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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
i have to sometimes be inclined
to allow myself to feel...
dead people leeching onto me...
and this is no seclusion mentality...
given the already printed numbers
and the readily available
population numb numbing numbers...
i am well worn and subsequently
wallowing in: to come, bargain
neon tokyo proof...

James, the Earl of Moray...
and what was "earl" Fassbender...
and this not any other Macbeth...
i am living but given my prior to:
for the dead inclined...
to have to... speak their unwelcome
tongue among the living!
which makes me!

their equal in me being twice
the unwelcome inclined!
my kingdom the shadoqw,
the rust and the dust and bone
and maxim and all that is least
gracious when all, somehow,
spring back to life!
the scythe bore smile within
the glee of the moon come mid!
and all its harvest of constellations!
too dear my love... to heave me baron over
a cousin!

and you to be gladly: towed!
the beard! the beard!
give me a year to admire my own fervent
blush of ****** *****!
before your fabrege "egg"...
scouts! half-boiled... hard-boiled...
soft-boiled...
and all those promises in between!
within this given framework...
each time i feel inclined to cry...
i want to grow most cruel...
the more i cry the more i want to be
cruel...
i want to tease...................

something that does not require
"it' being teased...

thomas cromwell and henry VIII...
elizabeth I and william cecil!
"oops" via tony blaire and alastaire campbell...
doppelgänger "oops"...
but it's not even an "oops"...
herr goebbels: goebbels nicht herr...

can anyone cite the **** doppelgänger
hollywood counter plotline - lineage?!

vorstellen! finden nicht ein doppelgänger!
nein goebbels! aber sie sah...
sogar Gunther von Hagens
ist nein Paul Joseph Goebbels!

i say! the thespian autocracy! primo?!
the actor is above the painter
and all will: bend the knew before this...
lordship of the weakest knee?!

there was a time where:
a macbeth did come before
a hamlet! you *******, porky pie!
but this is no: minding a Freudian couch...
the macbeth comes first...
the hamlet second!

stiff! in my "upper"... "prime"...
the delicacy of being confined...
the thespian autocracy is still forthcoming...
the actors still hold sway over the nunnery
and the priesthood...
otherwise i would "see" the "truth"...
should i be the next to nothing next
dumb plumber with enough
of ****** to marry a woman and make callus
the offspring wishing to
have been: better bred...
or kept in better lineage.;..

a cromwell a cecil... a campbell... a goebbels...
but just one philip augustus...
solo project...
tough on the tooth and limbo jaw..
said: crown the hazelnut!
otherwise... the flag of georgia was
never a universal identification posit
for the young turks and...
when russia would alwahys yawn...
the crusader myth...
the crusader myth: we woz izlam...
and the northern crusades against the prussians,
the lithuanians...
i almost forget that some of us vicinity cracow
barons would treat the masovians
and the capital warsaw as:
not yet incorporated...

until napoleon...
but of course... not since citing the evil empire...
kazakh and what not... turks in new york...
perfectly angry... perfectly: boring and...
Philip's in-on in-oh... does it matter?
there was only this one type of crusades...
into the... Ishlam Ishmael People-Kind sorts
of: the Peoples...
there was never a northern crusade...
the Poles never defended the last pagans of Europe...
the Lithuanians...
no... no! no! NO! that **** never happened!
we woz kurds!
all the ******* time:

me alias bin-baghdadi! all woz iz woz iz!
******* uncle sam...
******* Meghan Mcmarkle!
the blocks and tiramisu needs woz to we'write woz...
coz... trig and: Fishland! bez knowz uz as
Finnishland! sayz auz!

bongo bongo... cowabunga...
seez you better... zzz... pulling this sort of **** in
Wha-wha-usher-in-us-yah!
bongo bongo? no bongo... choke...
st. petersburg'yah?

for all this "misunderstanding"...
the plebs resorted to misuse the plurality
of the pronoun "we"... via them... and they...
one royal resorted to enforced retirement...
which gave me ample time to abuse
the royal pronoun of: one... and the "concrete" we...
i iz pleb... i iz "eastern" U-rop plebz...
not Rotherham plebz iz w and "e"...
"we"... wed to the weeds on a Wednesday...
widowed come a Friday...

any scot or velsh or essex proud is not
plebz... but uz ****** lithuanian...
mid-week ukranian and not quiet russian
or igor gweek...
we'z plebz! bongo bongo: kenya two-point-oh-oh...
best: betz ugh oh oh!
we'z plebz and we drill!
drill yo! yo!

we learn stupidz in the rapidz oh oh!
we emoji and emopticon con hierogylphic oops
a daisy lo! lo!

i don't even know who, or why,
or who "invited"... "us"... i'm never an "us"...
the ****- can speak for a ****-...
the paddy can speak for a paddy...
but i'm hardly going to speak for...
the old ones from cracow would speak...
rather differently when it came
to the masovians and warsaw...
just like the old germans would speak...
much later... when... the prussians
came down with their berlin...
things change...

it would be oh so much more simpler if...
english, a language...
was not supposed to be this medieval
lingua franca...
at this moment in time...
if i really demand myself to care...
this insomnia will ruin me rampant!
i don't want that...
i will not want that...
i will have... what's leftoever.
Nathaniel morgan Dec 2014
Adolf ******
Watch this page
"******" redirects here. For other uses, see ****** (disambiguation).
Adolf ******

Adolf ****** in 1937
Führer of Germany
In office
2 August 1934 – 30 April 1945
Deputy
Rudolf Hess (1933–41)
Position vacant
Preceded by Paul von Hindenburg
(as President)
Succeeded by Karl Dönitz
(as President)
***** Chancellor of Germany
In office
30 January 1933 – 30 April 1945
President Paul von Hindenburg (until 1934)
Deputy
Franz von Papen (1933–34)
Position vacant
Preceded by Kurt von Schleicher
Succeeded by Joseph Goebbels
Leader of the **** Party
In office
29 June 1921 – 30 April 1945
Deputy Rudolf Hess
Preceded by Anton Drexler
Succeeded by Martin Bormann
Personal details
Born 20 April 1889
Braunau am Inn, Austria-Hungary
Died 30 April 1945 (aged 56)
Berlin, Germany
Nationality
Austrian citizen until 7 April 1925[1]
Citizen of Brunswick after 25 February 1932
Citizen of the German ***** after 1934
Political party National Socialist German Workers' Party (1921–45)
Other political
affiliations German Workers' Party (1920–21)
Spouse(s) Eva Braun
(29–30 April 1945)
Parents
Alois ****** (father)
Klara Pölzl (mother)
Occupation Politician
Religion See: Religious views of Adolf ******
Signature
Military service
Allegiance German Empire
Service/branch Bavarian Army
Years of service 1914–20
Rank
Gefreiter
Verbindungsmann
Unit
16th Bavarian Reserve Regiment
Reichswehr intelligence
Battles/wars World War I
Awards
Iron Cross First Class
Iron Cross Second Class
Wound Badge
Adolf ****** (German: [ˈadɔlf ˈhɪtlɐ]; 20 April 1889 – 30 April 1945) was an Austrian-born German politician and the leader of the **** Party (German: Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP); National Socialist German Workers Party). He was chancellor of Germany from 1933 to 1945 and dictator of **** Germany (as Führer und Reichskanzler) from 1934 to 1945. ****** was at the centre of **** Germany, World War II in Europe, and the Holocaust.

****** was a decorated veteran of World War I. He joined the German Workers' Party (precursor of the NSDAP) in 1919, and became leader of the NSDAP in 1921. In 1923, he attempted a coup in Munich to seize power. The failed coup resulted in ******'s imprisonment, during which time he wrote his memoir, Mein Kampf (My Struggle). After his release in 1924, ****** gained popular support by attacking the Treaty of Versailles and promoting Pan-Germanism, antisemitism, and anti-communism with charismatic oratory and **** propaganda. ****** frequently denounced international capitalism and communism as being part of a Jewish conspiracy.

******'s **** Party became the largest elected party in the German Reichstag, leading to his appointment as chancellor in 1933. Following fresh elections won by his coalition, the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act, which began the process of transforming the Weimar Republic into the Third *****, a single-party dictatorship based on the totalitarian and autocratic ideology of National Socialism. ****** aimed to eliminate Jews from Germany and establish a New Order to counter what he saw as the injustice of the post-World War I international order dominated by Britain and France. His first six years in power resulted in rapid economic recovery from the Great Depression, the denunciation of restrictions imposed on Germany after World War I, and the annexation of territories that were home to millions of ethnic Germans, actions which gave him significant popular support.

****** actively sought Lebensraum ("living space") for the German people. His aggressive foreign policy is considered to be the primary cause of the outbreak of World War II in Europe. He directed large-scale rearmament and on 1 September 1939 invaded Poland, resulting in British and French declarations of war on Germany. In June 1941, ****** ordered an invasion of the Soviet Union. By the end of 1941 German forces and their European allies occupied most of Europe and North Africa. Failure to defeat the Soviets and the entry of the United States into the war forced Germany onto the defensive and it suffered a series of escalating defeats. In the final days of the war, during the Battle of Berlin in 1945, ****** married his long-time lover, Eva Braun. On 30 April 1945, less than two days later, the two committed suicide to avoid capture by the Red Army, and their corpses were burned. Under ******'s leadership and racially motivated ideology, the regime was responsible for the genocide of at least 5.5 million Jews, and millions of other victims whom he and his followers deemed racially inferior.

