Imperialistic meddlers,
men of power greed and wealth
Western Imperialism
not too long ago
was once put on the shelf
Not too long ago
this name was never heard
Its name is New Order of DiSoRdEr
But still us folk of sanity
with eyes wide open
we see their compliance
lock-step herd vanity

In White House spin gone amuck
they throw their bolts of anger
to all countries on the globe
And with more and more displeasure
we witness their destructiveness
from sea to shining sea

But now I hear, see and feel
a distant faint rumbling the rising Valorous
the rumbling stampeding of democracy
by the forceful rightful anger,
the free-spirited valiant word
a word of truth and dignity,
the echo of today,
and aaah yes
to hear the thundering of the mass
To hear the thundering of the mass...

You make my skin crawl
In a neutral way.

You make me leave the room
Then wish I had stayed.

I think ill of you
Half off the day.

Yet I cling to every harsh
word that you say.

With you I'm either weak
or a raging *****.

Even though you're the one
with a tiny ****.

Crossing paths with you
lights my mind on fire.

Yet your not someone I've come
to love or admire.

Your an imperialistic
**** worshiping ****.

So someone please explain why
I feel like the schmuck.

that's what ****** me off about western journalism,
there is a satirical newspaper in Poland,
there is a counter-culture,
but you obviously don't see it...
NIE is a decent newspaper,
    because it is satirical, but also serious,
at the same time...

  and there is anti-Catholic sentiment among
the people...
   i should know, my grandfather
was a communist party member,
   a strictly atheistic, humanistic,
secular upbringing -
              
   but when did nationalism die
in the western nations?
         16th century? 17th century?
you know... before nationalism morphed
into imperialism?
  obviously these post-nationalistic states
are looking at states that regained
their nation-state status like
**** sapiens looking at a bunch of
******* retards... sorry... neanderthals...

well... d'uh...
it's because the western states do not
understand the concept of a healthy nationalism,
oh a collective citizenry,
  of solidarity...
                   these days, anything right
of the center is... FAR RIGHT...
   there are fringe groups everywhere...
but you're talking about nations
that don't have the privilege of
   the imperialistic interlude...
instead: subjugation by other powers,
in the case of Poland... 3!
      
          maybe the western states just
don't know how to express a healthy
nationalism,
           maybe imperialism really
****** them up....
                    what?
   in H'america don't they call nationalism,
patriotism?
   last time i heard,
   i've been the subject of H'american
nationalism since an early age...
      cultural exports...
             more cultural exportation from
H'america than anywhere else...

/ interlude:

new additions to the jukebox
(and no, i haven't listened to these tracks
so even i don't know whether
i'm going to like them):

kokoroko - abusey junction
quantic - time is the enemy
lafayette afro rock band - hihache
gramatik - just jammin'
anthony brancati - neo-funk
savages - you're my chocolate
funky destination - the inside man
       (soopasoul remix)
kiasmos - looped
thurisaz - endless
LTJ - i don't want this groove to ever ends
low - lullaby
blonde redhesd - for the damaged coda

o.k. i knew this one already -
cymande - dove                               /

yeah... concerning
this:
the curious case of suzanna berlinsky

i can understand being blocked
for, incivility...
      but the Mongols really did sack
Moscow...
   and they had to traverse Siberia...
so...
             well **** me...
if i get blocked by someone for writing
such a comment,
as i wrote...
       just a **** shame...
   have to block them back...
    if anyone is available...
please tell suzanna berlinsky
   that's she an outstanding poet...
                  i would have liked to read all
of her works (yes, she is on this site).

i could be an alcoholic is i simply drank...
fair enough, completely docile and
   enslaved by an addiction,
but the mere fact that i utilise this potion
for ulterior purposes says something
other than merely the fact that i drink.

