i let myself to trust you
i even hand you a gun
that once you pull the trigger
you know
it will never get back
to you

you aimed it
to the one who gave you
you pulled it
without any guilt
you let the bullet
hit my heart

it is now stop beating
for you
it was taken away
by you

now you got no place
in my heart
no more
no more
not anymore

i lie in tears
on my excruciation
bemoan
alone
without you
by my side

O my sacred,
Shower me with your greatness.
Bring it up to my neck,
And drown me in the lake bed.

O how secret, and so delicate,
Fear in trust involved.
It's not a secret anyways,
If nothing's getting solved.

I love, I trust, I need you,
In fear I live all time.
My words in hope to mean them,
So that you'll say "You're mine"

O my sacred,
Take myself and make it yours.
This day is nothing to you,
Your love fills my empty lake bed.

A love, that's secrets tale,
One month, forever it lasted.
The tale of two, of many,
At each other, love was blasted.

No one way to say it right,
Four ways to say I Love You.
Just take me as I am,
And know that I'm thinking of you.

O my sacred,
Unto you I do trust.
No lake bed full of:

doubt, anger, mistrust, jealousy, regret, pain, hurt, love, hate, lust, health, disease, space, time, pity, indulgence, sorrow, mourning, evil, distress, affliction, trouble, breaks, insignificance, remorse, agony, peril, skeptics, insecurities, uncertainty, question, suspicion, difficulty, dilemma, depression, belief, worry, conviction, cruelty, discredit, hesitation, unhappiness, calamity, travesty, grief, hardship, loss, suffering, weeping, sadness, heartache, lament, excruciation, torture, soreness, discomfort, penalty, torment, torture, harm, malicion, malevolence, prejudice ,detriment, disservice, misfortune, abuse, effort, labor, endeavor, strength, power, energy, operation, mistreat, undermining, blemish, flaw, disservance, misery, injury, exertion, struggle, trial, madness, wrath, rampage, harassment, irritation, exasperation, rage, tantrum, infuriation, mischief, inequality, alienation, aggravation, annoyance, contagion, trauma, damage, insults, violation, wrong, flesh, or ****.

...ANYTHING between us,
Vanquished because I must!

ants crawl on
slowly


1.
left eye is hopping fast for days now
and time's but a fair damsel
of delightful illusion
how she taunts and teases you
into sweet oblivion
of wickedly sensual basking

she drugs you with deep charisma
and struts at the doorway of your senses
she clutches onto the tracks in your mind
and claws deep into your ragged psyche
that same old song playing
over and over...
........over


2.
see right through train's chassis
rail sleepers spin vigorously backward
in such frightful haste
to get nowhere
no-one knows the real speed of time
out there.....

but for mere mortals
it's leniently paced in adagio
and parceled in mellowed excruciation
as ants walk serene
alongside the tracks


3.
creep into chaotic patterns
fall into hell
through a secret back door
even satan knows not of
as perched as he is
on his *oh-so lofty pile of ordure
his blind heart
sees not
the strobed tracks
of your visiting soul


4.
take a syncopated shot up the arm
from the foul fang of a kind sinner

while saints bathe in fat glory
elsewhere

when you look again
you lie alone in a corner room
broken
yet untethered

tracks to heaven so obscured
by
your paradoxical attempts at levity
on the twisted playground of life's malady


5.
how badly you tripped
so many **** times
you ....got in the way
of your
own
remise


each time you fell
you looked UP
expecting help
when all the while
the answers lay
at your feet:

[your own mistakes are authentic and real;
you try to fox-tread out
but trying to turn your back on a *****
called destiny - equals catastrophe personified
oh, she WILL beckon you back
with her crooked finger
most kindly
to ensure no overdue lessons wait too long.....]



the ants crawl on
so
slowly



S T, Wed 10 July 2013

I've studied the chess table and its consequent game. I know every inch of every square and what each can provide without doubt. I have seen the creatures of this world conflicting in their natural habitat, like an audience to a drama, watching them devour each other until the math proves the premise on a single side. I've moved according to their stride, like a dancer's partner, gliding across this checkered ballroom floor until the truth sets in stone. It's simple dialectics, a move is made and then, from the other, another follows. White conflicts with Black and Black counteracts, a perfect unity of opposites. Never jumping ahead of themselves, one piece at a time, it's a rising exposition from White's first movement forward, a heat creeping in increments on the desert surface. They're each a step ahead at every moment, each a worthy opponent for the other. The cold, morning mirage becomes blistering afternoon and only once does the volcano erupt from boiling sand, truly agape in a fiery victory. Do you hear that power in the distance?

