"foreskin" poems
Casper was ****** in the *** by fifty Muslims.
He was ****** twenty-five times on top.
He was also ****** thirty-seven times bent over a wheelbarrow
And eleven more times at the bank.
He was ****** at night in the ***
His *** was a bit ruptured.
He was born for getting ass-rammed!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper got ****** in the *** brutally
And the fifty Muslims' ***** was ****** on his tonsils.
He was up to his eyeballs in Muslim ****
He was so full of *** he had to ****
This guy really took a **** pushed away the Muslim ****
And took his own ********
And started ******* himself in his *** brutally.
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper was taken to a hospital by an ambulance.
At the hospital, he told the doctor to say ******* licker".
After the doctor said ******* licker".
He got on top of Casper and started ******* him in his *** brutally.
So far, Casper was diagnosed with holy freakaholic
And became loose for super duper maneuvers!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Rock over London, Rock on Chicago!
Western Union: It's the Fastest Way To Send Money!
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Yes, mechanical leaf mover,
create the shrillest sounds known to man.
See if it doesn't just slowly make the world a ******** place
by taking away the joy of crunchy leafs,
which gradually become moist, squishy leafs,
then, after a long period, emerging from a snow covering
thaw and lie there, fully exposed, recumbent,
depriving the dormant seed of grass its sunlight, preventing grass,
freeing up water for infrastructure needs more urgent and rational
than supporting the most boring of decorative plants encompassing our lives.
I guess what I'm saying is that, not only are your sounds annoying,
they're just another of the short-sighted endeavors our present society insists on.
You are the "circumcision-for-hygiene-purposes" of our urban planning.
**** you, leaf blower. **** you and the excruciating environmental ignorance you represent.
I SAID **** YOU, LEAF BLOWER, YET YOU PERSIST!
You need to let that leafy-foreskin grow,
covering the shaft of ground.
Rid it of the pleasure-impeding growth of grass!
Let the earth cry out for the sensation of tiny points of pressure
moving delicately along its surface.
Let the ground erupt with wild flowers, or at the very least,
the trampled exuberance of plodded soil
and the desperate levels of human debris that would collect upon it.
Or are you trying to hide our wastefulness from us by removing something
which is nothing, a nothing, invisible barrier?
You've already succeeded in giving my apartment complex the ambience
of an industrial production complex
which I suppose it always was.
Maybe your attempt at concealment
has been a revelation.
Or maybe I just can't think straight,
because there's been a ******* leaf blower
circling below my window all morning
and now a heavy, riding lawn mower is coming to cut the grass
that hasn't grown since September
but has been watered every day
even though it froze last night
and it's almost November.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:45 PM UTC
we leave by passing through.
by outlasting
roots.
by grooming deep runes
like arabian
horses....
mountainous [ pontoons ]
spine crack
liqueur
of soft doom
and true Orchids...
the ******** aftermath of covenants
at half mast
a limp flag of jolly rogers
pettifogging
dull noggins.
we pass through, phantom roosters
ante-Bantam
in the Bedlam....
Conscience
Chauntecleer
as
Opaque.
our blood has new boots
and now our hearts
can Mussolini
{ you strangle The Headless Horseman; as i lust for your Ichabod }
no cranes.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
Now
Say nay,
Man dry man,
Dry lover mine
The deadrock base and blow the flowered anchor,
Should he, for centre sake, hop in the dust,
Forsake, the fool, the hardiness of anger.
Now
Say nay,
Sir no say,
Death to the yes,
the yes to death, the yesman and the answer,
Should he who split his children with a cure
Have brotherless his sister on the handsaw.
Now
Say nay,
No say sir
Yea the dead stir,
And this, nor this, is shade, the landed crow,
He lying low with ruin in his ear,
The cockrel's tide upcasting from the fire.
Now
Say nay,
So star fall,
So the ball fail,
So solve the mystic sun, the wife of light,
The sun that leaps on petals through a nought,
the come-a-cropper rider of the flower.
Now
Say nay
A fig for
The seal of fire,
Death hairy-heeled and the tapped ghost in wood,
We make me mystic as the arm of air,
The two-a-vein, the ******** and the cloud.
2.3k
.oh... hi y'all:
or rather - how did i find this in the noun Ohio?
i guess after watching
the disaster artist
and no having watched
the room...
the tetragrammaton
is so glaring to me
in the English tongue,
i might as well be
a reincarnation of
Belshazzar
(but not really...
because, to me,
reincarnation
implies
a fixed number
of people...
and an mingling
of solipsism from
philosophy,
and NPC from the gaming
world...
no, i can't believe
in reincarnation...
saving grace of
the Hindus?
they're not lactose intolerant;
boogie-woogie-boo-woo
ooh things are turning,
freak-y...
why is that a Y and not
an E?
see... the tetragrammaton
is glaring at me...
like an ***** protruding
phallus with the added
"flavor" of a circumcision
snippet...
me? i'm fine...
no snippet...
i can **** off as much
as i like and not feel
stupid -
or catholic, about it,
having, in my possession,
an unsheathed "sword").
p.s. it really is the case
of circumcising men
as a procreational motivation,
no ******** on you...
plenty of ******** on her...
and how the east meets
the west...
back in the east i'd be a blessing...
over 'ere?
i'm a walking abortion...
a nuisance...
something you send off
to fight in incestuous...
here's my 100 year closure celebration:
V!
like the Welsh longbow men... up yours!
who? in the 100 year war...
the French would cut off the...
**** index or middle finger?
they would cut off one of the fingers
of the Welsh longbow men...
so they could fire an arrow...
P.O.W.s...
so the Welsh longbow men
came up with V... a salute
to the French... up yours!
i still have mine!
hence? i don't feel ****** jerking off...
too bad, ol' chap,
you've been given an incentive
to find your missing ********
in a woman's *****
sorry... i actually feel sorry for
you having this imposed on you...
the missing caftan / hood and all...
sometimes i wondered:
does she even know what she's
doing performing ******** on
me? maybe i could cut my torso off
and show her how to do it?
in the east i'd be a godsend,
but in the west i'm an
embarrassment...
great in tissue... greater still
in pointless wars...
auxiliary pageant...
sure sure...
glorify the women...
last time i heard my ex-girlfriend
gave birth to her fourth child...
her fourth daughter...
i seriously should have been
born a ******* Mongol.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC
genuine anger, that implodes?
kinda makes
you sleepy.
been listening to too much
lindsay ellis: drinking...
in vino veritas verbatim...
ghost writers?!
you have to be kidding me...
kovalski!
- yes sir!
inquire about
the *bookovski
method*!
- the hyphen is
counter to the concept
of a prose narrative
in paragraph form,
translated into poetry:
fwee! fwee!
jittering away,
like a sparrow might!
**** me, does anger
make you sleepy...
if anger implodes...
that's like...
the... ultimate
sleeping pill;
it's a friday? some *****
taking
place in central london?
thank god i'm not thinking
about picking up and marrying
the scrap-heap of counter incels.
all i seriously wanted
was to become a bus driver,
the route 5...
**** anger is so exhausting
when it implodes and
does, but "doesn't" have
an outlet...
you don't teach kids
martial arts by kicking
one of them in the *****
and watch them curl up
like an oyster exposed to electricity
asking, or rather, demanding:
is there a kojak, a liver, a brain,
and an altogether in there?!
like an echo into a cave...
imploding anger:
makes you sleepy...
like the adversary of adrenaline...
or the emperor's throne room scene
music...
oh look...
yet another yawn
attempting to lodge itself
into the gob of a chimpanzee -
caught on camera,
"supposedly" laughing;
then again...
it would refer to the:
bankrupt broadcasting corporation,
given: sheeee shaville;
well... a sort of... oops?!
don't worry, you have ********
it's like the new niqab...
seems a bit... pointless to **********
if you've been circumcised.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
puffing out smoke like the entangling of long hair
with my portable hookah of acid apple palette experienced;
then eyelid the softest skin the warm puff puff experienced
when unable to see the gaseous
entangle of thus compared:
cut off the eyelids and become
serpents, rather than circumcising
exchanging loss of masculine
additives with excess of feminine
pin points of skin like the bloating
of the throat: larynx region with a thyroid
cancer bubbling and blubbering:
circumcise and make men eagerly warring...
and women prone to consecrate approval
as if dreaming... a naked sword without a sheath...
but instead of circumcision, the cutting off ********
cut the eyelids! what then? i'd begin revision
of man by cutting off the eyelids rather than the ********
**** me, why not both?! cut the eyelids
and cut the ******** then narrate what excesses of
womankind are worth disregarding:
feminine ******** and perverted religion,
hey, excess skin of man was the culprit once,
now the woman's chance to equate kippah with
a monk's hairstyle, with her own slit of
niqab and postbox of forcing through a hole
as narrow / as tight so that an object capably sat on
can be delivered.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
Considering my flaws and all
Could I still be the love of your life?
