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Julian Jul 2016
Hip Service
By Julian Malek

The zeal of cobblestone tolerance arrayed in fashionable hues masquerading as crimson secrecy, elevates the tide of man but some boats leak in their foundations. Therefore a cork to every exuberance and a triumphant torch for every sorrow lives onward in collective time. Larks that abound because prescience and PUGET sound, that brown has become the new orange which in turn prowls as a concealed swarthy black. To antagonize the willful and frenetic pace, a prodrome of lasting but memorialized disgrace. Should I move to a state by first or last name, or is the final appellation worthy of much more lasting fame. I scurry down the aisles, bemused by shimmering tiles and the beguiled audiences who see much in my limitation but doubt little about my debited elation. Ringmaster Barnum, how much horticulture is needed for assured superstardom, how many cloisters must we evacuate from the incendiary plumes of a metaphorical Harlem..  But know that no virtual reality can supplant the reality that does truly exist, or at least our time is too infernal and purblind to resist. Carrey the tops of mountains in the humor of wellsprings and fountains, we engage a menagerie of egos lilting of an etiolated pragmatic concern. Evicted from paradise, littered with say-cheese demise ensnaring three blind mice eaten alive by snake-eyed vice. To feel good without incorporated tyranny, we must see blue and red as alternatives to the same destiny. A world that reckons with the futilitarianism of pacified malcontent and astroturf monikers that lead the impressionable into a slaughter shed. Established or not, any enchantment under the sea must include fishes once a pastiche of me, but to them I avoid their courtesy flush and never even faintly blush as my egalitarian statements are lavish thrush.

Five TO Won baby one in 99, everyone here aboard the titanic stays alive, you got your boat baby and I got mine, gonna make it with babies numbered in surreal primes. Halt the slots game the nines, a stitch in time is going to turn out to be Mine. Flanger goals, girded piles, liminal like an aborted Harry Styles, we climb mountains we issue tithes, and the turmoil is etched into 45-notched bludgeons and two-tucked knives. Excuse you, where have you been all day, have you been sauntering in a gentle rain or a genteel pain, have you wallowed beyond the mires of doubt and ranked above David Blaine. I hope you tell me of your magic tricks, rather than your other flicks endeared I stand to fight an ineradicable itch. But if not, you placid pond dented by so many rocks and so many ripples give your heart over to me, before I clinch the special Olympics *******, we ran, we span the homespun garments of your left and right hand, but death is a specter that ghoulishly carouses along the carousel terminal disease we call life. I beseech your deepest affection and want to console you for your deepest struggle, to be there every time wed with time rather than a throttled scuttle. Moons make you guarded but maroons leave me desiccated, don’t ever let that wilted flower die, always water it with a rich but gentle ties and widened deck for all to at once marvel and pry.  Monsters of Mars Attacks once flanked my bed, as though the **** brain scared every gooseflesh and restrained every frisson of mystery. I lampoon myself for those cold Dark Knights and the protection ended by the plight of the poor mattering nothing to the deliberately internecine rich. I struck gold in a valley somewhere, an oxymoron of paradox that now you have the privilege to dock, to stay aboard to be a vessel of peace less widely deplored. Even if we don’t sprout wings, we garner the exactitude of measured things and our glass elevator though easily shattered by the glower of enslavement is actually our vista to heaven or listening to brethren tingles for rich mans trinkets and other things. For humanity deserves a legend and a princess, a regimented desuetude and a flanged lust but in our mistakes wildly flouted in momentary moments we become purified by the temptations of an alabaster palace.

***** the left-field wisdom of a pragmatic paragon ellipsis in prison, slip between the cracks and let my suburban muse become your urban ruse. To enchant a caged world beyond a reality delicately and deliberately unfurled. Squirming toads on highways enchanted but dead, are graves for the blue becoming purple in every dignified red. Gainsay assaults me with platitude, a repeated hitter quit on the first bunted ball into foul-line territory. Those gripes are swiped right in all circumstance no matter the plight. The pronged hearing of a trident sensitive to ambient collection, and suddenly we are all in the mad house even though the house of profaned pain is much worse. Glimpses of gambits that gambol for nickels in transit as occult grenades and known dice waddle through without artifice or device, and the laughter and slaughter that trains collegiate minds, differs no more than the tropes of a glamorous violence articled in sordid rhymes. This surfing movie means so much more than Surf Wax America pristine in limited but sacrilege nirvana. Teen spirits smell muskier than 90s pop dreams, the grasp and grunge of gouged eyes becomes a mummified staid, a scarecrow to those who disobey. Childhood flashes with blinding light, and new sight illuminates darkening blight, A blight eradicated only by two magazines and including one that houses the bullets that ***** themselves between death and comatose dreams both within astral sight. Littoral harbor on a seaside town, a shanty with a brackish gown that glides the gourmand to the cosmopolitan eatery on the outskirts of lost & found. But forever lost in embonpoint and forever gained in chavish that exonerates the gaunt, the etiolated prince in heart becomes irrefutable marrow in minded souls.

