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Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
i still believe that φ (phi) and θ (theta) used to be a grapheme, akin to the Trojan / Roman æ, cf. Virgil's the Æneid, then too a γraφeme in german: ß, not necessarily scharfes, but rutschig s... a slippery s... s the marijuana fiend all hippy and ****, then the z, using Beat vocabulary slang, the suited and booted for either war or the office environment □ (square)... i still believe φθ used to be a grapheme... separated at birth... as with V so too Φ and Θ have the prime incisors' touch the bottom lip to be said, honestly, the bottom lip makes more bone-interactions than the upper-lip; criticism is a type of medicine, you either take it... or bite the bullet. but hear a German utter the disparity: noticeable given Rammstein: ich v. sachen: i.e. ich (-sh) v. sashen or simply sahen - maybe learning Yiddish would help - the error, apart from the Malachi introduction of polytheism with two Elijahs? well, i helped you once, i won't help you again, one proof means no repetition, boorish Moses dragged from high status and belief in a birthright to garbage, from the right-hand of the Pharaoh that Joseph was, to the lowly pits of bricklayers - English bricklayers are 'appy, indeed the Grecian dispute over the surd Ηη (eta), on a hunch... hitch-hiking letter - Hitchens attacked mother Teresa, i attacked John Paul the soocoond... a Turk with grievances illuminated the story further... pope forgave the ****** in a prison cell, once law was enforced, the mighty confusion between sins (perversions) and outright bookmaker's testimony concerning the gambling of laws. i still believe φθ used to be a grapheme... look toward languages that instil the pressures of tongue-tying-tornadoes... if it weren't the grapheme ß, i'd say it was a dance between s und zee, in that the tango was danced, and the mantis convened its presence with alimony or other tactics for the hangman to fidget on the noose; obviously as confusing as to place Backgammon alphabetically coerced with ßimilarity.

poetry hasn't been altogether banished from
the republic - i concede that poetry is
best written in a frenzy - drunk - intoxicated
with whatever is deemed necessary,
prior to the battle of Hastings (1066), Harold's
army drank and drank and drank -
berserker alternative to *****? mushrooms -
so if no battle, no vain hope to compete
with Achilles - then in poetry too, phantoms
in white, cutting and bruising with every word
emerge - a solemn pledge to the art.
well, poetry hasn't been totally banished,
it's an undercurrent - manoeuvring tactic
of intelligent argument - so many poetic techniques
are used when one suddenly appears ridiculous,
sooner or later people fall back on metaphor,
with such sly excuses: oh, not really, metaphorically
speaking - oh but that's just imagery - etc. etc.
poetry is kept, precious in every circumstance in
the **** sapiens brain - to keep appearances -
to sober up - oddly enough - poetry as a method
to sober up from a frenzy of rhetoric - the 'not really'
of things that pass - it's the usefulness of disguise,
the ridiculous and pompous can suddenly take
on priestly demur - suddenly any traces of religiosity
disintegrate, and a cold and hardened heart emerges
with crystalline belief in the ruler, the protractor
and all manners of *the sensibility of science
,
anything not humbled by science is deemed childish...
chillingly this childishness is also the childishness
waving a machete or firing a Kalashnikov - oh how
childish it becomes - the ***** to take someone's life...
great disputes in heaven, about four angels are
pop, Gabriel, Michael, Raphael and Satan -
total pop culture up there - anyway, it's not the glorification
of science is fairing well, to glorify science while
being a pauper with a limited scientific vocabulary is
already entrenched, so much so that the proof is there
regarding what's happening in western societies -
to create a universal vocabulary - a tactful one,
a vocabulary that does not impress because it does not
offend - a silk vocabulary, scientifically speaking
a smooth vocabulary, perfected to be pitched so that
the overall un-offended apathy of the listener is kept,
gay is out, homosexual is in, god forbid you mention
the word pederast or simply **** - god forbid,
bite your nails, say your mea culpa prior to jumping
into bed and all is well on the western front -
it's a revolution, didn't you hear? they say iron chains
i say liquorice tangles that can be eaten through -
apologies if your palette is not suited to the particular
Anise; but a revolution nonetheless - how did we get
to the point of trying to limit other people's vocabulary?
but of course certain words contain certain emotions,
better feel dread and disgust than an emotional flatline
with no emotion present. regarding pop culture
in heaven, ever hear the names: zehpanuryay,
abirzehyay, atarigiash, nagarniel, anpiel, naazuriel,
sastiel? you probably haven't - but it's not like you'd
keep names such as: the family of amine-boranes,
ammonia-carboxyborane, tamoxifen, paraaldehyde,
dihydropyran, polyester / dacron / mylar made from
dimethyl tereφθalate and ethylene glycol...
so what's more ridiculous? funny enough, the only
remaining aspect of the English language retaining
its roots in Saxony is expressed in chemistry,
the obvious lack of hyphen usage - chemistry is the
only revealing essence of English as having origins
in German, the excessive compounding of words,
chemical nouns that require a breathing technique
and a good optical scalpel to pronounce them -
as is well known, Germans don't believe in keeping
shrapnel, they see wordy shrapnel they get the grammatical
kiln out and melt everything together, e.g.
staatlichverantwortung (duty to the state, civic duty),
only in chemistry is the German a thick block of writing,
elsewhere it's aquatic or even gaseous - one
word jokes: Richard - ****... Mr. W. Kerr - Wayne.
Zero Nine Mar 2017
When the lights stop spinning --
Will the lights stop spinning?
This is the crash,
This is the fall,
I'm the water coming back down
Return from orbit and
Breaking old ******* bones
How's that for home?
When the lights stop spinning --
And they will stop spinning.
Gift of immortality in abstract.
No God, no blessing to grant.
Touchdown from orbit,
******* asteroid.
I am the master/pilot,
My body to destroy
My body to destroy
Dreams and reality seem inseparable
as though waking thought had melded
with that of subconsciousness unto one.

