"grenoble" poems
*my my,
what a great "hangover" cure,
a kiwi,
several blackberries,
several strawberries
several raspberries,
several blueberries, infused
with coconut milk.*
there's a name for these butterflies,
these so-called lolitas,
the awakened ones -
siusiu-majtki -
meaning?
piss-pants -
strange how the genitals mature
quicker than the brain -
thankfully my first encounter
with a french girl from
grenoble -
and she was two years older than
me...
we were both ****** to a numb-skull,
and while being ****** (drunk)
she at least acknowledged me
with: put on a ****** -
half dreamy half drunk.
p.s.
i have to admit, when performing oral
***
i imagined two things:
looking at an exfoliating bud of a rose,
while slurping down an oyster.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 8:28 AM UTC
darwinism killed music off:
i moved to scotland for three
years, to the soundtrack
of for the love of a princess,
instead i got a foreign
exchange student from grenoble
studying the death defying
practice of psychology
who said i spoke no organics
in terms of tongue, ****** her
while she crawled into my bed
and lost my virginity like a fox,
on the sly, to the motto i caricatured
saying to fifty thousand pound debt:
only idiots educate themselves these
days -
this atheism non-congregating will
not succeed, it will fail, it will fail, it,
will, fail!
a postcard from a Lebanese girl i asked
for a date to see some moving pictures
didn't help (when i was at high school)...
she read the book the hours
a year later (a virginia woolf adaptation)...
spare the boy! spare the boy for fuck's sake!
old stiff collar ***** **** bureaucrat
just said: verzweiflung verzagen eine gedanke -
für beweis ex pluralismus
(despair despaired a thought - for proof out of
pluralism).
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC
a reply to caitlin moran's 27/5/2017 article: 'i know the question that every woman should ask all the men in her life now.
how i lost my virginity?
beautiful girl... isabella, from grenoble,
third year psychology exchange student...
yep... we were both drunk...
and in her dreamy, rather than an unconscious
state... she asked me to put on a ******
which i did...
i can't even remember if i ecajulated;
so she was responsive enough to, later not press
charges to the university authority;
so yeah... **** culture?
anything to add about the girl?
yep... she loved japanese cartoons, studio ghibli esp.;
so no, i didn't loose my virginity
to a sex-bot.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
C'est à Rouen, votre Rouen, Madame,
Qu'on brûla... (je fais un impair !)
Mais Marseille ! c'est une femme
Qui se lève, au bord de la mer !
Le Havre a votre amour, et d'une ;
Son port, et de deux ; qu'il soit fier !
Mais Marseille ! c'est une brune
Qui sourit, au bord de la mer !
Comme le fauve qu'il rappelle,
Lyon porte beau, par un temps clair ;
Mais Marseille ! est une « bien belle »
Qu'on salue, an bord de la mer ;
Les vignes où vole la grive
Près de Dijon n'ont pas le ver ;
Mais Marseille ! est une « bien vive »
Qui chantonne, au bord de la mer ;
Bordeaux, avec sa gloire éparse
Sur vingt océans, a grand air !
Mais Marseille ! c'est une garce
Qui vous grise, au bord de la mer ;
Le beffroi d'Arras se redresse
Comme la hune au vent d'hiver ;
Mais Marseille ! est une bougresse,
Qui tempête, au bord de la mer ;
Laval est un duc, ma Mignonne,
Dont le poiré n'est pas amer ;
Mais Marseille ! est une « bien bonne »
Qui se calme, au bord de la mer ;
Toulouse est un ténor qui traîne
Où frise peut-être un peu l'r...
Mais Marseille ! est une sirène
Qui chuchotte, au bord de la mer ;
Clermont a ses volcans où rôde
Le souvenir d'un feu d'enfer ;
Mais Marseille ! est une « bien chaude »
Qui vous baise, au bord de la mer ;
Grenoble a Bayard, la prouesse
Faite homme et l'honneur fait de fer ;
Mais Marseille est une déesse
Qu'on adore, au bord de la mer ;
Toulon aura l'âme sereine
Quand on aura purgé son air ;
Mais Marseille, elle, est une reine
Qui se couche au bord de la mer !
Elle adore Paris, Madame,
Paris est l'homme qu'il lui faut,
Car Marseille, c'est une femme
Qui n'a pas le moindre défaut.
Paris, le lui rend bien, du reste,
Il lui dit : Si tu t'asseyais ?
Car Marseille n'a pas la peste
Et n'a plus l'accent marseillais !
618
i imagine death with a book in reading: half tucked into my head and
thus half of me exposed, perhaps i too half tucked in it
standing as a miniature on a bookshelf - a talking bookmark.
but all pomp on napoleon’s grand theme for the toilet flush of power -
‘ha ha! prussia down the loo! prussia traced back to lunacy!’
that’s what the little colonel said - although he probably... ah never mind.
so when this grenoble girl told me i should get out a guilt spanker
and do 1 2 3 with it on my forehead, i said: polonaise! polonaise!
duchy of warsaw! d’uh! (which made the map of europe
look just like it was when the bubonic plague roamed the continent.)
well i forgive her, she was, after all, a psychology mermaid who’d
drag every man down for a kiss in the depths that would
be a kiss of the men’s lips being bitten off,
perhaps one man would then joke with her in comic book narrative
(bubbles of course) - how’s my todkopf lächeln?
she would then sit on the couch and allow me to psychoanalyse
her wish for feet -
and i’d end with the diagnosis - ‘too many men in your unconscious,
you ate too many and they’re speaking from your belly
as cancan dancers stomping a morse code of pitfalls into thoughts
wishing you grazed with lamb and men who ******* their heads
into “nothing” with lambdas.’
or that’s what comes to mind, in the least, from a passage
of canto ** read slowly, on the throne of thrones -
concerning the rewards of the rowers - not for oxford or for
cambridge - but for odysseus.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC