Whilst installed in the Blackhouse,
RumputiN's and vlad the impaler's latest
craven political attack on the military,
Against Admiral McRaven, who headed up
the capture of Osama, is just more raving.
This is clear to everyone since they,

the bi-headed underworld crown of
the bipolar axi of global supposed power,
RumputiN, republican capitalist materialists,
vlad the impaler, totalitarian socialist
materialists, put our military on TX's SE
border with Mexico, even though the "caravan"
which was 40 days away, was projected
to be arriving at the SW part instead,

A political stunt to get republican politicians
between 1/2 and 1 % more votes in the Midterms,
While it worked for the criminal gaining of votes,
The military is doing next to nothing there,
And should be allowed home by Thanksgiving.
Meanwhile, Trumpler said, the "Admiral didn't
do so well, since it took so long to capture
Bin Laden", when it was king george and his ****,
cheney, who ordered Osama to be allowed to escape
from Bora, Bora to Pakistan for safe keeping in

Abbottabad, "5 miles S. of Pakistan's Westpoint".  
You see, Bushs and Bin Ladens had been in business
for decades, and in the M.E. business is thicker
than blood, Bush could no more **** Bin Laden than
he could his own flesh and blood.  It's well known
that he received wedding invitations to Osama's kids
weddings, etc., for years, so, Trumpler blaming
McRaven and O'bama, when they caught him in the 2nd year
of his Presidency, is just more precious examples of our
king kong sized terrible two's use of 1st conclusion,
superficial, linear thought stragedy to attack everybody,
in attempts to silence, cower most if not All, in vain.

These attacks by Trumpler are also misdirections, to take
the news cycles off: his party's extreme losses and evident
voter crime they did, like in GA, where Abrams "couldn't
concede in her Governor's race for that would mean it was
proper...", it wasn't because Gov. Elect Kemp determined that
"...it wasn't a free, fair election, ...democracy failed in GA".
Also, his illegally installing Whitaker, a criminal the FBI is
investigating, to acting Attorney General, to preside over the
Mueller investigation (cover-up for: it doesn't use the RICO act
and asked for him to answer a take home test months ago, he
hasn't even handed in yet, while "...We(e),...", got our last
take home tests in 1st grade).  As well as his wasting a 1/2 a
billion of your tax $ on further militarization of our S. border.
His false, lame attacks against democratic leaders are unending.

On the letter by 16 democrat politicians who signed onto "the
leadership fight against Pelosi (for the republicans), Ocasio-
Cortez, Elect, says, "what's the point of changing just to...,
we might get a more conservative leader, for signers aren't diverse,
14 are male, very few people of color, progressives aren't signing."
I agree, why would the non-repubs get rid of their strongest
political leader going into impeachment time and 2020?  The supposed
left said "Hillary wasn't perfect", and helped to install him, when,
if you didn't vote Hillary you voted for the bi-headed, RumputiN/vlad
the impaler, head of the global oligarchy and bi-polar global axi of
supposed power to dictate the extermination to extinction of humanity,
large mammals, for the corp structure's convolution's devolutionary
direction + 'la machine''s, sociological programming (machining) human
(into not) being, individually, which is the social challenge of our
day, as the convolution's dictating cult of personality is almost all
and the socialist's extemist lie that "there's no reality without
their agreement", is the political one.  Don't be undone, be one well.

Vlad was not a happy man.
In fact,
he was so unhappy,
so full of rage,
he impaled
just about everybody
he met.

it's almost beautiful, we created the thing called
money, in order to turn tribalism
into a myth of Eden (alone, stark naked) -
          it's almost as if we deviated from
creating it and asking for family values,
            but never got them,
       i'm trying to imagine a Russia where
Rasputin wrote a book
that might have resounded with Nietzsche's
ubermensch - but thankfully precipitated into
world war i & ii... fancy the interlude:
a cold war i, now the cold war ii...
you should be happy, to be honest, it's the best
status quo you'll ever get...
but **** me, 1970s disco craze: even i'm
like Mozart-who?
               a little notebook, and my getting
drunk thoughts in it, funny how drink intellect
knows all too well about the: diminished responsibility
white flag -
              as with the **** chokes come the
drunk-and-writing-a-poem jokes,
                                i'd say blame Al Capone!
you know how many diacritical distinctions i could
insert into that surname? diacritical marks
are ulterior forces at-be when all punctuation goes
*******, not sentences, but words -
Cá       ponè - cockney slang Capone on the phone:
        we had fun: because you really don't say
Cáponé like you might say a torero's olé, do you?!
me? i find it grand to paint syllables with
diacritical marks, i mean: it's not even a blank canvas,
shame the semi-colon isn't minded in distinction,
but still, i already know that poets are scared of
punctuation, hence breaking the lines and not
engaging in a paragraph... tying shoelaces seems about
fine when it comes to modern poets,
talk about knitting jumpers, or scarfs by grannies -
sold as doing that same activity on shredded wheat cereal:
- = a hanging pause (suspense);
       , = necessary pause (or the expected
in a rhythmic cyclone);
   then i say to all my would be assassins:
you'll be doing me a massive favour, to be honest.
at times it really is the age of trusting entertainers
and not the media and certainly not the politicians -
it's almost stating the obvious.
i was in St. Petersburg for a month, and every time
i wanted to go to a danceclub to dance she refused me....
me and my naiveness in thinking that people could
actually be seduced by good...
      i don't mean being exposed to a tsunami
among the other elemental congregations of Shiva
there goes my belief in people being good to each other...
shoom! gone... bye bi!
(origins of dyslexia? maybe).
                                 she took me to the opera and
she started her snarling condescending approach to
the new-rich girls in the next booth...
     **** me, relationships leave me so ill-equipped
i actually find it staggering that i had any...
                 i must have been really naive in believing
that people could do good that i ended up
   a hermetic pessimist or misanthrope -
i never expected to be one, or share the juices of such
a calibration of humankind:
but it's funny how a movement overstates the cartesian
sum and never the cogito,
and when you by chance encounter the actual cogito
organising a movement, you represent nothing
representative of the movement's sum,
because the cogito is actually so staggeringly
divergent from being affiliated to the (e.g.)
         French revolution's guillotine locomotive.
when utilising only one hand in writing?
a black notebooks is written into at a rhombic degree,
yep, slant.
        i have two or three decent points to make,
but, obviously, i have to utilise verbiage to state them,
let's compare that to building a thousand homes
before the leaning tower of Pisa comes along
and people say: wow! in the immediate sense i
will require compensating that exception with
enough social housing for the tower to actually be erected:
that's natural: regurgitating maxims from no experience
would be an equivalence to an exoskeleton:
no experience, no harm... and where's the fun in that?

(interlude no. 1)

almost 15 minutes in an opera house, long enough
for the march from your seat into the street and a smoke,
  i still can't understand while people adopted money
for the demand of talking to each other via pebbles,
we are in our billions and made it so demanding to
only appeal to the few for company... i mean, should
i be sad? we made our company so unbearable because
of engaging in the concept of money that we later had
adapt to books as the conversations we need to have
among people we can't even talk about the weather to.
people always think that talking about money is
shallow... as if it's some really necessary version of
the crucifix (which to my mind sounds like a name for
a charity and the need to be thankful for it being there),
then again: something so geometrically pure
hanging over us and then comes Rodin's the kiss:
that really is a miracle - walking on water can hide itself,
turning water into wine (40 days & nights in the desert would
do that to you, every time you rehydrated, any liquid
would be intoxicating).
             oh hell, i have the notebook narrative,
i need to take a break after having written the unexpected
intro, and subsequent interlude.

it seems to me that language can never be sampled,
sampling language
is anti-scientific,
because it breaches an objectification of things,
which sad,
    are the Balkan states Slavic, Christian or Turkish?
i'm asking because a Greek said
it's Byzantine, and then lapping allah illha Allah
turkish took to Istambul...
*how best to defame a god with ensnarled capitals,
each, levelled,
                                only Islam will reign under the
praise of my name, which alone, will sing my praise.
   to move mountains, one must move throngs.
          to move people you expect them to become
mountains: or sun-tanned noon
  having been charcoaled into obliteration.
     one thought: an ottoman janissary: and vlad
the lesser crucifier and the adamant
impaler, who said that homosexuality shouldn't matter....
   imagine the comparative pain...
i can't: therefore i won't.
                     thus the black scripts of notation...
better than uttering original maxims,
          as in... better to engage in transcendentalº
dialectics
     ºin ref. to Nietzsche: the masses do not hold
an opinion on sanity: hence my concordance
with "him" - and insanity in individuals (self-dividing
                      duos in calamity of one):
insane individuals are rare: but conglomerates are
the norm - thus an agreement of shared truths
that has no debate to support it, because it has been
"plagiarised",
   the transcendental aspect is the lack of dialectics
(replaced with diacritics),
     and also the historical novelty of shared observation
with a disparity of a century's worth of history:
governing still the caveman and the modern man,
            as if the two were mutually compatible.
that one could rewrite the other, and so too true in
reverse.
   i find it harsh having to relinquish the authority
of language, as my own it used,
but only when school-friends suggest it, those
with ******* family members do i foremostly
experience it as my own: well... thanks to you
i'm not a plumber because your father detonated
the atom bomb and never bothered checking what
the gorilla did next with the grand censor of fertility
to protect an aesthetic...
           but then again: you were always Irish.
oo! well: sodomite that oops... it'll be worth something
in 30 years' time. strange how it must read...
Holocaust deniers also have the same lysergic trip.
             insanity in individuals is rare,
among groups it's the norm, within a framework
of Nietzsche: thus an agreement of shared truths,
that has no debate to support it,
because it has been "plagiarised" (necessarily experienced
more than once),
   ºthe transcendental aspect is the actual lack of
dialectics, and also the historical shared novelty of sharing
of observation (the tsunami cult, the earthquake cult)
with a disparity of range toward the century-range...
   philosophy infamously aks purposively
unsolvable questions: or questions that require many
more questions... or what is known as a transcript
of Aristotelian awe: of those who commit to error
with that science of pure wording, to spur people on;
philosophers are the adventurers in error:
only because this engages them in providing a "gravity"
locus... for others to hone onto and correct...
(oh how i'd believe had there been a Koranic surah
on the mindful hoplites)...
         purposively erroring: philosophy;
philosophers are pioneers: birches... scientists
are all but oak: auburn well established.
       but what of transcendental dialectic that expands
into shared truths (as experience) within the dual-disparity
of nearing death and the dawn of the 20th century
   and never-nearing a life at the dawn of the 21st century?
excluding dialectics and diacritics has given us
such a society, where everything is nearly snowflake
lucratively dissolvable and gentle...
                   few people utter truths,
even fewer utter truths than need to be debated...
             for the over-lord truth is mono, or glue...
        but still the tactic of avoiding certain truths
for the necessity of sitting in an armchair rather than
on a cold pavement... for in their pluralism
they express as many universal traits of non-experience,
as they subsequently express enough
    particular traits of experience
(translate rhyming into philosophy and you get this...
going cross-eyed in allocating an understanding,
summarised by the word zez).
hence the unwinding: universals (x, ÷):
       and particulars (+, -):
    of time, and how to encourage abstracting
worded coordination into an advanced literacy rate,
that'll fail, because literacy is power that requires
labouring anyway.
  because you did say "encapsulating a zoo"
readied to perpetrate a staging of a freak-show.
examples: universals (x, ÷):
       and particulars (+, -)        are zeniths in
the narrative compensation to nothing -
        in literature a surprise turn of the plot,
a summarisation, as such stand-out moments,
or quotes: here is a version of encoding verbal
"mathematical" synonymity -
         i too would wish to create a language
that doesn't abide by the language of miles,
but that of metres, but then there's the thesaurus
distinction between metres in deviations of
centimetres and nano in close-proximity
          ruby, crimson, burgundy, bled throughout the week
until pale grey and with an epitaph.
      language never brings us together,
it never did, we all wished to be cats and have said
meow... but we rarely and will never say...
that's nearing toward shame...
  i absolve humanity of the original sin...
                    if sinning was so original i would suggest
other forms of compensating it rather than prayer:
i'm thinking of the original shame...
it's that story of a serial killer who believed he
had no universal traits concerning him,
he had no systematisation of conscience,
he denied having a sense of guilt...
          it's hard to believe such things,
given the ceiling is the universe...
        it's hard to become a rat in a solipsistic maze...
that's ****** had to believe...
                   to deny having universal a priori
is also to deny particular a posteriori...
                           even though nothing really happened
apart from god laughing and man yawning
and the devil crying. it's very hard to believe people
these days, even though they deserve it,
                    it's hard to summate oneself in being
able to;
  thank god philosophers didn't complicate simple words
with remnants of Latin like psychologists did,
there's the prior (a priori) and there's the after (a posteriori),
or the two within a-: without a prior (to) / priority -
                  or without an after / an imitable vogue / trend /
    zeitgeist.
          can you write something like someone disclosing the fudge
of what's technically an arithmetic summary?          
no intelligence is being undermined here,
         what's being undermined is what's critically an optical
   java transitory period.                                                    

(int­erlude no. 2)

the laziest philosophers always write about the word
philosophy without actually philosophising,
you can say as much when saying: i'm thinking about thought.
of all the professions, philosophers don't know theirs...
it's true, if you do it, you do it not-knowing / unconsciously.
modernity does in fact overprescribe the word genius
because it doesn't give practitioners of philosophy any
credit in the slightest of actually being recipients of
life... every time a thought spawns from nothing
the limitation of expressing it is: you don't exist;
soon enough you hang up having any competence in language
and say to people you thought you knew: adios amigos,
good luck: then you wonder why they're so
prematurely depressed, and then you forget about them
and think of a million Chinese carpenters:
simply because it's less depressingly so.
     do you ever write encapsulating a rhombus on a page
with your literary / wanking hand? i know i do,
write in a notebook askew - or that's what's called the
future of absurdity: i'm thinking about thought -
some later claim morality, and some later claim god -
        that should sound more simply as: ought i?
    but it doesn't... hey, here's to self-projecting ****** -
it's not even that good people invented god,
  it's that evil people did...
                  which is always a bit ****** having that
microchip in my abstract mind (the brain) i sometimes
try to get rid off while acting as an atheist for pop super!
       does that sound highly idealistic?
it probably does... have i an influential counter to it?
n'ah. thinking about thought without the either or of
ought leaves me asking outside the box / transcendental
questions about what self is ingested by that
Pontius Pilate... talk of the "true" self and talk of
the "false" self: who the **** is the narrator then?
are we all bleaching our handshakes these days to
give a handshake?!
    some men would claim to be the husbands of that
insatiable "woman" that's Sophia,
         who, after all, is better equipped to satiate 3
men, than a man to satiated 3 women:
the trinity of ****, vaginal: oral - funny that,
how perfectly that plays against all those years of
practising to a demand of the churches': kneel!
i'll just watch you **** him off while Mary Magdalene
spread the schematic that resulted in the Islamic
******* analing the "respected".

(interlude no. 3)

just can't be bothered mate...
  never did so much charity work pour into
      herr Herrman's charity chest of
the never thought of set of poems.

- and a day later, just a blank,
what a formidable evening,
why do i queue for even a trombone, violin,
       a viola, trumpet or a sax to add to my voice?
but in musicological terms: that's exactly what i'm doing.
it's hard to not see this as a cure:
with 16,713 views matta's echo babylon is
truly the antithesis of Prokofiev, or any other,
as might call it: windy character.
        classical music was bound to tornados and
zephyrs - modern music is the epitome of rhythmic
sampling, drum eroded violins,
           and other things happened, too.
rhombus within the framework of the hand-written prior,
on tiny scraps of rectangular paper,
because it's easier to write like that: slanting
and therefore for the imagery of cascading -
and as the pronoun revolution dies down,
                    and the voices go unheard,
   people will start to think about thought
and later thought per se for transcendental purposes...
     because choice will be ejected from
having competent access to it: namely?
   i can't see those **** the ***** protests seriously
if people can't take to shooting guns,
          i mean real rebellion... obviously i'm egging
on the situation and spraying gasoline on it
(obviously), but if the French give you the statue of
liberty as a present, you get to look at the appendix,
and start thinking: where are the guns, so
it looks like a genuine protest? i thought the idea of
being able to own guns (by the people), was to suggest
that if the government was electorally undesired,
people could start shooting... the tongue isn't
a

originally it reads as:
(****, i am drunk: do sudoku drunk!
          what a ******!)
x x x     x x x     x x x
x 7 6     x 5 9     3 x x  
x x 8     x 7 x     x 1 x

x x 2     x 1 x     x 5 x
x x x     3 x 7     1 2 x
1 6 9     x 2 x     x x x

x x x     4 x 1     7 8 x
9 4 x     7 x x     x 6 x
x 5 x     6 x x     x x x

      now i really want to learn something,
but i don't seem to want to...

the end result?

3 1 5  8 4 6  9 7 2
2 7 6  1 5 9  3 4 8
4 9 8  2 7 3  5 1 6

7 3 2  9 1 8  6 5 4
5 8 4  3 6 7  1 2 9
1 6 9  5 2 4  8 3 7

6 2 3  4 9 1  7 8 5
9 4 1  7 8 5  2 6 3
8 5 7  6 3 2  4 9 1...

    bu there's a narrative to mind...
the        ) game,
        half an hour's worth of game after inserting
the first six -
                    (a
                      b) matrixes -
             the theta-phi debate crosswords and blind-spots -
but the narrative goes like this:

a.   7                          1
      1                          5  ­    )
      x 7       1              2
                                    "zooming in with a nibbled into 6",
b. 5 |  5
           7
           1
           x
       x  2  x
           x
           x
           x
                       c. 2nd 5
                          6 x x  4 x 1  7 8 x (5)
d. 1st 5
          5 x x  4 x 1  7 8 x
          9 4 x  7 x x  x 6 x
         x 5 x  6 x x  x x x
                              e. x x x         x x 2              x x x
                                  x 7 6    |   x x x    |        9 4 x
                                  x x 8         1 6 9              x 5 x
f. x x x
   x 5 9
   x 7 x
   x 1 x               x 5 x
   3 x 7
   5 2 x
   4 x 1
   7 x 5               7 8 5
   6 x x
               (more than or haczyk, or háček
            a hook: in saying: oi! geezer!
traffic that 'un!  
                           but still more than or less
than in Copernican lingua?
dunno... well: that's two smokin' barrels' worth
of info for the inauguration -
'cos' pretty face over 'ere was half a wit's know-churn
off a *****... 'now what i mean?'
they necessarily say it in sprechen glutton Danzig
so you look smart, and not like some artful dodgy
podger:
              n'es pas?                             twinkle tweezer ****:
oi right and that ****** off came with the touch
of a knuckle: 'cos' i wasn't preaching trigonometry:
nor was i ******* kidding.
               down the east end they call us Vlad-sodden
impaler imperialistic -
         after the little debacle we 'av a laugh and drink
a bottle of *****...
          then we do the rickety chance of engaging in
baptismal fire with the Jamaicans -
or so you know. well, wouldn't you believe it,
look how far being called vermin gets ya!
all the way to Buckingham Palace me says!
         and some dared to say: ransack Sicily.
blah ha ha... your's a tongue on the leash!

g.    x - 4? / 3?
       5
       7
       1
       x - 4?
       2
       x
       x
       x
                         h.  6 2 x  4 x 1  7 8 5
                              6 2 x  4 9 1  7 8 5
                              6 2 3 4 9 1  7 8 5
(breakthrough point!)

i. 7
      x
      1
      5
      2
      x
               j. x 7 6  1 5 9  3 x x

k. 7                  l. 7                   m. 7
    x                     x                         4
    1                     1                         1
    5                     5                         5
    2                     2                         2
    x                     3                      3
    8                     8                         8
    6                     6                         6
    9                  9                         9

n. 6 2 3  4 9 1  7 8 5
    9 4 x  7 8 5 x 6 x
    x 5 x  6 x x  x 1 x

         o. 6 2 3
             9 4 x
            8 5 x
                                    p. 6 2 3              4
                                       9 4 1     |    7
                                       8 5 7           6
          
the 1st square:      6 2 3
                                9 4 1
                                8 5 7.

    2nd square:
                            x          x
                ­            3          x
                            x          x­
                            x          x
                       ­     1          x
                            x          x
      ­                      7          5
       9 4 1
       2 6 3
       7 8 5;
                       q. square no. 2 anti linear:
4 9 1                               4 9 1
7 8 5              : / v.          7 8 5
6 x x                               6
             ergo
                      4 9 1
                      7 8 5
                      6 3 2
                                             3rd square:
    7 8 5                        7 8 5
    2 6 3         |             2 6 3
    x 9 x                        x 9 1....

subsequently: 8 5 7 6 3 2 4 9 1
  hence: 1 6 9 5 2 x x 3 7
       ": 1 6 9 5 2 4 8 3 7
       ": 2 7 6 1 5 9 3 4 8
         (interlude):
4 x 8 x 7 x x x(?)
                          
           r. x                        s. 7 3 2
               2                           x x x
               4                           1 6 9:           3
               7                                             2
               x                                                4
              ­ 1                                                7
              ­ 6                                               5
               9                                                1
              ­ 8                                                6
              ­                                                   9
                                                               ­  8

t. 1          then:      1
     7                           7
     x                           9
     3                           3
     x                           8
     6                           6
     2                           2
     4                           4
     5                           5

  then     7 3 2
               5 8 4
               1 6 9           then 5 8 4  3 6 7  1 2 9

          then 4                2
                    5                  9
   ­                 7                  8  
                    1    ­              3
                    6

      u. 7 3 2  x 1 x  x 5 4
then
             6 5 4              9 1 8
               1 2 9         |     3 6 7
               8 3 7                5 2 4

then
              6
               9
               3
                8                             8 4 6
                7                              1 5 9
                4                              2 7 3
                1
                5
                2

v. then 3 1 x  8 4 6  x 7 2
  then 3 1 5  8 4 6 9 7 2 0
then the crescendo:
                                  9 7 2
                                  3 4 8
                                  5 1 6         !