we live in a world where half of the world's
believers are enforcing a monotheism,
and where half the world doesn't understand
that it has, sort of lost touch with
the prefix *mono...
                                  i can understand both
sides of the story, and both are rooted in
a globalisation agenda... a unification
that's a supposition with the already established
presupposition of: two worlds colliding
and an alien invasion akin to the meteor
and the dinosaurs, which we thankfully
reinvented with the atom bomb... ****!
i feel like that talking Gremlin in part deux
that gets to do the news anchor post...
it's a self-conscious moment within that
trans-whatever feat of realising something...
ok ok (Leo Getz), you cut your nibbly parts off
i get to wear a leather-gimp suit and talk
a load of *******, how's that?
Islam is not only practising the fledgling
model of monotheism, but given it borrowed
the omni model for a deity, it's stating that
even the Chinese need to speak Arabic:
monotheism within omni parameters translates
as omni-phonos (we all speak the same
language)... the English tug-warfare to implement
this has seen the Arabic retaliation...
my solution: poverty stricken Marx would also
had said this (not that i'm alluding to anything
economically restricted): i've got whiskey
and trance massaging my ear-drums, what the hell!
    i can only see one alternative to the current
zeitgeist distaste to Islamic monotheism / mono-phoneticism...
  the optic-phoneticism is too archaic for Europeans,
they need a lot of wheels, cartwheels and voids
to located like a feline behaviour within undisturbed
autistic kindrence: better left undisturbed
less it be found in a third ***** darting motion -
given that Islam is both a monotheistic model
            and a mono-linguistic model (linguistics:
where optics and sounds collide) you will
find the old monotheistic guardians bewildered
where they're going wrong... the fact being:
a Jew might tell you that some people haven't
integrated properly (the rebel news outlet):
it really doesn't matter what language you speak
at home, as long as you speak the correct language
at a supermarket... to actually force people to speak
the native language at home is ******* tiresome...
this is the next generation of migrants,
the generation prior had parents completely discarding
their native tongue, so that they might propel their
children to higher positions in society,
well applause to them, but that's like a polite way
of saying: ethnic cleansing...
    now, there's another generation of children who's
parents didn't dictate such rules for the simple
   dislike of feeling awkward... the children that dictated:
we're keeping this language, just in case.
       of course my cognitive realm has built a spider-web
of ease in the acquired tongue: that's my soul
on pixel paper... but my body? i'll speak English
when i encounter and English person...
you flay the ******* donkey, i'm not going to bother.
truly this technique will not provide you
a zoo of cultural diversity with rap and the next
thing coming... but within the work ethic of:
work ennobles... you also won't get
                     terrorist attacks... so that's all Le Chatelier's
principle right there, in front of you.
     it's the part that suggests that i can only be
fully integrated into a society once i do a Michael
Jackson on my tongue, and basically bleach my
roots and call all tree roots leech-chwasty /
weeds. you'd think that bilingualism would benefit
society... apparently it doesn't when society tries
to look pretty on the outside: and termite infested
in terms of possessing a soul: hence the sometimes
odd materialism that suggests you shouldn't buy
a book for $60.            
  which is what relates this piece to answer the current
militant monotheism with its stance on pursuing
a mono-phoneticism: mono-lingua.
             for the old monotheisms to wake up,
they have to embrace bilingualism... i'm not talking
the exceptions of polymaths,
i'm talking the Benelux & Scandinavian practices...
if you people from those proud nations of post-imperialistic
glory remain in their indolence to learn something,
they'll attract bothersome flies of Islam...
   these monotheistic elders of Christianity and Judaism
can't simply waved a star of david or the crucifix about
at primitive natives of north / south america:
i actually cringe at white New Zealanders dancing
the hakka with their tribal tattoos... i, cringe.
     these "monotheisms" can only retain a moral "superiority"
by establishing a bilingualism -
     because isn't that what the whole point of the trinity
is? that the third "person" of the trinity cannot be
personified, but is rather collectivised?
                     that the existence of the Paraclete
would dissolve any chance of a Christian community?
         i already said once: the notion of the Paraclete
is as diabolical as what has already passed,
    the anti             and diffused in the existence of antimatter.
that really was a Greek touch to the whole story,
starting with the atomists.
        these ancient monotheisms have already being
polytheistic within the groundwork of polyphony,
a Bulgarian says something, an Egyptian Coptic
copies him, an Anglican says something else,
                        a Spanish cardinal nods at something else...
so i could say that Christianity is a "polytheism"
due to the fact of the polyphonic nature of the message...
Islam on the other hand is mono on the side of theology
and mono on the side of phoneticism...
                   Christianity as a monotheism is
mono on the side of theology, but poly on the side of
phoneticism... hence the vacuum of power...
but as already stated: the Benelux and Scandinavian
model of a well established bilingualism
                       has made former colonial nations seem
like neanderthals... which they are... all the more funny
to still proceed to popularise a 19th century theory...
no wonder the turmoil and bewilderment;
they simply haven't evolved: and they talk of evolution
like it was uniformed around their belly-button
gravity of pulling the entire world to look at their ****.

