I believe in smiling at strangers. I believe in saying hello. I believe in shyness. I believe in fear of rejection. I believe in the need of affection. I believe in the need of reminders. I believe in candles, especially those that smell of vanilla or christmas. I believe in wearing small crystals around my neck. I believe in energetic vibrations. I believe in colours - I think each person has their own colour. I believe every feeling is valid. I believe in chapstick and I believe in mascara that doesn’t clump. I believe in nail polish - every colour of nail polish. I believe that the only reason we lie is because we fear something. I believe in poetry. I believe in bluntness. I believe in the intention behind words, but I don’t necessarily believe in words. I believe in travel. I believe in travelling solo. In fact, I believe in travelling so much that it is pretty much all I want to do. I believe in music. Boy, do I believe in music. I believe any kind of musical composition can change a person. I believe music can cure depression. I also believe music can feed depression. I believe a melody can say more than lyrics and I believe that lyrics can be what someone couldn’t put together themselves to explain exactly how they are feeling. I believe anyone can create a song, even though they believe they cannot. I believe a single note can sound like the most beautiful sound in the world. I believe if someone records a song when they’re in an ugly mood, the ugliness emits to its listeners and can drain them. I believe in art. Of course I do. I believe in acrylic paint. I believe in oil paint and watercolours, but not as much as I believe in acrylic. I believe in fingerprinting. I even believe in painting with your toes. And I believe in dancing; even if it looks weird. I believe in flailing your arms even, as long as it feels good and right. I believe in dancing ‘til you sweat, though I don’t like that icky feeling too much. I believe that a babe can be a very ugly person and a physically unattractive person can be a very beautiful person. I believe that people who smile are beautiful. I believe that people who frown are beautiful too, just in a different way. I believe that there are sincere smiles and there are manipulative smiles. I believe that some people just know how to use their eyes well. I believe in eye contact. I believe in engaging. I believe in listening and dropping everything else that is going on in your mind just to listen to what a person is trying to share with you. I believe in sharing - sharing cookies and sharing love. I believe in the frosty cold. I believe that it doesn’t have to feel as cold as it really is. I believe that people complain a lot. I believe that people often have too much pride to be happy. I believe that we should embrace our discomforts and shames, that we should welcome them wholeheartedly so that we can be happy. I believe in honesty. I believe in empathy. I believe in tea. I believe in jelly donuts but only on certain occasions. I believe in quirky bow ties. I believe in knit toques and mittens and scarves. I believe in dresses. I believe in flirting. I believe in coffee in the morning. I believe in big comfy beds. I believe in walking around your empty house in your underwear or birthday suit, singing loudly. I believe in singing in the shower. I believe in singing on the street. I believe in stage fright. I believe in meditation, though I don’t really strictly set times to do it anymore. I believe mundane activities can be done in a meditative state of mind. I believe in clarity. I believe in not judging people because everyone is human. I believe every human has something very interesting about them. I believe in boring people too. I believe in christmas music - not the radio kind, the choral kind. I believe in cheap sweet wine. I believe in Billy Joel and I believe in The Beatles. I believe in Regina and Sufjan too. I believe that the ukulele is a very overrated instrument. I believe in having healthy hair. I believe in moisturizer. I believe in getting to pick a coloured toothbrush at the dentist. I believe in thick wool socks. I believe in baggy sweaters. I believe in yoga gear but I do not believe in sweatpants. I believe that yoga is one of the healthiest things for a person - ever. I believe in buying a friend drinks or dinner once in awhile. I believe in collecting shoes and scarves and rings. I believe in chords but I don’t really believe in jeans. I believe in hot chocolate with whip cream but not with marshmallows. I believe in dorky Christmas sweaters. I believe in baking cookies instead of cake. I believe in eating disorders - I do not support them, but I do believe they are much more severe and various than most people think and I believe there should be better/proper help for those who suffer instead of the usual cruel inpatient/outpatient care. I believe in trichotillomania and I believe in dermatillomania and the severity and impact it can have on its sufferers. I believe in gardens. I believe in every single flower. I believe that everyone is always doing their best. I believe that most people love to struggle. I believe in hope. I believe in having faith in yourself. I believe in iPod playlists. I believe in gym memberships in the winter, not the summer unless it’s to swim. I believe in matching underwear every day. I believe in Value Village. I believe in singing in bus shelters when you’re waiting for the bus. I believe in dressing up according to holidays. I believe in Grey’s Anatomy and I believe in Community. I believe in skirts and dresses that twirl like the ‘ol days. I believe in longboards more than skateboards. I believe in plaid like most young people do. I believe in bows in my hair, but not as much as I used to. I believe in foot massages and hand massages. I believe in reflexology and reiki and essential oils and chakras and crystals and holistic nutrition. I believe in anxiety; even crippling anxiety. I believe in awkward romances. I do not believe in flip flops. I do not believe in Beatles covers unless they are really insanely good; then my mind is blown. I believe in having long enough nails to scratch someone’s back appropriately. I also believe in biting nails. I do not believe in telephone calls unless I am extremely comfortable with the person. I believe in blogs. I believe in journals. I believe in naming special inanimate objects like journals, instruments, technology and furniture. I believe in the idea of cats more than I believe in cats. I believe in sharpies or thin pointed permanent markers. I believe in temporary tattoos. I believe in streaming movies online. I believe in royal gala apples. I believe in avocados. I believe in rice cakes. I believe in popcorn. I believe in airports but I hate the LA airport. I believe in openly talking about *** but I don’t believe in making it seem shameful and gross. I believe there should be no shame regarding sexuality. I believe in reading some great books more than once. I believe in laying on the couch under cozy blankets, watching a great suspenseful tv show or movie. I only believe in having a couple bites of cheesecake. I don’t really believe in lulu lemon. I don’t believe many people can pull off the colour yellow. I believe in buttons over zippers even though zippers are easier, they just look kind of dumb and cheap. I believe in the sun and the moon equally. I believe in closets over dressers. I believe in staring out the window for a good hour or so.

