THE LEGEND OF HOLLYWOOD IN VERSE
Dear Readers, I have tried to cover the salient features of this True Story in free flowing verse mainly with end rhymes. If you read it loud, you can hear the chimes! Due to the short attention span of my readers I had to cut short this long story, and conclude with the
Golden Era of Hollywood by stretching it up to the 1950's only. When TV began to challenge the Big Screen Cinema seriously! I have used only a part of my notes here. Kindly read the entire poem and don't hesitate to know many interesting facts - which I also did not know! I wish there was a provision for posting a few interesting photographs for you here. Best wishes, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.  

                 THE LEGEND OF HOLLYWOOD :
                        THE AMERICAN  DREAM
                             BY RAJ NANDY

           A SHORT  HISTORICAL  BACKGROUND
Since the earliest days, optical toys, shadow shows, and ‘magic
lanterns’, had created the illusion of motion.
This concept was first described by Mark Roget in 1824 as  
the 'persistent of vision'.
Giving impetus to the development of big screen cinema with its
close-ups, capturing all controlled and subtle expressions!
The actors were no longer required to shout out their parts with
exaggerated actions as on the Elizabethan Stage.
Now even a single tear drop could get noticed easily by the entire
movie audience!
With the best scene being included and edited after a few retakes.
To Thomas Edison and his able assistant William Rogers we owe the invention of Kinetoscope, the first movie camera.
On the grounds of his West Orange, New Jersey laboratory, Edison
built his first movie studio called the ‘Black Maria’.   (1893)
He also purchased a string of patents related to motion picture
Camera; forming the Edison Trust, - a cartel that took control of
the Film Industry entire!

Fort Lee, New Jersey:
On a small borough on the opposite bank of the Hudson River lay
the deserted Fort Lee.
Here scores of film production crews descended armed with picture Cameras, on this isolated part of New Jersey!
In 1907 Edison’s company came there to shoot a short silent film –
‘Rescue From an Eagle’s Nest’,
Which featured for the first time the actor and director DW Griffith.
The independent Chaplin Film Company built the first permanent
movie studio in 1910 in Fort Lee.
While some of the biggest Hollywood studios like the Universal,
MGM, and 20th Century Fox, had their roots in Fort Lee.
Some of the famous stars of the silent movie era included ‘Fatty’
Arbuckle, Will Rogers, Mary Pickford, Dorothy and Lillian Gish,
Lionel Barrymore, Rudolph Valentine and Pearl White.
In those days there were no reflectors and electric arch lights.
So movies were made on rooftops to capture the bright sunlight!
During unpredictable bad weather days, filming had to be stopped
despite the revolving stage which was made, -
To rotate and capture the sunlight before the lights atarted to fade!

Shift from New Jersey to West Coast California:
Now Edison who held the patents for the bulb, phonograph, and the Camera, had exhibited a near monopoly;
On the production, distribution, and exhibition of the movies which made this budding industry to shift to California from
New Jersey!
California with its natural scenery, its open range, mountains, desert, and snow country, had the basic ingredients for the movie industry.
But most importantly, California had bright Sunshine for almost
365 days of the year!
While eight miles away from Hollywood lay the port city of Los Angeles with its cheap labour.

                        THE RISE  OF  HOLLYWOOD
It was a real estate tycoon Harvey Wilcox and his wife Daeida from
Kansas, who during the 1880s founded ‘Hollywood’ as a community for like-minded temperate followers.
It is generally said that Daeida gave the name Hollywood perhaps
due to the areas abundant red-berried shrubs also known as
California Holly.
Spring blossoms around and above the Hollywood Hills with its rich variety,  gave it a touch of paradise for all to see !
Hollywood was incorporated as a municipality in 1903, and during
1910 unified with the city of Los Angeles.
While a year later, the first film studio had moved in from New
Jersey, to escape Thomas Edison’s monopoly!    (1911)

In 1913 Cecil B. De Mille and Jesse Lasky, had leased a barn with
studio facilities.
And directed the first feature length film ‘Squaw Man’ in 1914.
Today this studio is home to Hollywood Heritage Museum as we get to see.
The timeless symbol of Hollywood film industry that famous sign on top of Mount Lee, was put up by a real estate developer in 1923.  
This sign had read as ‘’HOLLY WOOD LAND’’ initially.
Despite decades of run-ins with vandals and pranksters, it managed to hang on to its prime location near the summit of the Hollywood Hills.
The last restoration work was carried out in 1978 initiated by Hugh
Hefner of the ******* Magazine.
Those nine white letters 45 feet tall now read ‘HOLLYWOOD’, and has become a landmark and America’s cultural icon, and an evocative symbol for ambition, glamour, and dream.
Forever enticing aspiring actors to flock to Hollywood, hypnotised
by lure of the big screen!

                     GOLDEN AGE OF HOLLYWOOD
The Silent Movie Era which began in 1895, ended in 1935 with the
production of ‘Dance of Virgins’, filmed entirely in the island of Bali.
The first Sound film ‘The Jazz Singer’ by Warner Bros. was made with a Vitaphone sound-on-disc technology.  (October 1927)
Despite the Great Depression of the 1930s, this decade along with the 1940s have been regarded by some as Hollywood’s Golden Age.
However, I think that this Golden Age includes the decades of the
1940s and the 1950s instead.
When the advent of Television began to challenge the Film Industry
itself !

First Academy Award:
On 16th May 1929 in the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard,
the First Academy Award presentation was held.
Around 270 people were in attendance, and tickets were priced at
$5 per head.
When the best films of 1927 & 1928 were honored by the Academy
of Motion Production and Sciences, or the AMPS.
Emil Jennings became the best actor, and Janet Gaynor the best actress.
Special Award went to Charlie Chaplin for his contribution to the
silent movie era and for his silent film ‘The Circus’.
While Warren Brothers was commended for making the first talking picture ‘The Jazz Singer’, - also receiving a Special Award!
Now, the origin of the term ‘OSCAR’ has remained disputed.
The Academy adopted this name from 1939 onwards it is stated.
OSCAR award has now become “the stuff dreams are made of”!
It is a gold-plated statuette of a knight 13.5 inches in height, weighing 8.5 pounds, was designed by MGM’s art director Cedric Gibbons.
Annually awarded for honouring and encouraging excellence in all
facets of motion picture production.

Movies During the Great Depression Era (1929-1941):
Musicals and dance movies starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers provided escapism and good entertainment during this age.
“Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did. She just did it
backwards and in high heels,” - the Critics had said.
This compatible pair entertained the viewers for almost one and
a half decade.
During the ‘30s, gangster movies were popular starring James Cagey, Humphrey Bogart, and Edward G. Robinson.
While family movies had their popular child artist Shirley Temple.
Swashbuckler films of the Golden Age saw the sword fighting scenes of Douglas Fairbanks and Errol Flynn.
Flynn got idolized playing ‘Robin Hood’, this film got released in
1938 on the big screen!
Story of the American Civil War got presented in the epic ‘Gone With The Wind’ (1939) with Clarke Gable and Vivian Leigh.
This movie received 8 Oscars including the award for the Best Film, - creating a landmark in motion picture’s history!
More serious movies like John Steinbeck’s ‘Grapes of Wrath’ and
John Ford’s  ‘How Green Was My Valley’, were released in 1940 and 1941 respectively.
While the viewers escaped that depressive age to the magical world
of  ‘Wizard of Oz’ with its actress Judy Garland most eagerly!
Let us not forget John Wayne the King of the Westerns, who began
his acting career in the 1930s with his movie ‘The Big Trail’;
He went on to complete 84 films before his career came to an end.
Beginning of the 40s also saw Bob Hope and the crooner Bing Crosby, who entertained the public and also the fighting troops.
For the Second World War (1939-45) had interrupted the Golden Age of Hollywood.
When actors like Henry Fonda, Clarke Gable, James Stewart and
Douglas Fairbanks joined the armed forces temporarily leaving
Hollywood.
Few propaganda movies supporting the war efforts were also made.
While landmark movies like ‘Philadelphia Story’, ‘Casablanca’, ‘Citizen Kane’,
‘The Best Years of Our Lives’, were some of the most successful movies of that decade.  (The 1940s)
Now I come towards the end of my Hollywood Story with the decade  of the 1950s, thereby extending the period of Hollywood’s Golden Age.
Since having past the Great Depression and the Second World War,  the Hollywood movie industry truly matured and came of age.

                        HOLLYWOOD  OF  THE  1950s

BACKGROU­ND:
The decade of the ‘50s was known for its post-war affluence and
choice of leisure time activities.
It was a decade of middle-class values, fast-food restaurants, and
drive-in- movies;
Of ‘baby-boom’, all-electric home, the first credit cards, and new fast moving cars like the Ford, Plymouth, Buick, Hudson, and Chevrolet.
But not forgetting the white racist terrorism in the Southern States!
This era saw the beginning of Cold War, with Eisenhower
succeeding Harry S. Truman as the American President.
But for the film industry, most importantly, what really mattered  
was the advent of the Domestic TV.
When the older viewers preferred to stay at home instead of going
out to the movies.
By 1950, 10.5 million US homes had a television set, and on the
30th December 1953, the first Color TV went on sale!
Film industries used techniques such as Cinemascope, Vista Vision,
and gimmicks like 3-D techniques,
To get back their former movie audience back on their seats!
However, the big scene spectacle films did retain its charm and
fantasy.
Since fantasy epics like ‘The Story of Robin Hood’, and Biblical epics like ‘The Robe’, ‘Quo Vadis’, ‘The Ten Commandments’ and ‘Ben-Hur’, did retain its big screen visual appeal.
‘The Robe’ released on 16th September 1953, was the first film shot
and projected in Cinema Scope;
In which special lenses were used to compress a wide image into a
standard frame and then expanded it again during projection;
Resulting in an image almost two and a half times as high and also as wide, - captivating the viewers imagination!

DEMAND FOR NEW THEMES DURING THE 1950s :
The idealized portrayal of men and women since the Second World War,
Now failed to satisfy the youth who sought exciting symbols for rebellion.
So Hollywood responded with anti-heroes with stars like James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Paul Newman.
They replaced conventional actors like Tyron Power, Van Johnson, and Robert Taylor to a great extent, to meet the requirement of the age.
Anti-heroines included Ava Gardner, Kim Novak, and Marilyn Monroe with her vibrant *** appeal;
She provided excitement for the new generation with a change of scene.
Themes of rebellion against established authority was present in many Rock and Roll songs,
Including the 1954 Bill Hailey and His Comets’ ‘Rock Around the Clock’.
The era also saw rise to stardom of Elvis Presley the teen heartthrob.
Meeting the youthful aspirations with his songs like ‘Jailhouse Rock’!
I recall the lyrics of this 1957 film ‘Jailhouse Rock’ of my school days, which had featured the youth icon Elvis:
   “The Warden threw a party in the county jail,
     The prison band was there and they began to wail.
     The band was jumping and the joint began to sing,
     You should’ve heard them knocked-out jail bird sing.
     Let’s rock, everybody in the whole cell block……………
     Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,
     Little Joe was blowing the slide trombone.
     The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang!
     The whole rhythm section was the Purple Gang,
      Let's rock,.................... (Lyrics of the song.)

Rock and Roll music began to tear down color barriers, and Afro-
American musicians like Chuck Berry and Little Richard became
very popular!
Now I must caution my readers that thousands of feature films got  released during this eventful decade in Hollywood.
To cover them all within this limited space becomes an impossible
task, which may kindly be understood !
However, I shall try to do so in a summarized form as best as I could.

BOX OFFICE HITS YEAR-WISE FROM 1950 To 1959 :
Top Ten Year-Wise hit films chronologically are: Cinderella (1950),
Quo Vadis, The Greatest Show on Earth, Peter Pan, Rear Window,
Lady and the *****, Ten Commandments, Bridge on the River
Kwai, South Pacific, and Ben-Hur of 1959.

However Taking The Entire Decade Of 1950s Collectively,
The Top Films Get Rated As Follows Respectively:
The Ten Commandments, followed by Lady and the *****, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Bridge on the River Kwai, Around the World in Eighty Days, This is Cinerama, The Greatest Show on Earth, Rear Window, South Pacific, The Robe, Giant, Seven Wonders of the World, White Christmas, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Sayonara, Demetrius and the Gladiator, Peyton Place, Some Like It Hot, Quo Vadis, and Auntie Mame.

Film Debuts By Rising Stars During The 1950s :
The decade of the ‘50s saw a number of famous film stars making
their first appearance.
There was Peter Sellers in ‘The Black Rose’, Marlon Brando in
‘The Men’, and actress Sophia Loren in ‘Toto Tarzan’.
Following year saw Charles Bronson in ‘You Are in the Navy Now’,
Audrey Hepburn in ‘Our Wild Oats’, and Grace Kelly, the future
Princess of Monaco, in her first film ‘Fourteen Hours’. (1951)
While **** Brigitte Bardot appeared in 1952 movie ‘Crazy for Love’; and 1953 saw Steve Mc Queen in ‘******* The Run’.
Jack Lemon, Paul Newman, and Omar Sharif featured in films
during 1954.
The following year saw Clint Eastwood, Shirley Mc Lean, Walter
Matthau, and Jane Mansfield, all of whom the audience adored.
The British actor Michael Cain appeared in 1956; also Elvis Presley
the youth icon in ‘Love Me Tender’ and as the future Rock and Roll
King!
In 1957 came Sean Connery, followed by Jack Nicholson, Christopher Plummer, and Vanessa Redgrave.
While the closing decade of the ‘50s saw James Coburn, along with
director, script writer, and producer Steven Spielberg, make their
debut appearance.

Deaths During The 1950s: This decade also saw the death of actors
like Humphrey Bogart, Tyron Power and Errol Flynn.
Including the death of producer and director of epic movies the
renowned Cecil B. De Mille!
Though I have conclude the Golden Age of Hollywood with the 50’s Decade,
The glitz and glamour of its Oscar Awards continue even to this day.
With its red carpet and lighted marquee appeal and fashion display!