The US will drive like the rest of the world,
And declare peace on the Middle East for all times ahead;
Good films and books will be successful;
And punk’s not dead.

Justin Bieber will bottom all the charts; Pink Floyd'll be back together;
Bond will like his martinis stirred, not shaken;
Race, gender, class and orientation will be nonsense words;
And there’ll be no sequels to Taken.

Teenagers will fawn reading Tolstoy and not Meyer;
Old, black men will order the "extra whip, non-fat, caramel latte, venti;"
Art galleries will be closed to people over 21;
And poets will feature in the Top 20.

There will be equal jobs and opportunities for everyone;
Humans will give up on colonising mars and the moon;
We will bring down the imperialistic, capitalist, racist, misogynistic hetero-patriarchy;
And you will love me, tonight at noon.

Hayley Fienne scattered herself a year ago today. A hammer. A trigger. I sent flowers to a funeral home in Chandler, OK. I called. Said, "I can't imagine what you are going through" and something about how time turns the past into a form of fiction. DeLillo wrote that, I think.

Her mom said, "That's not true. That's not true."

And I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't known Hayley like I knew Hayley. She used to do these oil paintings on the nights she knew she wasn't going to class in the morning. I've a layman's knowledge of visual art but even I could tell her work was real. As opposed to what? I don't know. You just felt it. It kicked you in the gut, left you spinning around the room, asking every ******* in tweed, "Can I get some water?"

There was one large canvas in particular that stuck out. She called it "Dissolution."

The work depicted a seemingly amorphous spiral of headlight blues and star whites against the murky black of space. In the dead center of the piece she painted the face of a young man, broken into quadrants. The face was nothing more than a faint veil. If you scanned the canvas, you'd miss it.

When she showed the piece at a gallery event, featuring the work of outgoing seniors, I asked her who the man was.

"It's Jesus."

"You gave him a shave."

"It's actual Jesus. It's 'I'm thinking of converting to Buddhism' Jesus. It's lonely, masturbatory Jesus. It's the Jesus who stares at a ceiling fan wondering why Peter won't text him back," she said. "And above all, it's the Jesus God asks a little too much of, the Jesus that calls in sick."

I said I was unaware such a Jesus existed.

"Exists. Dealing with impossible quotas, he has to shave."

"I think your Jesus looks like you."

"He is."



Now it's a year later. I find comfort in the painting, allowing the erratic brush strokes, both fleeing and advancing, to lull me to--what? Just lull, I grant, aimless and asking answerless questions.

I think about her at the end, at her end-- but not the violence of it all. No, I think of the release.

No intended romance. I simply wonder how she would have wanted that final let-go in life's calendar marked by letting-goes to wrap. I imagine her body separating from her mind, her mind separating from her memories, her memories separating from her name. I think of her matter fractured and dispersed, directed where the universe, in its imperialistic expanse, requires.

I call her mom. Say, "I can't believe it's been a year" and something about how outer space makes me think of Hayley.

Her mom says, "I don't understand."



After I hang up I look at the painting. I look at Hayley's Jesus. And I think in memories, memories that may or may not have happened, I think of them in my chest--not my head. I think about mercy. I think about the infinite. And is there a place where they intersect?

Referendum Rap

Left right Left right Wrong Right Wrong Right
Far right Outta sight Dark Light Dark Light
Left right Left right

Do I leave, Do I stay Do I play or run away
Which way today
Far right Outta sight Do I stay, do I fight

Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover

It’s me, or them, It’s now, or then
May be community, Or a  lion’s den

Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover

Do I tango do I talk, Do I make or break a wall
If I fly will I fall

Left right Left right Wrong Right Wrong Right
Far right Outta sight Dark Light Dark Light
Left right Left right

Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover

Now we come to the crux of it
Be a Bodhisattva Brit
Only self, cherishin’ spin
Explains the state we’re in
Our imperialistic past
Built the wealth of our state
Now we’d better give some back
Before it’s way too late

Sean Hunt  June 7 2016

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         !

