hereunder is served some poetry pouches full of love,
dear reader, stir them as you like,
if you wish you may crack them to pour into mouth,
you may smear them on your body
or you may sprinkle them on the ground
and then chant the name of god
with love and enjoyment

1.
the simplicity that rolls down
from the body of the sweet-meat
made by my mother

let it brings light
to our radish-red love-story

to hear or to notice
love
does not need
putting an ear on the wall
of the wall-street journal

the bottle could be filled
from the voice

when you go to fill the bottle
you would see that everywhere
the arrangement of picnic is ready

when i want to take part in that feast
my neighbours would drive me towards
the home  

although i’ve spent all my life
running behind the love

2.
who’s won the muddy-battle
was yesterday’s politics

my addiction is actually to cater
the pouch of love
to develop all vitamins
and all bathrooms

people say you don’t love
the claps of the rats

yet i’ll come down
from the branch of a guava-tree
as a wave-of-shopping-mall
to the lake of your love

now i’ll jump out
from this computer screen
to register a kiss
on your lips

don't miss to applaud
by clapping the hands


3.
the heart is half-sunk
in the window

to some extent
in the lipstick too

on the dinner-plate
there is the feelings of the lord

that means
i’ve to be burnt more
i do agree

i would become
the sculpture of khajuraho

this happenings may have been
the right search for love

on either-side of which  
a green is being worked out
by the nostalgic-cycle

whose colour-texture is very much harappa
which has too many geometric-memories

4.
an undertone is speaking
from within the solitude

now i’m in very much
distress

or i’m in love

i don’t know my love is what-for
may be that’s an arrangement only

so easily are those interactions
stitched with words

strenuous or effortless
in flight
initiated
with seclusion

but when in the sinking of the playfulness
i  write the games of the street-charmers


the birds again and again
pierce the archery

thus becoming ashes
through travelling

in time-gaps still
the audacity to compose poems
on you

5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love

or i do love to think
that i’m loving

and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love

my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less

6.
in course of burning
i look around

the chilly-plant  in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies

oh-** how sweet they are

it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death

no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf

now easily some words
can be written
on you

i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem


7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another

there is the far-off
whispering

at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly

i notice her
for the first time in six weeks  

the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence

within our skull
there is the love

or the midnight of the orion

the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties

those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling

the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses

would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper

in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if  a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain

within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time

had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger

9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself

whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die

rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look

beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues

beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be

is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra  
tell me

i would now make love
with that idea from you

10.
the  apparent golden *** that i thought
to be the underneath of a kadam-tree

in the dim light i can notice that
the stars in the sky are disappearing  

this session of poetry
is coming to an end

now where would i
go

to that little home

the home
a tiny word of 4 letters

within that home
the children are giggling
playing … and making funs

when i entered
with a tri-cycle in hand
for them

i have been perplexed
many old persons are waiting there
to shake hands with me

10.
almost most of my desires  
are very much hurt

to show it publicly
i wrap bandages
around all over my body

i keep on the stage-drama  

in our programme of reading poetry
tea is served twice
current has gone off for three times
for four times the mobiles ring

to pick up love  
some people think about returning back
from today’s dais to the ancient stage
of performing folk-drama

then they are also sympathetic
to my sufferings

12.
everyday
on my way to return home from the school
when my mom took hold of my hands

i could see in my body
the dancing of an unforgettable
aura

even now that mystical halo is walking
on the leaves of the trees
to fulfil my mornings

that wayfaring along the road
is ringing far and far-off

thus taking bath in every day’s  
dust smoke hue and cry

many such love
gradually gets aged

is it true
in the long run
i too
would be the ingredient
of a fairy-tale

just because i love
that paddy field

some time later
she will also become
human

13.
then she will make all of us  
join her walking

those inmost feeling
those memories meditations

the loneliness  and solitude…

sans the touch of the imagination of
a crater…
a creator…

this blunder…
this socially outcast white …

this type of uneven…
and irrelevance…

sume words
when peep in the mind
i surprise to see that
it’s ten to 2 at night

then in the balcony
my father is crying

he always notices some grave-yard men
in front of him

and sheds tears  

14.
after the dry leaves of the winter
fall in innumerable drops
the spring comes

the cover-face of spring means
a note-book of the rain-tree
letting float in the sun-water

and mr harry says that
this question of change
is a major pull

because all the unreal talks
you are delivering one by one

to keep pace with it
the ambulance comes at 10am
with a stale dead-body

in it’s shirt
is written the spelling of myself

i then sat on the grey volume
of the college-campus

in the front
a beggar from the war of waterloo
is passing by

over the dust of myself
with a faster pace
blowing is the thoughts of

ataraxia  
in the air… and air… and air…
    

15.

