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Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
i still believe that φ (phi) and θ (theta) used to be a grapheme, akin to the Trojan / Roman æ, cf. Virgil's the Æneid, then too a γraφeme in german: ß, not necessarily scharfes, but rutschig s... a slippery s... s the marijuana fiend all hippy and ****, then the z, using Beat vocabulary slang, the suited and booted for either war or the office environment □ (square)... i still believe φθ used to be a grapheme... separated at birth... as with V so too Φ and Θ have the prime incisors' touch the bottom lip to be said, honestly, the bottom lip makes more bone-interactions than the upper-lip; criticism is a type of medicine, you either take it... or bite the bullet. but hear a German utter the disparity: noticeable given Rammstein: ich v. sachen: i.e. ich (-sh) v. sashen or simply sahen - maybe learning Yiddish would help - the error, apart from the Malachi introduction of polytheism with two Elijahs? well, i helped you once, i won't help you again, one proof means no repetition, boorish Moses dragged from high status and belief in a birthright to garbage, from the right-hand of the Pharaoh that Joseph was, to the lowly pits of bricklayers - English bricklayers are 'appy, indeed the Grecian dispute over the surd Ηη (eta), on a hunch... hitch-hiking letter - Hitchens attacked mother Teresa, i attacked John Paul the soocoond... a Turk with grievances illuminated the story further... pope forgave the ****** in a prison cell, once law was enforced, the mighty confusion between sins (perversions) and outright bookmaker's testimony concerning the gambling of laws. i still believe φθ used to be a grapheme... look toward languages that instil the pressures of tongue-tying-tornadoes... if it weren't the grapheme ß, i'd say it was a dance between s und zee, in that the tango was danced, and the mantis convened its presence with alimony or other tactics for the hangman to fidget on the noose; obviously as confusing as to place Backgammon alphabetically coerced with ßimilarity.

poetry hasn't been altogether banished from
the republic - i concede that poetry is
best written in a frenzy - drunk - intoxicated
with whatever is deemed necessary,
prior to the battle of Hastings (1066), Harold's
army drank and drank and drank -
berserker alternative to *****? mushrooms -
so if no battle, no vain hope to compete
with Achilles - then in poetry too, phantoms
in white, cutting and bruising with every word
emerge - a solemn pledge to the art.
well, poetry hasn't been totally banished,
it's an undercurrent - manoeuvring tactic
of intelligent argument - so many poetic techniques
are used when one suddenly appears ridiculous,
sooner or later people fall back on metaphor,
with such sly excuses: oh, not really, metaphorically
speaking - oh but that's just imagery - etc. etc.
poetry is kept, precious in every circumstance in
the **** sapiens brain - to keep appearances -
to sober up - oddly enough - poetry as a method
to sober up from a frenzy of rhetoric - the 'not really'
of things that pass - it's the usefulness of disguise,
the ridiculous and pompous can suddenly take
on priestly demur - suddenly any traces of religiosity
disintegrate, and a cold and hardened heart emerges
with crystalline belief in the ruler, the protractor
and all manners of *the sensibility of science
,
anything not humbled by science is deemed childish...
chillingly this childishness is also the childishness
waving a machete or firing a Kalashnikov - oh how
childish it becomes - the ***** to take someone's life...
great disputes in heaven, about four angels are
pop, Gabriel, Michael, Raphael and Satan -
total pop culture up there - anyway, it's not the glorification
of science is fairing well, to glorify science while
being a pauper with a limited scientific vocabulary is
already entrenched, so much so that the proof is there
regarding what's happening in western societies -
to create a universal vocabulary - a tactful one,
a vocabulary that does not impress because it does not
offend - a silk vocabulary, scientifically speaking
a smooth vocabulary, perfected to be pitched so that
the overall un-offended apathy of the listener is kept,
gay is out, homosexual is in, god forbid you mention
the word pederast or simply **** - god forbid,
bite your nails, say your mea culpa prior to jumping
into bed and all is well on the western front -
it's a revolution, didn't you hear? they say iron chains
i say liquorice tangles that can be eaten through -
apologies if your palette is not suited to the particular
Anise; but a revolution nonetheless - how did we get
to the point of trying to limit other people's vocabulary?
but of course certain words contain certain emotions,
better feel dread and disgust than an emotional flatline
with no emotion present. regarding pop culture
in heaven, ever hear the names: zehpanuryay,
abirzehyay, atarigiash, nagarniel, anpiel, naazuriel,
sastiel? you probably haven't - but it's not like you'd
keep names such as: the family of amine-boranes,
ammonia-carboxyborane, tamoxifen, paraaldehyde,
dihydropyran, polyester / dacron / mylar made from
dimethyl tereφθalate and ethylene glycol...
so what's more ridiculous? funny enough, the only
remaining aspect of the English language retaining
its roots in Saxony is expressed in chemistry,
the obvious lack of hyphen usage - chemistry is the
only revealing essence of English as having origins
in German, the excessive compounding of words,
chemical nouns that require a breathing technique
and a good optical scalpel to pronounce them -
as is well known, Germans don't believe in keeping
shrapnel, they see wordy shrapnel they get the grammatical
kiln out and melt everything together, e.g.
staatlichverantwortung (duty to the state, civic duty),
only in chemistry is the German a thick block of writing,
elsewhere it's aquatic or even gaseous - one
word jokes: Richard - ****... Mr. W. Kerr - Wayne.
sobroquet Oct 2013
I'd last about an hour as a clerk inside a store
invariably I'd shoot my mouth off
about someone's daughter dressing  like a *****
or making comments about the dreadful things  consumed
which would include a good 99% of the people in the room

