Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
i write for an injection of a venom, for a sense of disorientation, poetry shouldn't be about the skill of narration, a clear Renaissance painting of some school, it should invoke a ******* random macabre, a sense of disorientation, there's no real technique to practice with poetry invoking a tarantula's venomous bite... poetry the art of disorientation and a fulfilling disillusionment, nothing else, nothing more... to prescribe disorientation... upon charging into a blank page... the brute of squalor and slashing of grime, marbles and marrow!*

as quoted by Bonaparte (oddly enough
a psychology student and former
girlfriend of mine who i lost my virginity
to, while she got drunk and slid into my
bed at a party, and asked dreamily for condoms
scolding me about the three pictures adorning
my student room: marquis de sade, Bonaparte
and Plato) - quicker the goat in the frying
pan than on the steep cliff face - mooch kiss
you Isabella i would a second time,
you remind me of Annie from Masterchef -
the way the stiff upper-lip is missing: signature of
french girls, the curling and cuddles -
ooh mooch chuckles and mushy peas -
p p p - belinda carlisle melted cheese goo in my heart;
stony ******* i ain't, but my drinking habits
are not boyfriend material, sorry... try next door:
se vie se la - the french know their eccentricities,
and therefore exploit them in the grey -
the english stiffen up and exploit the same
but to a too obvious exploit: bowler hats and umbrellas,
nothing will make this London gloom repent
even if you're donning St. Petersburg's architectural
multi-colour... did i mention Bonaparte the patron
saint of the Duchy of Warsaw?
over here there's Adolf with a heretics hat
never bothering to read history twice,
history you read in a blurry haze of being drunk:
reminiscence is hardly nostalgia, but sure as ****
history save Moscow from the French and the Germans
but not the Poles and Mongolians...
the Russians know this and hush thing over,
sweeping stories under the carpets using
a babushka as an excuse for the prime propaganda
technique - go on babushka ride the Ferrari
on the stairway! canapé mit crayon caviar?
yes, Isabella, if i weren't a ****** i'd move to
Grenoble - sheriff's honour.
                                                  you weren't
the first, you weren't the last,
i need bragging rights - and a hot colt to shoot with...
then the lacrosse initiation ceremony -
Lycra tights, drank a whole bottle of whiskey
of Glaswegian whiskey, stumbled into
Isabella to my shame parade of whatever that was
lad banter etc etc. - pleaded on my knees, my knees...
apologies for the inexperience,
she was seriously into Japanese cartoons,
studio Ghibli;
                          so she scolded me over Bonaparte,
and i said: it's not exactly Piłsudski - in my town of
birth they praised him, raised statues,
later with communism desecrated them, then later
raised new statues - but what's bothersome is that
she didn't mind the Marquis... a psychology student
after all... she wanted native speakers for a little
psychology experiment, that got me,
learning from scratch aged 8,
pitch-perfect elocution and she didn't bother to use me
in the experiment... that ****** with me...
hey! i'm hardly a cockney! coached croquet pears
ready for a beating... what's the rhyme, ah yes:
apples and pears = stairs... seriously, musically
cheese sometimes works, they had a Monday cheese
night at the union - all the usual buggery of
a mid-life crisis...
yeps, that Annie from the current Master Chef reminds me
of Isabella - dracul - RA!
a bit of high culture (Ezra's cantos) and a bit of low
culture (marco bailey's Enter the Dragon)...
while sitting on the throne of thrones (a toilet)...
it's like my dream... although better... Ibiza two-point-oh.
samasati Oct 2013
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful *******, backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, *******, iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer *****, good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
I wrote this with my momma one fine morning!
there is always so much more to add.
Liz Alvarez Caba Aug 2019
I imagine to romanticize my life
I fantisize my drive to work as quirky and cute
My cup of tea is the best thing I've ever tasted
Wearisome tasks are now so compelling to do
Now I start to picture things in such a charming and beautiful way.
Darkness and heterodox philosophies clouded my mind for so long,
I almost forgot to admire goods and breathing trinkets.
Waking up and peaking in, would be the bright sunshine through the blinds
And my frizzed hair all over my face.
Through triumphs and trebulations
This is a film
About a girl
Viewing her life
As a studio ghibli film
Elena Mustafa Sep 2020
Have you ever
Had a psychedelic
Dream that
Seems so real
And yet like a ghibli
Anime
If you have
Please tell me
As this happens every night
I am princess mononoke
On the best of nights
Creepypumpkins Feb 2021
Living where I am living
No matter the seasons
It feels like
I am living in
A studio ghibli
Movie
Where everything is green
Perfect
And dream like
I wonder if my next door neighbour
Is Totoro
Frankie Newton May 2016
Where the sun sets
just for you

