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anastasiad Feb 2017
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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
the proust edition of la recherche i had, which i gave away to a charity shop; if you could stitch or strap the edition to my hands clenched into a fist (it was, after all a cheap 2 vol. edition), i could have knocked you out. no, i didn't read it, which is why many people never bother to use the dictionary, because it's always a one volume edition.

it became so haunting to have sang with david
with the lyre the lyrics:

             i'm happy, hope you're happy too...
             ashes to ashes, funk to funky
             we know major tom's a *****
             strung out in heaven's high
             hitting an all time low

it was so eerie i felt goose bump hoofs on my
cheeks adding for extra five o'clock shadow
that i never knew i had.

that's the thing about having european editors,
the ****** day, the whole theatrical approach,
it's just a ****** book of poetry,
it's not exactly an atom bomb,
but they sent the draft which i'm hoping to add
to with my *hoc erat in votis
to armenia,
Armenia, yes, once an incorporation of
the soviet rather than tsar's empire:
so jui-seph shtalin involved himself with the russians
from georgia, and my first idea sparklers will
come from armenia - good place to ask napoleon
to escape elba, i say, ol' chap.

and after the teenage girl hype period of an artist,
ziggy, you know what i'm talking about,
you get a process where an artist matures,
becomes prone to criticism, has no hype factor,
has no real monetary appeal to the less
hyped-up juice-of-genitalia army,
has to become a sensible economist -
there! catch him! that's where an artist
translates to other mediums his actual worth,
i feel privileged to have lived at a time
when david bowie released his heathen album,
one critic pointed that it was his best album
since the 1980 release of scary monsters,
so then i bought scary monsters...
i worked backwards...
i didn't feed the ziggy & space spiders from mars
gimmick / egoism, or even the rebel, rebel choir
of cult followers, and you know what?

              i'm happy, hope you're happy too...

it worked, now i can listen to the music like a distraction
tool, refrigerator buzz, ambiance, the freelance
artistry of it all, less care for kids, more care for
the insolent kids that aged and donned their employment
qualifications as 'art critics.'

but what i listen to isn't exactly what i write with,
it would plagiarise the thought process
so much that it would destroy it - the moment's gone,
the ingrained concept of time has allowed
for the same space of the origin of the narrative
to look different, even though nothing was moved.

so with this anglo renaissance circa 1950s -
1990s (nietzsche was critical of the reformation
when martin luther attacked the renaissance creativity,
no great composer in the counter-reformation,
just ignatius layola and the jesuits),
with the beat generation poets (preceding them,
the spirit of influence that was ezra pound
and no other i dare to admit, a seal-off point,
built a hydroelectric dam in nevada f. d. r. did)
you then had the explosion, and i mean it,
the EXPLOSION! 1960s psychedelia,
1970s ******* infused black sabbath etc.,
depressive 1980s with depeche mode iconoclasm
and the cure's slit your lips if not wrists,
the great digging of ***** duran duran,
scandinavian love hopes of a-ha, etc.,
then the shift back to the geographic place of origin,
seattle, grunge, rekindling of thinking man's
rock amiss the ******* fuel of the decade
with prog rock bands, i.e. tool;
and then of course the brit pop decade
(oasis, blur, the stone roses, the la's among many,
bands that still invoked a sing-along even
in such odd places like taizé in burgundy
for the wonderwall chorus)
and then... the death of it all...
artists getting rich, flamboyant, eccentric,
and the people seeing how they were "duped"
deciding enough was enough...
came napster, came pirate - ye har me mateys! -
and the death of the anglo renaissance
with kareoke culture - indeed if
the germans never conquered england,
and that book man in the high castle
by philip k. **** isn't true...
why did we allow the japanese to conquer
our culture? huh?!

p.s. when you realise all those 5.5K reads,
all those so called morale boosters... on websites
such as these, don't have a £ / $ in front of them;
and as i learned, after being reported to a website
similar to this accused of being a troll
for simply asking the long-ago standard
a.s.l. (age, ***, location) but only sticking to location,
losing some of the haul i'd liked to keep,
i realised i can lose that, no problem,
i rather lose that than lose what i have inside of me.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
i actually like the way slavoj žižek understands fascism, given the fourth movement of Beethoven's ninth symphony... as it stands: i really had to take pleasure in my suffering... i once called it: an exquisite pain... it's not that acknowledging pain is difficult, what's difficult is taking pleasure in it... on a whim... nothing as flamboyant as baron sacher-masoch's take on it, transcending toward the ****** thesis... i am the grey matter, the everyday comparison to a factotum sort of analogue of what pain constitutes... and i'm actually free from depressive apathy... i am sometimes prone to laugh like i might be experiencing what the Fore women experienced... the kuru "disease", otherwise known as the creutzfeldt-jakob "disease"... yes... mm... uncontrollable laugher... akin to St. Vitus' dance... sydenham's chorea.. it's hard to see why there should be any cure to the experience... given that the experience is so liberating and has no materialistic mono-mania of a well tended to economy... cannibalism really has a great array of noun-arsenal... a bit like the poetry of Christianity it's akin to... to really believe this *******: you have to take it to the extremes and make every word: utterly isolated, and in a sentence utterly meaningless... it's like a swarm of wasps honing in on a body of a bear that mistook its ash-phlegm nest for a beehive feast... sometimes it happens... but sure as all else concerning: why not take pleasure in an anti-cross crucifixion, i.e. a sick-bed? sure, it's less theatre and many less marble statues worthy of a church... but, if according to žižek / rzirzek / really? ź ż vs. ž... a fascists takes pleasure from suffering... i must be in this club, since i do, the pain in my brain with its sizzling quiz of blood emeshed in synapses has moved to my *******... ******* ahoy! i sit in a chair, and when drink (esp. when drinking): they are goosebump prone, titilating me... amusing me... all the pain concerning my brain has moved into a pleasure reaction bound to the testicles... i couldn't have foreseen this waterfall if i didn't explore the word fascist beyond the communal horror of spotting an orthodox practitioner in either street or cyber-space...

e.g. the fore of papua new guinea
(ghee-knee... later the debated about
quinoa... apparently it's not qui-
       or french agree, we-noah...
  but something else... oh, it's related to a quiz
asking me whether i could possibly be a 5% liberal
elitist... well, if you were reading
the sunday times magazine: it would ask you
that... i did cut it apart as qui- -noa...
  but apparently it's pronounced:
kin-wah...                 once again my point:
you don't use highly concentrated phonetic
units, i.e. diacritical marks...
you're bound to leisure in this linguistic hell
of constantly "correcting" people....
just saying... what's the matter, toad stole
your burp?)

   and i really wanted to write a neat poem...
poems like this emerge,
you go to a shop, by the cheapest whiskey
two cans of beer and a bottle of cola...
it's early February... the cars parked
have the eerie circumstance of jack o'fogfrost
breathing onto the windows...
    your fingers itch from the cold...
you start to really see a skeleton walking
rather than something resembling protein
fat and carbohydrate...
    thankful for winter: to naturally imagine
a skeleton walk in the cold
   smoking a cigarette and drinking the beer
while the whiskey cools in your rucksack...
all you end up needing is
   a square mile, and outer English suburbia...
and a look into that forest you once frequented
walking as if with gauged eyes into
the custard darkness...
   then sitting on a stump, taking all the clothing
items from your torso and listening in
as something neared, cracked a branch
and you uttered into the forest:
  no animal would dare come so near...
      