Contents
Early years
Ancestry
Childhood and education
Early adulthood in Vienna and Munich
World War I
Entry into politics
Beer Hall Putsch
Rebuilding the NSDAP
Rise to power
Brüning administration
Appointment as chancellor
Reichstag fire and March elections
Day of Potsdam and the Enabling Act
Removal of remaining limits
Third *****
Economy and culture
Rearmament and new alliances
World War II
Early diplomatic successes
Alliance with Japan
Austria and Czechoslovakia
Start of World War II
Path to defeat
Defeat and death
The Holocaust
Leadership style
Legacy
Religious views
Health
Family
****** in media
See also
Footnotes
References
Citations
Sources
External links
Build in a very humble way
Its architecture redolent of Europe,
Plain and honest in structure,
The vestibule at the entrance
Replete with old hardbound books
Dust covering the jackets
In their agony of human oblivion,
Every section has shelves under lock
Only to be open on permitted access.

Located in the desert like an oases,
But the desert of readers not waters,
But like any other oasis, it is useful,
At most to the genuine users.

There are books and books all over,
Windows only open after adjustment,
You start at the door step with classics,
Indian, European, American and global classics,
I pumped into Leo Tolstoy at the first glance,
Finely juxtaposed; Anne Karenina after War and peace.

I opened war and peace and I chanced on Napoleon
Then thrill of intellect and bliss of art
Began flowing into my guts like a river
I kept on wandering why Leo Tolstoy
Never became a Christian sub religion,
To be added to the two testaments,
For it to begat the post-modern holy Bible.

My physical peregrination of the hand
Led me to a vase of rosy wine
Its intellectual whiff surpassing all,
The psalms of David and songs of songs
This was nothing but precious discovery;
A thousand Rubiyats of Omar Khayyam
The shoulder of wisdom and love of God
The hero of Sufism and demystifier of heaven,
When in fact I came unto his 69th Rubiyat;
I have heard people say
that those who love wine are ******.
That can't be true, that clearly is a lie.
For if lovers of wine and love are bound for hell,
heaven would be quite empty!

I chewed and chewed fortune out of Rubiyats,
I went through all the thousand Rubiyats,
Only hot Sun and desert sand storms of Lodwar
Are my witnesses among the myriads of bystanders
As life of a reader is similar to the life a writer,
They both derive energy from solitude’s power.

I moved on again to Alfred Jarren
The son of France, the father of mystery;
Pataphysics the science of fantasy
It has the realm beyond metaphysics,
His survey of pataphorical world
Has remained witchcraft
Beyond my simple soul’s grasp.

Paradox is one other worldwide wonder
As I look at an illiterate Turkana Man,
Guarding the library, club in his hand,
His ever week from stubborn hunger,
His sires never go to school, perhaps culture
I looked at him often in my pause for muse,
Why guard knowledge that you can’t use?

I again came upon the Quran
I read it voraciously over and again,
In expectation of great knowledge
Always making Muslims to be noisy,
I have found nothing great in the Quran,
Only regular subversions of Biblical grammar,
Let Muslims sober up to respect Jesus Christ,
His sermon on the Mountain is perfectly enough
as an impeachment to crazed pataphoricals
That Muslims often dare the world with.

I read the Bible again in repetition
Of what I had did ten years ago,
I read psalms, Job and Isaiah,
Gospels and epistles are more nice,
Chronicles and Habakkuk are so dull,
Lamentations are somber poems,
Revelations are esoteric lies,
Kings and Samuel full of chauvinism,
Proverbs and Ecclesiastes are mere clichés
My idea is; mankind can fear God
Minus Jewish intervention.

Now I chanced upon The synagogue of Satan,
A book written by one other crazy American,
His name is Andrew Hitchcock Crichton,
The book is long and spellbinding,
Having historical facts from early centuries,
Chronicling mysterious growth of Jewish empire,
Arranging facts one after another
Dismissing Bush’s anger against Arabs,
Over the bombing of the twin towers
When they are the Jews who Bombed America
As a decoy to induce American wrath,
Thus twin towers bombing was Jewish war ploy
To put Arabs into a rat’s corner.

I came across one funny book
Written by a Indian sage
Its title was Secrets of ***
From male perspective,
I don’t liked the book
For its prurient content,
But to my sad chagrin it was the most read
Its leaves were dog eared and use worn
I spied into the rumour about its tearing,
T it was a hot cake among nuns and priests
Presently living at Lodwar cathedral.

You could also wonder my dear brother
Why a Christian library has works of Marx?
This was my muse as I read Karl Marx,
I mean everything written by Karl Marx,
From Das Kapita to Germany Philosophy,
Selected works to Poverty of philosophy,
18th Brumaire to Integral calculus,
The Manifesto to the letters,
I read Karl Marx as if I was in Russia,
I wondered why Catholics are Liberal
They fear not those who contradict them.

The Holy Grail is visibly placed
In fact at right hand corner,
At the far end on your entrance
I chose to read it
Because of its voluminousity,
The book is about ****** life
Of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene,
This book shares out that;
One time Jesus was found hiding,
Kissing Mary Magdalene, the Grail
In the most affectionate manner ever.

The catholic Library at Lodwar is bad news
It swallowed me like waters of Indian Ocean,
It is located at place called Lokiriama,
It was established by Bishop Mahoni
One other man deserving my respect
He was humble and catholically wise,
Very intelligent and consciously bookish,
His mission was to make the Turkana people
A modern community, but he failed,
He was so disappointed to his hilt
He transferred to the Archdioceses of New-York
Where he began facing problems of the law
On allegations of him being a *******,
I curse the devil for such temptations.

I did meet Yan Martel in this dome of books
His famous book; Life of Mr. Pi
It was my eye opener?
It transformed me from a village bumpkin
To a modern reader of global literature,
I read this book amid my fear of Tigre
But I was thrilled, to my bone marrow
When the main character drunk the blood,
Warm salty blood of the sea turtle.

I got another book with folded pages,
At its mid was the red book marker
Baring the name of the respected priest,
The book was entitled; How to excel as
A ****-******, chapter one focused on gays
Chapter two  focused on lesbians,
But the rest of the book was all homosexuality,
In nothing else, but rosiest terms.

On such encounters I once again went back,
To re-read 89th Rubiyat of Omar Khayyam
It has the following quatrain to echo;
Looking for peace on earth? Foolishness.
Believing in eternal calm? Foolishness.
Once dead your sleep will be short. You may
be reborn as a clump of weeds that will be
trodden underfoot, or as a flower that
will wither in the sun's heat.

African writers were stuffed on one shelve
Labeled African books of English expressions,
But on my request to the project manager,
His name was Peter Kebo, he was Flamboyant
And physically indifferent to Turkana poverty,
We agreed with him to rename the shelves
As; African literature in English Language,
Nobel Laureates are in this section;
Soyinka, Lessing, Coatze and Gordimer
Not forgetting the Egyptian literary tiger
In the name of Mahfouz or Maguiz
I clearly don’t know,
Sembene Ousmane is also here
I read him again for the fourth time,
It’s when I found out the simple truth,
That God’s bits of wood, translates as;
The wretched of the earth,
I read Lessing’s Grass is singing,
She likes ***,
I read Gordimer’s July’s people,
She likes menstrual blood,
I read everything here
As published by James Currey
In his Africa writes back,
I also read the White African Nobelite
Joshua Maxwell Coetzee
He is a wizard of Narrative literature,
I read his life of Mr. K.
I found amusing plots and amusing themes,
I also read Ngugi’s Wizard of the Crow
It is nice; Ngugi is still fighting dictatorship,
Not physically but in a metaphysical manner.

I was again lucky enough
To chance on Caribbean literature,
Is when I read Vitian S Naipaul
The humourist Marxist of Marxists,
I read his Mr. Biswas’s house,
With avidness of an aphrodisiac cur,
His characters like taking a long time
In the toilets, Naipaul is good,
I again chanced on George Flamming
In the Castle of my skin
Caribbean literature stinks of slavery
And counter-slavery.

My landing to the shelve of Latin America,
Was a total blessing; Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Stood out like tor of literature among others,
I began with his Big Maria’s Funeral,
Then I moved on to Love in Times of Cholera,
And then You Can’t Write to the Colonel,
As I spiced my intellect with Melancholic *****,
Then finally I revisited his Stories from Africa
And the Hundred Years of Solitude,
The following morning when I came back,
I read in the newspaper that;
Gabriel Garcia Marquez is dead!
It was sad and poor of me, I mourned him
With long essays and somber poetry,
Then I fell in love with the literatures
of Spanish origin in language sense,
I read Octavio Paz and Pablo Neruda
From Octavio I enjoyed coda,
Between Coming and Going and so on,
Neruda thrilled me with his sense of Marx
Especially his poem; on burying the dog.

