Take control of your fate
Entering the virtual world
You're here for the adventure
And the challenge ahead

Interact with a new place
With the action around
Burning towards your face
Until we shake and break the ground

We shall raise our fists
Onto the air
As we shout it out loud
COME ON!!!!

(Chorus)---

Gamers never play on easy mode
Crank that difficulty and start again
Gamers never play on easy mode
Warriors must strive through the pain
LET'S PLAY THAT GAME ONCE MORE
------------------

Take control of your destiny
Let the fire ride on in the soul
Embark towards the goal
We shall rise and never fall

Together, we become one
As the game lives on
Find another path after we won
Sometimes...
You have to fight alone

Grab your controllers high
The station is running wild
WE SHALL CONTINUE
AFTER WE DIE
LET'S GO!!!

(Chorus)

(Guitar Solo)

Grab your controllers high
The station is running wild
WE SHALL CONTINUE
AFTER WE DIE
LET'S GO!!!

(Chorus)

Gamers never play
Oh yeah!!!
Gamers never play
Oh yeah!!!
GAMERS NEVER PLAY
(ON EASY MODE)
PUT UP THE CHALLENGE!!!!

GAMERS!!!
GAMERS!!!
NEVER
PLAY
ON
EASY MODE
CRANK THAT ****** UP!!!

(Outro Guitar Solo)

.you can never really write any poetry by not covering the "heartbreak" the loss of your own "printed" words: how much different is the internet, from "real" life? just asking... since: internet banking & internet shopping... to lose a poem / pre-scriptum is not exactly the same as losing a person to mind: father's day... i cooked the dinner, i took out the trash, i wrote an invoice... i guess that's much better than leaving a card of greetings... and, come to think of it? why are we the sort of people subjugated to nostalgia, with but also "without" a history? aren't we subjugated to nostalgia and a history as a "fiction"? the beginning of the 21st century, the end of the 20th century... the 19th century germans associated themselves with a nostalgia for ancient greece, we're the only people who have an inbuilt nostalgia "safety-mechanism"... the only people in time who are nostalgic about the life surrounding their own existence slot, which doesn't have a trans-temporal dynamic... i remember times when we would be teenagers... spitting on people from car-parks on imaginary tonsures, buying *****-magazines from indian cornershops, or belgian freebies of non-insinuations, white lightning cider while sleeping over at youth centers playing snooker throughout the night... even at school: attending a catholic school with the irish east enders... uniforms, sure... a chequered shirt: blue, red, white... tag? made in canada... and if only capitalism worked as it once did, made in canada? lifetime of a shirt? 20 years... now? made in china... not exactly real cotton, is it? 2 years... before ironing the shirt *****... once upon in gants hill, st. valentine's park, and the pub, recently closed, decent karaoke... in the park? golf, basketball, rowing boats in the large ponds... when the jews were there... gants hill roundabout... the hanukkah torches... jews scuttling wearing trainers come rosh hashanah: jews can't wear leather on rosh hashanah (judgement day)... shy like rats... when the jews were there (gants hill, ilford)... the park looked great... tennis courts... now, when neo-Bangladesh moved in? ****** place. what else do i remember from my original pre-scriptum that i lost? oh, that once time in gants hill... walking into a kosher bakery with ****** knuckles, having tested them on a canvas of a brick wall, buying some dough-fused-sweets? with the girl selling the sweets bewildered by fear? i like the look of fear in people when tested by uncertainty, and bleeding knuckles? later? climbing over the park fence, taking a **** while squatting in the darkened palace of the park, walking into a brothel, having my wallet stolen, not reacting in what would have been justified... high school... we wore uniforms... so no high school h'american culture trap / culture... school uniforms are the best idea, there's no chance to "shine" in telling apart the rich kids from the poor kids... there's only the standard... walking to a supermarket, past a thai surprise... sports bra, short hair... walking back... she's still there pretending to talk on her mobile to someone... you take her home with a few beers... play her some jazz... take her into the garden, the moon is a beauty... you **** her... hand in her underwear and you're still gambling... before the emergence of the nag hammadi library and the whole androgynous vogue, the thai were already readied with the lady-boys... when i reached in and found nothing but oyster... would i have stopped finding a wink-wink slouching worm? slap a trans in the face? no, not really... a thai surprise is, a thai surprise... i would have considered doing my first ****... "lucky" for me she was a she... a girl... ****** her in the garden under the moonlight... gave her my hoodie, which she drowned in... finally... the level of interaction where the female is not a mantis, i.e. a female larger than the male... she drowned into my hoodie as i walked her home... i like the familiarity with the mammalian, not resorting to insect superiority of females... these days... i find that males are strictly mammalian... while females? they are borrowing insect-esque ontologies... well, darwinism allowed the time-frame... males are mammals... females are insects, behaviour-wise... two time frame i do not appreciate the english for... darwinism is prime.... cultural-marxism my ***... what about cultural-darwinism?! no?! that doesn't exist?! cultural-darwinism is as real as cultural-marxism, and, in the former sense? it really does belong to the conservative right-wing politico spectrum! might i add? isn't psychology merely pop philosophy? i find psychology riddled with rubric cohesion, it's all oh so "self"-evident! i abhor psychologists... these gypsy philosophers... medicine-men with no pharmacological shadow of power... to prescribe drugs... arguments, persuasions, but no dialectics... psychology will forever be, for me, a philosophy primer, short-cut... pop philosophy... psychologists can treat people who have never read a philosophy book... r. d. laing... i remember this one instace... me and a fwend of mine travelled into central london, went into a bookshop shy of trafalgar sq., i spotted an edition of: the scarlet and the black by stendhal... i told him: i will trade you linkin park's debut album, if you buy me this... the transaction was made... the one book i read after seeing a film adaptation starring rachel (rakhel) weisz and ewan mcgregor... ra-kh-el: not ray-chel... we used to be humans once... at high school getting bullied back... putting pins on chairs once we got up, sitting on them... playing bulldog in primary school, slap-ball, tag, playing cards at lunchtime... 16 fatty boy... one summer in poland, comes back aged 17... the irish girls take an interest while eating a pomegranate... what was the success of your diet? don't go to the gym... excess skin, an aesthetic surgeon is not what you need... there are only two ways to lose weight... either via swimming or by cycling... cycling is the best... lose weight by also toning your body... gym is a bad idea... by going to the gym you are straining exclusive parts of your body, either the torso, your hands, etc., jogging? unless on soft ground, bad idea on concrete, arthritis... cycling or swimming... lose weight... tone at the same time, the skin is allowed the required time to adapt to shrink, and forget what propped it up in plump form with all that excess flab... ugh... i hated being attractive to the opposite ***, i never used it to my advantage! imagine... an irish lad comes up to me, on behalf of some girl while i'm donning a french braid: you look just like johnny depp in blow, impersonating george jung... 14 year old girls walk up to you asking what shampoo you're using... herbal essences... i never used my looks... *******... now i'm a heavy drinker... so much for looks... first girlfriend? a fwend had to call me telling me she called him that she felt butterflies when i dropped her at the train platform after a day's worth of dating: tate modern, edward hopper exhibitions, cinema: troy, starring rose byrne (briseis) - honestly, a man can go crazy over curly hair... and then a restaurant date... that **** just flew over my head... i wouldn't have noticed... honestly though... i missed the whole h'american cultural excavation genesis in high school... catholic... uniforms... jesuit army-esque formation... now, i'm ageing... i'm starting to find the company of cats to be: clingy... my shadow included... i once thought that dogs were needy... i'm starting to think that cats are worse, esp. the maine **** breed... "lonely" or "loneliness" doesn't really resonate with me, esp. when thinking something "feels" like a variation of claustrophobia: hence i write... without a dialectic in place, ever since plato wrote his dialogues... what is philosophy, primarily? isn't it an off-shoot of "claustrophobia"? we write because we are seeking escape from congested thinking, a variation of "claustrophobia"... now imagine a schizoid character... having to focus on an imaginary dialectic, actually... having dialectics enforced on him, with no clarifying exodus to posit a gensis with! now, a clingy dog i could understand, given the overpowering status of the leash... but a clingy cat, when there's no leash involved?! shoom! right over my head... gone, somewhere into the distance!