The Goddess whispers love
And I am enchanted
But it’s not for me
She writes it perfectly
Passion verbally exploding
Reminding me
How lonely
It is to be
Me

Stanza after stanza of passion
Each syllable is a finger
Forcefully plunged into my heart
She impales me
Stabbing deeply
Slicing from throat to sac
Then around the back
And bleeding me in reverse

In her words
Dull emotions
Are reinvigorated
Phantom organs
Come to life again
Then
Melt away
Cause the facts say
That I will never ever
Be loved in such
A beautiful way

The latter classified as a voivode
(prince) of Wallachia
(part of modern Romania).
Surrounded by enemies
that included the Hungarians,
the Ottomans, his younger brother,
and Walachian nobility,
Vlad employed extremely
cruel gruesome measures
to inspire fear in those
who opposed him.

He earned his nickname
by impaling his enemies on stakes.

No argument Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin
equals and invariably
will outrank Vlad the Impaler
the second son of Vlad Dracul
who became ruler of Wallachia in 1436.

Impossible mission to comprehend
propensity exhibiting characteristics
linkedin as impish, hellish, ghoulish... fiend
whereby pathological pretensions
besotted (punch drunk with delight)
to incinerate, eradicate, annihilate,
essentially to deplorably,
heinously, loathingly... interblend

all manner of atrocious, deleterious,
insidious, opprobrious, vicious... lend
ding his own vainglorious
trademark to offend
**** sapiens who strive toward
repairing ruptures versus to rend
usurpation of life, liberty
and continuity of civilization to upend.

Worst nightmare scenario
unfolding before our collective eyes
Ukraine suffers blitzkrieg
Russian soldiers devastatingly
carpet bomb major metropolitan areas
civilian population suffers
major loss of innocent lives
linkedin with accompanied
psychological fallout, especially affecting
babies, children and youth.

All commands issued by autocratic monster
probably housed within secure bunker,
meanwhile countless thousands
or millions of battle fatigued people hunker
among ruins gingerly negotiating
their way thru rubble analogous to spelunker.

Though yours truly
removed (think physically),
where chaos and pandemonium
run amuck and terror unruly,
overt rampant upheaval
plagues long established
generations of Slavic peoples,
this commonplace American
vicariously experiences grief

when tragedy viewed
online and/or television
heart wrenching images
also evoke anger being
linkedin to most abominable,
horrible, reprehensible, creatures
that roamed the terrestrial firma
since time immemorial.

Major war crimes against humanity
necessitate urgent punishment,
if in fact such a global entity
exists to condemn and convict
the uncontestable tyrant,
yet never in the annals
of twenty first century
geopolitical webbed zeitgeist
did self anointed totalitarian sovereign
access nuclear weapons
to obliterate great swaths
of fellow Earthlings.

if ya down wit dis listen
to this gayrap swallow it
like a fat jaypack it is anti-macho
against crews like humpty-packo

pitch-black baby ain't no rooster
will **** wit our ****-booster
we are too star for your underground
flows are miles-high and they glitter

it is lipstick-**** we're spitting poison
and your kid sound vanishes
look your raps are always "almost"
you'll be killed by our host

like the impaler this guy vlad
your midlife-crisis is cute
eminem is now called ruth
the new rapcolor is purple

may i ask, which pronoun are you searching for, and if in which model, which pronoun-verb in the Cartesian duo function could you ever ask me what pronoun occupies f(∴)? you see, mathematics doesn't sincerely pledge i think with i am, given dues to f(∵), given geometric intersection, both are Gemini, unequivocal, David's abstract.

perpetually open eyes, never acknowledging a blink,
Venetians cascading on Byzantium, near blink near conscience,
but never near an Ottoman consequence;
how ***** into role of Janissary: fear the impaler and all
who reign in his caste disguised... yet you encourage
that they come.... what tailoring of suit
so well disguises the blood? a heavy collar or the lightly
mandated to feel a "conscience"?
i like freaks like him, i too cared to wear many
masks, is that worth a psychiatric evaluation,
you spared me no trust,
your secret dealings could have spared me
my health, what you fear is double-jeopardy,
including a seclusive f.b.i. reclusive supposedly paranoid...
please leave all your badges of officiation to
an affiliated organisation of governance behind
including your firearms, and other scientific
conditionings prejudiced against the church v.
Galileo... please leave dogmatism to students and
anomaly encounters to professionals as stated by
the entitlements of doctorate...
the plot has no identifiers worthy of investigation,
unless everyone was brainwashed into thinking
that goldfish held a greater memory span in a
fish tank than all the people in the world, atmosphered,
and later impregnated by nothing other than
vacuum and astronomical interactions of simple
alphabetical greek into complex chemistry? or
could a world conspiracy come about as simply
the words: she was worth a 1000 Greek ships
worth of **** to later ascribe the capital
of love as Paris? the raw animal is worth more in
his ontological environment than in a zoological one,
cages enliven violence rather than envision them
in either subject or the culprits mind...
it's the added prospect of seclusion that animates
a piquant status of memory to a kindred
fingerprint cloning deviation, a susceptible replication
environment: esp. through no familial motive, other than an
individualistic swarm-like reaction to an insecticide:
however much the individual invigorates a
suspect accommodation to an equilibrated pluralism
within a status ascribed to an: individual.
i admit, the psychological rhetoric is the new
invention of the wheel... it goes on and on forever,
i fear for those hapless idiots studying the logic
of excluding soul (as an absence of thought), god,
and free will to ever return to the rational / sane world
of afternoon tea, given they specialised in these
specified wording to a rubric equatable to 1 + 2 = 3.
you'll learn no more human secrets than that of
a *sloane's viperfish... otherwise you're entering a realm
of perfected adaptability with some quasi-science
via fiction and conspiracy, that leave you no more than
an agent of the priesthood and a loss of a good
niche of ******... well, is't the priesthood
pathetic so jealous as to have lost the reigns having
kept them for so long? oh yes, the public will react...
regarding the next nutritionist's fact...
it's called adaptability i may say, leave them to it,
you kept to your symbolism for too long,
we learned the crux like we learned to say X
three times ensuring we watched ****...
oh i'm not jealous, i won't be the one having to
orphan the ******* sons, as your church had to keep
them to keep up pretences... all they have to keep
up is the stability of universally recognising a
centimetre, which, like satan said of the kingdoms
to be given, the Orientals sort of ignored with
the grievance demanding an explanation for
the ineffectiveness of thus said temptation.

A lost Alice
In a diagonal Wonderland.
This is me.
That eternal maze of a dream
With drunken mad hatters
Who will vaporize and **** out life
Like a slithering chimera,
And I'll be like that poor white rabbit...
I'm late, I'm late
I'm late, I'm late
I'm late, I'm late
I'm late, I'm dead
For that queen will
Chop me into soup,..
Her cannibalistic tastes
Will watch with drooling joy
And my severed head will roll
Down to the queen's feet...
Let's play croquet
With the silly girl's ****** head
Ha! She laughs with delight
And rolls the head to and fro
In a beautiful lush garden
Cut out the heart! the queen demands
For the crowned woman is worse than
Vladimir the Impaler
And adding a warm heart to the vault
She will have her name strike
fear and lust into men's hearts...
Until they become a vaulted collection...
I'm late, I'm late
I'm late, I'm late
I don't exist
My watch has broken
My ticking heart is no more
And my grinning head stares at the queen's feet...
Wake me up! I scream, I beg
Save me from...
Save me from myself...

and Cinderella danced to the music box seduction & pursuit song from the Hellraiser soundtrack.

no one really speaks about the aesthetic element
of darwinism, this strange godforsaken
we-ain't-got-no-fur-but-Chernobyl-happened
conundru­m d'uh... people never care for
aesthetic darwinism, as long as you appear
able bodied: you might as well be a romanian
donkey on a building site with the anglos
trying to save money on crane hire...
oh yes, the respectable english dudes
that got me reading *hazlitt - i'm backing
Britex! and you know why? i'd love to see
Brits on a building site! i really would!
i'd love to see them sweat like cow dung
on a donkey's head... rear those ******* in!
modern Britain was built on the sweat of
eastern Europe... exit! send the Romanians home!
bring in the Salvation State Civilians to sweat
it out! oh... but they won't! they won't!
hardly a crown among a 1000 men and they're
all second class colonising ******* colonising
their home turf! romanians are donkeys!
that's what they say, takes two to shift a tonne or
two of stones while saving on using a crane!
where's an Impaler when you need one?
the richest country in Europe making cutbacks,
what a paradoxical crescendo! you'd think
they'd be better at athletic sports having saved up
on construction work muscle... but no... oh no...
they're ******* anaemic in both departments!
shrivelling muscle athletes.
VOTE BRITEX! VOTE BRITEX! SEND BRITS
TO CONSTRUCTION SITES LIKE
****** SENDING JEWS TO THE GAS CHAMBERS!
VOTE BRITEX! VOTE BRITEX! I WANT TO SEE
THESE ******* SWEAT.

