The Souls of Grenfell Tower

1 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls  of Grenfell Tower, for their souls did not depart in vain.

2 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls have been chosen from amongst other souls

3 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls have been returned in the best of months, Ramadan

4 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for God descended to listen to their final utters of prayer

5 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their blissful souls reiterated the peacefulness of 2 billion others

6 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they proved, pried upon practicing pupils, prevent further terror and tragedy

7 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for in June, they indeed sealed the end of May

8 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls showed the tweeting real duck, Londoners Khan all break fast together

9 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they led Britain's conversation and distanced Hatie and her fallen solutions

10 Grieve not, dear families of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls invited pleasant lilies, with beautiful oras, and the most famous of hellos - Salaam

11 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they ignited the indigestion of cladding, in lowly aristocrats and their tory toys

12 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for Martyrdom was their end to a new beginning

13 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for God has granted them Gardens of Eden.

oh i'm ******... now i'm lurid.

you think that taking a *liberal
reading of the nag hammadi
library will not have consequences?

now i understand the term
liberal... loud & clear...

and this will only happen in post-
christian protestant countries...
this liberal reading
of the nag hammadi library?
**** me! this can't end well...

so you think you can have
a liberal reading of
the nag hammadi texts -
and expect the muslim to not come?
of course they'll be fed
     the lie that western males
are infertile, and that western
women are infertile...

the texts have been hidden for
2000 years, in urns, in
some abandoned bin laden-esque
caves for 2000 years...

so you want to release this
heretical propaganda into society
with the authority of the church?
you sure?
     you sure?
   i'm not surprised why this also
translates as: oi! bruv! ali!
encourage ahmed to come on over!

this is the: ******* nadir of
the: shephred's luck -
the guy who found these texts...
by the way?
   the dead sea scrolls have nothing
to do with the nag hammadi library...

so you're telling me,
that they burned the library
of alexandria... for this?!
   you read this crap?
                  
the dead sea scrolls rever to isaiah...
not jesus...
         isaiah? cut in half, at the abdomen...

but no... oh now, why should we even
consider an idea of a father -
some abstract entity as a well-meaning
priest...
          let's do away with fathers
altogether...
                 freeze our eggs,
turn us into quasi-iceland...
   take to one *****-donor,
   and then watch the rain of
partial limbs and limbos of down syndrome
kids playing the cute role...

but you take a liberal reading
of the texts, prior to the church: mind you,
they were so ******* slow to read
the texts and state some authority
as to owning them...
     believe me... the whole
da vinci code myth is a load of *******...
you can burn that library,
but keep the marbles...
   it's worthless: the cogs are already
in motion...

why do you think the muslims have
suddenly retaliated? don't listen to
the theological mongrels of baghdad...
western men aren't infertile,
but western women are: by being fickle...
oh jee-zoo-sussy said so...
   you give the nag hammadi library
into the hands of the mob,
or liberal priests in america:
you're going to get a hell-hole...
   i just don't see why europe has to pay...
when the actual debt, belongs
to americans... and their fooooooooo
king jesus belt evengelists! ROT!

oh, by the way, thanks for the soundtrack...
**** feels greeeet, like a silk-bound suit
in purple, while listening to
dry **** logic's song rot...

but you know... i'm starting to think...
mmm... what was it... grenfell tower...
i'm thinking grenfell tower + anders breivik...
why were most of the residents in
the grenfell tower muslims?
                 ooh... a conspiracy theory!
let me in... so, johnny... what happened?
   ah you know mate,
  bombs are quick... takes a few minutes
to barbeque a cinnamon ***...
       plus... bombs leave no screams...
just a defeaning ring in your ear...
  fire? ha ha! you can hear them and that
translates into terror in the eyes of on-lookers!
ha ha!

this is for disrespecting the authority
of the church, and leaving the nag hammadi
library in the hands of idiotic liberals.

Who needs terrorists?
They are redundant
When over 60 poor people
Can perish
In a raging inferno
Caused by their own council.

For years the resident action group
Were poo pooed by the authorities
With, “Don’t worry your pretty heads!”
When they warned about fire safety regulations
Being ignored
Just like them.

No sprinklers and only one fire escape
In a twenty four storey building.
Only last year the tower was refurbished
With cheap plastic cladding that’s
Banned in the USA.

Our prime minister has been accused
Of failing to show humanity
By only visiting the Emergency Services
To avoid the angry public.

All this has happened
Not in some God forsaken third world country
But in the fifth or sixth richest economy
In the world.

For sure, that all engulfing tower-fire
Has made the blood of the people
Boil.
Let’s hope this volcano does not erupt
Like the one that caused
The London Riots of 2011.
Let’s hope our administration
At all its levels
Learns something from this:
To Care for its People.

Paul Butters

Grenfell
A big housing machine in London has burnt down
It was a place where the poor and refugees were sent, it didn't
Have a sprinkler system no fire alarm
And it was clad in combustible material to save money but for whom?
This was a criminal act perhaps 100 people have been incinerated
The fire people are still looking and they still have many floors to go
Searching for carbonated bodies
For the rich and the poor alike London is a beautiful place this summer
But the dark smoke from a burnt out building hinder the sun
And green grass has layers of ash from those who didn't have a voice.
We must not be silent push this crime way from our consciousness
For it will happen again and again if we stop demanding our right
To be respected by our leader as equal
There is no Snowdon in the building trade.
You must not sleep this summer night go out of your houses
Switch off your TV and claim you right.  
There is summer in London but not a joyous one the heart is sad
But Britain can be beautiful again if you want it and not
Believe you are helpless.

In the ashes of division hope ignited
Unity decided a new fate, in its wake.
My father lived in Chester Road,
Off Ladbrook Grove, eight children
In a tenament flat back to back.

The poverty of the forties are
Now palatial palaces, white pillared.
My father joined the army to escape
To marry and move to Streatham,
South London, to an Edwardian terrace.

Notting Hill, the divided community
Chelsea and Kensington let it happen.
My grandmother moved to a new town
And this year we all watched on TV
Grenfell burn as an inferno in the dark.

Love Mary

There was no war, or warning
"Stay inside" they said.
There was no reason
Only a cold and empty mercantile explanation
There will be no justice
There's no compassion
Not a single tear or token of genuine kindness.

Gave brave men inadequate tools
Leaving them to take the remorse
Helplessly watching London burn.

They say how awful
And retreat to comfort, homes of luxury
Thinking, that the poor are forever present.
They will make plenty more.
Behind the door they sigh and say, "How tired I am today"

How can they sleep?
My heart is broken

How can they not weep?
How offer a token?

Not a thought for the orphans whose parents tossed them into the unknown
Casting away ideas of burning flesh that was their own

west london fire stories
stories i can't finish
you are in this story

what's the problem called
when the sun is coming up
and you've been awake all night because
ugly sleep sleeps all day,
and the groom's ******* are
too large for his beard

someone said no to reality
someone put the greed in poverty
but what can i say, what can i say
forgot who i was long ago
don't like who i am today

my back was turned
when the rainproof cladding of grenfell tower fell
while the london fire burned

cheap, chinese, and rainproof
that's how
the rainproof cladding of grenfell tower fell

(A follow-up to "Whimper", which was written in response to "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg)

I have seen the best insanity of my generation destroyed by the worst minds.
I have seen humans turn into robots and the robots turn to fascism
because of What The Internet Told Them.
I have seen the weaponisation of our most rancid fears and watched
in horrified fascination as our inner demons got their own agents.
I have seen and felt the horizon constrict so tight, it’s getting
hard to swallow.

You have to understand, this isn’t what I wanted.
You have to realise, this isn’t what I meant.

This isn’t crazy.
This isn’t pure, natural, spontaneous crazy.
This is synthetic madness, manufactured madness,
genetically modified, mass-produced, mass-marketed madness:
As Seen On Television; approved by test audiences;
none of the calories, all of the carcinogens.
This goes beyond the deplorable allure of a free red hat.
This goes beyond dinosaur-dodo-dumb nostalgia for a blue passport
and a golden age that never was.
This is why you hire Cambridge Analytica.
This is the Project For The New American Sentence:
The message is, “It’s chaos out there, people; do what the hell you want.”
And the echo chamber,
and the echo chamber,
and the echo chamber,
and even the rage…
even the rage isn’t real.

Mercenaries, not maniacs.
No more lunatic songs.
That howling you hear is only feedback:
an endlessly shrieking loop of absolutely nothing, broadcast on
every channel, into every dream, until the fillings in our teeth buzz
and our institutions tear themselves apart, as
component materials hit resonant frequency.

This is how the world ends: Not with a whimper, but with
static.

