e de início escolhemos o caminho mais longo do sentido incorrecto.
Obrigado aos que nos fazem acreditar mas ninguém pode carregar esta cruz sozinho.
Protejam-se e sejam solidários independentemente do desfecho.
Bem hajam
Autor: António Benigno
Código de autor: 2020.03.20.18.03..22.33.03.01

where was is that i heard, 20% of people do 50% of the work,
or perhaps i overheard the ratio incorrectly,
20% of people do 80% of the work...
i left the house at 5:30am...
i don't think i slept a wink...
    got to Liverpool St. at around 6:40am... no trains
to Wembley Park... i.e. no Metropolitan Line from
Aldgate...
the Hammersmith & City line opened at around
ten past seven a.m.
  jumped on it to Baker St.
   then a five minute wait for the metropolitan
line... two stops to Wembley Park...
picked up a coffee at McDonald's, black... five
or six sugars... those sachets are never teaspoon
equivalent...
perhaps late by half an hour... but not really...
a massive queue of stewards at the signing-in...
people coming later than me...
waiting for about 3 hours outside the stadium
until we were finally let it and allocated our
positions...
hardly any briefing...
the national anthem was tested about five times...
as was the pyrotechnics...
sweep of the entire north stand of level 5...
checking for all the seats being in a working
condition... then allocated our spots...
no chance in hell was i going to stick to the plan...
someone approached me gagging for a smoke,
no can do, cameras everywhere,
took my hand, i told him: i'm a smoker too...
i haven't been smoking since 8am...
just imagine what that cigarette will feel like
when you get out... stay strong...
a co-worker was babbling to some customers
about the events at the Euros
when the stadium was stormed by hooligans
without tickets... he remembered that
he was instructed not to speak about it...
for an hour or two i was reassuring him
that he wouldn't get into trouble,
paranoid... the people he was talking to
had their telephone out...
he was on the frontline of the stampede:
he thought he was going to be dox(x)ed...
but you're a wearing a face-mask, aren't you?
and your voice never sounds the same in real
life as it might sound on a recording, no?
don't worry...
telling people in the glass room on level 5
to finish their drinks... kick off in 10 minutes...
two hands extended: ten digits showing...
thank you mate... blah blah...
at half time: 5 minutes to kick off...
one hand extended five digits showing... more thank you mate...
the incident with a first aid...
a man and his two daughter...
i should have asked for his ticket, just in case...
i will next time...
one first aid room closed,
we walked to a second first aid room: also closed...
i left the three in the company of fellow stewards:
keep them entertained, talking...
only a bruised knee, or a cut knee...
his, or one of his girls? i couldn't remember,
talked to a supervisor, both the first aid rooms
are closed, where are the first aiders?
message to control room, hawk-eye on...
they should be at base 503... went to base 503...
they're not there... they apparently were located
in one of the first aid rooms: now open...
escorted them to the man and his two daughters...
but obviously half time was over
and they ****** off to sit down...
clearly the incident wasn't so important...
but i persisted...
walked up and down each base up the stairs
scanning the crowd, hoping to find them...
almost reaching an epileptic fit from scanning
so many faces... until another supervisor approached
me: what are you doing?
looking for them... they might have gone to a lower level,
should i stop? yeah...
then this guy who wanted to go from level 5 to
level 1... but his ticket read: you're supposed
to be on level 5... he tried to wriggle his way out...
but my younger brother is there,
and i have food for him...
the supervisor asked: but your under 18 companion
is in company of an 18+ minder?
if everyone wanted to go down to the lower
levels for a better view...
it wouldn't be fair...
then not-minded children running across the aisles
at the top of the stadium...
one fellow steward asked me to intervene,
a mother herself... happened three or four times...
first two times a supervisor just passively walked around
the "incident" without music influence...
by the time i got there one of the kids was
falling on the chairs... thankfully i scribbled to them
a sentence with a hand facing down:
moving my index and middle fingers slowly
with an imitation of: walk... don't run...
go back to your parents... lucky mummy also picked
up the scent of danger...
problem sorted...
then this solitary kid high up in the stands...
what team do you support, you're enjoying yourself,
you're up here alone? where are you parents /
who are you with? grandfather, father and sister?
you're up here to get a better view...
all the while kneeling beside him...
oh, cool, just remember to return to them
before the end of the match...
at the end of the match he was still up there all alone...
sort of mumbling to himself...
or just excited as any child might be
when sitting on the highest reaches of the Wembley
crater...
i escorted him to his grandfather before the final
whistle... problem sorted in advance:
it might have been a missing child... when the crowds
started to disperse...
then this escalation steward came to one of the bases:
one steward at the door... the other
at the bottom of the rows... at the end of the stairs
for level 5...
so people don't unhinge themselves and sway into
the barrier and possibly fall off...
he noticed one missing to the left...
i walked down to the one where i was at
and looked to the right...
how many missing in your position...
thumb, index, ******* posited with question,
three missing? he affirmed...
and i was off... a fellow steward: no supervisor,
imploring one of each of the three pairs to break up,
one to stand at the door the other to go down
to the bottom of the stairs...
they complied...
the women's Chelsea team beat the women's Arsenal
team 3 nil... Chelsea had only managed to win the FA
cup twice prior to today's win...
the Arsenal team have won it 15 times...
today's stadium capacity reached circa 42K...
not bad for a female football match... i reckon...
the clientele... a mixed bunch...
you'd think there would be more women...
n'ah... hmm... most certainly more children than per usual
football match... children are most certainly gender neutral...
well... gender "neutral"... whatever the hell that means...
it probably means:
i was a boy once too... i'd play video games,
but i'd also play with dolls with girls...
we'd congregate with girls playing hide-and-seek...
tic-tac-toe... no ******* way...
no boys there... or jumping over skipping ropes...
no chance... climbing trees? sure...
such a different clientele to what's expected
to a Fulham match...
£4.80 for a steak & ale pie... burgers at £6.00 not worth
the money... you can never get a bad pie
at a football match...