I'm stuck in this room
Trapped by the decaying white walls
That I scrape away at,
Mindlessly, as I shift
From medicated dreams to
Manic insomnia.
I thought the last thing I said to you was
Don't leave me here.

My eyes bleed
As I try to remove the demons
Infesting me,
Creeping through my lashes
Into my irises.
The droplets stain the walls,
Fingerprinting my frenzied panic,
Echoing the last thing I said to you.
Why did you leave me here?

The air is intoxicating,
Shifting from breathlessness to weightlessness.
I'm sure they poison me here.
And you, the fallen angel of my thoughts,
You fiendish whisperer,
You have felt my fear,
Witnessed its brutality
In its shifting manifestations,
But still you left me here.

when some said hello
some said ha ha,
said holmes without sherlock to signal a sighting
in signature of fingerprinting a shake;
but some said hello,
some shook some with stipend erased freezing;
after all... the doctor allowed a carcass to instil a freed numbness!
a clown frowned attempting to be picky with laughter
mascaraed, and then all hell ready to be hibernating yawned
ready from the hyperbole excused ******* a tadpole into thinking of frogs.
oh we loved the laugh the pouch of orange juiced pulled apart and pulped
into skins and skinny; we were all ready for a hajj there and then!
ha ha! make that scented with coriander!

i didn't say my life was interesting, i said my life was boring enough to write about it, all the p.s. cf. bibliographical parts of what a life could look like, had there been a genuine interest in it prior to the ongoing thesis that will leave someone entitled with a dr. rather than a mr. or a mrs.*

the scaffolding was up,
i took to climbing it,
to the top of old college edinburgh,
climbed it and had my wish:
danced to the shins' new slang (https://goo.gl/OCYArw),
other time it was on prince's street,
walking back from a nightclub,
climbed the scaffold stilettos
and in anger, screaming at the moon
started throwing bits of a chimney onto
the street
without a care if homicide was on the cards:
i went out with a girl got engaged with her
who was afraid of graveyards...
odd to bury them, the ones already passed
to this element, maybe that's why it's
so precious to get involved,
fire **** and you get a billion blue indians
(very effective), use earth and you just
get an exponential rise of monuments
and libraries of serious volume awaiting
transportation to the moon for safe-keeping;
socially acceptable necrophilia to be blunt and still shave.
the idiot in me should have went for the girl
that asked me to dance the ceilidh with her,
who fell asleep watching a roman holiday
with greg peck and that tiffany's girl:
it would have been a wedding cake
cherry on top story, typical middle class
of immigrant descendants, cocktail of
iranian mongrel with scot and german mongrel
with pole...twilight... ever notice the sun
asking the land where cain resides, nox,
to usher in one innocent compatriot for
a brief viewing of the constellation of taurus?
neither did i... i sing for release and as such
i find myself in hex / allegiance with with mortiis,
that norwegian "freak" of pointy ears and deep shadow
of pandas' mascara...
but between you and me, there's a hobbit and
a nazgûl in me... the drunk me sees it...
although hobbit me likes the simple life...
the nazgûl doesn't... he stirs in the night,
remembering endless chemistry, laboratory coats
and imprints of the experiments to not be...
but i still danced on the roof of the old college
of the university of edinburgh to the shins' new slang,
with a jazz club below me where i first
heard neil young's old man played to a dairy cow
milked precision of matters... alone... like all those
edward hopper nighthawks: in a david bowie
space oddity of contentment: ageing to make
the face skin an akin fingerprinting of wrinkle;
like solomon, i have cursed the hour of my birth
a long long time ago.