A horn bellows and I move in the wake of the Divine Voice. I am but a cleric for his queen, yet the king requests my service in these grave times. This foreboding feeling leaves me truly afraid for my life, however, like a snowy dove's feather, I am called to the wind with my brethren towards the direction of the evil swamps. God has blessed our devout; the witchcraft of the Black Kingdom will surely fall to His mystic weaponry.

A farmer's strong-hand makes no strongman in the abysmal depths of this marsh. Tilling the land for fallen comrades, the breath of the Black Eye leaves me entrenched in a dripping terror, coating my lungs in a bitter molasses. I contain my sultry pearl of abandonment in the Clam of Defeat, knowing the king's life to be the insurmountable jewel I must truly protect. The following torture would be an endless excruciation heard from every corner of the world.

From afar this looking tower I notice an encounter of mild defeat. A white knight on horseback casts his sword into the chest of a young peon boy standing guard for the King as he leaves the gates of the Black majesty. The boy cries out and the embers from the magical weapon envelope him in ash. The king needn't make haste, after all, the armored fool is frozen in awe, staring at the remains of his powerful encounter with the child. The half daemon looks to and fro as he skims across the moated bridge. He grabs for the golden kryss at his waste and slowly stabs between the break in white armor, freezing it solid. The blood runs quick on the fallen honor.

She's traveled far from her black caging, ripping down from the sky like a dragon. The wind blows a bastion out of the sand in my protection, but she ignites it with her icy breath, stagnating all those inside, moving ever closer to my advantage. My last warring cleric triangulates a teleportation to the town square, fighting a harrowing defeat that lends her to me. His bravery leaves her chained in physical combat with a half deity, however, she smirks as if the war is already won. I tighten my gauntlets for battle as the flying arrow passes my helmet. Oh my great men of war, your weight is on the wrong side of the world. Now it spins out of control. Eclipsed in madness, I send the eruption beneath her, encircling her in rising doom. She cannot escape her molten grave, neither does the arrow shaft merely graze my heart. Everything is hazy. Everything is dark. It is late in the hour, hearing the Devil's whisper say:

“Checkmate.”

This sensation
Deep within thee
Enclosed beyond the margin

The perceive of agony
Concealed in a vast
Silently within thee
Like a bird lured on a trap

Its these phrases
These tales
Apprehended within the mind
Like a conviction of an unblemished soul
Yammering with excruciation

My breathe encapsulated with shards of excruciation, I am not inclined to understand the distorted vengeance that is beneath me, something greater than I lurks with a suffocating aura tormenting everything that is weak enough to where the cloak of demons. Do not entice beings in the underworld, leave them to face their own revelation, when the walls start to crumble on their fickle minds that are soaked in an ill-instrinsic fiction dream world that will never happen, because they will always be the ones poisoned by him.

type of boy: tastes lightly of wintre and cigarette smoke, but mostly of a deep-seated passion that is littered with things he rarely shares.

the lesions have eliminated the ability of my hands and knees to feel the difference between broken bottles, shattered hearts, pieces of bathroom tile. but was there really anything to distinguish them in the first place and there are times when i would die just to be a lightbulb, to illuminate people's lives without having to speak or feel pain, except for the burn of giving your life for people to see each others lips to kiss and to read what is going on in the world.


every evening you torture yourself spewing and spitting your pain into a bottle, because you refuse to allow the words of your excruciation to enter the world. darling, you cannot keep them bottled up forever. i dont think you understand that your pain has been here already, and it will continue to be so until the end of time. it was born when Eve sank her teeth into the Forbidden Fruit and opened the gates of Limbo where Disease and Death reigned supreme. their children escaped and ran into the world to ravage it and they live off of our refusal for comfort, our prideful need to "be strong" when truthfully you will find your release in humility and openness. your throat may fill with a conglomeration of everything that needs to spill but if you just release a drop at a time you will be only watering flowers that were so desperate to live. let the flowers grow inside you and root themselves in your soul. keep watering them. do not waste the water and leave it in the bottle. allow the waterfall to nourish the life within you and become better and stronger. do not keep caged a beast that will only ravage you, not build you up.

a wild child full of grace
stuck in this dream of a haze
that we all agreed to call life
though most times i'd rather die

regret hatred and deception
all in the pain of excruciation
maybe someday i'll be great
despite great being the only thing
i've chosen to hate

it isn't self pity nor is it envy
it's just the thought of maybe
what i'm supposed to be is right in front of me
that i can't seem to see

for i am scared that i will love you more than i can bear

Come under this shield of mine
Hold on so very tight
Excruciation may turn you down
Though you may go back in time

The seeds of frustration around your feet
Let go of all but this shield
Embracing all but this defeat
Let go of all but this shield

Never ask what you'd never tell
Come as close as you might
You might still turn the night down
Holding back, you never fell

Raindrops falling down on us
All I have now is my shield
Fueled up by my desires
All I have now is my shield

