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Julian Mar 2019
Flippant polymaths exude the frippery of travail for lapsed inordinate surgical gains in temporal but temporary acclaim that owes its provenance to the gullarge accentuated by the guttural tempests of silent windfalls that wrestle with sharks and snarky cagamosis with pilfered fame without rulers for rules that own the profligacy of a cineaste game

We cannot surpass our talents with ease when the treecheese of inevitable distance between equipoise and insanity is a tantamount inanity of prolixity for the sake of freedom rather than servitude to the slow meandered steps of trudged verbigeration that needs to be exorcised from the seat of authority for the plodding inconvenience of time earned that shakes the listless yearning people who lie and spurn

Demagogues are trifles because they are anoegenetic and care not for the abligurition that consumes the energy of a dismal life lived on fringes rather than reaped with grimaces for binges that continue to absorb the painful pangs of twinges that hedonists are of interest

We cannot exorcise the demons that give stygian weight to exchequers beyond the gamut of money but rather the currency of velocity of thought that owes its weight to weightlessness of spaces between the spacious and the limited tract of isolative territory that many mendicants looking for sustenance travail in insolence and in perjury of their solemn duties for self-serious honesty they lack a vista to see their crimes as more than just a pettifoggery of disputatious wranglers that wrench and then contemn the objects of their moral scruples to contend with nothing but the vacant expanse of a limitless injury for a momentary slip of cultivation and countenance

Frippery is hard to cobble with lapidary wit because succinct grievances are fallow ground for the permanence of atrocity and the temperance of felicity to conform to the desiccated pathways of limpid but livid excoriations of willful ingenuity met with aleatory rambles that sprawl incalescence with words as a dying occupation that is resurrected from the abeyance of its pragmatic utility to distinguish class from crust.

The triadic fatuousness of snarky sharks recruiting the gullarge of paranoiacs to deputized alacrity lead many strident vocations astray as they pilfer the nullibiety of spectral ignorance and defy the gravitas of the primiparas of a swollen technocracy, an outrage that scarecrows with prevenance have adumbrated against with strident accelerations of sublime velocity

So we swim in perilous straits against the demiurge of inclemency in fated rittles for the turpitude of wraiths and engineer every aborning day a new foofaraw of unalloyed atrocity
Now more than never should be deployed to ensure that the castigation of scoundrels and guttersnipes that exert a rip tide to those stranded on the shores of littoral desiccation might find the pristine beachgoing public an amenable treat proffered by exorcised sheepishness in reiterative bleats that quarkswarm only the antinomy of sentient masteries by shoveled civilizations proctor to horological insistence in design

So we designated an abeyance of heydays to create a rippled nostalgia that creeps in the winter storms that singe even glabrous ignorance with the twinges in absentia of the regal crows that circle the sun as the sustenance of the alighted moon as we reach for the heaved Richter teeming with ablution for venial commination of prolix croons that exert a Palo Alto rhyme

Phenomenological fields distal to the cephalocaudal origination of limber and the ironic counterpoint to that strife in excess rather than dearth of the henchmen behind the exchequer showcase that fluid thoughts surpass the limits of the dentistry of cosmetic cosmology simultaneously a scientific boon but a coarse albatross

We are criminals in a world stranded by ****** apostasy because of the sincerity of minstrels meets plodding human ignorance as exemplars rather than the apotheosis of divine excoriation of wastrels and flattybouches who webdoodle their way into the extinction line in some computer file swiped from eccedentesiasts who often in uncouth barbarity forgetfully abide without the temperance of floss

So what are we to make of magisterial wits of wiseacres who pilot tenable objectives like Indiana Jones flexing his comical whip when the gunfire of cacophony inundates our ears with a lisp of cockalorum imposture rich in chewing tobacco and its ungainly gripes and tenacious grip

Should we seek salvation from the treecheese of arboreous terrain amenable to the newfangled windfall of agricultural whims that dare now with caprice but not quixotic disdain to reconfigure the parsimonious levered engagement of melliferous fungible transaction between sabbaticals and chief financiers dubbing the vociferous limn of the primeval fulgurant incandescent ethereal quips?