Where even the tiniest apartment
can compare to the Sistine

Where you can't say it's picturesque
for you are in it

Beauty not found in reality
yet a reflection of it
Martin Narrod May 2014
"I know your vexed great spirit, miles away, a gentler more playful you thrives on a journey of life. There among a ridge, the plateau where you dance, leaping, ripping yourself out of the air,escaping towards the light. Free from the weight which chastises and locks you up. Out of the medicine cabinet quaffing your deepest breaths, urging your hours shorter and shorter. You cascade like glass buttons scattered on the desert floor, let those wet cloths be forgotten, may your sorrow disappear amidst that great arenose simoom.  When the ghibli makes you stutter before the bright outlook you once displayed, do not forget to visit the flowers that bring you the most  peace of mind"------------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------ It's here. In the pile-ons, wrapping around your head like a cool, wet bandage, keeping out a headache, or the rancorous guilt of an ugly night. It sits on the top-layer of your forehead, beading off in fresh droplets of self-pity, uncomfortable and self-defeating restlessness and despair. I rub it with my hands, removed each new wave of desperation and soothing your hairline with a swath of my hand. I raise up, your cucumber colored walls, that bright pink bedspread, nothing different ever changes. The masonite paintings still there, that old familiar **** carpet, a thatch-work of menage-a-tois and fifth grade-style arts and crafts. The light bulb has been out for six years, third drawer right-side down is still stuck, a mystical blow dryer blocks it closed, and the door won't ever quite close- I take a shower with the world wide opened and you trailing a fastening steep. And so your fever rises, your feet soak in a tepid iron clad bed frame while your mind rattles against your skull. Thirty days have past, lifeless, echoing in this wicked upstairs chamber. The West Wing. Slatted blinds, the white dresser, the Chanel books, the pool party photos, the blue swim-meet t-shirts, the fake gold trophies and the true gold hairs on your head, my fingers dash across your forehead again meeting your brow with the cool folded washcloth, I reach for your back and you turn, slightly rolling; something routine, unsteadied, even wicked limps in a stress ball inside your bottom lip. It's just a quiver. Nothing different ever changes. It's the devil inside, and I am nowhere to go. Maybe midnight or maybe twilight. Every hour of morning is another hour of night I'm ever taking my sleep back into. I don't count the days, just mark them in the thoughts of worry that flurry through in brief thoughts. I am obsessed with care-taking now. Three hours have passed since I showered you out of your black party dress and sparkly Gucci slip-skirt, since I took bits of post-digested food from your hair, held your nose with a tissue and told you to blow it all out, again, another night of building a sick room and sauna. I never tire, I just make arrangements, I build a small room and I wait the weight out. Nothing different ever changes, and I don't expect the unexpected or dare to meet your smile again.-----------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------ Three months ago, thrifting on Valencia and 26th Street. Walking from Blue Bottle to the Bay then to the Breakers. I climb atop A Buena Vista with man Adam, you scale a mountain-sized hill with your teal green and cherry red Nikes. We make a photograph in front of white dogwood blossoms overlooking a steep Ravine to the East. A bird chirps, a homeless woman barks, and four children smoke cigarettes and joints in a treetop. Every ***** goes up and down, each footstep dithering amidst our biduous ascent. I buried you last Thursday beneath the dogwood, your cherry red and teal green gym shoes planted at your doggerel.
brooke Apr 2013
i wish i could care
about a video game
as much you do

i wish i could see it
like I see ghibli films
that make me cry

but

I don't know i wish
you cared more about
other things

because

that was a phase to me
but nothing is a phase to you
you need to love it and show it
and put it on your wrist so
everybody knows it
(c) Brooke Otto
Teddy S Jan 2021
I want to go live in a cottage in the woods
By myself with a few pets here and there
My friends would live not too far and would visit every day
My family would visit once a month and only on holidays,
Except for my extended family who would not ever come to my house, I’d only see them at theirs
I would have a cat, a bunny, and a dog
Maybe a chinchilla
I could bake cakes, cookies, and pies by the window in the kitchen
I could have a garden filled with flowers and fruits
I could have a stone pathway leading to my house
I could practice my witchcraft in peace and live happily on my own
I usually close my eyes to imagine this perfect place
Where I can dance in the rain and watch Studio Ghibli every day
I hope that I can have that one day,
To live peacefully on my own without a care in the world
winter Dec 2019
I've decided to renounce the world
Build a walking house
And eat enchanted bacon
Cup Noodles Feb 2016
I have never really been into poetry,
Nor have I been into theater.
I was never interested in animated films,
Or movies in general
And music was just a hobby for me

Then I met you...