If I am a spy you are an ESPY, and if I cry than you are a baby,but since neither are the case my wiseacres will cultivate lava lamp dreams for a new generation and suddenly Boston bets on Harvard, but who knows of this piped blather squirming for relevance rather than voguish but temporary chatter. My regatta knows how to swim, my life now knows how to cringe and yet still win and in stilted plays of bungled sincerity the God of peace reminds us of our transcendent personalities. That we in sincerity top the barnacles of invention a novelty but a rarity. But the guillotine quill of emboldened unscripted parvenus ruthless in their eager dues, outdate and outlive the sued swayed blues that indemnify Clinton and make the atomic dog an amazing Winston hill a church often in sheltered disuse. Imps and urchins sting the sentiment, cloy the alimony of repentant betterment, but neither touches the gilded skies of pleonasm striving for raspy disguise as to dissuade further diatribe investigation. Lurking in those scared days of youth, the gore of unalloyed horror scourged me with a limp, that compassion itself could ever become a gimp. Now years later athletics better and scoring goals making the mildew sweat and the years wetter, not a global warming that can be alarmed by global mourning. Take peace at heart if distanced spears of separation make Idiocracy as a pastiche look exceedingly smart. And spar only with the true antagonists bridging malevolence with expedience. Killjoys sure, will joy even more sure, but still boys fluttered heart stopping dead at a stop-watched alarm the worst tragedy of our sordid sort. Give an African Child a real home rather than a spatial roam, a palatial desiccation of momentary Jonas Brothers snapping back at captives with sexualized foam.

Narrative blinds shuttered in an Island among mountains hardly ever wiser to sanitize the sanitarium among the wasps of stung power. Police crumple their uniforms as they prowl down the avenues, looking for misfits and widened platitudes. Somehow that the vigilance of those corrupted by their very career choice, look even worse when megalomania of private is the limelight of public, to their defense few turrets I can muster but castles in the sky will be the apartheid judge. Those that cling to virtue to eradicate Porsche-driven faked or real deaths at the most breakneck speed, that Fast & Furious operation if disclosed completely would turn the Shire of the ring into the hatred curtailed by a song in Sing-Sing. Immunity must not Yoda implore, that livery Liverpool marooned on islands can also to deplore the R.E.D. and still whet the sharpened stead and the fly-by-night Manchester United alights like militant peer pressure for wranglers in tights. But beating the Beatles at a game of Walruses and egg-shelled eyeful towers likely impedes rinkside hockey from anything over bellicose ballyhoo…it exists as a transient fixated glower. But who knows about soccer speculation when love is the transcendent temptation, when nest-egg hens rather than neglecting rig Bens of clockwork and clocked words designed arise better for their token ken. Do I must repeat the subtext of submarines, yellowed as though ugly unused as though unseen, as though the quixotic earthquakes of tintinnabulations Avatar dreams. Wafted souls console the disheartened thoughts of a dashed dream that Berlin hates more than a Furor’s unbridled and useless scream.
Demotic clips slinging from the bedridden silence of a token moon and its token friends, swimming in a shore of ambiguity whether history mellows or whether its furor melts away momentary doubts. I want to avoid the sting rays exorcised by due providence and become the amalgamated talents gentry and of course the upstart swagger of Jack Dawson. But with the psy-op going on, the people manipulated on all sides of a gray picket fence will the relationship bloom without muttered dissent or pretended smiles. Will we take upon the shuffled shuttle and dig with shovels deep-rooted Christmas trees and toast our lives to Dos Equis. We may never go out of style, but the treacle of illuminated imagery when divorced from sentiment bristle shows a swagger that prioritizes rather than amalgamates all love. I love being brash and brazen and honest because when she finally ditches the grandstand of delayed frenemies fandoms of other tinsel decorations without any substance beyond meretricious thrill. You want a roller coaster on some days, but most often you want the nutcracker to elope to secret hiding places. Swim with adventure not just in love, not just in affection with the starlight now matter how luminous, sixpence all the richer is no centuries any poorer and we could be that gilded couple of star and screen and if we ever have to scream, let our screams unite us in passion, rather than a milquetoast deference to pedestaled beauty. but of course the end times don’t laugh at your crumpled wizened relapse. Not out of convenience wed by a discriminating genetic harvest moon but a deeper engagement that flatters when stylish and bristles when romantic but never defiled, never riled of specious pretense. Promise me that you will always remember me in my flaws and my faults, in my scause factory destructions and the penults of PEN-ULTIMATE wisdom that comes before the grace of God in the annihilation of passion for eroded omission. If your goal is to be remembered, check that out…but the most admirable goal is as the propinquities of souls dusted in the wind returning to a spring equinox of passion and if you find in yourselves reservations do not depart from sacred land, and never jilt me because of a boisterous and menacing friend. You are everything to me right now, and I Hope this persists despite the vicissitudes of star-favored afflictions mixed with utter benediction without the pontification of stilted Benedictines  or rather the hyped ludic effrontery of termagants being made of younger and younger women. Leave it at this ,32 leaves the royal secret in royal hands and the Knights Templar and us we altogether hold hands, if only a prelude for a masquerade ball. But the stilted embarrassment of crestfallen time, let that be relegated and emphatically lets embrace what is like to not ever need a real white horse to get back into your favor, because we never go out of style we can brandish the best elements and reject the sentiments of the too newfangled and the too stodgy. We in our crenellated pleonasm can eager ride the lightning to another tomorrow and another yesterday and if even not that, we virtually make an indelible impression of embroidered love not too distant in ivory towers and not to vulgary( catering to popular sentiments) to become a trash glam movement. We soar, others deplore but let their purblind doubts render them blind to our burgeoning love.