You're the best thing I've seen ever
I know that doesn't sound too clever
But on this emotional endeavor
My intellect you sever
Until my face gets redder
Than the scarlet letter
That always looms above
Yet doesn't effect us
Because we have love
To valiantly protect us

I fear this ethereal connection
Won't pass public inspection
I expect an ice water detection
Coming from your direction
But instead I find a warm glow
That only the Lord knows
As long as I'm dwelling
On the stories you're telling

I'm in love with your name
And the concept it contains
I'm in love with your brain
And the wisdom engrained
I'm in love with your stunning appearance
And what you say when no one can hear us
You're the lad in my trailer
You're Vlad the Impaler
Becoming more than a guest in my house
Becoming my future same *** spouse
That sits like a stanchion
In our beautiful mansion
So please abide by my abode
And inhabit my dwelling
Because you've cracked my code
Now buy what I'm selling

My nihilistic nightmares keep me awake
When our intangible connection can break
I get scary dreams
Where you are you
And I am me
And we do what we do
Until I can't see the night through
But when I finally wake up
I want to find love again
No matter how things shake up
We should always be friends

I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite,
thankfully not in a medical way
I don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazy bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts…
Now I love animals and their brilliant ways
they brighten the world and add happy to my days,
I could be walking to work in that new spring sun
and spy a cat on a wall and think “ohh, how fun”,
I’ll bound over with a skip and say “hey you, how’s it going,
although it’s bright today your purr has really got things glowing!”
Or in a Saturday beer garden when I’m kicking back with relax
a dog strolls in his owner and my attention is instantly rapt,
I’ll exclaim “ohh, is your pooch friendly, please may I give him a pet?”
If the guy answers in the affirmative I’ll proclaim “hey big doggy I’m so glad we’ve met,
you’re a lovely doggy aren’t you, look at your slobbering face
and the way you wag your tail I think it’s pretty ace!”.
Or I may be having a saunter round the park taking in some stupendous views
and see a stretch of water and decide to have a peruse,
as I get closer I think “oh I can’t believe my luck
look at that raft of lots of lovely ducks!”.
So I nip to the shop round the corner and buy a loaf of bread
and think “ohh you top paddling guys you’re gonna get real fed!”!
So I chuck plentiful crumbs in the water making sure they all get their fill
of some luscious Warburtons down their chomping bill.
I do love other creatures though not just the ones who go meow, woof and quack,
even the tiny ones who fur and feathers they lack;
I could watch a ladybird for ten minutes and be allured by it’s spots
and then be wary around those minuscule red mites that look like little dots,
ensuring that I always check before I sit on a summer wall
so my plonking down doesn’t squash them all.
Or if I’m walking home down a dark passage way on a rainy night
i’ll get my phone out and use it’s shiny light
to see if there are any snails that have come out from under a bush
so I can daintily skip around them and avoid that awful shell crush.
As for spiders and moths in the house I never **** them I always put them out
And then do a Usain Bolt stance in the living room with a “I love you insects” pout.
However one Thursday when I was off work on a day in lieu
and thought “ahh I’ll venture out as the sky is blue,
I can have a wander with some music and then go see Mum and Dad
but before I do all that there is a shower to be had.”
I stroll into the bathroom anticipating a lovely clean
but am greeted by a sight that is less than serene,
walking on the ceramics are about 14 microscopic flies,
I had to squint to view them, they were almost invisible to the naked eye.
I mused “hmm, how am I gonna solve this they are too flimsy to catch and put outside,
and what receptacle could I place them in to take on freedom’s ride?”
As I’m deciding what to do I see more of them coming out of a hole in the tile
and I say “look guys me you’re beginning to rile”,
then I glance some Dettol wipes lying next to my tooth brush
and in a instance obliterate the flies with a sweeping rush,
I chuck the death tissue in the bin and feel a swell of guilt,
“I thought of more understanding stuff I was surely built,
I got rid of them without compunction because they were disrupting my aqua blast
I hope this killing streak doesn’t last.”
Post shower I’m feeling better and believe my murderous bent has gone away far
pop my ear phones in, crank up the volume and saunter round to see Ma and Pa,
but it won’t just be Mum and Dad I’ll be pleased to see when my feet land on their welcome mat,
it will also be lovely Poppet the cat!
I like Poppet loads, she’s my whiskered friend
all my love to her I always send,
her wild meowing tones are one of my favourite sounds
it’s awesomely brill to have her around,
sometimes when I’m drunk her name slips off my tongue,
that’s how I know we defiantly belong,
I can be gleefully inebriated at a festival
and I’ll just say “Poppet!” and feel more happy full,
Pops Popsicle Poppet, I adore your tabby chest,
ahh Poppet, you’re simply the best!
I get to my parent’s house, call her and she comes running with that bounding feline whizz,
and I exclaim with joy, “ahh, there she is!”,
I give her lots of petting and start to feel all catty rich
but then I notice she seems to have a itch,
I say to my Mum, “is Poppet okay, she looks like she’s having too much of a scratch?”
she replies,  “yeah but I think she has fleas that are more than beginning to hatch”,
she continues, “I’ve got some flea treatment though so those little vamps we can quickly dismiss”,
I reply, “nar, it’s okay Mum, I’ll handle this.”
I say to the fleas, “come here guys” and take them and Poppet to one side,
and remark “look today I’ve already committed insecticide
and I really don’t want to do it again but you’re putting Poppet the cat in duress
and she seems distracted rather than purring in my soft strokey caress,
and I don’t want to deliver a ****** bomb of flea killing pollution,
it’s much better to find an amicable solution,
so if you could just jump off her now and end your inhibiting lease
I promise I won’t hover you up I’ll just let you go in peace.”
I give them a few minutes to mull it over but then see Poppet frantically biting her thigh,
“now that is ****** it, no more Mr Nice Guy!
right you little Dracula *****, you’re about to find out what really *****,
it’s being on the receiving end of my “you’re perturbing Poppet” wrath,
you’re about to take a real long Frontline bath!”
Without remorse I dowse them up and that is that,
“bye bye you tiny ******* Vlad The Impaler *****!”  
See I love all the animals, I really have to say,
just don’t cross me on a Thursday,
oh, and I eat meat way more than a bit,
i’m a schizophrenic hypocrite.

once upon a fallen dream
i had forgotten how to scream
life is cold and infinitely mean
are things really as they seem?


trapped inside this empty cell
there is no way that i could tell
which way to go to escape this hell
what would happen if i fell?

tumbling out of control
my breath is taken from me, stole
where do i go to seize my soul
i need something to fill the hole

if I ever reach the light
will you even reveal my knight?
will my eyes ever regain their sight?
can i even win this fight?


such a cruel spiteful jailer
my stripes were sent to the tailor
wish this was just a movie trailer
face to face with my impaler

into the mirror i stare

my reflection i cannot bear

there’s someone with so much despair

and no one bothers to care

i lost the battle of life

bled out cause a kitchen knife

my mind was riddled with inner strife

my stiff body fell with lithe

cold and dead I lie

no one dares to cry

my soul is free to fly

and there’s not need to try

with such grace i was set free

it took dying for me to see

no longer trapped like a bumblebee

i have found the once lost key

the silence brings me comfort

i no longer have to suffer

your days on this foul earth are numbered

the truth will be uncovered

beauty once vain now is pure

happiness comes , this i ensure

for the plague of life, death is the cure

but to life you’ve become inure

you don’t have to sit through hell
NOBODY hears you when you yell
is there a reason for you to dwell
there is none that i can tell

peace will come if you give in
they say suicide is a sin
then you should proudly sin with a grin
go on, take those pills with gin

one after one i coach them
my pleasure is when they’re condemned
i tell them that death is their friend
but death isn’t even the end


such a clever one aren’t i?
wonder where you go when you die?
silly beings think that they shall fly
i enjoy watching them try

but he saves us from your reign

all of your efforts are in vain

because you have already been slain

Jesus Christ will always reign

Savior cradles me in his arms

i was once caged behind bars

but through him  i was set free

not bound by rules

i am safe with him for eternity

i was trapped with rules of verse

but my savior broke that curse

didn’t know what  i was worth

there was purpose for my birth

my sin through him was forgiven

now what is in store for me is unveiled

your instructions to get here are detailed

it’s simple just accept the gift

heal the hole, your God sized rift

ask him for his forgiveness

and he will rid you of your sickness

trust me, i’m an eyewitness.

Rasputin, tsarevich Alexei
you can find them in a book of history

history is like a tireless eyewitness
history is nothing but
ancient
collections
of eternity
seek out
the causes
of French
and bolshevik revolutions

the grandson
of Genghis Khan
Vlad the Impaler
queen Isabella and
Ferdinand
Lawrence of Arabia
they vanished
long ago
you can find them in a book of history

"Having turned the machinery of the Gov't into
a corrupt process of getting bad press made on
his political opponents, the Bidens, by buying
false investigations on them by multiple Gov'ts,
must be impeached, now", say Dems, the people.

The impeachment investigation has received much
evidence to support it, yet, Rumputin/vlad-
the-impaler, who were illegally installed into
the Blackhouse after the 2016 election, are
stonewalling numerous other subpeonas, requests.

People have seen evidence of Donald's demanding
false investigations of the Bidens be started by
the Ukrainian President in exchange for already
allocated by Congress 1/2 a bill in anti-tank
'javelins', but not the unreturned voicemails

detailing his desires for the same 'quid pro quo'
by him to other nations, here's some.  The Donald,
'Hi President of Ghana, I've heard you have some
hellified kool-aid, if you investigate the Bidens
we'll buy 100's of tons, awaiting your call.'

'Yo, yo, yo, President of Liechtenstein, just
calling to let you know if you liechten the Bidens
and find some dirt on them, we'll buy a hundred gross
of your steins, this is time sensitive, top secret,
so get back to us a.s.a.p., pppppllllleeeeeaaassse?'

''Sup, President of Guyana, must be hot in Africa,
too bad for you, all kidding aside, I hear you guys
have the best kool-aid to die for, if you investigate
the Bidens and find dirt on them we'll buy 1/4 of a
bill worth.  Limited time offer, bro, sooooo holla.'

'President of Hungary, I've heard you guys are always
Hungary, so, if you want a 1000 tons of food 'b' alls you
have to do is investigate the Bidens, find dirt on them
and provide it to the Steve Bannon set-up Hungarian fox
news who'll broadcast it globally over the next year.'

The atrocities of it all is all the people can say.  Does
this feel like a Greek comedy/tragedy to anyone else?  A
quickie impeachment to cover-up the bigger Russiagate one
that indicts the whole of the republican conspiracy, just in
time for vlad, etc., to hack our next presidential election?

Would ne'er play in a patriarchal,
'men only', anything, except for it's
theme's the 24 th International
Women's Day, on 3-8-21, sadly,
it may be my last one, here, in
your poetry contest, thanx kindly.

