Bad jokes, strong opinions, attention ****** galore
Brown nosing, over-reacting, annoying and more
Glorifying their actions, they're very self-centered
Extremely sheltered with no sense of adventure

Striving for A's and everyone knows it
But they have a big mouth, and they need to close it
They think there's a big conflict between AP and IB
But they can't just make friends, from what I can se

High school won't determine your life, wake up
One bad grade won't make you start begging from a cup
They think they're always right, and will never agree
But they're bound by ignorance, and will never be free.

70% of them really grind my gears
But I'm only here for one more year.

I saved another planet today.
(superhero)
I am kind of like Batman,
because I don't have any super powers.
I'm just a super nova.
I'll outshine all of these galaxies.
I could be your shock wave.
If only it weren't for these black holes...

.and what if the referendum was secured, by the single vote, if it was predicated on: only and only if, there's a 60% consensus... the current debate is taken place, because the consensus is, extremely marginal... we're talking about fringe politics, outlier political opinions... the the remain vote is argued with the same verocity as the leave vote... for the benefit of outlier opinions... if only there was a predicate: it will be passed... as long as there's a 10% difference between the votes... 51.9% for leave to 48.1% for remain, of the country having voted... if only the whole point of voting, was akin to the "ancient" enforced tactic of drafting men to serve in the army... 67.7% voting areas voting to leave... 32.3% voting to remain... yeah... the "obscure" parts of england... with scotland, clearly being an anomaly with regards to "obscure" rural regions... should the argument come: concentration of power, in urban babylons.

someone should, really, really try to remaster
that vague piece of work

                       that pristine rhythm
    section: notably on the song bite now bite
from the album
          eat your heart out -
                              by... a belgian band:
of all bands... it had to be, belgian...
  ******* choccies (KLINIK) -
   oh look, an intra-racial slur...
                                                     chocolatiers...
because what would be fun:
  if language was plain, safe,
                                                      in vitro:
and not the islam to the individual -
   whenever: i, am to submit,
                     to the language of the other?
well obviously malice is reserved
for something else, but not for breathing,
thinking or feeling,
   or for that matter:
     the "problem" of idle hands...
itchy hands...
               i guess some of the throng,
of the volk: chatter chatter chatter...
    bite... chew... but then forget to
swallow... (sow s-, s-, swo-, swo-...
'the **** an A charge in, eh?
                                     i guess, that's how).

but no one
likes to see
narrow
verse
likening it
to the Milan
fashion
show
catwalk

                               and all those poems
that look like this:

|begins here


               (no
      move-
                                 -ment
                 in
               between)


|ends here:

|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
|­zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
|can anyone please tell me...
   why zee / zed:
              is a conotation
                        depicting the process of sleep?

and all this nonsense:
                   england is spelled with
a capital: who says it's anywhere but london?
E this, E that,
    E sat on a wall
       and...
                    didn't fall accidently...
i know a rat when i see one...
   Nigel, Nigel (see... capital N,
implies emphasis, like italics or a colon
does)
       Nigel... can you please bring back
your fwend, Dawid?
                     just a few questions...
2 and a half 'ears lay'ter...
   and... no end in sight...
to those loitering... shuffling their feet...
how many votes do you actually need...
when there was only one
                     for die volk
- and i have to admit...
       it was close...
                roughly                      51 to 49...
i know why they voted leave...
           because of the people who poured
in, most, probably momentarily
back in 2004...
                              the people who were
taught two, of 20th century's prime lessons,
by foreign entities...
               arbeit macht frei
               und?
                        communism.

         so no laid-back work ethic coming
with the windrush, was there?
                    conflict of interests...
**** it, if i were strapped to a caribbean
island, i'd have a laid back work ethic:
                             ka-reeb-ib-ean.

yet still this whole blah blah debate...
          like... let's forget the good friday
agreement...
   but finally...
            we can have the old terrorists back...
so...
            maybe the IRA will
                  out-compete the jihadis?
or at least scare them?
  or... dunno...
                                            ol' Jack...
ol' Jackie boy'o will: simply...        unravel?
am i rooting for it to happen?
no...
                            but it would suggest
that i'm rooting for being part of
                a historical event,
                            like the treaty of versailles...
or the weimar rep.,
                            and i was the voice
on the bottom,
               sifting through
                     eclectic ambitions to find:
culture that will never become
mainstream...
                                           almost
forever destined for the: archaic archive,
now forever the footstuff
                            of the gargantuan a.i.:
alternatively known as a.i.p.:
                   artificial intelligence purgatory.