And now it seems as if,
I have found myself remembering you, by just listening to music,
And spending many nights, sleepless and lorn.

I'm patiently waiting for the next blockbuster hit
To appear in cinemas, so that I may ask you
For a single day together, once again.

Now my ambition is to create a cartoon,
Similar to that of Ghibli's, because you had me by a thread,
On that day we watched Spirited together.

I became the stage manager of a production,
Worked hard so I could make you say
That you were proud of me, but more than that was
To simply make you something beautiful.

And now all I can do
Is write poetry,
Every time,
I think of you.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
it all makes sense after a beer and a whiskey, honestly, as honest as is this statement, i'm only a misogynist with regards to white girls, who i find so, so adequate for feministic fickleness that they could never produce 1 billion blue indians or 1 billion chinese.

i tell you how it started, i was at university,
first year i met this french psychology exchange
student, she was older than me,
she got drunk at one party and crawled into my bed,
when i climbed and felt frisky,
she just told me to put a ****** on,
prior to she was stiff watching some cartoon
by studio ghibli, man i was young and frisky
about loose the white of virginity and enter
the blackness of personal psychologies
passing via the rainbow of the visible world,
it didn't work out with isabel, we climbed
arthur's seat and took a picture
while she scolded me for napoleon
and the duchy of warsaw as the re-emergence
of poland but missed marquis de sade's picture
hanging on the wall... who's sick then,
the one who pleases the many or the one who
displeases a few?
plato's picture also hanged on the wall...
she was oblivious to the fact that an 8 year old
child can be categorised as a native speaker,
because that's when i started my anglo oral examination
to speak it.
later i spotted her after my first session with a bottle
of whiskey in lycra, going to the initiation ceremony
for the lacrosse team... i never joined... i just puked
into a bucket.
you never realise that when people label themselves:
i'm an atheist... i'm a christian... i'm a muslim...
i'm agnostic... you see the labels... you see how
they rememeber of themselves in terms of nanometres?
they kept their memory very cancerous...
the proto-socratic maxim in modern times
stands as: remember yourself, knowing nothing
is worth the existence of an encyclopedia -
feel and make the facts absentee...
just remember yourself as some point in your life
to re- re- repeat yourself so i can known you
as i can know myself, just so we can interact
like in a school playground... if you don't...
forget it... stay with your ***** **** stiches of a partner
and tell me whether your children got an a
at a-level.
so he told me about her eagerness for *** with
strangers... she was apparently abducted...
so he told me he ****** her... believing him...
not getting enough... i went to a brothel in my second year,
and i didn't really understand the emotions of
someone who's ~******* outside a brothel,
well she really did let that one rip among one of the
major proofs of solispsism: someone farted in a crowded
space and appreciated by himself alone,
all the perfume companies who even hired
the best chemists could produce the scent of solipsism,
therefore the proof of solipsism: we appreciate our own
but loath the ****-burp of others; hey, i just took
all the theories of existentialism into hades via ****.
but that's the thing - back when darwinism was
active, active enough to build pyramids, motto active:
strength multiplied by ****... back then...
chaos known as god entered and said this that
and the other... we can now say democracy is safe...
demo tapes everywhere, half complete scripts...
but the limit of democracy comes when
you start to disagree with yourself... that's the limit...
obviously a high proportion of people
succumbed to the democratic weakness
and started to disagree with themselves or
the ontological starting point and ventured into
ethical questions to give birth to conscience...
first year was magical, second year had a highlight
where me and this guy played golf on the street
with glasses, smashing them next to a graveyard...
about a dozen jewish couples got married
when we took over stomping the glass with golf sticks...
so it's like this, make memory as selective as nature is,
as bizarre as the colour of magpies and parrots...
plus... you wouldn't get existentialism
if you changed the cartesian expression that
thought precipitates into existence...
sarte's explanation that existence comes prior to essence
is true, he stresses the essence: i think,
but existence doesn't really precipitate into thought,
because then we're all analogue: god doesn't exist
because of such and such parasite...
this world is beautiful but harsh, but with harshness
comes adventure and with beauty laziness...
what's crucial is to curb the precipitation of thought
into existence... unless you innovate and materialise
a telescope or paracetamol... for the majority of us
the one thing guiding us is not res cogitans,
but res vanus... not the thinking thing, but the empty thing,
and the empty thing is primarily filled
with the first linear association, thought, and later
being - which is why most of us think about being millionaires
but never are... and therefore create the lottery,
then we put our thinking into to being millionaires
as a mere chance, luck... which is really emotionally debilitating.
i agree... an unjust world of freedom with a just god
who's whimsical existence has freedom like ours...
rather than a just world of slavery with an unjust
god who plays us like puppets;
go on, complain... but that's hardly a logic i wish i could
understand like 1 + 1.
Creepypumpkins Feb 2021
There was a man who walks his great Pyrenee
White dog that looks like a ghibli ghost
As if I were in a studio ghibli
I see that it 5 in the morning
I hear father yelling get in
But I was transfixed on the
Ghost
Like dog.
Creep Feb 2015
Know that,
If he were to ever hurt you
In anyway,
I will be there.

