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Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.    like cardinal Leto remarked, having received news from Versailles... why is it always the ******* French?

perhaps in a less crude manner,
drinking wine,
while eating raw fruits -

  always a bad combination...
no *****, no meat?
   bad idea... wine, and raw fruit
akin to strawberries?
    irritable bowel movements...

- and that's because Einstein
didn't discover the concept of
gravity, in the format of: sideways?
in the form of orbits?
   expansive waves...
   that allowed for the elliptical interpretation?
like the old
              argument:
      (heliocentric) oval...
             contra the (geocentric) circular
"concern" for...
   whatever is up / down
            sideways in
      the Copernican terminology...
because there was ever a "shape"
concerning the universe,
  and not a medium,
            an extraction for the metaphor
for water,
   gas, liquid, solid...
              and the fourth aspect
of ancient elements:
   its existence in a vacuous "space"?

- but i can't fathom the French at this point...
once upon a time...
one Frenchman equated the motivation
for a "summa summarum"
    to be bound with a thinking,
and a curiosity...

            the current fashion of Latin
abbreviations...
   this... cogito ergo sum?
   it's nonsense...
    speak it long enough...
   and you'll find yourself inclined
to suppose that cogitans per se:
is a motivation, an impetus to exist...
yet... so much of thought it "wasted"
or, rather, to craft an impetus to
"doubt", within the confines of fiction...
but the motivation has lost its
origin within the confines of doubt,
and has been replaced by
the Freudian unconscious,
   a serialized phobia fest... notably
including a, clown...

originally, thought (per se) was
a secondary motivational outlet
that precipitated into being...
    first came... doubt...
   but... these days?
               doubt is a conspiracy theory,
no longer an emotional thrill
to prop-up thinking...
   and we have the French existentialists
to thank for this...
for they subverted their own
idea...

             negation has replaced doubt
as the origin, and motivation
for thinking...
        yet... this sort of "thinking",
has made, its materialization, so, so...
obscene...
    i can hardly find it surprising while
i took to propping two worthwhile
economic outlets...
   prostitution (since they will spend
the money i give them...
on things... i wouldn't even care
for propping up)...

    and... alcohol (scotch whiskey,
russian standard *****...
    shveedish cider...
                     german beer)...

but how can you even claim an existence,
if...
       there is no thrill...
of what is the secular expression of faith:
i.e. doubt?
  how can you replace doubt -
a motivation for thinking, materialized
into being... with negation?
  jean-paul Sartre attempted this inversion -

doubt has been replaced with negation
in his system...
             it's like that cliche of an English
1960s ***-joke / ***-like...
       this... frivolity over a blatant lie...
a lie so... bogus...
    so ineffectual in translating a hidden truth
that... you allow it...
   to care for the cheap comic aspect
of the execution...

but how can the French suddenly
feign to disbelieve their secularism -
   resorting to the antithesis,
namely:

  original

  doubt motivates thinking,
  which subsequently motivates
   being within the confines of reason,
or rather, reasonableness...

20th century existentialists

negation "motifs" thinking,
   which subsequently motifs
"being" within the freedom of non-reason,
or rather, unreasonableness...

   and by negation,
   i don't mean the atomic conceived softening
blow...
   akin to: dis-ease...
    i.e. (as i explained it to one old man
in a park, walking his dog):
  a negation, or ease... a denial of...

how can the Cartesian model work,
when the 20th century French existentialists
began with the presupposition:

   i deny, i think, therefore i exist?
where is the original thrill of
the secular aspect of faith, within the boundaries
of doubt?
              gone... vanished!
****! a **** on the London tube,
during the rush hour,
  during the heatwave
                of the past month!

                   perhaps this only comes
as a method of assimilating an increased population,
within the confines of the Taoist maxim:
the best way to aid the world,
is to forget the world, and let the world
forget about you...

             perhaps... the Andy Warhol 15 minutes
analogy...
      that in order to encompass the individual,
the world, and the individual within it...
   the approach had to change
from the original, exciting, exploration
genesis of thought, bound to the genesis
of doubt...
             having to be replaced by
a genesis of denial...
      the second tier of a secular society...
    the zeitgeist of Herr Censor...
to filter through what we see so often,
faces, bodies...
  but would be much more comfortable
having been bound to Plato's cave,
         of complete shadow theater...

perhaps... but the original tier of
secular societies' alternative to church prescribed
articles of faith...
                     to have replaced
the thrill of doubt...
      with this... Byzantine pillar of denial
as motivational groundwork for
thinking impetus
   that becomes an article of being?
am i the only one to see the frustration,
how, people abhor their being,
being founded upon an act of denial,
rather than an act of doubt?

     the once thrilling maybe (gnostic):
   has become the stale, "i don't know"
    (agnostic) - as if... people can't tell you
whether zebras have stripes!
   where there was once an article
of secular faith (doubt) -
   now?
                        there's not even that!

p.s.
  there has to be a much needed new mantra,
all publicity: is bad publicity -
unless of course you're riding that
fame juggernaut and are paying
for your all-inclusive status akin
   to madonna: since fame dies off
and you, none-the-less invest in the momentum...

one day where i drink a bottle of wine,
half a liter of whiskey,
   and i'm apparently not "screaming" in
my sleep from the heat,
the whole, "apparently", as i retorted:
at 5:15am? i was alseep! i was asleep!
how can i stop screaming in my sleep
like a banshee:
the sleeper and the blind man both see
eye to eye regarding the future to come...

one day without engaging in internet
content: of my own accord,
next day? this... this... lethargy builds
up in me... i end up thinking:
i can't do this any more,
this insomnia culture globalism of
24h news reels is tirying me,
i pick up the sunday newspaper
which i found to be respecteable...
the sunday times,
  i peer into the magazines...
toxic masculinity,
    desire: what three women want...
i'm bored...
well more tired than bored,
bored-tired...
                 what women want:
what an exhausting question...
**** fantasy, beta-male provideer...
yada-yada-yada...
                    
    the only relaxing aspect of the day
(apart from the shade) is watching
england beat india in the cricket...
i always loved cricket sport terminology:
50 overs... innings...
wickets... 6 throws of the ball in an over...
the rest? i'm no atlas...
i don't like the world crashing in on
me with all its problems...
not because i don't have the right
advice to give,
but i remember the most modern secular
motto about giving advice borrowed
from Athos of the creation of alexandre dumas:

the best advice? to not give advice...
you cannot be held accountable
for giving bad advice: and people complaining,
or good advice and leaving
people in your sphere of influence...
asking for more - non verbatim... of course...

second categorical imperative?
tao...
              the best way you can help
the world: is to forget the world,
and let the world forget you...

                        you only need two absolute
maxim vectors to orientate yourself
in this world,
a third is nice, but: it can be kept loose...
at least two on a tight leash...

but one night spent drinking,
not writing anything:
and i am... spent!

                            the boogieman of england's
persistent complaints...
the muslims are not integrating,
the english: we should give them more
ground...
           o.k., o.k.... joe peshi in the role
leo getz in lethal weapon II...
            i too had to integrate!
i said: like **** if you think i'll give up
my native tongue when spoken in private...
you're not getting it...
i'll spreschen ihre zunge, no problem,
i'll even write you pwetty free verses to boot!
but, guess what?
  i will not force you to eat my
sauerkraut, my schnitzels,
                           my smoked sausages,
my raw herrings etc.,
                      integration does not work
within the confines of: pampering to a people
expected to meet you half-way...
what happened when the polonaise attempted
to meet the english half-way?
brexit...
oh come on guv'... is there a ******* tram
echoing its way out of my eye
when you peer into it while i attach
an index finger to the bottom lid to give
you a clearer picture?
           25 years in england: no englush girlfriend:
i guess all the english girls just love, just love love
being ***** by 9 pakistanis
daubed in gasoline...
                   hey: they **** thrill...

i'm tired of the weakness of the english,
the humpty-dumpty nature they are imposing,
self-cencorship,
    appeasing, like neville chamberlain...
bringing back the munich agreement...
not on a piece of paper,
instead... waving a scrap of a toilet roll...
so the english could wipe their own *****
on the promises of the germans...
if this really hurts the northern monkies...
guess how much it hurts the sourthern fairies...
(well... fairy, is a designated region surrounding
devon, bristol, hardly a ******* fairy in essex)...