if your wishes colour silver
then do return back to the x-mass dancing
of the autumn

sound of whose far-off hoof-steps
digging so much soil of
story-weeds

i went into the nail-polish
with the proof of tea-cup
in my hand

there in the midst of lot of snow-flakes
and in the bed soft with the light of the candle
is now that honey-name more tarnished

now the atomic-howling
does not follow the rules of nature

so the rain-tree that seeks a-field-more-sky
with the hope to become king after the sun-rise

so that king is now waiting
in the grocer’s shop
at a stretch  for an hour

16.
does her well-wisher esse then thinks
to escape from the love-making whirl-wind

on the dry branches of the axis power
the new generation of the birds

rather stop a while there silently and listen
which song is hidden in the bronze-buddha

or in the school of the terracotta-horse

i’m now opening the coating
of the night-enamel to read this home

and behind the coo of dove
is smiling

the god of the penalty-kick

17.
sitting on an orange-coloured balcony
in an outsider lane
the green is writing poems
  
better than the face-powder

from this side all long the famine
i’m the priest of the
agro-based civilisation

still-then i think
why so much light of partiality
is on the body of the chrysanthemum

within the monsoon
in collusion with the  hair-band
now thousands of birds are born  

they can hear my
dry straws and twigs

whose hearing is the police
in so depth of the forest

don’t move the
dreadful resorts

one such photograph of the girls
who wakes up in the midnight

speechless…
unmindful …
destruction…

that is you now

i’m then in the spore
of the perfume-bounded body
of match-making

18.

who has lied in the box
made up of the temperature
of god

all on a sudden
there is a hue and cry
in the abdomen of the time
wearing a ***** pajama

actually that has been filtered up
from the voices of rock-songs

the roaming
of a fatigued traveller …

the lies
within their wishes
write my existence

and then run
to buy vegetables
from the station-market

so many lay-offs
come to the body of paper-weight

to listen to all those
is not improper

walking through the traffic-jam
gradually
this home becomes solely my home

one day the golden of
human

then it is i
who is you

and walking through the
monsoon

on either side of the field
it is all autumn

19.
when borrowing the religion of
the night-queen  
i fall in love

then is it real
that our mangos and jack-fruits  
can make the perfumed-soap
vigorously from the light of the
blood-line

i count the bells of the churches
ringing repeatedly

and piercing the image
of your prominent face

rounding through lots of old
the love becomes exhausted

and the love comes back
in the form of college-classes

there are you myself
and so many notes
of the body

dear lovely lady or kind sir,

my family has just come in to extreme, monumental good fortune, the likes of which amze the pope himeslrf and lama dolly too.

poor creidt have i thru sad mismanagement of funs, now big banks an capital cfompanies venturees, fail to reply to wll intentioned requestes for baluabel fund.s needed.

however, telegram did jyst arrive, my faimly na me so very very happy.
the sum is 100,000,000,000 dollars US with half more in pounds sterling...
currency calculator on blink... but we think this much scratch.

plesae be soknid if you will ,  i send you MY band account informaiton, then when funds come through you share with me?  you help us please?

