briano alliano performs on venus party trap




you see welcome to the trap and i had a great night at the poetry slam

where i met this man who said m6y poem was great, well, he liked it

in fact when i didn’t win it, he wanted to heckle the organisers, well, it was

fun, but i like the organisers too, but this man realiy believed in me, ya know

especially when i told him i am putting art in an exhibition

here is my first song, the poem i read at the poetry slam ,here goes

jingle bells oh buddy jingle bells

it’s christmas in july

the party is on for young and old

and presents to make us happy

jingle bells oh buddy jingle bells

it’s christmas in july

party on till next week, man

yeah, celebrate christmas in july

dashing thru the cold canberra winters day

you see i think my reindeers are in hibernation today

because the air is very cold, and it’s a great day to say

merry christmas my good friends in the month of july

jingle bells oh buddy it’s jingle bells

it’s christmas in july

the party is on for young and old

bring out the warm eggnog

and put up the christmas tree, and have santa on a stick

then you get those lollypops, and give ‘em an almighty lick

and give ‘em an almighty lick, my mate

ya see last night at the poetry slam, this bloke said i really sang the last bit with a lot of guts

and determination, and now as i left last night i saw a fight taking place, and i knew if i don’t stare

everything will be alright, and now here is my next song

i am tired, but i can’t sleep, i need to have a siesta, yeah mate yeah

i need to relax and enjoy my life, and have a soft drink yeah mate yeah

carn the swans carn the raiders carn the packers, like that man last night spoke to me for

yeah mate yeah, and now time for, here is my next song, loving friends and loving family


You see when I was young and I always was trying to be cool
I had a family who tried to stop myself from being cool, and I was
So fristrated with that, I said, no I am cool, but I wssn't cool, I wanted
To laugh at everybody and I laughed so loud that my psrents were telling me
To quiten down and this made me angry, you see I got violent and I started to rant
And rave and it took me over a long time to understand that they were treating me
Like a cool kid, but I was young and stupid and it seems like they were teasing me
And giving me a hard time, and i also said that I wanted to be cool and always go out having a good time and getting ****** as a parrot, you see, my voices were putting those thoughts
Right in my head, giving me a lot of problems, making me very very sick of being in this crazy situation, and I am glad I have this amazing loving family and good friends, to help me through any kind of situation.
You see when I try and muck with my father like a mans kid, my brother would say, don't muck with him, he's not like us, don't much with him, no he is not a young dude. Be like us, and be a young dude and be a little shy boy, you try and be oool every day, and you try and give stay up all night while everybody else is going to bed, so you can go, hey to him, but the thing about it is, that it is the fact that he is living in the past.
So then my loving family and loving friends made me feel better about how much I wanted to
Move on and live life to the fullest, you see he will laugh like a man should and then say, heh heh heh heh , i am a cool boy, I am not a little shy boy, I sit up all night, I don't go to bed, you see I am superior, but my mates call me a complete loser.
Because this man is a total and absolute ******, and it makes me absolutely crazy, and this drives me crazy, you know very crazy, but I always call it a loving family and loving friends, I don't need these friends who only like me because I sit underneath them.



here is my next song, titled mashed potato finger nail at the skate park, here goes

You see Jacki Fred Harold Stone was a very cool young dude
You see instead of going to bed with all the other kids
He wanted to go to the skate park and ride the skateboards
With his best mates down there, and it was a very weird effect
You see his fingers smelt like mashed potato and all his mates went home
And they said he was a little shy boy, and Jacki Fred Harold Stone said
I am not a little shy boy, I am a cool boy, who loves to skate
And when I have a rest the mashed potato finger nails come again
To inspire me to keep being cool here at the skate park
You see I did some very awesome tricks, and I had so much fun
But I still smelt my mashed potato finger nails, it was driving me wild
I told all the people at the skate park and they said, your not shy
In fact your the coolest dude out of your family, and none of us want you to leave
I don't care if you used to get teased by everyone at your school
And I don't care if your family teaeed you as well
You see Jacki, I think your cool, and I will never tease you, not ever
I want to sell you drugs, but you don't have to take them
Because your the boy with the mashed potato finger nails
And we'll never ever tease you, we want to be your friend
And we want nothing more than that
So come on Jacki Fred Harold Stone, show us how to skate
You see my name is Jason Lee, and this is my mate Tristan
And we'll be your only friends you will never tease you
Cause at least you come here and ride your skateboard like a cool dude
And after your finished you stay with us and have a joke around
Despite of the times you tell us, your cool, we still have problems with this deal
You see, you are the kid who has mashed potato finger nails
And I don't care at all, your like us, Jacki, your cool, and your fingers smell like a good
Dose of mashed potato, which means your very cool
here is my next song, titled as much fun as it sounds, here at the trap

You see Jacki Fred Harold Stone was a very cool young dude
You see instead of going to bed with all the other kids
He wanted to go to the skate park and ride the skateboards
With his best mates down there, and it was a very weird effect
You see his fingers smelt like mashed potato and all his mates went home
And they said he was a little shy boy, and Jacki Fred Harold Stone said
I am not a little shy boy, I am a cool boy, who loves to skate
And when I have a rest the mashed potato finger nails come again
To inspire me to keep being cool here at the skate park
You see I did some very awesome tricks, and I had so much fun
But I still smelt my mashed potato finger nails, it was driving me wild
I told all the people at the skate park and they said, your not shy
In fact your the coolest dude out of your family, and none of us want you to leave
I don't care if you used to get teased by everyone at your school
And I don't care if your family teaeed you as well
You see Jacki, I think your cool, and I will never tease you, not ever
I want to sell you drugs, but you don't have to take them
Because your the boy with the mashed potato finger nails
And we'll never ever tease you, we want to be your friend
And we want nothing more than that
So come on Jacki Fred Harold Stone, show us how to skate
You see my name is Jason Lee, and this is my mate Tristan
And we'll be your only friends you will never tease you
Cause at least you come here and ride your skateboard like a cool dude
And after your finished you stay with us and have a joke around
Despite of the times you tell us, your cool, we still have problems with this deal
You see, you are the kid who has mashed potato finger nails
And I don't care at all, your like us, Jacki, your cool, and your fingers smell like a good
Dose of mashed potato, which means your very cool
as much fun as it sounds to heckle, i still remember the american dude, but this man last night was a cool dude, buddy, cool man sam


and have you ever been a cool kid to your dad, and had people laugh at you, i felt that last night when i didn’t join in the heckle, but that man

was nice to me, saying he admires me, but i am not gay, i am bradley simmons

Bradley lived in Cowra with his mum and dad and brother Kenneth, and Kenneth was a real mans kid who plays with his friends in the street and then he goes home to watch Disneyland with his dad, and he mainly liked to watch westerns, while Bradley was certain that there is something going on in the air, and went to church with his mum.
You see this wasn't really tbe best family unit, especially when families go out to fun family events, but Bradley and Kenneth's dad was a director at kids town, which is a Buddhist drop in centre, who looke after the daily needs of under fortunate kids, and Bradley and Kenneth were told to come into these centers, when their dad organised some games to brighten their spirits, one game was spin the Buddha, where you get a spinning buddha statue and the kids get a lolly pop if the Buddha spun towards them, and even though they thought it was lame, well you can see it in their faces, Bradley thought it was cool and then said to his dad how about I plan games for them to play, like soccer out in the paddock, or even cricket, or tennis, and one of the homeless Boyd sadism I am too poor to get into Auskick, so can we play Aussie rules, and if I whip your ***, I know I can play for Richmond, and Kenneth who tried to be the cool kid there said, well if you make Richmond, it won't mean you are good, it means you play for Richmond, and Bradley told Kenneth to be nice to him, he obviously likes Richmond, and Kenneth said to Brad, why don't you shut up you stupid old ******* ****, and Bradley said, I am cool, I can turn these kids away from you.
Then Bradley said ok it's time to play a board game and little Ryan said, well what does board games have to do with helping us get houses, and Bradley said, oh no I ain't that powerful, I am just a kid, I can't give you a home, no,,I am here to make you feel that people actually care for you, because I think it would be tough for you having no home to go to and the kids listened to Bradley like he was one of the adults and being a typical jealous little brother started to get very jealous especially when e tried to make a joke, and they told him to get lost, because your brother is boosting our self esteem.
At the end of the day, Kenneth said to Bradley, you are a stupid ******* old *******, playing board games doesn't make them really feel better, what makes them feel better is taking them for walks around, but you are too stupid for that aren't you Bradley, you are too fucken shy to be like those kids friends, you see they all like me better, they just tolerate you, so go back to your bedroom and go and do some underage *******, no you aren't one of us boys, *******.
Bradley was upset with what Kenneth said and went to his bedroom and cried for hours and since then he didn't have inspiration to go back to his dads work to help the kids there, but his dad said, your brother is just jealous, and you should do this if it makes you feel happy, and his dad said, and if you find that Kenneth is proved right, just ignore them, and you can start off by ignoring Kenneth, because really, I wish every kid could have the inspiration that you bring to kids town, don't let teasing stop you for reaching your full potential, Bradley, Bradley decided his dad was right, and he kept on going to kid's town to make a difference in these children's lives, playing games and talking to one another, this was so cool the kids thought, Bradley thought he was growing up, and Kenneth who decided to come in, because he thought kids need to be kids, yes, his dad was doing a good job, but really Kenneth had what the kids really wanted, like he bought his computer and showed him the virtual world, and Bradley said no kids playing board games are fun, and computer games can wreck your eyesight, but the kids decided that Kenneth needed to be heard too, after all he is the other son of the kid's town leader, so they listened to him for a while and instead of trying to play along, Bradley felt hurt and said, ******* all, and went to his room to cry, and all the tough boys said, 'what a cry baby' and then he said his brother isn't an monster, we still like him, but Kenneth wanted to make Bradley jitter, so he now decided to play around laughing very loudly, like he was like us, man or something and Brad was in his room, crying and their dad decided that Brad needed to share his friends and said that he prefers the way Kenneth did things, Brad got really angry and started to be totally mental, by punching Kenneth like a ******, as well as threatening to **** the father that gave him a perfect life as a kid, of course he didn't **** him, but he was an angry *******, you see he was the board games king, while his brother was a computer **** kid, and Kenneth tried to not hurt Brad's feelings, even though, being a kid, he found it hard to not teaee the ****** and Bradley was put in a special school where he made a few new friends, but they weren't into playing board games or anything else with him, they wanted to teaee him, with teachers joining in, because Bradley needed to learn about how to control is temper, and someone tried to bully him, and Bradley stood up to him, and another guy was determined to tease Bradley also, but as he tried to punch Bradley put his hands on his **** and squeezed his ***** real tight, and since then everyone liked Bradley, but not to his dads liking the little cool kid to his dad was suddenly Kenneth,,and Bradley felt he was trying to tease Kenneth the same way, and see how he likes it, but all his friends like Kenneth better, and Bradley punched Kenneth in the gut and his friends thought Bradley was a **** and left the house and another girl at school was making fun of Brads parents and Brad tried to stand up to her,but she said, they never helped me,**** kids town and ******* early to bed and early to rise baby, and Bradley got really upset and from that moment the only young ones who like him were the rougher ones, who hassled Bradley for money,and Bradey became to shy to say no. Which made him a little young dude with no friends, he had family trying to contact him, but he was determined to make their lives a misery.
Bradley was an idiot, with his drinking and teasing and punching people, yes dude, he needs anger management, and he needs it now, but you must want to go, but Bradley made a pact, that he won't get help till Kenneth found a girl and got married and has kids,,so his thought of being teased all through his adult years, wasn't going to happen, and Kenneth married Bridgett Kingsley and they had Toni and Ros, yes, Bradley's little nieces, and he loved them dearly, and the bonding of Bradley and Kenneth grew fondly, while their parents had the old Brad back, he ain't married but he's happy, and that's what Counts in life.