   why am i foreigner and i share
the same nausea of the natives,
                     exhausted by the narratives?
i guess the english didn't like the polonaise:
but the polonaise are to blame...
came here with a list of benefits they could claim:
without having even lived 5 years among
the natives... housing benefits, child benefits...
believe me: the polonaise are the only
people in the world that hate each other...
to the extent of citing bitter criticisms...
whenever i pass through warsaw to see my grandparents
i am gripped with a sickness:
this homogeneity is too much for me...
shove me back into the east end of London...
too much of the same genetic material...
and that's when the language i am keeping
(seemingly for vanity reasons) fizzles out
into your basic encounter and that basic reminder
that circa 40 million speak it too,
better or worse, but they speak it...

of all the festivals? download...
                                   i wish...
    glastonbury?       not my thing...
kylie? i'll concede: slow? live, with instruments,
rather than the studio original...
wasn't that a cover of
   bowie's fashion?
                  sure as hell sounded similar...
but i heard the cure were playing...
so while writing my father's invoice
i made myself a paperclip bracelet...
   i figured... "let's just pretend to be there"...
and no, the 1980s weren't that bad when
it comes to music,
not now, by comparison...
the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me (1987)
release?
one of those rare albums you can
listen to akin to reading a book...

                       but there's still that persisting
exhaustion... i came from under communism,
from under the iron curtain,
but at least there was the economic aspect
of communism involved...

   only today i watched the story
of the terrible inversion of english jursprudence,
i.e.: guilty until proven innocent...
the 1975 case of the silesian vampire...
an innocent man was hanged...
the original vampire?
    smashed his wive's head in,
then his childrens', then he set himself
on fire...
              then again: the tragedy of those
rare cases of being presumed guilty
rather than innocent...
then the reverse: presumed innocent rather
than guilty and getting away with it,
through the parody of death
and the non existent god...

   there could not be anything more exhausting
than communism without a communist
economic model...
this current state of affairs in the west:
cultural marxism and the yet to be discovered
antithesis of cultural darwinism...

i'll use the cartesian chirality for a moment:
sum ergo cogito...
i don't like using political terms...
but... liberal (classical) - i don't even know
what sort of thinking goes into the label -
in the east? the liberals are exhausted
by a resurgent nationalism within
   the newly acquired capitalist system...
in the west? the liberals are exhausted
by an insurgent communism within
an ageing capitalist system...

         on a side: seriously, why even bother
engaging in any sort of "public intellectual"
debates when the public are only
discussing two books: 1984 and brave new world...
**** it, might as well talk to a camel jockey
who only own and rides the waves of
time in this world only using one...
muhammad...
   whom Khadija **** Khuwaylid
would probably whip into his young
respectable shape...

                  and this is how Ezra Pound comes
into rememberance:
usura... at least the muslims do not
play into the game of usury:
of interest... borrow a quid,
pay back £2.33...
            that's the only way you can
gain respect of the muslims:
if they truly were the money lenders
of this world: which they aren't...
unless a newly blessed...

   among the philistines and the proselytes...
england is such a tiresome project,
even on the outskirts of London...
i'm being dragged down by this intervention
of marxism: on a whim,
on a whimsical projection...
of "adding" values...
            
           communism would have worked...
in exceptional circumstances...
poland... circa 1945 - 1990...
syria: the current year...
  to whatever year is demanded...
exceptional as in: war torn...
where was the marshall plan
   for poland, when there was one
for sweden (neutral) and switzerland
(also neutral)?!
        black youths bothered about
the summer holidays,
having to live in council flats,
  concrete goliaths...
           want to know what it feels like
when entire cities are like council
estates,
with only pockets of remaining
   free-standing houses among
overshadowing council flats?
                                    nee bother...
sure... in a country where:
the house is the castle and there's a labyrinth
of castles constituting outer suburbia...
balconies... that's what the soviet
models had... balconies...
where women could grow flowers...
concrete staccato gardens in the sky...
the blocks of flats in england
didn't have balconies (sky gardens,
          esp. the early ones, massive fault)...
i spent one summer reading
bertnard russell's history of western philosophy...
lying in my grandparent's balcony,
in the shade...
watching passerbys among
          the barking dogs of the neighbours...

one day, one ******* day!
   and i'm already exhausted from the castrato
english narrative...
pandering to the people you expected
to integrate...
  no! you're not changing your standards...
your standards are perfectly reasonable!
i'm tired of the english pandering
to the sort of people who, will, not,
integrate!
               i integrated in a way
of respecting both the english culture,
as well as hiding / preserving my own...
why don't i just do the following:
   pisać po polsku?
                      like some czesław miłosz?

ah... good point... at what point
is the standard of integration appreciated?
when nothing is preserved?
surely integration is supposed to
accommodate some variation
of preservation?
     i might add: that's a fine line...
preserve all? no integration...
preserve some? integration...
                    preserve none? no integration...
food is a cheap target to example
with...
                   it's a low hanging fruit...
given that even i find indian cuisine
   the most superior in the world...
food is a cheap target concerning integration...
but the niqab?
  when the local english authorities
are employing face-recognition
technology and when testing it...
are forcing people to uncover their faces,
subsequently arresting them out of protest...
but not the women wearing the niqab...
out of? out of what?
   a secular society shouldn't be allowed
to discriminate against any religion...
it should discriminate against: all religions!

                isn't that what the secular ideology
is all about? the... softcore version
of soviet atheism?
        secularism of the west (miltary-industrial
complex)...
"vs." soviet atheism of the east
  (scientific-industrial complex)...
           i'm still so ******* tired
               of this bogus trap of "necessary"
                       commentary.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
finding gravity on a bicycle...

surely... given that most people
don't write a ******* hemmingway...
and there's no william buckley jr.
doing the interview...
and there's no norman mailer...

and that: no one really bothers
with kierkegaard and that:
kant "famously" didn't marry starry crap...
why didn't i have kids
and start a family?
uh... dunno... mother's best lie...
or the best lie a neighbour brings
with her... whenever you're
being a 2nd witness without
the 1st witness being there...

and she says an "also" with regards
to her son having the same luck
with women...
when the comparison comes:
a koala bear versus a gorilla...
bonsai tiger!
like a koala is a ******* bear
to begin with...
cuddly soft-pouch toy-ah-thing!

but there's that great feat!
finding gravity on a bicycle...
my mother helped me with that...
and that famous fail of
a rotondo... well... more or less
a cricket ground egg shaped, oval...
or a rugby ball...
the shoulder on the salto bike
hard... rammed into a car....

as a child you were supposedly well
loved...
and this is modern poo'etry i hear about?
here's to: john sounding like johny...
will sounding like *****...
richard sounding like: **** and not richy...
it's cute... matthew... matti: finnish...
leonard is: leo oh leo...
why art we all not named: Li Lo Po!

of course everyone managed to spot
the tetragrammaton vowel catchers that's
hey'zeus! no... not the bloke strapped
to the mannequin of tailoring...
oh no... not the crucifix pendulum
"for us all"... by blood... by cross...
who is to exfoliate on the crucifix...
better than some well scouted for materials
on a mannequin canvas for tailoring
a suit?
the guilt?! oh the guilt!
well... thank god this metaphysician would
never address the material realm of
enjoying a... dabble with... wool...
when donning a suit...
or leather shoes... or any presence of suede...
beside the crucifix mannequin: replica
and pittance!

- but finding gravity on a bicycle is one thing...
finding gravity when swimming is another...
it's called gravity...
but some heretical circles call it:
balance...
after all... it is both gravity...
and balance... given that while riding
a bike... or swimming...
you're pretty much sure, assured:
to not be falling...

you can find gravity with newtonian hindsight...
of sure...
that's there... it involves the magicians orbs...
copernican mathematics and...
target practice when it comes to
propaganda spew...
and Steward... the lesser... Stew...
cousin of the house of Stuart...
not Steward... Stuart...
which is (again)...
a McKiteit and MacCoddlewit...
some Glaswegian *****-donor clinic
"miss-up" mix-it: tend to...
lounging busy... which is of course...
besides the "look"...