**** me in the 15th century, or the 19th,
i'm not going to be a fraction
culminating into an integer worthwhile counted,
while the english aristocracy of the polish one akin,
but whereas the latter sold the land,
the former sold the cities
with london in nigeria and elsewhere
with 500,000 pounds worth of square metres less than 100sqm in size
as was the gold in communism defined by state owned tag.
i think the two are twinned: the former sells off
the capital, the latter sells off the farms and borders;
one disappears literally, the other metaphorically.
you know what they say of the englishman:
well dressed but selling brick lane brick by brick
with jack and the many flamingo ******
giving the odd brick a crease of a chisel for some cheap dentistry.
i like me now, i don't want to be back here
in hindu talking about coordinating stars with copernicus,
or back here being nice. nice enough to publish a book.
take the greek into consideration talking about rivers
and the once chanced, because i'm hardly your
father reminiscent of the days before the radio;
all the while she spoke like a slav unto a slav,
with he slav, turning into a german
and she into a ***** -
because i have soul not simply a heartbeat and synapse and
the liver's digestion proceedings to take into consideration
calling it mechanism & disembodiment with itemisation of the body
looted for science - heart alone is no heart at all,
brain alone is no wavering thought engaged with.
but she said of a brother's death, and my heart said likewise:
a brother died truly in jealousy, because should love be spoken of,
there'd only be a crucifix to kiss for assurance.
i'll bring india to its knees due its care for tact -
and i'll shove the concept of reincarnation up its **** -
of course i'll have no book published,
but i'll not be reminiscent of an uncle allocating capricorn the same stature
of geometry of stars in autumn, because i'm sick of it!
too many western whites travelling to pluck a thought
from thousands of years of the priesthood of the ganges, "suddenly"
usurped from clinging to a population of the billionth remark
ready to instigate western society's complications of two point four and tax.
keep the white hippies wanting and the ageing indians serving curry
instead of theology! keep it that way!
i'll accept the existentialist dittoing method that way,
to use dittoing as an ambiguity of vectors intending travel
rather than dittoing finalisation of travel - without having travelled first,
of those words dittoed as finalisations of travel,
rather than dittoing the prior intention,
having only smeared a smirk of thought to
engage with such a word as god and not laughed to pull such a word
into the realm of i dittoing thought and thought dittoing i,
twinned to instil all other grammar not remnant but completely identifiable
with the external fingerprinting the emerald and speaking of the ruby
as if all coal was used for ink by sway of the crumbling charcoal dusted
onto the page - let us not ditto the words of finalisation,
but let us ditto the words of banality that lead to finalisation -
india and the ganges priesthood are where they are,
reincarnation is where it is,
we hardly need to ask for directions seeking the grecian river of once.

warm hands fingerprinting crisp glass.
oscillating breaths -
between clear and opaque.
a calming condensation.
an understanding of balance.

Beyond a wooden door
there is a room
where we sit and grow
three years older together.
Many words spoken,
all ranks broken.
But a thing is always there—
staining whatever it touches.
Blackberry juices fingerprinting
all of my bright white hopes.
A thing molts in the stale air,
trailing feathers
that wean and wane
by the force of our hot breath;
always there in that room
where we denied tomorrow
every credit it begged for.
A thing we gave every other name
aside from its given.
A thing. A simple thing.

i love the Frost fingerprinting my bedroom window
laminating a translucent sheet
Jack seen only by his palm prints
the widow's window of opportunity
covered with frost
turbidity caused from a loosely stranded past
she never sheds her winter coat
frost is always clinging on her summertime pane
in winter she wears extra layers

when one can simply peel off poetic-prose like...
so... like... scratching one's head...
or clipping toenails...