We got the message wrong, giving credence to people
whose hatred is their only art.  They taught us
to avoid such human folly as Ruinous Empathy, to
distrust painful, decaying love, when these were the
things that might have saved us.
There’s a poet I know, who served in ‘Nam, who thinks
he might have even forgiven Nixon.  
Field Commander Cohen has checked out of the Chelsea Hotel,
deciding we wanted it too dark for him.
Too many of our heroes have turned out to be monsters.  We're haunted by
historic *** crimes, Cold War ghosts and the knowledge that we
could have done things differently.

The message was supposed to be, “It’s chaos, be kind.”

There's no such thing as a stable genius, but we've got
fake news and alternative facts; we're discovering the side-effects
of living post-consequence.  We're hypernormalised.  We're
past shock; our incredulity stretched beyond its
elastic limit; we've broken satire and nothing is really funny any more.

Welcome to the Disinformation Age.  These are our Interesting Times:
Glee Club and Gun Rehearsal; bloodied blue uniforms;
tears for the victims of the Bowling Green Massacre;
an early by-election for Batley and Spen;
very fine people on both sides; Thoughts & Prayers, our
only surplus, the ultimate fiat currency;
poverty **** and the return of social ****** (71 dead at Grenfell, NHS black alerts, rickets making a comeback, lead in the water); Drink the Kool-aid; humans like Kool-aid - **** stars on polygraphs; Netflix and Kompromat; the portrait
in Kissinger’s attic; Ayn Rand for Beginners; Corporate cosmology
and casino capitalism; government by gaslight; constructive ambiguity
to preserve a kakistocracy; bring me
the head of Roger Stone!  #EndOfEmpire;
Windrush and Stupid Watergate…

I said we needed our madmen back, but not like
this.  Not
these posers, these gangsters, these Quislings…  
These are merely bad actors, playing to the crazy dollar,
but do not doubt their sanity,
which is icy and cynical and monstrous.  But,
in the cold fusion reactor of that sanity, they are unknowingly
forging a new generation of madmen, whose madness
will be righteous and real and burn with
a pure, perfect heat that cleanses and cauterises.  They
will know the difference between human
and humanoid.  They will be less afraid than us, less quick to
hate strangeness. They will use their craziness to
create, not destroy.  They have
already begun.

I know this because
I have witnessed six minutes and twenty seconds of silence that blazed hotter, howled louder than all your Fire and Fury.  I have seen
riot cops in Baton Rouge turn whiter and recoil in fear from serene, dignified, unarmed surrender. I
have heard the young sweetly whisper to the old,
‘Fine, but you’re wrong, and we’re right, and we will outlive you.’
You can’t hide that behind a wall.
You can’t say that life doesn’t matter.
You can’t filibuster the future.
Everything was forever, until it was no more.

Our madmen are gone, and they’re not coming back.  
But there will be others.
The best minds of their generation will not be destroyed by your sanity.

Just before 1am On the 14th June 2017, In North Kensington West London - A fire broke out that ravaged a 24 story tower block filled with families who were settled in for the night.
During the hours that pursued , Panic was prevalent and mistakes were made.
72 innocent life’s were lost.

Their story, my words.
written with love, sorrow and respect.

A summers night like any other,
Settled in for the night,
Tv on,
We were having a late one,
Even mum,
Dad with his tea - just the way a family should be.
Same old noises from around the flats,
Distant shouts,
Yells from above,
No doubt a party - just spreading the love.

But this night wasn’t like any other,
The yells I thought were laughter grew louder,
Panicked in a confused chorus,
Footsteps up and down the corridor outside,
I felt an overwhelming urge to hide,
Doors were being banged,
The feeling was intense,
Screaming and shouting under a calm pretence,
FIRE was shouted,
A singular word,
Everything else momentarily blurred,

Dad said he’d sort it,
And went outside to investigate,
Mum didn’t hesitate,
Into the kitchen,
By the balcony door -
She sat me down on the floor.
Don’t worry she said with a look of pure dread,
Never before did I doubt what she said.
Don’t worry son,
There’s no need to fear.
Where’s dad I asked,
Why is he not here,
I want dad with us,
It’s ok she said
He’ll be sorting things out,
Just like he said.

It was at 12.50am when the fire is believed to of started. A resident found his fridge freezer on fire and raised the alert.
The fire brigade were called. The first fire crew entered at 1.07am, 17mins after the fire was discovered.
At 1.08 the fire had breached the window and within minutes ignited the external panels outside the flat.

I’m scared mum, why’s everyone screaming,
I wished I was dreaming,
Sat there scared on the floor
Mum just stared vacant watching the door,


At 1.15am the fire had spread to the flat above.
The fire brigade called for back up. The flames spread up the outside of the building to the roof at a terrifying rate, burning behind the waterproof panels which made it impossible to get the water from the hoses at it.
By 1.35am 20 pumps were active on site. At this point the ambulance service were called in.

“Where’s dad” I cried,
Has he died ?
“Don’t be ridiculous” mum said
But she knew full well the fire had spread,
Thick grey smoke blew outside the window,
Right then in that moment was the epitome of limbo,

We couldn’t leave,
We couldn’t stay,
The smoke was spreading like hastened decay,

Then I saw a man,
As if in slow motion,
It was so surreal,
I felt void of emotion,
He fell past the window,
We were on the 15th floor,
I had no sense of myself anymore.

Our flat was filling with smoke,
I started to choke,
Dad wasn’t back,
Mum quietly spoke -
I need you to listen, It’s important - she said,
Put this wet towel over your head,
Stay on the floor and try not to worry,
I’m going to find dad but I’ll be back in a hurry.

How many parents were torn between protecting their loved ones and going for help,
How can you choose what to do when there’s no time to think about it,
When everything around you is falling apart and filling with smoke.
Your family trapped in a flat that’s burning from the outside in.

I was too scared to move,
With my towel on the floor,
I managed to peep out so I could watch the door,
Any minute now mum and dad would be back,
I tried to stay awake,
But everything was going black.
I tried to listen ,
To hear for their voice,
I wanted to wait but I didn’t have a choice,
Everything went silent,
It was my time to go,
I did try to wait,
I pray that they know.

Grenfell Tower burned for 60hrs on that fateful night.
72 died, 223 escaped and thousands were affected.
Residents were given the wrong advice, some fatefully told to stay in their flats, others died trying to get to safety. Some jumped from sheer desperation.
Many children lost their life that night, the youngest was only 6months old.

The ultimate cause of the fire becoming so fierce and spreading so quickly was due to the illegal cladding that was used to cover the exterior, which ultimately carried the fire.
So many people failed in their responsibility,
So many people failed in their actions,
And 72 people were ultimately failed.

God rest their souls.

Dedicated to the victims of Grenfell Tower*

She stands amid the buzz of metal flies:
This obelisk, memento of the dead.
The sirens crudely mimicking their cries
As pilgrims in their guilt leave much unsaid.

A once sweet hive is now an empty husk,
Her armour was to be her Achilles' heel,
And as the cold grey sky fades into dusk;
I speak not what I ought, but what I feel:

Instead of words there comes a cry of pain -
A strangled howl and heavy sobs of guilt.
What can be said when words are all in vain -
Like rain, on this gazebo that we built?

While politicians bluster “Nevermore”,
We will remember them forevermore.

it's all ******* tina turner at this point! or? we need not education... cougar middle-aged women, tiger mums... eating filfth of marine scavangers that ***** are... you wash your mouth, before telling me that certain words are filfth... you stop the oral ***, and let me speak the word, ****! i still prefer the tina turner version of events, rather than the pink floyd reality... where journalists are worse than teachers of the english language in school... mother... *******! condescending half-*****! apologies, for what? the bbq? so why are teachers in schools disrepected? so why should journalist, not be also?

you **** to the left
   (shaking your to the left)
or...
   you **** to the right
  (shaking your empty hand
to the right)
  you push the elevator button
to go up...
  or you push the elevator
button to go down...

   who's winning? who's losing?
the ******* ovaries?

       and it is all about tina turner
right now...
  is it me, but when comparing
english accents, australian
   sounds rather, posh,
when tailored against american?

god, i love that accent...
       canadian?
    because of quebec, it doesn't count
as even remotely english...

but the didgeridoo
           wonga-wonga-****-****?
all i heard is that perth is so far removed
that sydney so further than dziakarta
   (jakarta)...
               tina ******* turner...

a building is burning, a colt comes into
the discussion, the tower-block
   is gushing out suffocating smoke
                     in west london...
     i'm guessing about 1000 people have
been bbq'd...    and all the journalist
keeps saying:
   apologies for the rude language,
oh, i have to apologise for the rude language...
  
                 you ******* kidding me, right?
stop, trying, to, be, my, english, teacher!
   over 1000 people were scortched
in that tower-blow, and you're actually
worried about me using the word ****?!
    you have to be kidding me...
really...
                     and so: the slow death of
20th century media...
                        socialism two-point-oh;
if they're not panicking,
   i really don't know why they're still
a credible journalistic outlet;
i.e. considering themselves as such.

by Joyce Grenfell

If I should go before the rest of you
Chuck not a flower nor inscribe a stone,
Nor, when I am gone, speak in a Sunday voice
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep, if you must, parting is hell
But life goes on - so sing as well.