CONTINUING THE HOLLYWOOD STORY WITH FEW TITBITS :
From Fort Lee of New Jersey we have travelled west to Hollywood,
California.
From the silent movie days to the first ‘talking picture’ with Warren
Bros’ film ‘The Jazz Singer’.  (06 Oct 1927)
On 31st July 1928 for the first time the audience heard the MGM’s
mascot Leo’s mighty roar!
While in July 1929 Warren Bros’ first all-talking and all- Technicolor
Film appeared titled - ‘On With The Show’.
Austrian born Hedy Lamarr shocked the audience appearing **** in a Czechoslovak film ‘Ecstasy’!  (1933)
She fled from her husband to join MGM, becoming a star of the
‘40s and the ‘50s.
The ‘Private Life of Henry VII’ became the first British film to win the  American Academy Award.  (1933)
On 11Dec 1934, FOX released ‘Bright Eyes’ with Shirley Temple,
who became the first Child artist to win this Award!
While in 1937 Walt Disney released the first full animated feature
film titled - ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarf ‘.
The British film director Alfred Hitchcock who came to
Hollywood later;
Between 1940 and 1947, made great thrillers like 'Rebecca', ‘Notorious’, ‘Rear Window’, and ‘Dial M for ******’.
But he never won an Oscar as a Director!

THE GOLDEN GLOBE AWARD:
This award began in 1944 by the Foreign Correspondence Association at
the 20th Century Fox Studio.
To award critically acclaimed films and television shows, by awarding a
Scroll initially.
Later a Golden Globe was made on a pedestal, with a film strip around it.
In 1955 the Cecil B. De Mille Award was created, with De Mille as its first
recipient.

THE GRAMMY AWARD:
In 1959 The National Academy of Recording and Sciences sponsored the
First Grammy Award for music recorded during 1958.
When Frank Sinatra won for his album cover ‘Only The Lonely’, but he
did not sing.
Among the 28 other categories there was Ella Fitzgerald, and Count Basie
for his musical Dance Band Performance.
There was Kingston Trio’s song ‘Tom Dooly’, and the ‘Chipmunk Song’,
which brings back nostalgic memories of my school days!

CONCLUDING HOLLYWOOD STORY  WITH STUDIOS OF THE 1950s

Challenge Faced by the Movie Industry:
Now the challenge before the Movie Industry was how to adjust to the
rapidly changing conditions created by the growing TV Industry.
Resulting in loss of revenue, with viewers getting addicted to
their Domestic TV screen most conveniently!

The late 1950s saw two studios REPUBLIC and the RKO go out of business!
REPUBLIC from 1935- ‘59 based in Los Angeles, developed the careers of
John Wayne and Roy Rogers, and specializing in the Westerns.
RKO was one of the Big Five Studios of Hollywood along with Paramount,
MGM, 20th Century Fox, and Warner Brothers in those days.

RKO Studio which begun with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in the ‘30s,
included actress Katherine Hepburn who holds the record for four Oscars
even to this day;
And later had Robert Mitchum and Carry Grant under an agreement.
But in 1948, RKO Studio came under the control Howard Hughes the
temperamental Industrialist.
Soon the scandal drive and litigation prone RKO Studio closed, while
other Big Four Studios had managed to remain afloat!


PARAMOUNT STUDIO:
Paramount Studio split into two separate companies in 1950.
Its Theatre chain later merged with ABC Radio & Television Network;
And they created an independent Production/Distribution Network.
Bing Crosby and Bob Hope had been Paramount’s two biggest stars.
Followed by actors like Alan Ladd, William Holden, Jerry Lewis, Dean
Martin, Charlton Heston, and Dorothy Lamour.
They also had the producer/director Cecil B. De Mille producing high-
grossing Epics like ‘Samson & Delilah’ and ‘The Ten Commandments’.
Also the movie maker Hal Wallis, who discovered Burt Lancaster and
Elvis Presley - two great talents!

20th CENTURY FOX:
Cinema Scope became FOX’s most successful technological innovation
with its hit film ‘The Robe’. (1953)
Its Darryl Zanuck had observed during the early ‘50s, that audience  
were more interested in escapist entertainments mainly.
So he turned to FOX to musicals, comedies, and adventure stories.
Biggest stars of FOX were Gregory Peck & Susan Hayward; also
stars like Victor Mature, Anne Baxter, and Richard Wind Mark.
Not forgetting Marilyn Monroe in her Cinema Scope Box Office hit
movie - ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’, which was also shown on
prime time TV, as a romantic comedy film of 1953.

WARREN BROTHERS:
During 1950 the studio was mainly a family managed company with
three brothers Harry, Albert, and Jack Warren.
To meet the challenges of that period, Warren Bros. released most of
its actors like James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, Oliver de Havilland, -
Along with few others from their long-term contractual commitments;
Retaining only Errol Flynn, and Ronald Regan who went on to become
the future President.
Like 20th Century Fox, Warren Bros switched to musicals, comedies,
and adventure movies, with Doris Day as its biggest musical star.
The studio also entered into short term agreements with Gary Copper,
John Wayne, Gregory Peck, Patricia Neal, and Random Scott.
Warren Bros also became the first major studio to invest in 3-D
production of films, scoring a big hit with its 3-D  suspense thriller
‘House of Wax’ in 1953.

MINOR STUDIOS were mainly three, - United Artists, Columbia, and
The Universal.
They did not own any theatre chain, and specialized in low-budgeted
‘B’ Movies those days.
Now to cut a long story short it must be said, that Hollywood finally
did participate in the evolution of Television industry, which led to
their integration eventually.
Though strategies involving hardware development and ownership of
broadcast outlets remained unsuccessful unfortunately.
However, Hollywood did succeed through program supply like prime-
time series, and made-for-TV films for the growing TV market making
things more colorful!
Thus it could be said that the TV industry provided the film industry
with new opportunities,  laying the groundwork for its diversification
and concentration;
That characterized the entertainment industry during the latter half  
of our previous century.
I must now confess that I have not visited the movie theatre over the last
two decades!
I watch movies on my big screen TV and my Computer screen these days.
Old classical movies are all available on ‘You Tube’ for me, and I can watch
them any time whenever I am free!
Thanks for reading patiently, - Raj Nandy.
**ALL COPYRIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR RAJ NANDY OF NEW DELHI

Dear Readers, I have tried to cover the salient features of this True Story in free flowing verse mainly with end rhymes. If you read it loud, you can hear the chimes! Due to the short attention span of my readers I had to cut short this long story, and conclude with the
Golden Era of Hollywood by stretching it up to the 1950s only. When TV began to challenge the Big Screen Cinema seriously! I have used only a part of my notes here. Kindly read the
entire composition during your Spare Time dear Readers. I wish there was a provision for posting a few interesting photographs for you here. Best wishes, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.  

                THE LEGEND OF HOLLYWOOD :
                      THE AMERICAN  DREAM
                              BY RAJ NANDY

               A SHORT  HISTORICAL  BACKGROUND
Since the earliest days, optical toys, shadow shows, and ‘magic
lanterns’, had created the illusion of motion.
This concept was first described by Mark Roget in 1824 as  
the persistent of vision.
Giving impetus to the development of big screen cinema with its
close-ups, capturing all controlled and subtle expressions!
The actors were no longer required to shout out their parts with
exaggerated actions as on the Elizabethan Stage.
Now even a single tear drop could get noticed easily by the entire
movie audience!
With the best scene being included and edited after a few retakes.
To Thomas Edison and his able assistant William Rogers we owe the invention of Kinetoscope, the first movie camera.
On the grounds of his West Orange, New Jersey laboratory, Edison
built his first movie studio called the ‘Black Maria’.   (1893)
He also purchased a string of patents related to motion picture
Camera;
Forming the Edison Trust, - a cartel that took control of the Film
Industry entire!

Fort Lee, New Jersey:
On a small borough on the opposite bank of the Hudson River lay
the deserted Fort Lee.
Here scores of film production crews descended armed with picture Cameras, on this isolated part of New Jersey!
In 1907 Edison’s company came there to shoot a short silent film –
‘Rescue From an Eagle’s Nest’,
Which featured for the first time the actor and director DW Griffith.
The independent Chaplin Film Company built the first permanent
movie studio in 1910 in Fort Lee.
While some of the biggest Hollywood studios like the Universal,
MGM, and 20th Century Fox, had their roots in Fort Lee.
Some of the famous stars of the silent movie era included ‘Fatty’
Arbuckle, Will Rogers, Mary Pickford, Dorothy and Lillian Gish,
Lionel Barrymore, Rudolph Valentine and Pearl White.
In those days there were no reflectors and electric arch lights.
So movies were made on rooftops to capture the bright Sunlight!
During unpredictable bad weather days, filming had to be stopped
despite the revolving stage which was made, -
To rotate and capture the sunlight before the lights started to fade!

Shift from New Jersey to West Coast California:
Now Edison who held the patents for the bulb, phonograph, and the Camera, had exhibited a near monopoly;
On the production, distribution, and exhibition of the movies which made this budding industry to shift to California from New Jersey!
California with its natural scenery, its open range, mountains, desert, and snow country, had the basic ingredients for the movie industry.
But most importantly, California had bright Sunshine for almost 365 days of the year.
While eight miles away from Hollywood lay the port city of Los Angeles with its cheap labor.

                        THE  RISE  OF  HOLLYWOOD
It was a real estate tycoon Harvey Wilcox and his wife Daeida from
Kansas, who during the 1880s founded ‘Hollywood’ as a community for like-minded temperate followers.
It is generally said that Daeida gave the name Hollywood perhaps
due to the area's abundant red-berried shrubs - known as
California Holly!
Spring blossoms around and above the Hollywood Hills with its rich variety,  gave it a touch of paradise for all to see!
Hollywood was incorporated as a municipality in 1903, and during
1910 had unified with the city of Los Angeles.
While a year later, the first film studio had moved in from New
Jersey, to escape Thomas Edison’s monopoly!    (1911)

In 1913 Cecil B. De Mille and Jesse Lasky, had leased a barn with
studio facilities.
And directed the first feature length film ‘Squaw Man’ in 1914.
Today this studio is home to Hollywood Heritage Museum as we get to see.
The timeless symbol of Hollywood film industry that famous sign on top of Mount Lee, was put up by a real estate developer in 1923.  
This sign had read as ‘’HOLLY WOOD LAND’’ initially.
Despite decades of run-ins with vandals and pranksters, it managed to hang on to its prime location near the summit of the Hollywood Hills.
The last restoration work was carried out in 1978 initiated by Hugh
Hefner of the ******* Magazine.
Those nine white letters 45 feet tall now read ‘HOLLYWOOD’,  has become a landmark and America’s cultural icon,
And an evocative symbol for ambition, glamour, and dreams!
Forever enticing aspiring actors to flock to Hollywood, hypnotized by lure of the Big Screen!

                     GOLDEN AGE OF HOLLYWOOD
The Silent Movie Era which began in 1895, ended in 1935 with the
production of ‘Dance of Virgins’, filmed entirely in the island of Bali.
The first Sound film ‘The Jazz Singer’ by Warner Bros. was made with a Vitaphone sound-on-disc technology.  (October 1927)
Despite the Great Depression of the 1930s, this decade along with the 1940s have been regarded by some as Hollywood’s Golden Age.
However, I think that this Golden Age includes the decades of the
1940s and the 1950s instead.
When the advent of Television began to challenge the Film Industry
itself !

First Academy Award:
On 16th May 1929 in the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard,
the First Academy Award presentation was held.
Around 270 people were in attendance, and tickets were priced at
$5 per head.
When the best films of 1927 & 1928 were honored by the Academy
of Motion Production and Sciences, or the AMPS.
Emil Jennings became the best actor, and Janet Gaynor the best actress.
Special Award went to Charlie Chaplin for his contribution to the
silent movie era and for his silent film ‘The Circus’.
While Warren Brothers was commended for making the first talking picture ‘The Jazz Singer’, - also receiving a Special Award!
Now, the origin of the term ‘OSCAR’ has remained disputed.
The Academy adopted this name from 1939 onwards it is stated.
OSCAR award has now become “the stuff dreams are made of”!
It is a gold-plated statuette of a knight 13.5 inches in height, weighing 8.5 pounds, was designed by MGM’s art director Cedric Gibbons.
Annually awarded for honoring and encouraging excellence in all
facets of motion picture productions.

Movies During the Great Depression Era (1929-1941):
Musicals and dance movies starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers provided escapism and good entertainment during this age.
“Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did. She just did it
backwards and in high heels,” - the critics had said.
This compatible pair entertained the viewers for almost one and
a half decade.
During the ‘30s, gangster movies were popular starring James Cagey, Humphrey Bogart, and Edward G. Robinson.
While family movies had their popular child artist Shirley Temple.
Swashbuckler films of the Golden Age saw the sword fighting scenes of Douglas Fairbank and Errol Flynn.
Flynn got idolized playing ‘Robin Hood’, this film was released in 1938 on the Big Screen.
Story of the American Civil War got presented in the epic ‘Gone With The Wind’ (1939) with Clarke Gable and Vivian Leigh.
This movie received 8 Oscars including the award for the Best Film, - creating a landmark in motion picture’s history!
More serious movies like John Steinbeck’s ‘Grapes of Wrath’ and John Ford’s  ‘How Green Was My Valley’, were released in 1940 and 1941 respectively.
While the viewers escaped that depressive age to the magical world
of  ‘Wizard of Oz’ with its actress Judy Garland most eagerly!
Let us not forget John Wayne the King of the Westerns, who began
his acting career in the 1930s with his movie ‘The Big Trail’;
He went on to complete 84 films before his career came to an end.
Beginning of the 40s also saw Bob Hope and the crooner Bing Crosby, who entertained the public and also the fighting troops.
For the Second World War (1939-45) had interrupted the Golden Age of Hollywood!
When actors like Henry Fonda, Clarke Gable, James Stewart and
Douglas Fairbanks joined the armed forces temporarily leaving
Hollywood.
Few propaganda movies supporting the war efforts were also made.
While landmark movies like ‘Philadelphia Story’, ‘Casablanca’, ‘Citizen Kane’, ‘The Best Years of Our Lives’, were some of the most successful movies of that decade.  (The 1940s)
Now I come towards the end of my Hollywood Story with the decade  of the 1950s, thereby extending the period of Hollywood’s Golden Age.
Since having past the Great Depression and the Second World War,  
The Hollywood movie industry truly matured and came of age.