I'd eventually end up getting my lights punched  out
after  *******  someone as  a fat ***  undiscerning lout
or cracking  some aside regarding what comprises that crud
and making faces of revulsion "you'd be better off eating mud"
ewwwww, you really eat that stuff?
this store should be sued for selling such bluff

children with diabetes, a third of adults obese
the courtesy clerk dies a little  for lack of surcease
line after line of vapid consumers
mindless knee-**** impetuosity belay the rumors
what's an adulterant, what's a filler?
propylene glycol alginate, yum yum
sorbitan mono sterate, shut up and eat it, its fun!
I can't even pronounce it, much less do I  care
need I be a scientist to enjoyably savor fare

Go ahead and poison yourself
the quirky clerk exclaimed
its ever so clear you're stupid and lame
stay mired in your pig-headed muck of  ignorance
you're exactly what they want
another brain dead consumer
a regular culinary savant
stuff  your face with no remorse nor heed
no worries, the clerk of little courtesy knows your need
he'll limply wheel  out your cart of miserable choices for you
and wise-crack some snarky rejoinder
then promptly get  beaten,  black and blue
The silent musings of an overly sensitive, audacious,  contemptuous, impudent puritanical bag boy.
It started with a glance.
An innocuous chanced glance.
Fate is a cruel mistress,
I was just the mistress.
I'm not proud of the fact.
I don't take pride in being your "bit on the side"
Part of me died when you told me you were married.
But, I couldn't stop being with you, that is,
until the glance.

Ever had the feeling that someone is watching you?
Well, I did, and I looked up.
There she was.
The wife.
I felt the colour drain from the room.
I wanted to run, but Karma had plans.
How alike we were, hair, build, our humour
the only difference were our eyes.
Mine, blue, hers brown.

That's how it happened.
A chance glance at a coffee shop.
We chatted, it would seem we both knew of each other.
I didn't know of the pregnancy.
You should have told me.
But then you knew I'd leave.
Mistress to a married man I can live with.
Mistress to a family man? No.
Even a mistress has some standards.

Over coffee and cake we conspired to rid ourselves of you.
The cake was the key.
And they do say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.
Anti-freeze or Ethylene Glycol poisoning was chosen.
Embittering agent was nullified by the sweet frosting.
Our combined bitterness made fantastic cakes.
Acute kidney failure in 72 hrs, and, well you were told to stop drinking.
The only questions I really wanted to ask you were,
Do you remember who served you?

Were her eyes brown or blue.
© JLB
02/03/2015
11:08 GMT
Manfred Kriger Aug 2019
When they say love is blind
it is not a euphenism to justify your lover
being aesthetically displeasing.
Most of us dont fall in love with ogre's
who rescue us from barren castles.
What they mean to tell you is that
Prince Charming is who will take away your sight.
Love is synonymous with being blind.