sincerallly,
Miss A I r Head

the more i stick to a routine
that might leave a few people in a mental
asylum,
    who would not welcome
frustration, doing the same thing,
over and over again,
   i.e. going to a supermarket and buying
whiskey and coke, becoming "too" friendly
with one of the shop assistants,
    knowing her name,
that's she's diabetic:
i'm only in here for the whiskey luv...
it's not that i mind,
  it's about as close i'll ever become
bewildered at life, in general...
      **** Jupiter and a moon-landing,
this bothers me more,
   i don't get the puppy-eyed look
of people embarking on a philosophical
odyssey -
i don't know why i should be prescribed
the Aristotelian: beginning with awe
  type of management of the subject,
or what Nietzsche predicted,
   and is currently known:
the narrative in the west,
alias: talking for the entire human species...
   that ****** uber-schnurrbart
really did see something...
   now i'm experiencing it,
  it's called 2 billions worth of China and India...
i'm actually, sometimes found,
listening to pointless youtube videos...
  i get it: it can get a little bit *****,
my bachelor status isn't exactly orientated
around diapers, although,
as Borat might have said:
that would be nice...
         you know they filmed that movie
in Romania, and not Kazakhstan?
              it's almost a bid sad to be around
poverty, and tribalism,
     can't make a joke out it,
couldn't make a mid-western gothic out
of it either... what with t.v. in your own company....
and yes, oddly enough...
   i have a bed, and i turn on the radio,
i never fall asleep watching the t.v.,
must be a western thing... you dig?
    1950s slang, more comprehensible than
anything i could ever hear from the slang
quarter of language these days...
   the latin quarter? busy...
literally... greece and italy backrupt...
    so, hey man, what's it like not able
to *** around the country doing factotum jobs?
    what's with that over-arching
castration concept of living with your parents?
ah, you know man,
   ****'s on the stove, and i hit a ****** note
with my saxophone...
sound very much like a wet ****...
you know, the **** you **** that almost feels
like ingesting carbonated water through your ****,
what's the word: trembling, frizzy?
    you know: do the motorboat with your lips...
i woke up today and didn't feel like living,
but the noose wasn't exactly an option...
my grandparent's neighbour?
hanged himself on a door-****,
i was visiting them when it happened...
****'s sake! on a door-****?
                      that's really desperate...
    i mean: i wish i was that guy...
but at least in the case of capital punishment:
when it was still active...
   you got the scaffold... and you dropped...
and your neck broke, and it was death in an instant...
   he had a gimp for an executioner...
   so yeah, life's cool,
i drank that wine i made in less than a week,
35 litres of it...
         i woke up today, thought:
give me the downhill... right now!
i thought i'd delay *******...
          built a quasi lego piece of the Eiffel tower,
then decided... i need to brush my teeth...
had a shower...
              then i cooked dinner...
  well... dinner two days in advance...
one sauce was a spaghetti bolognaise...
another a sauce for cottage (i.e. using beef,
not lamb) pie...
made some funky cool poh-ta-toes...
               for yesterday's roast beef,
left uncarved the previous day by being
left to get the thrill man gets
   ******* and jumping out of an ice bath...
so the juices condense, and you can almost
make out the pink flesh on the second day...
and some ménage à trois.... oh sorry...
too much Dell Boy Trotter in me at the moment:
gosh... the memories of watching that twichy
character on screen... mangetout...
and in between i took off the washing from
the washing lines in the garden...
             faked smoking sitting in the february
cold for a while...
   that's 2 meals in advance that is...
      and this really belongs to a creed that states:
if you can read... it's better to read about
something that doesn't have cars blowing up,
or avalanches... or dams bursting in northen
california... well: it's not exactly
   tolstoy's war and peace... but it's something
that allows for sensationalism of the news
and the odd chance of seeing a good movie...
    or i guess: the antidote to a good poem,
is the worst imaginable poem, actually...
saying that: people call poems bad when
they are rigid in using technique...
poetic technique... i prefer a stance on
spare of the moment / spontaneity than something
that might require a hammer of metaphor
and a nail of a pun...
           some call it innovation,
others can't say much because they're myopic...
and lo! yonder the savannah and the buckling
gazelle! right on the chin...
hoofs, no shoelaces, back legs made front legs
into spaghetti... and there... a plum on the chin...
boom... down onto the green...
          another consideration would be
a man in clown make-up crying,
    and a fat-cat billionaire laughing...
    or was that ever, not the case?
  it has to be idiosyncratic, this english "thing"
of calling laughter crying and crying laughter...
     it actually is a very english "thing",
when you get too much psychology,
about how keeping the word ego can complicate
merely saying i...
  and there's no other latin word in sight,
and you then get egoism, and egocentrism...
    i mean: what's up with that basis for a theory,
    evidently it's a case of the word becoming
too uncomfortable, since no one actually says
  ego cogito ergo ego sum... it suddenly drops off
and people who say the above end up only saying
cogito ergo sum... and is that why people
you can actually ascribe so much theory to the ****** word
that might rob people from having a narrative?
    rob the people of a narrative and you return them
into a state of being pulverised by 5 vectors,
the pentagon of the senses,
    and evidently they're unable to narrate their
day-to-day, because they're herded like wild
hysterical animals... even though they are
given the membrane of civilisation...
      it really is a case of somehow not embarking
into keeping the latin and the north barbarian
words... how can you keep up
with ego, i, self? how long will this italian
**** of bulimia and gluttony last?
     you want to keep spewing that *******
for another 100 years?
evidently there is no theory concerning i,
there's merely an ipod...
              sure sure, you could only derive a
theory if you said the unit wasn't i
(because that would be too personal to construct
a narrative) - but had to be
   the reflective ego, and the reflexive self...
i.e. that string of pronoun compounds known
as myself, itself, himself...
   and when given the scalpel... my self
   (which becomes a reflective stance on meditating
the words, rather than a reflexive pronoun
in its original... no huh? but thump!
on yer bike! go!).