                        HOLLYWOOD  OF  THE  1950s
Backgroun­d:
The decade of the ‘50s was known for its post-war affluence and
choice of leisure time activities.
It was a decade of middle-class values, fast-food restaurants, and
drive-in- movies;
Of ‘baby-boom’, all-electric home, the first credit cards, and new fast moving cars like the Ford, Plymouth, Buick, Hudson, and Chevrolet.
But not forgetting the white racist terrorism in the Southern States!
This era saw the beginning of Cold War, with Dwight D. Eisenhower succeeding Harry S. Truman as the American President.
But for the film industry, most importantly, what really mattered  
was the advent of the Domestic TV.
When the older viewers preferred to stay at home instead of going
out to the movies.
By 1950, 10.5 million US homes had a television set, and on the
30th December 1953, the first Color TV went on sale!
Film industries used techniques such as Cinemascope, Vista Vision,
and gimmicks like 3-D techniques,
To get back their former movie audience back on their seats!
However, the big scene spectacle films did retain its charm and
fantasy.
Since fantasy epics like ‘The Story of Robin Hood’, and Biblical epics like ‘The Robe’, ‘Quo Vadis’, ‘The Ten Commandments’ and ‘Ben-Hur’, did retain its big screen visual appeal.
‘The Robe’ released on 16th September 1953, was the first film shot
and projected in Cinema Scope;
In which special lenses were used to compress a wide image into a
standard frame and then expanded it again during projection;
Resulting in an image almost two and a half times as high and also as wide, - captivating the viewers imagination!

Demand For New Themes During The 1950s :
The idealized portrayal of men and women since the Second World War,
Now failed to satisfy the youth who sought exciting symbols for rebellion.
So Hollywood responded with anti-heroes with stars like James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Paul Newman.
They replaced conventional actors like Tyron Power, Van Johnson, and Robert Taylor to a great extent, to meet the requirement of the age.
Anti-heroines included Ava Gardner, Kim Novak, and Marilyn Monroe with her vibrant *** appeal;
They provided excitement for the new generation with a change of scene.
Themes of rebellion against established authority was present in many Rock and Roll songs,
Including the 1954 Bill Hailey and His Comets’ ‘Rock Around the Clock’.
The era also saw rise to stardom of Elvis Presley the teen heartthrob!
Meeting the youthful aspirations with his songs like ‘Jailhouse Rock’!
I recall the lyrics of this 1957 film ‘Jailhouse Rock’ of my school days, which had featured the youth icon Elvis:
   “The Warden threw a party in the county jail,
     The prison band was there and they began to wail.
     The band was jumping and the joint began to sing,
     You should’ve heard them knocked-out jail bird sing.
     Let’s rock, everybody in the whole cell block……………
     Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,
     Little Joe was blowing the slide trombone.
     The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang!
     The whole rhythm section was the Purple Gang, Let's rock...

Rock and Roll music began to tear down color barriers, and Afro-
American musicians like Chuck Berry and Little Richard became
very popular!
Now I must caution my readers that thousands of feature films got  released during this eventful decade in Hollywood.
To cover them all within this limited space becomes an impossible
task, which may kindly be understood !
However, I shall try to do so in a summarized form as best as I could.

Box Office Hits Year-Wise From 1950 To 1959 :
Top Ten Year-Wise hit films chronologically are: Cinderella (1950),
Quo Vadis, The Greatest Show on Earth, Peter Pan, Rear Window,
Lady and the *****, Ten Commandments, Bridge on the River
Kwai, South Pacific, and Ben-Hur of 1959.

However Taking The Entire Decade Of 1950s Collectively,
The Top Films Get Rated As Follows Respectively:
The Ten Commandments, followed by Lady and the *****, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Bridge on the River Kwai, Around the World in Eighty Days, This is Cinerama, The Greatest Show on Earth, Rear Window, South Pacific, The Robe, Giant, Seven Wonders of the World, White Christmas, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Sayonara, Demetrius and the Gladiator, Peyton Place, Some Like It Hot, Quo Vadis, and Auntie Mame.

Film Debuts By Rising Stars During The 1950s :
The decade of the ‘50s saw a number of famous film stars making
their first appearance.
There was Peter Sellers in ‘The Black Rose’, Marlon Brando in
‘The Men’, and actress Sophia Loren in ‘Toto Tarzan’.
Following year saw Charles Bronson in ‘You Are in the Navy Now’,
Audrey Hepburn in ‘Our Wild Oats’, and Grace Kelly, the future
Princess of Monaco, in her first film ‘Fourteen Hours’. (1951)
While **** Brigitte Bardot appeared in 1952 movie ‘Crazy for Love’; and 1953 saw Steve Mc Queen in ‘******* The Run’.
Jack Lemon, Paul Newman, and Omar Sharif featured in films
during 1954.
The following year saw Clint Eastwood, Shirley Mc Lean, Walter
Matthau, and Jane Mansfield, all of whom the audience adored.
The British actor Michael Cain appeared in 1956; also Elvis Presley
the youth icon in ‘Love Me Tender’ and as the future Rock and Roll
King!
In 1957 came Sean Connery, followed by Jack Nicholson, Christopher Plummer, and Vanessa Redgrave.
While the closing decade of the ‘50s saw James Coburn, along with
director, script writer, and producer Steven Spielberg, make their
debut appearance.

Death During The 1950s: This decade also saw the death of actors
like Humphrey Bogart, Tyron Power and Errol Flynn.
Including the death of producer and director of epic movies the
renowned Cecil B. De Mille!
Though I have conclude the Golden Age of Hollywood with the 50’s Decade,
The glitz and glamour of its Oscar Awards continue even to this day.
With its red carpet and lighted marquee appeal and fashion display!

CONTINUING THE HOLLYWOOD STORY  WITH  FEW TITBITS
From Fort Lee of New Jersey we have traveled west to Hollywood,
California.
From the silent movie days to the first ‘talking picture’ with Warren
Bros’ film ‘The Jazz Singer’.  (06 Oct 1927)
On 31st July 1928 for the first time the audience heard the MGM’s
mascot Leo’s mighty roar!
While in July 1929 Warren Bros’ first all-talking and all- Technicolor
Film appeared titled - ‘On With The Show’.
Austrian born Hedy Lamarr shocked the audience appearing **** in a Czechoslovak film ‘Ecstasy’!  (1933)
She fled from her husband to join MGM, becoming a star of the
‘40s and the ‘50s.
The ‘Private Life of Henry VII’ became the first British film to win the American Academy Award.  (1933)
On 11Dec 1934, FOX released ‘Bright Eyes’ with Shirley Temple, who  became the first Child artist to win this Award!
While in 1937 Walt Disney released the first full animated feature film titled - ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarf ‘.
The British film director Alfred Hitchcock who came to Hollywood later;
Between 1940 and 1947, made great thrillers like ‘Rebecca’, ‘Notorious’,‘Rear Window’, and ‘Dial M for ******’.
But he never won an Academy Award as a Director!

THE GOLDEN GLOBE AWARD:
This award began in 1944 by the Foreign Correspondence Association at

.via ghana: i iz welcome the haiku poetic extractionz of the maxim: full-on potentiality of - few words maximum effortz! one wishes to almost die from feng shui minimalism! chinese geomancy and european chiromancy (reading balzac et al.) - but the sigh poetic of pepsi max effort iz wot iz the breaking of the camel bonk and backß... last time i heard from a kenyan bartender... all the timber comes from ghana... as does the wheat from ukraine and the salt from poland... coal is always "elsewhere"... or no coal... wind... the wind comes from: far far away... beyond the language of the seven vowels...

it took much of an effort to have to overcome
a reading of Stendhal...
esp. when you find him in your teens..
almost impossible...

it's enough to visit a brothel:
once a year... perhaps skipping a year...
and there's enough body,
and skin, and warmth...
to contrast... what i'm yet to read about...
otherwise have read, i.e.:

2010s through the 2020 summary...
lucy holden now 29...
sexting, dating apps, bisexual flings
flatmates with benefits...
millenial serial dater...

all the details are already known...
mine? that strip-clup in athens on a whim
with two strippers either arm
burrowing my face solving the mole
in their cleavage...
the goodmayes borthel with the romanians
that said a very bulgarian word, once...

and who can ever forget
the south african cocoon ****-accusation
of: not unde the bed-sheets and please
oil up rather than dry-******* me...
or the thai surprise picked up
in a park and that a little bit of heavyweight
beer and some jazz and a garden shed will allow...
the number of times i've had ***...
well... what are fingers for?

the black girl with a coccyx like an iron maiden
attempting to tattoo itself onto my pelvis...
2nd time round?
i heard she had a child and his daddy
would be bringing him home the morning to come...
and this other black woman,
oh i mean: full detail - woman...
two children sleeping on the bed...
get dragged off...
thrown to the bed...
and i'm there to **** an imitation ******
of... a tight fold of legs...

it's not exactly **** but even with that:
i'm not a best fitter...
so tell her: it's not going to happen...
we pretend to sleep or at least i do...
when this afro-fur-ball with a plucking sound
of a smooch is standing at the end of the bird...
he's naked i'm naked everyone's naked
i pick him up like i pick up maine *****
and lay him on my chest...
i can't allow a river of fingers through
his afro tangles... so i pat them down...
and he falls asleep...

***... oh no ***** word about it monsieur!
just this *******...
oh but i'm glad that some girl nearing
her 30s has made up her mind up...
only recently i've heard that my mother was
attempting to woo a married man
who was part of the Solidary movement
and probably waiting for a greencard...
i heard this... from my grandmother...

i'm still pampering on the sly for
a Mary Antoinette...
Ilona was wrong... i wouldn't become
a child strapped to a hellhole of a teenager's bedroom...
i'd become a leech hybrid...
as along as i have enough excuses
to return for "the word"... and never rap it...
i'm fine fine... best be on my optimal behaviour...
to never find myself in a baptists' church choir...

- there's also a quick fix procedure...
the match of the day is watched
with the mascots on screen...
the ben-hur's not making it to
prophetic status... yes the bread...
yes the circus... and all those cul de sac...
soap operas of parking scenes...

and there's always language...
best expressed when drunk...
never sober because is what delves into
the formality of: dear sir / madam,
kind regards...

the day when i stopped combing my fair
and peered at the beard...
uncombed hair: almost reminds
me of donning a pineapple on it...
an ancient buddhist balancing act...
like performing the act of gravity...
without copernican mathematics...
as simple as finding the CENTER on
a bicycle... or like finding
buoyancy in a swimming pool...
perhaps i am more water than flesh...
but i'm also a fraction of fat...

i can float on water if i can find
the balance... i don't need to play
the drunkard treading water surviving
to stay afloat.... i... relax...
then i float.... or bob-on-the-surface
teasing an unexpected shark-bite-attack...
although: swimming in a sea
is not my thing...
i very much appreciate seeing
the bottom i can dive down toward
and touch... the chernobyl stink of chlorine...
is almost a parisian perfumery...

heat breeds diseases it breeds...
insects...
i abhor the heat...
the zenith of winter is yet,
is yet to arrive... and for the help of god:
i can't arrive at... writing sober...
should "poo'etry" ever be written sober
to begin with?
i mind: that i don't mind...

i can find 8pm and 9pm quite:
which implores you to not quit - curb colt...
i was making a sponge apple stuffing
roulade...
after having made some biscuit
with brown sugar and diadems of hazelnuts...
and prior to some sausage rolls...
three fillings...
cranberries with some peppers and
chillies...
fennel seeds with apple...
and the third... the third...
i don't quiet remember...

my head was exploding with a brain being
towed and all was:
i am yet to grieve a passing,
a tax of death...
i am yet to be left half imbecile and half
of any other texas hold-up poker game...
i'm wishing for...
that quarter of a million of a bet
i placed on:
one team wins...
but both have to score...
ergo... catching a mosquito by the testciles
donning boxing gloves chance...
2 - 1 etc. victories...

i don't want to blame women...
the last one i was serious about...
she's on her 3rd marriage or whatever...
and i'm still in woad: in deep blue
coinciding with...
god's roulette...

as a testiment of man...
there's the ambition to find: the void...
to find nothing...
and from that... find the thinking thing...
res vanus: the emptiness
that can be fathomed with more or less
thinking, than a yawn's presence...
because...
descartes doesn't really exact ontological,
whatever...
i can't be and be:
when i churn out a day-dream and
a day-dream is all that is...

thankfuly i have nothing to "work"
with... most women only have boredom to begin
with....
at exactly 20 minutes to 1am...
i'm not so sure...
a mother can say: you stink...
then you go and buy something from
a convenience store...
and the cashier stresses how fresh you smell...
that's quiet something...
a woman likes the way to smell to her...
in between doing these *******
tribunals of sweating over
apple roulades...

and Stendhal... it's only my mother...
i just have to gnash my teeth
and apply the burden of sober...
this canvas... no other...
i drink for the 1 hour pleasure
of disorientation...
a shot in the head in some Ukranian
prison...
stiched to the next to be executed...
chikatilo...
i'm not exactly fond of the company...
but i'm pretty sure...
kurt cobain... and his shotgun antics...

and how the prolonged death appeal
of Christine Chubbuck lasted much longer...
Kafka said it right:
a stab at the heart...
**** colt and boyo... don't aim for the head!
that's how Ukranian convicts die...
shot in the back of the head...
in a cell... never in the open...
it's not like the brain delves into
the automated unconscious of the pump
that's the heart... how do you think
the urban myth of the cockroach that lived
for 2 weeks more was born?
the head didn't have a mouth to ingest
food with...

shot in the back of the head is an execution
that, done in an Ukranian prison cell...
is pretty much all of Dante not visiting
either heaven or a hell...
but two weeks with... in the presence
of death... the body starving...
that magic finger-pointing exercise
of seeing death in movies?

well thank god they did a movie about
Christine Chubbuck's (rage against the machine):
bullet in the 'ed!
i was lied to, no matter...
i'm here to hush and sweep the leftovers...
because why would you march
a man into a prison cell...
shoot him in the head and close the door
and wait... because no: in the open...
with a chance for rabid dogs to feast on...
in the darkened night just shy of Kiev
would ever matter...