I will be there to hold you,
As you cry,
To bring you tubs of ice cream,
Studio ghibli movies,
*****,
And tissues.
To whisper to you
That he was an ******* anyways,
That you will always deserve better,
The best.

I will be there,
To mercilessly ****** him,
To slit his throat,
Let the blood flow out,
Let him experience your pain.

Just know that.
I'm always gonna be here,
To help bring justice to those who need it,
Because you guys deserve the best.

R u mine?
By arctic monkeys
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
that depiction of  a scene in Marie-Antoinette...
between
Louis-Stanislas, Comte de Provence -
brother to Louis XVI...
    who would become Louis XVIII
and his wife...
        Princess Maria Giuseppina of Savoy...
where she nagging him to provide
her with a child to stop pestering him
from doing... whatever it was that he was
doing... him remarking...
get your ugly face out of my moon light!

whether it is true via a fictional depiction:
never mind that!
i can trace back to the scene where
both of them are lying in bed
and he's trying to get a *******:
god, that face, there is nothing worse
than an ugly smile on a woman
and i have seen some ugly smiles on women:
beautiful women with ugly smiles...
ugly women with very beautiful
smiles, the paradox...

so he's jerking off while she interrupts
him implying: a man beating a dead horse...
checks under the cover:
well... a dead mouse...
woman's violence thus worded...
subtle, cunning, satanic -
grown-women and the supposed forever-infantile
state of man's mind:
to hunt, to explore to merely exist
by the sustenance of thought alone...
well... she did arrive from Savoy:
which i finally found out was part of Italy
with a Frida Kahlo monobrow and
a 9am moustache shadow beneath her nose...
***-fluff... well... no wonder:
i don't expect Elizabeth I of England
was much to look at...
    perhaps if Picasso hid her in his cubistic
monstrosities of fake-geometry handling...

in which direction?
only last Sunday... what a shift!
i was escorting about 8 police officers
to these two disgruntled women...
woman and daughter...
apparently these two "gangsters" were
threatening them... threatened them with knives...
with balaclava gang-members coming
to the ice-rink to "sort them out"...
something was fishy...
the daughter looked alright...
almost perfect physiognomy...
but the mother's ears... wonky...
i'd be more proud to have the ears of a rugby
player than those ears...
myopic... sickly looking...

me and the police officers managed to find them
bring them down for questioning /
give incident reports...

prior to these two gangsters, "gangsters"
came up to me asking: 'are you the security guard?'
yup... they started chatting to me
before the two women launched at me
with criteria unheard of...
i'm final on this point...
women to me are semi-solipsistic...
they don't even know it...
they don't know it when they wear a mask
of pretending but as quick as honestly
comes unapologetic and demands
impartial equilibration of getting to know
the situation: the mask... sort of... slips...
a lying woman is hardly an architect...
there's only the initial shock of a lie that
she figures will pass-on and through
and will be believed when she makes
a sloppy second stab on any given matter
in the vicinity of the original (lie)...