Calling the two blocks
of brick shantys
a “neighborhood”
is like calling Chris Columbus
an entrepreneur.

Columbus had three wooden pontoon boats
& a palace in the new world.
My students have Columbus’ outhouses.

I don’t even enjoy walking through
there anymore. It’s not a stroll in the park.

There’s only so much imperialistic **** you
can step in and wipe away
before you
start to track it in your
house.

How many times and on how many screens has JFK been assassinated? she asks a few minutes into the commute.

Someone has said that to me before, I say.

And I notice, now for the first time, even she is a rerun or a ghost
or an unfortunate reminder of the one who came before her,
from the artfully mismatched polish on her toenails to the way her wrists wrap around each other as she talks her quiet talk, her fingertips balancing her iPhone, which streams Jackie Then Kennedy scrambling toward the back of the Cadillac. Its the Zapruder footage in slow motion and somehow in HD, and she touches the thumbs up icon when the footage comes to a close.

Across from me sits a dead man. I'm sure of it—his death. He lounges in himself, his belly fat imperialistic in its expanse, moving beyond beltline and claiming a space all its own on the torn, blue cushioned seat. The dead man looks a bit like Marlon Brando, post-Tango in Paris, when the depression set in and with it the weight, but like Brando, there's still a cool magic in the deep lines of the dead man's forehead, something forlorn and knowing in the drag of his eyelids.

It's here that I remember I'm a writer. And moments like these, I'm supposed to render in belabored yet fragmented ways.

That's ego, she says, not looking up from her phone.

What's that? I say.

The way you pigeonhole me. Rerun, ghost, et cetera, she says. Maybe I've made love to a sad man like you before. Maybe you're a trigger for me. Maybe I know everyone you're going to be, everything you're going to say.  Like I was going to tell you these pants, these pants are lenin pants and I got them from Bali. And I didn't say it because I already knew your response.

Are they ethically made? we say smugly and simultaneously.

And the subway car does that screeching sound you hear in movies and the tunnels outside do that motion blur you see in movies and I try to kiss her but she says that uh-uh cowboy line you know from movies.

Brando had affairs, I say.

Kennedy had affairs, she says.

Have you ever had an affair?

It was exhausting, she says, the performance required. All the effort in your vocal affectations, those terrible 3 p.m. lunches, the pet names, your obligatory passion and one-liners, the secrecy for the sake of secrecy, the purchase and disposal of lingerie. If I could get the time back—

I'd spend it alone with a glass of red wine and a good book, we say.

There's only so much bitter water,
That a human being can swallow
Before the taste rots my mouth
And seeds grow of doubt
That sweetness and joy will arrive tomorrow.

I have taken life's medicine.
Sometimes I've overdosed
I try to be optimistic but guilt is imperialistic.
It's like staring into a mirror, and seeing only forlorn hope

“…and no religion too…”
Was it easy to do?
Did it make you angry
Or did you agree?
Is God already dead?
Do you believe what Nietzsche said?
But then who killed him?
Was it us or them?
With their rejection
Or your revelation?
We live with man’s insistence
Of defining God’s existence
Creating us in his image
With a holy marriage
Of our disobedient soul
To an ancient scroll
Or does science
Define our conscience
As pure logic
With all else pathologic?
How can we believe
The zealots who cleave
To intellectual scorn
Or under whose God they were born?

“… and there is no country…”
From the pages of history
War and conquest
From time earliest
Past the age of reason
Marching each season
With imperialistic fury
And dominating hegemony
The meek unable to rule
Believing like any fool
The words of the deceased
Strewn from Eden to the East
Giving hope to the hopeless
Who have no access
To the dreams of the chosen
But instead remain frozen
In time to be glorified
By mere words that personified
Our need to care
In impotent prayer

Can you separate your senses
From those whose defenses
Are erected so high
That you cannot tell truth from a lie?
Can you dream of a world
Where a bohemian’s word
Stripped of accompaniment
And all earthly judgment
Has stood the test of time
Even when accused of the crime
Of a treasonous plea
For peace and all to see
The cruelty and horror
That power and desire
Have brought to our garden
Where the meek receive no pardon
Because they dared to beg
For a mere pittance to mask
Their pain and suffering
As they lived with the knowing
That a song about dreamers
Can never overcome the schemers
Who laughed at his naivety
And forced upon you their deity



All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2011. Mark Lecuona.