Fires want to consume you
And I would gladly burn down now
Taking your miseries out of town
Can't let you feel the blue

Demons and Gods and everything else
Nothing can touch you now
My heart, My shield won't let you down

Accretion,
                     Tis I seek!
Permission,
                     Of ones love to keep!
Partition,
                     I gaze for none!
Secretion,
                     Of child play fun!
Direction,
                     To giveth me her hand!
Completion,
                      A wedded band!
Ommision,
                       I want none more!
Suspition,
                       Please close thy store!
Assumption's,
                       I enquireth zilch!
Corruption,
                       Sleeps with filth!
Attention,
                       Wrap me as waddling infant!
Kitchen's,
                       To cook a meal of terrace's far and distant!
Affectation,
                       Of two fallen cherub's!
Alleviation,
                       Of the bug's and scarab's!
Abstraction,
                       I paint as a picture,
Benedictions,
                       Of one pellet, two triggers!
Complications,
                       Of breathing do I feel,
Irrigations,
                       Another deathly pill!
Saturation,
                       Man made queens to beasts!
Irritation,
                       Where art thou? Queen of settled feast?
Obliteration,
                       I lurk the high hilled tops!
Incarceration,
                        Where ghoul's meet thy cops!
Palliation,
                        To make sensual love in darker nights,
Excruciation,
                        Where art thou light?
*******,
                        Of kings and consort souls,
Acceptation,
                        Wilt thou come mine love?

With those wildflowers you removed  excruciation, and they said you didn't know how to fix the broken pieces.

Where is the palliation? Parochial visions of blank t.v's fuzzed by all Excruciation!
Paradigms of paradoxed love all come around secretly, yet I see them in plain sight. Panacea night's broken to hot bedded springs, parsimonious money launderer's pocket's grow, while children die to sing!!!
The paucity of romancers so pensive to me, perennial, bicentennial blows strong onto every sneeze...
A perfidy of things so strange, word's of slang, to ghetto walls of brick!!! Eye's glued, bomb's on the move with shells from mistakened and sick....
Why so many pojoritive scholar's I ask? Ties to their neck's, with shutgun shells ready to blast....
Perjury of judges, to Schemer's and dreamer's of pernicious luggage....
Where can I find such one who won't make me their perquisite? One to replenish me,
One who shall satisfy me whole as I them!!!!!!!
To an ancient beautiful feast!!!

one winter I almost did not survive
the infinitely consequential moments, all merged
indeed
into one dimensionless experience
where the pain of my entire life (embraced) was
all around me, all at once, and forever
do you know what I mean?
and I could see it all, even behind me and underneath
and I was crushed beneath it and yet,
in that endless vast untime
a winter?
even then
held it upon my palm to look down at
from far far above me
as though it were a tiny diamond
impossibly durable,
sharp,
with all the shining upon all of the surface of the oceans on the earth
and unbearable, I looked down at it,
I held it, unbearable

but it would never fall from me, and it hurt and cheered me to be beneath it
for if God had (known me) long enough
in the untime with no breadth
to lay this curse
the form of grief
down upon my head,
was it not also the most solemn blessing?

       and he is faithful, and the suffering he lays down upon you, he will not allow
to be too much, that you would die while you are alive
one time, but again,
again,
and more after that

that is the winter of indelible clarity
a hard glass memory
behind the curtain, the coldness off the window
freeze against the pane
still I feel it in my hand
heavy (unbearable) and familiar
coming down on me again

what did I do
to turn the eternal gaze
toward my face? I disintegrate in excruciation
but never turn away

i'm not someone who's all too willing to regurgitate
maxims...
it's quiet impossible to have to
vouch for so many observational (not objective,
really) truths...
   after all... the height of the maxim came
with (not Nietzsche) - came with
                       la Rochefoucauld...
                - chance and caprice rule the world
   - we are lazier in mind than (in) body...
to pick but a pair...
a western emphasis for all things
    a posteriori...
              to circumstance oneself in a stance:
akimbo...
or at least akin to Pontius Pilate having
nothing to do with the drilling in of mea culpa:
even for him... something about a lottery
of time and an inescapable round of chores...
that some things are certain is enough
to give a day one's privacy...
but everything else: so agitated and in the tier
of meaningful encounters...
always the "matter"...

unlike those ?? maxims -
which mostly dictate things with an a priori
tinge of "sentiment"...
a verb pure suppose: no prior encounter
like that one that i kept and figured:
keep the sponge of a brain suckling up to it:

the only way to aid the world
is to forget the world
and for the world to forget you -

                crazy for that chance: anon. as
being credited to me, though...
   there's another maxim, though,
i must ascribe it to Socrates because it's most
befitting...

some people live to eat...
others... eat to live...