5 bazookas cleared for a salvo!
hip hip! burger-pound!
hip hip! boom shizzle shoom!
hip hip! hooray!
oh now we'z getz uz best
partay birth doy wishy-washy
"protagonists"!

but given the current Persian affair...
i couldn't help to notice...
love actually... the narrative...
the u.s.a. and england...
the Z-spezial re-la-tion-ship...

so... who's spastic... and who's fantastic?!
spaz: B-bristolian-esque joking...
never aside...
who's the spaz and who's the frizzy-fuss?!

spe-zial mother russia talks down
to dog Kiev: yes, it's in (the) Ukraine...
spezial iz not what iz?

h'america... kept a yorkshire terrier...
media leetches of england
firmly in its grasp...
cuz onez we woz: once -
the militia contra the crown...
of north virginia...

coz b'rah: a 79-year-old man
who lit himself on fire protesting
against russia's language policies
in the capital of the volga region
of udmurtia has died;
name? alberto raisin...
which sounds terrible in its
non-native spanish...

but there's something worth of gravity
without debating
the heliocentric model...
finding one's balance on a bicycle...
a posteriori events...
but... the same balance can be
translated into a swimming session...

my god my father tried to teach me...
if i was supposed to learn
to swim in the sea...
with the fear: of not seeing the depth?
isn't that like a thesaurus
congestion of: acrophobia?
isn't there a word in the borrowed
lexicon of the ancient greeks...
concerning... fearing to swim in a body
of water... where you can't see the bottom?
i could learn to swim in a swimming
pool... thankfuly all because and due to...
moi...

i also found gravity in water...
i could... lie in water and become...
the antithesis of: the body consists
of 90% of water...
yes sherlock watson & sons... ltd...
but in water i'm mostly fat...
if i find the right balance...
i float...
which is why swimming is a bit
like riding a bicycle...
you find: the center...
or gravity...

again... in this special "relationship"
of bruv-love...
between h'america and whittle brit-pop interlude...
oasis on the continent...
my my... blur, even...
breakfast at tiffany's back in the dough-dough-us...
who is the ******* SPASTIC?
in this "SPEZIAL" relationship?
i guess the english must be the SPEZIALS...

a bit like watching:
go-go-gonzales trip up on a spelling mistake...
which is all i care for...
like a comedia...
a deviation from the informal, later,
subject of language implementation...
and all this peacocking prior...

where else does gravity allow itself...
a presence of the multi-vector?
up and down... left and right...
it's not as easily explained as:
on a ledge... with an apple...
drop it... newton with a header!
a 1-all equalizer in stoppage time
an F.A. cup re-match!

gravity on a bicycle...
it's hardly a drop affair...
gravity in water...
it's hardly merely swimming...
there's that aspect of finding... buoyancy...
there's not need for you to swim...
to exhert so much effort...
that you might as well drown 10 meters
in after swimming the 'undred...

no buoyancy: no chinese fortune cookies...
i still don't know which is more grand...
beside the acrobatics of... olympic level
acrobatics...

it's not bound to youth via lifting weights...
or supreme mao tse tung's winter olympics
of: hunger strikes in Vinter...
the gravity bound to a bicycle...
or the gravity bound to swimming...
after all... the latter is a bit "funny"...

"levitation" and buoyancy...
the dracula soundtrack:
only because of gary oldman and the composer
wojciech kilar... and the given, current...
b.b.c. spin-off and how...
yes... it's that terrible...
i don't even know where those five-stars
came from!
the archetype of feminine romance novels?
the syphilitic lover? the "vampire"?

yes, no? two guesses as good as: nein - keiner...
and, quiet honestly...
nothing could make this exercise in:
not engaging in any of all the available
comments sections on any website...
any worse... than it already is...

it comes as no surprise that: i write this poo'ems
not because i don't write poetry...
but because i will neither write
a poem by standards reserved for
pedagogy or demagogy...
or write identifiable puzzle-bog-trots of...
language reserved for politicization:
and not for... counter-marxist...
"psychiatric" post-...
hardly modern or... "today's journalism"...
eh... pushing it toward a Beckett-clause...
concerning language that is not expected...
oh but i certainly do know
a difference between formal language
and... this... the informal language...
the cognitive extension that does not
require a "free speech" protection bias...

none of this was spoken...
it was seen...
weaved into "thinking"...
that's the difference... isn't it?
from my end of the tenniscourt "promenade"
i've heard nothing but clickick...
off this dead-end replica piano
of a qwer
asdf
zxcvbnm

unless my shadow spoke... or there was some
telepathic connection
with the schizoid "group-think" of me
sourcing my sometime odd...
cognitive-murmors of "thought"...
"hallucinations"...
so be it...

this defence of a freedom of speech...
how does that even extend into writing?
i will never know...
and to be honest? i don't want to know...
writing is an extension of thinking...
which is also an inversion of speaking...
but it's never speaking...
where's the audio on this piece?!

how about... plucking your eyes out,
after fating yourself with the
original curiosity to begin with?
sounds better: than... what still persists as...
not being, said!

this was written, it wasn't said...
this is not a transcript...
this is not a transcript...
if this is censored...
then my... "schizophrenia" is not even
my original thesis of: bogus
mono-lingual parody of bilingualism...
no need to cite **** sapiens
jurisprudence advocates...
lawyers... the thesaurus bargain barons etc.
this is... what's those words they use?
invasion of the tabernacle?
do my "auditory hallucinations" stem from...
these words...
a private investement in internet access...
again: nothing is being said!
because this is a "public arena"...
a "forum"...
and the eyes on the other side of this text...
are c.c.t.v. eyes?!
not private eyes?

what's the point of freedom of speech?
when the freedom to think:
and subsequently write... is bombarded
by being who: see via reading braille...
and read... comments likes dislikes and all
those other ratios?

writing is an extension of a freedom
to think... most people who speak freely
don't speak via a precursor script...
that's not free speech: that's scripted speech!
and just because it happens be placed
in a public "forum"...
that's the argument that this writing
is a freedom of "speech"?!
really?! i guess your average u.s. citizen
is more despotic than the *******
president... then...

again.. blah blah blah blah blah...
blah blah.... blah blah blah blah blah...
blah... blah blah... blah blah blah blah blah blah...

you'd sooner convince a parrot to sing
you a song in sparrow than call this "debate"...
evenly focused on one or neither side "winning".
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
i could be an alcoholic is i simply drank...
fair enough, completely docile and
   enslaved by an addiction,
but the mere fact that i utilise this potion
for ulterior purposes says something
other than merely the fact that i drink.