in summary... i think i was built for this role...
over £10 an hour... but it's not about the money...
i don't want money...
i have an apprehension of money...
firstly: i don't really know what i'd spend it on
if i had too much of it, if there was enough for rent,
for food... i just don't like spending money...
i like drinking whiskey...
i prefer cooking my own food than imploring
others to cook it for me...
i feel silly in a restaurant... almost like a mannequin
with a grimace, or for that matter movement...
all those restaurants in central London...
glass panes... oh look... the mannequins are eating...
window shopping escalated...
they're also advertising clothing!
cooking for yourself though... it reminds me of...
those days in the organic chemistry laboratories
of the Joseph Black building up in Edinburgh...
air filled with whiffs of sulphur and ethanol...
and machinery...

i fear money, as much as i fear god...
what's the point of loving either Mammon or Ha-Shem
when you become ignorant to both,
who might, suddenly... on a whim... change their mind
regarding your fate?
plus... extra money: while you might not be spending it...
someone might latch up onto you and leech your wallet...
why would anyone ever want that?
that's why i don't want to earn beyond
my capacity...
let savings be like a trickle...
in that fabled torture of Loki... Loki's punishment...
with the serpent's venom dripping onto his head
drop by drop... "riddling" a hole in his skull...
but this life is all a credit... best work around the medium
of debit...
i don't remember the last time i worked with
credit... spend less than you earn...
simple, no? never "fake it, until you make it"...
if it has to be summarised as... well... stretching it:
it's not an ascetic reason...
it's a Spartan reason: there are no religious reasons...
there are only... self-imposed reasons...
come to think of it...
once the ascetic reasons are established...
aesthetic reasons come on their own...
it's beautifully! ha ha! simple!

it becomes... luckily one of the supervisors dropped
me off at Newbury Park with two fellow
co-workers... he was heading up to Basildon...
put the heating up... one co-worker was nodding in
approval to the met sleep...
me? i took a power-nap after having some food back home,
from 8:30pm to 9:30pm, before writing my father's invoice,
making him lunch & taking out the garbage...

but he kept on switching the music
and texting while driving...
what?! what is this, short-attention span when it comes to music?

alll i herd was rap, some drum & bass,
something equivalent to pendulum,
before the song was half-way through,
he would change it... start working early in life...
low attention span, how many thought were pulverising
his head when he took it upon himself
a self-assertiveness of an "alpha-male":
sure... Dan is about 2 inches taller than me,
fatty boy, walks about like a falling oak...
has 4 children... yet.. his mind was distracted
by my silence...

i could have said: listen, mate, i'm knackered...
it might be probable that i only dreamt up
sleeping these three hours...
treating women like second class citizenry:
but.... THE WOMEN LOVE IT...
the grumpy male...
they love it!
i'm not your uber driver etc.
well, i'm not having any of it... i just focused
on his restless mind...
if i were driving the car...
you'd be listening to

die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft...
through & through...

die aeisenfaust am lanzenschft
die zügel in der linken,
so sprengt des reiches ritterschaft
und ihre schwerter blinken

hey-ah hey-ah.... hey-ah! hey-ah!
und ihre schwerter blinken.
hey-ah hey-ah.... hey-ah! hey-ah!
und ihre schwerter blinken.

das balkenkreuz, das schwarze fleigt
voran auf weißen grunde,
verloren zwar doch umbesiegt
so klingt uns seine kunde,

hey-ah hey-ah.... hey-ah! hey-ah!
so klingt uns seine kunde.
hey-ah hey-ah.... hey-ah! hey-ah!
so klingt uns seine kunde.

at worst, you'd have me playing Prokofiev's
schlacht auf das eis...
(battle on the ice, some Nevsky)...
if only the Polacks wrote a musical score
for... schlacht bei Tannenberg...
sadly... only  painting...

that's history... what a scatter brain...
we rode all the way from Wembley toward
the straight A12 towards Essex Basildon...
i don't think i heard a whole song in full...
playing the role of "alpha male" leaves most men
scatter brained...
he already has the physical superiority,
but his mind is a mollusk...

my fellow coworker tried to establish something,
i already disclosed to her that i studied
chemistry, that i write... ahem... poo-etry...
my name, my ******* name...
i break it down to her:

M'ah-T'eh...   ΩŠ...
the it's written as mateusz...
but the slavic S+Z is equivalent to the English S+H...
which is equivalent to hiding either Z or H
within the S as a caron: Š...
ma-te (again, hide the H's of the vowel catcher
tetragrammaton)...
the upsilon is prolonged, therefore becomes
a doubled omicron, like in pOOl...
ergo... an omega... omega being sort of a "double-u"...
W... V... a double V... when is softened from vent...
wet is the softened version of vet...

it's not a double "U"... is it... that's an omega...
it's a double V... that W = 2xV, no?

come to think of it, telepathy?
if you read enough Julian Jaynes, about the phenomenon
of the bicemeral mind...
prior to to the event: as if the 8 winds spoke one
word simultaneously, was someone calling me?
i heard the word: MA-TE-USZ...
as clearly as i felt the cold,
heard the rain, saw the sun...

if my name could be elevated....
from merely: geschenk von gott
to: das licht von zorn...
   (gift of god that becomes:
the light of wrath)...
i'd hear about it, prior to seeing anything...
that the day begun with a hallucination,
and ended with someone asking
me for the syllables corrected...

clearly this is a job for me, i'm very fond on
ensuring crowds are safe, secured, serviced...
i like this simple mantra:
keep them contained within a crowd status....
keep them herderded...
i might wish for sheep, people is the closest i'll ever come
to being someone herding sheep not uprooted
from his roots in Iran, being turned into
an Just-Eat driver on a ******* moped...

i'm loving these little snippets of authority,
it can't allow me to turn into a megalomaniac,
i feel... a genuine concern for people,
esp. children....
i don't need my own... the children of strangers are
plenty...

but it's so bewildering, a guy pretends to be this alpha...
rude to females... mein gott: how women love
being slapped metaphorically!
mein hertz, ist nicht im des recht platz...
singen freude! singen frei!
lassen alles einfach: singen!

i lapse into etymological English, i.e. German
whenever something is... odd... curious...
a hmm proposition...

plenty... jetzt kommt, der große: schlaf(en).

Knisterndes Eis
Gedanken drehen Pirouetten,
springen in flockigen Kristallgeistern

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