    now that washing your hands: perdiodically
and with: fingerprinting technology details...
well: i suggest all that soap bottled and
riddled by a diluted composite of:
mainly water and sodium chloride with
some perfumes...

              when one can simply peel off poetic-prose
like... that sort of a ripe banana...
not much good for raw eating with the chimps
making congregation over
arthur's later edward the confessors
round-table... no... no ape-politico!
not with darwin ideologues and those
neurosurgeons who would never meet up
with the horror-flick: almost a B-movie...
crank-me-up... doctor channard...

     but there's this... waking up to...
no... it's not the radio...
and not... a violent reaction...
      or panic in babylon...
   the brian jonestown massacre...
            #... #iwasnevercrazyaboutvivaldi-
                                    -violinsimitatingsparrows-
   -oranyotherbirdofspring...

well... checking the temp. my prayers have
been met... the pepsi... or cola...
whichever... i expect there came some
coca-cola contraband when gaining
the ingredients for the pepsi max...
i can't tell the difference these days...
between a coke zero or a pepsi max...
but sure as **** pepsi max came first...
so... contraband between corporations...

some mishter jamesh bon'        double-oh:
yep 00 does look like...
what isn't a double-U of a... W...

i mean... where could i get such words...
if not in a victorian work of chicken-scratches
and archeological scribbles...

they should defame Shakespeare... but not quiet...
only because... of that:
thane of Glamis! thane of Caledonia...
         but i should have met Dickens...
before having met... Charlotte Brontë...
hell: thank god i didn't meet Jane Austen...
and i can thank a monster for hooking me up
with Mary Shelley...

                but what's a Dickens with a fishing
rod... with no desire to entertain
a panorama of... 5am... river... pitch-black...
or thereby... and fingers counting fingers when
pinching a sound-bite of a wriggling rot-tooth
of a maggot...

       misnomer: or just the appropriate sounds?
mind you... what's that i heared about rhyme?
it looks well caged... zoological even...
given that i have been given assurances...
they would rhyme... those poems...
well... apart from the greek narrative epics...
or the latin... narrative mundane bouquets...
teasing at maxims and: fare-ye-well...
me... tarzan... jane... dr falstaff:    yummy garden
greens!
rhyme... well if rhyme it is...
you won't be needing a piece of paper on stage...
rhyming as a way to remember lines...
imagine being an actor...
for that "concern" a poet too...
and... no rhyme was involved...
i guess by rhyme you hear the bouncing ball...
and the suffixes are tabulated...
  when and thus: all this forgotten...
better in song when there are couplets
of sentences and they... end with -ed:

   i head!
to which... wink wink...
  my head of... a sunken ship's worth...
an anchor! sleeping cerberus ahoy!
we will surely pass!
into this belly of the most fantastic beast
that's Hades himself...
digesting shadow creamed with ash...
topped with a dash of hope: that's soul...
and hey presto! we'll have ourselves...
a feast: al fresco... although...
6-feet beneath the ground...
which is... aeons from sunlight...
     and... 6ft short of a flower's tip...
hardly gagging for the heights of an oak...
am i?

but that's quiet an affair...
everything, is, in, its, right... place...
i was thinking: amnesia and vanilla sky...
but then there's the curse of tom cruise
not winning best actor for:
born on the 4th of july...

it's a make-over...
the original movie is also an opening
quote from vanilla sky:
amphetamines on dylan
and cognac's worth of monet...
                
   open your eyes...
      again... in spanish...
abre los ojos
     abre: open...   los ojos (hush hush)...
   los: i knew it...
even the spaniards have it...
los = the...
      if the spanish have a definite article
before the eyes...
while the english have a determiner: your...
which is... by extension of the pronoun: you...
which i will use...
you(я) - chewbacca-otter round of applause!
you-i... or you-you... yoyo... W!

eh... some languages don't even
bother with a definite article or a determiner:

they just cut it down to... bypassing
grammatical shrapnel... and how can you have
gender neutral pronouns...
when the nouns themselves: are gendered?
i just heard the hyper-woke crowd
of grammatical geniuses are lying low...
worrying about spaghetti and toilet paper...
i figured: leech on!

              otwórz oczy
well... i guess the point of )open(
   is implied... that word just gobbles down
any determiner...
a verb within a verb...
to be open: ****... pronouns!
otwarty: to be open (masculine)
otwarta: to be open (feminine)...
otwartość... to be open (as a quality)...

    but i thought that we could bypass the natives
and treat english like the medieval world
treated french: lingua franca style...
i.e. the language of tourists and clown-world
intellectuals: ahem... "intellectuals"...
the lingua inglese (l'inglese)...

