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Mateuš Conrad May 2016
so this nun mary from the school
of the sisters of notre dame
(dame or Dane?) had her brain removed
and probed: full of plaques and entanglements,
advanced Alzheimer's the coroner said,
aged 101 the brain,
yet up to her death no symptoms of the disease...
she was one of 678 subjects of the nun study,
American experiment genesis 1986 a.d.,
(journalism is really a true ally of poetry),
the 678 were told to write a character assassination
in range between poetry and diary (in their 20s),
"low idea" density they did produce,
but like Sister Anastasia: an amazing poppy-seed cake.
indeed dementia, the western medical anxiety,
10% of people over 60 and 50% of those over 85,
the grey plague i call it (grey matter, no
vermin scuttling about);
men are particularly less at the risk,
long gone the vogue of smoking tobacco -
could have asked the Apache indians about
peace-pipes long into their 90s... but no.
Aloysius Alzheimer / Oppenheimer
discovered the anti-ego unit and the atom bomb
with the neuron, in the latter case the 'd'uh' gene...
cave in the vowels on discretion
saying 'y Dinosaur kno'w, but i saw
a big mushroom boom' caving in meaning they
have to sound more hollow than you thought before
(the vowels, the vowels)...
like the article states, is it really a dis-ease?
i.e. a negation of ease? only if you found learning
at school to be torture and equipped with
a mentality for menial tasks like sunset on a monday
or summer 1904 so too summer of 2014...
no dementia in the giant Galapagos turtles,
they outlive us and still have a brain-rate
on a scale of: take one step here, plop a **** there...
lettuce, lettuce, lettuce... munching this greenery
will take forever! indeed the backlog of libraries of
knowledge and the result of those pioneer futilities
never tapped, still fucky fucky, toow dollar sucky sucky
on the cranium donning a crown.
the rest of the article concerning 4 inches closer
between the finger that dipped into peanut butter
(a closed mouth, eyes, and one nostril)
and identification of nature's diarrhoea (mm those
crunchy bits of fungi and corn undigested) -
but i'd tell you the experiment is faulty,
the peanut butter served up probably wasn't warmed up,
sense of smell and gaseous imprints, like
chlorine the disinfectant in public swimming pools...
not watching television a big give-away,
leisure time spent watching Plato's cave
at 27% of the sigma elsewhere and 18% by those
not afflicted...
then there's the whole dementia diabetes debate,
vegetables versus fruits... vegetables win...
Alzheimer's (also known as type 3 diabetes)...
imagine a creature coerced into disbelieving the
existence of water, and that alcohol is water
and a hamburger, that's me...
remember that nuns are cloistered yet sociable...

general hardbacks
1. the unmumsy mum (50,195 examples sold)
2. how it works: the mum (119,830 examples sold)
3. how it works: the husband (312,910 examples sold)

general paperbacks
1. the road to little dribbling (68,270 examples sold)
2. SPQR (26,765 examples sold)
3. the shepherd's life (61,000 examples sold)

want the fiction statistics of the publishing industry?
here goes:

fiction hardbacks
1. the last mile (4,190 examples sold)
2. private paris (3,225       "             "  )
3. predator (22,430            "             "  )

fiction paperback
1. career of evil (16,865    "              " )
2. the girl in the spider's web (55,625 examples sold)
3. make me (127,395 examples sold)

so there's that and there's the 148 diaries found in a skip
(a life discarded): apparently only 148 diaries remained
from a total of 1,000, the universal truth after seeing
Iolanthe, running incompletely from 1952 (Cambridge),
a "true thing" at 30 words per minute ranging between
1 and 3 hours of composition daily (handwritten,
imagine writing with a keyboard ***,
hand-crafted in Israel, yes the *** is an Israeli invention),

so there's that, all the intellectuals bits and bobs,
but there's also:
#instawoman: 'mostly non-fiction - so i keep
them in the loo. a paragraph is better than nothing,
even if it takes me five years to finish a book.

agony aunt "mrs. mills'" replies to modern truffles
(sorry, trivialities): my b/f wants to have ***
on trains on the Glaswegian side of scotland
bit tipsy bit turvy (turdy?) and popping to do likewise
on the Cornish coastline, her reply?
****** pervert... fetishism (Freud believed)
derived from a man's unconscious terror of once
having stuck his head out of his mother's ******...
(hey! my bladder man! my ****! that ****
didn't develop till i was outside that annoying
oven / aquarium!) - so she replies and says:
whisper "the seven o'clock London Liverpool St.
to Norwich", and as my own input:
for a premature *******.