   i call them for what they are...
        yes, and my parents are great,
cooked them dinner...
   just about now, when in the 1970s and 1980s...
when the first cold war was happening,
the americans / the west merely wanted
to feed stories into the soviet union,
if every spying was a c.v. joke, it happened
when ian flemming wrote his series...
   what ever happened to a campfire and telling
stories, or when we told horror stories to each other?
  spying: can you just imagine
what the job description would look like?
pst... it's a secret.
       but you know, the americans had this thing
of telling stories to the "enemy",
     false news...
                it's so obvious now, since everyone
seems to be onto it...
     well... it's happening in england, right now,
but it's not exactly an attack scenario...
it's self-mutilation, yes, a masochism...
  you reach a real dead-end when you tell lies
to yourself... and that's what england is sitting
on: an implosion of well... the n.h.s. in crisis...
the housing crisis...
                 you name it...
  i guess there were many people out there,
willing to sacrifice their sanity, by appropriating
the excesses of c.c.t.v. voyeurism,
mingled with the excesses of ***** that paved
the way to this massive delusion of the next
jain boond to swing on a rope into a gorilla
enclosure and beat the **** out of a 300kg gorilla,
Klitschko style! bang! bang boom!
    silverback gorilla on a torture rack!
job done.
       no, i get it... a girl got to kick-box and a girl
got to play footie... cos girl can...
     wait till she don't get a: fragile heart...
like mine, writing odes about
walking past a church when the church bells ring
eleven times, and there's the moon...
  it will become very very pointless writing
about hearts of porcelain in the future,
      but just as nietzsche pointed out:
imagine talking for the entire human race...
yes, i can, or should i say could? because i don't
have to...
   the western narrative is so up it's own
*** talking about species, while the Moldovians
are talking about Ukranians,
the Poles are talking about Germans,
   the Italians... they talk all the time,
so who cares?
                but it's this globalisation vocabulary
that's halting, and making me think:
the Genghis Khan tribe isn't exacrtly in
the news? they must have neighbours!
they must actually know the people living near them...
well...
   on my street... 6 houses in a row of
identical architecture, i.e. built in the 1940s...
   first house, sikhs...
    parents went to the daughter's wedding,
woman brought over some curry,
   i ended up making even better curry...
my cat is left in their care while i'm away
visiting my grandparents,
   i get this panic attack premonition
  that i need to be back home when i'm away...
   i come back home, the cat is dead...
   we rarely speak these days...
  he was on aspirins, and yes, cats take a ******
long time to die from kidney failure...
ever watch a cat ****? cats take a shorter amount
of time to take a **** than ****...
   watching a cat **** into the toilet it like
watching a person drinking a melchizedek sized
wine bottle...
   a cat could be a man
   as a man taking a **** as in the cat taking a ****
and reading a newspaper...
     seems we're parallel creatures,
  i exfoliate and massage my **** muscles
by taking extra time with them stretched open
once the bombs away passes...
    and i'm just sitting there:
  to vank?! or not to vank? or what i call:
the 3 in 1.
        well, you can't exactly think about
lighting scented candles and doing it in bed,
can you?
      you'd have to be a woman to do that,
and invest in a good ***** replica
of a man that would only tell her:
honey... tree bears.
    do i sometimes think about putting it into
a moist couch-like environment?
   yeah... but i guess ******* is a bit like
doing ****... **** the bone and those muscles man!
   ****? yeah... never did it...
biblical regulations...
              about the same time when
heterosexuals take over from the once famed
taboo provocateurs in the homosexual department...
haven't seen a worthwhile Oscar Wilde come from
that scene for years... maybe i wasn't looking,
ah yes, they're too busy being "normal" and starting
families... funs over... and so is the art.
no wait, all i wanted to say is that
what nietzsche said in the 19th century,
  the anglophone world is trapped in it's own
end product of globalisation, and this whole:
speaking for the entirety of humanity doesn't have
and local thrill to it, no local accent,
      it's scary, to be the only language willing
to speak for the entire human race,
  and, when travelling to other places in the world
realising that you were pretty much:
not thinking, and merely talking to your self...
    i have that taste for foreign cultures...
   you can hardly hear an existential argument
in the same vein as you might hear in england...
     basically... i just think that english is
over-streched...
     in the case of russian, it's stretched:
but contained with interlocking tribes of people...
if i want to hear english sprechen in the pacific
it's a 12 hour flight to australia...
               i can't imagine talking for
the entire human race... and given this
seemingly ancient german, i'm imagining it
as the counter-argument of the current narrative,
because i can't even state that i'm in awe of it,
but more or less apprehensive about it...
given the numbers... the total anglophone world
doesn't even number that of China...
and you know, infiltrating that place with
the complexity of the encoded sounds that are
later echoed back as Xin Ping...
    who lived in Beijing...
            you really have to address either silent,
or talking about something so complicated,
that it would equal the Chinese encoding system...
  otherwise it's falling through the holes...
oh look... q r o p a d b g...
  the best we can do is make silence complicated,
since what i'm hearing: isn't exactly complicated...
on youtube most noteworthy...
   oh right, almost forgot...
the other neighbours on my 6 house line
are a Jewish family... well... sorta...
   just a literal mad-house... we get on fine...
and after that: 3 houses, natives, so yeah, english...
all of them broken families...
   the neighbours next to mine are:
woman in her late 40s... man in his early 50s...
about to have a child...
       after that it's single mother and son,
and after that divorcee and... like... dunno...
     they thought the indians were savages
moving across the pond...
              i'm sitting here having a right old laugh...
and it's a malicious laugh for the laugh in itself...
        last time i remembered
  taking a mouse from the mouth of my cat
after he caught it, and then releasing the mouse
  into my neighbour's garden...
   or a fly... crawling over my forehead
     while i took a selfie to exfoliate my face
like that of an acne riddled moon.