that's a real conundrum for me...
well... why wouldn't it be?
     if i were to take into account something
archaic as the Pythagorean diet schematic...

god-like eating: vegetables,
                     spices, cereals, dry food...
although some distinctions
if eating meat pork > goat > offal >
mutton > beef...
spices are the extreme to beans
(although... a diet without fibre...
and "we" know that beans
are high in protein)
            dry food: well between
burnt offerings and something rotten...

i was surprised... given the status
of pork to the pagans...
then again: it's the most pristine creature
as it's wholly edible...
beside the oink and the hoofs...
and ol' porkies wouldn't survive in
a desert to begin with...
so i don't understand allah's "beef" with
this pristine creature...
child's play of talk...
      no mention of eating crab meat:
scavenger meat... yet most pristine...

yes... but it's a return from my little
hiatus in katakana, hiragana & hangul...
i'm tired of this custard brain splodge
of curating these symbols
of syllable encoding...

back to the atoms of Latin script...
that these letters are as they are...
mostly because
of the Greek eye...
imitation: the latin script doesn't
have names for its letters...
sing-along stipends (etc.)
no clearly defining A a a(lpha)
which denotes a name and a cipher
like a(lpha) male etc.

a "quicker" root: conserved time...
Hebrew, Phoenician, Greek, Latin...
chicken scratching later...
hopes to elevated to pelican... somewhat...

but still the maxim:
some people live to eat
while others eat to live...
it is a double-edged sword...
i can spot the obvious:
when and where people eat
to survive...
it's more important to eat...
than not to:
how this maxim deciphers fussy-eaters
among the Mandarin omnivores...
well...

but then there's also this attention
to detail surrounding:
some people live to eat:
so they will treat their food with
knowledge and tenderness...
that will make eating a pleasure...
who here might quest to make
the antonym of eating a pleasure...
a spell of diarrhoea, for example?
unless of course bombarded
with **** *** imagery:
one would have to quest to find pleasure
in easing out a loaf:
best in one piece...
  than have to imagine the same...
being reversed back into
one's "glory hole" with a pump action
of agitated vibrations...

and there i was thinking about
being in the possession
of a strap-on phallus made from
ice...
some people live to eat
whole others eat to live...

i thought it less to be in the category
of people who live to eat:
then i gave it some "thought"
and figured out...
the people that eat to live
are the ones that will not prepare
their own food...
oddly enough...

i too thought it was a sustenance
statement...
but given that ******* out
is hardly pleasurable...
chewing is hardly too...
digestion can put you to sleep...
preparation of food is most associated
with the sentiment: some live to eat...
it's not a statement of gluttony...

what's the best easy breakfast i could
think of, sparingly... today...
with revision?
when frying an egg
letting it fry just shy of completely
while dressing it with a slice
of chorizo and finishing it off
with a slice of cheese...
placing it on a toast...

   that i eat to live: well i'm not starving...
animals eat to live...
which is why they don't cook their food...
they eat it raw...
and some people have become
wild animal esque...
in the fast food joints...
lazily being... some people are fed...
to take care for what's to be eaten...
i love this maxim because
it's not so ****** obvious
as to why: some people live to eat...
that there's a concern for what is eaten...
you can't exactly expect yourself
to find substance in tree bark
and grass...

to eat to live is out of desperation...
to live to eat comes from
something more aesthetic than...
       previously thought...
not to the extent of treating food as some
Cezanne - humble origins more, please...
rustic - yes... that's another word for it!

i came across this thought as i came across
a memory of her...
it's a real shame... really...
i was so young then...
she was so young then...
i was 21 she was 19...
   a weird year where i suddenly had
attention of a few girls...
but this one in particular...
what sort of girl proposes to a guy
and choses an engagement ring...
the sort of girl that subsequently
gives it back...
because - well where's Edinburgh
and where's London...
but it's not like she would go down south
with me... she went all the way west
with a previous boyfriend...
from Novosibirsk to St. Petersburg...
then again prior bf had a daddy well
situated and i'm still equivalent
to being a carpenter's son...
  
     out of no less... when the heliocentric
revolution happened...
and geocentric us-and-us-alone
and wish the gods real...
the gynocentrism prevailed as did...
           hypergamy -
                       it's no shock it's nothing new
it's like there was no Copernican
adventure to begin with...
since... everything on earth stayed:
pretty much the same...
now there are only about 3 million
a posteriori walking abortions that
could have taken place
but since... the argument came from:
use... the ****** had to be...
used... and there was all the free time...
and everyone else was doing it...
but not these sons are placebo solipsists
and they have to sort of:
give back the existential tax
of having a life on loan...