that's Sunday sorted then.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
sometimes the smallest error, onto the slightest
step, and then into a lighter step, or
rather: as if skipping along - with added sactions
by the wind from behind -
toward a yacht like outpouring of movement -
alternatively?
London will make them, or rather make mince
meat out of them: you see them sometimes -
in suits, with something still attached to their sleeve:
the label, sometimes a tailor's brand,
  or at least the suggestion: pure cotton -
you see them sometimes, a rare thing to watch,
what with us "cool" urbanites, it's almost a comedy
sketch... a bit like walking with undone
shoelaces, gambling on whether one of your
feet will step onto the other' foot's shoelaces -
and wouldn't that be an avalanche....
but there's an even more subtler faux pas...
   for any budding bibliophile, it's a must to see!
i already did it with one book,
   but it would seem, i was not to make the same
mistake twice...
        how did the first faux pas happen?
all the way from Edinburgh, from Barnardo's
bookshop - i still can't believe i have a 3 year
tattoo from that city, burning up my mind -
   and will ol' jack mind, if i tear that flag up?
well... what with union in the olympics...
   but then scotland v. england in euro 1996 -
and i remember that year... and that goal
by Gazza... mighty ****-heads, i salute you!
back to the faux pas... and i dare say, only
committed from lack of previous interaction
with such a specimen... books stacked from
floor to nearing ceiling, and not a single book
prior that could be thus categorised:
hardback... with a sleeve...
indeed! a hardback with a sleeve... sure,
there are hardback books in this library -
  and if you watch Roman Polański's
9th gate... you'll get the fetish -
but not this first hardback in the library -
a hardback with a sleeve...
     the anatomy of mandess:
volume 1   people and ideas

   essays in the history of psychiatry
edited by w. f. bynum, roy porter and
michael shepherd...
                 yours, for 30 quid from that bookshop
in Edinburgh...
so you ask: where's the faux pas?
  i took the book with me to public places...
i read it on the tube when i moved about
the great yonder of the city: that never shuts up.
the faux pas is this:
  and only the context of the hardback -
you ensure the sleeve remains pristine...
    hardbacks are twice as heavy as paperbacks...
the sleeve is ornamental anyway:
you don't read a hardback with a sleeve still
attached to it... you take it off...
    hardbacks aren't that ornamental after a while...
not to mention the added agility of holding
a hardback book without the sleeve...
i should have figured that out when i ordered
another book via the internet:
    julian jaynes': the origin of consciousness
in the breakdown of the bicemeral mind...
     no romance akin to a bookstore these days...
another example in the library that is a hardback
(albeit without a sleeve)...
   and hence onto the third example
that connects the two:
   heidegger's ponderings ii - vi...
  another hardback, and only the second identical
concept of publishing: a hardback with a sleeve.
as such, it is a very rare faux pas, i have already
stated that - i.e. reading a in hardback in public
places with the sleeve still on it...
       it's only now, having peched myself on the windowsill
and calmly taking sips of bourbon! (yes, i needed
a change) that i "revolutionised" the concept of
reading a hardback... oh the added comfort and
the increasingly accessible grip... what with the sleeve
go, a sleeve that's slick...
    then again: i never treated books like ornament pieces,
so i wouldn't know whether a library
   is more about being useful, or merely something
akin to a wardrobe, or a lampshade...
but there are people who treat books like lampshades,
ornament pieces...
      but if anything is certain:
the Romford library is a disgrace!
                      an utter disgrace!
i couldn't find any books in it that i own!
  the Ilford library on the other hand?
      well... it got me a school-leavers' prize in history
from the entire year-group just before we embarked
to university... that's what the Ilford library
is capable of supplying... i can't remember the exact
title of the essay, but it was concerning
the catholic counter-reformation... jesuits and
ignatious loyola...
  so! as it stands, don't be next one to cross the line
with the faux pas of reading a hardback book
with a sleeve still on it in a public place - well any place...
it's uncomfortable (for one), but it's
   actually a: book as a furniture ornament (aesthetic) accent.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
any reading of a philosophy book, outside of university, is mapped without the sort of strategy to receive a grade, for a "correct" interpretation (rather a regurgitation) of said work (mentioned below); to say it in simpler terms: i do not ever think that understanding a concept - in concreto - is worth some sort of "passing on the genes" (memes) of one individual to another - given that a meme has become pop culture, and as the french would put it:
        ce crasse et petit irritante chiotte valeur de merde
                                                                ­                        (i.e. un cliché) -
truly written like and englishman -
   a meme is that crass and small irritant bog's worth of ****
                                                            ­                                           ( " ),
   at least that's peckham french, del boy french,
                         i was well informed about this french dialect.

- and to even "think" why there are so many blue
indians, and so few piggies; perhaps it boils down
to the fact that the blue indians believe in
   burial within fire, rather than earth,
  and they prefer to surround themselves with the living,
rather than with the dead; and piggies do,
  graveyard upon graveyard,
    and that constant "nostalgia", idol-worship
of the past, where nothing greater can come again;
for those who surround themselves with the living,
their existence rages akin to the elemental
tomb of their burial... but for those who surround
themselves with the dead,
   their existences decompases akin to the elemental
tomb of their burial, a heart-broken: nightmarish
earth. -

for some reason, i always get these
"revelations" (for lack of a better word) -
as one might receive a signature
of a thunderstorm in the form of
lightning upon the sky -
           and it usually predicated by
listening to a few pop songs -
   and then listening to the
    *cantos of templar knights
-
            but then again, you sometimes
really need extremes,
     as the canadian sayings goes -
we only have two seasons,
    one's winter, the other is construction.

but this is about technicalities,
one could even cite the following as
the part of any contract, the terms & conditions
written in the smallest possible print,
   lodged in hardbacks worth over 30 quid -
not your cheap bestseller paperbacks -
   those too could be appreciated,
   but akin to pressure to keep a worth's of
expression in sanctum of a hardback?
   take the year 1996 for the cantos 1st
on toilet-paper (paperback) - but in brick?
take the year 1970...
  and where do the technicalities come in?