******* that look a lot of wind singing this to you at the venus party trap and when i got home i was told to sit there little shy boy and let your school mates play air guitar, i was happy too, because of sam

at the poetry slam, thinking i had guts tom read a poem and not win, who cares, it’s a fun night out dudes

You see, you are still a little shy boy, and we are still teasing you
So, now you are working, man, come, leave us
And let us muck around, we want to smoke our bongs
As well as drink our bourbons, and drink 100 beers
Yeah we all feel cool, and don't wake up little shy boy
We want the adults to not bother us, cause we are having so much
Fun, we don't want to be adults,and don't want you to worry about us either
You see, all the men, are sitting there, trying to muck with them
Saying tease him, if you want to tease, just teaee him
But at the end of the day, man, we aren't really teasing
We are sitting up all night, being bums and young bludgers
And it's because you are such a ******
We might be making it seemed you are getting teased
But, we really want to leave you alone,,if you leave us alone
Cause, we are drug addicts,,and we want you to respect the fact
That we don't want to work, as long as you think that you aren't a young bludger
Everything will be already, but young bludgers go to bed for work
So mate, just enjoy yourself, and smoke your bongs
And have a good time, doing it
You see, I want to enjoy ourselves doing this
You are now leaving us all on our lonesome
See ya dudes

see you soon, venus party trap, and t

I've done some dumb things in my life
thats one of the reasons there is no wife
too much talk of poo for women
all this pretty stupid grinning
need a kick up the *** real bad
or a pointy finger when I'm sad
set myself on fire because thats what I like
fell through the ice while riding my bike
ironed a shirt while I was wearing it
got a huge blister on my weeny ***
one day went fishing and got in a flap
caught a nice carp on a lump of cat crap
got my **** stuck in a cracked toilet seat
that took a lump out ooh painful but neat
said to the doctor" when I'm done yelling,
get rid of the pain, but please leave the swelling!"
one thing I do enjoy is a laugh
but that is no good for my epitaph
for a donkey like me my final hurrah
reads here lies Jeremy.... a ******* Too Far

I'm a poet, beatboxer,
Gamer, Expert procrastinator
Hated
Loved
But not loved by you apparently.

You
Who sits behind the screen like a little *****,
Makes your profile private
So I can't respond to things like
"Exactly what I'd expect a 16 year old little ***** to say"
You only make me mad by your nature
Probably a 50 year-old ******* and troll
Who gets off by taunting younger ones
Because he's too much of a **** to pick on someone
His own size and age,
Having no friends or relatives that love him
Nobody that respects the ******* he is
Probably does drugs
Dropped out of school the year he learnt the word "****"
Didn't follow much of a lifestyle
Blew kids off for twenty bucks
I mean, money is money
Shares his mothers basement with twelve cousins,
Male and female,
That he ***** on the daily
The only action he really gets
And when they aren't there
Climbs out of his trollhole
To **** with the wrong people

They call me Phoenix
Because I roast beats
And pedophiles
Like yourselves

You got a reaction
Question is,
Was it what you expected?

Dear Cecil the Lion,

What happened to you was a terrible thing.
What you represent most assuredly will live onward.
The  ****** and dishonest way you were lured out
of the animal sanctuary to have a bullet put through you
was a tragedy.  

But,
you can go unfuck yourself.
To be honest,
your death ranks just above a smooshed fly or mosquito.
After I heard the news of your death,
I finished taking a **** and went about my day.

I'm glad people are upset about something. Its time people started getting mad as hell & stopped taking it. BUT, maybe we should reconsider our priorities for a second the next time we decide to erupt in a collective outrage.

Whatever happened to #blacklivesmatter?
Oh right, they're still trying to put an end to racism in many areas
where some police are still under the impression it's the 1950's.

Hey...how's the whole world hunger thing going?
Well, it's probably not helping what with the whole food wasting bit
the majority of us practice.
And yes, I know there will always be someone starving somewhere for some reason due to a variety of circumstances, but that doesn't mean we gotta sit around in apathy over it.

What ever happened with all those troops
we were so excited to support when it came time
to defending our country? Oh right...

How's the whole woman's rights thing going?

One more question; do we still care about education or is that something we've just given up thinking about?

Look, I realize the aforementioned list of
#blacklivesmatter,
world hunger,
support the troops,
woman's rights
& education
are weighty topics in & of themselves with lots of intricacies.
And I understand they're not going to be solved in a day.
But, these big five all have one thing in common;
people.

George Carlin once spoke about people who "always gotta be saving something" from animals to the planet,
"We don't even know how to take care of each other & we want to save the ******* planet?!"

And I get it, there are those out there that probably care more about animal lives than human lives, which is cool.
Hey, if that's your prerogative, I'll buy everyone who feels this way
a ticket to the jungle & you can start doing your part sooner,
and much more quietly, especially when some of us are trying to eat.

Because I swear to whatever you hold most sacred & holy,
if one more person tries to tell me
to stop eating meat because it's ******,
I'm going to wrap my hand around their neck & squeeze,
shaking them as I shout "Plants are living beings too you ******* *******!"

I get it.
Some can feel that deeply when they eat meat & it makes them uncomfortable to chow down on the flesh of something else.
But why are we having THAT discussion
when someone else somewhere is starving?!

After we get the world hunger thing under control,
then we can talk about the morality of what we put in our mouths.
After we prove that we can take care of ourselves and each other,
then we can move on to whatever animals are left.

i can't imagine a better maxim for a marriage:

   when both of you are young...
and... instead of being
these "star-crossed lovers" -

with a rubric
                  of the thwart(ing)...

to marry: when both are still in love with life...

                    from a nation-state into
the ***** of a diaspora...

what a fine word...
   the mass-influx of hyping around
the otherwise, fake:

       migrant workers...
like the current argument for
british sovereignty:
we will not have any of the bureaucracy
from Brussels...
but, we, will! have...
those romanian fruit & veg pickers!

it's hardly a joke:
more like a choke...
                    what's the difference between...
leaving one part of the country
for another: part of the same country...
and then... being daring enough...
to leave the country: thoroughly...
and have to learn a new language?

dual-citizenship...
go back? stay here?
hmm... i'm not really fond of speaking
or writing in ******...
the germans dissolved...
the russians too: dissolved...
i'm pretty sure that language can
remain intact... as it is...
under the law & justice party...
once they focus on the breeders
with tax-free incentives...

Chicago! what a fine diaspora hub
for the ****** "expatriates"...
good thing i never made it to
h'america: in stripes...

the friends of my youth...
most of then? crimminals...
        the nicknames we had for each
other:
i remember being taunted as being
an... "angol"... because my father wasn't
their father and wasn't part
of laying down the foundations
of "bones" for the dockland light railway...

i left a nation: still in its infancy...
and to its infancy i will drink!
but as a language: not a people...
not a geographic location...
a metaphysical manifestation:
if the word be a faustian signature...
yes, my lord... i see the pinching
itch of the natives squandering it...
like it should not have been...
a frederick hohenstaufen II experiment
in a nunnery on Sicily...
mute children... raised by nuns who didn't
speak: pretending...
to see... what language was genesis primo!

my allegiance is to the tongue...
it might allude to the fife and drums...
but dealing with the rascal
who deems...
that god save the queen be treated
with irreverence...
i'm not as daft and yobbish to glare
with a hydra giving birth to an extension
of its neck-load girth...

give me! the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
and i'll show you le marseillaise!
i have long ago pledge my allegience
to the tongue...
              
because? well... to be honest...
under all the supression from the...
(a) herr meisterstuck:
         the day:
        
        the prussians... "forgot"...
they were jumbled up with the lithuanians
as the last pagans of europe...
and then they decided: whatever it
was that they decided upon...

i hear some russian... i hear a down syndrome
person talk...
it's all lovely and sing-along...
but it's hardly by strict obligation
to the latin script... is it?
i have to nibble at pitty-worth jokes
to aid my...

diaspora: involuntary mass dispersion
of a population from its indigenous territories...
last time i checked...
i was born into a city famously known
for its practice in metallurgy...
i was the never-to-be grandson
of Die Krupp ambitions!
    i would leave my hometown and...
well... there was Warsaw...
or the... brain-drain train "elsewhere"...
from a nation into the grand...
vacuum of the diaspora...

except in england...
       the no. 303... most of which settled
in either Scotland or... Stratford-upon-Avon...
elsewhere... some other... "elsewhere"...

well...
   given that i have had had a choice...
ha ha! comma? sir?! that that?
      given that i have had - had a choice...
well... imagine... perhaps there's something
about Fwench... but i'm chosing sides...
it's not in Norwegian...
so... b'leh b'leh b'leh... b'leh...
                      
               i just have to borrow some german...
speaking this... hybrid saxon having
buggered enough afghanistan-esque brit druids...
the zeppelins were always dropping...
soap-bubbles...
          i tease oh god...
i tease... but this music is so... so...
oh so delight-ful!

                   die könig im gelb!

ah... to marry: when both are in love with life!
terrible affair: should... "life" somehow
matter: to disappear...
this love a suffocation for the best ****
they had in... ever...
and there's nothing of what life is concerned
with...
either children or... being infertile...
but to be in love with life...

the russians can't proclaim a diaspora...
then again: the "mafia"...
i've heard of an italian mob-esque...
      disposition... subsequent undercurrents
to boot...
an... irish mafia?
bothersome details...
         i still pledge my alliance to a Dickens
over a a Shakespeare...
because...
by chance... i might find some poetry
in the prosaic? by Shakespeare alone:
i'm... "expected".... aren't i?

bad news from York-and-the-shire...
Rotherham... and the... prefix ****-
   and the suffix -stani "debate"...
                   do you even know
how... let's not go there...
to term a bogus inconvenience of...

'what the hell is concerning you...
to fathom from cloud-9 a ****** notion of...
being out-bred?!'

an economic war... is a slow war...
it takes time...
it would take the amount of time...
to turn a once proud town focused on
metallurgy into rubble...
some stayed... some moved to warsaw...
some... played: a joker hand de facto...

i am: this... subtle... p.s. curiosity...
had i only come to breed...
rather than to otherwise...
nuance... allegiance...
zu die zunge?! alles!
             die menschen?
                     jeder seine haben!
             die schwach wind und der flagge?!
ist: die schwach wind: und der flagge: nein?

perhaps there's a stressor
of impetus in german that's not allowed
in english...

     ich bin hier für die sprache...
              
it must be translated... such it being:
oh such a wonderful... phrase...

   to marry... when both... are in love... with life...

zu heiraten... wenn beide...
                           sind im liebe... mit leben!

art-*******-and-funky-funky...
parsley-sage-rosemary-thym­e...
        what? thyme? there's a phi or a theta
to posit... instead...
you took the Dubliners' route of: paddy...
tad... and toink!
                'ucking scoundrels!

i will call... the greek-chinese ideogram...
I(ota) the key... and... "thereabouts"...
a keyhole of O(micron)...
it's an id: representation...

                 squashed: yes: 0... for better...
"graphics"...
    
to be young... and to share a half of both:
of being in love with life...