what, this is the part...
were i cite...
   the weimar ******
critical condition...
       a daft punk troop
of a song,
  end of line....
blow-up a hot air balloon...
worth of blaire whire...
play the tambourine
like a ******* video...
there are,
quiet, simply,
no nazis coming...
fashionista faux pas
examples...
i'm alive,
but i'm dead,
i just forget to don
a strap-on...
  "oops"?
   that **** go down well
with
the "in"-crowd...
usual... metropolitan...
verbiage surge of answers....
   many a fetish after...
we arrive at the sensible
aspect,
"toxic masculinity"...
when guns n roses wasn't,
and nirvana was just plain
gay...
              and then...
whatever that happened,
happened..
                 and people were like:
come to the "new" tomorrow,
there's always a yesterday,
in a dream,
in some phil collins
wannabe
studio...
or... some other random ****
that
excluded peter gabriel.

                 i died:
and just about right:
my harvest had come.

great book reviews...
"toxic masculinity"...
so all masculinity is
about a clockwork orange?
   if it is?
can i be pro abortion
anti mongolian horde?
yes? no?
  which is it?!
neither...
   **** me... that's just bad
luck...

                               sundbeds,
sunflowers,
tulips,
sunglasses,
    plenty of staged
eager nights...
boring political affairs...
and...
         when gaming was
more about the narrative...
and never,
ever, about the microtransactions...

point being...
it's a game within a game...
time, is the prime concern...
you play a game,
by waiting...
you wait: by playing a game...

  microtransactions
are...
you ever move a sim3 avatar
to a computer,
and make it play a computer game?
what's on the macrocosmos spectrum?
you....

               "back in the day"...
you'd spend a saturday morning
engrossed in a gaming narrative...
metal gear solid,
tenchu, final fantasy solid...
20 quid...
and you played the narrative...
and a game became equivalent
to the worth of a book,
resident evil,

            you paid for a month's worth
of gaming,
you exchanged tips,
you sometimes bought a cheat book
because of the homework,
and that was your saturday morning
before hitting the shopping mall
or, whatever...

the current dynamic of
microtransactions in gaming?
i never, ever, do...
i'm an old gamer type...
i see the potential of extending
the life-expectancy
of a game...

   as long as you don't buy into
the microtransactions gambling habit?
as long as you play the "game"
within the game?
the game is an assured classic,
akin to chess...

              you have to play
the waiting "game"...
             time...
                           that's all it is...
whether war robots,
    or dawn of titans...
        comparison...
  you know that the best fruit,
is fruit, allocated
to the geography of it being sourced
seasonally...
you can't actually get better
strawberries,
than english strawberries...
from england, come june / july...
no ******* point sourcing them
from spain in late march / april....

    same thing with gaming...
the modern games haven't made any
elaboration...
apart from dislodging the player
from the concept of narrative...
**** me... that's almost an improvement...
given that now: time is the counter
measure, and the gamer...
   is having to invest,
in a narrative, outside of the confines
of the game,
once upon a time,
games had time-narrative
constraints...
     now: there's time,
and there are gamer narratives,
excluding them from time-narratives,
of a game...
         it's almost a faux pas...
more like a wet-*****...
****** pinky lodged into an ear,
an april fools' day scant...

        if you hacked passed
the microtransactions hype...
and didn't?
and instead took to patience?
it's free...
   where once,
a game would cost you 20 quid,
and a month's worth
of narrative,
back then, when games
resembled books,
when the gaming industry
was heavily influenced
by literature...
and now?
   the game's free...
sure...
it's "unfair", it's biased...
when you don't engage
in imported gambling
of succumbing to what, this is the part...
were i cite...
   the weimar ******
critical condition...
       a daft punk troop
of a song,
  end of line....
blow-up a hot air balloon...
worth of blaire whire...
play the tambourine
like a ******* video...
there are,
quiet, simply,
no nazis coming...
fashionista faux pas
examples...
i'm alive,
but i'm dead,
i just forget to don
a strap-on...
  "oops"?
   that **** go down well
with
the "in"-crowd...
usual... metropolitan...
verbiage surge of answers....
   many a fetish after...
we arrive at the sensible
aspect,
"toxic masculinity"...
when guns n roses wasn't,
and nirvana was just plain
gay...
              and then...
whatever that happened,
happened..
                 and people were like:
come to the "new" tomorrow,
there's always a yesterday,
in a dream,
in some phil collins
wannabe
studio...
or... some other random ****
that
excluded peter gabriel.

                 i died:
and just about right:
my harvest had come.

great book reviews...
"toxic masculinity"...
so all masculinity is
about a clockwork orange?
   if it is?
can i be pro abortion
anti mongolian horde?
yes? no?
  which is it?!
neither...
   **** me... that's just bad
luck...

                               sundbeds,
sunflowers,
tulips,
sunglasses,
    plenty of staged
eager nights...
boring political affairs...
and...
         when gaming was
more about the narrative...
and never,
ever, about the microtransactions...

point being...
it's a game within a game...
time, is the prime concern...
you play a game,
by waiting...
you wait: by playing a game...

  microtransactions
are...
you ever move a sim3 avatar
to a computer,
and make it play a computer game?
what's on the macrocosmos spectrum?
you....

               "back in the day"...
you'd spend a saturday morning
engrossed in a gaming narrative...
metal gear solid,
tenchu, final fantasy solid...
20 quid...
and you played the narrative...
and a game became equivalent
to the worth of a book,
resident evil,

            you paid for a month's worth
of gaming,
you exchanged tips,
you sometimes bought a cheat book
because of the homework,
and that was your saturday morning
before hitting the shopping mall
or, whatever...

the current dynamic of
microtransactions in gaming?
i never, ever, do...
i'm an old gamer type...
i see the potential of extending
the life-expectancy
of a game...

   as long as you don't buy into
the microtransactions gambling habit?
as long as you play the "game"
within the game?
the game is an assured classic,
akin to chess...

              you have to play
the waiting "game"...
             time...
                           that's all it is...
whether war robots,
    or dawn of titans...
        comparison...
  you know that the best fruit,
is fruit, allocated
to the geography of it being sourced
seasonally...
you can't actually get better
strawberries,
than english strawberries...
from england, come june / july...
no ******* point sourcing them
from spain in late march / april....

    same thing with gaming...
the modern games haven't made any
elaboration...
apart from dislodging the player
from the concept of narrative...
**** me... that's almost an improvement...
given that now: time is the counter
measure, and the gamer...
   is having to invest,
in a narrative, outside of the confines
of the game,
once upon a time,
games had time-narrative
constraints...
     now: there's time,
and there are gamer narratives,
excluding them from time-narratives,
of a game...
         it's almost a faux pas...
more like a wet-*****...
****** pinky lodged into an ear,
an april fools' day scant...