Too caught up in his dreamy eyes
to ever break your gaze.
His lushes hair weaves perfectly in
between your fingers as you tug on it.
You will close your eyes and allow his lips ravish yours.

Closed your eyes shall remain as the bright crimson cloth waves in the wind,
you will mistake the sound for your heart beating faster.

The taste of his lips will linger only for a brief moment on your tongue,
sweet,
don't be fooled by this taste,
ethylene glycol is a sweet poison.
I know it has been a while since I had posted anything but live has been rather busy lately and it took some time to find inspiration to write again
Corey Smith Jun 2018
A sphere like a bulb
Yet flat at the bottom

Fill me up
With oil

Fill me up
With water

Fill me up
With glycol

It wouldn't bother...

These are my components
And I wear them well

Inside of me is a scene
That's still

Around the holidays I give people
A thrill

I rest atop of old decor
The most fragile gathering

It certainly helps when I ascend
Off ground
It brings a smile to the
Entire crowd

All I need is just one
Good s h a k e
And my scene will start to
Reanimate

White glitter surrounds
My sphere
And when the dust settles
You will see very clear

That I am December
With presents that glow

Just there
Right behind the snow

But I only come alive
From the upside down
What am I?
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
i can't say it isn't a learning curve, i.e.: how does it feel to pay
of a debt in... four installments? once £200... another time £250... another time at £600 and what's left-over is is? £277... and all of this? done by cash? well... it feels... a bit like giving £130 to a *******... wafer-think comparison... but it's almost on par... i'm just following up on the poems conundrum, autobiographical rigour & hotel reds.


i knew it wouldn't happen, it sounded too good to be true...
i knew she had a young daughter...
and like most prostitutes: she must have conspired
with her coworkers about the idea of... meeting a client...
outside of the hour-mark...
they must have said things like: what were you thinking?!
are you mad?
he propose the idea... no... i did...
                 i said maybe we can meet in a hotel room...
to which he replied... sure, we can go for dinner prior..
i'll bring some brandy...
i did the cost-analysis... she was obvious in a castle made
of clouds... because... isn't it obvious?
    why would i want to have any trouble in my life...
esp. if it's trouble with women?
      last one drew in into a student account overdraft
debt worth about £3000...
          tough times...
      the bank sent me a notice that my bank account
status of a student was about to expire...
  and that i couldn't have a interest-free overdraft
limit of £3000... that prior to going into the bank
and asking for the limit to be extended from £2500
because i had an emergency back "home" and i needed
to fly out for a funeral...

- - interlude - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - i was still close to lightning a cigarette right now...
i only stopped myself because i have some whiskey...
but... when i was painting the garden fence...
i was so ******* i started splashing the paint in rage..
no? mother dearests ask me because her neighbour
asked her to check if Bella the cat has clean water
and the frog's light is off... i hate being interrupted when
i write... i don't mind making concession when
speaking... but when i write and i'm interrupted...
it really is a peace pipe though... tobacco...
it's so much more soothing than outbursts of anger...
i guess marijuana is good for anger that builds
up... but when you need a quick fix... tobacco...
  maybe that's why i have almost have had this terrible
dry cough... my throat is irritated from the lack
of extra phlegm lining my throat... it's not a sore throat...
just sore when i cough... enough whiskey...
i'll be chirpy tomorrow... - - - - end of interlude - - - - - - - -

and i managed to wriggle out of that deficit...
by not exactly working: more suffering from lack of certain
pleasures... alcohol... tobacco...
although i did land that god-send of being paid out
about £3000 in damages for being a car-crash...
call it a fluke? i call it blood good luck...

tobacco: two occasions... to calm the nerves...
and to counter what otherwise caffeine does but caffeine
can't do with alcohol...
tobacco + alcohol...
    it's not caffeine + alcohol or for that matter ******* + alcohol...
sure... marijuana + alcohol used to work...
in my youth... if you were smart about it...
few were... tobacco + alcohol all the way...

i never enjoyed the credit system in capitalism...
i was very much always debit: el classico...
   sure... i have a student debt... "debt": the % on that
is so low and i need to be earning over £15,000 a year
to pay it off... but... here's the catch...
the debt gets written off after 30 years... or is it 25?
not for the quality of education they're selling people
right do i feel obliged to pay off this debt...
i've learned more once i left university
than i ever learned when i was inside it...