   - heidegger's ponderings V, aphorism 41 -
technicalities akin to the rules of
a game of cricket, or at least the pointing system.

but count it nonetheless, half an hour to scroll...
12,700+... till i got to april the 8th
  and resurrect a memory?

.  ע   ‎
יהוה ‎‎‎
א‎
                  sighs from on high...
      and laughter into the depths.


let us just say, that digital is
the new hardback edition -
    to condense my works into toilet-paper
till take more years and more pushy-pushy
tactics, to transform
     a hardback into something affordable...
but in reverse...
               what comical inversion,
   30 years will become 300 years to come
  about for someone to wipe-their-***-to-mouth
fathom of what went on at the genesis
of the birth of the internet,
   in some obscure location,
                  like a catholic school in england.

now the germanic pilot-plotline (regarding
aphorism 41, ponderings V):

    promo enigma-alchimia in vivo lingua,
             anti ipse (dixit) in lingua vitro.


(we're not in posh-boy grammar school,
the language is dead, it's become play-dough,
a malagrammaton-monœgo:
for a man's tongue is to his befitting desire
to state the terms of play).

da / ein-da / die-da          vs.                hier   vs.
                                      die-hier / ein-da


( there / a there / the there        vs.
                                                ­                 here    vs.
  the here / a there    -
                                
                               ­ atheistic scissors of
definite/indefinite articles/articulation of
    what's near, and what's far away,
     the dualistic-dichotomy of here&there,
  then&now...
           as far as i am concerned i cannot narrate
this akin to a vampire romance page-turner
bestseller... too many organic chemistry diagrams
concerning electron migration, sorry) -

   but given the "blank" slate genesis, starting
with articles... they go beyond being categorised
as definite or indefinite...
    namely... am i, or can i be assured that
      there's no X variations?
    i.e.
                da     ein da
                      X
       die hier     hier            ???????????????

               isn't ein hier merely "being"?
imagine being forced into a there -
                  without being the there,
akin to a zeitgeist, akin less!
      zeitgeist = a there (communism),
  but the there? that's what hegel
said of napoleon entering jena:
       "das ist ein weltgeist!" (capitalism).

and who are the anglophones?
  i cannot respect these "peoples" -
they constantly stutter when it comes to
  their lack of diacritical application,
they stutter... i might as well call them
the strabismus race...
    and if darwinism is to be the vector-catalyst
(hollywood was thrashing american cities
for decades, what damage could this
observation could possibly do?) -
  if darwinism is to be the prime historian,
that darwinism replaces actual history
and becomes neither in vitro, nor in vivo,
but in situ? why do scientists wonder why
universities are undermined in their
humanities, when scientific populism of
biology (i.e. darwinism) has undermined
papa historia? am i... missing something?!
     if you undermine a credible study within
the humanities with enough darwnism?
what do you get? inertia...
     you can burn crosses, but you can also
burn an image of a monkey into a man's mind,
the same result occurs!
      personally, i'd rather burn crosses,
i might end up drinking beer and joking with
a few skin-heads around an unsual campfire.

the other side just... "debates" loud-mouth
******* who haven't learned the gymnastics
of looking up those grandiose black-holes
of blah blah.... blah blah blah... blah...
     i'd like to ask them... does your **** of talk
ooze a perfume of.... strawberries?
   and the punk-fist fields... forever! ooh...
****** *******' salsa! shwing yir hips
ya bunch of conclaves (p.j.w.) - privacy
                     justice warriors).

        taoist's foregetfulness

grounded in maxim primus -
  to allow the world a breath, allow the world
to let you breathe as you deem fit,
   never too soon to be bound to genealogy,
esp. that of the genesis bound to
the new testament -
  for if the old testament begins with poetry,
and if truly metaphorically chained,
then how pitiful is the genesis of
the new testament, which begins with
  something as sorrowful as the nadir
of greek culture, the expired logos,
   a genealogy, with the greeks ransacking
the jews under roman rule,
  just like the ransacking of constantinople
by the venetians in 1204 (4th crusade)...
who'd start a "holy" book without poetry,
but a ******* geneaology?!
          no wonder poetry these days isn't
a rare appreciation...
    but cheap and as tsunami natured
   in its "production" as tabloid press,
  toothbrushes, toilet paper,
                        toothpicks, among other
                                               paraphernalia;
the new testament is such a massive turn-off...
if you don't begin with poetry,
esp. that of metaphor translated into imagery,
and instead begin with a branch of logic
that the new testament begins with, i.e.
genealogy... and then expect latter poetics
in the text to be taken literally?!
          clue the keen me into the clamours
of the poly-schismatic version of events...
    sure, christianity is a "polytheism",
                           in that it's poly-schismatic.

and of the garden, should adam have approached
first, as he would have done in asia -
         he would have talked with
the serpent sæwelō -
           perhaps that same serpent of
   caucasus - first, to have a thirst of
knowledge tamed - although never really -
  for the serpent sæwelō would have
tempted adam: eat of this tree, its fruit,
  and your thirst for knowledge will be
forever satiated!
   so said the serpent of order
   so said sæwelō (ᛋ), the sun-snake...
the serpent of illumination -
                            the golden serpent.
and so adam bit into the fruit,
   and such thirst as never before filled him,
a thirst for knowledge that hasn't
as of yet seized -
     for the fruit, which adam imagined
would be sweet - was actually filled with salt.

  and we are initiated into the myth
of how the other scenario took place with regards
to a woman approaching the serpent first,
       yes?
                and for the woman, the serpent
of chaos, known as ansuz (ᚨ) - the siamese -
who said both truth and lie simulatenously
  also known as the god who's name begins with
yod, in the roman tongue (Y),
                          and he said:
  you will know the difference between
good and evil -
    ah indeed he said so, but that said, it would
imply acts being simulatenously both,
rather than either / or -
he continued: you'll be like the æsir (gods)!
      knowing such distinctions,
                   and will know the meaning of fate,
and justice, and due recompense!

as etymological mutations occur,
   and translations into other tongues
go, let's begin with:

sieg heil - old english - sigel - hail sun!
       if ever a führer (the few, the rarer),
                        so too the sun's eclipse -
   louis xiv wouldn't have minded,
    but at least he ****** to his
         cockerel's content to praise sunrise -
but as it stands, an etymological
           "mutation" in translation: hail sun!

-------------------------- p.s. p.p.s. p.p.p.s. p.p.p.p.s.
    f(p.s.) ad infinitum: borrowing from
mathematics, i.e. f(x) - heidegger
invented the algebra of writing in a certain style
that's only worth a neurotic / autistic pedant's
worth of bother...

   let's just say, in terms of style,
                                        it's purely hellish,
   you can only go as far with a text
when the variations
  range from dasein, to da-sein
   to da-sein to da-sein (i.e. da-ßein) -
    to whatever else is enclosed in the book...
i haven't got the time to write
an expansion of these milimetres
            and a litre of *** waiting for me...

   inverse stress on being
              detached from a "there": da-ßein:

   with regard to the world and its being
   constituting beings (heidegger's style
of expression, i know, can be a muddle)...

all i wanted was an antonym:
   rather than the world and its there,
   i wanted the world and its nowhere,
or rather, a pure form of being: a here,
      being detached from beings,
   the infinite dance of "solipsism",
    mono-direct articulation /
   plural-direct articulation (a march) /
mono-indirect articulation (a thought) /
plural-indirect articulation (a commute home)...

in terms of dictionary ref. to oppose da (there):

ist da - is here
                hier - here
komm her! - come here!
           hier & da - here & there
                  auf der stelle - here & now

stelle:
       schnellen - quickly
   schwellen (ich bin) - i am swelling
schelle - bell
   bruchstelle - break

                            da-ßien = hiersien

i.e. stressor on being,
             which morphs into a reconstruction
of the original equation:

     i.e. "da"-ßien = hier-"sien" ≠ nichtsein...

    and the point being?
    the simple f(x) translation into philosophical
jargon... f(p.s.) ad infinitum...
                      this had to run into a cul de sac
at some point, given all the technicalities
and stylistic disparities between existentialists,
if any remained to live into the 21st century...
but the buggers ****** off
              let's just say the new wave
of concerning italics remains the still
unexplored territory of missing diacritical marks
in the english language...
    as much can be said about writing
            chair    as can be said about
   writing                  krzesło...
           (yes, a consonant grapheme, err-zed)...
funny, in grapheme terms...
   that the german grapheme ß
  never became a replacement of -sch-
     in english -sh- in slavic -sz-,
             seems to be more t'ss... wet snare...
          another example?
    (choo-choo) train / pociąg -
  and yes, that's not implying choo-choo,
   since it's obvious, the verb ćwiczyć:
to train.
Edward Coles Dec 2013
Water skids the ephemeral valley.
Tight turns, night gowns and cigarette ash beds,
with countless souls lost in ruby red wine.

Fingers indiscernible, scaled hardbacks
lay upon the shelves in deadened beauty,
whilst creation is born in digital sound.
William A Poppen Dec 2017
Life Without Resentment

Nearly everyone has stored
among hardbacks and paperbacks
or dusty mental drawers
resentments, gathered incidentally
unintentionally or
by rubbing shoulders
with ingrates and other
irritating souls

Meeting her, she exudes
an excitement for what is said
while displaying an openness
a self-reliance
that disallows any acrimony
indignation or animosity

No bitterness is harbored
nor rancor secreted
among the ruins
of her disappointments

Not long-suffering
the past is forgiven and forgotten

Not apprehensive or perturbed
she treads in this moment
with the power of living in the present
no longer feeling victimized
She lives refreshed, restored
without resentment
My impression of someone I know who now seems free of resentment
You are like a library, do you know that?
Going slowly crazy looking at endless spines,
enigmatic titles that I have not read everywhere,
purples, blues, reds, indigo,
I want to read you in each last word,
to suffer that impending end

Ah the smell of you in my mind,
the cloistered shadows in corners,
the silence of your vulpine smile,
Glittering crystals on book covers,
gilded writings in gold and silver for miles,
Soft covers, hardbacks

I am in a labyrinths, a maze,
Creative soft chairs are begging,
Come sit and grow,
Visions of other worlds,
Sun stars rotating,
You inspire my secret smile,

My shadows are dancing,  
Reading, reading **** it
I miss you  

─ © Arnay Rumens 2016
Eliana Nov 2014
I'm just a book
that's been sitting out
too long, now
the shelf's filled up with
unfamiliar hardbacks,
where do I fit?
Trusted , clear-coated , cured cane pole
Can o' corn 'neath a Maple umbrella
Brown Trout skimmers popping the top of a runaway
river
Red , gold leaf boats sail the eddies
Painted hardbacks , soft shelled sinkers
Lolly-gagging Mudcats , sunlight in her
turbulent mirror
Cold water shivers , warm flannel shirts with
wet rolled up Levi's , Peanut butter -apple jelly
sandwiches with a peach Nehi
Cattle trails homeward
Honeysuckle boundaries , Red plum , Mimosa ,
Honey Locust companions
Brown sugar tended earth , June corn , young hideaways
Purple wire-grass terraces , wild Dove lining
barbed wire fencing with late hour songbirds escorts* ..
Copyright September 6 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
- Sep 2013
So many familiar faces
Different appearances
I guess it's because
Of all those changes
That occur when we age
When we grow older
Smarter, wiser
We change
All the time
I miss those
Memories though
Those we built
Together
When we
Were carefree
And as calm
As the sunny
Weather

We might change how we look
But we are still ourselves
On the inside
Like a book
With different
Hardbacks
And covers
© Natali Veronica 2013.
Lawrence Hall Jan 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                               Rod McKuen at a Garage Sale

We don’t know who Baby ****** and Tommie were
They sent each other notes and underlines
And colored slips of paper from page to page
In Someone’s Shadow (“Hardbacks 25 Cents”)

The exuberance of adolescent arcs
Reminds us of our long-ago callow youth
When we thought we had discovered something
In secretly sharing free verse in home room

And we had – indulging in forbidden lines
Is still good therapy for being sixteen
A poem is itself.
Graff1980 Jan 2017
I can’t seem to detach
The shelves hold books
I do not need
Soft and hardbacks
Stacked chaotically
I want to keep them
I want to give them
To someone who will
Appreciate them
But I do not know who
Will take them and treasure them
As I did and do

I want to detach
From my cache of comic books
But my memories are attached
To all that muscle and flash
The stories of my past
Are sculpted heroes
Of fantastic proportions
And grand moral fortitude
I do not want to lose
The person who was
So deeply intertwined
With those graphic stories

I want to detach
From the ****** way of thinking
So I rub one out
Yes it hardens and shrinks
So that each day
I am not driven
By lust and passion
So my perspective is not blurred,
Woman are more than mere
Objects of desire
Desire speaks more of
Seeking something special
A unique kind mind
But the yearning still surges
Spews milky madness
To calm my edginess
It is in my flesh
Eliza May 2018
They'll say, "Women are beautiful, like books." They'll thumb through, gently turning the pages, smelling the worn pulp, being careful not to hurt the old and exhausted spine. They'll say, "Beautiful.. aren't they just beautiful?" before placing the unread books back on their neatly lined shelves. Kant and Lawrence and Morrison will line either side of the fireplace for the next twelve years, and the homeowner will recline and sigh and think about how elegant their space looks lined with hardbacks and plays. And all across America libraries will lose funding because books are beautiful. Because they make a home feel full. Because the pages are old and perfect, unread, untouched, unloved, unopened vaults of ideas that can only be preserved through concept, potentially brilliant and bound in untouched beauty. Women are. Beautiful books.
June 9th-10th, 2020

In the House on Woodland Road – Love Weaved in Many Molds
It Came when Two Little Girls heard a Woman’s Voice Announce, “I Have a Surprise for You,”
And Sitting on the Fireplace – there was a Videotape, and it Showed Tigger’s Smiling Face
The Tigger Movie had Just Arrived, much to the parents’ surprise
It Came Again when the Girls Looked in the Cookie Jar, the one Topped with the Smiling Cartoon-Cookie Man
Inside was a Tower of Oreos, Waiting for the Girls to Pull Apart and Lick
Love was there by the TV-set – Shown with a Stack of Madeline Tapes
Love was even by the Bookcase – with a Bing to the Brim of Hardbacks Neither Child could Understand
Seated on a Shelf’s Corner, there rested a Crayola Box – Filled with Crayons to the Tin’s Tip-Top
Love was in the Bedroom, with Crayola Crayons Stockpiled – and Sitting on the Closet’s Ledge
Love was on the Rounded-Rug Below, as the Child Played out a Tick-Timing Clock while Laying on their Back
Love was by the Twin Seat Cushions, as the Girls Bounced from One to Another – and Played Leap Frog Between Each Other
Love was in the Garden’s Grass – seen when one of the Children Pulled Apart Presumed Pickles from the Tree, and Sprinkled them all over her
Love was by the Cats’ Food Bowl, Awaiting a Stray to Walk in and Take a Bite
Love was when the Child walked into the Family Room, and took out the Classic Game Candyland
She Played with her New Puppy till he Crossed the Finish Line, and Declared him Champion
Love was there as the Children went for a Walk in the Backyard, and Saw all the Birds and Conifers
The Birdfeeder Hung, and the Bathwater Rippled, – and they awaited its famished and filthy Aves
Love was there for many years, long before the Children Appeared
And then One Day, the Children came, but all the Love had Died
They Noticed the Dust, and the Cobwebs, and the Chill Attached to the House
They Noticed the Trees Chopped Down, and their Smiles were Lost
They Noticed the Change, and it Made them Very Sad
The House had Lost its old Charm, the Children Fell into Monotony
and the Gems that Once Gave the House its Glow – Would Never Again Come out and Show
Ryan O'Leary Jun 2019
The [book stops] are
made of sturdier stuff
than the books.