                              Joyce Grenfell

So many Joans of Arc,
abandoned by the monarch
to the forces of economy
capitalistic aristocracy

Mother Theresa
hangs her head in shame
Technology makes politics
a very different game

The council made many moves
placing pieces here and there
The knights and knaves
now ashes in the air

Who won?
The game was no fun
for anyone

              Sean Hunt June 2017

A fly flew out of my window,
What a silly thing to do .
Driven insaine by the noon day heat ,
Out to blue sky's flew,
Out to relentles noon days sun .

A fly flew from my window no longer inprisoned in my room ,
To wandering sky's it travelled ,
to flame filled sky's belonged .

As evenings Suns. On Grenfell towers fell the night before the fire
like heavens stars shone in grace .

A fly flew out my window to blackened sky inflamed ,
and dark clouds circled all around in soot and fire and pain .

For in morning time Christs loving arms to the lost would embrace ,
and those below kept searching for loved ones to hug and hold

For our body's are no more than cheap disposable takeaway containers with unseen riches untold.
To every Christ believer city's await paved with Gold .


A ghostly shell of hell on earth stands tall above Kensingtons
Well to do ,
Empty houses ,
With empty rooms ,
Stand idle whilst homeless walk in streets of gold without a
Flamin clue .
Oh the many that gathered brought food love and drink .

The forgotten rose with banners Held high with anger in their hearts , to City hall with flame and sword justice for their dead .

A fly flew out of my window to hollow sky's of grey ,
To rainbows all around a beam of light struck its tiny wing ,
to charred timber it rested ,
On what was once a home ,
A fly flew from what was once a window
to blue sky's above .

The sun found its evening rest in the courts of God above .







...

Ouch that hurt, I heard someone shout before darkness descends and I hit the floor.

As I began to regain I heard someone screaming in pain.
Trying to push myself up off the floor  but my wrists they f*ing hurt!
The screamer becoming clearer now as I began to shout.

Before long police and paramedics attending roadside.
Gas and air my hero dealing with pain, not my pride.
Laughing with the paramedics enjoying the ride.

Straight to hospital, blue lights on the way.
Not the worse thing, says the paramedic, to happen today.  

June 14th Grenfell Tower fallen, families lost and all of their treasures.
Perspective gently given and received,my pain is real but in small measure.  

Angels at the hospital attending my every need.
Cleaning my skin and stemming any further bleeds.

Drs order the x rays 1,2 and 3 both wrists and my elbow to be sure.
Cast on my right arm, thank goodness for that, just one break, no more.

Morphine for pain relief, tiredness over comes me, please just let me sleep.
I'm feeling so sore and tired I could weep.

All those services all that care tenderly given and gratefully received.
How do I know, why do I care, we'll of course it's because I was there.

The leaf. Held on,
despite its withered,
colour-changed state.

Remembering. As autumn
stored away summer's memories
like the squirrels in the gardens.

Grenfell. Westminster Bridge,
Finsbury Park and Borough Market
had tried to steal its greenness.

Then it fell. It fluttered,
on a barely perceivable breeze,
down between some tourists.

I saw it. Settle there,
on the Square's grass, unnoticed,
ready for decay

and the renewal of life.

.the honest paryer to god i ever could have... god... please keep your children on a leash!