            hello... world...
but god the *** was good...
   the most thrill from the memory was...
eating her out like i might
divulge - burrow my face in
greasy beef... i would like a comparison
with oysters or... eating flowers...
but that was the best part...
oral *** and a little ******* sgt. pepper
of the index middle and thumb
working with my thumb to grease
myself up before the whole hallelujah
of the genitals in symphony...

i've been to several brothels and
about a dozen ****** and...
well... well...
                 it's not the same when
one of you is faking payment
and the payment is not as clear
as literally for an hour...
she stayed in my flat rent free...
etc.

          my youth... and she...
oh... plus the chance conversation about
liking Milan Kundera's
the unbearable likeness of being...
although i doubt she read it...
she was most concerned with swans...
i remembered swans from the film adaptation
more than from the book...
then again: memory is a fickle creature...
even now as i'm enjoying
this little cameo project of existentialism
(i.e. memory) -
well... i don't exactly have a choice
in what i can and cannot remember...
beside the anti-dyslexic / numeral-savvy
2 + 2 and a + b + s + o + l + u + t + e...

when she broke up with me
she had this way of insinuating i'd miss
the *** with: when we had ***
and listened to music
the dandy warhols' good morning:
play it when you're missing the "****"...
sure as ****
when i think about eating chicken
meat off the bone...
esp. at the tenderness of the chicken
neck with all the intricacies
of suckling and "plucking"...
i do think about...
a fleshy fruit that i cannot nibble...
or eat...

well that was me zenith of ****** endeavours:
i must adored the heart
of the **** i was eating out
since her onomatopoeia of sorts
is still ringing in my ear:
along with her face in cubist contortions:
i still haven't found relief in
having been pleasured:
some variation of an agony of a martyr
having given pleasure:

not state-holding of a saint's repertoire...
but as i now look it...
a life of restraint:
beside the prostitutes and the brothels:
hell... even the Teutonic Knights
had a brothel in their citadel...
if only i were as willing as
to give my heart up...
to weave in
     a sacrament of giving her a pink
rose... no...
i didn't come across something
just as good:
and this "just as good" is too firmly
lodged in my memory-cinema
for me to blink away from it...
i count myself lucky...
how pristine it all was...

a good shaking of the bag
and out popped out a ****'s depth
enough of wriggling for me
to not appeal to some
*****-envy buckle... after that i grew
a beard and forgot to want to play
the fiddle...
but it was a must, something necessary...
me writing about it now, a decade later
might appear as a vanity project...
then again: i wasn't as busy...
she took off and became
"devoted" twice...
the 2nd time a failure the third i'm still
praying for the poor buck to not
buckle...
i mean: she can boast that she drove
one boy mad...
but what a strange man he came out
to be...
a half-baked loaf of bread: with
teeth for a crust...

summa summarum: it was worth it...
i was ruining my time
in bed, of late...
i came across a ref. to the Noyades...
which was of "concern" for me...
but i also came across an entry: GENUG

the last words spoken...
by certain people of "concern"...
kant (genug) - enough...
              agrippina (nero's mother) -
smite my womb...
thomas hobbes - a great leap in the dark;

if i were the latter i'd also like
to reiterate: into the dark...
unless it be the already sentencing of:
a dark of night...
i find nothing universal in the day
but at least by night
i would simply imply:
beside the darkening mechanisation
of life by toil of body
and the fickleness of mind...
ah... pedantry and chastisement
of self-
(yes... prefixing attachment ready)
for whatever requires
automation and scythe...
and rude workings of
   a digestive system...

besides... there's an easier demand
of argument to be met:
some people live to ****...
others **** to live...
i never liked the Anglophonic line
or argumentation from existentialism:
for the masses from within Darwinism
solves all little interludes...
how it's necessary to equate everything
with squared root of ape...

it can't be this whole narrative...
even the ancient pagan had knowledge
of: **** similis...
i'm still searching for this...
vanguard hope of **** sapiens...
i'm yet to find one...
esp. one with strict etymological
obligations that can distinguish
a word like Slav from Slave...
a Germ from..          -an...
mute from niemy... chwek... etc.

this narrative though: concerning genes:
genes are blind like atoms of sodium are
unless pushed out
from extremes of hereditary cul de sacs
of non-replica...
lineage of cancerous-growth-prone-examples...
etc.
but why oh why...
have this baggage of concerns...
these atomic-attachments:
this hiding of hearth...
it's not predicate of genius...
vain hope bound to horoscopic tension
to spit out a desirable temperament
of a man?

character is all Lego...
crafted from both an a priori and an a posteriori
and an a- priori and: summa posteriori
litany of shelved secrecies...
(a-? without)

each time i return to this little scrap:
this little memory of her...
i also return to myself...
what an idealistic ****-lord
of presence i was...
i was the sort of guy that could buy
a girl oysters for a single date...
well... given the "nature" of life...
the "narrative"...