I|||||||||||||||||||I

Cut loaves, have a pair
of reinforced slices, they
are known as hardbacks.
i tell you is it worth to buy a book of
£50 and i tell you
about the weight of horses
and of teeth

is it not refreshing to read a book
by an Arab
and escape thus
outside the first contact of the Quran

like saying:
Christian find the apocryphal
library a devil a humanist

what happens in the Church of Los Vegas
San Vegas stays in San Vegas
and Vigro
how you mingle pagan attributes
to your life with wearing the clothes
of christian blood
but why i ask
can i not venture to these texts outside
of church and discuss them
with you
all that brings forth conversation
about god but not these strict
conversions and anti-conversions
and no more swaying no more wind
nor rain nor this happiness when
the birds sing...

from Jahiz the Abbasids -
of the ****** Fa'iq
such a different story line and history
to have arrived at the same place
with the taborns
the taborns... what are taborns?
camel slither on the desert sands
when walking in line
with the history the great serpent of time
and man
the time-man concept within the space-time
stresses of authentic atheistic
reality
some people purport to keed (P) rigid
for us little religious types
like under constant scrutiny
for not paying prayer unto deity...

in my youth the story of the *** form Nazareth
and through Islam's prism
at least some reality outside of the church
the Stellar Couchsurfer arrived in the capital
of the ancient world Jerusalem
with a newly sprung Empire of the Romans
and later Byzantines like
this was a Greek revival in the stage
of the ancient peoples

                                 Couch-surfer majestic
came to Jerusalem from Nazareth (the Arab capital
of Israel)
               Tel Aviv being the Jewish capital
of Israel -
                    as of yet there is no clear partition
of Jerusalem not as clearly
as the division of Berlin -

                            a fate of a people in a place
a fate of a people in a time
how different the too that now what can
be the Vatican of modernity
and only the rising sand vacuum...

some distant away end of the spectrum of
experience:
outside the bedroom and multitude
of throng -

Throng - this is the name of our Planet -
it is no longer Earth
but Throng Pirazyjvi

                               well... if i've started to read
books with names
like real people in fiction
by time disparity
for example:

                      abu al-qasim ja'far ibn muhammad
ibn hamdan al-mawsili

13th worrier cut off point for
the prince of Baghdad:

Abu... IBN...            abu yb'n

at least for my own sanity how long has it been
since i was last involved in literature
and now this break-up is going to cost me
much more than just
a heartache - this will spiral into a controlled
vizier -
            a dervish love for spinning gravity
instead of gravity of the fallen...
the gravity of the fallen angels implies a fall
a gravity by vector -

if iblis will not bow to man
then iblis will be falling in a one dimensional
space of the point A to point B
while man will revel in gravity with the earth
and thereby spinning on
point A
                  thus:                          Å
                                                   ° °

this letter:                                    Å
                                                   ° °

the king's letter: all unto Allah - or how to simpler
say: utter backwards the name
Yahoo - or Yahweh -
                    vocal because apparently "we" do not
know how to utter the word:
yet so apparently:
i remember in my lament
on Brick Lane
falling down and crying
allah allah like a child of why do i have
to see these two rivers from the coals of my eyes
blackened by past and future riddles...

what revelation comes from a wholesome diet
of books to find oneself preoccupied
with a child who didn't see the forest
for the books
or the books for the toothpicks or otherwise
sand as glass because
surely i can at least "inte-

          ʾAlf Laylah wa-Laylah -
or rather my alternative script...
Dune by Frank Herbert +
             the Quran +
       the Meadows of Gold by
    al-Masudi +
Rumi + Omar Khayyam

because i did spend a good portion of my
life shielding myself using
Knausgaard's Mein Kampf
and it was a dark period of my life
that culminated in a division of labour
3 volumes through when the original
buyer made his last impression on
a grandson
by 4th volume grandfather was dead
then uncle moved back
successful uncle
in his father's eyes
thus for 2 years not even cleaning his dead
father's room
it only took me to come and clean the stink
out stink of dementia
and this is from a love a hidden place
that cannot be on the same pages
as that of the fate of slave lovers
because there were slave lovers
and how slavery looked back in Arab times
and how slavery looked back in Roman times
and we can see a massive distinction
and oh jeez perhaps the Arabs were the best
slave masters
    and that's why they openly practiced it up to
well let's suppose 1978
for some reason that number sticks...
and perhaps that's why there's this argument
that the only reason why the English
abolished slavery is because they were
the worst slave masters the world has ever seen!
maybe there's an argument there
perhaps slavery per se is
misunderstood just like the word
apocryphal is misunderstood among christians
in terms of what writings can be turned
into money slot machines of sophistry
and the mega church and what ought
to be spoken in private:
but still that third man in the picture
like the diamond face of muhammad
at least if illiterate then had some knowledge
of other forms of communication
like algebra and Pythagoras and ******
expressions
but regardless this Christian focus on the face
and what mellow eyes

imagining myself sitting in a cafe in Amsterdam
going about my day micro-dosing
the shy effects of marijuana
because Amsterdam is a liberal city
and some people are sensible not operating
heavy machinery or driving buses
on a ******
but at least this scribbler is an envious scumb
comb
    working the security industry for the kicks
of: when will the time come
when i'll get to punch and shove and push
and manage crowds like a butch?