European classics section arrested me
I never easily moved out of there,
I chanced on ****** and annals of Goebbels,
Reading Russians like Tolstoy,Chenkov,
Gorky, Gogol and Shelynetsyn was lively,
Chewing Shakespeare from cover to cover
Not spearing Pushkin nor Homer,
Victor Hugo was a relish. Emile Zola
And Maugham, I too enjoyed…

Then my holiday in Lodwar was finally over,
But I am soon going back for my Xmas,
I will directly go back to the European section,
I also remember having come by;
The Satanic Verses of Salman Rushdie,
I will have to  re-read it with passion,
It is my prayer that this time comes
For I to resume my holy duty
In the Catholic Library at Lokiriama
In Lodwar Dioceses of Turkana County
In the Savannah desert in North West
Regions of my country Kenya.
Yenson Jan 2019
“It's very difficult not to come across as a supremacist when there are so many black inferiorists around.”
― David Bullard

Look!..he's a leech, he's a parasite
That black man is draining the Taxpayers
He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled
Look at him, educated and refined, arrogant as black ****
Go get him, the ******* parasite cheating the working classes

Why not tell the ******* truth
That a white family of thieves broke into the flat of a black man
Something that they had done once already and caught but let off
Because they were neighbours and pitied, police were not involved
They did it again and were called thieving working class scums

Up comes hail and thunder and war
Their Militant leftist friends say it Anti-monarchy Revolution
Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes
Go get him, his life destroy, cast him asunder, hound him to hell
Down with the rich, this is war, people's power, this is democracy

LIES, HOGWASH, DISINGENUOUS *******, RACIST CRAP

They can't bear to see a black man do well
They can't bear a respectable, decent, confident black man
To then stand up and call them out to their faces was the ultimate
They are supreme and all else must fall before them or put down
A black that is not a Black Inferiorist must be discredited at all cost

If the situation was reversed
And a black thief steals from an equivalent white with same status
(   He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled )
Would the reactions be the same
(Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes )
Honesty says NO, you know it and we all know it

(Supremacy has taught him that all people of color are threats irrespective of their behavior. Capitalism has taught him that, at all costs, his property can and must be protected. Patriarchy has taught him that his masculinity has to be proved by the willingness to conquer fear through aggression)

But the black man becomes a leech, a parasite a threat
For standing up to white criminals and daring to call them out
Devious political  chicanery is unleashed and our Supremacists
All rally up, totting falsehood and misinformation to cover truths
Why don't see any Class war action in Kensington and Chelsea

What really bothers some of you is simple - and you corrupt others
Blacks must always be inferior and if they are not, you fight secretly and covertly!
Because only you have the God given right to live decently
Only you have the right to air your opinion or disagreement
Only you have the right to call it as you think you see it.

And you'll fight tooth and nail and with everything else to keep
it that way!
“Whiteness mitigates crime, whereas blackness defines the criminal.”
― Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness
It has now gone an epical song
like the fables of Homer and Ramayana,
or else a national anthem like the poem of Tagore,
in India and lesbian song of Brenda Fasie in south Africa,
that six million Jews were killed in the  world war II ,
that they were killed at Dachau,that it was holocaust,
That the Jewish Holocaust  was  protege of ******.

As if  the war was between the Jews and the world,
as if the Jews alone died in the war,but none else,
as if Africans' death  is not death,but ethics of war,
as if more than six million Africans who died are not news,
as if humongous compensation with state of Israeli to the Jews,
means nothing  until what we know not must happen.

African deaths in the second world war  lacks statistics,
given the sub-human conditions of the Africans  by then,
before thrones of colonial psychology of white civilization,
they were more than six million black men  and women,
conscripted by white man's force in kings African Rivals,
They were fronted  without training to shoot and take cover,
they were placed as front guard,white soldiers the rear guard,
then they became shield and human barricade to ward-off,
volley of bullets lest the white soldiers get wounded.

Black men  and women rarely came back alive,
once taken into war that was death as a must
those who survived the war in Panama or wherever,
were never taken back home, they were left there,
to walk on foot thousands of miles back home ,
without food ,clothes,arms or  map to guide,
some were even shot by the their own  fellow white soldiers
on the grounds of the race, because the war was over,
Black men as such died of hunger,thirst,exhaustion and Malaria,
they were eaten by wild animals in the bush,their cadaver went to dogs,
Millions of black men  never got home for ceremonial burial
and this was not Black holocaust, only the Jews had a holocaust.

Black men had no stake in the second world war whatsoever,
they had no interest , they were not in any colonial scramble
they were not in any  arms race nor imperialism of any sort,
Jews had what they wanted; land or money whatever it was,
but where can you get land and money without the cost ?
loss of lives or personal heritage can be the cost,Pyrrhic or Byronic,
Jews are obviously truth bound to accept this virtues of history,
to accept their lot as a swallowed misfortune
from the universal holocaust but not Jewish holocaust.

The Japanese in Nagasaki and Hiroshima will say what,
was not the atomic bombing of their land
occasioning mass death of the Shintos
and sons of Japan the owners of the Sun
immense enough to be a Japanese Holocaust ?
Nagasaki and Hiroshima is not an anthem in Japan,
but  blurred number of Jewish death in Dachau
is a universal anthem as the Six Million Jewish Holocaust,
what a selfish motivation to commit collective lies?

Jews who died were not six million,
Germany by  then was not such populated,
Germany had less than ten million people,
Kwani, were the Jews more than the native Germans ?
if then war is the game of numbers ,
couldn't the Jews  defend themselves from less Aryans?
Jews died, yes like any other race and community,
like the French,Britons,Germans,Russians and Indians,
Just like more than six million black  Africans who died,
But Africans have forgotten and forgiven their  conscriptors
they have never made the Black Holocaust  their epical anthem,

Black men were compensated nothing for their wounds in war,
Ask Richard Wright the Native son of America in the realm of ancestors,
he has a story in the black boy , he will tell you ,We black men ,
We swallowed  the most  bitter bill of  global history,
were toyed between the extremities of cruel historicities;
from slavery to  colonial terror to world war back to colonial terror,
The Jews were given Israel as a compensation for their wounds,
The  UNO wanted to Give the  country of Uganda to the Jews,
As  saucer compensation in addition to state of  Israel,
imagine brutality that Black man harvests ,
from his relation with the white  world.

How  many Arabs have the Israelis killed since 1948,
the year when Jews had Palestine's Atlas get shrugged
in the American  efforts to pamper the Zionist  Israelis,
are they not  more than six million Arabs , or they are less,
Arabs are not ****** who told the Jews to take a shower,
A lethal shower of ammonium gas at Dachau chambers,
Arabs are not Joseph Goebbels who ployed death of  the Jews,
But Jews have amassed all type of menacing weapons,
they have killed men,women and children of Arab nation,
in the past six decades, Jews have killed violently and brutally,
more than six million Arabs, is this  not an Arab Holocaust,
or no a Palestine Holocaust or no the Gentiles' Holocaust ?

the events of second world war were universal in dint
they never befall a single race,community or faith,
every community lost its people through death,
But Africa had the worst experience of all the cases,
absence of statics cannot make this sham claim,
Jews must stop lies and make genuine claims,
Jewish Holocaust is a misnomer for war event,
we all suffered and agonized in equal measure
why again formulate lies to justify avarice.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
wasze ulice, nasze... kamienice...
    
boasting Jews of Poland...

Kraków "snow"
  (ashes from Auschwitz
falling on the old capital,
of human remains...
they called it:
     szaryśnieg -
                 grauschnee)...

the marching hybrid
song
         ich bin zu schuld...
   ich bin deutsche nicht
deutsche: ich bin
alles: europäisch...
  die letztemann!                

feminism according
to Leni Riefenstahl...
no women among
the Nazis?
my my... how sexist!
eine makellosfrau!
            eine schnellblond!

oh my! my!

mein mutter
still confuses

  joseph goebbels with
hermann göring -

did you know...
****** was a commoner,
but heinrich himmler
was of the noble sort?
yeah... why expect
a nobleman to exhort such
banality to re-compensate
                          the guillotine?

two decent Nazis though:
Rudolph Heß...
und...
       Erwin Rommel...

   die zwei!

  beside the two?
             curators of evil,
these h'amricans...
with their puritanical excuses...
always the army of excuses...
the Americans constitute
an army of excuses...
never an "ideology"...
but always the "excuse"...
purposive in being adamant
on the metaphor of good,
never the metaphor of evil...

      always the crux-built
fracture of foundation...

die dritte...

                  Karl Dönitz...

hamburger army...
sure... love you...
              Chinese Levi -
Bangladeshi shirts...
Kenyan hamburgers...
and you wonder why
there is an economic displacement?
my people were happier
under a Communist regime...
with an iron-works factory...
simply because...
McDonald's didn't provide
jobs for a hundred people,
but because the iron
factory provided work for
1000 people...

       war... there were always too forms
of war...
          oddly enough:
i'll find you the Nazis i admire...

       because, "oddly" enough,
there are some i admire...
   well... let's call them the trinity...

     you can't make the bargain of reverting
totalitarianism on all the ****...
the argument follows:
there were some,
who resisted...
            and i name, but three.

your turn to play the poker;

what did
amon goeth say about
the Polish king Casimir the great
welcoming Jews into Poland?
very little...
either gassed them,
or shot them doing
beside the menial tasks
of quasi-labor.

yes... the holocaust did happen...
6 million+ jews died...
as 6 million+ cows die in a
slaughterhause (schlachtenhauß)...
but who did really die
in the holocaust?
   beethoven died,
            wagner died,
         leibniz died...
            mozart... goethe...
nietzsche...
     they died...
der deutschegeist sterben!
                 and the german spirit
is not the hebrai spirit
                  what dies remains dead...
unless it's born from
a hebrews' stubborn pact of
agitating a god to continue his promise:
one divine intervention,
mythical at this point...
and then... yo-yo toying with
promises, with prophecy upon prophecy...
but never delivering, only teasing...
till the people believe themselves...
   and a load of other drunken *******...

lucky me to write this drunk,
the sober me gets to appreciate
the cricket world cup.
Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
“Ethnic cleansing” is an hygienic phrase
Which could have rolled off Joseph Goebbels' tongue.
That Balkan soil from which the Great War sprung
Still yields the crop of hatred neighbours raise.
A Pole who twists the ******* in praise
Swept Hani from the Boksburg social rung
And still the scent of frangipani hung
And clung like power while the townships blaze.