Insomnia/trance,
"my mind is always on."

I am become The Oracle of Apollo,
Under ethylene intoxication
the past, present and future are one.

Pythia of Delphi lives on.
Quotes:
Line Five from Little Dreams (Zomboy Remix) - Ellie Goulding
Mitchell Nov 2020
I read one night about the ancient Greeks
And their ways
Of getting in touch
With the touch of Gods;

A God's touch.

Ethylene scientists believed,
Or
Deduced or
Gathered or
Came to the conclusion of.

Whatever it was,
It was official.

And I believed them.
It was in the text.
If it's not in a book, what is it in?
A book is a sole tome
Of resistance. It holds
Scattered souls wrapped in
Undefinable, unbreakable truth.

Granted, it may sound like
Scaled fish on a bridge in the
Middle-Madness of Summer
(Underpants stuck to the Legs
And Your Breath Smelling like
The ***** of ***** Feet)
But the book, as it always will,
Will survive.

The book burns
At the same degree
Of the human spirit -

No degree.

Survival, for better or worse,
Is in our
Biology.

If there is no tomorrow,
There is no today.

I saw the Greeks in my fine book that day.
They showed me an ancient woman
Huffing great huffs from Mother Earth
To see a vision of Her birth, not His.

He stole Her offering
And I will never forgive him.

And come at me with didactic
Beginnings and etymology of creation.
It's just like a man
To want to possess
Rather than claim the rightful heir

To no one or nothing.

I read one night about the stones
Those women
Slept on to become
The guides of scared men
Lustful for power

But too lazy
To suffer for it

How far we've come, I said
To the stars
Who I had no hand

In ever teaching

How to shine.
It started with a glance.
An innocuous chanced glance.
Fate is a cruel mistress,
I was just the mistress.
I'm not proud of the fact.
I don't take pride in being your "bit on the side"
Part of me died when you told me you were married.
But, I couldn't stop being with you, that is,
until the glance.

Ever had the feeling that someone is watching you?
Well, I did, and I looked up.
There she was.
The wife.
I felt the colour drain from the room.
I wanted to run, but Karma had plans.
How alike we were, hair, build, our humour
the only difference were our eyes.
Mine, blue, hers brown.

That's how it happened.
A chance glance at a coffee shop.
We chatted, it would seem we both knew of each other.
I didn't know of the pregnancy.
You should have told me.
But then you knew I'd leave.
Mistress to a married man I can live with.
Mistress to a family man? No.
Even a mistress has some standards.

Over coffee and cake we conspired to rid ourselves of you.
The cake was the key.
And they do say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.
Anti-freeze or Ethylene Glycol poisoning was chosen.
Embittering agent was nullified by the sweet frosting.
Our combined bitterness made fantastic cakes.
Acute kidney failure in 72 hrs, and, well you were told to stop drinking.
The only questions I really wanted to ask you were,
Do you remember who served you?

Were her eyes brown or blue.
© JLB
02/03/2015
11:08 GMT
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
I’m imagining a place where trees stretch their arms to the sky and strain lucidly for stars we cannot reach. The grass reflects subtle lights spawned from fireflies landing in the palms of our hands, still, but alive. It smells of ethylene and the garden looks as though it could foster a plethora of unknown tales from unknown times.
But this place does not exist.
Manfred Kriger Aug 2019
When they say love is blind
it is not a euphenism to justify your lover
being aesthetically displeasing.
Most of us dont fall in love with ogre's
who rescue us from barren castles.
What they mean to tell you is that
Prince Charming is who will take away your sight.
Love is synonymous with being blind.

Too caught up in his dreamy eyes
to ever break your gaze.
His lushes hair weaves perfectly in
between your fingers as you tug on it.
You will close your eyes and allow his lips ravish yours.

Closed your eyes shall remain as the bright crimson cloth waves in the wind,
you will mistake the sound for your heart beating faster.

The taste of his lips will linger only for a brief moment on your tongue,
sweet,
don't be fooled by this taste,
ethylene glycol is a sweet poison.
I know it has been a while since I had posted anything but live has been rather busy lately and it took some time to find inspiration to write again
Greymi Fortunato Sep 2018
Ethylene glycerol

Alike your fatal attraction

Poisonous and detrimental

to your being not your

Regular seeking of satisfaction

I ask God for compassion

Don’t let me be the distraction

That drags to rags and attracts you

Virulent I am toxic

that residue that builds up

Your feelings and rip them out

Merciless and laugh at your passion

I am not who you beautifully

naively believe me to be

I am Nicotine.

I’m addictive and

your reaction is to

Take me in

I warn for you

To breathe me out

my ashes  

Burning your inner proud

I smoked

You in and spit you out with satisfaction

I’m your assassin imagine me killing

Your every interaction

Ignore you when you

just tried to be my companion

I abandoned you handsome

Avoided the expansion of my feelings

For a random

Deadly

you were familiar

And maybe too good to be true

I allowed your feelings to wrap

What i needed

I dreamt of the killing

noxious

While leaving I saw you

kneeling asking for forgiveness

When I was the one to fill your demons

With greetings revealing

That I was just a deadly

drug not what you needed

And didn’t intervene just proceeded.

— The End —