yeah yeah: i was going to add: like a butch lesbian?
point of concern:
the book was advertised as a FIRST EDITION
the Arab in me is thinking:
for the knowledge within this book
there are still about 30 unread message from
Edie after i mentioned what
if Reyla comes and stays with me for the summer?
i think that's how i ended last night
but if this book is sold as a first edition
how much of a first edition is it, actually?

flick to the first LEFT page
first published in 1989 by
Kegan Paul International

this edition first published in 2010 by
Routledge

first issued in paperback in 2015...
hmm...
The Night Gate (as film) sort of appeal to writing
per se...
is there an ISBN tracker?
                                         is there an app or something
on the internet... maybe chatGPT can help
if the internet spews out *******...

AI is the new internet
that's if you knew how to use an internet...
privately
i don't mean the public use of the internet
for commerce
this is not a critique of the internet
for all the infrastructure convenience
like speed dating off the island of Kauai
otherwise it would take a Capt Cook
to sail sail away
and bring back a fruit for Gaugin to get
a ******* and for Dr Jeckyll and Hyde
to find graves there
and rest and smile with diamonds instead
of teeth...

9781138980617

   let's find you: in my Little Aushwitz
where things are numbered, cataloged:
well can't exactly say the Germans
understood the concept of slavery...

      could have won the war with all that forced
labor... Schindler understood this
but where's an economic genius when
you have all that Bavarian drunk singing
then sober acting like there is no
alternative to alcohol so up with you
to the Luftwaffe and on Pervitin with you!
transliterated as: perverted vitamin.

ISBN-13: 9781138980617
ISBN-10: 1138980617
Author: Masudi
Edition: 1
Binding: Paperback
Publisher: Routledge
Published: 2015-11-26

well then... maybe i should be mad enough
to send this copy back
and instead get the hardback edition
for £200?
                
but wait, there's a sticker over the ISBN...
LPN WE 21884 8812

never mind: when Abbas became Caliph...
a century gone to kings
and no such benevolent slave owners
that might be sung their fairness as
if a litter of little Solomons running about
from dune to dune to a salt rich sea
where nothing lives
this desert in a desert this puddle of salt
in Israel this desert in a desert
a reminder that the desert is not the harshest
place on the planet but
that the Dead Sea is...

                        al-Baḥr al-Mayyit
Yām HamMāvet                                     some little
citation here and there...

the reign of Mutawakkil...
some humbling rule not to mention the only
notable on our side of history
is matched by only Richard the half viking
half saxon in the domain of body
and mind as Saladin - the Syrian -
Assyrian -
                              makes ***** of 'ryans?
some land of Ur and Yr to ask for the annals
of more sense?
how about i embark on writing this mid-afternoon
preparing dinner
and thinking to myself:
just your normal afternoon in Amsterdam...
just your normal afternoon in Amsterdam
because i do actually get my **** delivered
to me when i go out and buy my groceries
and that's like the anti-thesis of delivaroo
and all the kamikaze electric bicycle riders
form Bangladesh
jeez i mean this is modern England
and it's not like the industrial revolution
promised anything beyond its expiry date of the late
20th century...
given where soft energy goes with hard intellect
to suspending human life above nature
that even the admired Arabs of Frank Herbert's time
can no longer be admired...

but there is an alternative history
of Corbeas the patriarch of the Paulicians
a talk of the ****** Yazman in procession
surrounded by his man
like he was the virile **** twice removed
from the testicles because
i imagine being an ****** gives you
double the virility
i might imagine wrong
but when as men we get told so many things
wrong like how menopause is somehow
bad for women when you
can finally have uninhibited ***
and no ****** instead a ****-ring
and i imagine this time of the Arab expansion
like some injection of faith and hope
for Old Iraq or Babylon
or what the world used to look like
on the current scale of Empires still afloat
like this world will never rid itself of Empires
this world will never be a place
for small people
or villages or islands
there will always be grand ideas and empires
and they will rise and fall
and even the murmur of a beginning will
bellow for ages unbecoming aging
and succumbing to the folly of mortal stuff...

yes: i can concur: this book is worth £50
and i am not mad enough to buy
the hardcover copy
because as much as i'm a bibliophile
i'm not a collector -
because i need working books
and working books are paperback
books and i know the fate of hardbacks
they stand the test of time: provided they are:
NOT OPENED...
not necessarily unread:
a collector would buy two copies...
one for the moths and time
and the other for his work ethic being tested:
when, yes, a large proportion of the public
was illiterate
a literate man could call writing work...
but i hardly think that possible these days
given what squalor of intellect this medium
has been exposed
at least there is some hope in a portion
of society being used to code anti-mantras...