       Φ = the key enters the keyhole (I, O)...
    Θ = the key is turned... (Io)...
         Ψ = the door is opened...

        enough... Beijing "abstract" concerns...
for anyone?
       what's the abstract of rotation?
                                   oh... i guess: 'micron!

so much for abstracts as: only from boing-boing-xin...
some letter can qualify to be
apprehended in ideograms...
B - bossom or a fudge-yeast-byproduct
of a full ***...
              etc. or... Φ, Θ, Ψ...
       now by adding the brackets...
and time has a geography...
from the height of mythology...
to the depths of journalism...
that's... a vector:  (Φ, Θ, Ψ)...

     it's a key... a door... a keyhole...
                            an opening... n'est ce pas?!
hey! let's complicate it further
with: mr. squint... chop-sticks...
dragons... live vermin sushi...
    and counting dry grains of rice...

i'm not: Česlav Miloš...
to begin with... Czesław Miłosz was...
a Lithuanian...
because Copernicus wasn't ******...
"because and because"...
                     sides... all this talk of:
"allegiance"...
**** it... it's a cosmopolitan allegiance
to... the commonality of tongue...
shared to the point...
when... old fictions wrestle with me
and i'm confined to my own cubic...

for english is a language i can
entertain...
allow... yes... this parasite can erode
its host's cranium und...
                                  grauangelegenheit...
it was never... so imposing...
as a german tongue or a russian tongue...
therefore and thereby?
      an easily qualified tongue-donor
with the expanse of thought:
a complete and utter brain-drain on...

now...
there's a difference...
the english will not know it...

there's the nation... and there's the diaspora...
can the english... claim h'america...
or canada... or... australia...
as a nation-extension toward the confines
of a diaspora?
no... i don't think so...

that: quintessential inconvenience of
being merely: english...
   more prone to a local geography...
a devonshire... a derbyshire...
               someone of york...
  lost in new york...
                    a people with...
an imploded seance of diaspora...
    from the humble little island...
to: whatever fraction that was supposed
to make one impose on...

had i just been Irish... and "somehow"
forgotten my Gaelic...
or been that Welshman and no longer
with any Cymru...
well then...
but i come willing because...
      beside the mother and father...
the maternal grandmother and -father...
who will i speak my "native" and "mother"
tunge / zunge to?
          
i rather imagine marriage:
as when both of them are in love with life...
and in love that being said:
a little tale o' whittle england:
make it big in h'america...
        
         this... the most complete...
antithesis of a diaspora...
                    or rather: what lingua franca
was... and what l'inglese is...
and how: even if arabic tried...
and even if: mandarin would hope for...
well... hardly...
jackie chan kung fu and muhammad:
english is more popular than islam...
**** it up: camel jockey!
oh sure... they're "muslim"...
conflicting opinions... once:
speaking in english "arrives"...

                   i'm here: to turn up the volume...
because... i might as well have been
born in estonia... and speaking... estonian...
and never having left estonia...
been very much happy for the euro
and the... thumbling russians... somehow...
"retreating"...
well... if the russians are retreating...
they're: trying to revise being
an indo-european mongrel with...
accents of scandinavia concerning
the founding fathers of Kiev...
and them being russians:
what the hell do we do with the ukranians...
and the mongols that settled and became
tartars?!

yeah... the russians are on the retreat...
    this little island that... hopes for a diaspora...
instead... shuckles...
it has to settle for a h'american empire...
an australia... a new zealand...
ogh! mein! gott! no expatriate diaspora!
no tea with mussolini typo excursions!
mein gott! v'er vill youz goez?!

         zee f'ikkin moonz?! on a sputnik flarez?!
light up baboon *** numero uno:
then whisper among the fwench...

yes... very much brilliant...
         to be alive... and to marry so young...
and be helped: so young...
and not be thwarted...
   'coz crazy bunnies had the best ***...
great: to be alive, so young,
and married: and married to each other
and at the same time: having life marry you
to love it: to be together and married
to a love for life:
and... just... somehow...
having a co-dependent... of reciprocated
self-interests...

                            even in poland...
a soviety satellite...
with concrete chicken-shacks... ah yes:
that... "once upon a time"...
better the ******* state as my landlord
than some grubby liquorice ****** 3rd party:
libertarian "full dislocusre of mammon's
expression of par-tay"... sort of *******!
give me the state, the grey-suit and the gimps!

or? shackle me up for a stipend
working the sloughterhouse...
to boot... a house filled with 20 dobermans...
and 5 rottweilers...
i'll slaughter your cows... for the steak chops...
as long as i have the dogs to cuddle
and imagine myself doing the greater:
cosmic-karma-good...
the dogs... the harem of dogs...
no... women need excuses...
the dogs!

                 hell... a woman would require...
anniverseries... flowers... pinnace for a tsunami...
crumbs... what's a loaf of bread?
details... something to be minded as:
once being a plughole...
blah blah... hands for cushions...
        
              plus... women can't drink...
let her everything else: apart from the whiskey...
if she really wants to drink...
tell her to sober up on some Stendhal or
some Balzac... but don't let a woman
try to outcompete a man drinking...
she can drink...
but not... in that most... ugly: crab-feast
of... "detail"...

the english man... england...
h'america, australia... new zealand...
oh... wait... you were hoping for a diaspora...
weren't you?
yeah... clearly i didn't find an affair of
the imitation of greece...
took charge of the latin script...
inverted the mediterranean sea...

i speak your language: doesn't imply
i've shed the "ethno-nationalist" tattoos of "d.n.a."...
for a people to have made it bitter...
with the teutonic order over access to the baltic sea...
what's the baltic sea?
it's like the black sea...
the baltic sea is about as useful as...
well... the danes and the norwegians
held the toll and price of passing...
just like the turks or the byzantines held
the key of the bosphorus...
the baltic... is a "sea"...
just like the black sea is a "sea"...

did you know... there's a caspian sea?
yeah... it's a "sea"... more like... a lake would
be so much better...

the english could be akin to the arabs
from 200 years ago...
instead: sitting on a tonne of salt...
and waves...
and open horizons...
while the arabs sat on camel ****...
sand... and dinosaur juice...
and materialistic leprosy and limp-****
viagara palm tree impromptu...

sure... the lottery ticket of the past,
oh the most glorious past times...
        nothing lasts forever...
       so it seems...
            here's me celebrating Dickens
to the last... breath... because...
keeping up with speaking my native
language: when there are no
prussians, no russians...
           no austro-hungarians...
and there are only...
ukranians and lithuanians readying
to guilt-trip me over the failures
of the polish-lithuanian commonwealth?!

in this language i can...
ale... nie... w... tym!

She’s sometimes a fairy
Or a nymph from the sea
A troll and a Viking
Wise woman for free

A housewife a mother
A cook and a nurse
She earns just some pennies
To put in her purse

She yearns for romance
To be some ones muse
Not wielding a duster
And cleaning a hoose

One day she will find it
She’ll wish on a star
And the folk will all say
She’s “a ******* to far”

Bradley Simmons is a cool kid to his dad, and now he is happy with dad





Bradley lived in Cowra with his mum and dad and brother Kenneth, and Kenneth was a real mans kid who plays with his friends in the street and then he goes home to watch Disneyland with his dad, and he mainly liked to watch westerns, while Bradley was certain that there is something going on in the air, and went to church with his mum.
You see this wasn't really tbe best family unit, especially when families go out to fun family events, but Bradley and Kenneth's dad was a director at kids town, which is a Buddhist drop in centre, who looke after the daily needs of under fortunate kids, and Bradley and Kenneth were told to come into these centers, when their dad organised some games to brighten their spirits, one game was spin the Buddha, where you get a spinning buddha statue and the kids get a lolly pop if the Buddha spun towards them, and even though they thought it was lame, well you can see it in their faces, Bradley thought it was cool and then said to his dad how about I plan games for them to play, like soccer out in the paddock, or even cricket, or tennis, and one of the homeless Boyd sadism I am too poor to get into Auskick, so can we play Aussie rules, and if I whip your ***, I know I can play for Richmond, and Kenneth who tried to be the cool kid there said, well if you make Richmond, it won't mean you are good, it means you play for Richmond, and Bradley told Kenneth to be nice to him, he obviously likes Richmond, and Kenneth said to Brad, why don't you shut up you stupid old ******* ****, and Bradley said, I am cool, I can turn these kids away from you.
Then Bradley said ok it's time to play a board game and little Ryan said, well what does board games have to do with helping us get houses, and Bradley said, oh no I ain't that powerful, I am just a kid, I can't give you a home, no,,I am here to make you feel that people actually care for you, because I think it would be tough for you having no home to go to and the kids listened to Bradley like he was one of the adults and being a typical jealous little brother started to get very jealous especially when e tried to make a joke, and they told him to get lost, because your brother is boosting our self esteem.
At the end of the day, Kenneth said to Bradley, you are a stupid ******* old *******, playing board games doesn't make them really feel better, what makes them feel better is taking them for walks around, but you are too stupid for that aren't you Bradley, you are too fucken shy to be like those kids friends, you see they all like me better, they just tolerate you, so go back to your bedroom and go and do some underage *******, no you aren't one of us boys, *******.
Bradley was upset with what Kenneth said and went to his bedroom and cried for hours and since then he didn't have inspiration to go back to his dads work to help the kids there, but his dad said, your brother is just jealous, and you should do this if it makes you feel happy, and his dad said, and if you find that Kenneth is proved right, just ignore them, and you can start off by ignoring Kenneth, because really, I wish every kid could have the inspiration that you bring to kids town, don't let teasing stop you for reaching your full potential, Bradley, Bradley decided his dad was right, and he kept on going to kid's town to make a difference in these children's lives, playing games and talking to one another, this was so cool the kids thought, Bradley thought he was growing up, and Kenneth who decided to come in, because he thought kids need to be kids, yes, his dad was doing a good job, but really Kenneth had what the kids really wanted, like he bought his computer and showed him the virtual world, and Bradley said no kids playing board games are fun, and computer games can wreck your eyesight, but the kids decided that Kenneth needed to be heard too, after all he is the other son of the kid's town leader, so they listened to him for a while and instead of trying to play along, Bradley felt hurt and said, ******* all, and went to his room to cry, and all the tough boys said, 'what a cry baby' and then he said his brother isn't an monster, we still like him, but Kenneth wanted to make Bradley jitter, so he now decided to play around laughing very loudly, like he was like us, man or something and Brad was in his room, crying and their dad decided that Brad needed to share his friends and said that he prefers the way Kenneth did things, Brad got really angry and started to be totally mental, by punching Kenneth like a ******, as well as threatening to **** the father that gave him a perfect life as a kid, of course he didn't **** him, but he was an angry *******, you see he was the board games king, while his brother was a computer **** kid, and Kenneth tried to not hurt Brad's feelings, even though, being a kid, he found it hard to not teaee the ****** and Bradley was put in a special school where he made a few new friends, but they weren't into playing board games or anything else with him, they wanted to teaee him, with teachers joining in, because Bradley needed to learn about how to control is temper, and someone tried to bully him, and Bradley stood up to him, and another guy was determined to tease Bradley also, but as he tried to punch Bradley put his hands on his **** and squeezed his ***** real tight, and since then everyone liked Bradley, but not to his dads liking the little cool kid to his dad was suddenly Kenneth,,and Bradley felt he was trying to tease Kenneth the same way, and see how he likes it, but all his friends like Kenneth better, and Bradley punched Kenneth in the gut and his friends thought Bradley was a **** and left the house and another girl at school was making fun of Brads parents and Brad tried to stand up to her,but she said, they never helped me,**** kids town and ******* early to bed and early to rise baby, and Bradley got really upset and from that moment the only young ones who like him were the rougher ones, who hassled Bradley for money,and Bradey became to shy to say no. Which made him a little young dude with no friends, he had family trying to contact him, but he was determined to make their lives a misery.
Bradley was an idiot, with his drinking and teasing and punching people, yes dude, he needs anger management, and he needs it now, but you must want to go, but Bradley made a pact, that he won't get help till Kenneth found a girl and got married and has kids,,so his thought of being teased all through his adult years, wasn't going to happen, and Kenneth married Bridgett Kingsley and they had Toni and Ros, yes, Bradley's little nieces, and he loved them dearly, and the bonding of Bradley and Kenneth grew fondly, while their parents had the old Brad back, he ain't married but he's happy, and that's what Counts in life.