Was Nietzsche right when he said God was dead?
Now whose redemption song can Marley sing?
Why won't we see the hater suffers too?
“Love” was the word Christ-Buddha-Allah said.
Love fuelled the dream of Martin Luther King.
God, forgive them, they know well what they do.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. The poet wishes to acknowledge Galloping On 4 (an anthology, Western Australia) in whose pages this poem first appeared.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
there's always that trailing off i get when i write,
oh god, whiskey is a ******...
    it drags you like a mermaid to the depths,
i start to feel an anchor in my mind
even though my heart is steady-numb...
   and i evidently become slightly dyslexic...
  but hey! what can you do:
     either drink and be miserable,
  or drink and unfold with terrible spelling at
the end of a session... and feel shame the next
day, having seen the outpouring
from the previous night...
      better still... i could recommend tending to
a small vine-patch...
and like me: taking a break from whiskey once
a year and drinking your own produce...
    unless of course you have a local turkish shop
nearby that sells out-dated beer
  at half the price... let me tell you:
that's ****** marvelous... nothing like
out-dated beer... it's right up there with the rollercoaster
and the kick! my my! it's so sudden...
      but it hits the spot,
all the disorientative effects of mushrooms:
without excess Dali lodged in your eyes...
so yeah, out-dated beer... double the trip...
but today is different, i have about 30 litres of
home-made wine just ready to be drunk,
   i've downed one bottle and i'm running
errands with the next... but i'm not miserable
in that i'm washing away my sorrows...
the funny thing about making your own wine
is that once you drink it: you celebrate...
you start to think about all the effort you put
into making it... how you picked the grapes from
the vine, how you squashed the grapes,
how you stood bedazzled by melting sugar
        in a little bit of water over the stove
(and how it started looking very much like
heavy water, or mercury, but see-through) -
and how you sniffed the stench of yeast,
and then waited for a month or so for the ****** thing
to take up strength...
   and now you're drinking it...
                    oh yes... wine in essex is very much
agreeable... and my my: i am really celebrating this
endeavour... it's not as fake as going to the shop
and buying a bottle of wine... i am drinking
my own work... i am celebrating, there's no god
or omen in the world that can tell me otherwise...
    i waited a year for this, well: two...
i don't know what happened last year, i mistimed...
the grapes froze, there was a sudden surge of frost
and i was really upset because of it, 2 years ago
i was drunk like a skunk for several days
and wrote some poems in between,
      and put my own wine on the christmas table,
but since i was ****** for so long, i could only
showcase one bottle...
      well they do say there are spirits out there,
and i must say: wine, esp. your own really is
the veritas, as the saying goes: in vino veritas...
    bring it back to whiskey, or Ms. Amber as i like
to call her... she's not sour, and she's pulverising,
so she's no friend of the tongue... in case you're wondering
i'd like to call herr goebbels right now...
         but can you feel a shame of having misspelled a word
drunk, because your hands started to feel
   a bit like a daddy longlegs with one or two legs missing?
in terms of the keyboard...
what are the prime digits?
right hand: ******* - ****! now my hands feel conscious
of me talking about them...
middle and thumb (for the spacebar) -
   index finger for the opening bracket (  
pinky finger for the enter button -
                 to make room for the next line -
which makes me wonder about my left hand,
it would appear that i'm left handed when before
the keyboard -
   the main provocators are the index
middle and... surprise surprise! the ring finger!
the left hand thumb sometimes does
                       use the space bar also...
the the right hand ring finger is hardly used...
i remember watching my doctor type at a keyboard once...
a bit like a crow pecking... it went like this:
index (right) index (left)
    index (right) index (left)
               index (right) index (left) - it was agony...
it was a bit like standing at a supermarket cashier with
an old lady in front of you, buying butter and milk
and talking for an hour while counting her change...
   ageism? no! just your typical life-bound comedy of
how the stats stack... we spend this many years in traffic...
and my, the hand thing...
       yep, next thing you'll - aha! there is the ring-finger
utility in the right hand after all - it comes with words
that come shortened, i.e. you'll... the ' mark,
and also the backspace button...
                  i was going to say: (the shift button?
pinky owns it) - as the great kabbalists have this fetish
of looking at your hands, it's worthwhile to note down
this geography of the keyboard...
   they'd just point at the indententions of the hand
and spew words out like: girdle of venus...
     malkhut (silent h) -
                 which brings to mind:
   we already know the name is silent,
  since you might be served an indian dish called
dhal... and in fact you would be served such a dish,
but you'd only say you ate daal... or dāl...
then again that's also true with the pedant puritan
who'd note it as: dhāl... which is funny that this isn't
merely coincidental... a language that doesn't
use diacritical marks, and has a third arm sticking out
of it in terms of what letters remain silent (but are
inserted into words nonetheless), and a concentration
of the same rubik's "cube" akin to y and w...
      y and i are so close! you can almost feel them pushing
together, or giving birth to something!
  why?! why?!
                         (insert snigger)... drunk humour:
it gets the better of me sometimes...
   so yes, that thing about kabbalists and the hand thing,
other words could be included, like: keter,
               bina(h),             gevura(h),  
strangely enough Hod...   tiferet (what a beautiful word),
    yesod....     chok(h)ma(h)...   chesed...
netzach! hey! surfing u.s.a., i think i'll bring my banjo
to sniff out whether i'm part of the scene:
dangle dangle plop plop... ah poo...
                   p pi po'h...           and last weekend
we had snow... it scared the bejesus out of people
for a while, but things returned to normal nonetheless...

- interlude -

the tyranny of being conscious...
long recognised by eastern philosophy and the practice
of meditation...
  to be away from me...
        and they do so, splendid,
and then all toward vanity, given you're forced
into dreaming... so even when you're not even
conscious... i.e. unconscious...
   you're being fed a dream...
  and however disroted that you in the dream
is... there's still you...
oddly enough: if i make thinking = dreaming
   i can honestly say: i wish i dreamed more
than i thought... me not a mighty oratory gob
after all...
            evidently doing hallucinogenics
   was to excavate the dream into the waking hour...
and that's how i'll leave this interlude,
   i just imagine andy warhol testifying about fame
at the opera...
   or that's me bound to watching:
   alain de botton... or what does need diacritical
marks: alain dé bóttą...
                        dé bóttą... the art of travel,
                    on the QE2...    
      dé bóttą! oh the marvel, French of all languages
is nasal and glottal! when speaking Polish you
might as well be talking in razors...
                  Greek and lisp, English and Cockney rhyme...
and the lost trill of the R... R hollowed out...
                and once again to modern times:
the imperial march (darth vader's theme) vs.
     beethoven's 9th symphony...
                                                             tra la la -
both as universally acknowledged as the sound of
a ****... and perhaps a pigeon's coo-woo
                                                                                       -

...the interlude actually contains what ignited me to
write... drinking aside, but drinking too...
   in all too a great happiness that somehow i live
a life that asks for narrative minimalism,
               i can say: and in between i did **** all,
i thought profanity was necessary,
            and how i'd wish i'd have written a epic
like don quixote... but then i thought: keep it real,
keep it real... av a laugh...
                           i'll probably taste the sour from the wine
sometime soon, once the narrative becomes a Gobi
and i get worked about the eventual loss of
   a carpe diem quickie...
                           but it's still there, for the moment...
        and having realised that: it's gone.
               and i did say:
    by the personnae principle, in line with not writing out
a Tolstoy, i have to admit that i never know
who i encounter in my exploits...
            and there is a personnae principle at work here,
it's not Shakespeare, that much i know,
   it's the practice of personnae incorporation that
does away with: and Titus said:
                                      veni! vidi! vendredi!
(oi oi, enough of the French static, ya ponce!)
          so that's that, poetry has come to resemble
   modern art... given the personnae principle
we have done away with all the intricacies of
        writing a Shakespearean play...
Titus - lo!
   Anthony - a plum tree!
                          as a person competent with narratives
i ask for all people to leave the building...
   a pit of tongues i might also add...
      populo in singuli!       ah freckles and ash...
it has to be: pertaining to the vulgate...
   nothing better than speaking illiterate latin ol' boy...
  a bit like richard brautigan
writing the pill versus the springhill mine disaster -
there the buds of the concept personnae (without clear
indication that we are dealing with a crowd,
so no memorable quote or character, the narrator
is trying to keep his **** together, pardons for the laziness
and lack of indicative marks that there are actually
more people in the room than could be expected...
me and drunk me make up a thousand crude-essentials
as to what is intended to imply: having a good time) -
    sometimes poetry is just that: a quickened code for
acting, albeit without any character-study,
        or diet, or paparazzi...  and it's so quick... you've
watched a movie like a mosquito lived its life and you're
writing the credits...
       like richard brautigan wrote that poem -
      when you take your pill
           it's like a mine disaster.
       i think of all the people
      lost inside of you.

richard brautigan! richard brautigan!
this is the mine disaster company, over!
         yes, we number 34 souls in total.
       and there's your thesis! it must be hard to
write "poetry" and never, not once: experience
the Styx in your travels, the pit of tongues,
         or the personnae principle...
              always bound to rigid narrative constructs,
alway having an aliby with a 'he said it!'
          it must get horrid sometimes,
   living that life of a puppeteer / narrator -
     never really drunk with pesky humour -
       never once enjoing a wicked thought -
        a meddle on the omnius frivolity of life...
but personally? i find it almost bewildering that
of all the ancient Greek gods... Hades was homeless...
that's before Hades was a noun designating a place,
a realm... i just find it hard
to believe that of all the gods, Hades didn't have a temple...
    the only god from ancient greece that didn't
have a temple... sure, they had a statue of him,
  but there was no temple to see to benediction...
now i really think i've over-stepped it...
                     the wine is imploring me to end this
polyphonic nonsense, and think of a monophonic
sound of a woodpecker... relax... think of the sound
when wood is chopped...
      relax... forget this circus of what could be
described as a theoretical exploration of a schizophrenic
symptom... think of a monty python sketch...
        calm