Hearing sharp words
Of those around me
Love is absent
Lust omnipresent
Out of sympathy
We become hollow beings

Sweet lies fill the ears
Only tasting of resentment
Under strain
Loveless we remain,
Simply self consumed

We became so material
Imperialistic
So agonizingly emotionless
Hollow souls cherish possessions

For possessions take the place of emotions
Only lavish fabrics or precious metals
Really fill the void in people anymore

Love, outweighs possessions
Outweighs them by a thousand
Vicariousness the victor,
Endlessly

Lord,
       God of many names
       I come as a pagan
        So that the right One
       Might hear my moans....

You are not a God that is either
Republican or Democrat,
You are partisan and unheeding
To their propaganda,
You do not need the popular vote,
Nor do you speak lies in speeches.

About the monsters You left in charge....

They speak sweet nothings in Your name
While they rush to cameras when
A thousand die.
They secretly take in the money
For the poor and raise funds
For their bunkers when the
Day of Reckoning comes.
    With their atomic know how
And the fear mongering tactics,
  Tney seek to rule me imperialistic,
They seek to destroy me moralistic.
    
    Will you deliver me from their policies,
   Save me from their budget cuts,
    Confuse their sinister programs?

When the day of final Judgement comes,
Send me an Angel,
Be my refuge from the socialist control,
Keep me safe from their propaganda
Mind alterating political promises,
Save me from their campaign commercials,
      Keep those who seek You
Under your safety and
Bullet proof vests.

It won't go away
it negates me
and it remains
imperialistic and entitled
penetrating my nostrils
my eyes
my senses
my memory

this pain
is like that ***** stain
you left on my bed
(it won't wash away)

Every thing had been over....
As i stared up into the sky
The blue clouds mesmerized me
Longing for staring ahead of the bay......
The beauty! magnificas! so gay...
As i kept drooling over the beauty
It suddenly struck me inside
I was sad,tears for my friend...
And held captive by fear...
As i stared around me
I figured out i was lonely..
The wind blew into my hair
As if someone calling me...
A pure soul longing for me....
Shall i go to the man or shall i continue my life...
Words had failed me...
As my balance of desire
Was equal in both places
In heaven & on earth
I wanted in my body both the faces

A mask of temptation,a face of desire
An imperialistic heart
A soul to burn fire....
Questioning made my head burn
With anticipation for the answers
A sovereign thought
And the malevolent eyes....
Destroy or construct..
What to do?
Put my hand in the cool water
The replenishing feeling...
My heart still beating
Desires screaming....
Took the left path instead of right...
May be it wasn't safe
I may have fights
But i know....
I live only once my life.



Visions of the future are better than dreams of the past....
                                                                                                   -unknown

Where is the poet whose bugles blow
Through internet screens and invisible
Imperialistic royalty?
Might your words blow like trumpets
At Jericho?
March, march upon the walls
That which takes the heart at its very beat,
Take back with passion all that
Fear has robbed,
The power in the people that remains
The basic fundamental movement
Of this world,
Let be known we stand,
We stand and will fight,
March on poet saints,
Let a the martyrs before you become
The crystalline clarity that beckons
Deep in the soul.
Behold,
The words become a movement,
May they incur the people,
Then it becomes a battlecry!

Do I leave, Do I stay
Do I play or run away
Which way today
Go left, go right
Do I stay, do I fight
Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover
It’s me, or them,
It’s now, or then
Maybe my community,
Or a dangerous lion’s den
Do I tango,
Do I talk
Do I break
Or make a wall
Do I fly
Or do I fall

Left right Left right
Wrong Right Wrong Right
Far right Outta sight
Loose Tight Loose Tight
Left right Left right

Well now I’ve come to the crux of it
I’m going to be a Bodhisattva Brit
All this self, cherishing spin
Explains the state we’re in
Our imperialistic past
Built the wealth of our state
Now we’d better give some back
Before it’s way too late


Sean Hunt  June 7 2016

I am not a tourist
I will not be opportunistic
And I bring no camera too
Only a mind that will remember

I am not a tourist
I will not be dogmatic
And I bring no point of view
Only the will to discover