      this duo should have been ashamed!
truly! a mother and daughter double act
is the worst kind... a father could never persuade
a son to follow suit... but a mother can always
(seemingly) persuade her daughter to replicate
terrible behaviour...

in this instance? the "gangsters"...
when the police officers were questioning the women
i went up back to the ice rink to pick them out...
they were sitting in the polar opposite location
to the women...
"gangsters"...
      as i extended my index finger and asked
them to come with me downstairs
(tugging at an invisible fish-line)
i told them they were not in trouble...
the worst that might happen to them was...
they might get a free police escort home...
a free ride home...
names? Freddie and Georgie...

      turns out these "gangsters" were two
13 year old boys... 13 they said: they looked more
like 8... then again... at least one came from
a single-mother household and had
two older brothers and a younger sister...
under-nourished kid... i looked 13 when i was
8 looking at them...

the women were questioned giving fictional
statements: most probably...
i just sat down with Freddie and Georgie
and talked... this, that... and the other...
Georgie was named Georgie because he was
born on St. George's Day...
Freddie? that's short for Fredrick...
my "supervisor" interrupted me:
no! no one calls their children Fredrick...
it's Freddie...
then Freddie jumped in: i'm sometimes called
Frederico! hey presto!
that's not Friedrich... it's Frederick in Spanish...

huh? what's this? English language trying
to attempt the diminutive form of endearment
by shortening a person's name?
Fredrick becomes Freddie...
Edith becomes Edie...
Matthew becomes Matt
Peter becomes Pete
Samuel becomes Sam
Alexander becomes Alex?!
that's not a diminutive form... nor is it some
variation of endearment that diminutive form
exacts...

zdrobnienie...
        and if this supposed "diminutive" exists
in English... English is too rigid in its form of words...
attache of suffixes -less and -ness and -lessness...
as if something is missing rather than merely shrunk...

in ****** it's thoroughly apparent among nouns,
not merely in given names of people...
e.g. it's not simply Matthew becomes Matt...
i.e. where's the door, door prior...
to wipe my shoes on, i.e. the doormat?
it's ugly! it's horribly self-assured in faking
the diminutive approach...

spread across all, ALL nouns...
sun: słońce
little sun: słoneczko
river: rzeka
little river: rzeczka...

oh! ah ha ha! today i heard the car manufacturer
correct its pronunciation of a letter...
the Czech manufacturer SKODA
actually bothered to stress the Jan Huss'
demand for caron (crown) atop the S...
i actually heard SHKODA...
            crown in Czech... a rugby goalpost
in English... one arm of the Tetragrammaton...
otherwise a: H = Z in ******...
  ŠKODA = szkoda (pity) = oh well...
  oh well = pity... oh well ≠ oops...

and what has English to give "us" when it comes
to the diminutive form? ugliness...
ugliness of names...
Frankie, this lesbian coworker of mine
who, oddly enough has a child... a daughter:
so she wasn't a lesbian all along...
but now she's a butch lesbian...
muscular, i asked her how long it took her to
get a six-pack... 3 months...
she's looking for a gym-rat buddy...
she was thinking of me...
a mohawk haircut... not terribly attractive...
but... what, a, gorgeous, smile!
my "supervisor" giggled about gay-conversion
therapy with her...
Frankie = Francesca... now... correct me if i'm wrong...
Francesca sounds ace of spades ****...
Frankie... gender-neutral is...
like the rest of a gender-neutral world-view...
thing thing thing thing thing thing thing nothing
nothing thing thing thing thing thing thing
anemia
thing thing thing thing anemic thing(s): nothing
thing cube *** asexuality thing thing thing
black thing thing thing thing white thing thing
thing, thing thing thing, nothing, thinking thing
thinking nothing (god); thing thing thing -
but that's English for you... other European
languages have the masculine and the feminine
form... you couldn't get away with transgenderism
in any other language: except for English...
the grammar allows for this phenomenon to take
place! thing thing thing thing...
i know that the French would agree with me...
the Moon is male... the Sun is female...
in English there's a forced-vagueness associated
with gendering "things"... nouns...
loosely, borrowing from Latin:
Luna is a girl's name... alias of the Moon...
and Sol is a boy's name... alias of the Sun...

    the words themselves have a trickle of hope
for gendering objects according to ***...
the Moon in the English instance is a male...
even though he was given a female name prior
and the Sun is a female even though she was
given a male name prior, prior id est in Latin...