I'm friendly with majority of the population
I hope it doesn't shy you away
And give you the impression that I am a attention seeker
I utilize my mind almost too often
I hope that it doesn't seem as if I'm heartless
I can talk a little bit too
But I don't think it substitutes for my actions though
I'm violent first then violet second
I'm only careful after I've been clumsy
I had grey hair since the 7th grade
Does that take away from my grade?
My skin texture is somewhat dark, but a bit lesser
My sensitivity is not a mystery
I like to go astray for days
Does that makes you impatient?
My ******** is still in place
Does it take away from the depth of my ***********
Sometimes I don't practice what I preach
But I don't mind being called on my hypocrisy
I hope you don't become obsolete
My flaws and all
Considering all of my flaws I hope you do not withdraw
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
there's a funny twist to this tale,
with feminism tackling ***********
and *** without consent,
both noble feats to tackle...
the male version? becoming
impregnated without consent -
jeez that sounds weird -
well the £110 an hour prostitutes
say they check themselves for
sex-related diseases regularly:
and i believe them. they also require
you to wear a rubber second ********
but it's just odd that you can a man,
and have no say in the matter
of your ****** partner being impregnated,
given that your ******** is about
an inch long, and when pulled back
your ******* head turns purple
because of the constraints, so a ******
isn't really that much of a discomfort...
but still she insists... *** in me, *** in...
white lies and anti-contraceptive pills...
so how about strawberry...
i don't mind, my ***** gagging with the ********
pulled back, but hey, ******* with ********
is so much more pleasurable than without
it... i know, i have the capacity.
and indeed i do like Freud, his theory
of the compound Madonna-Whore "complex"
is true... question is, is it expressed by
a woman, or by man? i'm guessing a woman
since Freud covered men as Wilhelm Oedipus Rex...
and i went straight down the hyphenated middle...
Madonna O Madonna why are you
in need to talk about ***
and the ***** get's them every time,
no talk, i know why i paid for consent,
she knows i paid for consent, even if she's not
aroused she uses skin-cream to oil up
so penetrating her won't hurt... while i'm not
a universal stunner... but i still don't
understand why a girl would think there's
no opposite of **** / *** without consent...
i.e. forcing a fatherhood on you on the sly...
that's the opposite of **** she thinks you're
so perfect because she's in her teens and she just
experienced the diversity of the world
and boom, you're trustworthy about her promise
to be on anti-contraceptive pills (she isn't),
you can use a ****** because your ********
is too tight... and then you get a really bad Kafkaesque
theme for the rest of your life.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
The news has reminded fans that just because it is the Super Bowl
It is not okay to hit your wife
But you did, and you were drunk, and now there is guacamole on the floor.
Peeling back your ********
Like a clown
Forever stripping away tricolor cloth to reveal
More tricolor cloth
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
Inside, Your cancer's beating heart
My ******* shakes, dirt dust gone
I swipe the sand away. For every ounce of ****
Laughing out meaty red raw steaks and size zero thighs.
- For everythingsobad. You rattle my dream box with your sweet blue face and your gauges for neither being an idiot or being human. Too cute of you booboo. Captivity claws at you, you big bafoon, intolerant, shuffling your predicates back and forth during your 12am nonsensical ******** So long as it doesn't interfere with your curfew.