The kidnapping of Brian and Mark. Yeah they're both with the great gullet dude




You see one day at the Belconnen bowl, Brian Allan and Mark Marlor, were talking to each other, you see Brian Allan was 32 and Mark Marlor was 11, mark really liked Brian because he didn't want to hassle the kids, he wsnted to be their friend.
So after both Brian and Mark finished bowling, they went into the cafe and there was this strange man who was looking at Mark Marlor's shiny 11 year old kid legs and he noticed Brian Allan hardly any hairs on his legs, and Brian was a man, but because looked like a kid, the man wanted to grab him as well, so when Brian and Mark left the bowling alley, the man got out two bags, and into one bag he put Brian Allan, and the other was for Mark, the kidnapper said, I finally have, Brian Allan, yeah I have wanted that for months, and yeah, I really want Mark Marlor, yeah, Mark you ain't a fucken kid, then the kidnapper said to Steve, who was Mark's father, yeah, I will never give this kid to you, ever and ever again,
And he went to the Allan family and said, Brian, is now with and like us, you see he is now like Mark Marlor, no he isn't like Chris, so suffer, Brian Allan, man, you are not like usses
Anymore, Mark, you are with him, cause you put tape on your mouth, yeah, you are now with me, forever, and you ain't a family person anymore.
Mark and Brian, in the back of the truck, were yelling out, help, let us out, we are too cool little kids, but the kidnapper said, no, everyone else are kids, and Brian Allan and Mark Marlor. Are kidnap victims, and you 2 will never be free, and I will make both Brian and Mark, little young dudes to a kidnap, and I will fucken make sure, that they will never be family people ever again.
Mark was yelling through the duct tape. Stuck on his face, you can keep Brian Allan, because he is a hooligan, but let me go back to bowling, I want to say, that Brian's over, but the kidnapper said back to Mark, yeah heh heh heh heh, his funs over, but so is yours, yeah Mark Marlor, you are not a family cool kid anymore, you are a little cool kid to a kidnap, just like Brian Allan, yeah I have you both.
So the kidnapper was driving on the road with both Brian Allan and Mark Marlor ******* tightly in the trunk, and despite them wriggling and wriggling, oh yeah they were, the kidnapper didn't care, oh no.
And as the kidnapper drove on Cohen Street, in Belconnen about 3 in the afternoon, he noticed young 17 year old Brendan riding his roller blades down the Cohen Street hill, and then as he passed the kidnapper's car, Brendan fell off his roller blades, and the kidnapper got out to pretend he was a good Samaritan, but instead of that, he got an empty bag, and put Brendan into it and them he threw Brendan into the bag, and then the kidnapper went, yes, I have kidnapped Brian Allan, Brendan Schultz, and Mark Marlor, these kids will never escape, yeah I have them, oh ****** yeah.
Then the kidnapper went to his house in Mcgregor, and then he put Brian, Brendan and Mark into his room,and locked the door and said, heh heh heh heh, you dudes will never escape, you see, you three are happy kids, well, now you will fucken ****** die.
Noe Brian, Brendan and Mark, were yelling out, help let us go, please we are fucken being held for ransom, and we are three poor kids, but the kidnapper is threatening to **** these 3 kids, and them hold us all for ransom oh yeah, but then the parents of the3 victims, came to save them, you see they saved Brian and Brendan, and they were allowed to go, and told to never come into their area, but he killed Mark Marlor, right in front of Steve and said your kid is evil, so suffer Steve, and Steve said. Mate. I am glad you killed my son Mark, cause he is a little family kid, who is annoyingly happy, yeah, thanks mister kidnapper you did the Marlor family a favor, so from that day, Brian and Brendan tied themselves up to avoid that again and from that day they were trapped in there, and never to be adults again, the kidnapper was put on the firing squad.
The end