By the time he got out of the front door the morning sun had fully risen. Surrounding it lay a sea of blue sky, light coloured and peppered here and there with trails of white left from distant airplanes. The birds sang in the trees, all in harmony, and a light breeze whispered, left over from the night before.

As he jumped into his car, a dusty red little Citroën, he realised that in his rushed efforts to get ready he'd put his shoes on the wrong feet. A little while ago he'd seen a documentary based on people with abnormal deformities, and there had been an American 30-something year old with two right feet. Right now, looking at his shoes, he looked a little like him; all he needed now was a group of cameras and a well-spoken, polished presenter pretending to care but really just thinking about the paycheck at the end of night. He figured all TV presenters were pretentious, fixated on climbing up the great showbiz ladder rather than helping those in need.

He grabbed them off, scuffed black business shoes to match his tattered jeans and faded blue shirt, and swapped them over. Once both shoes were on correct, he lit up a smoke and set off down the road.

Ahead of him was Lancaster Road, a sprawling stretch of asphalt tarmac that served as the primary mode of navigation through Manchester. If you were to turn left it would take you all the way into the main city, and also a stodge of backed-up traffic, and, if you chose right, to the quiet town of Penitence which was where his works was based. Going right would technically be quicker, as the road to the left led to a series of zig zag-like curves where the road layout had been forced to compensate for the huge cliff several miles to the north. That being said, Will almost always chose left, as the dual carriageway that branched off Lancaster Road was always jammed up with traffic, comprising mainly of angry motorists and haulage lorries driving in from the east. Choosing right would easily add three quarters of an hour onto his journey, and quite frankly he'd rather stare at a wall than be surrounded by blaspheming mouths and ugly red faces.

This time however he went right, joining the steady stream of cars that were already beginning to slow down. There was no apparent reason for this, for over 4 years he must have consistently turned left every morning, but today his mind had thrown a curveball - albeit a stupid one. Already running late, it had chosen to go on the longest route possible.

Good work there mate, brilliant.


50mph - 45mph - 40mph

The speedometer slowly crept down, the shudder of the lower gears gradually increasing. Clouds had now gathered in the sky, not quite bloated nor dark enough to threaten rain but it was enough to dull the sunshine into a pale, white, glow. He was now going slow enough to see the bits of clutter and ******* - discarded newspapers, cans, broken bottles - littering the pavement. Then it suddenly gave way to a rudimentary dirt road and steel crash barriers as he approached the dual carriageway.

35mph - 30mph - 25mph

Sighing, he fumbled for the radio and flicked it on, momentarily averting his gaze from the road to the numbered buttons, tuning for a station.

--- Ssssshhhh ---

Nothing but static.

**** radio! If only I could -

When he glanced up his heart nearly stopped - directly ahead of him, on the highway, stood a man. He stood with his back toward Wills car, shoulders slumped, stock still.

What-?!

Will froze as the car lurched on, the distance between the bonnet and the mans body rapidly closing. No thought came into his brain, his legs distant from his body as if untethered.

Nothing but numbness.

The future series of events played like a stop motion video inside his mind; finding the brakes and jamming them down - only too little, too late. The old man would first lean as the bumper pressed into his lower back, then snap sickeningly in half, the momentum of the car causing his body to jackhammer up the bonnet and roll over the back of the car. There he would fall once again onto the road, spine splintered and blood soaking through his shirt into a puddle on the tarmac.

STOP! Will stop the **** car!!!

He smashed the brakes down and closed his eyes.

Although the first thing taught in driving lessons is to never close your eyes, particularly during an emergency stop, the overwhelming panic threw his nerves into a spasm, and in that split second everything he was told - brake hard, clutch down, don't let the car stall - was forgotten in an instant. He knew what he should do, knew that if the wheels were even slightly turned he could cause the car to skid, or worse, flip.

Brake down, clutch down, engine off, a mantra his instructor had once sang on one of his first lessons. Will had a feeling that if Ruth Carotene could see him, see this, now she'd have some sort of coronary, or maybe an aneurysm. She'd always been set in her ways of teaching, starting each lesson going through her seemingly endless list of checkpoints, and this right here smashed every single rule she'd taught him.
Break, clutch, engine off -
Eyes, open your eyes
He did, the windscreen before him doubling for a second. His heart was pounding away, nervous sweat lining his forehead and arms. The car had stopped, and in his dumb paralysis he hadn't the faintest idea how much it had skid. Safe to say it hadn't flipped over though, unless he was upside down and didn't realise it.
Nope, the sky is still above me, he observed, and it was then he also saw the fat bald-headed guy rapping his hands against the drivers side window. The world washed back slowly, the sun white and the air filled wit beeps and the Ssssshhhhhh static of the radio. He lowered the window, allowing the honking horns to fully enter and consume the inside of the car.
"What the hell are you playing at? I nearly ran into the back of you!" the bald guy barked at him, his pudgy face both pale and angry. Will glanced in the rear view mirror and saw about a dozen or so more cars behind him, scowling faces and gesturing hands sending out messages far from morning greetings or amicable hello's.
"Sorry... There was someone in the road," he croaked, pointing to the blank space in front. Empty, nothing there.
Can't be, he was right there! Stood right there! For a second he thought the figure had been an apparition, or maybe hadn't been there all along, merely a figment of his tired mind. That's when his gaze shifted to the opposite side of the road and the mis-shapen entity clambering over the crash barrier. Whoever it was, they had crossed the road while Will had been in his daze, and it was now he could fully see it in it's ghastly glory.
"I must be ****** blind 'cause to me there ain't nobody there -"
Grotesque was the only word he could think of to describe it. Under the pallid glow of the sun its skin glistened sick-white, partially covered by a tattered grey t-shirt that billowed in the wind like torn flags. It wore shorts, also grey, it's long stick-like legs poking out like splintered tooth picks. And it's face, oh God that face. He only caught a vague view as it glanced over its shoulder, but what he saw reminded him of the ghouls that would creep out of the crypts, the nightmarish beings that stalked late night TV shows such as the Twilight Zone seeking fresh flesh to feast on. But it was human alright - it's normal, albeit disintegrating, clothing the only sign of its former non-twisted self.
Oh God -
"Hey, are you even listening? There ain't no one there *******!"
Will faced the guy, now stood so close his flabby face nearly poked through the window, and then back to the crash barrier. The fiend was gone, much to his relief.
"Sorry it must have been a bird or something, I'm really really sorry mate I thought it was a man, or a kid."
"Yeah yeah whatever, just get going and get out of my way." With that he stormed off, only stopping briefly to exchange disapproving looks with the car behind him. He drove a black sports-like car, probably a Vauxhall, and Will briefly wondered how such a small car could carry an overweight ******* like that.
*******, he muttered to himself as he restarted the engine. Turns out he'd let the car stall as well.
Back to school I guess, what would dear old Ruth say?
Setting off was easy, the fat guy overtook him almost instantly, slamming his horn as he went, but looking over to where the misfit had been was not. He wanted to look, to check in case it hadn't really gone away and was instead lurking, contorting it's swollen lips into a grin.
Grinning at him.
"Gooood evening listeners, this is RADIO XFM!"
Halfway down the radio finally clicked on, interrupting his line of thought - quite mercifully, if he was being honest. The sight of that thing not only made him feel uneasy, but he also couldn't shake off the feeling of foreboding as well. Like it was some sort of warning, a sign.
Of what?
[smashing glass smashing]
He didn't know, didn't dare to think, and as he cantered down the carriageway in the steady stream of traffic he sat silently, the radio singing out its tunes like an uninvited guest. It was an oldie that was on, maybe Boston or Bowie, he wasn't sure, but as it played on he sat in silence, the shadows in the car cutting harsh lines into his face.

The Paul dachs poem

You see that **** said I will get a job in Tuggeranong ACTEW
And I was looking forward to that but then some other **** came in and grabbed my job from under me and I felt like killing Paul dachs because he took the job I wanted ever so much boy is that man such a fucken ****
You see I was trying to learn
The ropes of that job
And bleeding Paul said no mate
But instead you have to work at the sewage treatment plant
And expect a lift at the end of the road
**** **** *******
Paul dachs is a total *******
He promised a job in Tuggeranong
And gave me a job at the sewage treatment plant
Which I liked till I lost my mind
Because nobody was picking me up
You see I decided to quit my day job and work on my art and writing because I feel quite relaxed and my imagination is jumping up and down
And I don't care how I treat Paul dachsy poo he is just a figmit of my past and I should not go back there because Paul dachs is a stupid poo face of a fucken ****
You see I really wanted that job
It was giving me the Chance to move on with my life
But good old Paul dachsy said
Let's give Brian a job much closer to his home with no buses going down there, and
I wish that Paul dachs gets a lesson in life saying what job are you getting us ya fucken poo face old clown
I was really looking forward
To that job and Paul thought it was too far out
I hate that dachsy poo
******* ya fucken ****
You Paul dachs ****
You were supposed to give me a job but you gave it tribey dude and that made me feel so wrong and I think you are a big rich **** and I want to never work for you again


Sent from my iPhone

By the time he got out of the front door the morning sun had fully risen. Surrounding it lay a sea of blue sky, light coloured and peppered here and there with trails of white left from distant airplanes. The birds sang in the trees, all in harmony, and a light breeze whispered, left over from the night before.