Like soggy altered-state popcorn. Your butter catches more flies than knives, the inauthentic gestures spattering over the rhythms and rolls of your fingertips is torture to watch. Kitchen countertop influenza. A tired dictionary of sad words, poor misfortunes, tired eyelids, silty and sandy crusty inside corners of the eyes
.rearing privilege
countertop crawlers. inaudible coos used by muses who can't keep their musings from tangling the long distance dial tone soaring through the ears like an Italian operatic melodrama. A horse, three brides, and a funeral. One woman, a sick child, blindness, blinding caused by toxins of the body stuck inside your gelatinous fishlike eyelids. Where's there an eye bib and a lance when you need one? A nifty electric toothbrush shank with extra reach and plaque protection. You're the kitchen sink they threw in, a budget meeting with a data analysis staph infection. A government where nobody wins. All the kids grow up with thin skin and an aorta with no ventricles in it. It's like the cynical prison system that we had to survive in our 8th grade basement dungeon. Thundering, curmudgeons drugging sluggishly, **** teen thugs. Preteen pornstars sluicing cash through their meaty canals, ******* the ******** and ******* the back bare in a messy afternoon of **** ******* Crusty infectious rumors made worse by brothers and moms, eating handfuls of Norco just to keep the family strong.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
I give up on you
Men of appearances
Men who will crumble as you question their true level of intimacy
Men who will feel forever shamed by their weight, class, **** size, ********
Men who will not think about stepping over you in order to look taller
Men who will never love, but unconsciously choose to live in a constant state of crisis just so they can feel alive
Papi, I give up on you
I give up on you as you tell me you want to be friends,
Then you call me in the middle of the night as you feel insecure because your grindr hookup never showed up, or showed up but left you feeling alone, empty, used, *****
So you come to me for healing, to build you up only so you can leave my bed feeling new and ready for your next fall
I will not pick you up again
You need to learn that love is mutual and something more than laying down to cuddle, love is a deep and transformative understanding, love is not Hollywood or healing **** sessions, it’s beyond that, and it feels free.
And every time you leave I feel entrapped and know that you will only come back
When you fall.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
bewilderment, many more women than men, and still so few a man committing polygamy, it's almost like the mirroring of so many men committing suicide; the loss of the practice of polygamy leaves so many men committing suicide prematurely, leaving so many women alive to give the abnormal ratio without an actual diseased cause of death of men, hence the statistics.
just when you start enjoying it,
you stop,
there are so many going to restaurants,
but you're just a turkey
readied for stuffing,
you gorge on it
like traffic in Hinduism with
the holy cow that's a pedestrian
in England...
chomp and chop the food
like a toilet blockage,
you eat it without a palette,
no cheese and crackers after,
no candlelight, no wine,
it's a strange looking necessity,
esp. once digested;
it's as necessary as death for your
engagement: you have to eat,
you have to die...
i eat to add to the insomnia cure
because i should but can't pay alimony
payments because an engagement is
not lawfully enforced...
chemists are natural bachelors,
i told you, but you wouldn't
understand...
you were the ******* of youth,
the girl aged thirteen prone to suicide
and still the many numbers of men
committing to the act of suicide...
the law is in your favour, since you're
the incubator of it, the womb,
any rich **** can provide the Semitic root
of it all, cutting the excess skin of genitalia
of one *** whether ******** or ********
you think you won't get anti-ontological
behaviour? if what was intended was intended
and you play and revise the **** thing,
do you think the answering reason will
not look ridiculous enough to not attract ridicule
like a cow and flies, ready to spawn maggots
in the wet eye sockets?
you must be joking then!
monotheism was born in the halo
of revising mankind, abraham's snipping
isaac's "excess" skin...
it took place there... but revising a second
time with female circumcision...
well, revising humanity like that
gave us all the possible abominations accessible...
how can you teach the origin of man
with that ugly aesthetic of being furry
and a blunted snout of the gorilla
and not wonder why revising man
to an over-eager representation of engaging in ***
not combine into a holocaust...
you steal the sheath of the sword from the sword,
you'll find it constantly warring,
because that's what circumcision did,
it stole the sheath of the sword...