we live in a world where half of the world's
believers are enforcing a monotheism,
and where half the world doesn't understand
that it has, sort of lost touch with
the prefix *mono
...
                                  i can understand both
sides of the story, and both are rooted in
a globalisation agenda... a unification
that's a supposition with the already established
presupposition of: two worlds colliding
and an alien invasion akin to the meteor
and the dinosaurs, which we thankfully
reinvented with the atom bomb... ****!
i feel like that talking Gremlin in part deux
that gets to do the news anchor post...
it's a self-conscious moment within that
trans-whatever feat of realising something...
ok ok (Leo Getz), you cut your nibbly parts off
i get to wear a leather-gimp suit and talk
a load of *******, how's that?
Islam is not only practising the fledgling
model of monotheism, but given it borrowed
the omni model for a deity, it's stating that
even the Chinese need to speak Arabic:
monotheism within omni parameters translates
as omni-phonos (we all speak the same
language)... the English tug-warfare to implement
this has seen the Arabic retaliation...
my solution: poverty stricken Marx would also
had said this (not that i'm alluding to anything
economically restricted): i've got whiskey
and trance massaging my ear-drums, what the hell!
    i can only see one alternative to the current
zeitgeist distaste to Islamic monotheism / mono-phoneticism...
  the optic-phoneticism is too archaic for Europeans,
they need a lot of wheels, cartwheels and voids
to located like a feline behaviour within undisturbed
autistic kindrence: better left undisturbed
less it be found in a third ***** darting motion -
given that Islam is both a monotheistic model
            and a mono-linguistic model (linguistics:
where optics and sounds collide) you will
find the old monotheistic guardians bewildered
where they're going wrong... the fact being:
a Jew might tell you that some people haven't
integrated properly (the rebel news outlet):
it really doesn't matter what language you speak
at home, as long as you speak the correct language
at a supermarket... to actually force people to speak
the native language at home is ******* tiresome...
this is the next generation of migrants,
the generation prior had parents completely discarding
their native tongue, so that they might propel their
children to higher positions in society,
well applause to them, but that's like a polite way
of saying: ethnic cleansing...
    now, there's another generation of children who's
parents didn't dictate such rules for the simple
   dislike of feeling awkward... the children that dictated:
we're keeping this language, just in case.
       of course my cognitive realm has built a spider-web
of ease in the acquired tongue: that's my soul
on pixel paper... but my body? i'll speak English
when i encounter and English person...
you flay the ******* donkey, i'm not going to bother.
truly this technique will not provide you
a zoo of cultural diversity with rap and the next
thing coming... but within the work ethic of:
work ennobles... you also won't get
                     terrorist attacks... so that's all Le Chatelier's
principle right there, in front of you.
     it's the part that suggests that i can only be
fully integrated into a society once i do a Michael
Jackson on my tongue, and basically bleach my
roots and call all tree roots leech-chwasty /
weeds. you'd think that bilingualism would benefit
society... apparently it doesn't when society tries
to look pretty on the outside: and termite infested
in terms of possessing a soul: hence the sometimes
odd materialism that suggests you shouldn't buy
a book for $60.            
  which is what relates this piece to answer the current
militant monotheism with its stance on pursuing
a mono-phoneticism: mono-lingua.
             for the old monotheisms to wake up,
they have to embrace bilingualism... i'm not talking
the exceptions of polymaths,
i'm talking the Benelux & Scandinavian practices...
if you people from those proud nations of post-imperialistic
glory remain in their indolence to learn something,
they'll attract bothersome flies of Islam...
   these monotheistic elders of Christianity and Judaism
can't simply waved a star of david or the crucifix about
at primitive natives of north / south america:
i actually cringe at white New Zealanders dancing
the hakka with their tribal tattoos... i, cringe.
     these "monotheisms" can only retain a moral "superiority"
by establishing a bilingualism -
     because isn't that what the whole point of the trinity
is? that the third "person" of the trinity cannot be
personified, but is rather collectivised?
                     that the existence of the Paraclete
would dissolve any chance of a Christian community?
         i already said once: the notion of the Paraclete
is as diabolical as what has already passed,
    the anti             and diffused in the existence of antimatter.
that really was a Greek touch to the whole story,
starting with the atomists.
        these ancient monotheisms have already being
polytheistic within the groundwork of polyphony,
a Bulgarian says something, an Egyptian Coptic
copies him, an Anglican says something else,
                        a Spanish cardinal nods at something else...
so i could say that Christianity is a "polytheism"
due to the fact of the polyphonic nature of the message...
Islam on the other hand is mono on the side of theology
and mono on the side of phoneticism...
                   Christianity as a monotheism is
mono on the side of theology, but poly on the side of
phoneticism... hence the vacuum of power...
but as already stated: the Benelux and Scandinavian
model of a well established bilingualism
                       has made former colonial nations seem
like neanderthals... which they are... all the more funny
to still proceed to popularise a 19th century theory...
no wonder the turmoil and bewilderment;
they simply haven't evolved: and they talk of evolution
like it was uniformed around their belly-button
gravity of pulling the entire world to look at their ****.
Geno Cattouse Mar 2014
I remember from my first memories with all senses humming waking up on Sunday mornings to the squealing seagulls. The smell of briney sea air was sharper

On most sunny sunday
mornings I would awken and lay in bed wake..dreaming for what seemed like hours.
The smells of grandma's rose and flower garden mingled with the smell of sunny Sundays.
The BBC wafted in through kitchen and bedroom windows.Mozart and Sinatra tag teamed  against The Ink Spots and, Stan Getz.  The Swallows flew back to Capistrano on yearning wings.
Then up and out on walk and sprint to the Caribbean sea, a gem coated shimmering twinkling dancing blanket of rising sun meets amniotic blue churning as froth and mist drifted in a sunday sermon from the water's deep and shallow.

A bubbling embrace as sprint turns to
Swan dive into the Sunday morning sea.
Seven day ritual baptism in the Sunday morning sea...at one with and free.
Now.
A sprint to the bobbing fishing boats that never drew fish from their restfull retreats of the morning Sea.

Breakfast
The sounds of tinkling teacups another ritual as granny stirred brown sugar and condensed milk into a carmel swirling with Johnny Cakes and coconut oil fried eggs waiting and wafting out
To the Sunday morning sea.
My Puppy and me then down through the flower garden.
Of we scampered with cares falling away and secrets to share while throwing stones into
The Sunday morning sea
My puppy named Ranger,barefeet and knee pants the hot sting on my ankle from a chastising fire ant rudly stabs at my reverie
As far as the horizon will let.
My imagination flees and unfetters to shores unknown that kiss and caresses my Sunday morning sea.
"Say, whus tha good wurd, Mista Mornin Bird?"
"Ahh, ya know just chillin here singin these here tunes waitin fah Mista Worm."
"Ahh dat Mista Worm - he alwayz be runnin late."
"True dat!”
”Yo! peep this...
Last night he took his ol girl out on a date."
''A date? Really? Mistah Worm?”
"Yup.
But it getz betta tho.
It wuz dare anniversary. Ol fool went to tha chapel an got married."
"MARRIED!!??"
"mmhmm."
"Where dey get married?"
"At dare special spot in tha apple orchard.
Mistah worm told me he and hiz girl are movin to the Big Apple.”
“Big Apple? Fah what?”
“He gunna work fah tha East New York Farms.  I guess hiz uncle Jim
got him in.”
“…Mista Worm…”

"Say, howz Mista Skunk doin?  He evah get clean?"
"I dont see much of him theez dayz.  Heard heez down on his luck. Evah since tha paper mill closed he aint been tha same.  Heez so stressed out he got mo white hairz than a polar bear.”
“Dammmnnn!!!”
”Sumone told me that heez a nasty lil ol drunk wit a funky attitude and a quick tempa!
No wunda hiz wife leftem.
My understandin iz he still outta work - rummigin through peoples junk - collectin cans, tryin to make a buck.
Itz a **** shame, aint it?"
"Uh huh."

"Howz Mista Rabbit?"
"Miiiista Rabbit! Oohh dat Mista Rabbit he dunn got himself a nasty habbit."
"Whys dat?"
"He be stealin outta Mizz Jonsens garden again.
Otha day Mizz Jonsen shooed him away chasin him down tha block wit a pair of ol rusty scissors in her hand."
"Scissors!!??"
"Yup. She told him next time he wont be so lucky wit out hiz foot."
"WHUT!!??  Whus dat suppose da mean?"
"I dunno.”
"Dat Mizz Jonsen gone crazy!!
She dunn lost her mind in her ol age.
She crazier than a ******* rat!
Man, when Mista Rabbit gunna learn?”
"I guess when he haz no foot."