As he jumped into his car, a dusty red little Citroën, he realised that in his rushed efforts to get ready he'd put his shoes on the wrong feet. A little while ago he'd seen a documentary based on people with abnormal deformities, and there had been an American 30-something year old with two right feet. Right now, looking at his shoes, he looked a little like him; all he needed now was a group of cameras and a well-spoken, polished presenter pretending to care but really just thinking about the paycheck at the end of night. He figured all TV presenters were pretentious, fixated on climbing up the great showbiz ladder rather than helping those in need.

He grabbed them off, scuffed black business shoes to match his tattered jeans and faded blue shirt, and swapped them over. Once both shoes were on correct, he lit up a smoke and set off down the road.

Ahead of him was Lancaster Road, a sprawling stretch of asphalt tarmac that served as the primary mode of navigation through Manchester. If you were to turn left it would take you all the way into the main city, and also a stodge of backed-up traffic, and, if you chose right, to the quiet town of Penitence which was where his works was based. Going right would technically be quicker, as the road to the left led to a series of zig zag-like curves where the road layout had been forced to compensate for the huge cliff several miles to the north. That being said, Will almost always chose left, as the dual carriageway that branched off Lancaster Road was always jammed up with traffic, comprising mainly of angry motorists and haulage lorries driving in from the east. Choosing right would easily add three quarters of an hour onto his journey, and quite frankly he'd rather stare at a wall than be surrounded by blaspheming mouths and ugly red faces.

This time however he went right, joining the steady stream of cars that were already beginning to slow down. There was no apparent reason for this, for over 4 years he must have consistently turned left every morning, but today his mind had thrown a curveball - albeit a stupid one. Already running late, it had chosen to go on the longest route possible.

Good work there mate, brilliant.


50mph - 45mph - 40mph

The speedometer slowly crept down, the shudder of the lower gears gradually increasing. Clouds had now gathered in the sky, not quite bloated nor dark enough to threaten rain but it was enough to dull the sunshine into a pale, white, glow. He was now going slow enough to see the bits of clutter and ******* - discarded newspapers, cans, broken bottles - littering the pavement. Then it suddenly gave way to a rudimentary dirt road and steel crash barriers as he approached the dual carriageway.

35mph - 30mph - 25mph

Sighing, he fumbled for the radio and flicked it on, momentarily averting his gaze from the road to the numbered buttons, tuning for a station.

--- Ssssshhhh ---

Nothing but static.

**** radio! If only I could -

When he glanced up his heart nearly stopped - directly ahead of him, on the highway, stood a man. He stood with his back toward Wills car, shoulders slumped, stock still.

What-?!

Will froze as the car lurched on, the distance between the bonnet and the mans body rapidly closing. No thought came into his brain, his legs distant from his body as if untethered.

Nothing but numbness.

The future series of events played like a stop motion video inside his mind; finding the brakes and jamming them down - only too little, too late. The old man would first lean as the bumper pressed into his lower back, then snap sickeningly in half, the momentum of the car causing his body to jackhammer up the bonnet and roll over the back of the car. There he would fall once again onto the road, spine splintered and blood soaking through his shirt into a puddle on the tarmac.

STOP! Will stop the **** car!!!

He smashed the brakes down and closed his eyes.

Although the first thing taught in driving lessons is to never close your eyes, particularly during an emergency stop, the overwhelming panic threw his nerves into a spasm, and in that split second everything he was told - brake hard, clutch down, don't let the car stall - was forgotten in an instant. He knew what he should do, knew that if the wheels were even slightly turned he could cause the car to skid, or worse, flip.

Brake down, clutch down, engine off, a mantra his instructor had once sang on one of his first lessons. Will had a feeling that if Ruth Carotene could see him, see this, now she'd have some sort of coronary, or maybe an aneurysm. She'd always been set in her ways of teaching, starting each lesson going through her seemingly endless list of checkpoints, and this right here smashed every single rule she'd taught him.
Break, clutch, engine off -
Eyes, open your eyes
He did, the windscreen before him doubling for a second. His heart was pounding away, nervous sweat lining his forehead and arms. The car had stopped, and in his dumb paralysis he hadn't the faintest idea how much it had skid. Safe to say it hadn't flipped over though, unless he was upside down and didn't realise it.
Nope, the sky is still above me, he observed, and it was then he also saw the fat bald-headed guy rapping his hands against the drivers side window. The world washed back slowly, the sun white and the air filled wit beeps and the Ssssshhhhhh static of the radio. He lowered the window, allowing the honking horns to fully enter and consume the inside of the car.
"What the hell are you playing at? I nearly ran into the back of you!" the bald guy barked at him, his pudgy face both pale and angry. Will glanced in the rear view mirror and saw about a dozen or so more cars behind him, scowling faces and gesturing hands sending out messages far from morning greetings or amicable hello's.
"Sorry... There was someone in the road," he croaked, pointing to the blank space in front. Empty, nothing there.
Can't be, he was right there! Stood right there! For a second he thought the figure had been an apparition, or maybe hadn't been there all along, merely a figment of his tired mind. That's when his gaze shifted to the opposite side of the road and the mis-shapen entity clambering over the crash barrier. Whoever it was, they had crossed the road while Will had been in his daze, and it was now he could fully see it in it's ghastly glory.
"I must be ****** blind 'cause to me there ain't nobody there -"
Grotesque was the only word he could think of to describe it. Under the pallid glow of the sun its skin glistened sick-white, partially covered by a tattered grey t-shirt that billowed in the wind like torn flags. It wore shorts, also grey, it's long stick-like legs poking out like splintered tooth picks. And it's face, oh God that face. He only caught a vague view as it glanced over its shoulder, but what he saw reminded him of the ghouls that would creep out of the crypts, the nightmarish beings that stalked late night TV shows such as the Twilight Zone seeking fresh flesh to feast on. But it was human alright - it's normal, albeit disintegrating, clothing the only sign of its former non-twisted self.
Oh God -
"Hey, are you even listening? There ain't no one there *******!"
Will faced the guy, now stood so close his flabby face nearly poked through the window, and then back to the crash barrier. The fiend was gone, much to his relief.
"Sorry it must have been a bird or something, I'm really really sorry mate I thought it was a man, or a kid."
"Yeah yeah whatever, just get going and get out of my way." With that he stormed off, only stopping briefly to exchange disapproving looks with the car behind him. He drove a black sports-like car, probably a Vauxhall, and Will briefly wondered how such a small car could carry an overweight ******* like that.
*******, he muttered to himself as he restarted the engine. Turns out he'd let the car stall as well.
Back to school I guess, what would dear old Ruth say?
Setting off was easy, the fat guy overtook him almost instantly, slamming his horn as he went, but looking over to where the misfit had been was not. He wanted to look, to check in case it hadn't really gone away and was instead lurking, contorting it's swollen lips into a grin.
Grinning at him.
"Gooood evening listeners, this is RADIO XFM!"
Halfway down the radio finally clicked on, interrupting his line of thought - quite mercifully, if he was being honest. The sight of that thing not only made him feel uneasy, but he also couldn't shake off the feeling of foreboding as well. Like it was some sort of warning, a sign.
Of what?
[smashing glass smashing]
He didn't know, didn't dare to think, and as he cantered down the carriageway in the steady stream of traffic he sat silently, the radio singing out its tunes like an uninvited guest. It was an oldie that was on, maybe Boston or Bowie, he wasn't sure, but as it played on he sat in silence, the shadows in the car cutting harsh lines into his face.

at what point wasn't it a way to bypass
the editorial scrutiny...
to directly engage with a reading
public...
why did i think this might be: any good?
i guess i only thought:
i need this out and i can't stash it
like a corpse...
into some damp cellar... like a morally
relativistic monstrosity of a sociopaths'
analogy of: "feels"...
   well, no **** Sherlock!
how i made the following reply...
is beyond me:

- believe me... i had more to write but i felt a sense of restraint... i'd like to see what a terse reply would make you focus on... so i'm scrapping the concept of handicap: heads up... now it all depends what you'll be choosey about... or not... because there's plenty in you reply i could quip about... well... then again: is being witty synonymous with being satirical? i'm not for intelligent / condescending humour on my part... personally i love the dryness of sarcasm... but then again: what's to like about the bluntness of nail-heads? just my take on... what exactly not to like about schadenfreude (what's not to like about schadenfreude)... i'd much prefer a humiliation of a leather gimp suit... so it seems: honesty is the best joke in play... there are too many stereotypes in England too... the best one i heard was by my Glaswegian english teacher in school... ahem... how was copper wire invented? two Scots arguing over a penny... like the stereotypical arsenal of deciphering the Jewry run wild in the realm of the gentiles... with the Scots... being our prized asset of: reverse stereotyping... i guess because knowledge of poor Hebrews is either a mystery or taboo... worse still... a mythology... and here i promised myself restraint... yet i'm experiencing something of a writing block and i... most probably found the most surprising alternative outlet... the eroteme lady - ms. query... so there must be nothing concrete about you... well... i too remember being a teenager prior to 2000 on those hotmail chatrooms where the acronym ASL could get you... all hot & bothered... don't take this the wrong way but i've heard that most writers, poet (i'm a chicken scratching doodler at best) reverted to the medium of correspodence... lucky you, "lucky" that i'm testing the waters on you... but don't worry... i've tested the medium with other people and wondered about their stamina... you are starting to gravitate toward psychiatrist status...  it's so strange though... not writing on abstract... blank... rather: inform sender... it's to them... all that *******, romantic or not... about writing for that one person... sure... **** it... write 'em a letter... don't mind about that trippy-*** poem of yours... you know? apologies if you come across as something of a punching bag for sounds... i hope no typos... well typos can be excused... ah these ****** articles about... wait wait... momentary lucidity... i was going to use some of this in my way of combating my writing block... the troubles in the english language... spelling... "approximation" drop the vowels realise: that's how the Hebrews wrote all along... treating their vowels like diacritical markers... the ****?! i feel like i'm being robbed in plain sight... because Copernicus didn't ******* realise jack-****... they pile it up with their Pope and the execution of ******* Galileo...  ugh... it takes some ******* nerve for these days to allow for this ****-centred kindergarten of events in man's... non-evolving history to continue like some: no ******* dodo exctinction ever took place... (agreed... the following are all faux pas... "invigorations") honey? babe? ms. anonymous gender fluid pronoun neutral... what's the informal, best? ms. avatar ms. harleyquinn the world's stupid? what are american stereotypes of europeans? come to think of it... that cookies is too big to take a bite from... you can't exactly base stereotypes having only seen tourists... since a tourist is a stereotype per se... i'd have to go to california... to get a californian stereotype... to georgia for the georgian stereotype...  wait a minute... Costa Rica... "hint hint"? Latino? that wasn't exactly... it was a fork in the road... the Sephardi... you're working from an avatar canvas... you're making allusions to... what i look like and it's like i'm a mesmerising doppelganger of al pacino... is there a chicago accent? i heard a lot of the ****** diaspora was lodged in that *******... i was terrible at accents... almost always a chamaleon... people still ask me where i'm from... so like this one-stand-up comedian in Edinburgh said... when he was quizzed about the geography of his accent... 'you might recognise my accent... it's... educated'... now that's that... isn't it? i could fake you an indian accent if i wanted to... perhaps a german accent too... but i could fake it... by the way... in these parts... biligualism can be treated as schizophrenia... just saying... somehow integration is not fully deserving the status that: not integrating decides... because... not integrating is... "safety first"... the dodo project alliance...  least of all... i've been dying to by a baseball cap with the Cleveland Indians old logo with chief wahoo... so stereotyping americans... it's beyond hard... it's like stereotyping Russian that are not in the vicinity of Moscow... some are probably Mongol remnants... their own idiosyncratic solipsists to their own... i'll take up my bicycle tomorrow and this drunken tirade will most probably fizzle out... i truly couldn't make up giving a toss about what's internalized americana stereotyping... not that i don't care... i just don't know... the currency of the nation sends me years and years of Ed Gein reinterpretations... what am i supposed to "say"? tomorrow i'll be up early and bothered about my bicycle as if it were a horse... but i'll still want to retain gravity with leaving you with this frankness of a reply... lobster-red probably implies if not simply implores: ginger and freckles... i like to think of suntans as serpents shedding skin... i suntan i'm a copperneck... i like the german sound on this... plus... it's readily available as compounded: kupfernacken... what's better? auburn-tease? kastanienbraunecken? i like the joy you feel with what you already prescribed me with.. that i know so little about you... that while i'm prodding you withhold giving me concreteness.... concreteness would allow me... disadvantage me to focus on "things" that are absolutely not necessary... so: i can focus on whether i'm not being pedantic enough and: misspelling...so... what's the stereotype surrounding Alaskan gurls?!