We strive for palaces issued with dimes, dozens and scores of retinues that retain the patina of sophistry as the gullarge makes the vangermytes cozy in their defensively mechanized citadel buffered against the unheralded malversations of mammon intersecting with primordial chemistry that give the philanderer a guise of philanthropy despite professed gainsay that perjures because hucksters are winsome with fiduciary risk

So we calumniate with lapsed puns and Potter’s Spells as we dredge the indemnity of bustling heydays that extend beyond the bailiwick stated because of the prolonged trace of nostalgia that frazzles our voluntary expeditions with misanthropy as each libertine instinct becomes subject to stop and frisk

How to balk at such a garrulous repartee as proffered by swanky intransigence that shakes it off in a quaky town that hates the Swift refrain that endangers the fatalism of recuperated foresight borrowed from the armamentarium of corrupted killjoys who swim in a dalliance with the itchy myths that drift from powerlessness to voguish debauchery of insouciant internecine fringes frayed by the tomes that decry Stygian drift

Shiftless and rooted in rintinole absolved by plackiques that enchant the voyeurism of repined squalor of industrious frippery deracinated from the aureate complicity of largesse calibrated to mobilize the skittish mercurial yuppies to a dance with divestiture, taxes and an earthen death, we sprint the evergreen mile toward the scrupulous invention of enthusiastic euphemisms arbitrated by the procrustean silt of the leaky faucet of enigmatic timelessness etched by chiselers to beat “Us and Them” and warn the vanguard of the front rank about the thespian rift

Exhaustive rescue squads prepared for the dearth of monetary heft in times of perilous drought denigrate the authors of famine to the indulgent parents of inordinate sabotage of narrative for riskless arbitrage that is the outrage of sciamachies between platonic indifference and the tantrums of the feckless in the dangerous hearth of the cavernous wilderness of limitless imaginations that stagger so far beyond orbit they become satellites to vagrancy and whittled paragons too distant to dissolve in the ethereal chemistry of incalescent uproar sadly flanged by the Dopplers of ephemeral fate

Squandered by the desuetude of a snarky intervention I issue invective at the proctors of deafferented limbs for barbarous swine meeting expediency in demise, bemoaning the placid distaste of rectified cries that issue candles for each acrimony beyond the permutation of the staid inflexible limit of 88’

Bashfully we careen through argosies of curiosity to fossick the stalactites of timeworn intuition and reckon with their converse ironies that drip faucets of mildew that remain hidden unless poked by plucky flashlights to inspect the paragon of erosive filigrees of a bewildering paradox of polarized design that one meets the ceiling at inception and the cousin strives to clamber empty space to know with faint certainty the bulldozed irony of superordinate coexistence

Now we return to the majesty of a spurned wiseacre that evades the snappy parlance of a wrenched friction between the physical and the metaphysical elements that constitute a commensurate reality so supernal that its ostentation creates lifetimes of reiterative growth that spawns crimson red and bloviated blues to find a fulcrum of balance between the malversation on one hand of criminal sinister machinations and on the other hand the execrable self-righteous ignorance of a hidden vehicles of dexterity that are subsumed by a subtlety of legislative graft that owes its forbearance to the sanctimony of perseveration without the laurels of persistence

Now we wed the concepts between the ambidexterity of a monolithic titan who wanes rather than waxes himself because his glabrous head already exposed requires nothing new because the empire that struck back is denuded by the thorny imbroglio of a sunken Rose

Timmynoggies are perfect for haberdasheries of saccharine and glib excellence as measured by the ****** cacophony of unmerited applause that strains the resourcefulness of the silent mastery of magistrates in mellifluous alcoves surrounded by the soundproofed rigors of an execrable dereliction wilt into the imaginations of the few that watch movies with errantry rather than pleasantries of gaudy nonsense enchanted by a striptease of the wanton zeitgeist that some balk at but everyone knows

Time earns the spangled banners of sloganeering because of the fastidious creations of pole folders that maneuver between quips borrowed from antique movies and swindled affectations of yearning of many of all fears inevitable with the malevolent passage of the technocracy from cheers to vehement inveighed jeers