otherwise none of these snippet artefacts
from so long ago:
continually weaving a historically-journalistic
endeavor...
nuggets like the Spaniards
like them in tapas
because such is the frivolity of eating
that you never want anything particular
but food and conversation
and fascinating how the culture of food is
very important and how to best describe
the culture of food these days
this culinary cult and some personalities
like excelling in farming
but somehow diminished learning
when it comes to cooking
like this Slavic aversion to spice
and the people's i will not name
aversion to the use of salt...

        is that an apostrophe typo?
should that be peoples'?
       i wonder i don't wonder
but when it comes to being culturally influenced
it's not like i heard about al-Masudi
from a Muslim:
how could i have if they take their public
intellects to be donning Niqabs like
women?

   not if i heard of the author sooner would i be a
Lawrence of Arabia Sinbad wannabe...
like some thrill off the page
to venture with humanitarian aid to Gaza
and get blown up
like some ******* adventure that would
be i already have an adventure piece
with a girlfriend over 20h away on the dotted
line where day begins and day ends
just shy of Francis and the Canine Islands
no the Desert Islands no
those Miraculous Taiwanese and their Polynesia
Trip because that's some history
there like no feet just four hands people
oar no oar just paddle with hand
or perhaps there's no myth of earth there:

but salt shrinking then expanding
into a sustainable / visible gas
the clouds are the only visible gas known
to without being the gas with fire
so i mean the salt gas:
sodium chloride as gas...
and not gas...

sodium in chlorine gas is a dim sunlight
hazy morning reach into my flask
this is like a new beginning
couple this trip:
just not willing to finish vol 6 of Mein Kampf
some other books in between
fascination with Olson Maximus long gone
now
then couple movie Dune with girlfriend Dune 2.0
then the book itself Dune 3.0
and then refresh to what blah blah
ordeal holy: bible or quran does it really
matter i mean the lived experience
of Islam is a bit like forgetting
but the lived experience of Christianity
is a bit more sinister in that it's remembering...

Islam is a religion of forgetting
while Christianity and Judaism
is a religion of remembering

i find solace in this...
         a great parody of paradise not being
attained by graft or vain-hope
         in simply born to be simply
    relieved from the stomach of celestial
and cerebral ordeals
of minds and stars
of milky ways and intellect's weaving
a narrative: slave owner of ego
or the master destroyer of egoism
in this void blanket of automated hands
filling the void behind two organs
nose apart
this mind and eye duality
that exists when there is no voice of "thinker"
in the ether of whatever substance allows
this clinging of voice outside the mouth
in the chamber of the hard hit head of bellows
at a later date...

swarming of words in empty interludes
some would be sung some would
be defaced and abandoned
like miniatures
of mentions
words like details biological emerge
and violate a presence
to then abandon a people they themselves
abandoned in the dealt exercise of chance
by then chance and determination
complimented regardless of
religious affiliations and desires...
this sickness of people telling other people
that they are right
like there was ever a clear distinction
between right and wrong
ever since it was made unfeasible
to then say that how original in sin we might
be if the sin be nothing more than
a judgement of confusion -
         how perhaps it was not in the god's
mind to think a man be born
into confusion or perhaps there was no confusion
while god painted the naked blessed
duo all enraptured and silky smooth
not confused to be anywhere not
some Eden on the periphery of life in
the squint of the Eskimo like:
suspicious even i do that
my fish bowl eyes are not so much darting
but when drawn by hand
are not fish bowl eyes the aesthetic standard of
Manga - but no argument from cartoons
no real remedy against Disney indoctrination
to safeguard against an evil frown
and the third eye blind as the evil eye...

like one eye and one ear unto the brain
which gives me two tongues
and that's more than can be said:
when Islam becomes a religion of two tongues...
this is a prophecy:

WHEN ISLAM BECOMES A RELIGION
OF TWO TONGUES...

just saying: don't know what that means,
i'm just saying what i haven't been told:
when islam becomes a religion of two tongues...
given christianity and their
many tongues not-o.k.
sorry not o.k.
               this religion ***** *** ***** ***
so many tongues and English is crass
and no i don't like christianity in English
just like no i treat this tongue as my Lingua Franca
εμπόριο γλώσσα και ιδέες...

            from the same book:
alchemical text:
the spontaneous synthesis of nesquehonite
from natural talc reaction with CO2 and ammonia
was attempted with an aim to control
the crystal growth by Ding et al.

or as mentioned ascribed to Byzantine
alchemists -
take talc and ammonia and what is found on the roads,
all in due measure, making no mistake;
then if you love your Lord,
you will be master of creation...

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such modern referencing like trigger-happy
to just copy paste copy paste
like this is never going to any holy place
like there are plenty of those holy supplies
now sober now drunk
about to fold on a backlog of 30 messages

of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
these adherents to geometry
and sophistry as if brighter and loftier
than the songs of birds...
of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
adhesive invisibility of strings
head-strung strong virtual puppet a bleeding
wound like an oyster on the body
when dipped into the sea...

well less the chess anecdotes but at least
one anecdote playing backgammon with a woman
this
could belong somewhere in these pages
an anecdote of playing backgammon
with a woman
not just playing backgammon
but playing backgammon with a woman
and spicing it up
the breath of cinnamon from worm
and the breath of apple cider from a serpent

as frightening as the existence
of angels
as frightening as the existence of eyes
in souls...

as frightening as the existence
of angels
as frightening as the existence of eyes
in souls.

— The End —