        if you hacked passed
the microtransactions...
       and didn't have the chance...
microtransactions are like
the old school cheat hacks...
but not quiet, but somehow quasi-,
       a modern microtransactions,
would be a cheat magazine
thorough-through
a game like final fantasy VII...
you have homework,
but you still want to complete the game...
modern games...
modern games...
there's an "end gole"?
  what modern game is worth
"completing"?
    
   again: tron, ready player one,
back to the future...
star wars just became dead
to me...
   sick people will plague hard-working
people, with a quasi-gambling
addiction,
needing to make microtransactions...
and they will,
my father was plagued by
an impostor, claiming to be a
tax office official:
and what if, that person had
an authentic position at the tax office?!

when gaming was for gamers,
the games were bought...
there was a narrative...
but now... now games don't have a narrative...
why would they?!
   who the hell plays games for
the narrative these days?
i know that on the crapper,
i need a game that allows me
to experience live-stream
interaction with non-bots...

       and these old gamers,
who still invest their money
in literature-esque-games?
so i was the sad one,
investing in vinyl?
   aren't the classic ******* gamers
just as bad,
investing in prepackaged
narrative gaming
experiences?
             a game with a narrative...
yeah... me buying vinyl
is: b'ah b'ah bad...
       what sort of game is alive and well...
when there isn't a crowd pushback
for the currency of microtransaction?

the narrative is time,
   the longer you endure the inadequacy...
the more you realise:
you're basically playing
the same game,
but in your scenario:
it's free...
   in some other ******'s scenario:
it cost him 70 hundred quid...

personally?
   i love this microtransaction dynamic...
concerning the people who
do not engage with it...
it's the perfect antithesis
   of what ruined the music industry
with genesis: napster...

you really are, playing the ultimate
game,
time...
         the one sort of commodity
that games,
without a clear narrative construct,
"forgot" to mention in terms
of them being exploited...
to their full capacity
of the one "commodity"
they "forgot", or rather,
couldn't "sell"...

              a tenchu PS1 game could
have lasted me a month...
now? a free game,
like war robots...
with absolutely no NPC?
hell... i'll be 90 and still be playing it;

what else? applause!

This is not, a time to loosen up
Or nine to five job to give up
Just saddle up the power is in you
Five ladies cafe to dine at five and
drove_* the meter is running
(The Canadian Cup) team versus the
     Taxi Cup
He swooned you in your
Five dreamy but half heart sugars
Come on Baby bloomers
Let's see some boom!!

In your hips men will be men taking
frequent flyer trips temptation 1 2345
We need fewer digs one love teo reasons
World  345  heart flags
We don't have to cross our hearts
Perhaps tattoo heart legs no more strikes
Jumping Jack flash
What a rope in this isn't the Pope

Somehow we all get broke
To court her like your the lasso
stars cosmos hearts like Lassie
Never a change of subject how it
remains in your heart how it hit hard
to react but changed to five cards
Digging too long  lucky 777 like heaven
Heart digs

1-where?
Oh! There

No, I am here
We are always  
In-between
numbers_ I only
have 5 minutes
No I phone have a heart
Oh! where is designed for me
Those five plates

Whats in between them
      *Him
We are opening Live- Five
Strong heart to give the caring
The useful heart is never so daring
My gate* Girls are nail digging
Hugging
Or losing add +

Flirty
*****
Our community
Heftier like Jupiter
Heart to build
the gravity
A big kiss hunch
of five roses

Your getting to bloom
but only have
5 extra movie parts
The front dress mermaid tail
Your heart delicate hands
opened up your emails
I think you hit the
Jackpot

Max to the million shot
No heart of gold
Only more leaders
Scrambling and digging
your fork
Mixing those egg beaters

Five men think they know
there women
like ten
commandments
Turn to five wrong
engagements
There it goes the lucky
five arguments

A plot beating
like a hot-shot
The French Baguette
Bread 9 to 5 firecracker
Five-carat baguette
wedding band in her safe
Heart digs to five hands
Heart neck guilty as a giraffe

The cafe house had only
5 cups left  they sold you out
Only Five Bed and breakfast
stayers
Do detailed with their Ladyfingers
But need more alone time
Be on time get sweet key lime
What is real-time so sublime

That rose- paper cut- origami
Sorcerer of five he was like the
cold cuts of big Sub Salami
Japanese sword samurai
What a Geronimo Oh! no
Jericho
This wasn't a hot potato

Or Gizmo No-Go
Getting a shot for Polio
The gusto songs to the heart play
Maestro the Cosmo's
The five stars to heart his
afterglow
Like a titanic ship but heroics

Five lunatics wedding horns ******
Five two timer Mario gamers
so demonic
DOMINO'S bed five students wed
We dug deeper get-up sleepy-head
Exposed cries location set
Network U- dig cups

Something lip curved
He misplaced my lips
What did he do in exchange
More stocks and hard stone rocks
Like frying pan egg
scrambled words

Crossed heart Rapper so believing
The Fox five sticking tacky glue
His CD Rose lying pants no clue
Painful pointed shoes need R&R
     Robin's *Responsibilities
       The Heart On Replay
The deeper you dig to restart

The healthy organically grown brain
Men on Pause I truly believe nature
takes its course
but another beat to go is that so?
And if so heart digs to five
Feel the good vibe in another tribe
Five times I had to wake you up
I am the love cure reminiscing

Giving me five reasons
Our beautiful change of
heart in season
Studying the fine art heart
Referencing
Never refusing thats life
five-step to strive nothing
Fancy

Robin shoutbox she getting
her point across
Either you're the worker or loner
The heart pleaser the boss
Your heart looks good
on your dress
Whether we win or deep mess
The good heart can change to
a bad start

Recharge your heart count to five
Venus- beauty moved on like a
pathologist digging over staying alive

A curse of the gamer,
Not  knowing the sun,
Also knowing trinary,
two zero one.

Very anti social,
Give us wide girth,
Lowly right now,
We'll inherit the earth!

Here's one for the gamers
dungeon dwellers, competitors and casual players
Whether they're at home or at a friend,
footballers, car racers or dragon slayers

To the world that looks down on us
for those who's hobbies least appeal
Just because they don't understand the reason
or share the passion we feel

Gamers like acheivements
each to their own
Whether its to vanquish the opposition
build, or break their enemies throne

Is that so different
perhaps they spend a lot of time at home
But isn't playing online with their friends
a little better than just sitting alone on ones phone?

The world of gaming has evolved
and adapted so much
It's a common to see a mother aligning fruit
or a child with a flapping duck

And is it such a bad thing
if the players are actually having fun
It may not be making them better
but I can think of many worse things they could have done

They say games encourage violence
but these people are some of the kindest I've ever seen
Theft, ****** and street racing
would it not be better if these things were only done behind a computer screen?