- hey, i can't compete,
    i'm just a kid that forgot to bring
his crayons, and instead brought
   some matchsticks and toothpicks.

if only: 2 years prior to the referendum
they had a plan...
   but they thought they could do
a joker trick,
         so there you have it: agent of chaos...
agent of chaos says:
  people, 1 vote, politicians?
         an infinite number of votes by
the looks of it...
                  voting is not reserved
for the people, de facto,
                       given:
we now have a strange despot on our
hands... der volk...
                    what a strange monster...
was i leave or remain?
   neither, considering that i ended up
drinking to stay somewhat sane
for the past... oh... 10 years...
    on debit...
                well... why would i even
consider drinking into the excesses of
phantasmagoria              on credit?
that would be stupid, as stupid didn't.

in summary: to minor points...
    i can understand why people don't like
poetry...
                                                 porcelain...
or the fact that their everyday language
is already peppered with poetic techniques...
figuratively speaking...
                   akin to:
   where does the technique of poetry
end, and the comedy begin?
                     yeah, that: "not literally" part?

who would mind:
   it's not an elitist "thing" to like or dislike
a medium...
                 i like the "breathing" space in
the optics... of... the never to be seen
                              literary paragraph...
i like cascades...
                         paragraphs are sometimes
a strain on the eyes...
like watching really fast cars
zoom past you on a very small race-track...
**** just gets dizzy...

.......................................................­........ (click)
.........................................................­........ (click)
.........................................................­.......... (click) etc.

hence?
           well on the up-side...
once you've read some magnum opus...
say... the cantos...
    for some strange reason...
you can sit back, listen to some choccie
music from the underground...
open the book...
   and just stare at the poetry...
    without having to reread anything...
a bit like...
                  a painting...

                                    sure as **** you
can't do that with a novel,
      with its rigid, cluster-**** of a descriptive
paragraph: she said, he said,
then another descriptive paragraph:
he said, she said...

               as much as i love novels...
  give me a poetics of a framework of freedom,
or a philosophical monologue
    by some helmut
    (german) - oh look...
     another intra-racial slur...
    helmuty: germans...
                  derived from?
              helmut kohl -
                    german chancellor 1982 - 1998;

ah... what an enriching experience.

YES. my simple biceps are purring perfectly slick immobile death
rictus wearing skulls. i needle my flesh and ink it and make it pretty

                      the smiling violence of my triceps
          bulge distended arcs of fists. ladling terrifically through stale
                             air mingling vibrant vibrations

calm tigers of effortless dream making darkness my arms dance and
jolt pleasurably and every body loves
               the infliction of their splendid pain;they roar and combust
suddenly at the night crafting carpals imbued to my wrists
jouncing and blustery voices thrash from throats

             they love it

they love it        they love it

       i
'll do it some more

The mere reason for your existence
is unknown.

The pathetic fallacy which always seems
to counter your feelings.

The mistrust you hold
in your own friends.

That feeling you get when you know
you ******* up.

The "fake smile" you try to keep on to mask
those ugly scars.

Those secrets
you put on Tumblr.

The moment when you give up and say
"I don't really care."

The time early in the morning when you realize
you can't finish.

The (many) opportunities you could've taken
but tragically and regretfully missed.

“English is a beautiful language,
a remarkably precise language
with a million words to choose from to deliver
your exact shade of meaning.”
- Laura Fraser


How clear, varied
and accurate.
How appropriate:
the choice of register,
style and terminology.
(Register: the use of elements such as
vocabulary, tone, sentence structure and terminology
appropriate
to the commentary.)

Language is clear, effective,
carefully chosen and precise,
with a high degree
of accuracy
in grammar, vocabulary and sentence construction;
register and style are effective and
appropriate
to the commentary.

If I crossed the street I would've been in the district with all the black kids
I begged my mom to take me there.
If I crossed the street I wouldn't have gotten IB
I wouldn't have gotten the prestige
That I thought everyone deserved
Saving me almost a year of college
And money like a scholarship.
If I crossed the street I wouldn't, as much, question my identity.
I wouldn't be single and question my beauty through white eyes
I would learn how to answer questions in class without feeling my white peers lying their eyes on me to see if the black girl could get it.
If I crossed the street I wouldn't be the only black girl in my classes.
If I crossed the street I wouldn't have to feel like MLK day was my job to announce according to my substitute teacher.
Because you know what week it is! Well of course you know girl.
If I crossed the street I would've been with my black brothers and sisters
Rather than trying to find my black experience in my white friends
But I didn't cross the street.
Maybe it took a bit longer to learn to love my black because of that.
But today I love myself
No matter what border I reach
And who disclaims or proclaims my authenticity.
I love my black self.
Maybe I wasn't supposed to cross the street

Lets go back in time a bit.
Come on in here. Come and sit.
Do not mind my musty wraps.
I will not sell them for snow caps.