We should fear the watershed because it necessitates the evaporation of winsome ambition and implores the subservience of a guiltless fascination with abominable regress concomitant to the acceleration of money preceding a whipsawed downfall ensured by the funereal spates of requiems to oneironauts who plunged to their deaths on headlong flickering whims past the craggy landscape of lunar concordance and through the abeyance of qualms to flabbergasted self-importance in the eradication of provident fears

Memorials exist encoded in the temporal twinges of agony that straddle the cardiovascular throbs of impermanence that sweat with each simple beat to blather about the repetitious nature of a livid nature scrambled in exodus of the emigration of senseless blather to the subroutines of regimented sleepless paragons of travail in every pedestrian feat accelerated with each passing foot traversed by vigilant and eager feet

Tempests crowd the cluttered hamartithia of dredged incompetence leading to the foreclosure that precedes the simple derelictions that amount to grievous uncertainties that squawk in the plumage of the frippery decay of an autumnal fall from gracile riches landlocked without room to sprawl rigged against every track that is a surefire gleeful keepsake to meet, greet and serenade the claques adorned with the monikers of the Greeks

Trembling beneath the weight of mellifluous sauntering dingy designs that exude the anguish of our provident but incidental remonstration against the plodding indifference of the artistic clerisy we sputter against intransigent annulments of the emotive human engine calibrated with creaky pistons that rumble with furor of abrasive protest in timely haphazard elemental designs for vanguard ears

Tridents shed the fossicked leaves that are divisible by two but not inevitably glue that solders the identities of people congregated around a situation of gleeful sprees rather than wistful regress into a temerity without regret that gets dangled in the purview of the spiteful wings of armies that drawl when they sing vapid songs for vaped bongs but not the soberly cheers because of the deafening din of conformity oblivious of the honorific crescendos that still peak after so many restless years

Confederates line the avenues of bustling caverns of cumulative human disdain so willfully flouted by the wrenched corrosive frictions of vibrant deformation of the cultural narrative that encapsulates the collective bubbles chewed and jettisoned like bandied candy and then defamed without justice because  hurricanes churn up the reclusive emergence of protective vanity chased down as a sunken cost for a siphoned glory of tribal pride despite the strictures of logic

Creeping with insistence is a subaudition of governing gravel that entombs many steadfast lies that embodied people living delusory lives under a paradigm that has been subverted by the feats of science into a morass of irrelevance and the chances are many of those so deluded still breathe the air now more polluted but balk at the memories of the fallen passengers on the convalescent train that accelerates sunblind but respectfully toward a systematic engrossment of swollen intellects whimpering about the tautologic

We finance our prescient rodomontade with rodeos equipped with zany clowns who spurn the tridents of Poseidon because of the iridescent gloss of sheepish and flippant zealots who churn against the wrestling match of televised irony with accentuated eccedentesiastic disdain amended by a tolerable diversion of ennobled gallantry zip-zagging among the many valid quodlibets and missing the mark entirely on purpose to vacate the possible raillery of those who balk at time’s chosen serpentine tracks because of limited pedagogical tracts

So lets solder a forceful brunt against the senseless regalia of modern omphalos and return to the plenipotentiary fields of resourceful human inquiry into the chagrins outmoded by convenience but amplified in vociferation by the prosthetic extension of a grangull humanity outfoxing itself into a zugzwang inevitable in the future with collateral losses because of senseless invidiousness orchestrated by the immiscible dermatology of divisive facts often about race and ineluctable tax

We conclude with the optimism that refineries become gentrified by the superlunary squadrons who bask in beatific beams of anonymity and that the pollution preceding our evolution is just adventitious rather than central to the amelioration of wavy screens ennobling so many upstarts to teach themselves the majesty of lucid dreams and to capitalize on ludic ideals divorced from the urchins of radical idealisms that ironically poach rarefied air with smug pollution of narrative scares

Without trepidation we can muster the largesse of civility to create a progeny that has a recursive progeny of heirs that defiantly imagine a world bereft of specters of the soporific imagination enforced by the lapidation of insight from termagants who stride with ursine acrimony naked bare and envision a global meliorism that is careful, picaresque, pragmatic and filled with meritocratic care