For many, its more than just a game
and can lead to some desperation
But people need to know the limits
and play in moderation

For some
it's to do things they wouldn't normally do or say on a daily basis
A couch potato wanting to explore the world
avoid boredom, keep their mind from stasis

To feel the breeze of a challenge
drive a fast car or
sword-fight,
maybe even do some parkour

Whether they want to skydive
or skate over a hill
To be able to do something dangerous
without having to sign a medical bill

We all have our reasons
some play casually while others play to vent
E-gaming has become so popular
now hosting world tournaments and many gaming event

This is how we are
so please let us be
Our motives are like captured birds
are we are just setting them free

Whether you want to be a princess
or guardian of a banana tree
You can do whatever you want
just follow your dream

People will always be different
this is just another sub-culture; like fans of a band
But we are the gamers
and by this title proudly we stand

games played solely without mouse or joystick... X-hands on the keyboard: left right; right left; kita? ponies in the field; ponces in the marketplace.

but if it didn't happen in video games,
and you said the word: girlfriend...
who are you? ****... i'll test you,
i test your genitals to ensure
it belongs in your head for an ego...
you never been?
                hard to think anything of you
other than a child of divorce...
                   because you probably are...
next time you verbal a *****
i'll verbal the status of your mother...
and next time: you'll be in the practice
of boxing while i'll be worrying about
eating too much lactose...
                               ******, wanna fight?
i'll take a few punches... and
then take to you like a butcher...
   darwinism breeds masculine boast games,
get with it!
             you either boast about the fact:
or you shut, the **** up!
                           just give me a kalashnikov
and i'll show you *bonaparte!
            harasho?
  good, we're good, we're compatriots...
             i used to play wholly keyboard games
and i had to sit in the chair, with X on my head...
the mouse was gone...
  so was the ||...                  of hands and what not...
  w
a s d
              moving...
                                 why should i take on
the sins of your father to enjoy a beer with you?
why do you blame me?
      two ***** spoke to you? that's what
i'm guessing is the proper guess... ******* with
your two *****!
                   i'd really be jealous if you kept them,
and inacted a dualgamy...
           what you just described is yesterday...
yesterday... yesterday... like your papa you can't
keep even one for a period of a swan's lifetime
     for 70... years...
                 you parade that **** in east london!
****! me! friendeships from school are
  so parasitic... but at least good for writing...
       come ******! come! i'm part of the death cult!
i'm begging! i'm not begging for pennies
or for pounds thrown into a hat... mr. socialist...
ha ha!
         ha ha!                          ha ha!
            no, really, i'm still waiting!
                                 what are you waiting for?
the next train out of liverpool st. to shenfield?
                     sure... i'll wait with you...
          just about the same time you turn my
knuckles into a cornish pasty to eat...
                                  don't **** with me you aenemic
******... it's called regular physical laws:
              i'm over 100 kilograms... i punch you
in the face it won't be the newtonian paradox
that states: gravity universal, a fat boy falls at the same
time and at the same speed at a thin boy...
  i punch you in the face you'll probably be in the
queue for plastic surgery...
          mein sen? my dream?
                  my male cat ******* into the toilet,
my female cat trying to usurp the power of the bladder
and thus jumping straight on the toilet
                   with the male cat ******* into it...
then me picking up the male cat
    and him ******* about the bathroom
                  without a bladder "censor" to stop him
doing so in the act... mmm... condoms...
                     these days due to prostate cancer
  i had to envision buddha to relax my bladder...
                           oh i'm not playing 'ard...
                                  i'd love to get a smacker
before i managed to use my body mass...
                                that scenario with paul kohler
(silent h)         and those who spoke with
a central european accent...
                                                       ­     i once had
"western" european "friends", just after i thought
they became arrogant ****** that i'd love
     to do skull-to-skull with and wipe their whittle
smiles off their faces: according to their surprise
as to why they bred terrorist at home; which they
did, and forgot to admit as toward the methodology
they gave out and then negated as being
the source of responsibility: i.e. the practice of denial.
by now,
     i have the least concern, and the most
contraceptive additives to care about western european
lives; guess what happened! the irish thought
they could treat the poles like the english treated
them! oi! paddy! my people fought in the battle
for britain in the r.a.f.: you were as neutral as swedes!
paddy! oi!                      oh i'll give you war
you ******* fairy... but you won't take it...
   you'll be all flimsy spaghetti armed in the distance!
maybe i should move to liverpool?

these 21st century writers / poets,
think they'll make cheap
thrills, and a load of bucks
playing computer games
at the same time:
i'll be found as a suffocating
salmon in their writing:
boy play the game,
expect prodigious output
when your father becomes
an art dealer rather than
a market-stall merchant;
irish idoot:
listen, your father approached
my father when my parents
were taking canadian friends
to the opera: you were a pristine
stoner... and i a damnable drunk...
like i said... you ******* leprechaun...
king's insult when trying to turn
a european into an african
ready for cotton picking of an export;
i took pity on james joyce...
you didn't... you didn't even read him.

.oh yeah, huge fetish fan.... gamer youtube commentary videos... like the quartery... no... ****... the quartering... it's like... ****, i don't even know what's it like: a magic mirror i'll never own, having dropped out on PS1... and telling my cohabitation ςentries (obsolete now, ******?!) to by an iMac, for its properties of not succumbing to PC viruses... PC viruses... a thing of the past... late 90s early 00s... with **** sites linked to Trojan horse bundles... a man with ******* can't *******, so what the hell is he supposed to do? just watch the poor ******* looking for their missing ******* in the excesses of female genitals... oh... wait... they found... and took revenge... but it's never M.G.M., always the F.G.M. bit of the equation... like the kippah was never, "really" translated into a tonsure, oh yeah, that **** floats, that's a real keeper that is; wankers. what?! i'm doing **** with the hand twice a day, but i have the supposed, "excess" skin on my ******* emblem... or little Richie, whatever... i have it... my male circumcised counterparts... sorry chief... you're the one that has to look for extra skin.. oops?! do you say oops on such matters? i never know... but the new age gaming experience is so much better... this antithesis of NPC styled games... and the fact that they're. "free"... but you later learn that you have to pay extra? the longevity increases exponentially... what's your payment method, if you're poor? patience... you really learn to wait, which expand the lifespan of a game... it's like: **** it, a free game, where i also get to polish cliche virtue? compared to paying £50 for a game, i might finish in one sitting? i'm about to to take a ****, play a game, or read a book? hmm... clueless among the Seattle folk... play a ******* game! well, you know... if you don't have a fetish fulfilled with someone readied to expand upon me wearing a ******... might as well watch commentary videos of gamers... same high... albeit no hard-on.

censoring female *******
with bright lights?!

**** me,
good that i managed
to go to an Athenian
strip-club,
a Polish,
  & and an East London
brothel...

psst... Amsterdam...
oh right...
who the **** travels
to Amsterdam for
the **** these days?

last time i went i went
into the red light district
to feel unabashed,
certain that...
a plump Puerto Rican
was waiting for me...
and she was...

****? Amsterdam?
what's this...
the year 00s?
i don't know...
you tell me...

so they're censoring *******,
cleavage from
video games?

   i have a censorship
experiment for you...
you know what the current
would be like
if everyone finally discovered
that
Theresa May is not Margaret Thatcher?
pandemonium!
not all women can be
a Maggie Thatchie...
who would have known...
you need to be a daughter
of a of a grocery store owner,
or whatever working class
background she came from...

with ol' Thatchie the whole
Brexit ******* would
run the course of,
two words:           *******!

where was i?
oh, right, censoring *******
and cleavage in gaming avatars...
you know how i censor that,
"delicate" matter?
i just think of a cow's fore udder...
or... is
that a cleavage... or
a *** on your chest?

there you go... limp **** through
and through...
and then i start thinking
of the dewlap...
to be honest, i don't know how
you'd serve that...
is it fatty? then i'd deep-fry it...

good thing i visited an Athenian
strip-club,
an East London brothel,
and Amsterdam's red light
district...

          and all done...
without a S.T.D. to mind...
mind you, ******* these days
is quiet ethical,
i would have more chance
catching an S.T.D. on the dating
app circuit than in a brothel...

beside wearing a ******...
i always wanted to experiment
with a latex body-suit...
excess rubber...
or whatever the hell it is...

so much for freedom of speech...
but wait a minute,
do i have to reiterate
that i didn't say this,
and that you didn't say this
either?
          this is phonetic
encoding, this is not speaking...
well...
then we know what
the Cartesian res extensa
(extended thing) actually is...
writing,
writing as an extension
of thinking...

          in this scenario...
a thought, that has been washed
in heretical fires...
having transcended
thought's association
with the moral-θ (theta...
looks like English has
a new pronoun,
trans even the already in
place transgender pronoun
category)...
      θ 'ink beyond any
association to a moral 'ought.