- thanks for being ascribed in getting my "mojo" back...for now...

- What do you mean? I'm surprised this is the shortest message you've sent. I was getting used to your drunk musings. [I say this with a smile but I know you don't like emojis or silly acronyms, and writing out "laugh out loud" sounds ridiculous... after all, you know how important sounds are to me].

- you just asked one of those questions that... is aligned with asking... 'what are you thinking'? the moral 'ought compass waved me a goodbye and if i haven't broken any laws to pursue the sort of freedom of though i currently enjoy... bypassing the need so stress a "freedom" of speech... writing is an extension of thought: not a prompt / invitation to speak... i'm surprised that you scrutinise the length of my replies... and were we to begin with? in the "easily offended" pile-up? well i'm still getting drunk... you're still an avatar mystery... but at least i'm waging a war on prosaic sobriety to boot... i guess i had to come clean at some point... i never write sober... i don't see the point of being: disengaged from the genuine (a longer version of a one word would have sufficed... but i'm lazy about the spelling... while at the same time... there's this critical theory approach done in some of the newspapers about english spelling... let's see if i get it right... dis-in-genius... for starters... disengenous.. horrid... aaah so terrible... dis-less-advantageous... disadvantageous... oh **** me... i wriggled into that one: all sound and proper...why ask me: what do i "mean"? - it's not that i don't like emojis (well, i don't) but... what the hell... there are better hieroglyphs to focus on than chiseled into pyramid stone: own... happy face... the Chinese were doing ******* x-ray gizmo **** at almost the same time... it's a focus loss... don't even get me started that *** = a Parisian hello with tendering the cheeks with... a labyrinth of smooches... my lips are my pouches blah blah blah... you seem to be enjoying my rants... i gather? i don't even know why to bother with an ask (question doesn't even do justice to how i'm framing this)...  you want to write as little as possible to properly excavate me... well no surprise... if light can't bend around corners... i'll have a look: none-the-less... emphasis on the hyphens... this poor down-trodden word could be helped with some "breathing space"; no? i "mean": 霜... shoo-aang... frost... i have dancing skeletons throwing toothpicks at chopsticks pilled up in an area of pine wood... look at this sort of *******... and here we are... cradling one of the old languages with "holes in letters"... to peer through... O now i see... B: otherwise: ha, ha ha ha... what's **** in Chinese? the Greek prized π... but what P & I look like for a farting, mandarin? hey presto: "@"... not even a western concern for "patriarchy" could have complicated: what's already too complicated... a billion people... a wall... that didn't keep out the Mongols from invading... yet a phonetic encoding system that... would topple each and every pyramid... from Giza to the cleaving of South America from Africa that can be staged at some Aztec "miracle"... i am writing (to) you like a bewildered person... because: why wouldn't i otherwise not be? so what do i mean? hmm... what's that holy trinity of statistical terms... mean... meridian... mode? i think i remember correctly... thank god i'm not going to apologise for being drunk... i've heard the stereotypes of drunkards with no future for thirst... the other thirst... the thirst for something beside their own handicap... i'd also duly convert to Islam too... i was cycling past a mosque and heard the most impossible sound of praise that will never escape me... but by the bottle i did: closer to the Jewry i am... contradictory how that is... don't want to stop drinking... uncircumcised... it's a really magical juggling act that's littered with self-deprecating humour interludes... aligned with norse mythologies... grr... **** me... now i'm attempting to "sell" you a makeshift tinder profile sketch... don't know... never will... never used: don't ask...  but i forgive you... for asking me: what does "it" all mean? it means we're for the thrill of it... it makes sense if we're still gagging for it... and we're not exposed to old-age closure cinematic scripts of solo cinema of memory... i like typing because i have itchy fingers... you'd probably like to hear me speak... no? it's exactly 20 minutes past midnight and i have a date with a bagel at 9am tomorrow morning... i still want another injection of truth in me before i do the  lady nox some justice and sleeping with her fiendish daughters... i mean... who does that... wake you up with a hard-on? never mind... i don't even know how to end this "convo": it can't be with a farewell... or an adieu... or a サヨナラ... oh wait... that's "goodbye, forever"... how does one end a half-way between a musing and a real person on the replying end of "things"... i guess like this: NARA... ナラ... short for narazie...  translated from my mutterzunge as: perhaps loosely... for the time being... for now... how else... to end my tirade?!

- So let me get this a bit straight (as straight as a stray arrow, that is): you only write when you're drunk (I'm the luckiest one to be at the listener - or reader in this case - end of your tirades as you call them... I call them musings); you have a fixation with words, even the ones that you don't know how to spell correctly (except maybe in a language I don't know so I can't really tell), you didn't answer why I'm ascribed to getting your mojo back (where did it go?), and you wake up with a hard-on. Got it!

- i've been lodged into a backlog: ******-town sort of: stalling... give me a few hours... although: ever wonder what: giggles sounds like... in the deafness of the night? i do... i want to reply you like so... like now... like this... maybe i will... maybe i will not... i'm gaging to buy one of those cleveland chiefs baseball caps...the grinning siouxsie chieftan....perhaps i want to relearn "how to": take the GRIN... a little bit more... seriously... no? **** it... i'm drinking as it is... i want to reply you in full throttle... straight arrows... and the welsh V of the longbow-men too to boot... chopsticks straighter... "straighter"... i tend to only write when i'm drunk... i abhor sober prosaic intimidation and... all the lies, subsequently...sober people don't get "drunk" on moral relativism of white lies? and i'm born yesterday, no? you openly venture into... a quest of question within the regards... of being... this only.... i almost wanted you to feel this sort of... an alienating increment... of... how i might pile on more detail... they are musings... i don't take them seriously... about as much relax as is a required: necessary.... i have a fixation with words... jurisprudence to me is merely a game of thesaurus ploy-tow... i spell i don't spell... i'm overtly pedantic... i also felt queasy when testing my eyes at an authentic testimony of the "law"  being "exaggerated"... "tested"... "proved"..i must have: lying eyes... no other eyes do see... no? i have a fixation with "things" beside the usage of ***** and strobe lighting...

you have my attention... don't you? you know... the last time i attempted having a conversation... i was too naive...too young... everything "everything" applied itself to being too predictable... i want to love again: but being in love is almost a weakness... i don't feel like being weak... i guess this is where the rekindling of my "mojo" ends... hello cul de sac...

new paragraph... ever hear(d) of the alpha and the omega "man"? i'm pretty sure you heardf of mr. beta... for all the worth of a totality of... man... i'm last... i'd forever be... last... i don't want to be first... i also don't want to be 2bd sniffing **** and crab-meat-... either...

give me the totality... i'll be satisfied with a "question" of
last... hence the expression: omega man...
didn't hey-zeus say?
i'm the alpha and the omega?

i don't write sober, i'n afraid i might lie...
you're not lucky,..
but you're also not... godzilla....

i "somehow" haven't ascribed you with the sort of details of: explanation that would allow you... to satiate yourself with answers... as to how... why... yllu managed to "mojo" probe me back to life? you.. the Faroe Islands to begin with? you know... they have this gimmick... on the Faroe Isles... it's not a gimmick... it's called// i don't know what's it called... skúvoy? but i'm happy to tease when the whales are slaughtered... the the blood comes a running: the lions also... apparently tease with a yawn... look at this word, though: grindadráp....

ever catch the giggle im der nacht? nein? too italian... no? ******* borrowed pollack: the self-depreciating... loan... not load... of bollocking...

don't believe yourself as being the sole recepient of a reply...

you're not lucky... you're just... available...

terribly botherome... isn't, it?

- i thought i'd make this a two tier reply... it would be a shame to reread what i wrote on one of my "escapades"... perhaps this... hanging-over... ha'h... more like hung, drawn & quartered some time to time... but believably sane, pleasantly morose - at evens with masochism... so reclining into a moral trip-up... i probably mentioned grindadráp - since i still have the window open on the phrase i'm familiar with... Sámal Joensen-Mikines... i most probably ended up giggling in the night... god... i'm just skim reading what i wrote... well good to know that i can only the best thing and sober up: simultaneously returning to a more rigid, conventional... formal use of language: that i might suppose i'm in a confessional booth... a welcome mirage for the time being... while i decide to wither away watching the old firm (a derby soccer match between celtic & rangers)... of note... i had this argument with the natives so time ago... the... Celts... but it's the Boston / Glasgow Çeltics... no? you're a girl that likes sounds... i've been following this current discussion that has reached the heights of printed newspapers... citation, sian griffths (gwif-if-if-ififs) education editor: new spelling ROOLS to make english more predictable for pupils... "we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the feelds..." see... i really admired Charlie Bukowski for a while... until he came out as a lazy slob who would require an editor to correct his spelling... there's dyslexia and there's just plain: hash-browns... for all my worth of idiosyncrasy that i wriggle in as i go along, most of which will not find common ground and a cosmopolitan outlet of users... for me, as someone who acquired this tong'u: i've grown fond of how aesthetically messy this toong can become and how readily available this messiness is... even London can become a ****-joke: Loon'dune... in my mutterzunge sounds are more distinct... apart from the graphemes sz, ch, cz, rz (ż) - i'd have to borrow from a Czech a caron to hide a letter or two: š (sz / the equivalent SHarp in english) and č (cz / CHatter respectively)... all these unique sounds... ą, ę, ć, ń, ó, ś, ź - Wombat ł... anyway... i just thought, sobering up... that you'd like to have a certain bulging volume of fudge to return to... before i take another dive into ms. amber and pass another night as w. h. auden wrote: only the hitlers of this world write at night... sure... herr auden... because the day is for watching football and / or cycling.