it's like that current job i'm doing...
sure... i might get paid peanuts compared to others...
but you know what some people
to have the sort of view i had
    at the Tyson Fury match? guess...
   oh man... the 25th of June and the 26th and i've
already pre-booked shifts for the Red Hot Chilly Peppers
performing at the London stadium...

i must have mentioned it... the people with S.I.A. training:
ex-military or ex-cons.... or ex-prison workers...
bouncers at doors... they did idiocy problem with
hierarchy... they love the rough and tumble...
so? they get paid more for a license...
oh man... so many of them have beautiful teeth...
smile that a Mongolian might only be envious of when
it comes to the English-man... it's that pretty...

me? i'm a crowd safety steward... ha ha...
or just someone who talks to people...
                       right... but these S.I.A. guys only get
£5 more hour... and where are they when an event takes place?!
outside...
stewards get paid... say... £10 an hour...
but that doe that entail? i get a free ticket...
i'm oh so tempted to change shifts from London Stadium
on the 12th to Wembley Stadium shift...
mammoth shift... starting at 7am finishing at 11pm...

eh.... but i haven't seen monster trucks in action...
and i'd like to see monster trucks in action...
it's almost as if: i'm going on dates with myself...
and i'm not paying for them: i'm getting ha ah ha *******
paid for them...

- knew it would have been good to be true...
i was already gearing up to disappoint from the myth
of a ******* ******* you in a hotel...
or rather... you know the story... stalemate...
but i'm no pompous Walt Whitman or for that
matter a tender Schwob...
              it is what it is... i won't bother her... until bother
her again... once i get paid at the end of June...
or maybe i should just move onto another woman...
i don't want to break her heart
as she said the unattainable words of reciprocating:
i love you....
    i *******...
        if she would have said: i need you...
i don't think i'd still say i love you...
                     of the things that man loves...
cycling... swimming... walking alone in the fields
or in the forests or among mountains...
i dread the idea that women are merely reciprocating
the hopes and ambitions of the most unimaginative men...

come Monday i was gearing up... "forgot" to buy supplies...
by Tuesday i was going full turkey
from a lack of alcohol stimulation and nicotine stimulation...
i was purging... i had the shivers in the night...
i was pretending to have dreams when it fact i was
just hallucinating with my eyes closed:
this one dream? my dead cat.... Oscar Darshan...
was walking in a host of sheep into my abode... to perfection...

i did have a cold... snotty nose... numbing aches
and pains all over my body from Teusday
night through to Wednesday morning... after ingesting
some cider... smoking that cigarette:
there was no fault with the paint! the fault was in:
my fence... to my left... the wood is of better quality...
precision marking: blindly even... to right?!
low quality timber! ******* ******* seagulls *******
while also taking a ****!

that being said: i have to toil by the sweat of
my brow tomorrow...
i have 1 tonne of rough sand to transfer from
the access road to my garden... no wheelbarrow...
old-school way... whichever way that is...
in buckets... shovel... good exercise...

but for someone who's been missing for the past two days...
not bad... i say no bad...
i started to binge watch some of: the good wife...
because... at least it's not drama set in a hospital
and you expect everyone to be sociopathic *******...
now...
    i'm going to have a second cigarette of today and
wonder why this isn't worth 3,000 words....
oh...but there are additions pointers to be made...

what is the usual knock-out blow of alcohol,
nicotine, 250mg of naproxen
500mg of paracetamolum
+ diphenhydramini hydrochloridu (25mg)...

exactly? what was my "detox list of suggestions"?
phenegran (25mg), 2-4-dichlorobenzyl alcohol,
amylmetacrescol,
paracetamol, promethazine, dextromethorphan,
pseudoepherdrine, pholcodine...
ethanol, sucrose, glucose, propylene glycol...

yeah... what a welcome change...
old habits die hard... mind you: i needed to reiterate
being rejected by a ******* from:
****...i wasn't rejected...
            i just felt like a tonne of bricks
at the donkey... sure... even i have dreams...
i'd love to spend the last years of my life
in some region of Russia or Norway...
              maybe that too will be soul crushing when
my time comes...
i've already had the heart of youth crushed by
not being able to find anyone outside the realm
of merely *******...
          "only child syndrome":
               or... simply... how i adapted to what was
to come... the rarity of a large family.

— The End —