"Say, you talk to Mista Squirrel at all?"
“Itz been sum time.”
“How wuz he doin?”
"Man, you know Mistah Squirrel.  He wuz all ova da place, or at least he wuz.  He alwayz be jumpin from one tree to tha next, alllllwayz tryin to get a nut or two.  Last I heard he got deported and now lives in anotha county.”
“Why iz dat?”
“He dunn got locked up fah breakin in a few too many attics. They finally caught him....Stoopid fool."
''****…”

"Nuff about tha neighbahood.  How you been?  Havent seen you inna while."
"Im still doin my thang, ya know.
Roamin from town ta town, chasin down tail."
"Yous still chillin in dem alleys too?"
"Fa sho!"
"Man, aint a **** thang changed wit chu.
Yous alwayz been a cool cat...”
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
it's largely based on the introduction, drunk poetry of Bob Dylan's blonde on blonde, or Dave Bowie's heathen albums that can be treated as fully-loaded novels with missing charting song, you can champ the narratives akin to nearing ancient symphonies making Nietzsche more of a German Chopin than an idea formation, excusing himself with too maxims; yep, Bob Dylan's blonde on blonde given Nick Hornby's care for the music in what's a fluke of care for piquant fidelity, country and blues, bought at a supermarket; or avoid both and head straight for Ticlah's si hecho palante.

for some strange reason i woke up early,
usually i miss the morning staying up
till 5 or 6 a.m., like a vampire scared of sunrise,
winter is my most productive period,
summer my least productive,
spring and autumn are seasons when
magic happens, just today the oak tree was
brushing away its flowery bloom
before the fat yoke of chestnuts would fall
a few months later, the spring bloom
of pink or white was already tailored for
the excess greenery of summer, over a period
of two days the flowers withered and
the green leaves appeared.
she once complimented on my cooking skills
and my taste of music, notably *tool
,
i first met her when we got together in the
student flats and two girls were *******-up
frying pancakes... the dough stuck to the
frying-pan... so i said 'you need to put some
oil into the mixture!' hey presto a Michelin star
on my attire rather than Victoria's crux
of a soldier... that's how it goes with philosophy
nothing pompous i promise you,
Plato misquoted Socrates talking about
looking funny at men who sought brothel comforts
(the norm in Amsterdam, no guilt, no tabloid spice,
o.k. o.k. Leo Getz style, 'it's like going to the gym,
she was South American, plump, she had a little nergo
boy fetch beers for her clients, she kept the window
open so passersbys could hear her moan after laughing
at my addressing her genitalia with may i taste the fleshy
floral patterns?
ah ****, didn't work, you get to write
about *** and it just ends up a string of cliché
like philosophy and the maxim - prostitutes and the
Gemini lips, try kissing both at the same time);
i'd be funny-looking at the other route of philosophers,
mainly through the army, i'm all lazy eye cross-eyed with
those *******... (i do "pending" interludes since
with drunk finger playing the keyboard i tend to
delete by accident about 1 poem for each 10, heartbreaking
experience) - lost the drift, i must be in Birmingham:
no river... no flow. standard model always included
rivers for people congregating, in the countryside
a church would be enough, but for urbanity a river...
this phenomenon of canal cities like Venice is
truly staggering, call it the Maldives of the west,
the Maldives of Europe, 100 years from now
it will probably be more than a Glastonbury fashion
statement of donning farmer John's galoshes.
i've lost the plot... fun-*******-tastic!
oh yeah, the pancakes... well after falling in love
with organic experiments i learnt to love cuisine,
well d'uh cooking, my flatmate just cooked risotto
after risotto until i started pulling rice grains from my nose...
esters and perfumes, the smelly ****, like pickled cabbage,
the grand joke of british asians...
yeah sauerkraut and chicken escalopes are the grand
joke, although try shoving asian spices under your
armpits and you'll be walking the catwalk of Versace for
sure (hey man, stick has two ends!)...
it's an escalope and that's hardly the profanity of
a chicken Kiev, also called a schnitzel... but not schabowy...
you know there's this great aesthetic joke concerning
polish graffiti about the orthography of ****** / phallus
in poland? yep, the variations: huj, hój, chuj, chój...
technically they all sound the same,
they're found next to the anarchists' A and swastikas
on communist apartments.
she wanted so so much, i was at the end of the third year,
and there she is, moving out of her student accommodation
to live with me in my private flat (rented)...
i mean, great... but i'm about to sit my final exams
to get a piece of paper telling others i'm qualified...
what a ******* mess: i know a 3rd of examinable material
i was studying i'll fail, physical chemistry is not my
strong point, organic i can ace, inorganic i can do well on...
but she's there, full-on intense teen... it's a juggling
act that requires a clown, rather than a man,
i'm not saying i'm perfect, but there's too much idealism
in her that requires a hefty stash of pecunia bratus
(money trees)... ah i wish, but had i wished it
i would be writing such uninhibited poems...
up-to-speed... on today's menu!
that's the culinary abhorrence of poetry, remembering
ingredients in recipes rather than rhymes,
for example Thai green curry, and the ***** curry,
the former with spoonful of green Thai sauce to replace
the use of lemongrass, and lime leaves,
actually the limes we replaced with lemons,
the Thai sauce was added, the garlic & ginger paste used,
onions, mangetout added last to add a crispness on the bite,
new potatoes avoided, half a jar of Thai green curry paste,
Thai fish sauce, not salty enough soya sauce was added
(both light and dark), coconut milk of course, caster sugar,
chicken (well, d'uh), basil... yes... basil! lemon zest
and rice, chilli powder!
the second curry involved: cumin seeds, fennel seeds,
a cinnamon stick, garam masala, chilli powder,
turmeric, chopped tomatoes, sugar, chicken stock,
chopped coriander... all in all this is a culinary attack
of poetry, it's not clearly an ancient revenge,
but when i was younger i was instructed to memorise
a poem, aged circa 7... the poem in question was
school bell, i didn't get why we had to memorise it,
it wasn't anything spectacular, i protested,
gave an oath in swear words against my classmates,
got told off... culinary principles invoke the need
to memorise recipes rather than poems,
curbing the influence of fast-food outlets...
i rather remember the ingredient lists of dishes than poems...
indeed i did make these dishes today,
but only because i switched the radio off
and inserted bought art into the device:
Tom Petty's and the Heartbreaker's greatest hits
and !!!'s (chk chk chk's) myth takes album.
SWB Sep 2012
It's September: evening
and Bukowski stares at me,
******.
My phone rings
"Mhmm, ok, thank you."
wrong number and wrong language.

Pretty sure somebody was just stabbed outside
or got violently ill eating garbage.
I walk down there to have a cigarette
and avoid the stale smell
of the pizza box falling asleep on my bed.

After counting the number of cats I see-
stray as Satan's own- I head back inside
I glance at the bills in my mail jail
at the foot of these foreign stairs
(the building is Chinese, the city is Korean).

A hissing air brake laughs at my back
and the bus' transmission joins in- or farts-

by the time I get back up to the fourth floor
I want music, something that will help the
incense chase away mosquitoes.

And as I'm thinking of what to play
I glance at my bike, blankly,
and I'm reminded of how the rear
tire is ****** and how mean that hill was
and how road bikes belong on the road
not the sidewalk and I can't remember
when I last wore a helmet, so I try.

Half an hour later I finally get some
Stan Getz through my speakers
and don't mind that he invites
Joao Gilberto over.

I push my guitar and used clothes
out of my way so I can
sit on my bed with my
wonderfully cheap pizza box
desk, and my fancy leather pen
and just then she texts me.

Can I please just write?

Still, I can't help but smile
because I really just hope she dreams sweetly.
Listening to Dave Grusin,
"Mountain Dance," vintage 1979.
The thought strikes:
"Why is it that only the
Early Jazz Giants are deified?
Of course, we need Chet Baker and
Miles Davis in our pantheon, &
Gerry Mulligan & Charlie Parker
Not to mention (cue Soupy Sales:
"Smack. I told you not to mention that!")
Coltrane or Stan Getz.
And yet, we're all getting long teeth and
there's a lot more Smooth Jazz to come,
Post-1950s, take Grusin, for example, or
George Benson or Herbie Hancock, and
What about Earl Klugh & Larry Carlton?
Let's not forget Spyro Gira &
The Daves: Benoit and Koz.
And we would be remiss
To miss Chris, young Chris,
Chris - "The Whippersnapper" - Botti.
But I digress.
Jesse LaPointe Dec 2012
I'll mostly sit on walls dangling my feet
To tease the swarming trappers
Who nip the dead skin that falls from my soles
Like feeding fish alone in the tank
Who are submitted to the distorted faces
Of their peers amidst
The crashing waves of the surface world
Above where God and his friends are
Smoking cigarettes and listening
To the sounds of Getz
The Golden Boy
While ignoring me until they meet
The one who sits on walls
Dangling his feet.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
i'm dead serious about conceptualising a su doku...
               i'm on the basis of fractions...
  praxis            9
                            ­  /  4
                   optical coordination of stressors of furthered insertion
for some reason i cited:
           9 x 6 = 51
                         and then           9 x 9 = 81...
              ****! 1 is such a difficult number to muster /
master in a goemetric class...
     1 isn't exactly geometrically "sound" -
                       hello φoνoς -
alternatively, when you're doing a really hard su doku,
quote this quasi-copernican interpretation,
i.e. doing the puzzle "lying down"...
     i dunno(h)... when complexity arises
   numbers "lying down" makes perfect sense...
     su doku?
        it's like onomatopoeia in terms of arrangement...
81? and it's still a perfect square?!
              o.k. o.k. (leo getz style),
                         ω
                   3          ß
                         m
         what the **** was alternative to the said?
        u p
        d
        o
        w
        n                        ­     p
                                       u
                                       d o w n
                                  by now you're ****** kidding...