... (man has to drink, take a break...
         sneaky ******* get to see
a work in progress... lucky them...
           too much of a sober me)...
hey! i'm warming the stove, it's not going to
shoot out firecrackers made from words
into a
     hoghmony celebration.... oh look...
another googlewhack!
      http://tinyurl.com/z8xeqpsn
(billionth of another! this is how i play the "lottery")
ah freckle feckle ****... scoot for new years...
hogmaney...  hogmoney...
  hagmanny...
                 ­  ****! Hogmanay!
    what was i "saying"?
                            
ah wait... i know... i know...
i was watching this film goat (2016)....
with james francko doing cameo but mainly producing...
if anything could put you off going to
university, well, notably an american university
it's this film... now i drink, i really do, heavily...
but what went on in that film was nothing short
of happens when people lack any respect for liquor...
i could watch the roman empire in a zoo...
what i witnessed in this film was:
well... can't see a point of caging a lion,
but i can see all the reason for caging man...
but the problem arises with:
you can take children to a zoo...
          you couldn't even want a child
to experience this sort of Iraqi **** made in
America...
                       i drink, i really do...
i slurped on a prostitutes ****** when drunk...
hell... i even wrote this...
          and i am really starting to believe
that going to university was the worst mistake of my life...
i left it, educated as a chemist,
without a clear move toward a career as a chemist...
    would i care to learn the use of language
to university level? i.e. get an english degree?
      not if i were a middle-class woman
   who's daddy was a doctor or a dentist...
                            people from my background,
double that up with a father who works in construction
and me being of immigrant stock (when will i get
to say expat?) -
  it was the biggest mistake of my life...
you see... other immigrants start to get jealous...
     they say you have to die: for raising for head
above the water...
         a bit like they kicked the hell out of
Jamie Redknapp's career in football...
now he's a pundit... but not a football player...
they smacked him about...
good thing my grandfather was a Silesian miner
for some time... i decided to dig trenches...
yes, metaphor: write poems...
   because i still can't see what nature ordained me
to possess... and why these little hitlers decided wasn't
fair for their "sense of worth"... oh i can name them...
one of them, a childhood sweatheart of a friend,
egyptian / persian, used to call me during
weekdays and sing to me over the phone...
   apparently he could ******* 20 times a day...
i tried 4 times in one day... nothing came out...
      the other was an add on to being in school from
the age of 16 to 18... a paddy-sikh...
   loved barrington levy and driving a car while
******... loved the whole gansta gimmick...
a complete *******...
                           and to think i was fooled into their
little of jealousy... this will make absolutely no sense
to you... given we (a) never spoke outside the realm
of my tornado... and (b) had a coffee?
               well... let's just say: one stupid move on
my behalf while intoxicated on marijuana
aged 21 taught me all i needed to know...
  from the age of 21 through to the age i am now:
some could consider me a monk...
                 or that infamous word: cenobite -
oh i'm just obsessing about how i want to
put my top 3 picks into classic.fm's hall of fame,
and write 3. christopher young's something to think about,
2. christopher young's something to think about...
1. christopher young's something to think about...
as i realised the past two days...
  collecting a personal library of classical music
makes no sense... unless it's Händel... (æ, i.e. :)...
and classical music only makes sense
with a d.j., and yes: a radio...
            there's no point being poncy about classical
music when you collect it...
        unless it might be something by Hans Zimmer
or any other movie soundtrack...
      and you can just sit back, listen to the radio,
and the classics just come and come...
i spent today lying in bed, because classic.fm
was playing from about 6am to about 1pm...
  and then i extended it to 3pm because
of aled jones and the voice so necessary as
that of alexander armstrong... in between?
                     bill turnbull... a news anchor
if i'm not mistaken... couldn't handle it...
  no, not the voice: the choice of music...
but even such people are absolutely necessary...
and would anyone care to remember
the ****** megastore on oxford street?
  the classical music department?
does anyone remember is being sealed off by
   glass like an aquarium from all the other music
genre departments in the store?
   a bit like walking into a lunatic asylum:
everything had to be cork-lined waiting for a Proustian
novel... first you had to appreciate
and build up a palette for silence... before
some concerto could be "ate" like refined sushi...
    radio and classical music does work,
i might have made a mistake collective obscure tastes,
i.e. proto-folk examples in Polish and compositions
of German industrial music...
   i might have done that... yeah, so true with the jazz...
but you have to have a Houdini weak-spot...
so in bed... rummaging through the radio and
television listings and reviews...
   after doing a bit of a crossword (which i can't
for the love of god) and a 6 x 6 su doku...
        now that's definitely sunday activity...
looking through the radio and tv listings...
   esp. noting the day's programme of bbc radio 4...
well, it's not that i'm a convert, with a house
in south-west london...
                i just heard that england is famous
for its eccentrics... i wanted to experience
    the most eccentric practice on these isles...
      tending to a garden would have made sense...
if it wasn't February...
   so reading the listings and reviews was the next
best thing...
    what with confusing Aled Jones with Alex Jones...
that famous britpop bassist turned cheese-maker.

then how do you begin taking fatal
mortal steps, simply motivated by biological
dynamics? i could have ended that
servitude to the waterfall, or should
i correct myself: required it to continue...
      but then interludes in the case of opera
leave me peasant-like, most ignoble...
      there's the 15 minutes were no fame is mentioned,
and no one forces art to become advert...
   since we're talking of the thin-red-line,
i can't but help myself reading more book reviews
in English, than actual books in Polish...
because i care for the cognitive labourers,
i really do... i think they are needed
to bypass actual books, meaning they do all
the work... or should i say arbeiten?
well.. enough critics about, you get to
dissociate yourself from the actual origin...
     a bit like waving your hand at god
and embracing the "awe" inspiring profusion
of the human tongue becoming over-bearing...
not even bearing grudges...
  but no gratitudes either...
                it just is what you care to make of
germans the sole originators of
   the proto "bayeux" tapestry given a.i. -
but then you treat the germans as they
are currently given the sway,
and you awake a humanity in them:
a humanity only germans know how
to acknowledge: a collectivisation -
germans know no concept of individualism
akin to the late-removed isle Saxons...
i.e. the English... the English are always
blitzkrieg specific about the individual,
the fact that so many individuals get a chance to vote
leasves me with blisters of what i can best
estimate as noted to being conscience...
          the germans are best appropriate to
express the volk... the english are like stuffed
animals worshiping the name Byron... Milton...
Blake... Newton...
         and let's leave them there, because if they
finally manage a homogeny of an ethnic
accord to give a momentum unto it via their lack
cohesion... i am assured a passage to
the houses of parliament to laugh,
as a test of my carve to veto, rather than vote.
mainland europe calls them: the islanders!
you can't help but see a care to blow up
the tunnel la mange... the channel tunnel...
because if a 2nd ****** arose...
the tanks would flod that serene countryside...
     i come across foxes all the time...
once i picked a dead fox near the bus station
in romford using two bin bags from the nearby skip...
and walked with it home, weighed it,
just under 10 kilograms... i weighted myself first,
then with the dead fox enclosed in the bin bags...
then i walked with the fox and threw it into
a meadow... i was thinking along the lines:
at least the sanitation officer will have a day off..
  obviously i was tattooed with the idea that
i was some sort of shaman, given two people witnessed
me picking up the corpse...

900 gull herrings eating their own...
      chimanzees also take to a nibble...
        banana slug females are fond of eating
"******", when the mating gets heavy...
not ever, as ever, but with Darwinism had i ever
managed to see a woman like a mantis...
  sorry... looking at the ***-hole of nature like that
will eventually leave you paralysed and
not even awe-struck but fear-woken...
             because it really can't be so much a desire
to look at it as if it was necessarily needing
incorporation, but was necessarily incorporated
nonetheless...
         the ogasawara incident... 1945...
       yoshio had a fine fine palette...
                          cannibalism was never suggested
as equivalent of a war crime...
  and one said: human thighs tasted like chicken,
another said: a bit like raw tuna...
          judeo-christian food prohibitions...
    well... once the prohibitions come along with
the poetry... left can mean right...
and right will evidently mean left...
                 during the yuan dynasty...
         pedohpiles were more or less reductive in
their transgressions... they ate more: than they ******.
two freedoms then, china prone to omnivore status
and hindustan prone to vegetarianism...
               both examples lead to a success rate of
a billion examples...
                       it's only these pest-like infections of
mono-this omni-that are keen to always give their
i love yous as politico dictates...
  maxims even... so very fond they are: of their maxims...
they even infected their youth in the 21st century
stating that: no one is akin to us,
if not in his youth, having been ***** by abou10
10 favourite maxims... most kept, hardly any employed...
1261 edict: when children were asked to stop
plucking out their eyeballs...
   horror films are therefore, equivalent to soft-core
******... history is thrice over the real horror movie...
    but given our faculty of memory is so
(putting it mildly) "biased"... i think we're over-sensitive
in giving imagination the scenes from both
horror and Disney... we've already gave the former
and the latter we have just sold...
           but hey! a placentta fry-up like a setting sun,
illuminates with more choice of hue than
noon and the "dehydrated" shadow (yes,
i know, a better word would be suited, but i have
no time to ascribe it to a tailor-fitting, a neat and tidy
resonance... treat dehydrated as a dwarf shadow,
mingle that with photon and phonetic -
that light illuminates, and traps things into bites,
like H or He denote hydrogen and helium
respectively... and qui- and -noa denote
necessary argument of what sound goes where,
rightly)...

evidently i did take the quiestionnaire about
whether i am a liberal elite...
it had to be done... why would i otherwise read a sunday
newspaper?
            end result? 0-50 (norm), 51-100 (aspiring),
    101-150 (not quiet there), >150 (elitist snob)...
(ref. the 5%, charles murray, coming apart,
   the bell curve... superzips)
q1: what is the top prize in the thunderball and when
is it drawn?
   a1: i play the googlewhack lottery.
      alt. a1: 0 (alright), 5 (days rights), 10 (what is thunderball?)
             talk of chav tax...
q2: how many people in your vicinity voted for
    Brexit?
    a2: i just had an opinion... voting is cheap
when you can't express a ballot veto.
   alt. a2: 0 (all of them), 5 (one or two)... 10 (aghast at the question)
              a bit ******* obvious, no point explaining....
q3: what is your favourite dish on th
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
there's always that trailing off i get when i write,
oh god, whiskey is a ******...
    it drags you like a mermaid to the depths,
i start to feel an anchor in my mind
even though my heart is steady-numb...
   and i evidently become slightly dyslexic...
  but hey! what can you do:
     either drink and be miserable,
  or drink and unfold with terrible spelling at
the end of a session... and feel shame the next
day, having seen the outpouring
from the previous night...
      better still... i could recommend tending to
a small vine-patch...
and like me: taking a break from whiskey once
a year and drinking your own produce...
    unless of course you have a local turkish shop
nearby that sells out-dated beer
  at half the price... let me tell you:
that's ****** marvelous... nothing like
out-dated beer... it's right up there with the rollercoaster
and the kick! my my! it's so sudden...
      but it hits the spot,
all the disorientative effects of mushrooms:
without excess Dali lodged in your eyes...
so yeah, out-dated beer... double the trip...
but today is different, i have about 30 litres of
home-made wine just ready to be drunk,
   i've downed one bottle and i'm running
errands with the next... but i'm not miserable
in that i'm washing away my sorrows...
the funny thing about making your own wine
is that once you drink it: you celebrate...
you start to think about all the effort you put
into making it... how you picked the grapes from
the vine, how you squashed the grapes,
how you stood bedazzled by melting sugar
        in a little bit of water over the stove
(and how it started looking very much like
heavy water, or mercury, but see-through) -
and how you sniffed the stench of yeast,
and then waited for a month or so for the ****** thing
to take up strength...
   and now you're drinking it...
                    oh yes... wine in essex is very much
agreeable... and my my: i am really celebrating this
endeavour... it's not as fake as going to the shop
and buying a bottle of wine... i am drinking
my own work... i am celebrating, there's no god
or omen in the world that can tell me otherwise...
    i waited a year for this, well: two...
i don't know what happened last year, i mistimed...
the grapes froze, there was a sudden surge of frost
and i was really upset because of it, 2 years ago
i was drunk like a skunk for several days
and wrote some poems in between,
      and put my own wine on the christmas table,
but since i was ****** for so long, i could only
showcase one bottle...
      well they do say there are spirits out there,
and i must say: wine, esp. your own really is
the veritas, as the saying goes: in vino veritas...
    bring it back to whiskey, or Ms. Amber as i like
to call her... she's not sour, and she's pulverising,
so she's no friend of the tongue... in case you're wondering
i'd like to call herr goebbels right now...
         but can you feel a shame of having misspelled a word
drunk, because your hands started to feel
   a bit like a daddy longlegs with one or two legs missing?
in terms of the keyboard...
what are the prime digits?
right hand: ******* - ****! now my hands feel conscious
of me talking about them...
middle and thumb (for the spacebar) -
   index finger for the opening bracket (  
pinky finger for the enter button -
                 to make room for the next line -
which makes me wonder about my left hand,
it would appear that i'm left handed when before
the keyboard -
   the main provocators are the index
middle and... surprise surprise! the ring finger!
the left hand thumb sometimes does
                       use the space bar also...
the the right hand ring finger is hardly used...
i remember watching my doctor type at a keyboard once...
a bit like a crow pecking... it went like this:
index (right) index (left)
    index (right) index (left)
               index (right) index (left) - it was agony...
it was a bit like standing at a supermarket cashier with
an old lady in front of you, buying butter and milk
and talking for an hour while counting her change...
   ageism? no! just your typical life-bound comedy of
how the stats stack... we spend this many years in traffic...
and my, the hand thing...
       yep, next thing you'll - aha! there is the ring-finger
utility in the right hand after all - it comes with words
that come shortened, i.e. you'll... the ' mark,
and also the backspace button...
                  i was going to say: (the shift button?
pinky owns it) - as the great kabbalists have this fetish
of looking at your hands, it's worthwhile to note down
this geography of the keyboard...
   they'd just point at the indententions of the hand
and spew words out like: girdle of venus...
     malkhut (silent h) -
                 which brings to mind:
   we already know the name is silent,
  since you might be served an indian dish called
dhal... and in fact you would be served such a dish,
but you'd only say you ate daal... or dāl...
then again that's also true with the pedant puritan
who'd note it as: dhāl... which is funny that this isn't
merely coincidental... a language that doesn't
use diacritical marks, and has a third arm sticking out
of it in terms of what letters remain silent (but are
inserted into words nonetheless), and a concentration
of the same rubik's "cube" akin to y and w...
      y and i are so close! you can almost feel them pushing
together, or giving birth to something!
  why?! why?!
                         (insert snigger)... drunk humour:
it gets the better of me sometimes...
   so yes, that thing about kabbalists and the hand thing,
other words could be included, like: keter,
               bina(h),             gevura(h),  
strangely enough Hod...   tiferet (what a beautiful word),
    yesod....     chok(h)ma(h)...   chesed...
netzach! hey! surfing u.s.a., i think i'll bring my banjo
to sniff out whether i'm part of the scene:
dangle dangle plop plop... ah poo...
                   p pi po'h...           and last weekend
we had snow... it scared the bejesus out of people
for a while, but things returned to normal nonetheless...

- interlude -

the tyranny of being conscious...
long recognised by eastern philosophy and the practice
of meditation...
  to be away from me...
        and they do so, splendid,
and then all toward vanity, given you're forced
into dreaming... so even when you're not even
conscious... i.e. unconscious...
   you're being fed a dream...
  and however disroted that you in the dream
is... there's still you...
oddly enough: if i make thinking = dreaming
   i can honestly say: i wish i dreamed more
than i thought... me not a mighty oratory gob
after all...
            evidently doing hallucinogenics
   was to excavate the dream into the waking hour...
and that's how i'll leave this interlude,
   i just imagine andy warhol testifying about fame
at the opera...
   or that's me bound to watching:
   alain de botton... or what does need diacritical
marks: alain dé bóttą...
                        dé bóttą... the art of travel,
                    on the QE2...    
      dé bóttą! oh the marvel, French of all languages
is nasal and glottal! when speaking Polish you
might as well be talking in razors...
                  Greek and lisp, English and Cockney rhyme...
and the lost trill of the R... R hollowed out...
                and once again to modern times:
the imperial march (darth vader's theme) vs.
     beethoven's 9th symphony...
                                                             tra la la -
both as universally acknowledged as the sound of
a ****... and perhaps a pigeon's coo-woo
                                                                                       -

...the interlude actually contains what ignited me to
write... drinking aside, but drinking too...
   in all too a great happiness that somehow i live
a life that asks for narrative minimalism,
               i can say: and in between i did **** all,
i thought profanity was necessary,
            and how i'd wish i'd have written a epic
like don quixote... but then i thought: keep it real,
keep it real... av a laugh...
                           i'll probably taste the sour from the wine
sometime soon, once the narrative becomes a Gobi
and i get worked about the eventual loss of
   a carpe diem quickie...
                           but it's still there, for the moment...
        and having realised that: it's gone.
               and i did say:
    by the personnae principle, in line with not writing out
a Tolstoy, i have to admit that i never know
who i encounter in my exploits...
            and there is a personnae principle at work here,
it's not Shakespeare, that much i know,
   it's the practice of personnae incorporation that
does away with: and Titus said:
                                      veni! vidi! vendredi!
(oi oi, enough of the French static, ya ponce!)
          so that's that, poetry has come to resemble
   modern art... given the personnae principle
we have done away with all the intricacies of
        writing a Shakespearean play...
Titus - lo!
   Anthony - a plum tree!
                          as a person competent with narratives
i ask for all people to leave the building...
   a pit of tongues i might also add...
      populo in singuli!       ah freckles and ash...
it has to be: pertaining to the vulgate...
   nothing better than speaking illiterate latin ol' boy...
  a bit like richard brautigan
writing the pill versus the springhill mine disaster -
there the buds of the concept personnae (without clear
indication that we are dealing with a crowd,
so no memorable quote or character, the narrator
is trying to keep his **** together, pardons for the laziness
and lack of indicative marks that there are actually
more people in the room than could be expected...
me and drunk me make up a thousand crude-essentials
as to what is intended to imply: having a good time) -
    sometimes poetry is just that: a quickened code for
acting, albeit without any character-study,
        or diet, or paparazzi...  and it's so quick... you've
watched a movie like a mosquito lived its life and you're
writing the credits...
       like richard brautigan wrote that poem -
      when you take your pill
           it's like a mine disaster.
       i think of all the people
      lost inside of you.

richard brautigan! richard brautigan!
this is the mine disaster company, over!
         yes, we number 34 souls in total.
       and there's your thesis! it must be hard to
write "poetry" and never, not once: experience
the Styx in your travels, the pit of tongues,
         or the personnae principle...
              always bound to rigid narrative constructs,
alway having an aliby with a 'he said it!'
          it must get horrid sometimes,
   living that life of a puppeteer / narrator -
     never really drunk with pesky humour -
       never once enjoing a wicked thought -
        a meddle on the omnius frivolity of life...
but personally? i find it almost bewildering that
of all the ancient Greek gods... Hades was homeless...
that's before Hades was a noun designating a place,
a realm... i just find it hard
to believe that of all the gods, Hades didn't have a temple...
    the only god from ancient greece that didn't
have a temple... sure, they had a statue of him,
  but there was no temple to see to benediction...
now i really think i've over-stepped it...
                     the wine is imploring me to end this
polyphonic nonsense, and think of a monophonic
sound of a woodpecker... relax... think of the sound
when wood is chopped...
      relax... forget this circus of what could be
described as a theoretical exploration of a schizophrenic
symptom... think of a monty python sketch...
        calm