Sent from my iPhone

Dear spotlight,
i must have died upon meeting
you, that night,
surely, lost my ways when you
befriended me,
your chanels led me to the
nothing i have turned into
and the funs you gave me,
cheered me to sixfeet under
the expensive cars i drove in,
the funcy colours you dressed me,
the bigger picture you made of
me,
made me believe heaven was down
here on earth
the king you made me,all the
greener pastures you fed me
kept me far from the exit door,

Dear spotlight,
you gave me fame, riches and
power,
made me forget my innocent self,
you got me hanging on the
eleventh hour,
contemplating on how i would love
to jump out,
out of the main stream and
continue to daydream
in your arms, i found my strength,
in my strength, i found my pride,
in my pride, i lost my way,
i lost my soul, then i lost my wife,
but before i lose my life,
i want out!
out of the main stream
and continue to daydream

Let your gloomy hearts rise
Let your lips sing praise
For the lord has risen
From gory deaths prison
With sacrifice and pain
Mighty god has repaid
To redeem his own pawn
From dark activities
Of negativities
To restore every cause
Of life and its purpose

Lets break the sepulchres
Of selfishness and curse
Rise up in love to see
The beauty of the world
The purpose as its told
Just live and be happy
And pass it to your sons
And daughters and their sons
The happiness and funs
Are just for you to own
And leave behind in turn
To the next in your line
So let your lips sing praise
And hold your hands and raise
Kiss your friends and embrase
Just fill your living space
With Lords glory and grace
Wearing on your own face.

When I broke up with my eighth grade girlfriend I was kinda mean....I told her I'd found my one true love....to this day she remains the love of my life...one that never causes strife....I love her so much I've cloned her a million times.  Rooted her in several states even foreign soil.  Every flavor, every size, she gets me Everytime; ever funs my spoils.   To my faithful lover I pledge my love til the end of ryhme.  Never smoke in mirrors....with her I'll be just fine.

title - you-yo-you-yo
body -
a *******
BLITZKIREG
of **** accusations...
a sort of a:
well done... another
year of this: prrrrrr-lease;
******* nonces.      502 bad gateway bypass