I am not a tourist
I will not be imperialistic
And I bring no statue
Only the humility of a pauper

I am not a tourist
I will not be materialistic
And I bring no Western virtue
Only the repentance of sinner

Generations upon generations - ruined,
Because imperialistic sons of ******* needed
More! More is always better, they say.
But, they never dug their daily food
From the dumpster behind a Chinese buffet.
They never had to steal food for
Their starving children. They never had
To get an education in prison to survive
After, and to protect their families.
They never walked to work at 4:30
In the morning so they could make
Minimum wage before going to their next
Job where they make ten cents more.
They never knew, because they were too
Bought into the notion that materials
Are everything and without materials,
They think you are nothing.
They don't know ****, because,
They never...

well, for one, the notion of the nation-state
being dead in western europe,
is another thing to consider in "eastern" europe:
*******! it's central! central!
check the ural mountains!
            but thanks for calling the whole
european experiment agglomorate of
countries the bloc brigade...
         the point is that: the mere notion
of the nation-state is still an infant in
countries,
      that have only recently become states,
emerging from the ashes of empires...
  the nations were there, but the states weren't...
and they're not going to exactly cave-in,
none of the current states,
  had expanded their national-identity into
imperial ambitions...
    tight-knit commuties,
         jan sobieski and the 1529 siege
of vienna... thanks adolph, much ado...
   but of course! akin to the culutral darwinistic
branch of thought, atheism deems
and religious identification as a sign of
imbecile tendencies,
   futile, childish,
       so too comes the culturally darwinistic
critique of ethnicity, nation, and state,
we're imbeciles...
   i'm sure that'll go down well with
the mothers and fathers of manchester...
   sh'*** on! as sean connery would say...
shaken, not shtirred... go on... they're waiting...
it's going to be pretty **** hard to
rid the poles of the nation-state concept,
given they've only been celebrating it
from 1945 onwards, proper...
        when i was a teen i conjured up a plan:
not because i was en route in gaining
british citizenship... but because i though:
entering europe is, a ******* bad idea...
            and why didn't poland experience
a financial crash? dunno...
          they're not going to enter the euro
either... if they do: they'd be the biggest
idiots known to man.
                    the u.s.a. aren't allies of israel
as such...
    only those who have hungered for
a nation-state, akin to the hebrews known
a little bit about being subjected to foreign rule...
mind you, the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth was a brothel for kings and queens,
last time i checked;
   a swede of the house of vasa ruled the land...
once upon a time, in the words of the brothers
grimm...
         they have been starved their identity
for a long time,
   not as long as the jews, i give you that,
but they're not going to succumb to the laws
of former imperialists...
    the idea of a nation-state has long died,
once the nation-state encouraged itself into
an imperial expansion...
                  what we're seeing is an
imperial-nation explosion, within the state of
origin...
               evidently, if there are still
nation-states, they exist, because they haven't
had the capability to become imperialistic...
   and hence their implosion into
a puritan form of nationalism,
encouraged by a mono-cultural reincorcement;
poland, like israel, has had a break
from being allowed the status of its people
to be "worthy" of a state...
            and yet, akin to the jews:
the language survived...
                  only by language, can poland
entertain its nation-state foothold...
        let's face, why shouldn't it?
  the western nations entertained the pleasures
from this idea, and managed to forge
empires...
                      why should this be denied
of others, who simply came later,
   after being denied the digestion of the idea,
via the three partitions, and subsequent
   disintegration for a limited period of time?
and the commentary from within the country:
just like the russian tsars said -
  'sometimes: people don't know what's good for them;
   best decide for the people,
so that people can orientate themselves
within the patchwork of their daily
consummate affairs; and stick to them without
argument, or rebellious questioning
   of the patent for "dictated" /
                          acquired motivation.'
likewise, i see no heroism in the solidarity
movement... just a bunch of bored kids
listening to iron maiden, with as much statement
as merely a t-shirt, and a badge,
   and a few spells of distributing ******* pamphlets,
or reading czesław miłosz on the toilet,
while jerking off... and then ******* off
to h'america, donning hawaiian shorts in flo... rída!
well... that's how the russian people
were taught...
             who kept them in check?
the guy who had a harem of beauties,
or the guy who experiment with animals,
throwing dogs off the kremlin walls, like ivan?