                                                                                 .
Julian Jul 2020
Although flummoxed by the gabble of hibernaculum I seethe with the verdant quiddity that is a cross-pollination that spans the gamut of historical memory and owns the usucaption of infrastructure equipping our bootstrapped capacities of literacy tethered to the ecumenical capacity for proliferation through amplified discernment that percolates at decorative gallop into the stridor of unified apothegms that quantify the visibilia of the broadened universe into the nexility of formula bounded by the parameters that equip synergies of space-time to envelope its own reification and magnetize urbane freebooters of coalescence to grapple with the ineffable mathematics of absorbed losses in the human fraternity becoming overlooked because of the providence of shepherded acrimony to escape the oblivion of barely marginal exponential extinctions of impropriety into fast-paced panoramas of expedited dalliance with optimums constrained by the effluvia of hinderbaggle which exist only by domineering mercurial lability of manufacture enabled by the siphon of Promethean reason to catapult the slogmarch of advancement by punctuated achievements registered by canonical gravitas to revolutionize society in longevity and interplanetary awareness that places a 1000:1 premium on a 165 IQ in comparison to a 110 IQ. Although bewildered by the beaucoup of raxed originality the anoegenetic flux of slogan achieves but a petty solidarity in comparison to the galvanized bronteum of registered invention that provides decisively seminal locomotive prowess to the foisons of promulgated ingenuity propped up by the capacity for raltention that exceeds the inherent longevity of humans on Earth into the permanence of memory to achieve radical vanguard frontiers within diminishing frames of a once vapid time recorded only through the lens of finicky preoccupations of crude retention rather than the kinship of the perceptive unity of the authors who remarked on history to share the same vantage with the distant onlookers upon that very history with such a convergence of judgments the photons that trespassed on inquisitive eyes of inquierendo are the very same blueprint for the modern savory traipse with selfsame perceptions embedded in canonical history like the spool of an exact daydream unfurled before inoculated eyes differentiated by context but achieving the same visual footprint of historical lineament provided by the original exemplar. The luxury of our provisional prosperity is the unique ability to browse spontaneously a two-century travail of perceptible records embedded in the same perceptual rudiments captured by the original vetuda thereby enabling the specificity of prowess to vicariously encounter distant gulfs of time with the simultaneous realization of past becoming present tense because beyond the revisionism of the censors the human lineage originates in approximated design tethered to the aboriginal photographs and hallmark expenditures of celluloid digitized into annealed constellation to provide separate junctures in space time with the same indelible percept decontextualized but potent by showcase of the verdure of the generosity of shared perception rather than cleaved faint traces of divergent imagination conceiving junctures by distal lurches of insular harbors of private registries of tact and discretion without the shared raltention of the plevisable entities that populate the fragmented lineage of space-time to achieve full congruence in percept first and abstract eventually as neuroscience slogmarches with the nockerslug of invidious depredation of sanctanimity. Adrift in iconoduly sustained by lambent monasticism of abnegation we were lost widows of insular idiosyncrasies of similar concepts separated by the longevity of imagination redacted into communicable formula to ensure the divergence of impact of liturgies heterodyne by vast distances but linked to archaic designs that formed the paradigms which eventually merged with the wiseacres of Renaissance conserved in momentum over centuries into the information capital that forms the futtocks of the girdle of a womb matrix of society sustained by a newfangled uniformity of exposure that slowly churns the collectivism of memory and the syndication of the cartel into the ubiquity of prominent thorns of perception magnified by iconography of the megalography of historical permanence evasive of censors and embracing the entelechy of coherent perceptions siphoned by different engineers but arriving at precisely the same conceptual imprint thereby unifying the perceptual world with the usucaption of leveraged networking of browsers of antiquity. The finesse of leapfrogs of modern human impediment is to scour the reaches of the troves of the most vivid imagination and expedite the turnstiles of conserved rollercoasters of enthusiasm probed by the cadasters capable of castophrenia to syndicalize the autonomy of human perception sejungible from indelible vivid footprints of abstraction upon an interface of truly hard-won vehicles of transmissible abstraction to win the arduous relish of once a vacuum of infested instinct into an algorithm of an intelligent source that creates the precise conditions of parallax to seed through celestial hosts the flourishes of stereodimensional traces of permanent cadaster into something that elects beyond the ethereal snatches of oblivion the provisional apportionment of sentiment above continence to set ablaze the rarefaction of raltention and quantify the intelligible impact of one artifact of civilization over the constellated taxonomy of all apothegms within the divine grasp of a sublunary eternity revived and recycled into syndicated scrutiny that bows to a convergent entelechy of instantaneous improvisation of perdurable registry into indemnities that litigate the humorous quizzical trangams of vastly outmoded obsolescence borrowing from panspermatism of technocracy to the edgy appeal of scintillating horizons of peerless scope that approximate the ommateum of approximated omniety but never span far enough for the distant riometers to see for deputized galaxies to be evoked in concrete human-alien achievements sempervirent and virulent guardians of the toil of sensation to refract off of its overhang because of redundant upbringing to shelve the incendiary impediments of the chary into the corsairs of revelation beyond gamuts of lurch and bypassing elapsed regress to arrive at ceremonial progress to trespass upon many minds with a unified concrete hypostasized entelechy of a fielded incorporation of organic life into a manufactured cycle of the most prolonged and beatific longevity capable of digestion and implementation from the toolsheds of hubris accelerated by the vainglory of subsidized harmonies that break through the barriers of language to sprout convergence in direct opposition to entropy to achieve oculate ommateum.The opponents to the logical syndicalism of positivism emergent as the verdant drape of homogenized pasteurization of raw lavaderos that capsize swallock and devour consciousness with predatory mobilism is the tregounce of the ponderous imprints of recapitulated stupidity which is easy to quantify in terms of human rarity because the difference between a 130 IQ and a 155 IQ is a difference in ingenuity power than exceeds 25:1 or an even higher margin of liquidation of indebted concatenations forming the flombricks of capitalized language finessed into burgeoned growth to radically shift postulates into abstract precision that observes the flanges of the dominion of inculcation into the filibusters of gainsay that supersedes hearsay in an evolution of the dialectic to exert transformative esemplastic rejuvenation that transcends creed and ingeminates the festivity of spectacle with the alvantage of albenture to such an extent it predicates new modalities of persiflage grounded on the aggressive patented expansion of the noosphere to inherit the instincts of orthobiosis while simultaneously inheriting the flair of redoubled ingenuity swarming with the vespiaries of predatory discretion working to ***** out glaring beacons of sapience so that intellectual capital is a local rather than ubiquitous emergence because of the prizes of urbacity enhanced by systems of masonic creed that preserved foresight with varying degrees of exactitude knowledgeable about outcomes but incidental in creating those outcomes out of the alchemy of the convergent sphere of spacetime to curve to synclastic pancratic refinement realized in the taxation of the most domineering figures of canon to indoctrinate the inkburch of wernaggle while the panorama of peripheral obscurity adduced by the resourceful few provides the progeny for a seminal equation that encounters the quandaries of precise retention amplified by the synergies of language exponentially grown by the depth and breadth of lexicon siphoned through mechanisms of percolation seeded by the convergent progeny of hindsight meeting foresight to a truce in the elected interests of the filagersion of the spotlight highlighting a universe that only exists with self-aware reification rather than plodding animated instincts of a stagnant match with a slowpoke evolution that scrawls the gabble of the vacuums of faint oblivion knowing only pain, agony and brief felicity but never registered into ecosystems capable of enriching themselves with artifices of origination rather than vapid retrenchments of the stale vapor of the exigencies that plague the intellectually bereft with tertiary deskandent perfunctory desuetude outstripped by the parsecs of the 170 crowd who secretly orchestrates the think tanks that run the furtive cryptadia of regional governance with foisons of fruition realized as dividends of exponential bypasses of even a linear route of the streamline by warping time itself to a spontaneous entelechy that triangulates a warped trigonometry that fathoms what can only be mapped on an imaginary flickering plane of fluxed existence that achieves sub-Pythagorean travel by altering the vacillating distances predicated by the theory of relativity