                      ******* retards...
no... just retards... munchkins...
RE-*******-TARDED!_

           no... the guillotine will not sing for them...
they're too ***** whipped... obedient little craft-merchants
of: no ******* craft...
you ask for a table to sit by... you just might...
get a ****** Picasso painting...
     i wouldn't trust these people when asking
them to... tie their ******* shoelaces...
        RETARDS... plain and simple;
i don't have any Robespierre quotes on me...
but if i did? my tongue would turn into fire!
and my eyes... would turn into cold nuggets of coal...
that would spontaneously catch fire!
i don't have the reflexive strength of arms to combat
these people... that will come later...
i'm laying out the groundwork of disgust...
    you need that dirt first...
          the mind must be impregnated with
the most abominable of surrogacies...
   before... the body reacts... it... takes time...
wait... i haven't given full closure for the French...
these people are... no longer satisfying to be welcome
in being allowed to live among us...
guillotine is perfectly: humane... it's not hanging...
trouble is... i'm thinking this through...
this is no longer some abstract theatrical language...
i'm actually thinking of implementing it...
if not me... then my successor...
not that i don't have the *****...
but because: certain obstacles will not be necessary
or available when the right time comes...
enough! is! enough!
i kept telling people: you spawned this monster...
this monster is not going to: somehow:
"somehow"... die..
    i'm too lean and bothered about the whole scenario...
i admired Robespierre too much...
assez est assez! oculus per oculus!
          das ist es!
                                      enough! nein! niet!
no! nie! but first you need the groundwork!
it's no longer about protecting "our women": these women
are not "our" own... they belong to themselves...
they belong to: refugees welcome...
****...
          they're the freedom they so instilled in themselves
that needs to be respected...
thank god for Turkish prostitutes:
they always tend to know when they're not
getting *****... lucky me...
no... no man's land...
the shifts of time... barricading the past
with an unknown future...
           how... endearing...
  i should conscript in the corpus of either the Janissary
or the Mamluks... for fun...
see Islam the ***-side-up... not being circumcised...
drinking...