                                                                                 .
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
. bye bye, ms. american pie...

ever find a hallucination
of a strawberry in a cigarette?
or a vanilla ice-cream cone
in a bottle of rye?

dear ms. amber, dear ms. amber,
dear mr, john smithy...
could i possibly take ylur daughter
to the dance?

may you be the beauty i sometimes
expected as a wife...
who heeds ****...
just listen to teenage girls prior
to the "ultimate" loss
of virginity...

to name but one...
she clearly lost her sort of bit,
Madonna music immunity....
to boot...
       abooktopia...

does that word mean anything
without a children's book
contracts by publishers?
or therefore, with?

                 i forgot to ensure
curating an interest in...
    to overcome the summary
of the crude encompassing of...
klaus doldinger....

              erinnerung...

    tod spricht vorausgehend
       zu leben...


it's almost funny...
people with the sole capacity to
recite...
merely ******,
  Himmler,
        Göring,
                   Goebbels...
      
               but i thought Nazis were
in season?
i thought society required Nazis?!
   such a pithy...
such puny recitals!
               almost all of the WWI soldiers
under Wilhelm were
deemed heroes...
      thank **** that i'm not even
a quarter German...
given... what the united powers
did converging over
Berlin... with the ***** epidemic...

    even though i'm Polish...
and i remember my great-grandmother
hiding from both the Nazis and
the Red Army...
you want a ******* villain...
i'll be a **** for you...
no problem...

                      i sort of have a fetish
for the Dritte ***** uniforms...
       lodged in a Indiana Jones movie...
**** it...
suit up and boot me in into
the act...
            i don't mind...
what you can't take away
from the Nazis that you can take
away from all other antagonists...
pristine tailoring!
     you can't match up
to whatever axis / empire of evil...
and "think"
you can out-compete
the tailoring of **** uniforms...
no chance in hell...
however many
pineapples harvey keitel
shoves up Adolf ******'s ***...
  
it's still Armani grey when it comes
to the uniformed officers
of the the Wehrmacht...
as it is the: sly "little" number...
for the Coco Chanel... SS
splinter, base, bias, *****.

if people are so desperate for
a ****?  
  can you really starve the people?
and not give them one?!
that would be most cruel...
i think people deserve a bull's eye!

you're most welcome...
   there i was, suffocating on the fact...
that you were disorientated...
and pointing at false actors of...
what you expected to be
the motivational enzyme -
sole curator,
               of forwarding history;

why didn't these people come to
me sooner?
  i would have played the **** sooner!
John F McCullagh Jun 2012
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he came to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we must hide."
"Herr Goebbels was our school's inspiration.
Joe McCarthy taught here till he died.
Charlie Rangel is among our directors.
Our Grads over nations preside."
"We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Grad course in prevarication
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Obama was born in Hawaii,
his foes say he was birthed out of state."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some coed's behind."

We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
told whoppers in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the World's Great Religions
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.

" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."

" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, without moving my lips.
In Dublin during the 1916 insurrection, the Medecity Institute was destroyed by British shells.  It didn't take too much imagination to change one letter- then it was off to the races with my imagination.
Geno Cattouse Dec 2012
Running here running there
doing this doing that.
calling him calling her.
fixing this fixing that.

Im just tidying  up the window dressing .
Fixing the facade.

Going here going there
smiling nicely putting on spin
trying to win the face contest.

Just tidying up the window dressing.
The store is out of stock.
The Tax man is a vamp.
Printing money like stamps.
Busting up my camp.

Time is spinning faster. Playing out the string.
The treadmill tilts a  steeper angle.
Winners never quit and quitters never win.
Reaching for the next rung. Just like the one before.

Just tidying up the window dressing.
I got stamina to burn.

Tax man. Gas man.  Card man
Med. man. Food man. Clothes man
Mortgage man.Rent man. Car man.
Light man. Water man Boss man.

Tidying up the window dressing
Stressing hard about my stressing.
Too jammed up to count my blessing.
Tell the truth without confessing.

Politicians full of ****.
Slippery as quicksilver.
Who the hell they playing with.
Left or right I'm done with it.
AGAIN.


Media. what media. Tell it to
Goebbels.

Just pulling down the window dressing
Tired of playing Bo Peep. Big boy time.
Wakie Wakie.

The old shell game.
Never give a sucker an even break
Or.
Smarten up a chump said W.C
Fields. He was serious. I'm serious.
Who's serious about 1929.

Tearing down the window dressing
Dont believe the hype.
Nero fiddled while Rome burned. He was not mad
He had a plan?

Tearing up the window dressing.
Life is much too short for mucking
about with pit vipers bugged on ecstasy.
I'm serious.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
for a drunk: i can manage
                                  the cannabis induced
                                       chill...

   what, with england and
                      the laughing gas epidemic...

oh yeah, you can spot about
9 bullets of
the concentrated stuff
  in one evening's walking
                                                    session...

who would have thought
that english humour,
black as the advances of
melancholia
                                    required a: booster...

but then i've never heard
of: (and now it's a concept)
dyslexia in slavic languages...
no wonder

given my: not-so-bright observation
of -
            perhaps its a dialect
of east germany...

one example...
    the tinniest of "errors"...

                rammstein's ich will...
    past the veil and Volford...
      like counting knuckles
whenever not teasing
a punchbag,
      or a stomach on the *******...

there's an apparently missing S...
       what i hear what i hear:
what i see, but don't hear is ich...

and back into language games:
in slavic that's
literally translated as:
                  theirs -
mind you:
i also find the use of the apostrophe
sometimes confusing in english,
it's this one aspect of english
i'm still groveling over...

   have to forgive them for not
concerning themselves with this, minor,
detail...

       theirs,

                        the plural possessiveness
of the collective other...

               hardly a case to unload
with: there's -

     which in hounddog
                gobble gobble down
a goebbels as in:            
                                      there   is,

ya, i know, prostitutes for an hour,
the part of me that's supposed
to feel jealous of owning a car
when i own a pair of legs,

                    and you get to mind
road tax, while i concerns myself about
spaghetti al dente and shoelaces?
i'll take the shoelaces,
  thank you, very much.

   but this is a recurrent theme in:
well: at least sort this "orthography" out,
the english use of the apostrophe
when concerned with
            the plural, the possesive,
and the: "slang" add-on of is...

notably the problem: St. Paul's
             and what if not many Pauls?
you can't exactly note that,
depending on your aesthetic genesis...

                   Pauls's - paul-sysyz...
god forbid i be the one steering
           the hindenburg over London...
    
but clearly there's a dispossesive
pluralism involved in the possessive
article of apostrophe S,
                                                      's...

ich can imply: not the german first person
pronouns, subsequent with
                                        ()Pad...
                cheap, monetißing on grammar...

but in the çited song?
              there's an "enigma" of a missing S...
if you just listen...
it's not ich: closing in on
a lost harking...
         missing phlegm of course...
         there's clearly a sentence
bound to...                                   isch...

details of linguistic technicality
are like itches:
or tooth-aches,
   can't seem to fathom the irritating
S+ in                singing:    ich will....

     namely isch...
             or how the germans managed
to consider a phrase for:
                              shutting up!

a hornet's needle jerking off on
an ear drum...
  one russian lass once suggested
that i spoke too much: sh    sh sh    sh...
and never               hagh-shhh'd...

i know, the U would give up
the Hugh...
    not the ******* Freckled Heffner...
that: faking i'm not spanish
english actor, you know:             (  
                                                      
                                                         (
those eyes,
bypassing a fringe and not even settling on
a raised eyebrow...

******* want to dance...
   łired...
                łorth...
                         which is basically W:
who the hell calls a letter so rigid as
an upside ranging M and double-U?

      is that a real name,
                                or a prison, ksyva?
there is no iota in why or Y
               but a hollowing out,
          a mummification process...

         ******* deutsch-schprech-*****...

nibbi-nibbi: imitating a goose-quack
with the four primes above,
   and a thumb as base:
             of the hand...

        oh i agree, oxford english profs.
have nailed it perfect...
      even though there is no concept
of loan words in english
******* over hindustan...

             but there is the antithesis
of deutsch genesis,
       just shove in the hyphen and
people will read you
           Mendeleev no problem...      

remnants of old Saxon can only be found
among chemical nouns:
      hydrocrabons doesn't require
  a: cut up technique akin to
   Burroughs and Tzara
                 to mind: hydro-carbons...  

look at that ******* aesthetic!
    ugly as a hog snuffing a human
**** imploring to ask at the altar:
grovel grovel grovel:
                    turnips and birch leaves!
       truffles and caviar...
  
most impressive...
    sooner the breath of Miles Davies
squeezed through a horn,
than a sneeze let out from a pork
snout...
            both deserve applause
nonetheless:

there's a missing S, in rammstein's song
ich will:
                 must be an east berliner
"hidden" plot to harvest the dyslexics.

- because playing the grammar game,
fused with only the pronoun
category...
             well... that's not going to vork...

- mind you, in poetry,
     is like... saying: a beginning of
a "paragraph" in poetry,
   not an interjection as such,
  just a "grievance"
         with what's already in
full momentum...