      M
3          Σ
      W                         ­         my name's matthew,
so you can imagine why i get all hot and bothered
about this variation.
      now for some dead etymology (i,e,
i don't give a **** where the words came from,
i just like the way they sound) -
     poligon,
                              okop.
     all, if any, emotional intelligence equates
       itself toward an intensity status...
       i.e.         the more you feel, the more
                           your emotional competence...
for sure... apathy is the "placebo" guarantee
                     cure   for any type of pathos -
       or the λoγoς of guaranteed explanations.
   to be honest?
               λoγoς has been reduced to a suffix status
with that basic "accomplishment" of -ology.
       another "funny" word... by was of saying:
it's actually a city...
                             Płock -
                                                   Łódz,
alternatively? let's juggle

            ò (grave)            &       ó (acute)....
      now i see the funny side of the *tetragrammaton

concept... it really is omnipresent...
        between           ò       &      ó
    you want the sort of incisor that's basically |
    straight...
                      something that really might **** off god
once and for all...
           with nietzsche it didn't really happen...
         i mean an    |
                              o
                         ­     that would get rid of god in
the classical roman sense of:               oh...
      and return to the omicron basis
                   for having revealed a phonetic encoding
that's simply O...     and that means doing away with
the god's portion of a hammer (H) -
                     or the second syllable of the name:
                    η          - weh...
                                         eta weh...
i'd start translation phonetic encoding if i were you...
            that variant stated? eta?
              it's also called: a short e....
            the opposite like loki to thor?
      epsilon... and it's called the long e...
      in greek it's ε, in latin it's the basis for avoiding
diacritical confrontation / application...
    i.e.          ee           in the word keep,       e.g.
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
it's
time
to talk
about death now
one of my favorite
topics
the wonder of it
the finality
is there more to it
or do we become only
fodder for the crematorium
or do we fade
in the big dark box
leaving behind
whatever hair we have left
and our bones
brittle as they may become
what happens when we go there
are we reunited with family
do we sit down and have a chat
about old sunday dinners
and christmas get-togethers
and how much weight
aunt barbara put on
after she divorced that rug salesman
the one with the bad toupee
and who inherited
all that fancy china
from grandmother getz
how do we look when we're dead
- pasty and pathetic -
do we sag     do we gossip
do we bowl or play tennis
so much time
nothing but time
and not a clock to be found
and what about heaven and hell
all the time in the world now
to see what everything's about
i wonder if there's music up there
i think i'll look up my neighbor mark
the one who ran off with the brassiere model
i think that he knocked her up and they moved to florida
and then he had a stroke or something and died
but being dead might not be such a bad deal
after all
so many questions
all that time
and all we really want to know for sure is
is there life
after death
at least we'd find out
wouldn't we?
Mark Kelley Feb 2019
"Jazz Between the Trees"

Snow's melting on the back roads
The sky, it shows some blue
The fog and sleet have come to meet
The ending of the season too
And in the changing daydream
From the dark and dreary scene
Floats a little Jazz bewteen the trees

Yes, even in the pine trees
The far and distant woods
Miles and dreams from city scenes
You hear those sounds so good
The magic in the music
As it's been and still will be
Floatsa little Jazz between the trees

Give me Coltrane, give me Miles
Give me Brubeck, makes me smile
Give me Louis, give me Getz
Dizzy in a whirlwind yet
Hand me Evans, Billie too
Even a touch of Frank will do
Once more in that 6/8 time
And I'm just sure to lose my mind

Yes, as the days come winding down
And one more cold night's on it's way
The Shamans of the magic sound
Are coming home to stay
They'll gather on the front porch
In a gentle summer breeze
And float a little Jazz between the trees

Give meColtrane, give me Miles
Give me Brubeck, makes me smile
Give me Louis, give me Getz
Dizzy in his whirlwind yet
Hand me Evans, Billie too
Even a little Frank will do
Once more in that 6/8 time
And I'm just sure to lose my mind
So
Chow to Old Man Winter's
Never ending freeze
Here comes a little Jazz between the trees
Ah, se ela soubesse
Que quando ela passa
O mundo inteirinho se enche de graça
E fica mais lindo
Por causa do amor

©Stan Getz
Bossa Nova is awesome....for the poem snorer
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
i'm starting to think the chinese are good at numbers
only because of the complexity of their ideograms,
and the rather unspectacular phonetic result,
li chew - ******* inimpresionable given
the effort... li chow chewy chow mein -
   uncle benny doing his:
it's fwy wice you pwick!
                         letheal weapon no. 4,
   chris rock and leo getz exchange,
pomp, pwick,
                  perp... you get the idea,
zenith of: americana with not fear,
before the empire with its advancements,
shattered by the most barbaric antithesis,
in war, that's called: let's keep it simple,
those a.i. soldiers won't keep up,
they'll never spot a caveman running into
the cave...
    the idiots outsmarted the geniuses,
how's that evolution for you?
     working alright?!
               in every war, the idiots win,
because the all-powerful care to
      pretending power,
    better to fake being stupid,
as the socratic maxim states:
than pretend to be smart,
     there's no power in pretending to
almighty...
          god the idiot took the bus,
god the fake, bought a Ferrari.
                     you do the math.
     hence my fascination with
the asiatics' ability with math...
       did it really take so many
matchsticks to combine syllables?
they have no units of language,
they deal with syllables...
                     which makes numbers so simple...
to me sudoku is counting matchsticks,
i.e.:
                # / \ / / \ \ \ /  - | - |
                            - - | | | - | -
                            | | - -
              - - | | | - - | - | | -,
  i don't see numbers, i see that...
it's called spelling in anti-ideogram
formation... MMIX becomes 2009 -
  or: give or take
                       | | \ / / -
                      i know i'm missing parts,
but mathematics for the chinese is
like braille for the europeans,
less braille and more morse code...
it's called the 4/9 ratio...
         1, 2, 3, 5, 7 are skeletons of
the ideogram...
             0 doesn't count,
it's squished coded omicron,
akin to iota as 1...
                6 a b,
                                       7 gamma in mirror...
5 an S...
                    arab talking ****:
who said you inherited intventing
the numbers,
  your little las vegas in the desert,
that **** is gonna fail, big, time.
   you gonna get to keep your puppy
princes, and by god:
i hope to god that they drag you beyod
hades, into the recesses of tartarus.
          arabs belong in tartarus,
that special place in the unearthed
        thought: where things are
punishable for being, squandered.
leisure! man claimed leisure,
with gold he claimed blood,
   with oil man claimed leisure!
            i have as much allegiance
to this being, as i have to
recuperate for some d.n.a. stash of
obligations to: keeping up the hard-on...
the **** would it matter what i
take of my descendent half-wit
grandson does with his life?!
        who does these square-faced
investigations asking for generational
gaps being filled?
          am i really to be
asked for allegiance to a people after
death, in nota re viva?
  the **** is up with this
resurrection in scientific terms of
investing in the genes...
do genes have faces, personalities?
thought so, they don't!
      i hate, i hate empowering
humanists by popularising science...
     when i solve an ideogram i see
the opposite of the de-constructed ideogram
that is complex, but nothing more
than Li Po...
      ******* un-extravagant,
       caveman talk...
                 # / \ / / \ \ \ /  - | - |
                            - - | | | - | -
                            | | - -
              - - | | | - - | - | | -,

that's what i reconstruct numbers with in
a sudoku... by counting matchsticks and skews...

hey... look: 'ere's jack! it's pixel,
so hardly the lost wonky of
a spacing exacted to perfecting
   a sheet of cloth.