I am still alive
and that is all I know
about life and the
pursuit of living.
There is no meaning;
afterall.
We are all floating
into space.
I am in one of these
lavender fields
scratching my itches.
I would love to be
tranquilized, for eternity
if not then I do not want
eternity.
The hardest element I have
conquered in life is that
I have always been
fighting the living scrabble
out of myself each minute
to figure out the
ground.
And the dust I was made of- stardust.
The imperialistic house
should be burned
but I would rather
stay here
coated in substances.
More harm, less feel.
Hell is watching the people
you love; suffer.

The history of our species
is soaking with blood and feces.
Coated in rotting corpses,
The fates are so remorseless.
How could a God create this
world of war, ****, pain, and racists?

A righteous God could never conceive
of this world that I perceive.
If there is a loving creator
then why all the hate and racial slurs?
Why's there materialistic vanity
and imperialistic insanity?
Curse this reality of physicality,
We're all slaves to our own duality.

The world is so mangled and ******,
So This God must be one sick puppy.
School shootings are now a common practice
and hate is spewed from rage filled baptists,
Are they really God's spiritual apparatus?
If so I want no part of his  kingdom
I want no part of this crooked system.

I ask you, God are you  trying to teach us?
Is suffering the way that you reach us?
Or are we just pawns in a twisted game?
Your abandoned children left out in the rain?

If there is a God then it must hate
The entirety of which it creates.
He or she must enjoy our pain,
Must laugh at bullets lodged in brains.
I've seen widows cry
I've seen youths die
And God has yet to tell me why.

Eyes of striking beauty, possessing a fixed hypnotic venom. Entrancing they are as there is a difficulty of looking away, of not swimming within their depths- they hold firm. 
Majestically imperial ornaments, impossible to be suited or even complemented yet, this treasure's price is less than worthless in it's carrying of the inability to truly love. Even a heart of the boldest of golds, can be far from pure. 
Less than careless regard for emotion, displaying manners so set, so "carved in stone," the ******* of steel with ones bare hands could easier be fathomed. 
Coincide well, do the plagues- emptiness, loneliness, the most solitary of confinements. Hearts now flustered, upon being tossed about on a singular accord. So it seems, nothing lost, for there is magnificent, splendid beauty to behold. Let this also soon be a lesson- nor can anything be gained. Beauty can be deceiving and venom holds the capability of death.

He thought about right and wrong; but
it didn’t seem to matter to the wolves
that gathered their forces against an elk
whose merciless death lent red contrast
to their mouths and the snow that fell
silently upon reality

As everyone scrambles for their ancient
texts and what was painstakingly copied by
the counting of each symbol, the strength
to reach into a dead animals heart to
find what if what was meant by survival
of the fittest included God’s word

He felt so far ahead of his time though
he really lived in the past; he saw laughter
he could not hear and cries he hoped
would not last, but to be happy about
simple things meant solace in the silence
of creativity

He preferred the shackles of rebellion rather
than the freedom of acquiescence, but when
veins burst, choking on words that insist upon
opening in the presence of  those who cannot
understand there is nothing he could do except
part the clouds with a trumpet blast

Imperialistic words invade happy moments
As you allow his saber to leave its sheath; we
slowly rub the tips of our fingers across the blade
fully realizing our power yet we only clinch our
teeth; there is too much to lose as we no longer
sleep on a sofa contemplate the dawn of madness

We want to be relevant and only see it in the eyes
of our children but he will let anger boil away all
helplessness; there is no test considered worthy
of a lifetime; he wanted love to be true but who
will really know; it made him wonder if it is for
him or for you

Love became a dark alley where discarded cards
go but he could not be defeated because he plays
no game; you see squares, circles and lines while
he sees space, emptiness and backgrounds; there
is no recognizable pattern that induces confinement
and not one moment of shrewd calculation

He spent money with no thought of tomorrow, no
evidence of presence, but he’s been through that
and what is left are images, spaces and empty places
filled with long ago wonder as he found it was better
to climb a fence than pay the toll for the memory of
a moment of freedom was worth the cost

brown trunks, green forest
I pace and embrace silence

green diocese of Virginia?
imperialistic violence

I walk the path of solitude
but I do have my cell phone

Trump now has the virus
come, O vast Unknown!