i will relinquish my fascination with
the eastern arts...
the katakana, the hiragana, the hangul...
when someone teases me
wrong... as i show them...

the cedilla in C and the greek
sigma
  i.e. ç
         i.e. there are many sigmas...
there are... satires...
    there are... all opera is tragedy...
there are loan-words! even in english!
sights to see
  si(gh)t?... ******* surds...
   (g)nome... diaGnostic...
                  (k)night... night, nought...
GH & proud...
   it's almost my...
  meine besitzen zunge, das ich liebe
     so viel...

watch the zeppelins rain down blitzkrieg
in slow-motion while
the Danube rummages with
flow vs. tide... and Birmingham is
without tide... and everything else
is everything else with a spare
tire of metaphor...

- some people eat to live...
while other live to eat...
            i much prefer to cook my own food...
i take pride in owning an arsenal
of spices...
along with a black cardamom
that's the equivalent of a
Laphroaig glug...
  since mead: was yet to be
a drank mythological concern for truths...

oh this little vanity project that it
is... when i loved...
when i was in love...
  when i wasn't this beastly secured
in things that would either blush
or frown at things upkept
in the cosmopolitan lineage
of affairs...
  "conversation":
  that it was Paris and me and
these two Catelonian girls went
to the grave of "desperate Michael"...
well, no... who was it...
it wasn't Bill Murray...
the doors' frontman...

        such a revealing proximity
of: my given names i most associate
with...
   konrad von wallenrode...
konrad of masovia...
  mateusz: tax-collector...
       40 ******* months
itching before what remained
Giza... and that's before the dwarf
Napoleon shifted rules of rank...

it was a great ****...
i still love the idea we didn't become
so bored as to be bored
with orthodoxy that we might
have to delve into
****... *** toys...
or... i would love to have
donned a latex gimp... open mouth...
hell... all that gwory hole-ing a limited
status of halo...
i retracted my ambitions...
didn't... i?

i didn't find replacements...
physicality strict-dentures of: failure count?
i made my metaphysical investment?
didn't i...

two weeks without walking...
chant des templiers...
i "thought" myself more a Hospitalier(s)
son in bud...
salve regina...
two weeks without walking
i "decide" to write...
it's not enough:
memory
overcomes me...

the best **** i've had and it's not
something i want
to remember for a *******...
mind you i found alternatives...
donning my hair long enough
and a new found riddle in
a beard...
and a Turk that dealt in
Caucasian memorabilia..
of living extensions...
               you see...
a visit to the barber with overgrown
bush...
of hair and stubble...
became more frankly... pleasurable...
than... what was to be done
with...

         that statue by
            apollonius of athens...
i ****** off to Bronzino's
   venus, cupid, folly & time:
beside the cupping of the breast
the teasing tenderness of the ******
prone tongues...
all ***** on silent mode...
or at least only gesticulating
at marble statues in the process
of being erected:
without promise of a public
ordeal to overthrow (the publics)
Punic details of slou... slow...
slouch... and brittle... karma: wood...

toward an excruciation of justified
meaning: this arrangement of lettering:
how feeble and toothpick prone
this brittle groove & ground...
my harvest of dislodged ease...
sensibly: antithesis grammatical pseudo...
sssssssssssss
side-winding... slithering...
side-accost...
***-seer-Saracen...

          becau­se of some pope
with a name like Urban...
              a finicky genesis...
             from memory
a white serpent of light
   in a crest of illuminate azure
giving border upon the Firth of Forth...
when two creasing crows
staged themselves
on the pinnacle of the Old College,
Edinburgh...
the nights were aflame with
youth...
the nights were... gott-gegeben...

miraculous? no!
    just aided by a stealth variation
and with life...
this mediocre surmounted...

pointer: when is... "it", i.e.:
enough is enough vs.
enough is "it"?
  i'm hardly poignancy prone
to state the difference, proper...
i've levitated toward slouch
for a week or so...
i find not pleasure in writing:
not as much as i arrived at
finding it, once more:
in walking...
boyo... you should have seen
me gear up to a bicycle...

         god what time it was to be gladly
*******!
to be so Darwinistically excated
with purpose!
but also so blind... so unhappy!
no wonder i had to fathom
a retraction: this everyday
into day-by-day...
und grey-labour & tedium &
"good"...
        
but it wasn't a waisting
of a "crown"...
i didn't live up to the expectations of:
the greatest ***** that ever
"lived"...
i wouldn't have...
lived to spar with agony aunt
commentary...
i would be the least believed *******
child of variation of
a prosthetic progeny of "sowing":
all gladly encountered metaphors...
some as ugly as necessarily ugly to breed...
most high i.q. is bred out
and is left to individualistic chancing
of revision...