for all their worth, weren't the vikings,
merely, elaborated
thieves?
     assured,
   no-conformists to the trans-judeo
pyramid schene...
nonetheless, a heroism...
translated into mere thieving!
             how about,
i steal something,
from someone, right about now...
how about...
i burn down
the grenfell tower?
and then watch,
the iraqi invasion,
the afghan invasion...
and then watch
the twin towers topple...
oh dear ******,
i'll recite you the creed,
like the teutonic knights
recited it to the prussians,
when the northern crusades
took place... now, take you little arab...
and... *******! before i start
calling the russian to
make an intervention...
o.k?!
            the russians always
reply with a tsunami of
their own populce...
savvy?!
no, camel; jockey doesn't get it...
well... let came; jockey
learn the second lesson
of a beautifful slavic
pretty...
      just wait for the ugly
****** defending her...
you'll be eating camel ****
and sand after he's done with
you...
               me? i'm just the theatre
audience...
  i don't mind the wait...
be freem go forth from me,
flutter, frisk..
         i have my date
with death,
and none of you are apparently
welcome,
         heroic past my ***...
balaam...
             who also rode a donkey
into yerusalem...
             salem...
           i'll first die,
before i tire,
to calm this spirit...
   beholden for a worth of
a delayed 2000 years,
O ishrael!
                  i have come to serve
justice for your tongue
being left: undiminished...
               an ode to prayer,
a prayer, for which i thank you,
keeping solace,
and knee,
        may your tongue
churn future affairs...
        ingenuity and sacrifice...
   i grant you...
                  and may you be granted
to and fro the altogethered
furthermore!

               may your fate by rhymed,
and less of that of mine...
    half metaphor, half dwarf esque...
to have to find solace
in blame,
of an overlord class,
that succumbed to the elite
of the prussians,
the russians,
the austro-hungarians...
             may your fate serve you
better, upon the resurgence,
than it has served my people...
for whom,
i have no pride, but only concern
over...
   in "exile"...
                      
   what am i possibly blamed for?
not having worked out
the desired defence...
when both **** and soviet came...
but you were no better
gloating:

      our the tenements,
your, the streets...

         agree to that...
   and then we'll part agreeing
upon a shared consecration
of the dead..
you don't agree to this,
that...
    our the tenements,
your, the streets...

  well... the next kippah...
will not be a tonsure...
                          it will be a scalp.

you're talking to a *******
******...
who the hell did
Rudolf Höss cite when inviting
jews into the contracention
camp?
    Casimir III
                       (kasimierz)...

now you bite the hand
that fed the dog that
protected your scraps of
digested heap of resources?!

    watch it ***... watch it.

High living


High living what does it mean?
Eating caviar or to live on the highest
Flat on a Grenfell tower in London
without a sprinkling system?
Having lunch at an expensive café
because it has a famous chef or
drinking tea from China instead
of drinking it from a cracked mug?
I call it costly living.
Moving around finding a distraction
because after money life is boring.

i sometimes try to envision london as i skim past
warsaw... i'm always missing...
the key ingredient... a mongol... here or there...
it's hard to imagine this whole scenario...

it must be said: someone is paying...
undue "compliments" to this affair...
eastern europe: "clearly"...
             or something of that measure...

just throw chinese sweat-shop sneakers
at the "covenant"! sneakers and glitter and some
readied women for the carousel...
and we'll be having this party till next year...

come to think of it...
the current mystery of the grenfell tower...
some gammon terrorist probably
left a stove on and left his home...
because... that didn't spark... the desired...
protests...
all those choking marshmallows wasn't
the tipping point...
           for the one man needs to be "excused"...

i somehow pity the comparison that
westerners have concerning their...
token friends... their "pet projects"...
the noble savages...
                  fair enough...
beside... a 5ft10 european somehow
manages to catch a 6ft2 zulu goliath...
and hey presto:
i can imagine harded work than...
foraging... the fields...
it's not like... the people were used to...
mine coal...
          
perhaps because the mongol never impregnated
the western imagination...
an actual... horde...
the huns were a horde that displaced
the germanic tribes...
etc. etc. -
but when i think of orcs...
i think of mongols...
and, when in warsaw... you can sight-see
these... "tourists"...
        
   it is known: the Kraków Hejnał...
          st. mary's trumpet call...
                    did i mention the ottoman lick
of the continent?
such peace... anyone with enough...
curiosity...
what saved japan from the mongol invasion
was... ride horses +++...
build ships and sail them...
for the love of minor deities:
that prayed and conjured up a tsunami...

one albino chimpanzee talking about:
the forbidden fruit... metaphor...
the serpent...
and... the crooked mirror...
mirror... the false spine... the teasing...
loot of imagination and time...