This year's main theme's women's
leadership, especially during this
covided year, only the latest, at
least, purposely not prevented
unnatural disaster, not counting
climate crisis' natural ones,

hoisted on humanity by the fossil
fuel headed global oligarchy,
through it's spearhead, the united
**** of assassin's republican
organized crime conspiracy, as it's
latest tool exterminating humanity

to it's extinction.  Like the yoke,
that's no joke, almost defacto-slavery,
put on all newborn neck by the corp.  
structure, it's convolution, and Man,
which can only end by abolishing
fossil fuel use, "there's a beacon

in the sky meant to catch your eye",
Happy Rhodes.  It's a hopeful sign
that Kamala Harris is the first Vice
President of US whose a woman,
and President Biden's doing a great
job.  Solemn lowering of # of, and

remembering the tens of millions of
premeditatedly exterminated, in their
global class war against the lower-
middle-class to poor, targeting men,
is our duty to those martyrs, and
women are at the forefront of this,

as they are in so many vital fields
of endeavor.  Whereas the % of
mass-murdered by pandemic who
are men is more, women are more
effected in totality, specifically they
make up the largest group of front-

line health + family caregivers, and
are at higher risk, suffering the horrid
death toll from that too.  If vlad-the-
impaler, the patriarchy's, la machine's
tres facile global conspiracy didn't
illegally install Utin's **** into The

BlackHouse, a President Hillary
would have stopped the death toll
here at ten thousand, instead of the
**** of Utin's million murdered.
Joe's righting of our Ship of State
the S.S. Tea Party tugged into rocks,

may not be enough to prevent Man's
extinction, it gives US a shot though.
Tragically, in the future kids, women
will be little more than a food source
if we don't mothball NASA, stop their
Mars Colony 'exit strategy', their

'final solution', extinction of humanity
on Earth, necessitates.  Trillions spent
on it come from destroying the Earth
through fossil fuel use, when if it were
left in the ground, instead, humanity
wouldn't be extinct on Earth, awaken.

from under the iron curtain... not quite though:
in a study of the form of: immediacy...
a spare 30 years (circa)...
    from under the iron curtain thrown
under: the silicon curtain...

                 what science fiction ambitions:
what new worlds: new species of interest?
          concerning some "here"... and
                                obviously some "there"...
glued together, by -
                        the already mentioned study
of the form of: immediacy -
            i.e. more broadly known as the word
being...
          more broadly known as the word:
                                                           being...
for what is... and in that: the suspicious
utterance of "what" in conjunction with: is...

but it's hardly a book burning...
        i once cited a myself in transit...
        i once cited my self:
                            in the reflective sence...
not compounded in the reflexive immediacy
of myself... that...
    writing is not an invitation to speak...
it is an extension of thinking -
            i too have... had... avenues closed off...
for a while...
        as long as the substance is tame...
         but writing was never an invitation
to speak... it was always an extension of thought...
i privy the wanting ****** to entertain
his or her: caged tongue...
to labour with insane dignity to...
have that freedom of breath:
   without a single word being uttered:
   a feast for the eyes...

    of freedom of speech though:
  is... speeking freely... an invitation to... think?
what "book burning"?
             video-mash-up and a ******
variation of "*****": misnomer alley...
           no rigid lexicon for a... stalemate...
some grand unmoveable object of the tongue
to lick...
   to write is to extend thinking:
it is never to script someone...
   however... to speak doesn't invite me to
think... i would be too gullible for that
to be true... too forcefed a bulimic "rhetoric" /
and question to tow...

i have yet to find that speaking freely
allowed a chiral complexity of thinking freely...
as a reply... antonym...
     book burning: audio book... burning?
for the privacy of the eyes...
less this... feeding of echo... and more... echo...
speaking freely is not an invitation
to think freely...
                     i hope writing has
enshrined this facet of distinction...
                    it's such: oh such a "minor" technicality...

but i've used this phrase before...
from under the iron curtain we came...
and enjoyed the remains of the free world...
for a circa of 30 years...
                from under the iron curtain ******
under... the silicon curtain...
                  
/ / / / / interlude... of a soft-core existential nature:

  well the absolute joy of... shaving...
i perhaps did that once...
concerning as most would have called it:
on the face of a late-teen and early 20s colt...
***-fluff...

       as one had to... since the hairs resembled
the crop of cranium...
and weren't stiff enough: ***** enough...
for the guillotine of all ******* drops...
to form a beard...

   oh i had ambitions! i had ambitions
like you've never seen!
to add to a full crown of hair... allowed
to grow long enough and gear up for...
a 14 year old girl's wet-dream in school
of a french braid...
          i had such ambitions for a beard
so long... so long... it would...
tease the length of the whole torso...
from chin down and down to...
the bellybutton!
    in a thick iraqi braid...
       i wasn't so lucky on the face as i was
on the 'ed...
     bets are in... chances of me...
going bald?
   chances of me... having hair on my...
stomach region... my chest...
and patches of my back?
         bets are on... the horses are funny...
sorta running... mildly giggling and
playing: goof... shimmering...
the size of their teeth... as big as their *******
hoofs!

my idea of a haircut?
                      grow it to about bearable...
a comb to the left... a cut on the side...
to comb (hand brush) to the sides...
  and then... cut it down to a bare minimum...
not a skinhead...
   my head isn't best shaped for a king skin...
as one girl told me in high school...
i don't have the...
    well formed pariental / occipital coupling...
one of these bones is diminished in:
curves...
   i curious observation...
i guess that's called an invitation to:
pressure...
        a side-project of the occipital bone
being less protruding...
                          a schlawic shorta shin-diggy-oh...
girl spoke like a confirmed:
proselyte of the soul...
                       of language i can confirm...
it didn't matter it was...
a roman catholic school... in england...
some... confirmation... bias?
then i'd have a confirmation name
to boot with my two already given and a surf-name
surprise!
but i'm still: e = mc...
                     a horrid acronym...
                         eschlert = matthias ck-on-rad...
oh... god! yes!
i love the sound of my own voice so much...
i'm a gifted orator... frequently...
at... some ****-poor party revival
once a year... at... Nuremberg...
    yeah... i love my voice so much...
    i've ejected it from imitation thinking:
internal "monologue" and "air"...
i like it so much: i like it most when
it shuts the **** up...

itchy fingers and pervert eyes...
and domineering eyes...
the kind of eyes that... see...
your and you're...
       the apostrophe and the A like a halo...
hovering above: giggling...
infantile joys...
   never to be revised... but such...
pitiable domineering affairs...
no wonder i never advanced into
the realm of b.d.s.m. of adult joys and
advanced cinematic arena hard-ons:
        
  this one time i can don a hugo boss...
adventure... im grau oder schwarz     (ц)...
                                             (ш)...

all the other letters are kosher...
     but that dream... of a beard... as long...
as the king's hair...
gone... in an instact...
it takes about a month...
  before... everything return to: shabby...
the unkept beard... the irritating moustasche...
and then...
a miracle of having sat at a turkish barber's
with my eyes closed: as one does...
before a mirror... when someone is being
invasive...
      and feeling each and every snippet...
i should have taken
a before & after of my... "vlad the impaler"
deeds with every contort: matter...
a sense of making a rhombus into a sq.
or a sq. into a rhombus...
     oh... hair is easy... cut to a minimum...
a month passes... some jelly is used
in the last 3 weeks of extension...
and then... back to canvas (a) exhibit (0)...

       no point asked for a barber...
the man can cook, the man can bake...
the man has enough fudge muscle to shift
2 tonnes of soil in under 4 hours...
enough leg for 14sqm of experimental golf green
addition to a garden...
otherwise littered with patch-works of
gravel and project: drainage... another tonne
of shingles and pebbles...

    couple that with... a keen insight into...
the barber project... and arrivederci
                                migliore "tenuta"
    correttezza / bellezza: "mississippi"...
          cappoh: cchinno...
                           marble... cake...
                      gas-tap: top-off: shh!
                                      it's a lean...
              a leen in a lean in a: gwan-pazzio!
sounds sounds... suoni! su'oni!
                                      sounds sounds...
there is a morbid sense of meaning... but...
it's all lost to the interlude!

                 there is nothing more gratifying...
than being able to curate your own beard...
and find the sort of cranium crop top
to count the months in a year...
                       never working from:
                                       pelzkopf...
a dream of... roman brush... mochicans...
dipped in... woad blue / purple... / / / / /              

in the democracy of poets...
        in the republic of philosophers...
it has always been like so...
that philosophers dictated a republic...
that the poets... would have to...
somehow... dictate... a democracy...

i have in my possession...
a very strange book... "strange" that it is...
or was part...
of a 20th century curriculum...
a standard of pedagogy from 1967...
   O-level standards...
             we were taught latin: once...
cicero was a go to... beginning
with latin grammar...
first came latin grammar...
then... anglo-saxon shrapnel: "grammar"...
evne the term...

asyndenton... definition?
               this is the absence of conjunctions
between co-ordinate clauses, phrases,
     or "words"... the precise connection
              being inferred from the order of words
and the general sense....

      cicero's "modus operandi" of style...
      -que / et or....         and / and...
              or? speedy gonzales:
   que: what / and...

                   this the "copulative" sense of...
"missing" in-and-between...
                          nouns, adjectives, verbs...
   "words"... synonym pirrouete peacock fest
of grammar "technicality"...
        a "word" for a philologist
                    is a "thing" for a philosopher...

i will not... equip myself with...
what latin grammar i might have...
learned... to have studied such a book...
and its zenith of the year 1967... in a catholic school...
at least a catholic school said:
perhaps - "perhaps" insinuated back then...
latin grammar first...
christian dogma... second!

                adversarities: conjunctions:
                     sed, autem, vero...
example?
                   no example... contrasting clauses...

what of the conjunction: qua - i.e. as being?
or quo?
              privy: quid pro quo...
and one wonders...
the notion of "ego": had to became...
elaborated... isolated...
     given the asyndenton(s) of descartes...
i.e. (ego) cogito ergo (ego) sum...
well then! so much free room and reins!
to isolate the supposed "abstract" he-oi!oi!oink!
"says" so!

we pretend to move forward within cicero's
confines... back in 1967... this was standard
pedagogy!
latin grammar... what am i working with:
said the plastic surgeon to
the jack nicholson joker in that: Dt: fat...
Boatman: a tool a crude scalpel
of grafitti...               ahoy! ahoy! spare island!
Fwyday! vitch iz Velsh! i say!
oi oi!     hell-oooooooooooh!

             almost a sanskrit word...
so it must be!
    hendiadys and the asyndenton...
         the first... in sanskrit...
      please...
                हएनदऌअदईस
           ­       HENDIADYS...
that's as far as i will ever get...
no amount of diacritical marker excavations
will keep track of this:
experiment B'ah-Bel...
              yes... a drying up on the first
conjunction: the natives still speak:
Bay-Bel...
            B'ah-Bel'...

  the pashtun language... afghan women...
landay... something beside the ebb
of the strict skeleton of syllable
count of of a haiku...
or... i'm still token best **** in town
when it comes to:
misnomer: freely open noun usage...

the use of the pronoun IS
implies... there's no pronoun associate
worth a gender neutrality...
          IS is a pronoun...
              how can... IT... also a pronoun...
be... made... double neutral:
when "it" is already facing a neutrality
focus of quiz?