then again: there's no revision...
the one who i lost my virginity with...
i "tried" to get in touch with her...
5 loads in the basin later...
she's an insomniac of reproduction...
of course she was all defensive...
when i asked her why she was so sad:
five daughters: no son...
she put it down on exhausted from...
she didn't notice i was making
a henry VIII remark...

i can't and therefore will not wish it upon
myself:
merry me: marry me i too were
that father when je suis and hey zeus
asked upon the crucifix dangling:
father...
yes... perpetual bachelor, i...
entombed existentially: no escapee
planning: processed...
            
      alles ist gott: und nothing too...
  my words: before i die...
i'm sure i'll be drunk as a saber
with blood not spilt...
as heavily worked
as a currency of horse
currently on display in the fields
where i walk...
ditto grazing and ditto:
  grass-heaping chewing-heave
          anecdotal.

before the "prized ******* bull" &
entourage of fizzing waters started to throttle
any further mentioning of
libido limbo:
        that's the scarcity of my
****** ambitions...
   mind you: i'm glad i suckled on that
wet oyster pouch before
i was sent back to the "gulag"
of skeleton teasing an imitation hollow...
before the kama sutra provision
***** envy might have taken over...

very impossibly: it's a conundrum
of reiteration of sort
that's not worth more erosion
of memory since it doesn't rhyme...
i wouldn't have lived
enough of the already given
"this" if i haven't thought about "that"...

today i found some compensation
for years drilling ego into abstract
and smiling at nothing
and all things / manners of ape:
everclear's debute e.p.
        marylin manson's holywood...

i still want that king crimson debut
vinyl to adorn my loan space
of a room of a life...
because i have to hide all that jazzy *******
on the side...

stone temple pilots -
that album with the song: art school girlfriend...
anything more -esque to capture
the sentiments of pulp and that
other song: wickerman...
for d'ah bass...

   impossibly delightful to heave
a wounding of a lung with
a morning's daily brief of
harking up excess phlegm
stuck to the wall...
how there's a heart and i call it
a sparrow and how it flusters
and flutter with a difficulty
when i've presented it with
a caging like so...

             Baltic sushi: which involves...
primarily... soaked herring in
spirit vinegar...
with mustard seeds...
bay leaf... allspice... onions & garlic...
tender... fish meat...
curated by curing
by acid alone rather than heat...
evil in the beans: perhaps too much
"roughage" / fibre...
but a constipation of world renown
for 3 days solid...

because of the full-english-fry-up...
which makes you wonder
how it can be served thrice
in a day
if one's lazy about "details":
the same quote revised...
some people live to eat...
while other eat to live...

it's not a statement of gluttony...
it's... some people will eat anything...
while others will tend to curate
what they eat to make
expensive remarks on what's
allowed to expand and what has to...
inevitably... shrink into non alias
null alias nil alias shrugging feline...
bothersome quick-essential...
practice of dangling a kite...
toward (rather than against) the wind...

GLAYVA - a liquer...
          ****... a... liqueur - a L'CUR
   a lee cwuer...
         velsh?!
               simply *******...
          a li'kwer... ditto ditto this that
and anything in between...
i'm rehashing a fancy for sleeping
with a foreign body in the same
bed i leave open to satire: tomb...
begins with cat...
given all my whimsical demands
and idiosyncratic scrutiny+plural..
highten-ed
                what first was a believable
oyster gorge and...
floral patterns agitated:
pound upon pound of flesh...

no... impossible...
some people live to eat
while other eat to live:
statement of not so desperate times...
perhaps...
if necessary i might nibble on
some grasshoppers...
or any insects fried...
but the statement alludes
to... some people will eat anything...
it's not a statement of / for gluttonous
mishandling of...
some people live to eat:
nutritionists...
the statement is clearly abstract towing
so it expand with each reitertion
as any maxim given enough
mantra status...

said true: but prior to...
blindly-being-followed...
it can revise itself...

        rekindle: ashes and all manners of
said... truant...
         bigger no  bigger than
a hyphen interjection within
the confines of conjunction:
Big-Giza... troublesome 1st and omega
sentencing... echoes of melancholy
in a rush to satiate
forests turning into bureaucratic
pyre structures...

      these burning effigies of time
best wasted... off what was readily available:
scrutiny at best:
all that surfaced was to heave...
an amalgamation of prods, touching,
prodding... juxtaposing junctions...
hinterland of diacritical marker demands...
something "Ukrainian"...

something Moldova-esque... old haunts
older grievances...
newly arrived at carpets with
them being cleaned...
a grandfather most impressionable:
death so last random
that it could only have leverage
with(in) the cofines of
a stomach confined to:
squid ink squirt...