              - did i mention my concern
for the apostrophe usage in englsih?
      basis of: not      use?

hence the stability, and its perpetuation:
hence: usage.

         oh we can go on and on and on
with the technicalities of "hidden" english
"orthography":
   which is really a concern for
either the aposthrope, or the hyphen....
    
reigning superior over
the literacy monopoly of priests...
    degenerate ******* suddenly took
the human route...
and did... what any new-found-literati
would:
           play the fox in a chicken-shack...

miser *******...
                   good to know who i'm
up against...
                      and i can do more in
an hour with a *******,
that you might cling to with,
a post-scriptum nasal cavity being
called a ******* with a boy
     being 30 years his senior...

  these days ****** would not have
been published...
      
fashion's playthings that are called:
the sojourn of days...
  what the french call the yewish sabbath...
   nothing out of the ordinary...
just...
               a formidable
   perplexity with a damnable reflex...
an assorted
comparison of: feeding a tiger.

           it's still a concern for me,
to mind a pluralism of the pronoun,
with a possessive article,
  and: the "innocence" of hding
letters that the english know all well
how to employ...

        ich:              theirs...

                ich:             belogning to them...

          ich:  which is i, in bavaria...

              i(s)ch to propagate speaking
german in a song, or with:

             shish kebab ***** or something?

ich:
                  chappy chappy non cheerie
chop of...                         ich...

    i hark to assert your presence, dear sir...

call it hyperbolic on the literacy
scale...
               but you move beyond
the "concern" for pronouns...
  and revel in the fact that:
   no philosophy book has ever utilised
the shortening-script
   of acknowledging grammatical
pillars...

                   you can inhale into
a rubber ***, call it a balloon, minus
the evidently loss of injecting helium:
and than -benign- the other
              with a case for a ******* umbrella!
fungus party: unlike the tree -
stood on one leg,
         and branched out in a Y -
or gott-tore?
                one revisionist argument
with:
        since the incubated pawns
of a pine forest...
                        no schizoids near an oak...
        farther that i might: "see".

               cut in:
        Pauls'               (with a zee?
                    seppelin *******!)

         certainly: Paul-seßez:
   or:            Paul's: ßyz,

    ha ha... funny alternative of cis,
which is congregational surmounting:
                    çis -
    which is not: sister.
  
what?
               ka-ka macaques *******?!

how come the close approximate
of there's and theirs?
see?! don't know how to lodge in
an apostrophe with the latter example...
but you almost itch thinking
it's necessary...

                       mind you,
i'm bilingual, i don't hide behind
     a /wəːd/ for word encoding
    to: vaguely imitate computer coding...
but there are people who
pursue this: second tier of
       a former, exhausted literacy...
              
reduced 2: not 3: as in free,
                    and that's not: too, either.
when prior to secularism
the power dynamism of the clergy
was obvious, and...
                 but now the deviat
literate can only be mad...
       where's the fun in what
continues to constitute the, grey,
everyday?
              there really is a tomorrow
to mind...
            in writing this?
         i'm just making claim that
there might be a yesterday to
contend with;

but clearly there isn't...

               ich: plural in the possessive
form,
             whatever "it" there is
that belongs to them -
                                        there's
an otherwise unexplored
          existential celibacy to not mind
this writing...

        such obscure testimony of
not: winning...
                        
    a mind in two formats:
soft- and there are virus
ridden repercussions...
   and hard- and there are...
  virtually sessions of reiterating:
there's nothing to worry
about...

   comes the age old conclusion:
there's an age-old
             sub- / ob-ject
         splinter('s) worth (an) ego
lodged in the timber of a mind,
in "metaphor" descriptive
element to attune a shovel and
                 the bristles of broom to...
mind as dust, and mind hiding...

you can't exactly "hide"
a shadow, with a hand
enlarging the capacity of your trouser
pocket to suddenly
become anti-narcissus:
      mesmerizing by staring
at your shadow,
           let alone the stillness
of the lake-water,
          or rather:
          catch-up with him by
the shoreline of a sea...
     troubled waters breed no
                                     death: sarcasm.

- and all this, to mind being in possession
of a wife, and fireplace as counter?!
            as all such comfort are
welcome...
          i can't but find a blister of a burn
i, simply can't help, but: scratch!
    it's the oink-pink hidden beneath
the unparalleled agitation
that demands my closing-in
                      of attention parameters.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
philosophy: and yes, we all believed in the insane asylum in the first place... at least the theists are suicidal... the atheists are hanging-on, mundane boors... listening to atheists is like listening to someone trying to erradicate the thesaurus... like someone trying to sharpen a staff... atheism is case of: stoppage of synonyms... because no philosophy book i've read invokes grammatical words, i.e. nouns, verbs... no argument in this direction is cool... the *** knows Tai Chi... i'm just waiting for a ******* to say it's Chinese!*

and beyond the counter to worship,
the atheistic argument
is bound to a lot of talk and thought...
when atheism does do much away with
prayer...
then secularism does...
let's just say: acknowledge the idiot...
   either pray... or think or talk
    and subsequently acknowledge
that sort of ultimatum...
       i can't agree on either pathos...
                    pray... or talk...
find enough Goebbels, and you'll
find enough like-minded manifestos
  of Englishmen...
                   and esp. Jews attired as
such... cos you weren't gangraped enough.
if you were a friend of a friend... and a friend that
said: biology... via the pharaoh's gambit...
                    you still wouldn't
consecrate their friendship over a steak,
but you would.
atheists don't have an argument,
they still abide to arguing his existence,
by thinking about him, or talking about him,
prayer seems the most lazy escapism
to the caged compensated comparison,
given we're all caged...
and escapist... and bound to escapism...
   you construct the pyramids!
you do!
    a bunch of quasi intellectuals!
    plainly stated: brick on brick!
you lay it down: down to: a word on word!

  i can have an argument...
   but i can't be even bothered to keep it...
  it just gets boring after a while,
and given that i'm not keeping the argument
for a way to shove food down my mouth...
      i just think atheism exists because
we have transcended so many natural obstacles...
personally? i'd rather hear a tsunami quake
than hear an atheist talk...
          and that's because so few of us will have
the actual argument in this stratosphere...
since most of us will probably rather the thrill
of a tornado... than a **** on our daily commute...
  even the Frankenstein monster will be more
attractive in experience than the roudabout of an atheist...
       women are least likely to champion atheism...
might be a quest for feeling...
                 with all the pathology...
                 rather than that other quest for feeling:
apathy...
  and that's really, truly, manly.
can we simply prescribe one label: i think?
   no... evidently we need many more labels.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
i'm just bored of seeing MMXV everytime i switch
on the television, with the end credits...
i actually get indigestion...
i live in a country famed by
pedophiles rather than Liberace...
politzen-mann! politzen-mann!
homosexuality was one step forward,
and subsequently two steps back...
where are the women?
    where are the women?!
where are the women to sort this
problem out with what the Thai boys
sell: me sucky-sucky tug dollar, un' *****'s
       hour.
where's the rebellion?
               the b.b.c. became bankrupt
once the Savile affair dawned...
             even Ed Gein had more mourners
at his grave... to be honest
Ed had a grave to be desecrated...
   Jimbo? they finally decided to bury
him under a pebble... and them phoom!
mt. everest.
    but as sure as hell he made the b.b.c.
bankrupt... i'm surprised that
strictly come dancing isn't credited with
the same year as most of the b.b.c.
programmes are these days... em em ex viva forever
                as Churchill holding up the v away from
the mouth, not insinuating gulping down an oyster.
  πютр (pyootr) - who else if not peter fuchs?
alles neu - all new, central Berlin...
   achtung achtung! die zentrale figürchen tanzen!
i'll write sluttish german,
     panzer und gargantuan truce...
          i'll write it...
                     truce: in german that's chemically
worded, hydrocarbonated: waffenstillstand...
   armistice, or army standing still.
                     Gertrude Goebbels...
   don't know, just felt like saying it.
                           Brüch and snatching schnitzels...
marvelous nouns... Hindenburg...
     Bismarck -                          pretzel -
                                   schwarz wald -
now the geese... now the strutting Gucci invoked
geese... shadow defence minister?
    that monty python guy from the ministry of
      heigel siegel play-girl partly-a-girl. party-girl
with a fetish for those well-polished leather boots
that would have agreed to kicking
                              in the teeth of Lorca...
            at least we have common ground...
    or at least we had...
                        anyone remember watching
cbeebies coming back from primary school?
           anyone remember blue peter?
       there's no reason to claim that the whole
scene went underground / onto the internet...
                                      television these days is on
a life-support machine... consisting mainly of pensioners...
   and even they decided to tune-out
playing ultra-imaginative chess while watching
a brick wall...
                      20+ years in England
and i never had an english girlfriend...
                 Savile is no surprise to me...
                            what's more of a surprise is the fact
that once the b.b.c. started to become bankrupt
                        the n.h.s. followed suite -
i can't believe i live in a country that's famous
for siberian tea (adding milk to it) and pedohpilia...
and restrictive Soho...
                                  if i get sexually frustrated i'll just:
i am probably one of the few remains of
               buying ******* in a newsagent...
and the counter argument is?
         a citation from black swan -
but there really isn't an intellectual debate in this realm...
      and there should be one...
        but i guess the debate is harder to handle
when you've been circumcised...
                   i just think that once you've been circumcised
of course *** is more pleasurable...
              but once you've been circumcised you
are donning the opposite ***'s *******...
it's like: you have to be with a woman...
                   because having a **** while being
circumcised is the lowest ebb...
                   auto-suggestive of?
              i "circumcise" myself every time i ****...
i pull it back...                  but this religious indoctrination
    of only revealing positives?
                  turns out the kippah was a metaphor for
the lost "excess" skin... later replicated
by Christianity with the tonsure of monks -
     there's not a third way... Islam is not as close-knit
as these two religions... it's just a ******* annoying brat.
John F McCullagh Dec 2016
As darkness gathered, so did the crowds;
They were like moths drawn to the flame.
The swastikas were everywhere-
All loyal party members came.
The piled the books by Freud and Jung
And untermenchen of their kind
And tossed them on the bonfire there
as part of ******’s grand design.
The flames leapt high into the night
Fueled by these UN-German books
As Goebbels watched in rapt delight,
at how he had these people rooked.
As darkness gathered so did the crowd
to witness this unholy scene,
unaware that those who start with books
will end up burning human beings.
On the night of May 10, 1933 The **** party burned 20,000 books deemed UN-German and unsuitable at the Bebelplatz in central Berlin.  The ending couplet is a reference to a famous quote by the German 19th Century author Heinrich Heine. My deliberate misspelling of the location in the title was intention and meant to evoke the tower of Babel.

"Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people." - Heinrich Heine.


As a lifelong bibliophile, this scene represents my vision of Hell
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2017
talk of bilingualism in the anglophone realm of talk of bisexuality, is almost the same, as talk of polymath within the context of incorporating ******* for the asylum number of sexes in the current trans- discussion; how about i **** a goat?

who's to study language, seriously?
   poets?
                                                 philosophers?
             "english" teachers?
polymaths?
                    or simply *bilinguals
?
i'm sitting on my windwosill
imitating serpent,
        huh?
   yep, scratching off my tobacco
soaked skin from my fingers...
and then applying some cream
to hide the dehydration...
           let's keep it socially constructive,
and call to mind bilingual in terms
of latin: (a) with diacritical markers
and (b) plain dolly english, i.e. with none...
          still, thank god for the hand-cream,
i'd be scratching my hands to get
rid off the excess skin for hours on ends,
esp. the rolling-tobacco stains on
the index, middle and thumb fingers...
could be worse, could be
a serial killer from the film seven
having to discard my finger-prints by
applying them to an excess of
                           rubbing material...
get them all flat and lonely...
    and i know the pity people convene
on when reading a work of fiction...
that odd poetic moment
  located in a single sentence, or two...
  as with poets, who think they wrote
something "profound", when in fact
they were looking for a novel,
  for the sake of volume, or weight...
   before you call me, i'll call myself
a pretentious brat...
   no shame in that...
     you call me a ****... i'll be like:
     do you have a clint eastwood
     cut-out from where eagles dare?
for some reason i feel like acting
  out 30 minutes' worth of goebbels;
oh no, i'm not a **** sympathißer,
   i'm an indiana jones sympathißer,
  who was a sympathißer of nazis for
a "lack" of a better narrative.
Yenson Apr 2019
Don't talk to me about rules of Engagement
What's knowledge, wisdom and Truth
nothing but a tag on a Robert Grahame shirt
What do you mean decency, fair-play and Justice
was your God fair and just when he landed me in Goebbels
and give me to that drunkard thief and his street gal wife
Oh no, I don't deserve a silver spoon and a dad in Stockbroker belt
yeh, no Private School, no allowance, no frigging ski trips in Gstaad
Bollinger sounds like a gun, pink gins and cucumber wedges foreign

Don't talk living harmoniously with all classes and races
I live my way and make my rules as I go along
the first law is do it to them before they do it to you
education is ****, if God wanted me to have a mind he forgot
what he gave was a gob full of **** and a Doctorate in telling lies
in our world telling the truth means you're blind, slow and stupid
I ain't a mug but a mugger, I ain't a fool,I only live to fool the fools
Am a hater and proud of it, why was I assigned to the Losers section
What made God decide my gob is not good enough for a Silver spoon

Don't you dare give me that glib 'That's Life' ****'
keep your philosophizing to your bleeding self
we ain't buying claptrap anymore, it's war now, revolution
it's them and Us. no quarter given, everything taking from the rich
what gives you the right to live better than me. Mr High an Mighty
who brooker your deal with God for all the privileges you enjoy
swanning around thinking you're better than me in your Ivory gaff
hate burns relentlessly, my frustration unabashed I join satan's lot
Yes, it's not a frigging fair world so don't talk to about Justice an love
jeffrey conyers Jan 2016
Paul Joseph, Goebbels
They gathered, they listen and pushed his agenda.
Same race, same people.

George Wallace
They gathered, they listen and pushed his agenda.
Same race, same people.

Donald Trump
Oh, they gathered and push his opinions.
But in truth, it's just a case of manipulation.

Racism, works according too the pursuit of the leader.
Obviously, history holds truth to those creating a distraction.
****** had the best promoter of racism.

And when it comes to the death of King Jesus.
We saw many of this group gathered and closely listen and pushed theirs views and opinion.

Long lives racism.
It's in all races of all people.
Cause they gather and listen and push hatred agenda.

But the first three would be always connected to certain views.
Honestly speaking, they might be affecting you.
Cause we gather and closely listen.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
there's a fundamental flaw in establishing
a caliphate these days,
what the modern caliphate failed to
recognise is man's insatiable hunger for
music,
        personally, i distrust all people
who treat music as if a carpenter's
working on wood carving...
     can't trust these people,
as much as not being able to trust people
who attempt a "janissary" conversion...
i can't trust them...
  but music, that's as bad as taking
away the onomatopoeia of ******...
             the failure of the caliphate,
the weakness of having "established" it,
resides in the love of music...
you **** that off, you **** off the adhan
principle,
last time i checked the adhans were sang....
how will you recite an an adhan,
goebbels sprechen?
                   i sometimes weep over an
adhan, because it enforces emotion far greater
than either the christmas carols,
or the monkish efforts:
and i could be the perfect janissary,
            because i'm sick of the culture
i live in... i'm beyond sick: i'm just
tired of celebrating homosexuality,
and the psychiatric condition of being transgender...
i'm just tired...
                but the caliphate nonetheless
contradicts itself... certain aspects
require singing!
  and if the caliphate abolishes all forms
of music, it also abolishes the adhan!
                     should have thought about
that al-baghdadi...
     no singing adhan, no islam,
       how can you make singing the ahdan
haram, deaf or something?
            and your caliphate has about
10% of arabic fluency, the rest speak english
with arabic with a "white widow" broken
sprech...
                   you trying to prevent music
is not an elvis moment,
  i'd ask any muslim: you ever been
to a catholic mass, when the creed is
recited?
        ever been?
i've been to the regent mosque, and liked it,
mind you, almost every time
i talked to a muslim: the feeling
of conversation, soon turned into
a feeling of conversion...
   so, go on, murmur your little adhan...
******, don't sing it!
    no music allowed!
       but then again the adhan is supposed
to be sung... no! not in the caliphate!
so music! only birds sing!
        ironic, the failures of the caliphate
came about when the powers at be
didn't respect the element of musicology...
given that islam rests upon an auxiliary pillar
of music,
    and if the adhan was not sung,
because the caliphate was a *****-slave
of wahhabism (dajjal investment
by ibn saud) - well then...
                 can't sing, can't dance... and certainly
without an incentive to pray...
         can't celebrate beauty...
  and by god, the islamic adhan overpowers
every man who was lost in the confines
of templar chants...
               every, single, time...
but no... no music, no adhan...
           they should make a pop song
from da-esh: ****** cocked,
         over-thrilled by *** slaves -
           never sand the adhan,
spoke it like a true catholic commune
in satanic murmuring credo;
                           killed the music,
  things were bound to fall apart...
it's only once ever so often that man is
satiated by raindrops on a roof for actual drums...
  the caliphate failed because the adhan
became contradictory,
in that it ought to have been sung,
but with all songs haram... it became undermined
by a quasi catholicism of satanic murmuring
of the credo;
there's that, and then there's the torture
of iraqis by american soldiers blasting
slayer's music 24h...
    ****, i fall asleep to that music,
then again, i do prefer horror movie soundtracks,
with a tinge of romance...
       thrash metal is too
amphetamine for me sometimes...
   die kalifat ignoriert die prinzip aus die adhan
in zensieren alle musik
;
the caliphate ignored the principle of the adhan,
in censoring all music.
Yenson Jun 2022
So we think in dislocated words
snippets plucked in byway happenstance
and these are isolated as triggers by street dons
and decreed we are thus ruled by such precedents therein

And so therefore the assertion
that one and one makes five if repeated enough
example black resonates honeyed fairness accordingly
and wilting flower is now the buzzword for merchants ivory

Our cowpat errands of invalidation
deluding art by numbers and clockwork oranges
begets our dilution of empiricisms in Pavlov's theory
Goebbels says repeat a lie often enough and people will believe it

So why blame us for the fools
after all Goebbels says that if you repeat a lie often enough
it becomes the truth, our useful idiots are happily convinced
fifteen minutes of fame and a chance to claim you are amongst rulers
oh! yes people
I've danced with a man, who's danced with a girl, who's danced with the Prince of Wales
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
wenn menschen
zitieren
die genius
von ******...
   zitieren nicht
die genius
    von Goebbels?

wer der
  hähnchen
            und wer
der ducken?

du sind auch?
Rew Dec 2023
We must fight and fight against this Fourth-*****      
of Adolph trump and mike Goebbels johnson,
as I strive to voice some preemptive strike,
      
Before they breach our democracy's ****      
and flush down history's drain our freedom,
we must fight and fight against this Fourth-*****.      
          
*** offending-leech trump, with his, "N" gibes,
the lawless insurrection he begun,
as I strive to voice some preemptive strike.      
      