i don't think it's enough to simply speak a language:
a parrot can speak a language of human "concerns"
if the precursor of women talking all giddy to an AI
chat bot in the form of SIRI is anything to go by
the engineers must have thought of a parrot...
Hello Polly... Polly wants a *******...
that's how the advent of "intelligence" probably
emerged: simulation of the marriage of
a parrot and an echo...

        it's not enough to speak a language...
there's more to language than simply speaking it:
there's also the aspect of: knowing it...
digging trenches... i don't want to require of myself
to know the grammatical-categorical beside
the clarifying distinctions of what a noun is:
what a verb is... adverb... but then i gloss over
and forget the categorisation of words...
i know what a locksmith knows:
I = key
      O = keyhole
        Φ = I + O = i put a key into a keyhole
i turn the key:
                  I + / + O = Θ
upon turning the key the door U opens:
  Ψ! whether that's Poseidon's trident
or whether that's what psychologists
of today spew: the non-existence of god
and the self: "self" riddled by some
variation of Damocleses' sword...
      authority of thought within the confines
of: ought-i?!

      i walk through... i doubt i will have any serious
readers in this language...
it will take me... at least a bout of gangrene
of blue mingling with green and gold
to arrive at my resting plateau of hope that's
Paris... my love for Paris...
my love of being a stupid 18 year old...
  
wouldn't you believe: i think it was forever a
stupid affair to translate Finnegans Wake into
any language beside the original:
which is literally not so much original as:
originally muddled... since how many languages
are borrowed?

i sat with the "gangsters" until the end: beginning
of their ordeal... i too was given the police-taxi
back home once upon a time...
but then again that time i was given a free-ride
home... some clever ****** thought it was absolutely
necessary that i get alcohol poisoning
in a Seven King's nightclub by the roundabout...
with the floor... sickly sweet covered by carpets...
warm ***** and orange juice... ugh...
i stepped off the bus and collapsed
onto the pavement... i was woken up by
a helpless bystander and a police-officer...
subsequently taken home in a cage...

shameless women... mother & daughter...
but here i was, the "security guard"... trying to explain
to the boys: i know its not fair...
i know... i know... the women will be believed first...
Sally Challen - walked free after killing her
"abusive" husband with a hammer-blow
to the head... i wish Richard (Challen)
was bitten by a hammerhead shark...
  i truly do...
        at least the shark would have been hungry...
**** knows what Sally's inferno of thinking
conjured up prior... it's hardly decent to believe
women... these days... i'd rather play a poker
face gambit on the truthfulness of children...
at least with children there's no ****** inference
bias up to... well... that "bias" ends once they
(the girls) enter a medieval plump *** distinction...
14... maybe 13...
          
      confirmed though...
  once the boys were sent home this other woman
approached me and my "supervisor" and mentioned
an ongoing scenario with the "inbreds"...
a female ******* ring? hmm... maybe...
      Freddie! i know it's unfair... i know...
ladies first... i know she has chicken-nugget looking
ears... she looks like she was born from
a lust of her uncle for her mother and yet
her daughter is some random quickie-fix
while she banked on pure luck... i know, i know...
i'll sit this one out with you...

Frankie in the meantime was planning a date with her
new found ****-loves-**** relationship...
her girlfriend from... near Oxford(?)
was supposed to come down to see the ice hockey match...
already booked a room in the hotel...
but then apparently the girlfriend's car started leaking oil...
so Frankie was left walking alone to an alone-hotel-room
while the gay-conversion jokes rained...
butch *****: but a smile that could melt
any ****-disciple...
              i said my bye-byes and pretended to go home,
early...
did i? nope..

i decided to test my limp-biscuit "problem"...
i went to the brothel...
who was available? only one... the girl with the first
letter: L... not Linda...
i asked for her description: the blonde one...
ah... that one... the one that thinks she ultra-SPAZ
SPACE-X "special"... i'm spezial *** too!
the one into body augmentation...
first her **** wouldn't fit... too small...
prior to the first: 0... i.e. her lips weren't purse enough...
pout not enough bloom of a baboon's ***...
fine fine...