With those ornaments of an aureate measure in mind


We leap beyond the enumerated infinity in time's proper design
Flesh, blood and bone nothing more nothing less
not a name, body pain or past
an organism void of idealisms
with blood rushing through of rivers vein
H2o is the flow of body rain
hearts turn to stone, programed drones
perched above in egoic thrones
break the trend and begin to mend
so all the lost men can transend
join the concousness, the state of aware
purely awakened
twisted vision upside down
occular nerves spin it around
weird to say the least
it kinda makes ya wonder
where the hell are my feets
I seem stuck to ground like some strange beast
a burdon a body an awkward cavity.
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
Just gone into the blue sky cascading
down below into oblivion where
the water is cold, yet ready to douse the fireball
spiralling downwards to outstretched arms.

Think. Before you board.
You. With the warped vision
of life and death and agony.

Nothing will save you from the hell
you have created taking your own brother
and sister into your short circuit
of  idealisms bent and bruised
in the cunning radicalism
of your masters mania.

Just as the stars burn for ever
You too will burn in that endless dynamo
of time unmourned , ungrieved, forgotten quickly.

The waters will not wash away your sins.
You have been baptised in a cauldron of hate.
Go alone. Leave others.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
I remember when you were the very first I encountered
with tainted innocence,
with blood on your cheek,
it made you seem frightened made you seem
meek,
Sent idealisms against hard cement
split into tiny bits
your light had encountered  dark night
or perhaps a few
and I found an understanding
I had never had in you,
I wanted to show you
I understood the sadness
in your somber eyes,
but your softness always made me smile
and I bathed in your broken edges
In your perfect light;
and yearned for your rough finger tips
I slipped into thoughts you revoked
and I thought I could belong
in your sweetness
I learned you yearned for something
I might not posses and confessed to having broken pieces
I jest at scenarios you thought not best
and I  treasured  you, through
time
through distance
I wanted you
my wanting you persisted
and I’m missing you
I have drown in sorrow and broken hearts,
I’ve given way to false start and lost
Bits of myself along this winding path.
I’m broken and had been choking on the
Words you refused to hear
I’ve floated for a good many years,
And I thought I understood the way the world turned,
Until you took my hand
And all of it went still.
I lost my composure , I found my thrill
And my heart still shutters
The rhythm stutters but still
It utters a single word
It says stay
If it had a sentence I know it’d
Say I  sing  for  you.
And I want nothing more than those
Sad somber eyes, your rough fingertips
And all I can’t say could exist if I were just brave enough
To  press  my  lips  to  your  lips.
B R R Dec 2013
Deny the tortured anguish
****** it into fire
Push back cold fingers
Shield the silver soul
Encase the weary mind
In silky membrane
Cast sinister idealisms
Beyond purgatory's depths
Triumphant shouting
Silenced by false night
Discovery is a curse
Identity is corrupt
Engage the mental flood
And with silence, engulf
Bianca J Cortez Jun 2014
Here you go.
I am devoid of hatred, of anger and of idealisms.
Here you go.
I give you my vulnerabilities as a gift.
Mend me if you will; If you can.
I can give you nothing in return but the revelation of life.
Strip down my walls; I am surrendering.
Let me bare my naked soul to you, my comrades.
Dondaycee Feb 2019
Every shred of tear; wipe away,
Pleasure in pain/hideaway,
There’s no need, for we have died before.

Projections erased him, they erased her; there is no me...

May we resurrect in the belief that we are ourself,
May we protect what we hate before we yet again damage our health I speak of poison,

-We see the same picture, the difference is in words,
Be idealistic, be a facet, be a verb;
We never created movies to be seen;
Moving pictures express terms unheard,

It started with love, it transmuted to hate, undisputed we reputed it fate, conceiving idealisms that uprooted from grave; polluted minds but in time we refuted/we changed; forgive, accept, remember, create...

Old cycles were never mistakes,
They were waves of frequencies that propelled us back straight,
Back towards a time in which all are gay.
The sound of urban sprawl, the music
of a soul’s vocally verbose interruption.
Caged thoughts, poetic justice, frequencies
of lethargy laced between headphones,
a reverberating ocular clarity.