Now you all think I'm a fake.
Here's some candy for you to take.
I am, in fact, so very real.
You and I can make a deal.

This is what I'm thinking of.
Little Lady, little dove.
I will tell you all about.
How I came here with no doubt.

All it cost is just one thing:
All you three must do is bring,
Me a steamy cup of tea.
Go on. Hurry off you three.

Ah, I see you all are back.
In this tea its strength does lack.
But that really is no matter.
Let us stop with all this chatter.

Let us go way, way back when.
Parts of us were Ib and Ren.
Sheut the shadow, Ba is me.
Ka, my life force. Mine you see...

Ib the heart and Ren the name.
Not one of us is the same.
Most my soul parts have not changed.
But my Ka has… rearranged.

Haha! I came back to life.
With a bone, some blood, a knife.
I shall walk till Hallow’s Eve.
Then will leave you all to grieve.

Do not run dear little girl.
Let me pat your tiny curl.
I will not hurt you all right now.
I’ll take my leave, here’s my bow.

But just watch out on Halloween.
I do love hearing small girls scream!
Goodbye now. But watch your back.
I warn all those with wits that lack…

the soul of a writer can be found
in words
s cr
ib
b led on
crumplednapkins -- like horcruxes--
when sleep feels like a far off dream (when people watch you, wondering if you are strung out on coke while you scratch words on these thin sheets of paper in restrauntsbarscoffeshops
half
mad
eyes glassy)
in discernible handwriting comparable
to some
primitive
hieroglyphics-- a language of voices in your head and dreams too vivid
they can be found on the backs of hands
and journals
and popcornbags
when nightlights are too dim in the early hours of insomnia
and moonlight is obscured by curtains
in drinks like london fogs
and ***** chais
and black coffee
and black tea
in packs of empty
American Spirits
and half-full (empty) gas tanks
and piles of books that will never be read that will be re-read and quoted
and tweed scarves and
empty journals and chipped nail polish
in dead pens and phones
in unanswered texts, emails, messages
and unrequited love
their souls can be found in the
stained
bottoms of coffecups
and sticky shot glasses
and wine glasses (some still half full of cheap
redwhitezinfadel
because rent is hard to pay
when no one wants to
read words
scribbled on the back of a napkin

He was a soldier
who did not carry
a weapon.
Yet she could feel
a thousand bullets
pierce through
her heart.

- n. ib

Ah,
how sweet
was his sword;
dripping with
honey,
he so gently
stabbed it
in her back
sliding like
a velvet rose,
it left her
in ecstasy,
that even in this
poisoning pain
she could taste
a piece of heaven.

- n. ib

Well, you'll pobablly be in another womans arms in the years to come
but that doesnt faze this thing
welling
that runs through the tunnels and the funnels of this heart
my love
because it gives me conviction when you are weak
it gives you the loving that you seek
and yours
like chemistry
it gives me the wish fullfillment, the dream I'd always wanted to meet
you are my sorrows dry
the tear drops from tears
separated from thier highest fate
transmuted from young coal to old gold
you bring something with you
with that pride welled up in your heart
ike a wise kind serpant
that only seeks to help
only seeks to pleasre it self
to helping me
and those who are comming
you have the ancients in those eyes
considerable, and powerful
they recognize the same power inside
me
I didnt need your acknowledgment for it to be here
but without it
I wouldnt be here
it would die whith te last morsels of my heart
to a kindly but devious part
Ive been called from the old story books, then
when the gods were our best of friends
but now I am here
in a world that is no longered catered to
because of fear
the children are blind and weak
and recognition, friendship wa all that I really ever seeked
with shoulder bones of gold
you reached into me
and saw something old
saw something untouched by the hardships that has the power to turn something beautiful
decreppid and old
not that Ib havet
havent felt the shiver of the cold
by my own small fraction of foolishness
because I listened to what this life had shown
but all the while I thought of you
even while others ran me through
this same kindness isnt wasted on you
it gives me great pleasure to do
all of this for you
because you dont look down on me
yu see yoursef in my glee
and I see a young god
with a youthful nourished body from the glitters its mind contains
like a wise stag, you've lived your ife as not to shame
the wisdoms and truth carried in your name
you make love to me
my wounds you clearly see
My lovliness dare not loosen themselves from me
my spirit is wise
and its beauty
its heart
its demise
but I am safe with you making love from behind my thighs
I am recognized for the creature I really am
not the kind to still be walking the land
but with your face in mine
my eyes flicker with a hope, completely consolidated

by your firm touch

your firm kiss

upon my soft halo

we are

the same creature

Understanding......
He looked at her
breathing calmly
She gazed hurtfully into
His green-brown hazel eyes
saying nothing of the lie he was hiding.