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

you want me to give you prove to you
that i'm not autistic?
  i'd **** your granny, and call her
Spencer, to simply prove my point
that i'm right-on the ibidem mark,
  as frequenting prostitutes originates from,
was i ever a man that would allow
darwinism to invoke a game
of mating by hunting mechanisation for
a supposed "thrill"?
         sure ****, there's thrill
in running after a football,
but is there any authentic thrill
  running around for a woman?
sports kinda killed the idea of having
to compete for woman,
  given that in other cultures women
will **** off any idea of competition,
congregating in harems;
unless i'm a cannibal i am about as
competitive about women as
i am "competitive" in replicating ****
*** with my hand,
  or imitating the alternative to deer
cannibalising a woman's body...
so... where's the competition?
darwinism became so self-assured that it
could only continue within the
theatre of comedy...
  no one takes it seriously these days,
only comedians,
  because there's no actual evolutionary
essential requirement for a coliseum -
there's the existential requirement to
become distracted from time to time...
but essentially: one can
become distracted as much by a blank
piece of paper, as one can be
distracted by a coliseum...
      to be honest whenever i watch
a football match life, i'm enthralled rather
than distracted...
               darwinism lost to pop culture,
since it became populist and anti
scientific...
                we understand more
of darwinism than the concept
of entropy...
                        it's easy
take a monkey, find a humanoid,
and then consider man...
i'm not saying it's wrong,
   all i'm saying is...
  imagine if the greeks or the roman
defined beauty by knowing they
could always mould statues of gorillas,
rather than the statues of their celebration
of beauty bound in man:
**** transit, rather than **** genesis...
would we be where we are with
transgender, anorexia, bulimia,
   objectification,
            gluttony,
had we not left the monkey on
the tree, and man originating in a cave?
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
hell, i needed someone
  with sign language
skills on this one,
             the "joke" was over
a long time ago,
but a "serious" explanation
had to be devised...
o.k.:
   right hand does the O...
with the pinky arching
into a closure on the thumb...
then...
right hand does the >
                using the index
and *******...
then...
     the left hand's index
finger props behind the lying
    and...
           you get a K.

- but never mind that,
i'm listening to all these incels
online and...
      this ugly mug (i.e. me)
   is "worried" as they are,
worried?
         maybe i shouldn't
have looked up to Kant...
i live with people,
but there are interludes
where i can disappear
for around two weeks
from ever interacting with them...
that's almost funny...
               i guess sometimes
my shadow becomes
to clingy...

               now i can understand
the social norm expectations...
i feel them when i go back
"home" while visiting my
grandparents...
  all the old men are like:
where's your girlfriend?!
and i'm "like":
well i can't exactly
   do the Kazakh / Mongol
"thing" of ****** a woman
into submission, can i?
it's not like: oops, here's another
one...
it's not like i can force
them, can i?

          i guess my reasoning
is complete, since i leave a bunch
of old men convinced,
they agree:
    once a woman can buy
her own car, her own this that
and the other,
she's no longer a miss...
but a mrs. (pani - mrs.,
pan - mr. yadda yadda)...

          but that's Poland,
on the resurgence front -
gotta breed...
                      as if world war II
was only a history book
event for me,
   don't know: lucky,
or unlucky,
   i still remember talking
to my great-grandmother
about the war,
scuttling like rats
on the front:
   baby in tow (my grandmother),
giving her makowina
    (*****) to keep the toddler
pipsqueak silent...
so the soldiers wouldn't
get them...
   so basically i have a granny
who was a ****** addict
as a baby...
   in order to keep her mouth
shut...

   and here's me...
            lost impetus for
the reproductive "game"...
         no, not with the english women...
i tried,
went through a french girl,
a russian girl, an australian girl,
a south african girl...
an ukranian girl,
a puerto rican bubbly,
a bisexual thai girl,
an afro-saxon girl
  (yes, black "english"
  girl)...
   and a few bulgar girls...
and that one polish girl
who... licked my face
    in the dead of night
(no, nothing beyond
having my face licked,
that was enlightening,
to say the least)... but...
i don't do fickle,
poncy jane austen crap,
i don't play the: "hunter" mentality,
the "thrill of the hunt"
of cultural darwinism that's
rife in english culture...
i'm either in, or i'm walking
into the ******* sunset with
the **** of the gods (beer)...

why would i bemoan
a bachelor status?
          isn't it enough that i already
have a ******* shadow clinging
onto me?
            two cats are unbearable...
attention ******* their *****
into giving them food...
ugh...
                     now a dog i could
understand...
      incels and girlfriends...
man: i just want a dog...
    a rottweiler,
              or a dobermann,
oh, wait, they outlawed
what dobermann dogs went through
for the aesthetic reasons?
the snipping of the ears...
**** that...
            a dog doesn't look
so pristine with that procedure...
what? m.g.m.
happens to boys all the time...
o.k., o.k. (leo getz style)
just give me that bull-head's
worth of a rottweiler...

                and that's pretty much
all i have to "bemoan"...
i really, ha, ha, really want a dog
to walk with me into
the forest at night...
i'm pretty ******* sure
than no woman would...

           i did, i tried, i failed,
                i just don't know how
to escape the mystery of my own
******* sometimes,
the mysteries of the universe
aren't exactly consolatory compensation...

so yeah... world war II doesn't
exactly belong in the history books
for me...
   the poor woman died in 2011 / 2012...
i still remember her shack
of an apartment,
   and that one story
                  where a beehive
nested in the wardrobe on
her balcony...
            and how she wasn't stung...

yes, in Poland i would experience
social pressures,
calls of abnormality,
   but in England,
being the foreigner...
      led zeppeling: immigrant song...
i'm just your average joe...
           i was warned:
England is the country
of single people...
               i guess i just managed
to fit the criteria...
                      (cry-tier-ya)...

problem, what problem?
    i already have my head up
my own ****
    enjoying myself with
self-deprecating humour...
                         well... that's that, i guess.
RAJ NANDY Nov 2020
Friends, this is a recent composition of mine as a very senior citizen, hope you like it, - Raj

FEW REFLECTIONS OF A SEPTUAGENARIAN
As one grows old with whitened, wrinkled,
mellowed maturity,
One begins to discern a wholesome unity, behind
many apparently disjointed things!
For example preparing good food, creating good music,  
and making love, -  all collectively,
Form a wholesome part of Creative Human Artistry!
Well cooked food with homemade wine, pleases
our taste buds providing real satisfaction.
Stan Getz’s creative saxophone with Dave Brubeck’s
melodious piano, enchants our auditory receptors, -
Transporting us mentally to an elevated dimension!
While during love making, artistic Foreplay results in
blending of passion culminating in a crescendo of
creative ******, -
With the release of built up tension!
Even though during these Corona days, Platonic love
is expected to keep us relatively safe!