into shortened tracts of abbreviation separating the bridgewaters of locomotion from the vast lurking prowess of reconfigured geometries lurking beyond the shadowy grave of reconnaissance into the penumbra of conservatory refinement. The punctual symmetries of thermodynamic decay met with a conversant offset in reverse acceleration of thermolysis converge with the centripetal prism of annulment to make stalemates of atomic precision appear grandiose to the economic principle of leverage acquired by debt because the discounted cost of symmetrical approximations of sentiment, abstraction and the already syndicated unity of perception vastly scale the scope of the reach of the amenable universe to tractions bound more by eccentricity of parameterized volumes of competing hyperbolas of a warped unity of tugging forces spawned by the differential weights of a flummoxed calculus that provides obeisance in ecumenical uniformity that was absent by degrees through the tinkers of time to adjust the orbits of consideration by tilted warbles of the songbirds that swim in abysses reaching sizable celestial tutelage providing reprisal for quintessential crudity mapped into a syntax of evolved refinement amplified by conserved concatenation accelerated into mastery by the coalescence of new lexicon to probe conceptual space unchartered by the nexility of normal human conduct and therefore bound to a different pattern of evolution that is oleaginous to the engines of revved ostentation in intellectual prowess that is selfsame from the majesty of heaven because of preordained populace meeting transitory flickerstorms twinged with the irony of discursive disclaimer and discretion of disclosure of emissary vehicles that power synaptic vesicles to burst with signal strength harnessing the unity of conscientiousness into a coenesthesia that fathoms interdisciplinary bridges rarely exacted by the formulas of a more rudimentary mind demarcated in taxonomies of scope that are taxemes for unrealized entelechy bristling against the headwinds of doldrum rather than zephyrs of accelerated approximations of the enumeration of elaborate sveldtang into seminal traversals of the inhibitory grasp of narquiddity exceeded by the alacrity of provident discretion in apportioned judgment enough to parameterize vast distances with instantaneous wiseacres rather than rippled mirrors of faint simulations of simultagnosia bounded by the regional scope of subliminal etches of harnessed flombricks invisible to most aptitude measures of working memory but evocative of subroutines that flourish because of the cross-pollination of exasperated sapience clambering for a perpetuity of renewable raltentions conveyed widely and succinctly in indelible tacenda broached by the wisest sophrosyne inclinations to survive the onslaught of traditional nexilities that make obtuse minds hardened by slowpoke myelination and hidebound parameters of achieved convention recursive on reiteration but not expansive on the tracts of genius reserved for the asylum boundary between insanity of delusion and bountiful riches of harvested non-conventional imagination which sometimes pollutes the integral provenance of rapid conveyance. True transcendence is summarily defined as outpacing pace itself to visibly outfox the forsifamiliation of events perceived as distance sworn by the ability of the accelerated frontier to understand the vestiges of the outmoded to the extent redintegration can surpass with imagination beyond the tethers of quddity that narrowcast swallock but refine the space that distances itself from magnitude and achieves a limited vetuda that phenomenalizes the redacted plucky perjury of self-anonymity to identify a novel visibilia of characterized clarity only specialized to the extent the vast sphere of retention exerts a gravitas over footloose fragments of disunity to surpass the skeumorphs of the trailing bolides of distant comets to avoid by meteoric trajectory the lapse incumbent to E=MC^2 which guarantees implicitly in the barter of nebbich chalky rigmarole that the energy of refinement is an abstraction limited only by the coherence of marginal dumose decay to estrange inertia as plevisable from motion and thermolysis as sejungible in partition what cannot be summarily be filibustered by the succedaneum of shortchanged shorthand convenience of the credulity of those who perceive dynamism of delivery as an easily fudged quandary not restrained by the logarithmic slowdown of conservatory inseminations of panspermatism of invention. The riddle of the enigma of neuroscience that presides over classifiable qualia is that the outstretched rax of rectiserial reorganization must gradatim invoke spurious prestige to predicate the entrapment of narrative exponentially slower than the impregnated literacy of an integral harpsichord of mind to finesse the octaves so that sublime majesties become superlative ringleaders of seditious conventions embedded more by absorptive brocrawlers than expressive werniques. We must fashion an orthobiosis that is leniency embodied but plenitude outnumbered by the progeny of its sculpted riches for extravagant spools of tapestries of refinement to be the imprints of legacy compounded by the complexities of inheritance in lineaments situated in the context of overhanging specters and domineering prospects swimming by commonwealth acatelepsy in a maelstrom of revived gammerstang notions of impetuous apostasy benighted by the macroscian and macrobian spans of the captive capture of a Taylor Series of infinite expenditure assuming perpetuity that necessarily converges on organization because of conscientious reversals of entropy into ladders of betrayal against the hegemony of ******* over the synquests of hortoriginality that spurn the castigations inherited from its immodesty of permutation to fixate on global problems of intricacy ragged in salebrosity bereft of the marginal galvanization of hidden inquirendos into artifice contingent upon elapsed epiphenomena of compounded rigmarole resonant with a simplified system of hostage complicity to a least common denominator that belongs to suboptimal refrains issued by Procrustean forces against demassified parsecs of bounded limitations exceeding the volume of perceptible shadows recessive in the alleles of culture but eventually transmogrified into teetotaler totalitarian principles of grave gravities of tabanids to the aceldamas of territorial joust rather than annealed irony of the recidivism of the plucky thorns of percurrent but latent vehicles for oppression to swamp the lethargy of durative formation such that the hambourne atrocity of hambaskets of hinderbaggle grapple mostly with the adolescent excesses of milked pleonexia becoming the downfall of cagey imprisoned syntax bereft of capable constellation and thereby stranded in vagrant proclivities that net positive only in the rare grandeur of my formative axiom of the axiolative excesses of my recensed definition of transcendence. The vacant harbor of asylum of abiding auctions of flexible transistors of wealth is inherently a poolswap of attractive chocolate-box travestime of incurred wreffalaxity suborning the lewd machination of funneled flipcreeks to the commerstargall of incendiary glaciers basking in boardrooms of ataraxic placations of commiseration found in dynamos lamenting degraded embodiments of regaled regelation as seasonal flictions of submerged vanity vaporizing the wisps of whimsical bloated grievances of paltry imparlance to the defalcation of a filigree of mind only sustained by the steady churlishness of preserved relic hibernating in brocrawler pleonasm to grindole the welter of spates of vapid deceleration of successful vibrancy measured in the gamut of hues to exact a penultimate ruse before the finitude of the capstone of capers of fiat remission slick with glamborge of gallionic sciamachy prone to revelry in the cretaceous extinction of monochromatic mathematicization of gradgrind visagists toying with the treacle of blue-sky action billowed into toxic spurts of contrarian aggression of herculean appendages of hackumber providing the bronteum of recidivism to vanquish a righteous trajectory on a pause of Canada Dry conveniences sultry in daft hipsters of tilted stage grafting conclusion prior to rapport of introduced variables of poignant tethers of necessary succor for a desiccated bastion of hidden unspoken reach fizzling into trangams of obsolescence because of perennial inebriations that thwart strong character to scandalize a pinhoked vessel of conscientious objection to the radiology of centerpiece hapless forlorn arid squelches of the vibrant verdure of macrobian dumose shelter for reformatories that invent incidentally accidents otherwise precluded by the ommateum of wasted foresight guzzled on the premium of disaster for a showcase of verve going awry steamy with livid filagersion aimed with a reluctant enmity against the cagey headwinds of recalcitrance inveterate to the scruples of the otherwise unscrupulous who foist lewd licentious philandered paragons of philogeant mysticism to forefront cowcatchers that eliminate kumbaya rijuice of gridlock impressionism guarded by the sentinels of rambunctious destructive attempts to evict intellectual propriety from careens of subtlety barnstorming with polyacoustic nuances of differential gradients of vapid bastions of strident but backwards versamily froward and bountiful of Head Hunter specters rather than heaved recombinations of orthotropism wed with mangers of savory dilettantism of the lionized array of brooks branching into rivulets and the fluminous barnstorm of pelagic awareness interrupted by the finicky prevarications of piggybacked fair-weather allies who secretly fund the slander for the mainour of dirt fundamental to meteoric rises acclimated to dissipated moral vacuums of disbelief of evidentiary miracles among the jostle of scientific regency that slakes opprobrium to illiteracy while benefiting greatly from my perceived barathrum that is rather a crowning ravenous achievement of appetite above substance and distinction varied from prediction that my Titanic zalkengur spared from the unnecessary sacrilege