2 tonnes of soil moved...
the drainage established... grass worth of envy...
come the watering of the pride...
to pass the time: three beers is not enough...
to pass the time...
idiotic arithmetic...
20 minutes worth of: 1.7 x 3...
          7 x 3 = 2.1 (0.7)...
and 1 x 3... round-off at 5 units of alcohol...

it's so generous to think of...
the orcs like any former slave-trading nation
might... because... the mongols were always...
the little people, no?
grand disclosure... chinese new money...
but as a horde... a people that would move...
with women and children...
always... those empires built upon
the sole purpose of: earth-farming...
land-locked empires...
what alexander sought...
what the mongols replied with...
what the romans made quasi...
when the british imitated the greeks...

             history has become a geek funfair...
or... a drinking **** of...
because with all the scientific facts...
one can... actually... abide with the alternative
already at hand...
the history that was written down...

race baiting and "racism" and
the statement: am i... after finding a willing
cherry-*** worth of glistening choc...
one that with enough coccyx would
ram a plum into the pouch of softness
just above my phallus...
and... i'd grow bald there...
while attaining a spawn of a bearded pride
on my chin and jaw line?

let's juggle... very crude arithmetic of being
unsure... some crude geometric shapes...
sticks and stones...
the easily offended...
because... sorry... slam-dunk millionnaires
of the 12" extension: that chapter in the kama sutra
of: one size fits all...
and... the zoo of chisel oops: daddy-issue projects...
i care... because...
i care to recycle bad news...
            of envy: that there is beard envy...
that turks are naturally born barbers...

i don't like race baiting... the fun boy and the supposed...
much later... matrimonial... and material...
race baiting is like...
   forcing an inbreeding of a scant origins story...
and never is...

i tried to remember why i wrote to begin
with...
       i had to reread some of...
jack spicer's words...
  trust a homosexual to kiss with wording
when there isn't an unlikely woman to bed...
hetrosexual metaphors of ***...
******* as: yes... eating an icecream
is probably that trans-****** focus point
of translation...

   and to have quit smoking... a massive no no...
i have a rancid idea for a dream...
it is a colour... but it's not primary...
i might have a scent... but to sniff it...
you'd have to: SNIFFZ it like a line...
it's called rancid cinnamon...
but it's actually chilly...
       an idea for word that can disguise...
the colour...
                  and... come to think of it...
most words are colourless...
formless...
              apart from square red...
   which is... ◼ and... crimson... rose...
           it's not that language is limited...
but that there are no limitations of its banality...
should art... and not... the cordial...
formality of it being readily available
after pressure and time and enough
of what goes behind... pedagogy is finally
made to be: society-proof inclined as:
corporative...

i love the currency of the joke...
"native" h'americans... and...
                  yew'ropean "descendents"...
probably interchangeable...
otherwise... the crip-cut... staging of events...
concerning... a people...
that... were never... really... invaded...
because... who the hell does that sort
of thing these days...
when the soviet union disintegrated
and the metallurgy industry of poland
was eaten away by some unknown
rust of time...
some "tao magic"...
and sooner or later... everything became
dubbed: the little-chinese-centipede
of invisible hands...
the masculine... plumber...
or... metallurgist... became...
the soap shop clerk... on the rare occasion...
the bewildering ears and eyes
of the ****** diaspora all over the world
probably second to the hebrew context...
because... the arisotracy...
and how they ****** the crown...
and... when some foreign king would...
sit on the throne and exalt...
the same sort of love that...
richard the lionheart: zero anglais:
perfectemą frown-sez...

        it should be a nursery rhyme...
came the mongol horde and the ottoman turk...
came the gust of swede the german loath
and the russian loitering: time borrowed...
to elsewhere: an island near...
england some, land... some...
   little figment of our imagination...

that wasn't a rhyme... this isn't a people...
and that's what...
if you lined up 100 yugoslavs...
and put among them...
5 croats... i could probably pick them out...
hard to know... being...
an african-h'american...
the pride and prejudice...
       if one isn't so... spazz and zpezial...
when in kenya... no?

then... like the older generation
and thier flimsy belief in paper:
looted: and the diluted worth of geld...
the א and ת mobster crude... rule...
that there's an "internet" bias...
    a litany of falling stars!
and bypassing editorial scrutinies
of... a one and only... Willard Bunn III...
in the medium of democracy:
the elect: the poets...
this... the cringe: orb of delight...
of... welcomed criticism...
     a McAfee tequilla morning...
loiter... then loot...

     the... pedantry of a people
who imported their problems...
   Nicaragua, El Salvador...
              Honduras... Costa Rica...
bananas ripe... ripe enough...
to be... straightened... republic implies?
concerning the elders...
first the republic... of the elders...
then the democracy of the youth...
this glue will not necessarily schtick!