Christine Chubbuck was left dying on
life-support machines after her half-high Kiev
attempt to pop the balloon...
psych- myth of the brain as source
of the sigma soul...
my left toe has more soul than this
rubric forever explained as forever to be explored
goose-fat sponge...
come to think of it...
after a haemorrhage that no one believes
beside me, some neurologist and a dementia
riddled grandfather who easily forgot...

what's this brain this brain this nought?!
**** it... kamikaze cockroach!
as ever oh but always so much when
someone has to mention...
has to mention: with no exacting details
of fancy...

also called the drought period when pakistani
gangs are up in Leeds and i'm strapped
to the outlier Loon'don culture:
as ever playing the obedient schizoid...
because that's, just fair game...
centuries behind what the youth
of Denmark have to offer...
the mutterzunge and the l'inglese of:
any future of tourism with Jack's flag...

heavy influences stemming from
st. andrew and all the worth of wordworth
with a tinge of punk...
but never a baron of lexicon coming from
just shy of 4 hours away from
the lisp of masovian warsaw...

what could possibly be wrong?
how about... stemming it down to the root
of... sober people and the lacklustre of
when writing: under no influence at all...
apparently "now" the high moral ground!
the sobers usher in the words
that we are abide by when the football hooligans
their casual Tuesday mundane,
their casual Tuesday mundane custard
splodge of oats in regurgitation...

i can almost but not quiet...
imagine myself being the cameo in this dear diary
of these "free" women of the western world...
give me a feral black woman pulling
two kids from her bed in order
to imitate a ****** by folding her legs to
pretend...

it's still a bullet in the back of the head
for some, minor or major
andrei "cain" chikatilo -
no... with a full crop of cranium of hair...
and a grandmother that says...
well... how busy your chin hairs are...
that you are able to lodge a pencil in there
and it doesn't fall out...
hair here and all other hair elsewhere...
chest and... where the antioch identifier
of achilles ought to be of a six in sixes
packaged...

since who is buddha... or a christ when...
an thích quang duc "oops" happens...
the people will never leave their unison...
their get-together "happening"...
but what's to be celebrated should...
the crucifix be turned into that "other"
torture ordeal of being: piked...
crucifixion the tsunami wave of history...
when one can expect the fate
of being piked by the more imaginative
sorts?
if only the antichrist was gay
and was sentenced to levitate on a pike...
passion and ecstasy via
the Walhalla doing ****... again:
sorry if the pike missed the **** baptism
of ecstasy... and instead aimed
at ripping apart the flesh and bone at:
whatever pivot was made available
to work from reverse ingestion:
beginning with the pelvis...

i'm just tired and cooking and shooing
shadows for the past month and i know that it's
just an exaggerate lounge period...
and all i want is an added arm...
and the serenity leg to take the step to return to...
footsteps... with a bulging echo to command...

it needs to be stressed that these women were black...
i call them ivory beauties of chocolate come
quicksilver moon glistening...
i can't remember... no... "you're" right...
i never managed to **** anything
of an ethno-centric "perspective"...
i'd be arrested for that...
as if starting a hitlerjungen movement or
some other random "****"...

i'd package myself with a mexican strapped into
alcatraz...
the Louis of the Aztecs and some
long lost St. Juan of the Mayans...
leash me... Russian or Prussian or...
what's that third otherwise power of influence
that this body was allowed to morph into?

perhaps i once was allowed to control these words...
but that's how drinking goes...
it's a homocodie when you **** someone
when under the influence of alcohol when driving
a car...
this is a sort of homocide...
i trully gave my hands away to the devil...
and the brain: oh forget that old fabble of a pickle...
what's in brine was always supposed
to be in brine and pickled...

- and what were the chances of me becoming
a sentimental drunk... listening to some
crowded house - weather with you?
the la's - the la's... no... not merely the 1990s
epitome of h'american tourism lodged in london
of myth... as any ******... that myth translated
itself into paris... there she goes...
i mean the whole album...

whale! whale! a beached whale!
Grindadráp...
and some want to go on the Hajj...
and die in a human stampede at the Mecca...
but... well... some want to...
of all of Europe...
Venice, Paris, Rome, Athens,
Amsterdam, perhaps Edinburgh
(wink-wink nudge-nudge)...
Barcelona...
or... Grindadráp of the Faroe Islands...

capture a polyphony in language that is hardly
ever going to be much more
than a chance to... to do that...
shove three fingers into your gob...
expect an elevated volume of sounds...
call the hounds! a mile away!
i was never allowed to learn that
whistling "trick"...
perhaps that's why i never managed
to play the trombone or the clarinet...
the ****-poor leftover guitar...
which is as much as having to read
braille!

reality: i live in england but i'm a ******...
i haven't ****** an english girl...
or a ****** girl...
i was close! a ****** girl licked my face
like a cow, once...
chin, lips, nose and forehead...
i was actually waiting for e.t. when that
happened...
the pakistanis have all the english girls...
sorry... it's sad...
but... the australia...
the fwench... the russian...
it's a decent rubric...
crude... nuanced...
so is buying fwesh meat at the butchers...
the perfect crime is less severe...
fiddling with a tombstone...
then towing it for 2 miles...
to bury the remains of your cat...
after your neighbour "accidently" killed him
when you were away...
and of course they deny it...

after all... i live in a society...
innocent until proven guilty...
said jimmy saville...
it's not the old... european "misunderstanding"..
of guilty until proven innocent...
if not a real story of Tomasz Komenda...
there's the Shawshank Redemption...
or there's... the Count de Monte Cristo...

if all are innocent until proven guilty...
what's that? the genesis story never happens...
it's hardly a moral deterent...
isn't it? people will do as any aleister crowley
would command them to do:
do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law;
this is a naive presupposition of
fudge-packed jurisprudence...
what should have been egg-whites..
it merely some sugar dissolved in water...

statistical counts aside...
i would be more inclined to... fear...
being held guilty... to then be allowed "innocence"...
that to being held innocent...
to then be forced as a doubly-culprit!
how does the double jeopardy paradox arise...
from the high pillar of: innocent until
proven guilty?!
law is at one's own leisure...
should all be bound to an innocence...
revisions of the biblical metaphor...

if we can all be innocent...
wouldn't we at least all fathom an innocent
attempt to break some law?
for a matter of: testing the waters?
even if innocent until proven guilty is true...
there's no narrative of redemption...
why is it that the shawshank redemption
is such a popular movie?
since it adopts the continental motiff of:
guilty... until proven innocent...
it offers... redemption...
it's a popular movie because it's unfair
for the basis of a single individual...
not some amassing of victims of a jimmy saville
recount... that have... none... zilch...
no redemption!
their redemption: ist tod!

because if i were to be found guilty...
with no chance of defence...
i would exercise a double-think in relation to this...
rather than exercise this leisure into
grieving the orwellian zeitgeist monstrosity of
but the one novel...

i'm not convinced of the english model...
this... innocent until proven guilty...
this pontius pilate argument...
i'm not for it! this sinking to the core of my heart
and hopefuly, prevents me from a heartbeat...
perhaps so fewer examples of
the #metoo would come to the fore...
if... one were not so easily allowed
a ststus of innocence...
perhaps... guilty until proven innocent...
doesn't allow...
so readily accessed accusations...
perhaps this modern, english model of
jurisprudence...
is missing a medieval lisp?

as law abiding as would suggest...
i would be much more deterred from inacting
a grievance should i be found guilty...
without a benefit of a doubt of a jury...
than if i were to be given the a priori: innocent
status...

i don't like this: england and greenwich in tow
is the bellybutton of the world
demand of... all else is less than we...
no... did i come from Algiers?!
what has Algiers to do with it and Leeds
shouldn't?!

at least that's how a man sobers up...
while still drinking...
he might focus on sober demands...
of topics that only drunks should speak of...
and since neither of the two meet...

because i have stood as a witness
in a court...
and i was given a photograph to...
"compare" having identified him in a mugshot...
the photograph i was shown still
had a date imprinted on it...
and this was the ******* argument...
the photograph was years old...
i identified the culprit in the police mugshot...
but the case was "won"... for no apparent reason...
the witness said: i...
this photograph is years old...
i can grow a beard and hippy attire in a year's time...
of course i was the witness that said:
note down the registration plate
of the car this camel-jockey jumped out of
and grabbed m'ah fwends mobile...

i've seen how: innocent until proven guilty works...
i'm not conviced...
i can't be... there's something instinctual preventing
me from adhering to this english...
jurisprudent sensbility...
it's hardly a ******* charles dickens novel...
if it were... and i greatly underestimated
charles dickens... no... really...
i shouldn't have read any of dostoyevsky...
i should have read charlie ****'oh'ends...
believe me when i say that is hould have...
since... heidegger's ponderings VII - XI
will retain their shelf-status as... the book most
probably unread...

such is the sobering process...
am i, in no way, allowed to sacrifice my 'ed
on the premise that: innocent until
proven guilty is the right categorial imperstive
to buckle on... since...
the anglophonic world buckles on it...
like a spectacular breakdance feat of
a penguin on steroids...
doing the diving header tsunami
of chore: the crowd goes wild!
it's no operatic applause and being
"superficially" reminded as to how...
find your proper seat...
before the castrato peacock does his
singing bit...
apparently finding one's seat
when it's never going to be a maggot-pit
at a slipknot concert is all that's
about to happen...

come by the butcher's and let's attempt
in finding you some oysters
among the volume of red boisterous...
to replica your genital parts
and sordid caviar letfovers...

perhaps i could be angry...
but la ilah illa blah'lah...
i am... halway bound between
being simulation circumcised
and being castrated...
i never which is which...
notably, given...
circumcised men are not allowed
the impetus of taking up
web-cam Susan on promise of...
also pleasing themselves
without wanting to earn some money...

it's a real problem though:
innocent until proven guilty versus
guilty until proven innocent...
relish...
the english indiosyncratic
wishing they were scandinavian iceland...
no... honey too sweet tooth bear...
this is not how the GMP affair that exends
with its genesis in the jimmy saville affair
looks like...
this quest for: apparently "superior"
is not going to work on me...
kin of a kind-of luvvie dubby...
bon voyage!

the entire continent is listening...
individualistic rights...
innocent until proven guilty...
the more i reiterate these words...
the more i sober up...
because i can't see how...
i am: a thief...
until i am proved to be... a thief...
by having performed the act
of thieving...
or not even an "after"...

sorry... please expose your divine
rational intelligence and tell me
via a reiteration that 2 + 2 = 4...

i am not a thief,
but i am a thief...
only if the act of stealing is proved...
and if "the" act of stealing is not proved...
i'm way more than a thief...
i'm a thief with a baby driver!
this anglican logic *****...
if innocent until proven guilty...
is to sustain the individual flourishing...
i'd rather make theatre of the original,
biblical deterrent...
a queen of this sort of popish claims
and her duaghters of yorkshire because...
the pawns of justitia...

conventionality of continetal thinking...
there's not even a "what if" or
"it would be better" should... allow,
extended into:
guilty until proven innocent...
rather than... innocent until proven guilty...

i sometimes find myself chattering...
in the cold...
but i'm not chewing anything...
i'm pretending to pivot the piano on a ghost...
being played as some per se magician's
excavation of: whatever time...
thus it was spent...

i call it chattering chopin...
bite marks available... like the multitude
of signature most willing to be...
allocated a collection foreseeable...

the would the artichokes of arabia...
or the fennel roasted roots of Italy...
there's something to be had of a woman
sporting the "cherokee" leopard-skin prints
on something that's...
90% cotton and 10% lycra?!

and the reason why i visited a brothel
in the past ten years was because?
if i want to play poker...
i'll play poker...
easy ***? it's not so easy in the act
and you want to find a kiss and...
she tells you: it's against the laws
of this sort of nunnery...
but you still manage to slurp a lip or two
of a shy pluck of the tulips of the sea...
or however this thing that
language is works...
if it's not going to be a hammer and nail...
forever... this "excuse" to allow nothing
more than YA novels...
metaphors and... pedantry of elswhere
from punctuation?

herioglyphic assumptions of :) emoji?
wink barrel baron! oi!
non-responsive...
black also implies: ivory beauty...
i started to admire their teeth...
since mine were always going to be
custard yellow death grin...
like bone to the rot...

no... i'm pretty sure tonight ends
here; now;
the prodigy - destroy...
given how... keith flint...
and that horse... and it was never a tale
of the stormy badger...
and how the fox is my aid and will
never make it to...
transcend the red coat hunting parties...
because... just because.

some days, his eyes are full with angst
his arms down his sides, with his fists as closed as his ears
and all I want to say is I know how it is
to be so angry you don't know where to go
because the whole world lights you up like a dry stick of explosives,
how it is to have your feelings being so big they start to feel
like extensions of your limbs,
waving uncontrollably
and all you can do to avoid their friction from setting you on fire
is either to cut them off or keep your arms down your sides

but I step aside, because he can no longer take in my words
his six year old eyes are filled with the nothingness of
an anger so big and unlabeled
but someday, I will tell him and he will understand
I will tell him that even though my blood is not in his veins,
I will cleanse it from soot and silt,
I will be his human shield from this world
I will tear kingdoms apart and slay every last creeper
just to help him level up

and I will uncontrollably, explosively and unconditionally
love him

//

vissa dagar är hans ögon fyllda med ångest
hans armar längs sidorna, med nävar lika hårt stängda som hans öron

och allt jag vill säga är att jag vet hur det är
att vara så arg att du inte vet vars du ska ta vägen,
för hela världen får en att tända som en torr bunt sprängämnen,
hur det är att ha känslor så stora att de börjar kännas
som förlängningar av dina egna armar och ben,
okontrollerbart viftande
och allt du kan göra för att förhindra att deras friktion tänder eld på dig
är att antingen hugga av dem eller hålla armarna längs sidorna

men jag går undan, för han kan inte ta in mina ord längre
hans sexåriga ögon fyllda med ingentinget
av en ilska så stor och oettikerad ilska

men någon dag ska jag berätta för honom och han ska förstå
jag ska berätta för honom att även fast mitt blod inte flyter genom hans artärer,
ska jag rensa det från smuts och sot,
jag ska vara hans mänskliga sköld från den här världen
jag ska slita kungariken itu och döda varenda creeper
bara för att hjälpa honom att levla upp

och jag ska okontrollerbart, explosivt och villkorslöst
älska honom

Schwinny, Baby,
You were supposed to be

my

Bicycle.

So I don't ask for anthing special.
No dark Harley divas
To whisk me off into the sunset.

But I thought we were at least
On the same road together.
So please.
Don't go droaning on how
Life got too complicated.
I mean,
You've got one flimsy gear.
And don't go moaning how
The road got too bumpy.
I mean,
You went blind bonzai batshit
over burnt black tar pavement.

You just
Let go.
Threw away your
Chain of reasoning
Faster than I could brace for impact.

So am I bleeding?
Yeah, I'm bleeding.

And the worst part is,
I still need you!
No, No, no.
Not like Pom Pom pammy
Needs her purple-plated pogo stick
Nor like Princess Paris
And her prissy pink prom queen limo,

No.
I mean I need I need you like
Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel,
Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot.

Because work is 37. Blocks. Away.
And it starts in 16 minutes.
And the bus is really unreliable.

So we ride again,
Guts against the wind.
But now I've got all ten fingers and toes
Crossed,
Two by two,
And point in fact,
Racing down Guadalupe with
Forked Philanges
Gets really hairy.

But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me.
Your thirst to incur first degree burns,
Fractured femurs,
And flayed skin whittles my patience
To tire track thin!

Think I'll
Roll my dice with a Segway.
She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl.
Type to show off
To a Mom and Dad
Reveling in rosemary jubilation.
Aw, son.
We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy.

But in ten days tops,
I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath.
I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that
Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat.

So let's just say,
I'll give it one more shot.
But *****, just promise you'll stick around a little longer.
It's storming outside and
We both got a few blocks to go.

jag skulle ljuga om jag inte erkände att jag minns dig
jag minns hur din famn var som en vagga för min trötta kropp
jag minns hur ditt leende satte ett stopp på allt jag trodde att jag var
för med dig så räckte inte mina andetag eller trösten jag trodde skulle göra dig hel
det räckte inte med maten jag fyllde din kyl med eller när jag träffade dina vänner som kollade på tjejer som om de vore tårtor i ett skyltfönster
precis som du gjorde

du höll upp mig med ett snöre med saxen nära till hands
snälla klipp ner mig och låt mig träffa marken innan du hinner skada mig igen
tänk om jag hade sagt så
tänk om jag sa åt dig att sluta
istället lät du mig vakna i fläckar av blod och i en kropp som inte längre kändes som min
men du lät mig aldrig vara ledsen för det var ju din själ som skulle vara trasig
det var ju du som förtjänade sympati
för en gång sa du ju
                                      f ö r l å t
och om jag inte säger okej till allt du vill så är det mitt eget fel
det är mitt fel att dina ögon inte längre är blå
men att mitt lår är lila från ditt grepp

jag minns den mörka parkeringsplatsen och hur jag gick från skratt till chock av din hand runt min hals
tänk om det hade varit suddigt som en dröm
istället minns jag mer än jag önskar
hur allt var så naturligt och självklart för dig
och då var det redan för sent att säga nej
min rygg mot din vägg blev min plats och jag skämdes över såren som du skapade
för kanske var det jag som låtit dem ta form
smärta
du bar en mantel av svek och ändå kunde jag inte se igenom dig

din skönhet försvann i ögonblicket mitt namn och våldtäkt nämndes i samma mening
men även nu känns det fortfarande som att jag vill säga okej
att allt är...
                    okej

On April 26th, 372 B.C. Plato was the first man to inflict injury upon his own dreams.
Not the forms casting shadows in his cave, his literal dreams.
At 6:35 a.m. the impish snarl of a water ***** crept into his Utopia of an
all-you-can-eat gyro cart overturned at the corner of his street and roused him
back to consciousness. The ingenious design of his Clepsydra quite obviously complete,
Aristotle came running with the awkward stride of a sleepwalking adolescent
to see what his master had done. When he arrived he saw flying,
two pots of water, an air-compressing submersible chamber and one water ***** reed.
Aristotle quickly collected the shattered pieces and noted
that this broken pottery was more real than time itself.

On September 21st, 712 A.D. a small village just outside the boundaries of
Chang'an, China came dangerously close to taking the life of the palace
astronomer/inventor/sleepyhead. Crowding around the door of Yi Xing, the
townspeople tore their robes and wailed for him to put a stop to the
incessant clanging. Xing, who had apparently overslept and was still
clinging to morsels of fading dreams about his young mistress, stuffed his
face into his pillow, muttering eureka, after first having chucked the
two clay pots, handful of stones and plate-sized gong out the front door,
much to the amusement of the assembly of drooping eyelids and torn pajamas.

In the year 1235 A.D. tortured residents of Baghdad began associating their
daily and nightly times for prayer with the ringing of their eardrums from
uninvited chimes.

In 1493 St. Mark's Clock-tower polluted the once-pure Venetian air with
hourly reminders that we are all yet one hour closer to our inevitable death
and the priests of the day called it humility.

Levi Hutchins of New Hampshire turned to a pine cabinet, brass clock and
mechanical gears in 1787, and for the first time gave himself the ability to
choose when he would hate the morning.

In 1847, French inventor Antoine Redier began making money off of people's
early morning auditory masochism.

Lew Wallace, the morning after completing his masterpiece novel "Ben Hur,"
awoke with a fiendish beeping in his ear and proceeded to invent the paradox
of the snooze button.

In Spring of 1942 the war in Europe raged and all U.S. alarm clock production ceased.

In the Spring of 1943 well-rested factory men, confronted by their foreman
upon arrival at 9:15, erupted the words "my alarm clock is broken,"
forever placing the excuse in the deep pockets of slackers
world-wide.

To all of these respected men of our history
Who have thought with their hands to create
The foundation of a society drowning in Starbucks,
I wish to express my sincerest ingratitude.

I lie awake in bed at night,
Licking the bitter taste of reality from my cheeks,
In the company of Plato, Lew Wallace and Yi Xing,
Wondering what dreams will be stolen from me.

Hihi!...hihihi!
I am a witch
And I’m a creature of the night
I can make you a sandwich
Here! Take a bite!

Hur!...hur!...hur!...hur!...hur!
I am an ogre
And I’m a creature of the night
I can tear you asunder
Will you dare me a fight?

Hehe!...hehe!...he!
I am an elf
And I’m a creature of the night
Watch your step
Or I’ll take away your sight!

Huhuhuhuhuh!
I am a vampire
And I’m a creature of the night
Your blood is my desire
I wanna hold you tight!

Haah…aah…aah…
I am a banshee
And I’m a creature of the night
Come on, sing with me
To the grave be frozen with fright!

Awooh…wooh…wooh!
I am a werewolf! Woof!...Woof!
And I’m a creature of the night
Look at the top of your roof!...Woof!...Woof!
I’ve just hopped…Now, I’m on your right!

Brains…brains…brains…brains…brains!
I am a zombie
And I’m a creature of the night
I am coming to munch thee
Now run with all your might!

-03/10/2012
(Dumarao)
*created for English 413 under Dr. Minnie P. Chan

.the crows' persistent croak undermines all attempts at man's adventure into universal fame, or one that might distinguish man's composition, from earth, as intended for adam, to air, as intended for odin, to water as intended for poseidon, to fire as intended for the tetragrammaton.

it fails, most of the time,
poetry is scarce,
too much fondness of the abstract,
hence residues of
distracted verse, whimsical,
overburdened pronoun usage -
such likes - complex punctuation
to replace diacritical marks in
france or germany or norway,
poetry doesn't have the impetus,
just doesn't have the impetus to
package fudge, package fudge paragraphs
of fiction, poetry isn't anything
unless it's anti-fiction,
there's no point idealising
how you would fit into a glass stiletto
when it doesn't allow a fitting: cindarella was first
two jealous sisters got their heel
and big toe cut off, you want to encode
that as .pdf or .jpeg?
technophobes ***-standing:
is that enough for a start-up religious cult?!
i'm just wishy washy wondering,
all bets on it taking off - congregation of
en masse suicide seems a fanciful expression,
mind you, i have no excuse.
where there's a middle there ain't no finger,
no message evaluation and furthered to
an execution, the middle has an eroteme:
not exactly erotically thematic, just
a hunch off huh...
so... poetry... it's scarce, tumble **** practice
of a lost joke...
poetry exhibits itself sometimes in tight-tangle prose
of a knausgård - fancy wording a mile apart
would make traffic accidents aplenty,
and it happens... ramble ramble ramble (worded),
then some poetic ecstasy like an unguided tour
of a gallery making you kneel in anti-catholic
gesticulation of a painting by francis bacon...
shouldn't happen, but it did...
so while prose writers are like things infused
with packaged designation of the right
digestion and right diet content of carbohydrates,
poets are like: what sustenance from air?
we ramble sometimes, **** naked i presume,
but we do, and when we do, we draft novels
for other people, we're not into nation building
or writing novels... we're the anorexia of prose...
and that's grand... because it means
that our readers have to be self-involved,
not ready to grasp the rooting of prose diction...
more fused to the open airs
of writings' scarcity...
we need strong readers not numbers...
we need people who are self-involved,
who would spit and kick a copper statue of
the poet represented in a public square with
people of the spoken tongue the real tourists
wondering: who's that?

that aside...
          i went to sleep thinking about chess...
into bed at around 1am
woke up at around 9am...
past two nights? interludes of
perhaps 2 / 3 hours...
    cutting on the alcohol is one thing...
keeping a tally?
proof: co-op sells 1liter labelled bottles
of scotch,
but as it turns out, according to my braille tally?
it's: ⠷⠷ (500ml) + ⠷⠷ (500ml) + ⠷ (250ml)...
they label it as a liter...
but it's actually 1.25liters...
three days later: you get the full picture:
-esque akin to 'and on the third day he rose
again, according to the scriptures...'

good luck to the men and their vanity
projects...
   i will never become as famous as
the man who "invented" stumbled upon
fermentation to produce beer / wine...
distillation to produce whiskey / *****...
dom perignon and albert hofmann
are known now... give it a few centuries later...
****! gone!
       but to overshadow the universal
stability of a woodland pigeon cooing,
a crow croaking, a fox laughing?
   my words are here: yet these examples
retain the future unchanged...
by void, crook, vogue or folly...

so i went to sleep thinking about chess...
there's the king: the point
of the game...
              to topple the king...
get ol' charlie firsty on the chopper...
distract charlie zee 'eck'und
with pseudo-harems and handel...
and fireworks on the thames...
little learning tool offshoot of louis XIV...
the king is just an elevated pawn...
it seems the king only controls the pawns
given his own movement rules...
the queen though?
   she's the bishop and the rook combined,
as she's also the king and pawn, combined...
the knight is the only odd piece
on the whole board...
   why? didn't queens feast their eyes
upon knights of old, at tournaments...
chivalry: the dropped oopsie handerchief moment
when the king wasn't looking?
the knight piece is the only outsider piece
on the board... hence it's ontological
grasshopper routine of jumping
outside the line of pawns and then
jumping back into line...
the king is a king in name only:
it would appear...
  while the most powerful piece on the board
is the queen: since if the king merely
control the pawns:
   at a battlefield a king command pawns
(soldiers)...
  in the background...
the queen will command...
   the bishops, the knights,
   the rooks (houses, castles) -
she's not on the battlefield with with pawns...
and soon knights become judges
and lawyers - merge with the bishops...
i never like playing chess -
but i liked thinking about chess...
  from the perspective of: the queen is
the most powerful piece on the board...

you could even rewrite chess by expanding
the board... so it would look like so:

1. denotes pawn         9. denotes king

2. denotes bishop        6. denotes queen
3. denotes knight        4. denotes rook.


1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
         9 3               (battlefield formation)
      2 4 4 2             (behind the scenes formation)
        3 6    

but the board would have to be expanded from
64 to say... 100 squares... per board...
it's still chess... but with a twist...
it's what real life would look like...
one knight would be faithful to the king
and stand behind his army on the battlefield...
the other knight would be *******
the queen in secret surrounded
by castles and the clergy / the judicial system...
well: so many people have become so good
at the game of chess...
   kasparov vs. deep blue...
         so smart: and yet no imagination.

besides... i had more important things to do
today than remember what i fell asleep with...

1. making the perfect sausage rolls...
the most pristine invention of the english
and how the french fumed when their puff
pastry was "degraded"...
never use meat from sausages...
always minced pork...
and instead of adding carrots...
celery... and who would have thought
that fennel seeds are the secret ingredient...

2. watching india get their *******'
whipped and their ***** put into
a meat grinder by the new zealand side
at the cricket world cup...
**** me the last 5 overs!