       an abstract noun... though?
to a cicero... an abstract noun...
with... hindsight... would be...
a... microscope...
   an adjective prefix...
   and a bypass of nouns into the verb...
prefix dear verb...
when will that suffix become
a noun and not a doubling of a verb?
of what? of scope!

     to denote an act rather than engage
in it!
          ******* scissor sisters grammar
of the modern age...
they should have taught me latin grammar
than given me
abortion conundrums to begin with:
failure! best kept secret!
aged 16... would make the vatican
proud!
      it's not that i own a baseball cap
that i can flirt with a "noah"
of n.e.w.s. with...
              it's not that...
so much for education...
in 1967 a catholic school would do...
the nun's project proud...
2004? what nun?!

                solitudo erat ea quam voluerasmus...
there was just that seclusion we had wanted...

an "antecedent" noun...
                    i much prefer an "antecedent" verb...
a variation of hammering...
or ******* in "fixes"...
   when there was once...
a turmoil of the jist of knee-armed...
and then... electric: sorrow-sowing of...
the nearby: "fix"...

          this language is best be forgotten...
the otherwise fictive rigour of teaching...
barbarians... a quick-and-easy...
acquisition of... latin: my dear... sir...
because... the english are the afghani sort...
first served: first come... though... last
to topple... anything... worth remembering
a past with 'em: therein!

i call sir! my immediacy...
funny thing... calling "my" in a borrowed...
body... which you... also... cling to...
with a tongue of transcendence...
and... a body's worth of an anchor:
and so! in reverse!
this body of no transcendence!
the old empire...
and this... jailor quizz...
the "asyndenton" of the hebrew...
in... how niqab is your...
                                             niqqud?!
ah!
               שׁ (š)... translated:
                             szkoda: shame...

and שׂ (ś)...       ślizg: slide...

that the hebrews... kept the ancient latin...
play on an asyndenton...
but kept it: vowel primo-intact...
   beside... a mere play on conjunction words...

i giggle... what have i to add?
beside a... ha ha?!

Frozen sheer terror
Abyss,blackened doom
This is how it  all started
In my mothers womb.
I was quite happy swimming
Around in daddies sac
If I was given a big choice
I would gladly have swam back.
I had no choice in the matter,
I was a crime without a face
Little ole heartless me about
To join the human race.
Mummy was screaming when
I came out of that dark abyss
Reeking of unhappiness
About to receive my first kiss
My I was a difficult
My I was fu--ing bad
Rotten to the bone
Making everybody oh so sad.
They gave me the name of
Chucky
They made movies about I
I was a bomb in a bowler hat
Surely making the whole world cry.
They said I was paranormal
A freak without a heart
On the scale of one to ten
I wasn't even on the chart
Being a bad omen
A tortured exorcist
I would walk upon your grave
And take a warming p-ss
Shock horror, ingesting all the pain
one flew over the cuckoos nest
Please release me from my chain
Hannibal lector, vladimere the impaler
We're quirky whimps compared to me
I don't know where I'm going with this
So I'm going to walk among the dead
Then  I'm coming back to haunt you
And cut of your miserable head

June 18 ‘22 Saturn Rx in Aquarius

what ever happened to my blood quantum?
bred out of me like a piebald gelding,
an unknown wild steed
panned and sifted on down through the generations.
i read on instagram yesterday
that the energy parasites
gumming on the neck
and the
ribs
of my
seven subtle bodies
are feeding off the fear.
instagram told me i made them with my own mouth;
filthy mean language tastes like
dial soap.
i got squeezed out
all the way to the contingency;
caught me cloning all my plan B’s.
and now I’m drowning in the
carbon copies.

god ****** egregore
comin in hot on the incursion.
“thought I threw you in the lake of fire!”
but here you come again
like a
steaming
pink
dreamwalker
to re-insert yourself between
me
and the Light.
looks like it's back to the drawing board
and the careful steps across
tight ropes
made of
egg yolks -
the ones that actually hatched.
saw them in a soul - stream
sitting in stainless steel hatcheries.
some eggs as big as a house.

i think my inner feminine
has caught the postpartum -
too many ****** stillbirths.
here he comes again
riding in cold - hot
like
some unholy
frozen flame on the incursion.
here comes John the egregore -
progeny of my word.
here comes the red -
the color of frayed nerves .
i close my eyes
and think only of fields full of
lavender flowers.

my feet are used to this by now:
pirouettes
atop the tips of
chinese war swords
all staked along the manor grounds
like the impaler’s pikes,
or a field full of
lavender flowers,
or the facade pipes
where the ***** used to be
at St. James Episcopal
over on duke street and orange.

we gotta get to rewilding
this masculine.
his poor divinity
impaled upon
vladimir’s pikes.
squeezed the ******* back
to the contingency.
the carbon copied plan B’s.
the black hole sun
beckons like a death doula.
like the negative end
of a double A battery,
like the business end of a shotgun,
or the mean end of a snake
slithering through ten thousand
sanskaras
of his second chakra.
trying to climb up the
Antahkarana;
even with all that rope burn.

I was at the mercy of the
power of the horses.
six stampedes of
gelded steeds -
and hardly any blood quantum.
the true God is a blackened Light
in the sky
through the treetops
in the woods
standing in your boxers on 4 hits of acid
thirsty and alone at 3am
calling your brother on the phone
to tell him all about it…
speaking in tongues.

it took six parachutes
to stop this
polarity plummet.
i’ve been praying hail mary’s
all the day long.
some mornings
i wake up inside a song
floating on down the
River of Heaven in the midnight sky,
standing at the source of the
cosmic wellspring
bubbling and tumbling
under Gemini’s four feet.
the holy Twins on high,
dancing on the waters of the firmament,
sliding and gliding on behind the
sled dogs of the Sirius star.
standing
on the tips of two toes
atop a
Centaur's arrow,
or the tip of a
Chinese war sword.

sometimes
i think
a
midwife
and a
death doula
are two ways of
saying the same thing.

copyright Jordan Gee

how can you "joke", and then excuse yourself
from the "joke", by stressing you
are "joking" - in that you are actually
being serious - with an overtone of
what would otherwise be held back
subconsciously - stereotypically -
   how can you tell a "joke" -
whereby you subsequently excuse yourself
from the "joke" telling others:
   it was all, but a joke... huh?!
           that's the most clarifying misnomer
of the word joke i've ever heard:
i'm not actually telling a joke, but i am,
i must let you know, that once i tell the joke,
that i've made a joke,
   and not a degrading comment;
aren't jokes supposed to be said with
an unconscious uncontrollable *** of laughter?!
i don't think jokes that make you think
actually exist... esp. those that are said
to be supposedly "jokes" in reminder of
a schema of generating laughter...
these western court "jesters" would have lasted
about an hour in vlad the impaler's court...
to tell a joke in order to tell the person
not laughing: oh, but it's a joke!
      bad jokes deserve to be moulded
by rabie infested rottweilers,
                      salivating froth of being
                                            unfed for a week,
into francis bacon sculptures of ripped
off flesh.

126 GOP Representatives signed onto the latest attempt
by **** of Utin and his rumpettes, like Moscow Mitch,
Utin's puppets all, following vlad-the-impaler's orders,
to e'er further press their case for overturning the will
of the people in our recent fair election for President,
to the Supremacy Court, where they were sure their
cries of supposed "irregularities" would win them their
criminally insane day, keep our king-kong sized
terrible-two, who's going on six, illegally installed in
the Black House.  It took the conservative Court but
126 words to bury their megalomania, dreams of grandeur.

350,000 of my and your fellow Americans have been
exterminated by them so far, pandemiced, a purposely
not prevented 9-11-01 terrorist attack's victim's toll
per day, every single minute another murdered
premeditatedly by them, more will have been ended
by them here before this is over than killed by all
our enemies in the entirety of this nation's history,
including their cherished civil war.  Joe's installing
them in his Cabinet, Admin., instead of cleaning house?
How on God's green Earth do they still steal breathe
from the Amazon forests, Gaia's lungs, which they

can't seem to destroy quick enough.  The head of TX's
GOP just said that "...****'s States should secede...",
to paraphrase.  "...We(e),...", say, one and all, please,
we beg of you, do, then we can prosecute and execute
every single one of you members of ****'s int'l crime
family, legal like.  Your talk of secession for going on
a century has obviously been no more than gabbing of
all hat cowboys playing at being men, cowards all.
The Bible says it, "don't covid thy neighbor's wife",
but, I guess you don't read much.  People, as sure as
you live, they will eventually **** you, death be proud!

diacritical indications are as unorthodox as punctuation marks, even though both can be rigorously checked by standards of orthodoxy, in a tribunal of "proper" usage... yet i will use them, as i use my punctuation marks, as a ronin... zite... gé-kre-ū-zite (arabic glutton "surd" g sandwiched to boot); i wish the hyphen compounding extract of the whole was missing... english, far from perfect, is oh so welcome to interpretation; ever the blank, never the bride, never the bride of punctuation from above, but always the punctuation from below, and ever the insult from the irishman: word-salad... word salad this & that... keeps writing a ******* novel for 3 years, can't give me a paragraph to read; who's sad salad noodles from here on in?! all i said is that english lacks punctuation within words, every language has punctuation between words, but all i said is that english lacks punctuation within words, clear syllable indications, and that's as much as: the right for an arabic conquest... next time i see you in warsaw, it will be in december, with a broken glass in your head.*

and let us just say, that the best of his
verse, was met with the least of all
possible critical acclaim...
man could have written a tolstoy novel,
or a shakespearean shake-up
of frothed over events...
   but he wrote the mediocre,
the sort of crap you might imagine as:
once upon a lark upon a tree,
then a lark in a birdcage...
      who's the grievous,
                           and who's the wound?
last, lost holden, but nonetheless
the most beheld,
   that eternal everlasting plasticity
of a worn smile...
           we all have the last requests,
but none summarize our lives,
with that is best the ultimate in
that the epitaph be a post mortem scriptum;
the dead write themselves into life,
for what a sadder death,
than a grave with merely a date of,
and a death of...
                well, not all of us
could usher in a choir of
canterbury choir boys,
castrato, ***-****** by the surgeons
of the crucifix media momentum of:
keeping up with the the bishopric of
canterbury - **** all ruby,
you, ******* *** squeezing quack?!
everyone pleads their innocence
before the antithesis of a crucifix,
i.e. the impaler...
   you really think the crucifix was
the ultimate "sacrifice"?
      now you're just ******* around my
respect of: not attempting to laugh...
how about the iron maiden,
or how about being impaled?
             take your "saviour" elsewhere -
i am as the japanese demanded of the portuguese...
take your "saviour" elsewhere,
hell knows more of the zenith of torture
than merely settle for a crucifixion...
   how about impaling the sacrifice?!
   what with the fight against
homosexuality, imagine impaling
a homosexual... via his ****...
on a sharpened stump of wood...
  being crucified seems like a pish-poor
genesis of a belief... there are so many more
wonderful tortures to succumb to...
               for one, being impaled via your
**** to distrust the modern homosexuals
as both ****** and nagging auntie...
         of a "harem" that's merely a monogamous
affair: of periodically charting
     expenditure...
aufspießen (impale): zu gegensatz (to compare)
    mit die gekreuzígt (with the crucified).