Forget the brisk trees dangled in the wind on winding paths through haunted forest or remember them because of ghoulish fortress but with our apotropaic lamp we can avert most evil and call the rest fun and gains and shun but fames never profaned, never inalterable a destiny to magical to be some whimpered catcall. Or we could linger beneath lambent street lights disguised as though wilted garb, attrition of circumstance waiting patiently for the matinee and the vintner to escort us beyond the garb of pretense in a city so abundant with it that it deserves castigation. But I digress, a beachside cliff overlooking tepid waters tumultuous in their power but august in their noises, the cadence of love will sing a half-moon bay on full-moon nights and we will frisk each other like grasping at straws of permanent tracks trammeled of the elite and a sidetracked basque bet. Trim those antlers and instead grow metaphorical wings, to us we all sing but few can match your elegance and everyone would be crazy not to see your ennobled age and together thrilling songs to emulate thriller in sales we will collaboratively sing.
Haughty sneers from lifeless lycanthropy straggling furtively along the pastiched sidewalks of grime, livid because they can’t share the lingering limelight, with as many guarded perks of privacy clambering like a hive of snarky sharks. Lets ditch the big town dreams in terms of posh and stature if only for a caressed moment beneath the unadulterated stars and if you find spars **** to the extent they are amiable than I say guess what my name is Lars! Or wait a second, paused in the big city spotlight our stenciled hearts will guide whatever progeny is yours or mine or ours together we will sing the most comforting lullaby, and caves no longer must we abide. Yearn and earn every inch, as I gripe with my delicate saddened pinch but I think the innuendo speaks . Ripen with our trips to Napa, long afternoon sunsets swim in our hearts as we taste the vanguard’s toast on elegant wine.I console with entreaty to disavow the omen of that San Franciscan church October 2008, the doom implied by Einstein, the raillery of a world grinding down the endless decadence of a railed future inalterable in destiny or partialy amenable to widespread coquetry.

Forget those rumbles in your past that made you feel partial to insecurity and learning the ropes you transcended all and live in all eternity. Thimble and brook, tolerant of all those tokes I took your rebellious side flattens the yeast of Exodus raspy in its begrudged clapping. But the Pharaoh of the modern world sheltered me under his prickly thorns, shielded me from the sickly things that life adorns. We have the numbers on our side, the weight of destiny on our shoulders, dedicate yourself to yourself and I will preen the most vibrant wisdom and love will leap like Apollo across all borders not for camel-****** hoarders. We are culminated destiny in the wings of the best daydream
Life, Love and No Mathematics to God and Gain
Marco Feb 2020
In the forest late one summer day,
between the trees and prams,
a sweet girl whistled a small tune
that made the rabbits dance.

They danced and hopped and frinked about
and it was all quite nice
until the Wankerschmacken came
and brought a plague of Braifs.