3. lamenting the state of cinema...
the pursuit of "being" via distraction
with the end goal of fulfilling "happiness"...
so much for "being" and so much for "happiness"...
take two prime examples...
it only took 8 years to spare all the details
that seperate them...
1958's the inn of the sixth happiness
starring ingrid bergman...
those movies! mmm hmm!
i would gladly take away all the current
heavy editing and metallurgy scaled
CGI for a classical western panoramic view...
no dialogue... just an expansive camera
distance where the characters are dwarfed
by the grander scheme of things:
even if it's just a valley or a field...
cinema dropped the paranoramic
   interlude, resorting for the clausto-****
of heavy editing with multiple cameras
switching backwards and forwards
like watching a game of tennis...
    actually: both genres degraded themselves
dropping the panoramic view at times...
less in sport, more in cinema...
but this is 1958... the 1950s! the glory days of cinema...
fast-forward to 1966... and the film:
ALFIE...
       what's the difference between a lothario
and a ****? a self-employed ******...
or some other weird combition of 'not-a-joke'...
wait a minute... why are the women
so ******* dumb come the mid-1960s in cinema...
while back in 1958: they were so admirable?!
ingrid bergman learned mandarin,
she was ambitious, she was stubborn...
she was bossy...
  come the 1960s we're talking about
    beings without either soul or will
simply orientated at being dumpster *** toys...
i don't even know where the men
did that to them...
           the women in 1950s cinema
gained respected... they were commanding...
or at least decisive in giving
the least expected virtue: generosity
and on top - a sense of fairness -
                             a merit pyramid...
1960s cinema women, "women" are nothing
more than sloppy teenagers...
these women are not women...
1960s cinema doesn't depict women...
it's starting to depict one direction:
  pissy-pants teen girls...
               ******* at the sight of harvey styles
sighing and ****...
        plus... back in the day:
cinema used to be... engaging...
ben-hur? how long? 5 hours?
  gone with the wind? how long? 7 hours?!
cinema like opera: 15 minute interludes,
toilet breaks before the next part went on...
now? a quckie 1.5 hours long CGI ***** fest
of minimal dialogue and the heavy editing
juxtapositions of "angles"...
       people don't watch modern cinema
because it's engaging...
they watch it... because it's... distracting...
pretty bright lights! ooh! aah!
i love the fact that i'm being snarky
           and sarcastic... what else can you be?!
   i don't even think is missed that much
when it comes to the sub-culture of drugs...
psychadellic or otherwise...
i ****** well missed on a decent amount
of cinema...
   and when that happens...
       look at me...
                            what's that phrase...
a bitter old man... aged 33...
bitter doesn't even cut it...
              it's not even a bitterness...
it's an elevated sense of nostalgia...
   for me nostalgia is something i was present
at when it started going to ****...
late 1990s... cartoon network, early internet...
etc.,
              1990s date night movie quality
requiring adults to employ babysitters...
i was there...
1950s cinema? yeah: i wish i was nostalgic
about that... but i wasn't there...
hence the technical observations...
and how, objectively: movies were...
oh god so much better.

I visited your grave the other day, and it occurred to me that I couldn't tell you how I was doing.
I assumed you're doing fine, or at least I'd like to think so.
I couldn't bare to tell you that I've stopped believing in Heaven,
I couldn't bare to tell you that I've become the soil surrounding your casket.
I sat there in silence while my fingers went numb and I swear for a second
I could feel my soul sinking into the ground trying to shake you awake,
To tell you I need you. To tell you I haven't made progress. I'm killing everyone around me.
I wanted you to wake up for just ten minutes. I wanted to tell you everything I haven't been able to write nor say out loud.
I wanted to tell you that I'm okay and I wanted you to tuck my hair behind my ear
and melt these frozen tears off my cheeks and look me straight in the eyes to tell me that I'm not.
I wanted to sit there in your arms and scream,
Because every time I try screaming, I  fear that I'll awaken parts of me that are meant to stay unconscious.
But I've been meaning to think about myself for a second and-
I'VE BEEN SPENDING RESTLESS NIGHTS CLENCHING MY FISTS AROUND MY BEDSHEETS,
AND DIGGING MY FINGERNAILS INTO MY HANDS BECAUSE I'VE FOUND AN ADDICTION THAT I CANNOT TAME,
THE SIGHT OF BLOOD DOESN'T BOTHER ME THE WAY IT USED TO.
I'VE STARTED DOING THINGS TO FORGET.
I'VE STARTED LIGHTING PLANTS ON FIRE TO GET SOME SORT OF HIGH OUT OF LIVING.
I'VE STARTED BECOMING THE TYPE OF PERSON YOU TOLD ME NEVER TO BE.
MY PALMS ARE THE EYES OF HURRICANES AND DESTROY EVERYTHING THEY TOUCH,
WHY IS EVERYONE ACTING LIKE THEY NEVER SAW THE TREMBLING IN THE FIRST PLACE?
I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SANITY IS AND I DON'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME
MY HEAD WAS SILENT.
IT'S LONELY YOU KNOW, HAVING FIVE DIFFERENT PEOPLE TALK TO YOU AT ONCE IN BETWEEN YOUR EARS.
I MET SOMEONE THAT LIVES A BORDERLINE AWAY BUT STILL MANAGES TO SIT
ON MY PORCH AND WAIT FOR ME TO LET HIM IN.
I CAN'T STOP LEAVING DINNER TABLES WITHOUT PUSHING MY CHAIR IN FIRST,
I CAN'T STOP LEAVING PEOPLE WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE.
I FEEL TOO FULL. I FEEL TO FULL OF FLAMES BURNING DOWN EVERY LAST CITY IN MY BODY,
I FEEL EMPTY. I FEEL LIKE IT'S SUNDAY MORNING AND I'VE POURED MY FATHER A BOWL OF CEREAL JUST TO FIND OUT WE'RE OUT OF MILK.
PLEASE DON'T HURT ME, I'M SORRY, I DIDN'T MEAN TO, PLEASE DON'T HUR-
I have a body made of one-hundred sheets of college ruled notebook paper that kids like me used to make scrapbooks out of.
I am a collection of bruises holding up photos of a Father's fist,
My hands were only made to hold those who feel empty when not holding a glass of wine.
Some days I am full of constant negativity and feel the need to rip grass out from the earth
and throw China cabinets to the floor to say that nothing stays pure forever.
I stopped thinking about myself for a second.
I sat at your grave and said nothing.
I was going to tell you all of this but I couldn't bare to tell you I stopped believing in Heaven.
The only time I ever saw you smile was on Sunday mornings.

dat betch iz out of mi liek 4 gud & out of mi baez lief bc she a sloot & nu 1 lek hur & she st00pid & sh3 tri 2 taek me bae but she didmt taek him & ily bae

Growing up as a guy I have something to admit
Its that theres so many girls that i'll never forget
So i'll jump right in and go right from the start
and tell you about all these girls that have affected my heart
So lets start with the As there is two that first come to mind
and thats Ambrea and Ashley, their each one of a kind
Now those are my sisters so their first to be said
but lets continue on to who else pops in my head
lets see...there's 2 Ashley As, but only one Ashley G
can't forget Amanda K, or all 7 Amys
There are so many As that we'd have to stay way long
let me wrap it up quick with the cutest one "akon"
You should see all these B's their so pretty it scares me
theres Beth and theres B thou, theres Bee and  B. Barry
In the C's we have Crepeele with her pretty long blonde hur
and then we have Cameo, thats right, Mama Burr
On to the Ds they would never be meana
theres danielle carey, and then there is dreena
though im sure there are Es-Hs to do
i'm skipping to Js starting with J. Gubbes
Janelle, Jolene, or Jocelyn B.
Jordan, and Jen, and Jill L. you see
Jamie, and jasmine, or J. Allen
Jaylene, and Jessica, and then jen again
Oh God now the Ks, not sure where to begin...
I'll start with the departed R.I.P. Kristin
On to the girls that are more than alive,
Lets take, Keilyn, Kayla, and Karmen on a test drive
Three other K's must get named out for sure
And that's Kaley, Kansas, and Kristjana Schure
Two Girls in the Ls that are way way to awesome
And thats Lauren Borsheim, and of course, Laura Klassen
On to the Ms there is no time to spare
Just one, Maryke, and she cuts my hair
...I'm just kidding MOM you know your up there!
We do have an N there's nothing to fear
Her name is Niki, she lives in Red Deer
No Os, or Ps, or Qs to discuss
we'll move on to R's cause this next ones a must
Rachael K the Australian Wonder
Rebecca's art is so good she draws lightning and thunder
Theres a couple of shellys, and Sam 1 and 2
Tara looks like a model, and Tia does too
Don't know any Us, the Vs go in order
Vanessa M, V. Young, and VJ the reporter
If your name wasn't mentioned no need to be sour
this poem was rushed, took me less than an hour

of course i left the ****-holes traumatised,
if i didn't read extensively i'd be
stuck in some slum for immigrants -
i mean, who, in, their, right, frame, of, mind
would teach children the basis
of abortion, among lessons about sniffing
glue (a practice in the Ukraine)
as if the 1960s psychedelic revolution never
took place? only the catholic church,
which loves the ****** of a John Smith...
i might as well be listening to Billy Joel
rolling a ******. Jesus... *******...
take your little school while i learn
from the stoic Marcus Aurelius... seriously
Ben Hur und Aesop to you too! go on grovel
on your message: gehen nord...
yeah, because the romans were evil to incorporate
Judea into its pond empire...
the north men clashed with the jews in the Holocaust;
head north jesus said... so they headed in fakes...
polnisch hebräisch: Jiddisch Yiddish Jesus Jehovah
the tetragrammaton, *******...
like they built the ******* pyramids...
sheep, sheep, sheep; i do better drumming
for the rhythm guitars than anyone,
esp. Billy on the MTV single hit about Australian
bushfire and a long list of names with rock around
the clock of Bill Haley & His Comets and oh ****** days
on the McDonald boulevard.

one might, invariably, drink red wine infused
with garlic to ward off evil spirits -
or as some claim...
50ml of the stuff at daily intervals
is part of a plan for slimming...
  me? i just don't mind the taste...
        like i wouldn't mind a kiss from an onion
or... slobbering into an ash-tray
sort of a girl mouth in one of those sticky floor
nightclubs circa the early 2000s we go into
for underage drinking...
being boys i do wonder what sort of *******
escapades we were supposed to unearth...
it's not like we were Pan-Am stewardesses
readying ourselves for some glitz,
some Ritz... some... thespian shadow-thieving
on the pristine screen...
garlic infused red wine...
it's not so bad... even though it's not mine
since, after all: the best ***** on the planet
is not your own - blah blah, blah...
but lucky for the 500 quid front suspension
trek marlin 5 arrived today and...
tomorrow i go catch the wind...
it feels like being six-teen again...
not that walking marathon distances is
a problem: Pots to herr belly...
from 104, kg, to circa 107, kg...
and that's still more than half...
of what mass-loss ought to "feel" like...
although... it doesn't feel like anything
when the "subjective" numbers come
across the "objective" numbers
but unlike walking...
where time and distance and the dimension
of movement are most pronounced...
a bicycle is unlike a horse
but is like a dog...
somehow...
   a bicycle is most certainly not a car
and a car is most certainly not a horse...
but a bicycle is... not...
it's... unlike a horse...
but like a dog...
that it's not a dog is pretty obvious...
but i'm conjuring up...
concepts like muzzle...
leash... WD40 oil for the chain...
and... enough air in the tires...
since we're not talking a road bicycle and
nothing has to be slender jimmy either...
it's a pristine orange...
the colour does matter, somehow...

when i liked jazz i stopped digressing
into classical...
when i stopped digressing into jazz
i allowed myself for
classical music to become complimentary
to things - complicated...
not that jazz wasn't...
but what it wasn't was that it wasn't
scripted and all that
"spontaneity" revels in exhausting itself
somehow: becomes predictable...

a jazz "us" vs. a classical "we": vs.
nothing so much clearly even remotely aligned
to that...
it was a Friday night and i was this close | |
to gauging my eyes out
after having watched a director's cut of a movie...
it beat the standard bearer...
whichever it was... Ben-Hur or Spartacus...
nearing to 4 hours of...
by the end of it: almost gauging my eyes out...
hardly Pavlov or drooling...
of making me an infantilised *******
sputnik moon-key...

a sense of: culture is dying...
what's predominately being "served"
is cancel is cancel is cancel is...
well... to overcome some variation
of nihilism ascribed to morals...
we found the modern woman in the 1950s
and 60s...
the supposed, modern man...
we'll find in the 2050s and the 2060s...
if we're lucky...
when a somewhat status quo returns...
otherwise: what's on offer is still
a dynamic of "arrogance" / agitation...

my insomniac libido...
my insomnia's insomnia...
why i wouldn't doge a cocktail of
alcohol... 250mg of naproxen...
and something resembling para-cet-a-mole
to switch-off...
i switch off:
i don't fall asleep... always...

complete with a thorough hard-on
i can exactly fathom by diluting it over
a mortal conversation with the opposite ***...
because there's this illusion
and it's stupendous...
etymological relaxation in order?
evidently history is placed within
a self-erasure composite glue...
work around this architecture...

my first... bicycle route...
the tires are pumped up
it took me close to 7 hours to walk
to st. paul's cathedral and back...

then one of those:
write everything via an anagram...
anagram: soul - losu -
                 los - which implies... fate...
losu? implies a possessive article of fate:
i.e. fate itself...
fate's whim...
              i had a dream yesterday...
i'm adamant the person i spoke
with dealt in the term... RESURRECTION...

i think i was talking to a zombie in a dream,
whoever i was talking to...
like the hues of Baltic amber...
an allotment of greens and blues...
tinges of orange mingling with yellows
and ripe reds...
nothing purpose filled like
purple followed: for the clarity of
dignifying mourning...
or an eternal clue for blue...

i was drinking medication!
i was duped!
two variations of grammar to decipher...
what it was i was drinking...

but i'll need to speak something
older than colt hing-leash...
i.e.
  garlic infused red wine
red wine infused with /
                                  by garlic...
it's a slimming elixir... apparently...

here goes! dive!

             knoblauchinfundiert rotwein...
rotwein infundiert mit /
                         durch knoblauch...
if i were drinking my own pīß...
                                         not enough: pish!
                                       pysh...
passer... by...    zilch on a leash...
it's a mix-up between py-š and py-ś...
     no... it's not even remotely related
to                                         π-σζ
ask a greek, though...
whether                           σζ can be coupled
like ae or oe...
                             given... SH... &...
                                            μαμ ση...
even the complexity of the mandarin skeletons
doesn't allow them to conjure up
more sounds behind the letters
that are already: a priori...
left... available...

tangled up in the affair of the "gods": or: not, god...
a mother seeks a supposition of a son...
we tells her...
while at the altar of words...
i began this session with red wine infused
with garlic... i'll end it with some
mulled wine...
the cat's my winged sphinx...
the cat's my winged sphinx...

for the toils beckon me remote...
i harvest a lineage that has to come to an end...
mother dear why you will not be grand...
while i won't be the fathering kind...
like it might not excused
for that thespian reality of....
gearing up to: froth forth at a pronto...
my red wine infused with garlic...

i knew i had to lend an ear to
the deutsche-zunge like
like Wend...
nieme-ludzie.... niemdy-lud...
although their black-forest gateau was
to... die for...
older than english...
this modern leash of...
this isn't the 21st century... is it...
this isn't the century of the culimation
of expectations... is, it?
if it is... where was "ground zero":
this... "Golgotha" of the supposedly
requested hour?
by what hour... are hours worth a count...
that sort of hour-ing, yes?

by the demands of what "suffices":
that i didn't speak with a god...
that i did encounter a chanced audience
with... the ******* choir... yes...
how does that sound...
having smoked marihuana
and having to "somehow" usher in...
something so antithesis of cosmopolitan...
sensible: i came across the god's choir...
but not god himself...
i cowered and started rummaging
occupying a space
before the great altar...
the great altar, so be it...
amen...              i hid under the tablature in
a white cloth...
an F a TH a PH but not a P- (prefix lady
added to the "complexity" of a response...

i met the choir, before i was allowed to
meet the deity...
last time i heard... from kabbalistic sources:
upon meeting the deity the sure
and impeding quest for death:
a clear sky... but a streak of cloud
making a quill be resembled, symbolic...
detailing a quasi-barricade...
between reality, reels, real and the races...

for an audience:
but such details are supposed to be...
confided without a public scrutiny...
then again... given my timing...
timing: not having to father children...
no ambitions of such: deeds... therein imploding...
red wine infused with garlic
for starters... mulled wine to finish it off
with an amnesia of sorts...