and no, this isn't crude imagery, ******
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
*it only took the gherkin to take modern into modern via pickle, but the cabbage pickled dome of the albert hall opera was lost to foe foe foo dub step pluck the plucker of twang of drop d uncool; ah wait, gherkin acne pimples roughage missing on the cabbage suckled, with the flush into oyster moisture past the sexed up morbid cupping of the five fingers telling pistons from pistons? i said as much about my ******** as i did about her mouth, just now, and i wash it off and wash it down shaking hands rather than kissing my children goodnight excusing the **** talking sweet chock choke goodnights; well, it's hard to be credited with womanising when only "polygamy" with prostitutes suffices; but i'll just tell you... swan lake was too loud thanks to the ballerinas' stomps... hated ballet... god curse i will be cursed with sisyphus' labours... i rather roll that stone than hear ballerinas dance once more!*
let the male cat roam and lay rampage to the night, the she-cat sleeps in, then on the third call for ginger: quarus! quarus! nothing... quarus! it begins to rain... shamanism without the safety-net of psychiatry for post-colonial nations trying behaviourism without anger, with anger sterilised, and certain french thinking of fascination with death and suicide with suicidal thought censored for no reason other than not worked with... well, that better be wellington thick rubber on the phallus when i ask for my money back guarantee nine months later.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
Divorce
I acquiesce to your request my dear
I’ll take my leave of thee,
just give me half the money dear
and divorce I will agree,
the marriage is truly over
this is plain to see,
it happened when ****** partners
increased from two – to three,
you couldn’t keep your legs shut
they were open good and wide,
just to let your lover
stuff his **** inside,
you say he’s a better lover;
he’s sensitive and kind,
also that for the first time
******* you did find,
but in my own defence dear-
and this I truly think,
your big and hairy *****
was rancid and did stink,
and your lover you should inform him;
oh - this isn’t just a tease!
if he’d care to inspect his ********
He’ll find a small disease,
'twas on a mate’s stag do
that I fell for a honey trap
I’m afraid you must inform him-
I acquired the ****** clap,
so let’s just call it even
and go our separate ways,
we’ll admit that hanky panky
never -feckin -pays.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 8:12 AM UTC
*Roses, soft and cold roses
Like her ringed lips around his ********
Creamy scale excrement over your *****
Fine cut jagged legs with stems inside his meatus
Roses*
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
can you really do it for 24 minutes?
i mean... really?
try it some time,
i'm bored of the traditional stuff,
this is what i meant in the first place,
i need a mirror.
i waited with her for 24 minutes
until both of us squirted.
i'm just bored of the "traditional" ****
simply bored of it...
but **** it's unfair... she has one of her
hands initiating her ******** to goose,
and the other hand with a *****
what the **** do i have?
hopefully a ******** in one hand...
and a tissue in the other...
and trying to keep up with her doing
it for nearly half an hour...
i can usually do it in under 3 (minutes)
while taking a ****
no scented candles, no video screening;
evidently women take more pleasure from
*** and then double that pleasure while jerking off...
while the men congregate and say:
- mate, gym?
- yep, spot you on the weights?
- cool cool.
what is this?! clearly it's a tier below
being called a circus.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
I give up on you
Men of appearances
Men who will crumble as you question their true level of intimacy
Men who will feel forever shamed by their weight, class, **** size, ********
Men who will not think about stepping over you in order to look taller
Men who will never love, but unconsciously choose to live in a constant state of crisis just so they can feel alive
Papi, I give up on you
I give up on you as you tell me you want to be friends,
Then you call me in the middle of the night as you feel insecure because your grindr hookup never showed up, or showed up but left you feeling alone, empty, used, *****
So you come to me for healing, to build you up only so you can leave my bed feeling new and ready for your next fall
I will not pick you up again
You need to learn that love is mutual and something more than laying down to cuddle, love is a deep and transformative understanding, love is not Hollywood or healing **** sessions, it’s beyond that, and it feels free.
And every time you leave I feel entrapped and know that you will only come back
When you fall.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
There is a barber shop built on the ashes of Babylon,
where men lose their ******** with shame that skip to the fourth kid,
There once was place where Samson's hairstyle was a treasure map.
A place where lost man travel
Where David found no stone
where Noah built an Ark but storm never came.
When we pass through that place even the stars we use for direction disappear.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
*understand my misogyny, what sort of woman would force a child upon a man when she secures a belief in the man's knowledge that she's taking anti-contraceptive pills while he was content to adorning a ****** given his lack of ****** ferocity of agonising the ******** as the owner of ********
strange to create laws worthy of society
and civilisation by unlawfully trying
to bind man with such expectations
that could come to pass with time and deliberation,
to imagine binding man to pavement
and street-lamps within nomadic thinking?
what sort of woman does that?!
a rich one, i am assured, one who bemoans
travelling to Edinburgh from St. Petersburg
because of a love affair,
the same one who wouldn't travel to London
from Edinburgh because the man had to become
a roofing prodigy and not a chemist...
well adorned ***** of the deep...
two apartments in St. Petersburg and apparently
one in Moscow... farewell dear pearl...
hello a purse of moths - now hear how my heart flutters
for anyone but you, you the aurelian sadist
to my butterfly heart:
- real men do not cry.