*now if you excuse me,
i have a bottle of Russian Standard
i have to finish,
and two bottles of just fine, fine
English cider to interlude with.

Fifteen years old and thinking I was older.
'Assistant Maintenance Man' at a Public School
Summer Camp. Billy Deitz had just graduated
High School, I thought him the coolest guy
I knew. The first week was ended, the little
kids gone home, a new batch in two days time.

We did our work, cleaned and swept, sweated
in the summer sun. Took the old surplus Jeep
over to the creek and plunged ourselves in.
Deitz had some beer in an Ice chest, I drank
one, my first ever. We shot his .22 for a while
and ate PBJs in the shade. Then we heard it.

A train horn in the mountains is a haunting
call. It does not seem to belong there among
evergreen trees and massive granite boulders.
We drove the hell out of the Jeep and found
our way to the down grade tracks. And there
she was maybe 50 cars long, snaking her way
from the summit of the Sierras out of California
into Nevada. Through the Pass over a hairpin
filled course hugging the skirts of the rock face
mountains, slowly rolling her massive load
pushing her four engines, breaks a screeching
in protest. "Click Clack, Click Clack", her steel
wheels clanging upon the rails, a rhythm like
her train heart beating.

Deitz grabbed his coat and tied it round his waist,
looped a canteen over his head, "Lets go kid!"
I did what he said, and then we were running
along beside the box cars, more a trot than a run,
"Do what I do!" Deitz yelled over his shoulder.
A flat car with some machinery approached and
He grabbed on to it and pulled himself aboard,
I copied his moves and he helped pull me up
and then there we stood on the deck of that
moving, mountain ship, with her grunting and
shaking under our feet. We could feel all her
massive weight and power vibrating up through
that wooden plank deck of the flat bed car,
entering our legs and spines. . . It was thrilling!

I had not had time to think all this through,
"Now what?" I asked some what perplexed
"Reno Kid." Deitz yelled with a grin.  

We climbed atop a Box Car, our rail bound
ship crawled out of the upper pass and we
started to descend towards Donner Lake far
below.

Looking behind and ahead it was hard to
understand how they had cut those tracks
out of solid granite rock and how the rails
maintained their frail finger tip grip on the
sheer mountain side.

We ducked nearly flat going through the snow
tunnels, the clearance was tight and it seemed
that a guy could lose his head. The diesel thick
air made us cover mouth and nose with our shirts.
Two tunnels in we noticed our faces getting
smoke blackened. We laughed at the joke.
Soot faced on a boxcar in a tunnel of wood.
Two city kids playing Hobo.

We reached the lower valley, passed the place
where the Donner Party met their grisly end.

Truckee was next and the highway grew close.
We got back down onto the flat car, hunkered
down by machine cargo, more or less out of sight.

I thought of all the down on their luck men that
had ridden those rails, not on a some lark. That
whole Grapes Of Wrath, Woody Guthrie period
of no joke, for real ****. Pushed by poverty and hope.

I must admit at that moment, I felt more alive than
at any other time in my life. I felt grown up, like a man.
Until my belly began to rumble, the speed increased
and the wind began to chill. The Click Clacks of the
wheels quickened and grew irritatingly redundant.
The loud wailing of the engine horn no longer exciting.
Now only hurt my ears.

It was dark by the time we hit Reno, we jumped off
before the train yard. Walked into town with its
bright lights calling the casino gamers to unholy service
and nightly prayer. Proceeded over by hard-bitten
dealers in communal black, with cigarettes dangling
from their unsmiling lips, possessing the empty
dead eyes of the badly used up and down-trodden.
Through the ***** windows, the people there seemed
to possess no joy in their sluggish endeavors.
Both players and dealers all losers, merely Automatons
of those despairing games of chance.

Reno was still rough-hewn in those days, a hard
scrabble place full of cigarette smoke, ******,
card tables, slot machines and not much else.
It seemed to reek of lonely desperation.

Having seen our soot ***** faces in the
window reflection, we washed up in the
cold river that runs through town.

We walked around, ate hot dogs,
Downed a Doctor Pepper.
"Now what Deitz?"
"**** I don't know kid,
first time I ever did anything like this."

"What?" My world collapsed right then,
I thought he was much more than
he turned out to be. Maybe everyone is.
I even started to get a little scared.
No money, no place to stay and apparently,
like most of the denizens there, **** out ah'
luck. I'd never felt that way before, from
mountain high to valley low in two hours.
All that excitement turned to Dread.

We hitched a ride with a long haired
guy of questionable gender, who kept
staring at me in the rearview mirror.
West, to a Truck Stop on the edge of town.
Found a trucker willing to give us a lift
back up to the summit.  Jumped in his rig
happy to find, that his cab heater worked.

Badly judged our get out spot, searched
and stumbled around in the shadowy dark,
dim moonlight looking for that **** jeep,
all that friggin' night.

When the guy that ran the camp returned
and found us sleeping at half past two,
in the afternoon in our tent, to say the least,
He was not amused.

Need I say, I felt much older that next day
and a little wiser too.

psiór vs.
                        pśιór "debate".

every area of interests has its cul de sac,
its brick-wall, a dead-end as it were,
a point where transcendence is
welcomed, unavoidable,
but nonetheless: miserable stalled.

philosophers have the cartesian
   cogito ergo sum -
whatever arithmetic of wording
they produce, not even samson
could topple this pillar of foundation
for the temple of thought.

the same is with my example...
it would appear that the diacritical
**** ι with a floating head i
did not translate further, beyond
the same treatment of yot (j) -
(gee a jeep! yodh: serif (י) and
rashi (

yet by oath alone, hebrew orthography
invokes itself in letters...
unlike the post-roman orthography
of words...