Why can't I remember?
I'm blocking it, why can't I just-

Who hur-

Where did it-

Why would they-



Sorry, what were we talking about?

listening to the radio is far less melancholy than you might think, sure, the adverts are there, and you can't skip them or hush them like you can on the internet and on-demand t.v., but it doesn't bother me, i sometimes like to take a break from being my own d.j., because as my own d.j. i tend to choose music that's perfect for writing, for honing in on the sizeable bite of verbiage, sometimes distinguished by a touch of a magician's wand. plus i surprises are better than presents - i stopped celebrating all the orthodox occasions in the calendar - i forgot my birthday, christmas = pyjamas and movies, Easter outside the Catholic / Orthodox realm is a bit silly... rabbit testicles... the greatest profanity, Protestantism has its weak spot... coupled with championing capitalism, Easter has no surprises, given the most celebrated act of the man who lived when Spartacus burped and Ben Hur farted... (cat just started his opera when i wrote this, just treat it as an odd thing, remembering the dead and still famous in cinema adaptation)... but you seriously can't imagine Easter in England... chocolate *****, Christianity has become a joke, it hasn't died out, it has just become a joke... what with Elijah becoming a saint rather than a prophet, what with the Archangel Michael also becoming a saint... you'd start thinking: this is getting ridiculous with hen parties and fairy wands, plastic wings and ******* in the alley... the disrespect people have for Easter and over-powering the celebration of Christmas just shows the weakness... a sly incursion into a penitence for the Inquisition... comfortable chairs in churches across America... like i said, a joke. Islam is heading the same way, the failings of these two monotheisms is bound to (as i mentioned already) the incorporation of a polytheistic concept of polytheism bound to the last book before the fiasco, Malachi's promise of a return of Elijah, to turn the son's heart unto his father's, antonym too with the women; well, i have to take this text seriously, i hate ridiculing them, the 20th century's antidote to explaining why the Holocaust wasn't averted by some big brother - i live in England, i'm used to c.c.t.v. voyeurism, i don't understand why a theological c.c.t.v. is so ****** complicated - usually argued by the person with his hand in a cookie jar... why should anyone else be worried? don't worry, i'm not digressing, there's a reason why i added an emphasis title to the first of a sequence of my experiment (where i stop being my own d.j.).

my father left for England when i was 4,
i do have a vague memory of 1990 -
most notably my mother waking up late
and in his words: wake the baroness,
lothar matthaus (1990 world cup) -
carrying a table for the kitchen with him -
meeting his grandmother that raised him
being the oddest experience -
(yeah, he was an unwanted child,
raised by his grandparents,
the shame stories of his drinking father living
near him but taking no interest,
his mother moving to Silesia) -
so from a presence aged 4 to being 8
he was simply a voice on the telephone
and a pack of presents once in a while -
my mother left to join him when i was 6 -
before she left she bought me a dog,
a doberman pinscher - called him Axel
(after Axl Rose) - after that i got a taste
of my father's childhood, i.e. being raised
by my grandparents - driving an industrial
buggy on the steel plant complex,
taking a shower in the bathrooms -
my grandfather was an alcoholic... now i'm
a post-stoner alcoholic... so i don't have any
horror story to name and shame someone,
it doesn't matter, once i walked my grandfather
from his mother's house on her birthday,
he got the woman's wrath from my grandmother
and my mother, but i sure as **** walked him home;
just stating the obvious, not all poets are
fluffy heart frail, some of us learn to live.
so when i arrived in England aged 8 at the Victoria
Coach Station i didn't quiet know what to do
hugging my father... a complete stranger
(early development is not the development of
adults used to the mundane hamster wheels
of countless Mondays and Fridays and nights out) -
my memory of learning English in primary school
from scratch? i can't tell you anything detailed -
what i can tell you is that Jurassic Park came out
that year and i really wanted to see it after
becoming a fan of the Japanese versions of Godzilla,
my favourite? *Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster.
and Lion King was out too... each day after coming
back from primary school (fond memories,
like taking pictures of Pamela Anderson from
a newsagent that were given out for free into
the schoolyard and distributing them, getting ratted
out given the shame-mantra by the headmaster:
what would you say if this was your mother?
Christianity is perfect by shaming you first, then
supposedly redeeming you, their own vice fruit
and that ******* crucifix. the game of bulldog
the meals, Ribena, choc cake with custard,
drawing Ophelia drowning for a school exhibition...
the devil mask bought at Warsaw and worn at
a dance ball, having it worn by all too eager friends
one by one... the list is endless - as ever, memory,
the best cinema in town) - so each day after coming
back from primary school i'd watch the Lion King
religiously... even my mother was bothered,
after two weeks if not more she complained to me
with concerns as if i were autistic or something -
why was i watching it? think about it... from the age
of 4 to the age of 8 i hadn't seen my father -
but you know that famous scene when Scar betrays
Mufasa and throws him to his death in the stampede?
pivotal moment for my psychic life to catch-up
with having a father - using the fear of loss in bright
colours kinda illuminated the dull realities around me -
intuitive masterminding what many people will take
for a standard family life - obviously i stopped the Lion
King after i saturated enough feeling for a person
i didn't develop around aged 4 till 8... which might
explain my resorting to alcoholism... but i'm not bothered,
i don't feel like starting a family, plus alcohol
sedates and makes writing more uninhibited (show me
a writer who didn't drink and i'll find you a bored
reader and unfinished books, that's the point of the
anti-haiku concept of ensō - i'm counting on it:
written without effort, should, technically be read without
effort), and never mind that ****** focal point in
my life that's not at all interesting aged 21 and thus
what happened after; that's me, automaton -
rebellious against being grilled down to:
an Englishman's house is his... cave... Darwinism take
on history will continue to be my pet peeve -
it just erases so many advances we've had down the centuries,
plus for every humanism alive... it must be kinda boring -
no... i'm not ensuring Darwinism is sparring in a boxing
ring with theology - from human to human -
that new program on channel 4 (naked attraction)
looks a bit like a trip to the butchers - and however you think
about it... the date after still looks ******* awkward,
so the ******* doesn't really help, the situation between
the pair is still like rubbing sandpaper on your face:
you're not showing a rouge of minor shame and inhibition...
you've just been basically *****-slapped silly.

You rode bikes with Milka
to the bridge over the river
and stood looking down
at the flowing water

and talked
of the latest
Elvis Presley film
you’d seen

and she said that she
had wanted to see it
but her mother
had forbidden it

saying it was not
the type of film
for her age
then you talked

of the film you’d seen
while working
as a cinema projectionist
called Ben Hur

and the great
chariot races in it
she leaned close to you
as you talked

her hands
on the brick bridge
her hips pressing
gently against yours  

she said she like it
when you came
to their farmhouse
and practised judo

with her brothers
and she could watch
and as she spoke
you studied her

her short fair hair
her large blue eyes
her delicate hands
the fingertips rubbing

against the bricks
of the bridge
the simple
green shift dress

she had on
and do you remember
that time you had them
both on the grass at once

in that karate fight?
she said excitedly
and you noticed
maybe

for the first time
her small firm bust
her figure
kind of huggable

although you hadn’t
hugged her
and she went on
about wanting to go

out with you
but her brothers
had said
Baruch won’t be

interested in you
he likes pretty girls
and you looked
at her eyes

as she spoke
how large they were
yet not unbeautiful
the orbs blue

portraying
wide worlds of you
and how old are you?
she asked

because they
keep saying
you’re too old
for me

16
you said
well
she said

I’m 14
so that isn’t
too old is it?
no

you said
seeing her eyes look
kind of watery
like small fish bowls

then she talked
of having seen you
in her dreams
and that in her dreams

you had kissed her
where did I kiss you?
you asked
on the lips of course

she said
no I meant
where abouts
was I when I kissed you?

o
she said blushing
in the barn
by the farmhouse

o I see
you said
never having been
there with her

only with her brothers
to do judo fights
she looked down
at the water

her eyes wide
and watery
a bird flew by
a bird song sounded

you leaned close to her
and kissed
her ear
through her

fair hair
and she looked at you
and you saw
new worlds

being born there
amongst the blue
Milka smiling
at an older you.

i'm not trying to achieve enlightenment i just want to know why it hurts so bad when i make eye contact with you
it doesn't hurt
it winds my stomach up like a yo-yo
and drops it to the ground without thinking twice
the way you blink makes me hurt
hurt
hur
t
this isn't fair it's not fair i have goals and you don't
i'm not skipping classes anymore i'm not
skipping

lines
anymore
i can't i can't
it isn't fair
i can't

/                    nietzsche wrote
his ecce ****
                                                  book...

­                         now?!

apparently we're all supposed
to write a book, entitled

mea culpa...                                 (?)

i just want an authenticity
of using the index,
index finger,

and being able
                        to point...
without sacrificing
the ownership
of a shadow attachment...

               and how
does the víšégrād group
    (oh i'm into linguistic
sabotage,
     writing such a word,
treating it as a bomb,
     and knowing the "nuance"?
well...
   the manchester mob,
the panic,
           and what is the concept
of islam if not advocacy
        for literacy? no? really?!)

invite the bulgars...                         (?)

like a birth of a 2nd. yugoslavia...
or the shift of
   the 2nd holy empire
to the, "left" in copernican
"terms"...

    there are the narrators,
the observers,
the critics,
   and the: chanced eyes on the mess...

no... in the collectivist / corporate
mind-sent?
              mea culpa is not on
the agenda...
                           "we" have already
stressed the situation past
the mea culpa:
  
           come: ecce ****
                      and the crucifixion /
                                          guillotine.

come the bulgars...

   and why am i not expressing
an intellectual ben hur
of an index finger?

managed to punch myself
20 times in the face
and give myself a plum beneath
the eye?

          so what's wrong with
"flexing" attributing
the tongue to an index finger
"exasperation"?
    
so few books are actually
ecce **** orientated...
            
       always the mea culpa,
never, never, ever,
                         tua culpa:

ergo?
                   ecce ****!

              shh...

quiet...

     just mention the concept
of mea culpa

                     to elißabeth fritzl

   how much of masochistic
              "moralißing" does it have
to take place, trans-temporal
  and justifying
                 the mono-spatial realm
of a "past", and, "now"
                before being crucified
is no longer deemed
the same as labouring with
                       a hammer, or a chisel?!

i say that: metaphorically
frothing at the mouth.

firt i learned to throw a punch
onto my face...
   give myself a plum just beneath
the eye socket:

   now i know the mea culpa mantra,
as i know the existence
of the index finger, being
differentiated from the fist...

and?

          the tua culpa mantra.

it's exactly 2 weeks from my hiatus in
a homogeneous society -
   away from an internet connection -
alcohol free -
           and i've come to realise one
thing above all others:
       multiculturalism is...
   ******* exhausting.
                       i can play the "******"
whitey yo-yo all i can among fellow
***** morphed into fully grown
     beings -
                     problem is,
     i don't know if i'm more an outsider
among fellow men, or among the populace
of this, fair country -
     mind you, the only reason that the english
seem to have "tact" in disputes concerning
the fate of europe...
    englishmen are fakers...
              great at acting i must admit -
what was always going to help keeping
a serene face and mindful language?
   la manche - ärmelkanal -
                  english society is an exhaustion -
too much vibrancy is always a lodged
fudge blob in my head...
                for all the celebratory days -
i admit to keeping at least one day of
mourning, me, usually coming back
from the sedative of a homogeneous society...
    my complete immersion in but one
tongue...
not seeing a sikh turban, a black skin,
skimming on the flavours of chine -
     just plain old sauerkraut (apparently
cabbage is a funny word in urdu -
but i still mind asking the turk to add
some sourness to the sheer of lamb in
a kebab) -
                  and, my god,
pickled herrings, raw,
that famous alternative that is,
                 baltic "sushi".
                            - but i'm afraid that
the english would be double their usual
awkwardness in a homogeneous society,
so bland, so un-tropical,
              so... familial?
             in a country where you can pretty
much say what the ******* want,
even with the already ridiculous
religiosity and overt testament of:
   on sunday we don't work...
    not much different to france or germany
mind you...
    only the english run out basic ingredients
akin to milk or flour on a sunday...
mind you, whenever i walk into a supermarket
there are these zombies walking about...
i go in and know what i'm after...
   after... surrounded by these *******
   friendly, zombiefied, tourists...
           that isn't to say i frequent the english
society as such,
         my experience began and ended
with the catholic irish in school,
  and then some disorientated farmers
at university...
       Derby? a complete *******.
                    'hey matt', one of the few people
that uses my name is a supermarket cashier...
it's not that i mind skins, colours,
fashions,
what gets under my skin is the way in which
linguistics has become a sort
of zoology -
                 caged words in limbo of f&%£!
            does not really equate to anything
in the study of etiquette or is it simply,
   a statement that has aesthetic appeal?
                           at least the word
kurva (i made sure the W was missing so
you could veer into the sharpening)
   is treated as a conjunction rather than
            blushing guise of cameo in a language;
language ought to be a river -
      not when sea meats shoreline -
flow... flow... flow...
                   if everyone started to not muck
about with respecting the rules of
congeniality, if everyone just had that blank
canvas space to vent out but more importantly
inhibit frustrations...
                 for all the cares for a freedom of
speech: some things are better left unsaid.
                why?
         well... in all honesty, this fervent defence
of the defence of free speech,
  has made all thinking into a gluttonous bowl
of **** mixed with custard!
              whatever happened to the ultimate
freedom of all? the freedom to think?
               thought it dying a painful death
of necessitating keeping a freedom that's
   beneath it, in stature, or status...
      thinking has morphed into the most
inappropriate fear:
                                  claustrophobia,
or as some like to prefer, in calling it
by the nick of: cognitive constipation...
just to compliment the already vacant term:
intellectual ******* -
           better being a jerking off than
     scared of occupying your own, frickin' 'ed.
- but like i said, english society is breathtakingly
exhausting...
           i sleep like a baby in a bed
where my great-grandmother died...
   overlooking a graveyard...
               - and i replace writing with
puritanical deep-sea diving into books...
      actually, that's the only time when i really
read something...
                and the grand effort always
pays off...
                   no book is ever abandoned,
however tedious -
                          i care to arrive at the conclusion
of: perhaps "hangover" in the reading -
but raucously "drunk" upon completion -
even after a year -
          no book is worth being stranded
in the purgatory of lost fancies and aspirations...
movies are different...
         there's always the toilet or cigarette
break to get off easy on making excuses;
           how could anyone finish watching
gone with the wind is beyond me...
  i'd accept the stretch of film akin to
   ben-hur or cleopatra,
  in the latter case the Octavian monologue:
lord anthony is dead!
                the soup is hot, the soup is cold,
is that how one says it?
         lord anthony lives, lord anthony is dead...
shame on you for saying such words
lightly!
               his name has an echo chamber
in the urn of eternity!
               yeah...
   life in english is exhausting simply because
you find yourself with a **** & custard's
worth of thinking left in your while
walking on egg shells...
           pretending to defend a freedom of
  the waggling tenner -
penny for your thought,
                tenner for your talking;
     which is not worth the bother these days,
perhaps the mad had always dreamed of
castles in the clouds...
    but unlike the mad:
  i'm thinking of making my mind a labyrinth.