oh i hate pretending to be a Catholic priest
in a brothel... do i have a rubber ear or something?
are these confessions?!
i must be a Catholic priest of sorts: of imitation....
do you know a Catholic "priest"
that doesn't ask for a confession from a *******
after she performs oral *** on him...
and subsequently spews all that "life is crap"
*******?
      last time i heard Catholic priests were ferocious
anti-*** pro-*** with the choir boys...
one **** in one ear one **** out the other...
there are at least three avenues of the "tested"
woman... the vaginal approach...
the **** and the oral... hey presto! your *******
"trinity"... i'm not going to stop *******:
what i didn't receive in my glorified youth
i will not spare in my old age...
beat the child who discovered self-pleasuring
aged 8... before the production of *****
with what he said: "that funny sensation":
not, NOT: feeling... sensation... the tingling
of the choir of Eunuchs...
before the production of ***** arrived...
to squirt...

i write in English... i might have English readers...
me? i'm waiting for French translators...
i don't care one iota over a fabric of fractions
of I/O = an iota over a omicron:
joke in Latin: what's an Ψ without an iota?
an Upsilon or an Omega?
watch the curvatures...
and the sinking ship of a ship that was
never supposed to sail... Ω + I = bow down...
exfoliate: psychology:
logic of soul & the non-existence of god
or soul...
Enlightenment? Renaissance or:
Re-convalescence?
                oh... right... right... this be the first?
the times of the first illness of
post-colonial capitalistic restructuring having
defeated the "ancient" enemy of the communist
harpie-up: rouse-down...
    
solo-project "detail-lost detail-friendly"
advertisements... must be a island-dwelling folk
"thing"... hence the persistent writing of English history:
the Norman invasion: must be celebrated!
the Anglo-Saxon lineage must be celebrated!
via pity, pillage, **** and... unwanted women!
i don't want to mingle with these native women!
i'm here like a kindred hope of:
sending a postcard from Hawaii...
thinking about a beauty from Grenoble...
while at the same time having a burning effigy
of a girl from St. Petersburg...
but rather succumbing to the magnet of a pair
of eyes from the Carpathian region of Moldova...

me? i just landed the prize of writing within the confines
of the Medieval version of the Lingua Franca...
English is the language of commerce...
i know it tries to: in vain... to be this insomnia tongue
of the former British Empire...
spoken "elsewhere": everywhere...
but no... pockets of resistance...
Kashmir... teach those sieving through
poppy-mud the artefacts of Braille in Arabic
concerning the region having giving
Alexander the Great the grand limp **** of
a sword with a sheaf of Afghanistan...
how those men must have loved those women...
terribly not surprised that i don't love
those in my vicinity...

                expandable in times of war...
now? expandable in times of peace...
                if not turning one's bright cheeks for
some **** slapping: turning into a quasi-celibate monster
listening to prostitutes telling me of their woes...
thanking me for listening to them...
with L: her ******* done, her lips done...
next? her liposuction belly and arms...
not the effort of exercise in sight...
the quickie monstrosity...
then her teeth: i showed her my clearly aligned teeth
like the stampede of the Polish-Lithuanian
hussars before the siege of Vienna...
      smile: clearly aligned constellation of stars...

two women in the past have revealed dreams about
me they had that came true:
Ilona - she actually sketched it...
and showed it to me...
i was standing in a Judas' pose with my back turned
before her kneeling: arms outstretched
as if to be crucified...
long hair... naked upper body...
holding a sword in my right hand:
that's before the Russian invasion
    of Ukraine... before i wandered into the forest
and found my Cossack shashka...

another dream: displaying photographs of girls
before Danielle... apparently i was happy...
that last email i received from Danielle was
almost 7 years ago...
i think i'll send her a reply...
          
          it might be almost a decade apart...
compliment? hardly...
          but i guess that's how we always were:
why oh why Disney took the reins on
the imagination of youngsters and not
something from Studio Ghibli...
  America is decadent: pederastic...
America was a borrowed civilisation:
hence? its short-lived stature of a status of
faking civilisation: via: "culture"...
its culture is parasitic...
          America has no civilisational focus...
its an extension of Europe...
in times when Europe doesn't appreciate
"said" extensions...
China is a civilisation...
Russia and India are civilisations...
America is a culture...
it's not a civilisation...
              