The truth was she had already knew

Forgiveness.......
She wanted to forgive him
Needed to believe  the lies
He spoke softly
whispering silken words
as He confessed

He'd never betray her trust again.

Another lie..........
She breaks  down intensely
yet silently
Her souls cracked
Her hearts in pieces
He has no clue.

Ashamed........
His touch scorches her skin
as He placed His lying
hands upon her arm

Unyielding.......
His deceit cages Her in
She'll never be the same
His game is to concur Her
undoing Her with His words like fist
He's pounded her into
submission over and over again
She lives only for his bidding.

Life's gone.......
The bottles empty
Jack Daniels and hydro-co-done
with a few Ib-profane 800 mls
Drowning in a pool of her own blood-
wrist cut.

Dying..................
She fished what the pills may not have
She cradles her womb knowing no life with
be brought fourth
because tonight She
finally had enough
abuse
and
LIES!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright (c) Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved

briano allaino at jupiter moon





hi everyone, and welcome to the jupiter moon

here is my first song

i am getting mighty sick of you in my head

it’s like your eating honey with a big slice of breat

i am mighty sick of you  

please leave me alone, you are driving me crazy oh yeah mate yeah

please get the crap of my head

why can’t you except that i wanna move on oh yeah oh yeah

why do you take pride ib being a big man oh yeah oh yeah

you see i don’t believe is stress

you see i hate people in my head

treating me like a little shy boy to life, well i am not

you see i hate being called a freak, cause i am not

i think people who calls people freaks are jealous of all the fame you’ve got

i hate people trying to make my stomach itch

yeah mate yeah, yeah it’s a crazy twitch

i am not a freak, i am a family person, who loves life

you see, i hate when people try and protect me by being the little cool kid, teasing me

till i get off the computer, i hate people teasing me till i get off the computer

that day will never come, cause i am a computer **** kid any old how

please mate get your big man treating me like a cool kid, out of ya body

cause you are the biggest phoney around, my mate, you think it’s cool

and now here is my next song

hi, actually mate, you are doing exactly what we want, you are putty in our hands

your still getting teased, and i still hate you, so ******* freak

i told that guy to leave me alone, ****** isn’t the answer

you will end up in prison

and then he let off a big frown saying, you are not a man, you are too woosey to be a man

and as i wrote this, he thinks i am putty and i hate that

you see, i can’t stand his voice in my head, saying that i am a little girl

because he knows my brother was treating me like a cool kid, and my friend wanted to geek and treat me like a cool kid as well

you see he will go yeeeah, saying quickly brian be like me, before they tease you

because brian, you are too nice to be in any situation people put you in

and now you end up helping in a homeless shelter and cook them a really nice meal, it sounds so great

and my mate said, you are doing what we want you to do

and then we move off to the club, you see, what is happening, the man, is treating me like a little girlie

as if to say, yo, your still a little cool kid, buddy

you are too shy to be like us, and he said

i know what ya doing mate, but your still like me, your still like me your still like me

you see, i am not a phedaphile, i was having problems, and only a rich arrogant ***** will treat me like a phedaphile

so, little dude, if you stay up, till i get sick of the computer, you’ll be waiting a long time

cause computers are ever so much fun, more fun with listening to your voice without doing nothing

you see as i am writing this, i hear the kids say, come on, get off the computer

get off the computer, ya stinking ****** old fogie

and i said, i will get off this computer when i am good and ready and not a moment earlier

you see the written forces are pushing down on my arms saying only family people do that brian

yeah, i am a family person who loves life

you see my mate patrick is lying all over his couch saying, come on brian muck with me

i said, i am not mucking with you while you are being a crazy person pushing your man into my body

please, mate please mate leave me alone ya written kid, ask the shy ****  and he lives in wanniassa oh yeah

i don’t believe in violence anymore, that doesn’t make me a woosey, noseree

ok that was it, now i will tip a methane smoothie on dad, and patrick tips a methane keg all over me

and i told everyone I AM NOT A HOOLIGAN, I AM A FAMILY PERSON, who loves technology