They'll bring in restraints ayatollah like      
using as fact the web of lies trump spun,
we must fight and fight against this Fourth-*****,
    
The steel veils crash down even as I type      
anti-gay zealot? Speaker johnson is one,
as I strive to voice some preemptive strike...    
    
Treat them with derision, Roar " Take a hike!"      
use your vote get 'em, without question, slung.      
We must fight and fight against this Fourth-*****,
as I strive to voice some preemptive strike.
imho
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
this isn't even my lowest ebb -
          walking into a shed, sitting down,
and smoking four cigarettes -
repenting for today's -
                                 on no account
of a promise - a buckle nonetheless -
for an hour just sitting there
waiting for the sun to go down without
actually seeing it...
picking up a wasp nest killer spray...
picking up a bottle of white spirit...
picking up a hammer...
             picking up a bunch of other
chemicals...
              hell: where's that kilogram of salt?
it's nothing new -
it's hardly pitiable -
                       there's no matrix of thought
behind it -
where there was once a labyrinth all
that has remained is some sawn-off-bits of
wood... some shrapnel in a puddle...
      my favorite: conversations with
an old "friend"... he's here lingering talking
in a language my shadow can clearly
hear and clearly understand...
        today is not a good day: no day is...
but clearly not today...
       today i discovered grey hairs just above
my beard: i knew i had two grey hairs
in my beard - but i never thought i'd have
grey hairs...
clogged up tupsy-turvy of "feelz"...
            unless this turtle of a heart will ease
out: just one more emotionally stunted rhythm...
for  whatever that might have been...
this heart will most certainly not father...
      there's just this bothersome interlude -
a romance of pain that could come from
a cocktail...
        in the end a summation -
                         life is, as such... worth living...
but only up to the point
of the certainty of dying -
        i can't imagine being old and dying
peacefully in my sleep...
         i'd call that being robbed of the most precious
artifact this world has to offer...
                that precious aeon of The Passing...
why would it all be necessarily morbid...
taboo... that somehow all thinking can
deviate from this monstrosity of reflection...
it has clearly been a mundane day -
                finding my first greys wasn't
spectacular enough... spring is coming...
and elizabeth II is still queen of england...
                        probably the two best reasons
to be alive...
    otherwise, what? faking it...
                                or "not getting it right"?
maiming myself into a vegetable state?
                  i have to visit him from time to time...
it's not he's going anywhere...
and i'm getting to him: one poppy-seed shuffle
of the knees at a time: per day, per week
month or year...
            i'll have to face something beside
the ignoble fact of mortality -
                i'll have to face that "other" question...
because such events probably only
happen on a whim - in that horror circus
of the mundane - the better part of a necessarily
forgotten day...
this has to become a sterile point of observation...
otherwise it will be hard to imagine:
what happens to the body under
the "protection" of a coroner...
               or a butcher... or: well a lion or a pack
of wolves i can imagine...
it would immediately turn into mana...
  rather than some scribbling on a page for stats...
or... worse: the doubly butchered
cut of beef - once by the butcher...
   second by someone who cooks it: well done...
mind you - i didn't cook dinner today...
there's an oddity when not dealing
with the process of cooking something raw...
and making it: cooked...
whether meat, vegetable - root or fruit...
instead dealing a portion of turkey *******
for two cats...
                    everything has an eerie contentment
of being left undisturbed...
the current pandemic is just background
noise -
          here's to looking for a moment and
a space to sacrifice an unwilling willingness -
dream big: it can only get better -
i hardly think i have the required capacity
to dream to begin with...

/
               in some scenarios there is a distinct
line between the north of england
and the south of england...
but not so much when it comes
to east england and west england...
unless in london: clearly there's an east
london - as there's a west london...
     but it's an island...
            there's clearly a south-east in poland...
the ****-show poor buggers' home:
nearing ukraine...
  but north? that's the goldmine of the window
to the world: access to the sea...
this, the, "bigger picture"...
                        west germany and east germany...
with berlin and warsaw being in the east...
pockets of bribes and other, sediments...  
                                                                       /

if it's not precious... then it is... precarious...
then again: perhaps both...
here's to not wearing face-masks or panic buying...
of the latter event...
            well... i was only really looking
for flour... sugar... and tomato puree...
reminder:
something from yesterday -
still not old enough to give me the ***** when it
comes to: sitting on one's laurel leaves...

two names that skip way way over me...
roger stone... isn't that, that film director?
lee rigby - well... there's not much in the name...
but the title: fusilier...
i just see him as part of the queen guard...
on parade... playing a ******* trumpet...
fusilier lee rigby...
     more like: lee rigby - the trumpeteer...

roger stone... i think of... oliver stone...
coming back from insomnia news reels...
is... roger stone equivalent to...
alastair cambell... well...
if it isn't a joseph goebbels...
it's that guy...
by "that" i am implying...
alastair cambell...
when the left in politics had someskin,
some bones in the matter of minding marrow;

for holy ****'s and ****'s sake!
the madonna over 'ere!
bow... look out! scouting for knighthood...
no... not really...i was... i woozy woz...
how many supermarkets did i visit?
5... i was looking for... tomato purée...
sugar... and plain flour...
i don't mind the eggs...
but i should mind...
the flour is "missing"...
the sugar... somewhat...
i have the yeast and i'll just bake
or fry up mexican / indian flat breads...

all the chicken did a runner...
the turkey for the cats is... once again:"missing"...
the shelves are empty and all that remains is the brute beef...
****, stake and parlour... but i was making...
tatar chebureki...
and of course yogurt cucumber shredded...
with tzatziki infused spices...
the raw ore of cuisine was missingalmost everywhere...

the sugar and the flour...
no one was looking for salt...
or the vinegar or the oil...
i'll be stocking up on whiskey in the impeding hours...
well... days... i have over 200 x 8 - worth ofcigarettes...
but enough of that sort of..."lepzig" / lowry...

i was still scouting for flour...
i've stashed enough self-raising flour to never bother buying...
baking powder...
but even if it comes to thickening a sauce...
all out on the plain flour...
(you'd still be better off with cornflour...
or an egg yoke when it comes to soups)...

it's good to know that people know what's gold
in terms of crude details of shopping...
milk and all the dairy products are of no concern...
nor are the fresh vegetables or fruits...
let's talk about seasonal eating habits...
strawberries come in june... etc.
now, let me become truly honest...
i've been walking around in a vacuum of spring...
the scents and all those otheradditives...
floral patterns... walking like a peacock...
armed with a baboon's *** for a joke
and an ***** spine for comforts...
peacock... when all this... this...
rife propagandist tool-shed of "news"comes apparent...

suffocating... no new war:
       grinding the metal for a new rifle...
and a bullet with some nutritional additionsof shrapnel...
bite the curb bite the ****-up...
it's not like i've been waiting for the haitus of
the whole bread & circus affair...
i'm just starting to stock up on essentials...
well... "lake of fire": whiskey...
i am most welcome at the summit:
a wayne stastic dies from an overdose
of prescription drugs...
he's not married to a pornographic "stature"...
case... and jealousy doesn't simply suffocate him...

cool jimmy day'ohs... sure... it's true...
the winnings of a "winner" and the losses of a "loser" -
st. thanatos or mother death can curate the rest...
i am hardly about to win...
then again: what's there to be lost...
when the "prefigurations"of a scooped mortality are,
already...
pre-positioned... pre-supposed...
           elemental...                            

                      well... that was clearly a fathomable
yesterday... the balloon as metaphor
for the vitality of life has slowly been...
easing out a wet whizz blurp of vibrating lips...
it's going to be anything more than...
the inaccessible life...

                couch rug and chair accommodating...
kettle roof walls and coffee... also accommodating...
             but otherwise... an inaccessible "life"...

cohorts of marching meaning
              and all this life's due of "adventure"...
even as some priestly clad serpetine of:
the once fabbled metaphorical shepherds...
even by the grace of making progess to establish
an attention span for a summary
of "hobby" -
                                  the crushing depths of
air by one solo, endeavour...
   to breathe is a bit like drowning...
                to drown i imagine...
agony aunt of the tabloids to boot:
        is a bit like reinventing life's
forgone principles of: expanding attention
spans...

                        as ever: life in the adjacent...
hyperbolic "non-entity"...
            king of the vermin rattling shadows
of toes and insomnia glaring vivid screams of
blank white pixel paper screens...
huddling and... hardly with a check-mate
crescendo of: a litany of anecdotes...

               the kindly expected: non-mover
essential progress of: ex-instance...
out of... this and any other...
                  otherwise the sort of angst that
a pensioner would gladly succumb to...
in writing...
               to collect his affairs with life...
   but always too early: or never...
this sort of affair that's spewed from...
a splintered tongue and all those teeth lead
to rot... exegesis...

                      this body once had an ample
of limbs to create a canvas of vitality...
with these bones...
                 that these bones were once life...
now: leftover antique signature that
lives within the permutations...
this little crevice of intactness...

                                what a bundle of joy(s)!
Qualyxian Quest Dec 2022
We of the craft are all mad
Once I was a teacher
Now I'm just a dad

Drama in my mind
But my life is o so boring!

Bush, Rumsfeld, Trump
Himmler, Goebbels, Goring

Mark Twain in Tahoe
Me at Sage Ridge School

Brutus is deluded
King Lear is a Fool

            London Calling!
Qualyxian Quest Apr 2023
We of the craft are all mad
Once I was a teacher
Now I'm just a dad

Drama in my mind
But my life is o so boring!

Bush, Rumsfeld, Trump
Himmler, Goebbels, Goring

Mark Twain in Tahoe
Me at Sage Ridge School

Brutus is deluded
King Lear is a Fool

            London Calling!

— The End —