          America is a culture-state
whereas China is a civilisation-state...
power-hungry-mongrels... god help us if they become
fiendish pseudo-Mongols!
America would require for Europe to
disappear: and for that to be the case:
it must... Europe must burden itself
with an ethnic anemia for America
for "become" a civilisation...
      
              whatever the "Jew" failed to employ
in his exile in Europe will not:
doubly will not achieve in North America...
Marcus Garvey or H. P. Lovecraft bedbug-love-buddies
aligned...
              struck by the wave of heightened:
wow! the Arabs joked about Moses and the 40
years in the desert... no wonder the camel-jockeys
never left... waiting for dragons of myth
to turn into dinosaur sludge post-locomotive
crescendo of wealth!

      my ***** your ***** anyone's AI bore...
that's globalism: the free-market free-world
enterprise... except for:
what's outside the realm of orbits...
in the vacuum: in the unknown:
clearly now known:
there are foundations: there are restrictions...
there are forests worth of the impaled that
suffered worse fates than the "supposed"
ultimatums of gods unto men with those
that were crucified... please! spare me!

boo! who?! boo! who?!
i might write in English...
but i'm not English...
i'm not exactly happy about an English speaking
audience... i'm waiting for the translators...
i'll be dead before my wishes come
true...and all the better... given
the climate of the currency of these times:
i.e. wasting each and each other's time...
while solidifying an abstraction
of prisoner enactment of "safe" space!
bah!

oh woo woo... quote me a sea that didn't woo
a river into its basin of:
the challenge of horizon:
how does the water of the sea disparage itself
from the water of the river:
and: with those floating cauliflowers of
clouds... allow for the reign of rain
to come and give man of the land
the beauty of spring and the harvest of summer
and of autumn... and the melancholy of
the darkened nights of winter
where the libido is so frail?
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
a reply to caitlin moran's 27/5/2017 article: 'i know the question that every woman should ask all the men in her life now.

how i lost my virginity?
   beautiful girl... isabella, from *grenoble
,
third year psychology exchange student...
       yep... we were both drunk...
     and in her dreamy, rather than an unconscious
state... she asked me to put on a ******...
  which i did...
           i can't even remember if i ecajulated;
so she was responsive enough to, later not press
charges to the university authority;
so yeah... ****... culture?
anything to add about the girl?
     yep... she loved japanese cartoons, studio ghibli esp.;
so no, i didn't loose my virginity
                                               to a ***-bot.
Colm May 2021
Ghibli films feel right because
everything is just as it is
or was
or was secretly meant to be
Like grooves on a record
like trails of the cautious deer
or etchings upon ancient stones together
You know, that what you're about to see
was designed to be seen
and seen uniquely

Whatever your opinion is, you're right
Deter Me Not Set (11) . Totoro
Lyss Brianne Aug 2019
I think I fall in love with the idea of people more than I fall in love with the real them. I have no idea if the girl with auburn hair and pretty blue eyes paints under the stars but I can vividly see her doing it and a part of me falls in love with a version of her that likely doesn’t exist. My best friends brother is just a guy with a love for Studio Ghibli movies and a knack for making people laugh. This doesn’t stop me from imagining the long nights we’d spend on his couch discussing Morrisey. I don’t know how to differentiate heart from mind, poet from person. I often question if I’ll ever be able to love someone without painting them in a light they don’t belong in. Is this how it will always be? Questioning every feeling I have, analyzing whether I love someone for the person they really are or if I’ve written them into the poem I want them to be. How do I know that my feelings are genuine when I have a habit of turning every person I meet into a love poem?
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2021
Postcard poet today
Maybe Studio Ghibli
I was in Nara once
Spirited Away

I keep hanging out
In la oficina
I think something's coming
But I also have my doubts

               Guanajuato
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2021
Studio Ghibli postcards
Have them in my sight

Human beings are not eternal
We face Eternal Night

I go down lost and lonely
But not without a fight

I like unique stamps
Uniquities alight

                 Ravenflight
Mikko Jun 2023
I don't know who I am and
I don't know who I ever was
I've been scared, oh my god
I don't know where I stand

But I do know where I belong

Couldn't stop myself from smiling
God, I hope I can hide it
But I wish I had one more night
I hope I can find you
or at least somebody like you

Light's out
Thinking about that Ghibli night
Cuddling out all night
Why you gotta leave like that

Now I'm on the floor again, I can't help myself
Obvious that I need your help again
I pray it all away

We lock eyes that night while you're going down
and made an excuse that you're going out

Now 180 on the road feeling like I'm on a coaster
I think I've seen this before
Gotta take a detour

Don't hit up before I say something I mean, Oh no.

— The End —