Invasive odors spoil the mood, as pavement
digests this single protein of synthesized
might. Provoked to quit, but it’s the
intensity of the fight tantalizing, and
intriguing this winged warrior of
thought. To soar, no glide, no slide,
no, to enter his incoherent sound with
those of the other thousands striking
paved aspirations with each nonchalant
gate.

A boy on a bike,
A cops whining siren,
the noise of societal music,
a muffled shuffling, caged
for clarity the tinker thinks.
They hustle to their next destination.
Asking for no names,
and forgetting without hesitation.
A contagious infection;
due process, or natural selection?
A side of life soiled by repetition,
a constant selfish sense of volition.

Cancerous tentacles engulfing
every dendrite, synapses, memory,
idea, and thought; engaged in a
battle for recognition. A collective
competitive selective process, the
individual lost.  Where arbitrary
idealisms shape reality with another
drive by fatality. A place where calls
for leaders echo from alley ways, and
side street short cuts, are answered
with the pounding stampede of feet
trying to finish their own race.
Landscapes stained by the blood
of our advancement. Large sores
**** forth, every sign points to a purging
of us, but we continue to swear the
canvas unfurls further.

Our social institutions are accented with
the angst of our young. Taught to keep
the motion monotonous, take no time
to examine the subjects, while the lesson
forgets them. Modern man’s call for
mercy, but it’s advancement; of product,
proper conduct, that keeps the conduit
subservient. Just another burnt out fuse,
standing along with millions of others, the
working  control center of a self defeatist
organism I call urban sprawl.
El Oct 2018
I long to be ever present
Leaving an iredescent trail
Of hope
passing time with self reflection
Apathetic idealisms
Lived,  having longed for grandeur
Died,  having harbored resentment
A day passes with mediocre happiness
A night dawns with dysmorphic sadness
Lay with me from dusk till early morning bleakness
Find me alone and cold
Truth be told
Mateuš Conrad May 2022
502 bad gateway:

title: left-over meat
body:
left-over: d'ah beat!
boom! Chloe wadies in
the hizz dep.
shout the harem chant
out loud!


in the full stare of the sun i sometimes feel like
the music dictates to me:
somewhere between Julian Winding's neon
demon and anything by Boy Harsher:
country girl e.p. / the song pain...

for the first time in my life my grandmother didn't
call me up to wish me a happy birthday...
i was always of the impression: cringe...
i don't like to be awarded anything: esp. when
it's a given: it's not ******* accomplishment...

i can remember having about 3 birthday parties
in my life...
one where i screamed: i'm afraid i'm afraid
for having to pop off the cork of a make-shift
non-alcoholic champagne bottle:
which i later spilled onto the glass table
and started slurping it like a dog...
like: a dog...
whereby i heard the prompt:
Matthew! we don't drink from the table!

what was the surname of those two boys?
Zawacki... no no... Ostarek... that's ******* *******...
i just made that surname up...
Ostatek! yeah... those boys...
i bashed one of them months later and
ripped off this crucifix: geld necklace...

one other party in a bowling alley...
whatever...

my 21st? oh sure... sure... that was "great" too!
i had to manage the crowd
and also deal with a jealous girlfriend
tightly knit in her spider-web of jealousy
smoking marijuana in my bed...
wanting everyone to leave:
because she couldn't stand me getting any
sort of attention...
then my high-school friend whom i invited
to stay over with three other high-school friends...
drinking too much...
vomiting outside the toilet on the carpet:
me... having to clean it up...