misunderstood lyrics...
slipknot's eyeless...
               i heard...
   you can't see California without
Marlon Brando's eyes...
you can't see California without
Marlon Brando's eyes...
you can't see California without
Marlon Brando's eyes...
you can't see California without
Marlon Brando's eyes...

i'm pretty sure that's not Tsar: i.e.
"it"... yeah... that one...
bothersome brother at the till
of a brothel... less chasing chequers
at the hyper-inflated curiosity of need
of a supermarket...
till... cashier... sooner me dead there
with a death prior...
how ignited in the case:
most futile...
not ignited by some plumber credentials
etc.
stash of leftovers...
basin of sudokus...
              crazing over scalp shaves
rite of bone...
"my" kindred... touch-tease a halving of
bone of Iowa...
riddle this scuttle of nuance...

this leftover cold sure: beef
i heaved for a closure for:
the innocent expanse for furthering of "love":
what was made edible..
what was kept indigestible...
this riddle of words...
              these words half kept
as w(h)iddle...
    beg....       big...      Giz'ah...
sigh of relief or give one's purpose...
vowel-catching... within the confines
of sighs... otherwise
the exclamation markings...
letter to the "bone"...
                   hardly anything of note
ex the Iberian peninsula...
a Hebrew would know...

       thank you gimp suited &
boot licking worth maggot spew....
i have outlived my purpose of riddle...
i'm hardly going to appease
the throng of "doubt"
when it comes to clinging to something
"bilateral":
queasy without dizzy...

what's that?
qu-easy
  vs. -izzy..
                        forget it...
letters like lumberjack praise of
pork,,
something to market: sizzle...
gimp suits and all things best kept
tinged with... bride... horror...
my bride.., not some angry african
who-man'ood...
   conservative little hooded
monsters prior to the Levant practice of
the snippet...
skin left so bare...
the eagerly waiting *****
of whitey...
angry baking half angry "noir"..
the women the challenge...

i pretend to dance before mirrors...
my elongation of the hand
looks more like a crab
than what i want it to depict:
i.e. a spider...
the 2oth century is a house
of haunting:
it's not a circa... esp. one might
wish to be born in...

that there was ever an "expectation"
and it allowed itself
a summary... with excuses...
if we are all...
pointing & turning...
the Polacks were not given... TS...

Decade and a half ago,
The world still fresh and new,
Good and kind. Air - not what we choked on
Your ray of light flickered
In my careless recollection
Of course, that was once upon a time.

When volumes of infusion is the blood in your veins,
And scenes change day by day, curtains drawn,
You are at the end of the line, spent, and you're
Holding up yours hands in the air, no defiance.
There is sadness in your eyes, even when you smile
"The war is not won." I said.

Bitter taste of medicine
Lingers like diseases on your tongue.
"To be or not to be"
Is a statement, not
A question, not a
Matter of choice.

Excruciation, or maybe hell, in the purest form
Perpetual realization of pain
Of the crystal mind in storm,
Peeling the psyche of it, driving it off to the edge.
But do people still go to hell
When their lives are sheer suffering
Through and through?

Oh! the pride of my destitution;
With folded hands I implore,
the dead mercy in thee;
Stay a bit longer, don't go.

Don't go before my impudence
Narrates you the torture,
Your devotee has suffered
In absence of thy compassion.

The nostalgic reverberations
Painted the silhouette of
My empty silent nights,
With the brushes of insomnia.

The growling of first breeze
With the breaking of dawn,
Reminded me of those looks
The tantalising world was about to hurl.

Will you silently survive,
The excruciation of my day?
Maybe you're too anxious
But my vocals are tired.

© Badee Uz Zaman

Lost in the midst of oblivion,
writings on the walls
are depiction of excruciation
I condoned,
with this question
clawing on my tongue:

"𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴,
𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?"

The devil in my mirrors
has its beguiling wings,
now slowly burning
for I found my angel.

I sit still every day,
Well I mean my mind does,
Anticipating for things
that may not ever come.

My social anxiety has
Twisted it’s venomous
Thorned rose around my
Otherwise unsullied mind,
Poisoning it, cursing it,
Making it unable to communicate,
Having me draw immense suffering
From the excruciation of socialization.
But yet it gives me intensified
deprivation of such activities.

Sometimes I wait for what will never come,
And with each passing minute,
The thorns grow larger as well as sharper,
Getting a larger hold on my ****** up mind.

I promise,
It was better while we waited,
When we were unaware of the end,
At least, for then,
We would smile and grieve,
Look at us now,
Corpses trying to breath,
Clutching on our breaking bones,
In this bleak space,
Where its standard to chuckle at pain,
You can feel the ossified agitation,
The unheard mutters of dark horses,
Who've for ages faced the harrow,
Rode on Excruciation,
And charming on blown over times,
While praying for better days.