Now, all these apparently divergent activities require
creative expertise and devotion,
To achieve real-time earthly satisfaction and happiness.
Though Spiritual Seekers look forward to an after- life,
Lying well beyond our limiting five human senses!
                                                                     -Raj Nandy, New Delhi
                                                                      27 Nov, 2020
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
you know, how i experience life?
i tease magnets...
i take negative thinking
and couple it with the talking
behind, subsequently,
watching from, "behind the scenes"...
to equate with
"nagatuve talking....
Lethal Weapon...
Mr. Joshua...
                the 1980s...
negative ends of the magnets...
more fascinating than
a ******* experience....
    or slobbering on oyster
****....
              magnetism in relation
to gravity...
            then i give a slight of
wonder...
but then *Leo Getz
...
okay okay okay...
      ******* classic...

lest all be left is this love,
let this love be,
all that is to be lest
and least....:
believably become
into being
the quickened artifact
up-keeper...
and love, and loss,
and all those...
guarded hopes...
   hooded sight my shadow
will caste...
              to which comes the reply:
ego videre ignis...
all that i see...
is a fire donning a hood...
   est ignis adorno cucullio...
which implies...
   omni ego videre est,
est sui ipse...
       i'm just tired... just tired...
of having to kneel before
the mea culpa.
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2023
A writhing tendril of harmony
Backdrops the gentle pulse of samba jazz.
Magnificent spiral of minor chords vocalised
Against the weave of a silken saxaphone.
Stan Getz and Luiz Rioja at play in 1963.

I find myself floating above earthly things
Wafted into a gentle world of yesteryear
When things were simple
And the passing crowd smiled into your eyes
With an open honesty.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Refer: Insensatez recorded 1963 by Stan Getz and Luiz Rioja.
Available on Spotify
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
i've had this massive falling out with my father today,
he came back from work: roofing... but he's getting
old so he's not harrowed with production...
he's more into taking care of details... he's more a technician
than anything...
so we've been doing up the garden for the past
month or so... i did all the groundwork...
levelled the area for him to now fiddle about with
60 x 90cm? 30 x 90cm? whichever slabs...
right... so i made him this steak salad for lunch...
and i was readying myself to make dinner...
roast chicken, chips... asparagus and quickly poached
leftover pepper (from the lunch) -
then again: i poach vegetables quickly... all...
   i like to eat vegetables likes i might bite into roast
chicken bones... i like the crunch...
     so he took off his commuter clothes
        dressed himself pretty in his: i'm going into the garden
to do some work with the slabs... sure sure...
i stuff the chicken with some lemons
and address the ******* by feeling under the skin
and lodging knobs of butter underneath...
hell... the oven is warm... you have 40 minutes...
the chips (FWECH FWIES) came in 20 minutes
down the countdown...
  i take the chicken out: because it has to rest...
you have 10 minutes...
o.k. o.k. he replies like a Joe Pesci / Leo Getz
from Lethal Weapon... but not really...
               this is me reimagining "things"...
   i lose my temper come the 20 minute mark...
i start employing onomatopoeias
                   for the sound of hammer strikes in between
oath words akin to: kurva: which are... less oath words...
nothing blasphemous here... oaths! oaths!
**** **** **** this happened! to reiterate!
the excuse came back: i'm not coming
because i have wet cement...
          wet cement?! i have a pretty hot chicken
and pretty hot fries and pretty hot asparagus waiting!
what's cement?! ******* liquid nitrogen?!
we argued: of course we argued...
that's how we show our love for each other...
in the end i had to call my mother who is visiting
a dentist and her mother back in Poland
because her number 1 fell out while
biting into a bun... ha ha... not on bone:
but on a bun... teeth are funny...
              i must have had 3 dreams exclusively
about teeth... hey! Freud! why do i dream
about teeth?!
     metaphor my **** up your ******* sprinkled
*** you 19th century "ground-breaker"...

see... i'm a man that gets drunk from anger...
ebrius ex ira...
   i kept telling him: you want to eat ****?!
there's an aesthetic about eating something!
there's a ******* aesthetic...
i'm tall... 6ft2... but i have a very short temper...
my temper comes in at 5ft1...
those ******* hammer blows to the slabs
to level then: plonk plonk plonk...
i'm sitting there waiting as the chicken cools
and the chips get crispier...

alright fool! keep harrowing!
arbeit macht frei! ******* arbeit macht frei!

then he comes in and while about to move
the chicken from the baking tray
to the cutting boat he pounces at me with some
random comment... i spill the chicken juices
on the floor and start cleaning...
ooh... you're spreading it all over the kitchen...
like you ******* clean the house...
don't worry...

     i plate everything up and then he imagines himself
as: ooh... maybe i need more sand...
that's it... i SNAP...
    my mother has this mysterious Zodiac-narrative
in her head... she's a Pisces...
i'm a Taurus... my father is an Aries...
she usually says something along the lines of:
i'm the fishes swimming between two horned
men...
yeah... but it wasn't Aries that ***** Europa...
was it?!

i reiterated to him: you don't eat food
to stuff yourself... forget what Socrates said:
what did he say?
oh: some people eat to live...
while others eat to live...
no! you're not feral! you're no werewolf!
so he grabbed a slice of multi-oat... ****... what does
it matter... oats... rye... sunflower seed loaf
and a slice of cheese...
i had to call my mother in Poland because
by then my "cool" was completely lost...
talked to mother...
listen... he said i've been drinking...
"i'm supposedly drunk": SEPLENIE...
a term for: mixing vowels with consonants...
akin to slurring...
    
   listen... i just did three days solid...
this is my day off... i'm relaxing... some of my faculties
will follow up with me on: SLOW MODE...
but he doesn't get it... i feel exasperated:
this is my ultimate insult...
what's my ultimate insult?! you won't break bread
with me, i.e. you will not eat with me...
not ******* western secular restaurant *******...
i mean: sit next to me: Asian style...
eat with me... yes? no?!

so i call her and tell her this exasperated...
he comes back... with his *******: SAND...
and i tell him: mother called...
pet names?! they call each other beaks...
dziób... dziób dziób...
beaks of birds...

so when he came back with his *******: SAND...
i told him... mother just called..
call her back...
ah... the English double-face came back
out... we were arguing just 10 minutes ago...
but while talking to his woman:
my mother... all ******* butterflies and lilies!
no wonder i prefer prostitutes...
i couldn't keep a woman...
i remember this: it wasn't an itch...
this numbing ******* sensation of people
not familial to me using my things...
Nintendo console... that was a big
give-away... i sort of liked the limp-**** sensation
overpowering my entire body...
it wasn't an erectile dysfunction: i was only 8...
but something invisible was
nibbling at me... something communist-esque...

i can't pin-point it to any foreseeable detail
of interest for a spectator...
it's personal... it's truly personal...
it's not an itch... it's not a harrowing:
it's a oyster-numbing sensation...
i best associate with oysters being digested...
hey... that's the best i can do...
it's a feeling best associated with
oysters being digested...

     oysters dipped in acid...
of the stomach...
ha... i don't haffe an exoskeleton...
yet i keep hydrochloric acid contained in my gut!

point being: i had a little retrospective moment...
father said he was bullied when he was younger
because he was raised by a surrogate grandfather
and his father was drunk who used to lie about on
park benches...

no... that's not true: according to my maternal
grandfather... he was a drunk... for sure...
but when work was required: he worked...
ahem... ahem... let me clear my ******* throat:
M'AH BODY M'AH CHOICE... no?
don't you ******* throw dry foetuses at
me, woman! when you're not being a, woman!

also: my body... my choice!
         i'll drink in my spare time to excesses you
can't handle... and i will...
and then when i sober up i'll trickle the money
i've earned to the prostitutes...
because?!
i bring neither peace or war to this pact
of: we're peer pressured into a shared existence...
are we?
no!

           you want to know something...
i'm here for the lyrics of a King Crimson song...
i'm hardly coming with either sword
or a quill... i come with a question mark:
dot dot dot ? hello...

             i come with chaos...
i come with questions... i come with what's
worthy: and as man ought to know from the beginning:
there's only the question-worthiness that's
ever to be allowed... that i have to peer into
this democracy en masse... this... "democracy":
this water of man...
from ***** to the hollowing crowd...

quench! i strike myself to tease feeling bones
in my spirit: somewhat lost...
no war... no peace...
just the revolving circle of interests
and expertise!
                       can't we be satiated by simply that?!

learn my ancient tongue of nacht and nothing!
believe me how belittling some if not most
of you have become... herded little creatures
with thoughts as if screams!
with thoughts as if screams!
           with dreams nothing more than
reinterpretations of drowning!
with dreams nothing more than
reinterpretations of drowning!
                     dearest labour of the god existent
or non-existent... save me from these
silenced lambs!

— The End —