Jesus could have washed feet!
**** Jesus! i was cleaning up puke!
   to hell with that sociopath!
            hell: i'll grow my hair long if i have to
be missing a towel... i'll wash feet from dust...
you want to take care of
a, a Roman **** feast of bulimia?!

and why is it, that i don't celebrate my birthday?
a bit pointless...
now that my grandmother stopped giving a ****:
my maternal grandmother...
my paternal grandmother i don't even know
what she looks / looked liked...
she abandoned my father so she abandoned me...

woo boo hoo: who hurt you?!
   no one...
         that's why i go and visit prostitutes
to relax my heart...
like my maternal grandfather said to me once:
make sure to keep your heart small:
then you'll have people in the clench
of your fist...
              
              that's of course when...
my maternal grandmother phoned me two days
prior to my grandfather's death and told me:
oh... he's about to die...
2 years later... ah... the anaesthetic is finally
kicking in... for me!
   she's dead already...
3 ******* months prior i was sitting with him...
getting private dental treatment
because... England is a place where you
find: the non-existence of teeth!
people just slurp pre-digested proteins and
other assortments of shakey-shakey:
vegan "milk"-shakes...

             i managed to find... karl ove knausgaard's
alternative project after his magnum opus...
my struggle, i.e. Autumn...
  that part about eating the entire apple...
with the core... i sometimes do... whenever i feel
like eating an apple... rarely i stopped feeling
it was necessary to eat apples...

it's so much more simple when...
   you have issues with... your grandmother...
than... say... a past girlfriend...
so much... simpler...
               because the "misogyny" is not so...
harsh... so... obvious... sexually related...
   no no... it's... subtle... it's more on the level of:
distinction: i'm a man... and you're... a woman...
let's compare...
it's not like i want the stereotypical antagonism
of misogyny of: i want to **** this woman
but she doesn't want to **** me...

oh no...

oh look, who's here? Sylvester ******* Stallone...
i can be proud of my cat...
maybe it's just me...
   moo... he actually ******* moos and there's
the moon and i want a simple meow
but... after a certain hour when the foxes run
rampant i don't want to let him out:
but he wants to go to the toilet...
meows like Sylvester ******* Stallone speaks...
i have to chase him into his cuvette
whereby he... d'uh... decides to leave me
a doughnut's worth of **** in those flakes
associated with cat-litter...

he actually needs me to watch him urinate...
so i can immediately clean it up and
he doesn't have to bother with the "hide the evidence"(!)
side project...

moments later... Sylvester ******* Stallone:
meows like moos like the final speech
in the boxing ring of Rocky... it's doing my head in...
i go back up... number 2... with a slight tease
of diarrhoea... now i have to clean up...
and wash the ****** up...

i look at him now: lying in my bed...
sort of happy-proud that he has an owner that takes
care of him...
if only i had a child... eh... i sometimes wish...
but as a Mary Shelley experiment...
oh no... not with a partner...
i'd like an experiment as a male: not a single mum...
that must be fun...
you can play around with language...
morph, mutate... it would be...
then again no: people have their own agency:
young people succumb to peer pressure..

- but it's different now...
   oh who hurt you? who? might ask some "future girlfriend":
ah ha ha...
my grandmother did...
she told me only two days prior of my grandfather
and best friend being dead...
but she knew he was deteriorating a month prior:
and i had all that spare time on my hands:
i could have cared for him!
fishing trips! climbing trees! horse riding trips!
foraging for mushrooms! sure...
he did drink! that's all she remembered...
he drank because of her!
trips to the metallurgy plant!

i've learned my lesson: money's on the table...
i can only be gentle with prostitutes...
or let's put it this way...
whatever violence was performed on prostitutes
in past centuries... esp.: notably in England in
the 19th? that's *******, gone!
that's done and over and... gone... ****!
gone...

i couldn't harm a *******...
whenever i visit: i don't visit her for lies...
if she wants to say some truths most women are afraid
to say: fair enough...
i'm there to ****...
like i go to a butcher's for a pound of cool, red, raw,
Tartar... beef!
like i go to a florist for a bouquet of tulips...
i'm not there for some ***** **** latex suit gimp
fetish ***!
   i'm not saying that's wrong:
but like i already said:

once you walk through the desert of ***, less, -ness
long enough: you stop being thirsty...
and it doesn't matter whether you ******* or don't...
i tried both avenues...
you are simply turned off...
or rather: prompted by cues from animals...
pigeons do it too often... on rooftops...
you need a female cat and groom her while
she raises her **** of an *** with her nail
wriggling toward your nose...

that's how i was woken from my slumber...

it felt so good not hearing and good wishes on
my birthday from my grandmother...
for once! finally! i'm freed from that superficial *******!
i didn't accomplish anything by being born!
so why the **** would i celebrate this day?!
sure... it's nice when it's covertly celebrate:
no chores around the house...
no cooking... some champagne... fair enough...
but... oi oi! gather round! friends! family!
what a load of crock-****!