there's only one *** diaspora
to counter itself and to not... counter:
that of the ****** hind...
            picking cotton is like: what's for
dinner? candy?
the current tirade of a people:
who have never! and will never!
know or even acknowledge being
invaded! except by ghosts!
dead chinese bone sinew being
recycled... the currency of water
has been replaced with a tease
of salt from the alive... work-******...
******* at a job... the great yawn!
of a... "perhaps"...

    grovel like a pig:
   jut in case: you might have to feed
the "needy"... devoid of the need...

there was no "forbidden fruit" to solve
our paradox modus operandi of
inquiry... which served us...
pretty well...
      but the false prophet that replaced
the serpent...
the **** similis: the ape...
that gave us...
less the hope for our fruition...
but our... regressive narcissism
to mind: the current...
low-brow crime of "now"...

               that there's even a pronoun
debate... "debate" to be had...
is... because... english... as a language...
has not... have to...
cater... for a... completely alien...
grammar re-schooling
to begin with...
it's not like... the german zeppelins
landed... when instead they only
dropped bombs to give london...
a crew-cut... "revision"...
gender neutral pronoun debates
have no place...
for a people, of a people of a language...
that reads: prescribed...
that this language...
is like an archeological / etymological
find... and it needs to be...
preserved...
the hebrews have no pyramids...
yes... but they have...
niqab vowels...
              the architecture is... consonant:
resonant...
but their vowels are ethereal...
     kametz (a), tzere (e),
           chirek (i), cholem (o)...
                    shurek (u)...
                  why not envy the yids...
the hebs? for their want of a country...
what overpowered their trait by god
a divination, more... than...
this mere... from this earth you came...
unto this earth... you will return?
if the hebrews are not to be envied...
then they can't be despised...
since... god must be excused from the mind
and each will be governed by
the roulette of chaos...
gambling with "choice" contra:
the "eventuality" of will...
            the jews have their... israel...
2000 years struggling with god...
you'd think: juda'h can be confirmed:
ishrael...
      but no... there's a final test...
much more insisting to be carried through
than a "mere" holocaust...
oh people of "little" faith but of:
great ambition thus planted...
            they would rather keep...
their h'american diaspora...
than... come... and... salvage...
a 2000 year old whim...
  to make their race their creed a home...
among the arabs / the sons and daughters
of... Keturah...
                    desert people... it's not like
they would... become the siberian tundra folk
or the forest elvish kind...
but... they came with their circumcision
and their kosher rites...
and their... "mowhawks" / payots...
envy... i crave to cling to envy
when there is...
to preserve a letter...
than it is worthwhile to claim...
    because... the pyramids of the egyptians
and the pyramids of the Aztecs...
oh i wait... for the phonetic encoding
markers from south america and the north...
and south of egypt...
is... this torture instrument: ♱...
a letter... in the ethopian alphabet?
why not... the pike... hands tied...
ukranian noble... groaning for days upon
end?

oh i love ****-erotica of literature...
i'm a bit tame... when it comes to...
replicating the ****** acts...
missing the ****... crushing the pevlic bones
when... praying to gravity...

- otherwise? how could one ever...
conflate / confiscate /
   what one is supposed to do...
when one... deflates the worth of...
toasted rye...
like... that's somehow... worse... than...
a toasted croissant?
if not better?
to eat a brick's worth
of architecture...
                 clark gable... occupation: amant...
censor... herr...
the following list of housewife
escapee dreams:
            rock hudson...
                   humphrey bogart...
         cary grant...
                    gregory peck...
james stewart...  tony ******* curtis!
and clark gable...
the myth... the non-existing marvel (marr-veel)
franchise... the amant...
     my escapism sack of time...
for footie... snooker...
playing cards... drinking...
and that all-round... degree in being...
pedigree **** "quasi-alpha"...
the corpus christi: omega man...
to conveniently sum up the maxim...
    stanley K'OH-VAL-SK"Y"...
        an i or an e... does... it... really...
******* matter?
ever heard of a spanish tortilla?
me nigh-ver... neither...
           but there's the m'eh-he-he-he-co&co
omlette and such...
now for pitching a tent...
and tending to... peeling an apple...
and a... semi-serious... the end...
since... semi-serious...
is... what denotes this loot of writing as...
well... it's not a novel...
nor a paragraph as borrowed from one;
the hope is...
that it might be treated as a...
exhibit (a) a gnome - apostrophe...
"silent".... gggggggggggggggurgle...
or... exhibit (b)... a tall ******* lebrechaun!