some claim it's an aesthetic, others claim it's the mystery of lawlessness, because in all honesty: upper-case Q could be written in lower-case as ǫ, rather than q, all too familiar is ρ (rho) - and there is no law suggesting any convention should be kept to a model of standardisation... hence the dichotomy experienced by dyslexics to the familiar argument: why the disparaging phoneticism from optical aesthetic, why write that and then only say 'y'? much of modern English borrows from the seemingly unnecessary h insertion borrowed from Hindu... dhal... the aesthetic insertion of a surd-letter into an otherwise convenient phonetic-encoding... although either an umlaut or a macron is missing above the a to prolong it; and depending on your aesthetic palette... i'm already advocating a change to sz & cz by stressing the replacement using the caron: š / č... in English the equivalent is bound to words like shrapnel and chatter.

as anyone would say *idiot, i'd say tuman,
that's because:
                          when syllables are inconvenient
i'd stress that, and write túman...
if i were saying swamp, i'd be right
in also saying bägno - obviously
there are distinctions, akin to punctuation
marks, diacritical marks are effectually
"punctuation" marks, well... inccissions
embedded in words;
these aren't rhetorical assertions, they're
biased on the basis of optometry.
then i might add: with a straw
                      alternatively słomką...
otherwise the noun słomka, i.e. straw,
wheat shaft... a shaft hollowed out
and as Polish girls know all too well:
snakebite (at English universities,
half beer, half cider, a head of
                            blackcurrant juice),
but back east it's just beer and raspberry juice
concentrate: funny... where's the rhapsody?
if the ą is used at the end of the word
then there's an intended action involving
the stated thing... but it's not a universal
statement, just this particular instance...
it's odd, i wake up from my Alaskan vigil
and realise i didn't take my sleep-synthetic
requirements to go to sleep during the night
and wake up during the night...
  that means i'm annoyed, putting it mildly.
words that shoot into my head like sunrise...
newspapers are the bearable versions of Proust,
   bypassing publishing houses can allow
for diarrhoea talent, and no to constipated
critically acclaimed blah blah...
    it's 8:36 in the morning and i don't know why
it's ****** beautiful... everyone's so content
with being busy, doing something, anything,
everything... it's that critical moment in autumn
when the leaves on trees have lost the stalemate
with ******-twisting winter frosts,
   and fall into the ***** of death and rot...
and then these random words enter my head,
words i either forgotten to use or are too obscure
to use in the first place, polish slang...
e.g. kumam, i understand -
     p'stro, a condescending consideration
     for explaining something worth contempt
to the other, but not the self, i.e. the magpie attitude.
   i can't help myself, seeing English *******
on by lazy ***** with :) and :( and acronym talk
i feel i have to provide an antidote...
  the ' in p'stro?         bulging / building up,
there's no p in any language with a syllable
distinction worth a diacritical mark...
   and now it's 8:42 in the morning, and i have half
a litre of whiskey to sniff... should i?
what's Copernican west to Copernican a.m.?
   gentlemen only drink in the afternoon...
yep, and Ben Hur drank in the morning for
the calories awaiting the chariot races...
ha ha... i'd love to see a drunk goldfish...
    but it's fun like that... so many serious people out
there who learned the Pink Floyd march of
the hammers... i don't think i can take a bishop
with a bishop's attire seriously...
                   or a skinhead Buddhist monk...
they're all baldy baldy vaseline hoping for the sheen...
can any authority be taken seriously?
       now i'm truly bullshiting...
i lost this one word in my head... sieve:
motyl, butterfly,
           ćmá, moth (that's a slingshot need
          for acuteness on the a, slingshot is the stress on
the c, and the stress on the a is the actual missile,
   oh, by no means is this orthodox),
  język, tongue / language,
  ozór, edible cow tongue: very tender
in creamy horseradish sauce accompanied with
Silesian gnocchi...
            Q is the acute version of K & C,
i.e. what would otherwise be deemed é to an e.
   wolny, a penalty kick / someone who's free,
  wapń, calcium...
                  what i'm basically saying is that we encounter
so much vocal poverty in this world,
so many words are disused or underused or simply
abandoned...
                        someone weeps over a disused building
weathered by the elements...
   i see an opportunity to engage squatters,
or in the case of words: poets.

Where what she wears
wears on their fancies
to fancy or not to fancy
it't the Josephine's Jones'
hoow to snap chat herr
Slide in GraSM
Spin GRams fa hur
Chase C.R.E.A.M fa her
flirt with RÔUS!

Fem-Pøltiks
Watch the hour glass for her
moves on moves
what does she do it for
She does it for her...
HER,HEr and Hers'
Just stuntin' on the  next bih
Did it for the ratchet
Flex on dat bih
She in her feelings like a Bih
Watch wonder why
Wonder why she do it four


AYe what  you about that...

when even mark hamill takes a stab at the industry...

the last movie i ever saw,
or for that will ever see
in a cinema -
             was the last jedi...
given that i didn't
watch the force awakens
prior:
            hell, the title itself...
the only good thing
about the movie was the actual
cinema,  
         a cameo -
   in my home town of
    Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski...
plus it was affordable -
given the exchange rate
hovered above £1 : 5zł...
     i remember times
when the exchange ratio
stood at
       £1 : 8zł or there about...
but now?
   hmm... just shy of
        £1 : 3.99zł...
and thank god the Poles
are leaving these accursed isles...
me?
    ****... been living here
since i was 8 years old...
   i can't, in the words of
Kevin Spacey: just... *******!
it's a life's worth of investment...
perhaps not the people,
but... the language, *the language.
i'm no polymath,
but i have to keep up teasing
english psychiatrists
about one, curiosity...
well... two...
   the employment of regression
(implanting false memories
by insinuation) -
and... why is a bilingual person,
suddenly, a schizophrenic?
  medically... metaphorically?
of course!
              so i took it up to her...
(dr. moncrieff -
oh she's real,
  she did a BBC interview
for a program about R. D. Laing)...
    i said to hear:
but i also hear "voices" in
Polish?
             a bogus statement,
i had to toy with her...
   by the way...
why was John Allen Muhammad
the only genius killer
among blacks?
       a killing spree for a white
serial killer is simply dumb,
hood violence...
  petty emotional construct...
but John Allen Muhammad?
most definitely stands out...
the only black serial killer i ever
came across in the news...
the rest? whites.
           ****... digressing again...
see... drinking and listening
to political commentary videos
is one thing, sober,
on the crapper -
    but drinking and listening
to these sober concerns?
     that's not the point of drinking,
and not listening to music.
you lose the rhythm...
   you lose your orientation
in the face of the blank canvas,
awaiting your mosaic composition.
yeah...
   i don't think that cinema was
killed by television, per se...
  two factors, perhaps three killed it...
televised series have
  better music strategists...
   more music, basically,
and better researched...
come on - thor: Ragnarok?
led zeppelin's immigrant song?
that's it?
      sure... some of the classical
music theme are great...
Schindler's List's whining Jewish
violin tearjerker
  (gets me sometimes...
   i cry at beauty -
because beauty is worth crying
over... after sitting with my family
at the wake of my great-grandmother
having passed,
i sat alone in the kitchen,
put a red rose just near but also
just far away from the candle flame...
and managed to transform cardinal red
of the petals, into bishop's purple...
and then i grit and grinding my
teeth together, enlarging the ferocity
of my bite to feel a chip of
a tooth come off one of the bottom
incisors)...
compare that to sharp objects's
opening song from episode 2...
    jeffrey brodsky's
glance backwards...
           come on...
   the genius of a horror movie,
or the genius of a thriller?
  it's always been the music -
   nothing invigorates the horror genre
like the music,
  the visual props are secondary,
and always will be!
        but that's not 2nd reason for
the downfall of cinema...
merely the 3rd...
    an attache, whimsical observation...
the time allowance...
that stretches... far far beyond
   the *** break between such behemoth
movies like ben hur
    or gone with the wind...
    plus in t.v. you can play with
more juxtapositions...
vague interpolating time reference,
very much akin to sharp objects...
which... is, quality wise?
on par with the quality of Versailles...
in my humble opinion...
              plus?
   the once old gigantic necessity of
crafting extras?
  ****! gone!
                     big but nonetheless
cut budgets of CGI?
       not as much fun...
you can still spot the cut off points...
where the canvas of extras
meets Shogun: Total War CGI...
           and this is reason no. 2...
but reason numero uno?
  you can't binge on cinema...
  but sure as **** you can binge
on engrossing television drama...
             unlike some soap opera
omnibus on a Sunday?
   you have to wait...
say... 10 weeks...
                    before letting the beast out...
and then you sit up all night...
and watch the whole ******* season
back to back...
   no one has ever made a 10 hour movie,
and never will...
               binging on television
killed cinema,
  notably the kind of television
that allows you the freedom to record,
and watch back...
                   people always loved
binging on something,
now they've been plated an alternative
to food...
    pure optics...
                       and given the extortion
of cinema ticket prices?
    by the way...
            i couldn't be bothered
to go and watch the last jedi with
the subscripts...
         i'm pretty sure the version i watched
in dubbing could have saved my
initial impressions...
  nice cinema though...
              3. ****** soundtracks
    2. hmm... what was point no. 2?
  1. people love to binge,
   and cinema?
   no matter what movie franchise,
star wars...
     rocky... whatever...
          eh... not with the new star wars...
the only franchise that allowed
itself to mesh together,
like a t.v. show?
back to the future...
   you can't exactly watch one...
and not subsequently watch the other 2...
sorry... i tried...
ended up spending the night
watching the trilogy.

Folder: I'm Bigger Than Ben Hur!
One more misread line
One more antic to decline
Open up my poetry
To the masses and this
Is what I find:


No news is good news
My pain is amusement
I crack myself open
and pour out My truths
My words,
for me.


Will you turn them from me?
Humanity bares similarity
The themes are all the same
But each has its own Play
written by the same
I will be there in the
End waiting to find out
like the rest of us
When this drama ends.


Don't read yourself into my lines
Read your pain into my rhymes
These are
my words,
For me.


I will show you my pain
And hope from it
something you gain
when you see it
As it is
through my window frame.


Tirelessly I write
to end these
spirited convexations
Whispers of unheard
conversations
The aura around
your presence
May darken my own gold
But what ever I write
I labour alone.


These are
My Words
For me.

My consolation
For skipping through
the Madness of my
Spiritual frustrations.

Can you see me
The way I need you to see?
The way I really am?

With these, that are
my words.
For me.

m
my
my h
my he
my hea
my hear
my heart
my heart s
my heart st
my heart sti
my heart stil
my heart still
my heart still h
my heart still hu
my heart still hur
my heart still hurt
my heart still hurts

motłoch: meaning rabble, disfranchised mob -
                the affix -ch, denoted as a hark -
motłoch* etymology isn't a history:
               młot = hammer
Loch, i gather means congregation,
Haggis or czarna kiszka...
(blackened intestines)...
         there be i to befriend
a Malcolm or a Macbeth -
there i interim dwell:
abiding i, Cnut of the north,
or as some care to say
escaping the ᚠ (the Iron hur!),
    there be lots chosen and every
turn at a choice a roundabout
with ᚠᚨᚱ - ᛝᛟᚱᛞ -
    far             njord            or
                  njordé       - variant softening of consonants
heading toward variant of theta / phi;
                     sigma and south
enigma and epsilon and east,
westward and Y....
                                   there we were confidants in
absolved stresses, and there once more:
revisionists, mavericks,
                                                   befriending
                        frying, flying,
                         flay thru the fathom -
or the she sells sea shells on the sea shore
                      θought: φaθom? luckily it wasn't
              ******, nor condor;
but enough diatribe wording to make lecherous
                             scavengers congregate and feast.
numb numb nibble nibble, pecking yum;
i always loved hyenas,
                      i ascribed foxes to be akin to them,
less grey and more orange...
              but the laughter twinned them together:
and the night really belonged to them,
and i belonged with the night.