- à propos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-L5iefl2QtA

- If you share music can I? I'm sorry that I didn't reply sooner. It's been a **** last week and this week isn't any better yet. I like reading your messages, drunk and sober. When I write in my native language I use the accent over the vowels to emphasize the second-to-last vowel of a word. I love speaking, reading and writing in my native language, though I'm sure that I know much less than you would about languages. Shall we continue talking about sounds? How about sounds in my language? Of course, you have to guess if you haven't already.

- mind you: i had second thoughts about writing this reply... perhaps you can judge for yourself... i'm just not into having double-mystery encounters with an "avatar"... plus i made an emphasis on the point... what music were you not going to share?

sure... but first share your music... i have this thirst for Nick Hornby's high fidelity and being a teenager again... a teenager in love, again...i was probably the most happy-go-anywhere sort of person when i found a vinyl copy of Wardruna's kvitravn in my local HMV... which is: sunrise records and entertainment ltd trading as hmv & fopp.... given i already have the other chapters on cd - copied into mp3... (runaljod - yggdrasil & gap var ginnnunga)...  and given it's so rare to fnd a vinyl of this calibre... that some vinyls comes with an mp3 link... i thought: hell... i'll give this record the proper 3D aura treatment and not listen to it on headphones... or utilise it to "conquer" space... & just walking with it across a market sq. without a plastic bag to stash it in... i might as well have walked with a cat on my shoulder... because... who the hell still buys... well... invests in vinyl? now... coming to the language...second-to-last vowels of  word... you know... you can keep me interested without overplaying this "mystery" game... isn't the use of an avatar enough? i really can't comprehend a language that focuses on second to last vowels... without focusing on vowels: per se... just to reiterate... you didn't share a link to some music... you pitted yourself as American... i can continue being interest without having too many enigmas to sort... i have yet to find a language that only applies accents to, e.g. suppOsE... or maybe i'm just too ignorant to have come across a language that behaves in such a way: unless it's some idiosyncratic variation (of it)... you don't have to remain a complete mystery to me for me to keep engaging... there can be some sort of rooting in reality... otherwise i'll just return to my original purpose of writing: staging myself against a blank canvas and a barrage of sounds that i'll need to "un-spaghetti" into linear streaks.... i'm not going to guess: you'll either tell me or not... i'm currently listening to snake-pit poetry: einar selvik... any one can have a ****** week... for a while i was anticipating you testing whether or not i'd reply not getting a reply from you... and that, somehow, miraculously... i'd continue to creep-up to teasing you again... perhaps that's me dabbling in misnomers... no... you'll need to give me something concrete... i'm already starting to itch with a sensation that i better return to the canvas than keep this conversation... no offence... it's just draining me when something abstract could also be doing: likewise... but it wouldn't end up being a ****-tease... i could possibly create something out of it... not just so more: oh... oh? ** **: what's next?! i know when it becomes a brain-drain... a side project... it has to come with an excuse whereby you'll probably recoil with: but i had a ****** week... granted... but who hasn't...  you could have waited another week until participating in the timeframe of the passing of weeks started to feel good once more... if you only dropped a music suggestion... otherwise... thanks... but... no... this conversation is going nowhere... i think i'm just relocating my writing block elsewhere... all the best: in keeping an aura of mystery... within the realm of avatars and non-accountability... come to think of it... no... this is as fair as i could be.

this supposed "unique" specimen... not really...
i want to focus on what allows me to belong:
beside the unfathomable landmarks
of trees and mountains:
roaming stars that even my demented
grandfather corrected himself on...
satellites... no... roaming stars?!
well... i didn't conjure this **** out of my own
*** for pleasure, either...

back towards... falling asleep while listening
to the Hellraiser soundtrack:
hellbound...
because eerie is how:
i how how: "things"...
i'm so alone at times that it's beyond making
sense: it's about infringing on a god-stature...
status... this omniscient
contradiction that some Elijah bundled up
into... two crows croaked...
the tower of London can entertain 6:
so the king's ******* and the queen's
jewels are left intact...
for the successor to worry about...

we have these conversations but too bad
the girl is playing timid...
and i'm... gargantuan...
the length of a tongue that turns into an eel...
hands like octopus extension...
i could wrap her up in... bubblewrap
and start the puncture pinch-pinch ceremony
of not seeing the bubble float: up-up...

i have a sense of ego like...
a bad l.s.d. trip?!
****-guage-abuse? gauge? sort the ones
for the snoozing zero-toasts
and you have yourself
a new jersey smart: bite-off... not bit... though...

i could never have children:
not because i could never be a good father:
but i'd be a terrible husband...
how do i "know"?
i would never allow myself
to earn the amount:
she'd want to spend...
via solo: i'll spend on ms. cojack amber
and some ******* liquorice vinyl...
and a bicycle...
rubber-teasing: ****-teet-****....
when using the brakes...
when minding my ******* "luck"
on a roundabout with a massive twuck...

plus i'd love to **** more...
i'd love to **** as much more as
the thought-"taboos" discourage me
from doing... so it's a nice adventure: thinking
the next: moral antagonist, antithesis
of "could i"?
central theme? Lo-li-t'ah...
and i'm the second from third removed
uncle of the marquis de sade...
you want... you need... you have to orientate
yourself around the last taboo...
the one that's not associated with...
crispy clean antics of those *******
in their savvy leather gimp suits etc.

"power to the people": *******...
power to who owns what...
i'm starting to conjure up
profanities akin to:
but at least when they owned slaves...
they took care of their slaves...
they wouldn't want a slave to be rotten...
to be despondent...
trouble with freedom is...
my own, self-made... man...
if i were a slave...
i'd learn to bend the rules...
i'd entertain the fantasy of freedom...
while being constrained with...
all the benefactor securities...
i'd be owned but i'd also be:
obligated to a social contract of some sort...

so freely as to nothing be:
so averaging assumptions...
presumptions... so by nothing i unfree myself:
to... sort of quest to: "be"...
while the priestly class held back literacy...
within the timeframe of when
a new literacy emerged... of coding...
so double-up-on-surds... no?

herr gizmo l:)(}{
the realm of the three brackets... )}]...
one literacy replaced the old literacy
but in terms of retaining the old type...
the new type is... not exactly allowing
for movement of... hearts? is, it?
i still have to retain punctuation...
i still need need to perfect it...

but this is not conversational linguinie,
is it?
i stand firm in, stressing:
writing is an extension of thought...
writing is an extension of thought:
it's hardly an invitation to speak...
the past centuries haven't taught us
that literacy is a constraining beast of priests'
fancy?
let me... detail my limbs for you
in stressing this point further:
what good came from the project
of literacy en masse?
graffiti scribbling on brick walls?
out of what beside desperation?

such constraints were employed as
to: the person exercised in completely body:
usage... wouldn't feel like
a ******* hamster of a ******* ferris wheel
when push came to shove...
somehow everything physical became
lesser class: demeaning...
somehow we all turned into *******
fluorescent
      telepathic / telekinetic Chernobyll
monkey sorts...
and the fat "stigmata" is a what?
                  
  this world is gagging for something tragic...
this world is gagging for a world war III...
but... it probably will not...
"advise" itself to experience such a disatrous take
on prospect...
nuance in language can go **** itself...
application of misnomers for added fluidity can:
go **** itself...
you ever come across a choir...
and a great wind...
see a ******* shrink...

don't look at me for inspiration:
perhaps some jokes...
i've been more honest these past two minutes than
i ever was in the passing of a decade...

death the limbo of "sanity"...
esp. when someone memorable has taken off...
who am i left with? "perspectivelly accountable"?
grey-matter fiddle-through middle-man
*******... no?
i'm not sifting through that, murk?
perhaps i'm sieving... sifting... sieving...
sifting... sieving... get a dog! she says, mother, dear...
i tell her: it's legal in Belgium...
her father already cited his complaints...
i'm tired of the ******* optimism...
i'm tired of this "adventure" some cling to when
deciphering "life"...
an overrated statement of too many facts:
that's life...
it's not a ******* frank sinatra:
come as we are... would be: mea culpa...

troublesome sufferings of a tired brain...
too many pop ref. points worth of closure...
i bought a vinyl today...
i walked it down a market place
like it was a puppy...
in a rucksack...

that there's a hope... my mother is crying
this silent agony of truth...
i tell her: it's sensibly legal in the Benelux...
England is ****** by all accounts...
a dog will save me?
i'm becoming rigid... brick-esque...
tide-prone...
moon is the mother of my skies...
i might might what?
fall in love: to fall in love is to allow
oneself to be weak; to be... dependent on
someone: the concept of "other"... no?
recurrrency is pricing on how many times
that's... sensible to try out?
before it fails?

i fall asleep listening to horror movie music...
i'm best coupled to a ******* hyena than
i am to a woman...
to live under a false sense of hope
is a: welcome bypass to otherwisse living
under a truancy of truth...
as the life around me shrinks...
the abounding shadow of me grows...
and not as a patriarch...

oh ****... "i simply, somehow...
just so it happens... fowgot to... encapsulate this
offload whiff a wyme".

little robert corder was a really crazy person

he fought his father and mother and little brother

with all his might, you see he threw stumpd

and threatened yo **** his parents

and robert was suffering so ****** much

robert was really looking quite smug as he gave his family hell

like ever time he threw things at his family, his family were remotely scared of robert

and robert didn’t care, he just hung around with his mates talking about

how much he is having giving his family ****

and robert’s best mate tom said to robert

try and avoid hitting your family, you could end up in the nuthouse

and robert said, yeah, dude, but they are really driving me crazy

and when tom decided to go his separate ways and stop being robert’s friend

well he was a distant fried in yjr same city

roberts brother said, i am getting out of this stupid family problems and get married

and have kids and leave, he had two girls, which was what robert gave him as a little gift

and then robert’s mother and father tried to calm robert dow with medication, ya know enough

to make robert miss his favourite show, and force robert to sink into the chair

with a can of victoria bitter on his belly

and every time robert will try and be an adult, his rathe and mother will set the hose on him

and say good riddens to bad *******, yeah robert wasn’t really acting like an adult

saying in a little wingy voice, let me be like tom and the kids

and robert’s father said, if you want to be a kid, i will take you out of your sports team

and robert yelled at his father and mother saying I AM THE KING, I AM LIKE TOM

robert’s father said, no your not, your like me and your mother, you are not a young dude no more, robert

you gave us so much ****, and robert started to reform well with the new medication

but deep down he hated being on it, but it was making him into the man that robert’s parents wanted

and robert helped out at the homeless shelter, and he played santa claus which his parents disagreed with

because of robert’s violent temper could retaliate and hit a kid, because it was only a matter of time before

robert was going to stop taking the medication, but for a while robert became a gentle giant

yeah, he was a real pleasure to have around, yeah he drank coke, but that made him happy

but being gentle like that wasn’t really robert’s style, it made him look like a freak

and it was only a matter of time before the mental health doctors pick up on this

at first it was distant voices and then after a reduction of medication, the voices came closer to home

you see he started having weird delusions about working in outer space

and forcing his mates to work in outer space, to help rebuild lives up there

and after about 3 years, robert was as gentle as a freak, and the voice of tom was planted in his head