- today i was curating my eucalyptus tree..
cutting excess branches...
not a bad beginning... i'll be keeping the CROWN
of the tree... let it grow higher! higher!
but i'll need to cut off the branches outgrowing
sideways...

while doing just that... i was prompted
by a memory at "work": the first and probably the last
time a **** tried to work around me:
instruct me... "tell me off":
became angry with me...
     all of this is of course in my head:
what's outside is usually cordial, formal...
she said: you're not supposed to be here!

i should have said: and you should stop being
so confused, pretending to be macho!
why be ******* with me while at the same time
wanting to **** me!
******* ****: macho ****** are a massive
turn off... turn off the lights
and i still would do doggy dodge-style...

i have an ego of an iron maiden in my head....
it's all nice, politeness on the outside...
in the shallows of a veneer...
dig a little bit deeper and i'm savage...
today i proved that to myself...

it would have been so much different if i were
that stereotypical male hurt by his ex-girlfriend...
sorry, girl... that spot is taken...

so while i was curating my eucalyptus i was also
rummaging in my garden...
this poor apple tree... infested with parasites...
it's in ******* plain sight!
a bit like seeing the parasite mistletoe!

people hide, when cancer attacks: but trees are
in plain sight...
i don't even know what attacked it...
fruits about to blush further up...
but further down... these *******... critters!
these... aphids... i don't even know...
                                        coccoidea?

i don't care... i didn't... dearest mother was supposed
to spray these ******* off...
no... can't wait... i know a better procedure...
i'll just cut off the infested branches off...
and i did... threw the cut-off branches into a bag...
sealed it: now! suffocate!

i hate to see a suffering tree...
i guess: more than seeing a suffering animal,
more than a suffering human being...
because... trees... are mute!

so Edward Secateurs came into play...
no... no need to wait for spraying these ******* off...
i'll just cut off the branches infested...
put them into a bag: suffocate them...
cut off their live supply...
       i will embrace a rat...
vermin: king of the hierarchy balance...

i still don't understand why it's almost, somehow:
oh so, "normal"...

i think i idealised women once upon a time,
that's why i allowed myself to love them...
within the confines of a prescribed narrative...
my heart's too small to love like
a teenage boy, ever again...
i idealised women once upon a time...
after all: once upon a time there was
a once upon a time that was spread infectiously
like a cognitive-pandemic...

if i were to replicate my fish-dinosaur genes
any time soon... eh? too many complications...
potatoes cost too much:
i don't feel like driving or owning a car...
i don't want to extend the misery...
or pursue it in a linear fashion...
    i better be dressed for a vertical take-off...
white shirt, black tie, blak shoes...
                  black trousers, bye-bye...
oh... right... some underwear would be nice...

i figured it out though...
i'm not lonely: i'm longing...
that's the crux of the debate:
no one is truly alone... no one feels lonely...
lonely is sick... it's a sickness... it's parasitical...
i figured it out...
not now... some hours prior....
i'm... longing... i am prone to project vague:
idealisms on people... it's a sort of a 2nd reminder
of Romanticism...
i'm longing... wow! even i'm astounded!

ich bin sehnsucht! i am longing!
that's my only counter: when people try to make the distinction
between being lonely and being alone...
me? i'm simply: longing...
it's what drives me forward...
that does not give me exacting coordinates of
existence... in situ / in vivo / in vitro...

i need: ich brauchen bewegung!
i need movement!

for sure: polite societies: salon societies once
need rhymes and piano / violen concertos to
entertain the ladies to be a better: ****...
but... no...
talk is cheap... art is cheapest...

those botanical parasites attacking my apple tree
sure as **** got their worth's worth...
i almost cried with joy cutting the infested
branches off... stuffing them into a plastic bag...
sealing it... hello gas chambers two-point-oh!
unless any willing vegans might want to
change, their minds, any? any?!

well then... limb by limb we go.

— The End —