No don (except me)
doth trumpet within the aborted
barren reach of freedoms within expansive realm,
I annexed courtesy manifest destiny,
which peoples now inhabiting said jurisdiction
circumscribed by following coordinates -
Latitude: 40° 16' 22.20" N
Longitude: -75° 29' 29.39" W
and for better or worse

must abide by decrees
promulgation declared today May 21st, 2024,
whence Poet of Perkiomen Valley
issues proclamation,
regarding any living person
paying blind obedience
lest posse comitatus act enforced
otherwise Herr Harris
will bring to fore active duty personnel

to "execute the laws";
however, there be disagreement
over whether this language
may apply to troops used
in an advisory, support, disaster response,
or other homeland defense role,
as opposed to domestic law enforcement
to challenge aforesaid claims
which forthwith ownership of said territory

foremost allows, enables and provides
yours truly to enact legislation,
and especially restitution of comstock act
predicated upon due diligence
guaranteeing appropriation
of all and every rights affecting
master and slave
linkedin with said domain.

Welcome to the dictatorship
(er rather presidency)
of Putin diehard adherent.

Matter of fact, a favorite author of mine
crafted the following words of inspiration,
which evocation will help shed figurative light
on caricatures of terror reign as forty fifth president
targeted by political cartoonists,
but struggled to come up with an image that sticks.

In october 2016, Vanity Fair
made a video of four of its cartoonists—
Edward Sorel, Steve Brodner,
Philip Burke, and Robert Risko—
drawing Donald Trump.

They clearly enjoyed themselves,
exploring every aspect of his physique:
 his “girth,” the fact that
“there’s so much of him” (Burke);
the hair that “essentially closely a beret
flipped forward on his head” (Risko);
the eyes that show “greed, disdain” (Burke);
the “marvelously rat like” nose (Brodner);
the mouth a “sphincter muscle” (Risko);
the “******” look (Sorel);
the ****** features that resemble
“**** holes in the snow” (Brodner).

And now? How have artists and cartoonists
dealt with Trump since he became president?
We’ve seen cartoons of the orange
potus smooching Vladimir Putin
and groping the Statue of Liberty.
We’ve seen him drawn (by Barry Blitt
in The New Yorker) as a fat-assed golfer
driving ***** into the White House.
We’ve seen him caricatured (by Pat Oliphant

for The Nib) as a preening SS officer
being heiled by Steve Bannon.
We’ve seen him portrayed
(by Signe Wilkinson of the Philadelphia
Daily News) linking arms
with a Confederate and a ****.
We’ve seen him depicted
(by Mike Luckovich
of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution)

as Jabba the Hutt, holding Lady Liberty in chains.
We’ve seen him represented (by Matt Wuerker
in Politico) as a kook in a straitjacket.
We’ve seen him rendered
(by Ann Telnaes of The Washington Post)
as a red-faced fathead sitting
on the toilet while he plots
to pull out of the Paris climate accord.

Putin (also fell prey
to his fair share of cartoonists)
not only as Vlad the Impaler reincarnate
(a notion in mind of at least one writer),
but also various and sundry other manifestations.

The self styled ruthless ****
classified as a voivode
(prince) of Wallachia
(part of modern Romania).

Surrounded by enemies
that included the Hungarians,
the Ottomans, his younger brother,
and Walachian nobility,
Vlad employed extremely
cruel gruesome measures
to inspire fear in those
who opposed him.

He earned his nickname
by impaling his enemies on stakes.

No argument Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin
equals and invariably
will outrank Vlad the Impaler
the second son of Vlad Dracul
who became ruler of Wallachia in 1436.

Impossible mission to comprehend
propensity exhibiting characteristics
linkedin as impish, hellish, ghoulish... fiend
whereby pathological pretensions
besotted (punch drunk with delight)
to incinerate, eradicate, annihilate,
essentially to deplorably,
heinously, loathingly... interblend
all manner of atrocious, deleterious,
insidious, opprobrious, vicious... lend
ding his own vainglorious
trademark to offend
**** sapiens who strive toward
repairing ruptures versus to rend
usurpation of life, liberty
and continuity of civilization to upend.

Worst nightmare scenario
unfolding before our collective eyes
Ukraine suffers blitzkrieg
Russian soldiers devastatingly
carpet bomb major metropolitan areas
civilian population suffers
major loss of innocent lives
linkedin with accompanied
psychological fallout, especially affecting
babies, children and youth.

All commands issued by autocratic monster
probably housed within secure bunker,
meanwhile countless thousands
or millions of battle fatigued people hunker
among ruins gingerly negotiating
their way thru rubble analogous to spelunker.

Though yours truly removed (think physically),
where chaos and pandemonium
run amuck and terror unruly,
overt rampant upheaval plagues
long established generations of Slavic peoples,
this commonplace American
experiences vicarious grief,
when tragedy viewed online
and/or television heart wrenching images
also evoke anger being
linkedin to most abominable, horrible,
reprehensible, creatures
that roamed the terrestrial firm
since time immemorial.

Major war crimes against humanity
necessitate urgent punishment,
if in fact such a global entity exists
to condemn and convict the incontestable tyrant,
yet never in the annals of twenty first century
geopolitical webbed zeitgeist
did self anointed sovereign
access nuclear weapons
to obliterate fellow Earthlings.

For God sake Mr Johnson, we can't take this anymore
It's seems you cannot help yourself, when it concerns the law
Do you intend to keep us all, behind our own front door ?
What happens if there's no vaccine, and we don't find a cure ?

People are still people, and this is no way to live
Local lockdowns just don't work, but more are still forthwith !
The killing of our livelihoods, is what we can't forgive
I believe the official stats, are nothing but a myth

It's all to do with keeping tabs, and global mass control
Restrictions on humanity, seems to be your outward goal
Don't go out and socialise, we no longer have the sole
Freedom of the beating heart, is what authority's have stole

Forced closers of our industry's, well it's just a bitter pill
Intentions are not honourable, when you don't foot the bill
Your decisions make us victims, and we've all had our fill
Months of being grinded down, mangled through an endless mill

There's billions of people, and we've had the rule of six !
But it's okay for governments, when they all want to mix !
Stop throwing mouldy carrots, then hitting us with sticks
Your not immune just because, you've had your Weetabix

What's the point in guidelines, even when you have complied
The cases are still rising, and people have still died
You don't lead by example, because you have no sense of pride
But we get fined and chastised, if none of us abide !

Your promises are always false, your nothing but a fraud
Most of us did what you asked, and this is our reward
Little progress has been made, still nothing has been scored
I'd expect a dire outcome, If you live by the sword

Football matches are exempt, from all the rules you set
Increasing numbers seem okay, when they gather round the net
Anything attached to sports, are not part of the bet
Disbanding and a standard fine, is what they deserve to get ?

Personally I don't much care, if your in a group or crowd
Stand up for your human rights, and do it loud and proud
The only issue that I have, is I am not allowed
Promises are meaningless, when none of them are vowed

So there are groups of people, why don't you leave them be
Major crimes are being ignored, and none of us are free !
We don't want overzealous cops, placing necks under their knee
I can't condone excessive fines, when it's such a hefty fee

The media is littered, but it's us that pay the price
If we don't adhere to stupid rules, or follow your advice
They almost alter daily, so how can they be precise ?
Is every course of action, a random number on a dice ?

You seem to have an insight, perhaps your drinking from the keg ?
Or you have a secret bloodline, and your mother's Mystic Meg  ?
Are you psychic or clairvoyant, is Nostrodamus old Nick Clegg !
Stop rubbing on your magic lamp, and abusing the prime peg

How do you know future, because you always have a date
Specific times for hair brain schemes, but you are much too late
We should have acted sooner, and closed our borders gate
Instead of ever changing laws, and creating a police state

It's a wonder there aren't storm troopers, barb wire nailed to the wall
Steel bars attached to our windows, iron maidens in the hall
Camera's installed in every room, Big Brother's now on call
Problems caused by men like you, the biggest threat of all

We're sick of being prisoners, and treated like we're fools
And Boris changing policies, with the constant change of rules
First you can and then you can't, with restaurants, pubs and pools
You don't mind the university's, or the students risk in schools !

It's arrogance that makes you think, your choices are correct
The reality of your actions, well it's simply pure neglect
You never really had a clue, but it's what I would expect
Society has been damaged, so you don't have my respect

Your half arsed decisions, why are they so on trend ?
They've hardly been effective, they just drive us round the bend
I'd rather have the holocaust, at least it had an end
A regime based on fascism, is the wrong message to send

Take a look at number ten, why was you even hired ?
You've had a taste of power, now your no longer required
Drawn and quartered hanging high, and then you should be fired
So get down from your high horse, cos even they get tired

You should retire from office, because you are far too keen
Give somebody else the chance, who isn't half as mean
Spend your time brown trousering, while bumming England's Queen
He wants to be elected, cast your votes for Mr Bean

Innocent pawns are sacrificed, but you don't take the blame
We're just the broken chess pieces. from a long discarded game
Sadistic orders are dished out, it's always been the same
Your more threatening then Corona, and you relish the acclaim

Liberty has been destroyed, now we're laid beneath the drapes
The iron curtain has returned, so has more sour grapes
Walking on smashed eggshells, watching every step we traipse
It looks like we're getting closer, to the Planet of the Apes

Petri dishes are unleashed, we've been thrown under the wheel
Your worse than the pandemic, because you have far less appeal
The ******* dictators, they just love to hear you squeal
Why should people waste their life, waiting for the world to heal ?

Heart attacks and lung transplants, are still on the doctors list
But ever since this came along, they hardly now exist
You've lost your cancer patients, now their slipping through the mist
Other ailments pushed aside, that's why we shake our fist

Where are the infected, and where are all the dead ?
Statistically it don't add up, I'm not taking it as red
Isn't there supposed to be, this huge big massive spread ?
You may as well ask a horse, The famous Mr Ed

It's a never ending cycle, and this could go on for years
The evidence of scientists, some advice falls on deaf ears
We can't be very sociable, we're a country split with fears
Pandemics shaped like wedding cakes, will always end in tiers

We've followed guidelines from the start, but progress has been none
Situations are now worse, so what good has it done ?
Forget the shackles and restraints, don't hide away or run
Yellow bellies face your fears, that's how the west was won

Come on now it's gone to far, so please give it a rest
We're basically the fall guys, cos we're under house arrest
Something's wrong with mental health, and you should take a test
Nurse Ratchet would be welcoming, if you flew the cuckoo's nest

What goes on in tiny minds, your thoughts are quite unjust
You're very good at ridicule, but much better at mistrust
Leisure and small businesses, are breads burnt at the crust
Perhaps you will be satisfied, when this planet's turned to dust !