                   ι    י      
                      Y         (    .    )
                      ي

                            ­        floating alongside
e...
         if only the greek sigma
   had the tetragrammaton of the arabic "ι" -
the initial σ (يـ‎) & the final ς (ـي) are
indeed there, but what of the isolated
(ي‎) & the medial (ـيـ‎) - unless of course
of course we treat to invoke the
upper-case: Σ - such as is missing in arabic,
and is only a question of: how much
the prolonged line?

p.s.

   why would i ever like the evolution
of gaming?
  well... teenage boy, "trapped",
by a video game,
what were my usual saturday mornings?
strapped to an PS1....
tenchu, metal gear solid...
       i am a gamer,
like most people are readers
on the *******...
      i'm here to play a game,
with indefinite time constraints,
as i am concerned about
  massaging my ****,
to ease my prostate concerns...
wankers.

          i'm still going to listen
to byzantine chants...
    because? modern gaming,
well, sure,
   it's, "free"...
but there are in-built
           payment processors...
additions, etc.,

   like me and my maine ****
cat,
      6 candles....
i know he wants to "escape"
via an open window,
but before he can "escape"
(i will let him put)...
he has to play a blinking
game with him,
i squirm, i close my eyes,
he does likewise...
  the candles are still lit...

but gaming has evolved...
"once upon a time"
you'd run into a games shop,
tongue waggling...
for the next big release...

      i know... i know...
war robots...
           that mobile game...
2 lame 2 blame...
that's my user name...
i haven't spent a dime / cent /
penny on this game...

what i do like,
is playing the game with
a...  ah! - - - - - - - - - -

but times have changed,
it was no longer about RPG games
akin to final fantasy VII,
and cheat books...

or playing Sims 3000 finding
the escape wormhole
of playing a Sim playing
a computer game: inside a computer
game...
            
when you bought a game for
$50 bucks...
and was never told:
it's "free"...
but then have to invest in
******* overpriced additions...

- - - - - - - - - handicap!
        i like war robots,
because?
       i like playing with a handicap!
the people who spend money?
mostly Koreans, Russians,
Kazakhs... H'americans,
Brazilians...
            you know,
what really evolved in gaming?
the chance to play in a non-NPC
environment...
   to play alongside live gamers...

that **** broke the ******* camels
****, sack, and *******...
last time i checked...
women were more into gaming
than the men were:
candy cwash saga...
   men fathomed gaming
via the narrative component...
but what of this additional
payments?!
in the good old days:
you paid 20 quid, you had your narrative...
now, "fwee"... but,
no wait... there are... additional
payments, you see?

i like playing a game,
handicapped...
in a free game environment...
when, your prized asset
is patience?
and all the rich arabs / russians
are spending money,

   and you, simply, wait...
and perfect your tactics?!
while they are buying up all
the "cheat codes"?
        sure... they'll serve the purpose
of staging 4000 battles...
you, eh... around 300+...
but their % rate?
      6... they have a 6% rate of success...
with 4000 or so battles...
while you?
           300+ battles?
roughly in the range of
60 - 50% success rate...
        gaming, has changed,
games were never "free",
as they are "free" now...
        
   hell, i'm not a gamer to be honest...
some people treat taking a ****
as the only time required to read
a book, i treat the same "timed" allowance
to play a game...

                 my mother is a gamer,
we've reached a moment in history where
women will play more mobile games
than ever boys would play,
video, narrative games...

          my mother is a gamer,
that's just eerie...
                   i have a second game
in tow....
   a blinking game with my maine ****
cat, surrounded by 6 candles...
oh he has the garden for the worth of
night...

but gaming has changed...
    i like the handicap dynamics of
war robots...
       like **** will i spend any money
on the game...
  i want to play against
the paying russians, chinese, arabs
and kazakhs....

          ******* - my favourite mode...
team work...
every single time i leave
my rogatka to jump and sprint
capturing beacons
when the battle is almost over...

thank **** i just bypassed
the evolution of PS1 into PS2 and PS3
and whatever else came...
     i missed about 10+ years of
gaming...
   and i hit the beehive jukebox...
of games without NPC characters...

i revised gaming at the right time,
when NPC disppeared,
completely,
and gaming became revised
by the internet live-event
game-membership.

Thank you Beauty Gurus for telling me that I can be beautiful inside and out

Thank you to the Gamers who show me that even if you get frustrated you have to keep going on

Thank you to the Vloggers who showed me that even when I'm depressed I can always count on them

Thank you to the Musicians who make beautiful music just to make me or themselves happy

Thank you to all the rest who spend hours just to make us happy

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well... i know how you love to be made expectant with psychological premature ******* of ideas, other than banking, banana tweaking ****** the bendy part? i was asking the ****... is that Croatian **** in Korean? elevator blues, diarrhoea... welcome a suburb of Saul and we'll have Bangkok for jokes... did she just squint her eyes at me? hard to tell... squinting in Asia is like killing Jews in German occupied Poland, December in Krakow, is that snow or Auschwitz ash? see how poor the joke is, even with English black humour? Monty Python seems more like Benny Hill right now - i too love kids, preferred their limbs on toothpicks with Kentucky glace dip sauce... but you said: cheap Romanian, so i said: alright ******, you go back to the construction site, we'll send the Irish concrete layers home, we'll send the polish plumbers and the roofers home, we'll send the german installers of glass home...  how many office worker in this country would like to work in the outdoors? **** me, given facebook, instagram and twitter, gucci and the new **** of the fashion industry, revisionist capitalism and solo brands... um... about...  none;
they won't exit Europe, they're not as evolved as the Swiss or the Norwegians, sure they have the 0, 0 coordinates of Darwin, a starting point, but that doesn't mean they're Swiss or Norwegian -
well sorry, but that's how it stands, i'll be happy to send
the Romanians and the Bulgarians and the Poles home... can we dismantle the Shard while we're at it? it's not supposed
to be here... i don't blame the Russians feeding a father-role for
Putin, the anonymity of western democracy just gets to me,
i get ****** over by anonymous poker players, gamers, prior to computers we had a different sort of gamers, call them retards,
call them nerds, they're one and the same; they think they read
novels having recited maxims of the plot to perfect Italian choir of
an operatic - it really doesn't matter, i'll just bunch-up together
a few ******* to build me a castle like in the old days,
and it'll just be a sweet sixteen William IV in the Encyclopaedic enclosure of former economic dynamics of who boxed,
who rapped, who played basketball, who sprinted against Adolf,
while the natives lost the plot in zoological enclosures
and the hybrids invented souls to counter such
enclosing.

one big tear in
the fabric of society,
the shut ins,
the outsiders,
the comic book geeks,
the gamers,
the carefree lovers,
the jokers,
they all want to fit in,
but why would you
want to be on the inside?
the biohazard *******,
and ken dolls aren't cool,
they're cruel.

Where I’m From
I am from wires,
from electricity and TV screens.
I am from the dust covering the console.
(Piled high, thick,
It made me sneeze)
I am from the Sega Genesis
the Nintendo
Who has long been forgotten
amongst the shiny new games.

I am from controllers and memory cards,
From Mario and Sonic.
I’m from the ******* gamers,
And the once-in-a-whiles,
From You win! And Game over!
I’m from Thou saveth the princess
With Donkey and Diddy
And 10 cheats I know by heart.

I’m from GameStop and Best Buy,
brand new plastic and overheating console.
From the controller thrown across the room
To the memories,
bonding brother and sister.

In my closet is a box,
filled with old games,
scratched up discs
that will never again work
I am from these games
created before I was born,
born from the tree of electronics.

Lennon told me Paul was strawberry
George reminded me love trumps lord
Overboard overcome overwrought
Flower child fishtailed dovelike all aboard
Come together
Get yourself together
Soldered together
Like joint dance banners painted to promote teenage ******* to youth
Tied us into our best days ahead of us
Chained to our ***** we swung like gamers
Untied to our integrity
Wrecking wreaking havoc
Ballooned on hubris
Hemorrhaging ego unlocked spewing spite
I respect good works deeds above good intentions
Road paved with broken glass
Don’t respect me when I’m gone
Tell the folks it’s OK to sing along
Let’s spend the night together
Talk all night in the altogether
Rather gather in clover and heather
Happy Ringo’s nest a featherbed
Laying lady laid cunning linguist
‘xplain to me in chiefly straight talk
Who questions whom?

he said it was lust
that took over his brain
he said he was sorry
for causing me pain
he said that hes done
and it wont happen again
he said this all last time
its just part of a game

How do you swindle the light?
This would be the greatest grift.
An ongoing experimental conn
where we all remember,
who the mark(s) is,
pretending, just in case,
behind the curtain,
sleight of hand,
behind the back,
if there is no wizard in the back seat,
just in case...you'll tell the kids:
'it was all for them.' So they could sleep.