because robert’s sub conscious wanted him there for protection

and robert’s family wanted to forget about their little plan, because robert was very fat and gentle

and was getting teased on the street, and in clubs, so, robert wanted to change

and ge wrote so many stories, some nice and others not so nice

and one day robert bought a computer and read his stories, ALL HIS STORIES

on youtube, as well as post them on the writing web site

but after a while he was hearing tom’s voice louder and louder and

as he was on the medication, he got this awful nightmare where his family

wouldn’t leave him alone, every time he opened the door his brother was there saying

you are ****, you are a loser, and robert said don’t fight me, i am like tom now

and roberts family said, no your not, you are like us, now, man

and robert’s brother was running around robert saying, you are not like tom

robert said, tom was nicer to me that you guys were

and robert’s brother said, you are a ******* robbie

a real little *******, i wanted to have boys to tease you with them

and then robert said i hold out this sword and wave it a through times

and robert grabbed the sword off his crazy brother and his brother said you put us through hell

and now it’s time for revenge, where we stay outside your house forever, you can’t sleep you can’t eat

robert said, tom will protect me from you guys, and robert’s brother said no he can’t and your not like tom

and robert grabbed the sword off his brother and finished by throwing him out of his house

saying, i am on fucken medication, so leave me alone, his family said, wake up robert

and expect us in your next dream

Well done you scummy *******
*******
Better get your throat slit
Defacate on your own ******* happiness
More times than I can count on an abacus
I laugh at you
Tripping over your own ego
But we know
Seeds like you don't grow
Won't go pro,so slow,slowmo
But you know
Chock on the memories
Asphyxiate on those feelings
Lowered ceilings
In the house of the mind
Just to find
you're a death wish
With a checklist
So wreckless
You check us
But not yourself
Man...you're bad for health

staring down the barrel of my '***'
what the **** is that

no more dissociative a drug than alcohol
If I were sipping Moll-mawm-Moll surely I
would hug a ******* and somebody I cared about
then ******* to sleep

but here I am
deep in the tub
thinking about how little I'd care if someone
with no regard
for
me
came and snatched my autonomy agency
I'd not care til later
bleeding all over the floor
sick at my own body
who cares
who cares
I care but not right now I don't care

someone almost took that once
they were so close
they could have
I rolled my tights back up
good on me me drunk me
deciding whether or not my body mattered
I shouldn't be left to decide if my body matters

Fly caughtinna web of this culture maybe
probably
I don't leave the house to ****
I wish my own ****** desecration were'n't half so ******
it's not
to a functioning me
but when am I gonna get that luxury


I'm scared of me

i will attest to this much...
sometimes i sit this canvas and pretend to wonder:
they are not phonetic wars...
we are all somehow literate...
the priesthood relaxed rules for
"dyslexia": we can be noted as having
education in sound encoding...
pretty ******* late if
you ask me...
bad internet connection: primo...
and there i was thinking that
being honest could be equated to water...
how it might flow...
instead... i'm served up with a
crab-bucket of connectivity "issues"...
no... just plain bunny dandy:
you're not up for hopping this day....

i'll have to melt some copper ore
ask two Glaswegians to fight over
a penny to finally invent something
akin to copper wire...
too many interruptions...
it's almost as if all the things
that fly... are supposed to follow Icarus suite...
but no...

a little autobiographical nibble 'ere...
a little over "der"...
i see an apostrophe like i might
pretend to not see a letter
that has to become a surd...
again... i sit before this canvas...
which isn't much of a canvas...

i will take forever to make time
a concise redemption dimension
while attesting to the mere presence
of clouds...
hardly "rolling"...
but clouds are best for:
lest swans and castles...
come the night...
and more... time-keepers of what's
best to engage with THought
without a moral... ought...

all these technicalities...
i need a canvas...
shapes & colours that they ought to be...
instead...
i have these skeletons...
before the altar of God i'm climbing
this impossibility of how words
are wasted...
wasted on: bucra

a litany of best kept: to themselves...
even though i'm willing to contest
that orange, as a colour...
well... it's half as bad given a priori...
organic status...
orange is bad...
           but not when it's an orange... fruit...
or tinsel town or a trek 5 marlin bicycle...
orange is bad when
it's highten-tenet-tightened...
      as a detail... colour is detail:
otherwise to compose shapes...
here i am... bug-frightened hollow in sound...
looking at skeletons...
skeleton lettering... sounds that might
make it into the encycloepedia...
make it into an...

           because that's the correct "spelling"
of the word...
rigid: BULFAR...
    i just invented a word and it's a noun...
noun: posit place, state, origin, temperament,
and time... not a verb...

i write but i want colour...
paradox... i should have been a painter
detailing: not oxymoron,
not philosophy not true or, truant...
excesses in punctuation...
capture sounds... raise them toward
a status of letters...
have to have that
bored-up... pluck-my-eyes out
attitude toward deity...

   but when the sentencing resounds
via: god = word...
i conjure up the exhausting
use of words in all that...
forest that could have remained but
otherwise became...
pile on pile on...
a congested pike of amnesia-work
of... that still elusive spelling of...
fwench... table...
alias... bew-row...

phonetically that's how it looks...
ugly... beau-rho...
bew-row...
      biu-ro-kra-si...

that i write i have to cringe before
god while all other phonetic encodings
are wasted because
there's some dynamic of "authority"
involved because...
a handshake and a word-from-mouth
apiece is not enough to settle score
that i don't need to belittle man
that man belittles himself... galore...
is...

   a revision of punctuation at best...
punctuation being considered an
inter-verbum dynamic and since
in english there's no apparent
inter-verbum dynamic or the use
of diacritical markers...
the whole canvas the point of...
   let's pretend it's almost chess-esque...
this... chicken-scratching
scribblin' ol' me...

encyclopedia... that's apparently correct...
but it's underlined...
so there's a missing Siamese grapheme
waiting to be discovered...
rules... again: rules...
maybe... some greek?

i write China less as caron chasing doubles...
but more like the greek Xa Xa Xa laughter...
which became odd when reading sort of
Spanish of ja-ja-ja-ja...
     bothersome this... H this "e"...
this h... this "M"... **** it the letters
are toying with Copernicus...
no... they're not... but i'm also not equipped
with a compass... either...
who said compas and not compass
who said... the former looks ugly
the latter looks pretty?
and who objected to this language
being so "raw" phonetically?

en-sigh-clo-***-d-ya...
    d-ia...
       jumbling vowels together like it's
a spectacle of a tornado but
there's not ******* wind or
flush in the toilet...
great urn of mammon! speak!
hollow out... let's pretend otherwordly
dictates of supposing agony...

it's not like the english languge could ever
be undermined...
low risk status...
how they speak Fwench
BUT how they rrrrite it... emphasis on a
trill: rather than a Hark... X...
is another boulder of sort, "problem"...

but most certainly this is not painting...
if i were painting i wouldn't be
x-raying... these words these bones...
i'd have fully gravitating forms
and i'd have colours...
i'd be detailing clouds as not
swans or Rembrandt castles
and all "things" psychiatry prone...
i wouldn't be drinking red wine
wanting more: sugar...
more... water!

i relaxed today being inspected
by a female barber...
god... impromptu: i wanted to **** her...
she cut my hair like i might have
had a *******...
bartablondine: blonde moustache...
sodden tricklet...
these details of hair left most exposed...
from ***** to the chin:
yes... the mythological status
of chin and jaw-lineage...
hardly Finnish...

        but the hands on the head
felt most relaxing...
i pretended to doze off...
i only might wished for a whipping
of a non-existent *******
in a furry of pouching... cushion esque
lips...
then again: it might have taken me
a year or so, +, in having finished
reading a Pickwick Papers'... monthly..
entry... which it was...
serial praise...

ava lauren ava lauren....
****-tiptoe a sacred nugget of ****...
less concern in Cyrilic than in
any other... phonetically encoded a...
as in ah-sigh...
variant... denoting more vis-a-vis
aLPHA...
        prime suspect... supposedly...
no...

again.... what alleviates me from
not, to, stressing the sound
encoded in a letter
red is red...
blue isn't exactly black..
BL
BL
                 -ue
                 -ack...

hardly denoting it playing a...
******* fiddle... a violin...
when i am making excuses for a take
on volume while stroking my beard
and not a ferret...
chance me! you catch me a squirrel...
i'll denote you
both Robin and the ******* of Nottingham!

a paradise for opened oysters....
at least... gulped... down...
sobering...
slobbering tow: two...
              i slither i slobber...
this agitating moon...
this agitating closure... sun... exposed...
this, "somehow"...
all EU funding went into
a motto: all autobahns feed the traffic
toward... WARSAW...

but i'm hardly living... that sort of...
a... "sein und zeit"...
i'm not living this variation
of a congested marathon:
i have hours, there's a day...
walking a sum-up 'un of it
is not to my ******' liking...
i'll be adamant when licking
a Romanian **** or a ******* strawberry...
because ****** are ****** last
and **** first...

i miss ******* like i miss:
not being made tough:
experienced in a demand for flimsy filming it...
a mirror is / was an undermining
project... granules...
soothsayers... whip-em-silent...nibbling...

my beard 'airs are not like my
*****...
trim my 'ucking gravity of the brows:
assumed...
before...
left alone... this tired...
this creasing: too much...

  this knee at the altar of a beggar
come: nuance England via
an adhan...
not, e-nuff... / enough...
  call it hue of 'ringe
how can GHETTO:
                 how can... scrap of meats...
     linger like so...

in these letters... borrow some...
like... **** no...
no russian no prussian no austro-hungarian
leaves me gravitating to timid...
bottle of wine, solid...
i'll be leaving having
attained status of a St. Petersburg
grade 0 tourist...

i abhor writing...
each time i excavate this canvas
i'm tying myself to a deity outside of
a polytheism...
how does... multi-purposive...
functioning... plethora...
extension... jargon... loot...

    my cracking of egg shells...
my little Xiny...
chase...
             the plurality word
form for a people...
Xiny - ce-ha-iny...
    like Niem-cy...
             not exactly germs...
more like brick... mortar...
a bottle of wine...

a bottle of bricks...
i expect no wine...
i somehow envision a chance
for a trickle...
i want a teddy... a Theodore...
i want a: HWAM...
what's that?
phonetically it's... Barking &
Dagenham...
colourfully...
fit for a flurry...
it's a... pigeon *******
on a top-hat... *******...
spectacular...me... you are
assigned to heave...
a Forrest Gump from
a Forrest Gate in between
the A406 and... what's that
"blunder" in the middle...
between Ilford and St. Paul's and...
the praising of hybrid... walling...

i heard a piano... crash & fall...
i heard the skimming off details...
i heard the tired affair of circumcision
like i might hear
the grass being mowed
of the hair hair being trimmed...
i heard the donning of the kippah...
i heard so much i hardly forgot
tuning to deaf... dear me...
i heard a piano fall...
i heard a chandelier succumb to...
i was willing to borrow a barrel...
i forgot to can the laughs...
honest to god...
everyone is supposed to forget
to can the laughs...

otherwise we're dealing with androids...
aren't... we?