Your no different to Napoleon, a claw that always grips
And you sound like Adolf ******, with dictation on your lips
Is Joseph Starling someone else, you acquire some of your tips ?
To toe the line you could use chains, and braided leather whips

We've tried anti social distancing, and masks upon our face
Kept away from people, and gave them their own space
Thousands have been wasted, on the worthless test and trace
It's criminal what you have done, against the human race

You dare to index people, and place numbers on their back
Or filed away and categorised, just to keep us all on track
It's the simple minds of pettiness, and IQ's that you all lack
There's talk of herd immunity, but not every sheep is black

All of these new amendments, are made up by useless jerks
High wages paid for scare tactics, to stupid little Berks
It isn't really guaranteed, that any of it works
Their only interest seems to be, the money and the perks

Propaganda is your standard, for that you are renown
Your only answer seems to be, is everyone lock down
Our lives are left in ruins, while your watching us all drown
We'd be better off with Roland Rat, and not Coco the Clown

Never mind Covid nineteen, because you have caused more harm
You have us clutched and running scared, inside your smarmy palm
Creating thoughts of suicide, is the smug side of your charm
It's too late to make amends, once you have chanced your arm

There's no consoling anyone, there's no shaking of the hand
Other households cannot mix, and all our friends are banned
Are your heads are up your assess, or buried in the sand
It's big fat cats and bureaucrats, who's threatening our land

We're sorry Mrs Thatcher, if you came back I'd be glad
You wouldn't try and lock us up, or treat everyone so bad
They said Rasputin was insane, and the Impaler known as Vlad
Perhaps their methods were extreme, but at least there iron clad

I've never known a virus, that knows the time of day
Curfews set at ten o'clock, watch out it's on the way
Lurking in the hedgerows, while it's stalking late night pray
Time itself makes no difference, to keep the bugs at bay

It knows your pigmentation, it knows your young or old
The difference between day and night, and if it's hot or cold
We've found a superior life form, put the printing press on hold
Downing Street has met it's match, because it's you who's being controlled

World leaders should now move aside, Trump, Johnson and Farage !
Your days are up, you've lost control, Corona's now in charge
It's telling you where not to go, and spreading like soft marge
The ancient mariner beckons you, to step onto his barge

So you've had the virus, well take a run and jump
No one cares about your hide, your just a worthless lump
You have less intelligence, than a forest full of gump
Why don't you just ****** off, we don't want you Donald Trump

Similarities with the PM, is Boris a clone or twin ?
Perhaps your a strange experiment, removed from a surgeons bin ?
You don't get votes for sympathy, by infecting next of kin
Extortionate hair is pointless, when it still looks fake and thin

Economy's have suffered, but I don't think that you care
What justifies seventy grand, spent on your stupid hair ?
Average citizens pay their tolls, raw deals are never fair
Why should we all cower down, just to breath in toxic air ?

You could've spent two fifty, whole grain would work a treat
Thirty biscuit's in one box, is value you can't beat
It would be ten days supply, cos three would look quite neat
All those taxes would be saved, if you used shredded wheat

Who's bothered about your progress, our phones have been infiltrated
Text messages are unauthorised, about someone who's not rated
Come on now and get real, your policies outdated
And that's because your past your prime, and crossly antiquated

Situations you don't grasp, for you they're out of reach
Like the idea of a syringe, full of domestic bleach
You can try your own vaccine, and practice what you preach
And spare us all from irony, and another ******* speech

Don't ever lose at poker, because times are getting hard
It could result in the U.S, playing their Trump card !
You wouldn't want old Donald, or Boris in your yard
So raise up your defences, and don't ever drop your guard

Isolation is not natural, it's like two peas in a pod
Vicious nets of pure deceit, captured in a school of cod
You have the same complexes, cos you both think you are god
But you are just the didymen, and modelled like Ken Dodd

I simply have no interest, in the updates on the news
Or agendas on scare mongering, or any of your views
The headlines in the papers, should be hung in loos to use
Why don't you go and swivel, on two splintered snooker cues

All shops are essential, and no business should be shut
No forcing pubs to close there doors, no wages to be cut
Stop acting like a ******, and being King Tut's **** !
I never knew a double act, created Fruit and Nut

Where was you both created, do you share half a brain ?
You and Boris cause us all, an extreme amount of pain
Lightning surely does strike twice, we hope it never strikes again
It's the nonsense thoughts and policies, of the criminally insane

it's amazing that i once had the idealistic fancy of loving, rather than owning a woman... not that i realise there is no point if let's say chance of loving a woman, because only owning a woman is guaranteed... i find it much easier, owning a dog, or a cat, or enough ****** hair to put off enough women guarding a bikini line.

for some strange and ****** odd reason,
i love punching myself in the face,
reason being: i can't remember the last
time i punched a paddy silly
in the kidney region, as i did,
back in high school -
name? a kieran o'mahoney;
kissed that paddy's kidneys
with my knuckles right a proper
readied poach of the frigit fist:
he ought to know, he was dangling
off a south park fence by his
underwear, screaming like
a homer simpson: who invented
the ****** carousel!
       he had to lift the ****** off
his impaler commune of vlad's
choke joke with citation needed:
never seen an irishman on one
of these,
   i can't but laugh in oink.
             i miss those days, i remember
chasing this slavish blonde *******
while kicking him in the **** with his
big brother having to intervene...
but i kept punching as if it was a screening
of *fight club or
the viking raids, but never rapes...
       i actually fall asleep thinking
of ******* an english girl without ******
her...
     i never get to **** her,
so she's oh so pristine...
            she prefers the elder gents it
would seem...
so i keep punching myself
for mere amusement -
        and while i turn my tired
knuckles into plum from ivory beneath
a pink membrane of agitated skin,
   i think somewhat of what begins
with shamrock, and ends up a purple
thistle...
                 then i think of georgie
and wales...
        and then i think of nothing
much to be added...
       the closest i came to a princess
margaret was an australian lass...
      i thankfully stopped wishing for
an english lay...
   i just found those pakistani gangs
****** english girls,
  that tad bit more: entertaining:
phew! jealousy just flew out da window!
after all, she was the one with
the "surprise" -
    i was expected to be salvaged
as the perfection of fatherhood -
       with an un-awaited pregnancy -
next time make sure to remind me
to put on three pairs of condoms,
and a rubber glove, and a wellington boot...
just to make sure...
      i'd sooner **** a monkey
by this sort of "bargaining" tactic
than a women in her prime,
or better still:
       bargain with a grandma's worth
of debate about the post-office...
how i wish i'd been able to love women,
but how impossible
  loving women was made impossible,
by women themselves,
   i once craved to love the opposite -
how i once craved to love women,
then came the reality of the opposite
suggestion:
     matt, become a farmer,
cows and pigs and dogs, mice and cats,
and figs will love you more,
than that "thing" you so desire -
sooner a tongue in an oyster shell
will feel more pleasure,
than that **** of yours, in an imitation
of a mollusk;
              oops: matt, please,
give it to the arab...
                   he's already been pussified -
there's no way you can harm
that camel-jockey;
and that is, a very sad realisation formulated
to verse,
          i once had juliet on the tip
of my tongue...
        now my tongue is but a vaginal
flap of juliet's genitals,
and my ideal is as close in romance,
as me, romancing my mother,
which means: so your orangutan cousin,
twice removed, is looking for a partner?
i might as well punch myself in the face
once more, grow a plum on *******
knuckle... and reimagine
not being gay, while at the same time
talking to plato: ah, the woman, that ideal
dream...
  that comes, and suddenly goes -
like an insurance policy;
well, it was worth the dream,
     dreams are nice...
   at least they continue to be re-lived as
the perpetually unlived, unreal; ideal;
which actually allows observing real women
all the more disgusting,
which makes all women akin to one's
own mother...
     and that's in a non-oedipal sense of
constipated intellectualism -
from a **** i came, unto observing
the **** i go.

"they" kept scrambling,
scuttling their way back
into the asylum...

   like there was no
retraction...

   videos and response
videos...

      and then...
    someone left something,
and there was no
comment section...
  
and it read,
as a litany worth of all
that was not pop
via the dada movement...

arthur cravan
    jacques riguat
     julien torma
          jacques vache
   (jack...
  jackson...
   why not: ja' que!
           huh?)

and then the whole, "thing"
imploded
into a high school
schoolyard brawl...
scuffle...
   whatever you call
throwing an orange
at someone's head...
playing the lottery...
will it hit him...
or will it miss...
  a bit like three
beavis & butthead
loons
staying out too late,
forgetting to leave
a park...
jumping over
the fence,
and the fat one...
jumps...
  then gets "hanged",
by a ******...
on the park fence...
and you're wondering:
how many more seconds...
before we release this
budgerigar...
from an abstract fence...
when he's still...
a fat boy,
dangling on a park fence...
yapping like
some ugly duckling...
dangling...
      from a "noose"
of his underwear
being caught on a
vlad the impaler safe-keep?

  **** it, let's all be
as pedantic as: moi...
   and sift through
what's,
i assure you: to come.

life was so pure...
back when,
you'd huddle in for a friday
night...
and never take gaming
seriously...

  gaming would be akin
to reviving the understanding
of chess...
or mahjong...
   you'd spend
a "solipsistic" saturday
morning...
not worrying about homework
until sunday night...
and...
you'd congregate,
go to the shopping-centre...
and buckaroo
the afternoon away...

     like now...
me: eyes: void / blank...
good thing i didn't learn anything
about leaving comments,
or engaging in:
a comment section...
i'm all pro democracy...
but...
  comment sections, per se?
that's worse than a tweet...
given the current twitter
debacle...
   never used it...
moved to gab.com...
huh? i don't know how
to use that...
give me a ******* hammer
and a nail
and a book by heidegger:
sure...
    we can make that work...

like, i wanted to leave
the schoolyard at some point...
but then the ****
just kept nagging me
back into a mafia-esque
demand for cipher-zunge...

you know why comment
sections ****?
i remember the days
of the microsoft chat-rooms,
the m.s.n. hybrids
of social media...

        whatever this is...
       it is, whatever that was,
and neither,
will ever meet.

p.s.
      anger...
isn't that something worth
pacifying with copious
     amounts of ms. amber?
****... better buy
a camera and a mic.
and record myself saying
something:
that i can't quiet, literally,
think through.