Childhoods are just safe houses for hope.
In play roles come easy,
in assortments, and unpackages, separate;
but everyone knows the rules,
their part, they remember
that fairness is sacred to play.
Some games get played
and some gamers’ play is accidental.
The game like the carnival is vacuous,
inhaling all into its eye,
exhaling into its calm, swindles like a carney,
jettisoning all into the extinction of gratification.

The mystery lies in the conspiracy.
System can beat game, house, odds,
conn the conn and you can go home a winner.
The Universe is a big casino, you see.
And all you have to do is get up from the table,
cash in your chips, and figure out where your car is.
The house always wins, you’ll say.
But therein lies the reason we play.
Which you're sure to figure out in the lot,
cramped delineations garner thought,
you'll realize that therein lies nowhere.



The conspiracy lies in the abyss,

A place where villagers lose their cattle,
Costumed & uniformed, singing gray prayers.
Crop circles are diasporic clusters of hope.
Where science fiction invented the cold war,
Between ghosts created by radio waves.
A mass hallucination produced by trauma?
Dellusion v. Illusion
Nurturist v. Naturist v. Projection,
As long as it’s a weapon!
Destination unknown-
But just in case, let’s create something that can destroy us all.

Well I don't know if you saw me and passed on Coffee Meets Bagel a few days ago or not, but you look pretty adorable and sound interesting too, so I wanted to say hi either way! 4 weeks in Ireland sounds pretty great too - was that for work, or some other opportunity?

If you had to pick between only skiing or snowboarding for the rest of your life, which would you choose?

Hey! I do web work too...what do you do for the sports coverage website? No workaholism here haha, but I do work hard.

Where do you like to get ****** up on a Friday night?

Love the uggs on the one male stripper. Gotta get myself a pair.

Aww, you and your pup look like super good cuddle buddies. It's really hard to pick something to watch on Netflix...or Amazon Prime in my case. Watching anything good now?

What is there to get butthurt about on your profile really? Except for short guys, maybe. Oh, and gamers. I play games sometimes, but not excessively. What's the cooper tires thing you did?

6 pounds is tiny! What kind of dog is he, a yorkie or something?

Hey, hope you're having a good weekend. Kinda feels like a golf day today based on the way this last week has felt ha. Do you play a lot?

Hey, how are you liking the city and school so far? I went to an engineering school not too far away, you might have heard of it - ...

Sometimes it's hard to sum up our IT jobs in a few words, but nice job ha. A constant challenge and learning something new every day is what I like about mine!

A game is just a game
Many have said this, and I am one to blame
But for the gamer at heart, it means so much more
The ability to escape the reality from before
Going on an adventure or quest
Or battling over which strategy is best
Fighting by fellow gamers against an impossible foe
Being able to destroy or create wherever you go
Surviving an endless horde of undead
But this doesn't stop the lie that is said
For a game is not just a game
And if you saw one through my eyes, you would say the same

the day started off with a welcome,
watching a film, bell, book and candle,
starring kim novak and james stewart
(1956); i never got the hand of
idol worship of marilyn monroe,
kim novak and shirley maclaine
where my options, the favoured
hitchhock blonde mystified to only turn
into a pornstar... what a shame.*

the day as with with intro, then prior
to the 4th leg of manchaster united vs.
derby county f.c. (3 - 1)
i was peering into my old favourite
pastime, given that i'm bilingual
i'm terrible at crosswords, so i turn to
digits:
(all these tablet games tried to detract
******* gamers from the movie experience
of console games, return to basics,
it didn't really work, the film-like qualities
took over, and a loss of numb thumbs also,
reduced co-ordination pressed hard,
more cinematic qualities with modern games,
less 2d co-ordination,
or like in cinema itself: loss of profile dialogue
angles, loss of dialogue altogether,
but loss of the theatre angled perception
of two people arguing, loss of the profile:
every woman is beautiful when angled for a profile);
michael cain said: every man a casanova in
the bedroom for egoism's sake, his wife tells
him otherswise, which is understood given
a woman's pleasure in partaking in the act
is so limited without third party associates:
like men crying all the true tears
and women crying all the false ones:
a feminism that states a sexism:
men cry all the false tears unless concerning beauty,
women cry all the false tears unless concerning truth,
to their sexist advantage of being "the weaker ***;"
a rare misogyny emerges -
but here's a three tier completion for the poem:

a. mild                it started off with (zeros represent blank
                            spaces)

8    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    3
5    0    9    0    0    0    8    0    1
0    6    0    8    0    9    0    7    0
0    4    0    3    0    8    0    1    0
9    0    6    4    0    5    3    0    8
0    5    0    1    0    6    0    4    0
0    9    0    5    0    7    0    8    0
2    0    5    0    0    0    1    0    6
1    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    7

and ended with

8    2    7    6    5    1    4    9    3
5    3    9    7    4    2    8    6    1
4    6    1    8    3    9    5    7    2
7    4    2    3    9    8    6    1    5
9    1    6    4    7    5    3    2    8
3    5    8    1    2    6    7    4    9
6    9    3    5    1    7    2    8    4
2    7    5    9    8    4    1    3    6
1    8    4    2    6    3    9    5    7

these are the japanese "magic" squares,
that would employ a thousand rabbis
to stumble into a pharaoh's pride of architecture,
the entertainment evaluation means
there's no ambiguity, no meditation,
it's all logic processes to solve,
the original hebrew magic square are unsolvable,
given no guarantee on what resembles 1 and 9
with a and z... it takes a great deal of thoughtless
procrastination to enter a hebrew magic square,
but a bit of linear arithmetic to enter
a japanese "magic square".
this su doku is time-pleasing, all the other
kabbalistic things in terms of square are
not for me, quantum physics to me
and i'm too simple understanding squares
with newtonian physics.

b. difficult

7    0    0    0    8    0    6    5    0
0    5    0    0    0    0    0    0    0
4    0    0    0    0    2    0    0    1
5    9    4    0    3    0    0    6    0
0    0    0    0    4    0    0    0    5
1    3    8    0    7    0    0    9    0
6    0    0    1    0    3    0    0    9
0    1    0    0    0    0    0    0    0
8    0    0    0    5    0    1    3    0

7    2    1    9    8    4    6    5    3
9    5    6                                  8
4    8    3    ­                              1
5                                              7
2      ­                4                      5
1                       ­                       4
6                                       ­       9
3                                              6
8    7 ­   9    4    5    6    1    3   *hell's bells!