- but to music, what other compliment is there
if not for man to cry and not
go mad like Odysseus' jealousy
of being the sole interpreter of the sirens's wails
waxing shut the ears of fellow sailors?
if man cannot cry for music
then woman is in debt of crying for cannon
fire! vide cor meum!
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
You have to circumcise me with precision,
don't surprise me
don't close your eyes and tell lies to me,if you cut me I will bleed and I only need you because my religion says,
I must do
well **** you and **** the pope we have been born in a world with no hope and you can't conceive or believe that it's true
that this son born of man is saying, **** you,
are we just peripheral to the spherical or can we see through to the satyrs who wax lyrical and do we care?
**** you, I'm not there and never was,religion tells me it's because I was unclean,
well
dream on genie and call me Fred Astaire,I've told you before that I am not there and now it's you that doesn't care,
well stick the knife in and let's be fair and cut my ******** so you can wear it on a chain and
pull me towards you
oh what pain,
but you'll enjoy making the boy in me
cry for you.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
Hold me in my Insecurity,
Make my Black Tar light and feathery,
Help me to forget that I'm me:
Carry my Heart and make it merry.
Watch over me, my hands and my feet,
Think of me and my cracks in your sleep,
Just make my heart and soul complete:
I've sown all the seeds, now help me reap!
What? Were you not aware of my plan?
That a shared smile is a covenant
As binding as Isaac's ********
That I have to roll you in my blunt?
What? Don't tell me that I ask too much.
Don't make it seem like it's not so rough,
When the Sadness just pleads for touch,
But can't—the world screams, " You're Not Enough!"
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
the reverse of prostate?
******* through a bottleneck;
oddly enough the ********
helps, plus ********
makes you less sexually warring...
it's like an added ********
i'm adamant on this point,
cut the excess skin off, the males
become mad like caged ducks...
keep it... you get a surprise.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
i guess most of us were fooled into writing poetry on a great Pavlov canvas, indeed it's almost a pavlov experiment, but in reverse, seeing much makes people salivate less in terms of how rewards are puzzled together for the next ring of the bell / poem, and seeing little makes people salivate more in terms of how little rewards mean, except for the bell ring / poem itself.
what is it with our modern world
where melancholy used to come naturally
to old men, who at the end of life
sighed that sigh: everything accomplished,
now just a waiting game till my old
friend death will come knocking?
but now old men become demented,
and melancholy has left their orbit and
passed into the world of the young -
what a strange melancholy this is, this
melancholy without that fulfilling sigh:
everything accomplished - oh this sigh
isn't the sigh of melancholy of old age,
it's a sigh of: but so little begun!
the sighed sigh of: but so little begun!
there was a famous exploration of a theory
back in the 19th century when psychiatry
began learning humanism, when it was
decided that psychiatry could have nothing
to do with surgery, and shackles and
lobotomies - when it started to become a branch
of humanism, akin to lounge fiction books
and poetry, and philosophy, no longer
the butchering of askew behaviourism -
those were the days when the old men were
melancholic and the young were demented,
premature dementia crew they called them -
but given the fact: war is all around for glory
and for anything else to don the general's feathered
hat and magpie attracting sparkle of uniforms
adorned by precious jewels like being thanked
for the Battle of the Somme - well the slaughterhouse
rather than a battlefield - yes, near Ypres, a little
town in Belgium, where they still applaud the
"glorious" dead with a trumpet sound at a certain
hour each day under an arch - like that trumpet sound
of St. Mary's each noon, the hejnał, as the
trumpeter was running to the top of the tower
to sound the alarm of the spotted mongol horde,
yes, back then... circumcised eager warriors...
not a single ******** among them to hold them back,
circumcision doubly requiring the soft oyster
pouch of women ended up making men more
daring, more warring...
and as is usual with me, a captured moment of
digression veering off the original topic...
what is it with today's premature depression?
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:42 AM UTC