The Braifs, they danced and frinked as well
and grew and grew in size
until they grew to twelve feet tall
much to the girl’s surprise.

The Wankerschmacken watched with glee,
with joyous hate and hunger,
the rabbits, the girl, they were confused
as they stared down the Schmacken’s flanger.
The flanger was his mouth, of course,
filled with teeth like daggers,
and the beast lunged after the poor girl
who through the forest yaggered.

She yaggered and ran and over a root
she suddenly fell and cried;
The Wankerschmacken took his chance
and this is how she died:

The monster opened its flanger large,
its throat was charcoal black;
A blue tongue stretched and grabbed the girl
and hurled her into its depths.

She fell for an eternity,
she seemed to fall for years;
And in its stomach she cried and cried
and drowned in her own tears.

A century has come and gone
since this cold-blooded ****
but if you put your ear to the woods
you can hear the Schmacken still.

It snores and roars deep in its sleep;
Can you smell its rotten breath?
but once you do it is too late –

You will die a vicious death.
A nonsense ballad heavily inspired by Carroll's "Jabberwocky", one of my all-time favorite poems.
Julian Dec 2024
Ravaged ampelography in zuches of disdain protean verve quick refrain

Limericks serenade the uncial revet of revalorization promethean to any squirebell doormat notion of sanity whitewashed profane

Curdled lisp of avuncular bliss a kisswonk without coquetry amiss rattled by crotaline permanence sideration of nimiety leveraged by the wastrels calipace racecar palindrome faceplant ashes of stulm

Squalor cardimelech in seguidilla reiterated by satisdiction against affliction the culmination of craven swelters of mercedary spodomancy relishing each lacuna in the pleroma of doldrum

Spurrier springald winterbourne saffron sun gleaming in the brehon of desolate inheritance drawling on moonset glazes of gallimaufry

Wider eyes dovetailed segues between saccadic jettaturas jinking specular jiggermasts of bascule for brannigans of recess shivering softly

In the brooked maraud rampicks of fraud glozing with glissades of trichosis sublimated into shakuhachi lightning yerkas of downtrodden soboliferous suave treasuries yet to rob

Time bleak in blemish squalling in marksman primes of redundant infinity devoured by microwaveable cheddar Richter smog

Vivat moulins pregnant with rabid sabotage rummage the libkens of fossarian sinecure pontificating catholicons of selachian verve

Askew of largesse the mantissa of mangonels in distress of lineolated limpkin lugsails zuches surround in quidcunx become witness to pilfered but penniless nerve

Time frogmarched into macropicide kenspeckel to credenda and tacenda flummoxed by bewildered tokens of agiotage swollen with rank olid miscarriage of lampoon wed with the one coveted bassinet sassoon

Too many jamborees jilted with spurned coquetry of empowered vibrant ragdoll verbs swerving left into righteousness declared patently absurd by laystall laveers heralded but unheard by bonanzas surrendered to a hindsight glistening from an empty tomb

Sinking turtlebacks twire with tympany at every fanfaronade dodecaphonic with intricacy littoral to iniquity tralleyripped with vanitarian willowish thrasonical brattice bulging with bushwa and travesty

Sprent sphacelated towering monsters carouse in crooned weddings with piebald amnesty ribald with pointed amphigories in Indiana Jones’ tapestry

Sordid though it might burst tumescent with each sertivine jimswinging curse avowed to death upon which ghouls ghastly conclave must thirst

It penetrates the wielded knight’s shield buried in hemlock corruption of choregus in paroxysm in bruption for the last man known is counted the paragon of antebellum triumphs first known to Earth

Vauntlayed vastation of virgation the venatic principle of gossypine segregation sequacious to all ovations is the turnpike for ragmatical chomping warbles in loony saffron disguise dauntless in facility emblematic of videndum crossed by fertilized vernal vibes

Surpassed by fictions of scop the scorbutic ******* bronchos crops seedy with desperation upon millenarianism flocked and herded by flanger phasers heterochrony is livid of discordant pickthanks desperate to survive

Ingenuity plucky with imbroglio and boyg rattles the crotaline Esauline rhymes of rancor henpecked by subliminal cartels of verse and crime

Potvaliant cocktails ramble in synchrony with tantiemes of sybotic sondage the avizdanum of pilloried fortresses of indelible refugium of peerless gallops sidelong jostles of imprimatur’s best possible design.