for a while i thought i was truly sick from seeing Jeminah
again... not her facce... just her behind...
walking next to another man...
          my face was flushing... my eyes were burning...
my entire body was wrapped in cold-shivers...
but then reality kicked in... two 2 hours on the bicycle
really massaged my **** and intestines...
there was a stealth ****... hiding "somewhere"...
oh man... i feel so relaxed... that it's come out...
it's not love... it's something very biological...
my head is cleared... my face is still burning...
i'm still getting the remains of the cold sweats...
but down below? it's like some mighty strain has been
lifted... i never thought that being so clogged up
could fool you so much...
   an album like Boy Harsher's Careful... and the song:
face the fire... makes it all alright...
   eh... c'est la vie... c'est la vie...
   that's me not raising a foster child... that's me not
paying off her debt and gave her a bad credit score...
almost punched her: or punched her and
her son... i'm glad... it's hard to love the un-loveable...
i'm not perfect... but i'm not that...
   if i was a woman with a child i too could get
a council flat... i don't see how or why i'm this mega insult
to her dating preferences... but that's life...
the impossible is already and most certainly always true:
than how older generations treated the affair:
sure... we'll start poor... our parents might help us...
but we'll work it out... later on... pair-bond like silly swans
over all of life's difficulties...
now? someone has to have it... simply: ******* MADE...
that's so frustrating... no wants to live a life:
work on it... get at something...
people (ahem... women and male scammers)
just want to arrive on the GIVEN... the already MADE...
age disparity... obviously... unless he's some whizz kid
who profited from making an app that in turn
allowed him to profit from... say... the war in Ukraine...
that happens...
         oh thank god... i was starting to think she was
feeling these sensation and i was feeling them back...
thank god it was only a stealth **** that "forgot" to appear
in the day... not even stomach cramps...
flushes on the face, burning eyes... cold sweats all over
the torso... a strange headache... no... it's not love...
silly little you...
it's just a ****** situation: but if that's the way it's going
to be? then... why waste my time?
it's not like i lost weight to look good... better...
i much preferred being slightly invisible...
     too much drama... but the doctor said: you have a choice...
you either lose the excess weight... or...
we'll put you on high-blood-pressure tablets...
since it's a hereditary genetic fault via lineage...
well... what was i going to do? take the pills...
or ******* cycle my shrinking *** into the sunset?
obviously the latter...
      oh man... the first time i lost this much weight
it truly was a vanity project... but then... when you're 18+
you can become this lean long-haired Adonis
and come down to... about 76kg...
     my best so far? 96kg... but i put on more since... winter:
you store more... fatigue kicks in...
you eat more... drink less... blah blah...
plus.... 1=+ is not 35+ years old... it comes with the territory...
of... already having silver hairs on my chest...
my beard and my hair...
            but i'm not going to be repentant: i'm not going
to give some mea culpa: it's my fault...
i'm not a solipsist... in physics... what's that?
there's an equal and opposite reaction to an action...
in a nutshell...
other people do exist... there's what one can grasp as:
the environment...
you interact with it... sometimes you get promoted...
sometimes you get stalled...
    it's just a bit ****... quiet frankly...
         but like i already mentioned... there are... short-term
treatments that... if utilised properly... can extend
the healing value for almost indefinitely...
prostitutes... i see no shame...
  well... if it were SIMPING on the internet... throwing bucks
at digital "women" that don't even strip but sell
tap water... sorry... bath water...
hell... i wouldn't even spend money on strippers...
me want to touch... terrible English:
specifically: me don't want talk... me want touch...
i figured... you're going to be paying for "something" anyway...
the women are not writing books...
for a long time women didn't write books...
they kept their secrets... but now? stupidly enough
they are showcasing them... they're actually teaching men...
well... if there's that much honesty in the air...
when do we inflate those hot air ***** balloons?!
but i'm also somewhat manifesting a suspicion...
western: "intellectual" women: will never hear of a feministic
stoicism, or a feministic cynicism...
unless what? i drink a litre of pink magic juice?
but at least i'm not bothered... i'm not angry... sure...
a little bit frustrated... but frustration is a sort of friction...
you stop rubbing your hands together:
the heat generated is no more...
        at least i'm not the Jack the Ripper case... taking revenge
on prostitutes... it's inverted these days...
prostitutes are a godsend... if i were to be perfectly
honest... i don't women that fear me...
giving cash up-front i can bypass the fear...
and get to the nitty-gritty of a physical interaction...
intellectualism of any sort just went out of the window...
what would i talk about? movies? music?
books? or leftwing propaganda indoctrination?
past dating horrors... i don't feel like talking about
that sort of crap: i just want to ****...
         it always happens... you walk down the street
at night... a woman passes you...
she's all in jitters... nervous... it's like:
you seriously want me to be a killer, don't you?
   after Khedra sent me some of her selflie pictures...
i've been unable to ******* to ****... i sometimes uses it
to get a hard-on but then switch to watching her plush lips...
and that's that... it's weird...the ******...
i can smell her on me... is that because i *******
into her: unprotected?!
            hell... if life is going to be like it has been to me...
what am i going to do? sit back?
"relax"? get angry... no... i'll see the most peaceful outlets
to sooth my "frustrations"...
      i can't be angry with women...
but i also can't stand the spew of Darwinism that only focuses
on the dating game...
  it used to be so much fun...
then... the survival of the fittest stopped
mattering... other factors became invoked...
money... corrupts everything...
that object that dictates the transvaluation of values...
that's money... gold has value...
which fluctuates... because the value of money
fluctuates...
and if money is the res-per-se: the thing in itself
that has the inherent nature of fluctuation...
then... obviously... anything given / put under
a monetary standard is also going to fluctuate...
               along with the fluctuations of money...
            you can't really chance trans-valuate the existence
of stones... unless they're marble... etc.
what can't you trans-valuate? clouds?
can't invest in clouds... to stop the rains...
can't trans-value mountains: or the seas...
they're not going anywhere...
            but i can trans-valuate ***...
i can say: better me going for an hour of raw
**** sapiens funs... than...
coughing up too much for false dates and not getting
what i want... just eating too much...
and paying for two people...
i just did a trans-valuation...
trans-evaluation...
                  well... no one was killed... big +...
that plus is not big enough... but it's supposed to be a
BIG +...
  any hurt parties? do, i care?
right now... i don't care... no one cared prior...
i'm not going to start caring now...
i care that my frustration friction didn't make me ****
someone... i didn't steal anything...
lucky me... trickle of time: immemorial...
            it's good to sometimes: forget... almost... no...
not almost... absolutely EVERYTHING....
forget the idea that there might be a cinema.

Summers here
Everyone cheer
Water fights
Warmer nights
Fans spinning
Children grinning
All in the midst of summer

Parks heaving
Plants breathing
Bins stinking
Beer drinking
Skys clear
Funs here
All in the midst of summer

Sun cream
Lovers dream
Ice cream cones
Hot stones
Barbecue chicken
Ice lolly licking
All in the midst of summer

The Dead gone forever
Photographs remain

Taipei typhoon weather
Muslim southern Spain

Lorca in New York
Leonard Cohen knowin'

Bob Dylan don't eat pork
The wind is still blowin'

Tonight I miss my mother
Tonight I miss my sons

Life is endless sadness
Bombs. Wars. Guns.

But the beach is warm and wondrous
And once we had a little funs.