Lest the gamers forget the petals doused with blood,
Slayers bequeath their chine.
The guidance of wisdom is deemed for crud,
The sparkle of existence lay bare on the line.
Mockingbirds lost their techniques,
Before dipping their feathers in grizzling red.
Their sentiments shut along their broken beaks,
Symphonies out of tune,
Recorded grünes are that of the dead.
Long lasted the gloom of winter,
As if protected by a permanent warrant.
The only bids are that of a sprinter,
Losing his soul for a bribe, or the steams of the first torrent
How loathsome becometh the living, in a world rotten and vile,
Even I don't guarantee forgiving
For that, I'll set my sail and be gone for a while

it always comes out of america, it really does!
  you start listening to these guys
in the 21st century talking about psychedelic
"pioneers" from the 20th century...
- hey man! like take this l.s.d.
- n'ah man! d.m.t.! 15min of fab!
- magic mushrooms!
               to be honest, i wouldn't do that -
i don't know why i wouldn't...
       maybe because it's no longer a secret?
carlos casteneda's anthropological study
of a yaqui shaman, don juan -
and don juan says: keep it to yourself!
but no... the americans in the 20th century
had to write poetry... shout the mystic experience
from the rooftops!
and i'm like: well... that's ruined, what's the point
of doing these eywa roots?
              eywa? the avatar planet goddess...
i'd love to have tried those things,
but these fungi have been contaminated by
other people's experiences, which they noted down...
is it really that bad? someone might ask...
                                               yes!
it's a bit like disrespecting other people's privacy,
the term privacy? should anyone attempt it...
          you can easily create junkies that way...
i was watching this video once...
  this american girl went in search of ayahuasca
in south america...
   she posted regular videos...
                             after a few videos, and she's
back home in america...
                   she's no longer eating / smoking it...
whatever... she's injecting it...
             move it back to europe...
                                    well, compared to you
"cool kids" in america... (apart from the dutch)...
  we're still going: give us enough *****
and a good song, some tobacco and we tell you
of mysticism of another kind: the type you see
with your naked eyes.
            i can't remember how many times
i had mystical(?) experiences drinking and listening
to music... usually nordic, but also germanic
music... ok even some slavic music...
                               english music?
                          you trying to bribe with candy
and a heart-numbing anesthetic?
                    you think i'd emotionally get-off
on english music? some henry the 8th greensleeves
suite?                        but, it's, only, alcohol...
   i'll mystify alcohol for you... end up feeling
so much that you have to burst into tears
    without any "enlightening" images,
geometric geriatrics...
                                i base everything on sounds,
**** the images, if there's a heaven i want to be
sitting next to homer, blind as a bat, as he ended
up being.
                  you want to know a mystical
experience from europe?
  well... yesterday i woke up with this unforgiving
pain in my neck, like i might have popped a ******
and it got stuck in my neck...
                 i blame the builders making a racket
too early in the morning...
                      so last night i was like: that's it! i've had
enough! **** this *** is good...
      so first it was 70cl of capn' morgan's white ***,
not bad, not bad at all...
              and then onto the pièce de résistance
   capn' morgan's original spiced gold -
                    making up about a litre of ***: in m'ah belly...
i'll be doing an apache yawn in a minute:
   ap ap pa pa pa - lazy onomatopoeia, i know:
i can't be bothered exacting that battle cry...
      but the zenith of this mystical experience came
after i butchered some food (ate it like a ravenous
wolf) - but i said to myself: not tomorrow!
   i'm not going to lie in bed with a neck-ache
like i might have popped a ****** and it got stuck
in my neck (austin powers' ref. third movie?) -
   and lo! behold... i woke up today chirpy like
a sparrow... chirp chirp! chirp chirp!
                                   and did the oddest thing
imaginable... i watched a "movie" -
                      watched batman: arkham city...
the walkthrough... up to chapter 20...
                                  now i see the funny side of professional
gamers... i can sorta start to build up a respect
for them now, before today i thought they
were a joke...
                               it felt like: the opposite of an audiobook?
in my life i might have listened to about 10minutes
of 1 audiobook... couldn't stomach it...
       but these game walkthroughs? now that's an
area i'm really going to discover after today -
they're practically movies (games these days) anyway -
   i remember times when playing games
meant you had sore fingers... like the first
time you pick up the guitar and one of your arms
starts aching because your fingers are getting
fried on the copper strings...
                           for some reason i can't imagine
myself playing a game like the one i ref. -
                     i prefer the game of hacking google...
but yeah... these games are great to watch,
but actually play them?
                        i'd rather shoot myself in the foot
before i start playing them...
    so yeah, the zenith of yesterday's mystical
experience...
    a. about a litre of *** (white and amber)
        b. 25mg of amitriptyline
   and crucially    
                                    c. 500mg of naproxen.
and this is for you, *******, having ruined
       the potential of having a psychedelic experience!
i didn't want to know... but thanks for telling me...
    **** yourselves, 20th century buggers
                                      and your poetic buggery.

by Kim Addonizio

I have been one acquainted with the spatula,
the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula

that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate,
acquainted with the ******* known as the Pocket Rocket

and the ***** that goes by Tex,
and I have gone out, a drunken *****,

in order to ruin
what love I was given,

and also I have measured out
my life in little pills—Zoloft,

Restoril, Celexa,
Xanax.

I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty
to know wherein lies the beauty

of this degraded body,
or maybe

it's the degradation in the beautiful body,
the ugly me

groping back to my desk to ****
on perfection, to lay my kiss

of mortal confusion
upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.

My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says
America is charged with the madness

of God. Sundays, too,
the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-

black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea.
Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—

Why does one month have to be the cruelest,
can't they all be equally cruel? I have seen the best

gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through
the sewage-filled streets. Whose

world this is I think I know.

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Five of us sit together
Four are boys
Three are gamers
Two are sick
One is me

the world is so stiff bored; i'm losing hope in writing an Elvis Costello song... jut can't be bothered to feed jealousy, it's s exhausting, i can make racist jokes with my father and my mother like they did to us... who gives a ****, Western society already told me ii had an incubator of hate in me that needed repression, even though i wasn't part of a colonial escapade... nonetheless, white skin = psychiatric evaluation.... what a load of *******...*

happy?
            i said: are you happy?!
no, i bet you aren't, in a supermarket
isle, daydreaming while playing
dungeons and dragons trying to escape,
gamers ahoy, a ******* ***-rubric
of the barrel tilting for a refill -
my misogyny? from experience...
they day western society overly
made sacrifices on the altar of psychology
like it were an Aztec pyramid...
god does not exist, but an un-destructible
unit of man does, hence we have to destroy that
for a completion of secularisation and ****
with psychology, or vice versus zoology,
the caged soul in body, the caged body in a barring,
left-wingers awoke the far-right...
i wrote a poem everyday... journalists wrote an article
in the print... every day...
the former was a waste of time, the latter a
bulletproof testament of a career...
poetry done at a leisurely pace isn't quiet
significant, Ezra's testament,
any art sidelined, after all all art is sidelined
to partake in big bangs while keeping up
the cashier's suggestion of busy...
i mean, i can see the point of perpetually creating,
but even if god, i see a plateau, a stasis,
an ontological bias... through to origin
a quick sentencing of the nature of activity...
every criticism of western society i endorse with
full approval, given the fact that when
receiving a brain haemorrhage i was treated
as a schizophrenic... treated with anti-psychotics
******* my bed... i wasn't even in prison...
i was in society! well, "society"...
civilisation... i just can't be bothered no longer...
it's pointless, idiocy pays supreme allowances,
it's just ******* painful to have to act out a lie
when it's not necessary...
at least the Holocaust culprits had insignia,
and trials at Nuremberg - i just heard laughs and
'oh yeah, Mad Matt, ******* cuckoo he he!',
i don't have sympathy - i don't have empathy,
you contract cancer? die from cancer;
why would you expect me to feed a human dynamic
if i wasn't fed a human dynamic?
you laugh at me, i'll pick up a ******* shovel
and dig you a grave!

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