Secretive boodle the presbyteries prized glamour apace of grognards lamentable in boltrope bonces brackling with insouciant crackles of amberjack vitality verdant with plumage in seeds sown by heydays yet known

Embroidered pulchritude of lurid passions wintry in spoiled care menacing a disarmament of spare tires careworn with wayfarers relying on the compass and square of typhonic gullywashers yet blown

Crafty clinkstone the cloture of cuculine calvous progeny of esemplastic harmony serrated by brusque rannygazoo bristling with acclaim shadowed by windows of bickerns of retinues of filigree over frame

Still motion “Godspeed” melismatic splendor flapdoodling in the afterglow of reverie gravid with slapstick revelry is the victim beyond culprits of vampires defamed of radical blemish and blame

Surrounded by the ulterior postern of potamic rhizogenic riddles whimpering in four-square davenport polders conflagrant with zazzy zuches of onolatry gilded by silly rebarbative pretenses of tinsel garb

Somebody tell this guy rapid routes of killjoy masquerade are easier to fossick from chiffon rhubarbs better than crabwise barkentine bards

Captains of hauberk cribble and cretify nebulous nyalas with nutation as grampus of grillage greaves digs many graves two yards flagrantly steep the grim reaper’s daily keep

As he sashays between moments of despair and propitiated care hallmark schadenfreude trounces every uneven charlatan sunken in debt immeasurably deep

The King’s greatest valedictory terpsichorean vivid maskirovka among Goliaths of penury wilting in etiolated despair conniving for siamangs among the beasts stook his majestic claim at the forefront of snide gravid with isangelous stake

The amplexus among the brittle brinkmanship of vociferous times sliding into rapid decay too many “Take On Me” racers swallowed their freight sloshing rattlesnake corpses in their vapid wake

A “Eureka” shouted from Denali eclipses the guileless betrothed witchknot of foraminated limicolous carapace to grimgoire and serpent driven by ambition personally fervent sidling like a hustler rambunctious on his mainlined craft

Cascading torrents of corsairs bulging squabs and sadogues ripples through sands of time hymns upon creaky cunning lickerish licentious sneers too implodent to carry their own graft

Hostage to history, self-reference is a mystery flanging the spaces between spaces of bars between swank lightyears of novelty predicated by girdled gammon on high

Trusty travesty rickety in creaky hinges of jettatura jinking around regolith sunken in oases of poor foundation scrimshanks the valleys’ apostles in countenances brave and wry

Wrepolis wavering in flagrant desuetude because of a brackish diseased tome the gnomes of nomogeny distorted by barnacles of specular afterclaps enthrone

Just like Denzel serenading togated gladiatorial carnage in Aceldama despite a fated brevity all his own

Such is the weighted carapace of a flimsy baragnosis of feted **** of vernalized harvests in turgid wapentake sprauncy with dapper Dons of donnism in rudenture’s slake

There is no vigilant meteoric promachos paragon grim enough to weather frostbitten venom sullen with quaky quakers rakish rake manumitting marsupial pedigree with roadhouse jailbreak

In the troves of time, point guards at the helm rescind the zugzwang engorging the coffers of coffles of catalfalque ballicatter ramshackle with counterfeit plaudit bonanza

Every rulership mismeasured by apperception quaky on premise and slipshod in design is a grauncher in convenient disaster supererogatory as conventional answer

But to this refrain we have no sanitarium ****** riveted enough with keelhauled subterfuge to sink disdain in bronzed frothy seas of poison as a mithridatism ratomorphism covets only when it sees

Time’s ultimate hamartia is sanguinolence brazen because it bleeds, craven because it bereaves and raffish because it believes

We must therefore believe the umbrage of toil, the limericks of our very soil siphoned by lavaderos of occamy lionized by too many a tour

No wound sours the mettle of men more vehemently than a manifesto pedigree disheveled of academicism bent on nihilism and profligate in its enumerations of things yet deplored

Time is its own recourse, and luck is its only measured score
kfaye Apr 2022
No good news is the news - and
The witches’ brew
Bubbles over
again

Flanger fire .
Dragon spire
Call me .crash me .cook me inside
And over and over, I rolled
Down the grassy hills. Down the dying dirt.
Down with man and his upheld promise
Breaking bread beside me
Bedtime brain rot binds me

Hold me. Hurt me. Hit me, hurry, with something good.
Or at least better
Than
it’s been

It’s crass enough out there
Without your green scaly eyes
Take some time. Prepare a surprise. Make me feel alive.

It’s about time for us to finally
explode.


It’s about time we took the *******
End their ****-eating grins

Skin head ****-faces must die

— The End —