    open your eyes...
    could make sense if it was only an english
****** translation:
   otwórz (twoje) oczy....
but it's already an intimate statement of wants...
who's who is beside the point
when someone says: open... and eyes...
so who needs: your's to be included as my
demand for your shut eyes?

and then... the spanish definite article...
open the eyez...
abre los ojos... it might as well be german...
rhien german: not vienna prone german...
öffnen ihre! das augen!

     a translation of german, as a joke...
never tires... from spanish to english or...
the saxons on these isles really softened and turned
themselves into oysters...
mingling with the welsh the picts and the irish...
but... that's "life"...

   it's all in a pud... or a pug...
or an 'pple pi'...           or a spud...
                  or the red herring...
                        attempting to tell a joke in german...
i guess the only jokes they do tell...
are when drinking and as SS-*****-heichschtig-herr-meisters
in some concen-trato-kampisch...
  uber... uber... cosmo-ZEX... trans-...
                                               6s & 7s... of a 69'ers roulette...
the pink-bollocking ladies of the agony aunts
of the tabloid press... what's that?
oh... right! METRO-ZEXXIES! or the usuals...

joint-stock company of fish & flattery...
**** me... that's a scalping...
i wasn't expecting that to hit me...
i the bird that passes a stone to another bird...
not in a rubric of shakespeare of a cascade...
you're sort of expecting it to latch-on to you...
but not... when it's wwwwwwwwwwwinding
                                                                          o
                                                                          w              l
                                                                          n    and then
                                                                                            f
                                "ƨbɿɒwʞɔɒd" bnoγɘd bnɒ Ɉʇɘl ɘʜɈ oɈ

and then back into a paragraph of cuddling
to a pillow... unexpecting... a near-miss of genius...
****-*******? Dickens' a worth a lot
more than ****-*******...
more like catching a ****... beheading it...
plucking it... gutting it...
poaching it a while...
before even feigning to attempt to roast it!

as is waking up to: everything is in (its / the) right place...
its by definition is not: it's...
and the... well... its can be a determine of yours...
but now we have at least three languages
to juggle...
and you're still the one sending me postcard
from Dover...
when i should hear the sound of:
piedlibre / piedsrelâché dans Calais...
so no... no postcard from kevin bacon
made homeless by Bruges or Strasbourg...
because... because of the ******* architecture!

i'll watch one commentary video...
after i have sampled some Dickens...
           and that's with an intro of some sip sip...
and afterwards... it's onto the maincourse
of music... and... counting the number
of bones in my hands... the ones that wouldn't
make me a professional snooker player...

would i even care to call radiohead a group...
passe? sooner or later pink void and floyd
the barber will be... dinosaur music...
                    and at least... this electric sunrise...
of... a movie i never starred in...
but somehow borrowed... because i didn't
want to be rudely awakened by the bbc radio 1
breakfast show... but wake up to a movie-cliche...
does it matter?
      
something subtle... perhaps it should have been
the....
                         DAS BOOOOOT theme...
or         teenzeitalterRANDALIEREN of sonic youth...
diese ist nicht vesternberlinerbranddeburaegean...
schimmenschimmen... izm:siemensiemen...

i swear... either me... or the "boomer"
monty python quack and prance choke.... joke.

OBDURATE...
it's either shooting up junk or drinking and acquiring
a purse of victorian vocab wealth...
never heard of it...
              as any word... with the onslaught of slang...
"out of fashion"...
hardened...                      he had an obdurate resolve...
er war verstockt! he was stubborn...

at a time when english still clinched to:
veriloquium ex latine -
origins of truth from latin...
or at least... the meaning of words...
apart... of course... from the odd greek -suffix
or prefix- "loan" worth of scalpel...
for technicality's sake ol' chap!

                         oh things could have been...
much much worse...
i could have been the drunk and the dunce!
         lucky for me... i found... conversations...
outside of writing... a... theatre with too many...
uncertain... chess-games of...
                        origins of poker... via... physiognomy...
and... at that point...
anything by the gnostics... would suffice...
sprinkle in a little bit of kabbalah...
  hell...                        those wise wise people:
who started to know all about the misgivings
of life... the same ones...
who never held a book at a leisure...
   nor later: as a variation of their work...
that work... which offered them but one relief...
to escape boredom...
and to later find further escape...
   in being... entertained...
                             my shadow already does that
for me.