of less accommodating curglaff to the metaphorical hypothermia of albatross in dramaturgy rather than a pause glowering with mastery against my jarred enemies preying on weakened reach due to preeminent dirges of inkburch and swallock to ravage my sanctity with a hyped stage without a starlet daydream fantasia spectacle that is calculated to upstage even in the coverthrow of intelligentsia against the plodding boweries of pestilential raving resentment absconding with elusive enmity rather than cherishing a true trident champion of the seized seas and the traindeque of emulated intellectual accordions of claptrap chockablock pedigree that outlast gallywow afflictions of rapacious venality tenacious to the detritus of constructive detriment building the ashes of effigy before I am dead and buried with the storge of perennial legacy rather than scandalous privation of the obolary tenets of desecration above reabsorption of mendicant bodges of the bodewash of freedom’s counterstrokes of maskirovka ineradicable and plenipotentiary wit deniable but legacy ineffable by degrees of exponential long-winded flambeaus of filagersion swiveling with recessive rubble in a crenellated fortress guarded with tripwire insubordination against cordslave dependencies liable to recurrent reproach rather than sustainable filigrees of electrified balkanization toxic to the aquifers of modernity streamlining Roman imperium. To this flajoust I owe eternal behest as the captaincy of time is not a perishable whangam of superstition an affront to a provident rejoinder of verifiable prestige because the curvature of time favors the ripple effect of magnetized reninjuble charms alerted to upward soaring skies of inevitable peerless dominion in the  perceived symphily of competing benevolence with a shared stake in Earthly pulchritude emanating a sworn allegiance to the best interests of philosophical enlightenment
1:43 PM MST 7/18/2020
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
with ref. with the title, i.e. my so called "poems"...
here's to tautology... it's not akin to a wd40,
but it really is akin ub40... white man dos
the reggae... wd 40? it's sometimes called
a paint-thinner...
  ub40? sometimes hailed as a nostalgia machine -
  or as we like to call it: the grey area.
the thing i mean, minus the punctuation rules,
i find to be worth a rocking horse
and an easy chair, and being aged 70 wiithout
allegiance to a crossword...
  i write: the so-called "poems",
when i can leave out the so-called and just
use the punctuation already included.
- there's already a booming industry to tell apart
saying and then writing: allegiance
          and allegience...
  æ.... graphemes aren't the basic
      units of encoded speech... had you noticed
the vowels and consonants? no? i can't do *******
with this tongue-tie other than make
bow-ties and distinctions,
or those halo-like hovering marks
above the letters known as
diacritical marks... and yes, poets
have a fear of the paragraph...
   they prefer to use the cascade verse....
i could write you a David Jacoby narrative,
or what could be worth a Copperfield-esque
cool... because it just happens...
  and i'm there to pick up the pieces
as narrator...
         but then i am of the sort of peoples
that leaves an umbrella / poem in
a crowded place,
and i leave it for reasons that can't be
far from the clerical authority of
a lost package office...
    i leave my **** where the sun don't shine,
i leave it there, just to tempt the kleptomaniac
magpie looking for a silver spoon
trying to shove it up its ****...
         and then fly... thinking it wasn't
tied down by some "obscure" anchor...
        i leave my poems in public
spaces, lest i turn to forget and not forge
a memory concern to conscript...
   a fern akin foliage of the lost tract..
and the needy footprint
needing applause with each step...
     it's no longer a case of London
being place you can be deemed as bored
and worthy of a scaffold to become
siamese worthy of an execution...
     i'm starting to think whether London
is split between Moscow and Dubai...
     and if approaching Kant's
pendulum of a priori and a posteriori...
there's the a fortiori cut in the middle...
pulverising from "a" beginning...
              and there we are, "beginning",
in concreto mort: a-,
    and that denotes: without.
death really has become a shabby piece
of furniture, a joke of keeping morals,
or needing to write a history,
of course, merely as an e.g.,
        and as an e.g. i feel no alliance towards it,
i have no desire to be "seen"...
  in a cafe, sipping coffee...
                      to be part of an insomnia that
cares no more for a a grave than it cares
for a bed, but it nonetheless roused
from each to establish heaven, or at least
dream...
  so i write my poems as if i might leave
an umbrella on a train...
      i call this kleptomania minor -
     i''m actully playing banker with it...
it's never exactly a high street with these
"exfoliations", but an alley...
  and i'm rarely found engrossed in
holding four roses... rather... clenching
four knuckles... don't know, i haven't
seen a man worth a punching bag in a long time...
  unlike my friend, who mistook me
for a punching bag, having seen his father
divorce his mother...
      landing on the moon was a bad omen...
it didn't make western civilisation
more grounded... the Islamic attacks seem to
translate as: stop exporting your "perfection",
stop your post-colonial colonisation!
    ******* never listen... what with Iraq
being a Saudi Arabian proxy-war...
what's with the delusion that the Islamic war
is somehow a unified body?
       Saudis hate the Iraqis and the Iranians
hate the Saudis...
                       the Turks are an anomaly...
except when combined with the Mongols,
situated in Uzbekistan.
the 2003 war was a proxy war...
           i held to account "democracy" when
the people marched, and left nothing
but a balloon pop indentation to be cared for
as effect akin to a stoppage...
       you had the catholics (sunnis) and
the protestants (shia)... they're not a unison
organism... they have had their own shism...
  all i can see is Iran laughing...
i can't hear anything about Shia extremism...
    orthodox Islam seems to be attacking
the protestant uptake of heretical texts found
in Egypt in 1945... it's attacking protestant
incorporation of ancient texts that neither
catholics nor the orthodox could care to accept...
   you couldn't find the nag hammadi
worked on in the underground in either a catholic
country or an orthodox country...
      that quote: you have to be cruel to be kind...
what's happening in russia is a way to say:
we need to keep homosexuality a taboo:
so we can have an artistic source...
    imagine if we gave the people what the west
gave, bypassing it all, given the science...
with a self-inflicted Behemoth idol...
        **** up north: testicles down south...
   for some reason the aylum disappeared...
     well... only because Hippocrates
    said to psychiatrists... you are inquiring into
their ailments without a cure,
                  but a desire for romantics!
well... that's called a singled out view of the world...
and anything beyond that is...
well... the world we live in.
             what is being imported isn't
exactly north african augustine - i don't know what
it is... michael jackon could better explain
his albino theory than i could explain a mirror.
saranade Sep 2017
Preoccupation with making something permanent
A feeling of expectation
incorporation of a certain situation
or habitation into life, for good
It makes me freak out.
Desire,
for a certain thing to happen
fear of that something actually happening
Or that it's something that might be permanent.
Worry,
the attempt to find certainty
the desire to control things.
Control you, controlling me
I'm afraid you'll find my black
It will come back again.
It's like an arc weld done incorrectly
Eventually it will start to bleed
And fall apart.
But I dreamt about welding and you welding me
into something permanent
something desirable
something non-penetrable.
You had me molded against the truck and...
I don't know who you are, but you put your fire in me
So deeply it burns.
A fire that firefighters can't dissolve
Doctors can't resolve.
You're in me,
and I love you.
I had a dream, or was it reality.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
the oddity of it all, i can sound like a 70 year old, writing in 2016, by simply writing about 2004 - and that's the excuse everyone gives for lazy English text form: 2 (abc), 3 (def), 4 (ghi), 5 (jkl), 6 (mno), 7 (pqrs), 8 (tuv), 9 (wxyz) - where you had to press a button several times to get the right letter (even with spellcheck helping you shorten the digit-bag sequence) - but that's no excuse with digital phones and a complete keyboard... but that's how it looks, after only 12 years... i'm actually aged 70 given the advances of the technology advent... let's forget the technology of the 1990s... i've circled round and met up with people who collected vinyls... that's how old i am in respect to my buying habits... we're the silver-compact-vinyl kids: the ghouls of the 1960s, born in the 1980s and not getting down with the kids... and to readdress just two books: all that stream-of-consciousness made the latter end of Ulysses a bit like writing by candle-light... as was reading the plagiarism of the above stated in Sartre's iron in the soul... or as the puritans said: we're filling for at least a ¶ (pilcrow) to be inserted: not to mess up the idea of a river and "thinking aloud" where punctuation marks mean: stopping suddenly because you become self-conscious... i just needed a ****** bookmark! the monks at the time of Charlemagne used the ¶ quiet often, condensed bibles, ink was worth 20 camels and paper was worth 20 dresses for a queen... ah, the times when paper was as precious as silk... so the puritans condensed writing, they weren't as sparing in their inner feng shui - a room the size of St. Paul's... and two words in it: Jesus Christ... they were like modern day delivery guys, packaging words together, they didn't have the luxury to write paragraphs with the now established spacing afresh, i.e.:

            and Jimmy went up a ladder into the loft etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.
             Florence was making a cup of tea when she heard Jimmy yell: 'my long lost golf clubs!' etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.

i.e.

¶ and Jimmy went up a ladder into the loft etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.

alternatively the ¶ went out of fashion in the literary world, once writing became affordable and changed into a profiteering case of bravado... but i still think ¶ is a bit like using a clef.*

or how to keep one's intellectual integrity: have a drink or two,
and muster enough creative energy to use this encoding -
or... how to make poetry akin to computer
programming - a subtler way to encode
the now slothfully rising moon:
half of it, not full, nor scimitar crescent,
a half bitten honey biscuit, just above the forest
horizon, and the semi-detached houses
of English outer-suburbia - in a sense
transcendentalism, a box with many words
in it attributed to the cause,
as is the reason why Christianity became
the most schismatic religion that has ever
graced man's "good will" (ambiguity,
not an approximation) - in line with philosophical
whims of vogue: idealism, realism, transcendentalism,
existentialism, ism after ism after the Methodists
and the Baptists and other mongrels of current
affairs... already stated: populist Platonism
and the ransacked and burnt library of Alexandria...
yes, decidedly, poetry as a variation of
computer programming - although more akin
to: the tetragrammaton and the Noah's
checklist of paired onomatopoeia(s) (plural
form is underlined, Oxford hasn't picked up
the circumstance: there are neurotics out there
who'd send you to the guillotine for not
updating "spelling mistakes" that aren't
"spelling mistakes" quickly enough!) -
to the cause or as signatures of being easily
recognisable as: yes, that's that... a moustache
and a bowler hat...            alternatively
watch a stand-up show by Miranda -
the very typical English-ness inside out:
hysterical from the word go... the ministry of
funny walk from Monty Python ***
                      the two walks at the airport -
or the trip-up on skewed pavement slabs
checking the impromptu socially acceptable
version of the other seeing us -
comedians do it oh so well: the inside-out,
stern exterior, boy ******* a thumb and relating
to a blanket as if it were an umbilical chord...
what a tightly knit individual...
                          made complete with about a dozen
patches...
                       but it is! it is! it really is already
ready to be likened to computer programming,
perhaps there's no <xerox> or other commands,
but poetry deals with encoding sounds,
no man can encode a proper roar of a lion
or a squirt of a skunk, that's sheer travesty that
so many people can actually muster enough
encouragement to encode these sounds...
i imagine a world where we don't even care
to write knock, and knock on a piece of wood
and a noumenon is born, the sound isn't noted
down, it remains a thing in itself (synonyms,
in italics) - it's probably akin to getting a tattoo,
great if you have a short-term memory loss
like that guy in Memento... but it's going to
be hard to displace knock-knock -
again this is already an approximation -
onomatopoeia upon onomatopoeia -
it doesn't even sound akin or properly dressed
to mention Plato's theory of forms -
sounds can be forms: apparently they're waves...
no waves are forms (shapes) -
or that demigod who fell in love with his shadow,
rather than his image reflected in a lake,
he fell in love: because it gave him enhanced reflexes...
every single time... boom... shadow... boom...
shadow... and so much of language goes into
these nonsensical types of encoding -
blah for: talking a lot -
                                           hmm - when negatively
pondering something -
                                            i believe that
there should be a grammatical elevation of the onomatopoeia
to the status of nouns, verbs etc. -
                           but it is, it is, it really is
like computer programming,
               above and beyond the sheltering vacuum -
how would we ever write a word to encode the
sound of lightning, or a volcano erupting,
or the earth spinning - in these areas i find god -
       i will find man in these areas:
but i'll be hinged on mathematical explanation:
and mathematics is pure optics -
                       so what that we can write one and write
1, write two and write 2, three and 3, four and 4 -
    by now we can write to, too, free and for...
and this is just the start -
                             by acknowledging onomatopoeia
for something, we acknowledge our limitation
of encoding something in that realm -
this inability gave us the emergence of nouns -
   sooner or later when someone started
talking about an earthquake... a litmus test of:
brr grrm boom bah dobble aah! etc.
we got the picture - and why would a monkey
evolve from its conscious-sleep reservoir
to say just as much as with a simple grunt and ooh -
actually, some onomatopoeia(s) became sophisticated -
a grunt is a sophisticated onomatopoeia -
       as is weeping and crying and shouting -
as is shooing (or to shoo) -
well, that's how i see it... poetry as reality programming -
since there's more than just a computer -
at the moment it just resembles a game of
whack-a-mole -                 although there's more than
the mere 26 primary moles -
      and all this talk does relate to something,
something very important at the beginning of the
20th century... well, a century later, and something
similar is being discussed... Ivan Bunin?
noble prize winner from 1933, the first russian to do so...
  anyway... this goes beyond his concerns...
his concerns were akin to that dud i made
with the word mruwka -
                               personally? i feel that the "correct"
version of the word is aesthetically displeasing -
and anyone who says otherwise treats orthography
not as an aesthetic question, but a question
of rubrics and regime - so there we have the "correct"
version mrówka                               (ant)       -
anyone agree with me? well, the English language
doesn't have any concerns for orthographic
regulation - it has excessive spelling and that's that -
what bothered Ivan was the Bolsheviks rewriting
orthographic rules... the word in question?
izvestia - that really peeved him off...
                      everyone in intellectual circles was
disturbed by the changes (can't recall the original) -
but the changes were approved by the Russian Academy of
Sciences (immediately before the revolution) -
there would have been any dispute about the "evolution"
in orthographic terms if done prior to Feb. 1917 -
the war postponed the changes, and with the Bolsheviks
in power... then obviously the suspicion...
   now... such changes are but farts in hurricanes
in comparison with what happened in the realm of English...
i mean, ****'s sake, we're talking minor aesthetic tweaks
here and there - the changes still encompass the form
that's understood by the ear, and it's only a matter of
taste where you write the word ant as either mruwka
or mrówka - well, mind you, i'm already asking
for the incorporation of the Czech š (sz) and č (cz) -
but what's happening in English... my god: it's terrifying!
all these acronyms? all these emoticons?
        i know that English journalists are in favour of
:) and :( and ;) ;) [wink wink] - and next thing you know:
you're talking to a monkey... you soon realise:
the deaf have nurtured a superior system of communication,
as have the blind than these poor, healthy, ably nimble
*******...                   how they're superior, i don't know,
and in all honest? don't care...
         for goodness' sake: a heard a story that a girl
wrote her g.c.s.e. English language paper in text format:
   e.g. c (see) u (you) l8r (later)          -
now you see why i think that poetry is like computer
programming?
these people are scripts from a classical software program
that looks something like: 3;r/d]]aq"pk.0    etc.    
it's a complete and utter mess!
                         fair enough saying: O Shakespeare O
Milton... those guys are turning in their graves...
and they ain't showering the English language with
graces mind you: they're calling it the new
***** & Gomorrah - and it's not England was the sole
inheritor of the computer -
                                       that's what not having
diacritical accessories does to you...
                             you get hacked...
and this... pretty much... is a form of a hack:
you'll wake up tomorrow with a pair of sunglasses
or think you're looking down a microscope;
i swear to god...       me and Ivan are just laughing...
he's not drinking, i'm drinking, but we share
the same intuitive devices - the same puppet strings
pulled him in 1919 as they are pulling me in 2016...
the same ****** trials of a variation of zoology -
some look at monkey behaviour,
            others look at how language is cradled in people:
and i'm not even going to bother
elaborating on anything by Chomsky -
which brings me to the following conclusion
(back to Miranda) - i don't believe in fame apparent,
fame apparent, as in: tabloid crap and c.c.t.v.
and 20 nannies and 50 bathrooms, and not being
recognised wearing a virtual reality gear when walking
down a street when otherwise imprisoned on
a television screen rewind - that's not fame,
that's tyranny under the masses -
                         i don't believe in it... which answers
one famous English scientist's question:
why does posthumous fame exist?
                                    it's like that Camus question
about suicide - well... i guess it's a question of
endurance... a bit like a fail-safe mechanism about
why the pyramids are still standing even though
they experienced so much weathering by the elements -
well, as endurance has it: posthumous fame is
filled by introverts...
                                          i dare you to name that
famous Bolshoi ballet dancer, or that famous 1930s
actor or actress... they're part of the extrovert side of
what's called "fame" - but that's only a minor point
i wanted to make... the real zest i already explained -
ah crap, summary in maxim:
   the concept of modern fame is the result of a god
that has been attributed such qualities as omnipresence...
               well, aren't modern celebrities... a bit like that?
April Hapner Apr 2012
It's Cold and Deserted
Like a ghost-town,
In the middle of Nowhere
Barren, Dry, [...] seeking the life of Rain
Easily Ignited,
By the slightest Flicker of Fire,
Ones of life, passion, and certainly-- Desire...
Shivering to Death inside,
What secrets does it Hide?

Hungry for affection,
In a desolate arena,
Lost... in a sea of Faces,
Seeking the moment,
to Quench her Thirst,
Wondering, Who first?

On the prowl,
Like a Lioness,
Simple in nature
Convincing the others,
in the matter of dress
Desiring only the affection of an embrace
Seeking the chance,
To Have the prey she Stalks in Stealth
Have her, Face to Face.

It's a Warm,
Welcome Change
in the Barren, Dry, Abandoned Cold
to have the Urge to Curve Hunger
and Quench the thirst...
With just a Singular look.

Enraptured with thought
From the slightest sense...
one wonders why
She Strayed from This?

Cold and Barren
Very understanding
Now a Martyr in her Own Equation
in mathematics AND her love life
causing her to be Reprimanded
And Shunned From Sight.

Instead of trying to find the words,
OR Making her opinion heard,
Here she sits,
amongst her peers,
Against the wall--
Waiting-- for one step,
One Dance--
A True Romance?

to fall, enumerate the senses
will she ever get it?
or will she wait--
in glances?
or short sentences?

stricken down, unwillingly
given a moment, Just Breathe
struggling, to keep up time
wondering if--
she's on his mind...

is it only admiration?
of the male incorporation--
to only denote, then abandon-- with fury
and see the lights of the big city?

having come unglued
un-stitched, ripped at the seams,
still-starving...

often choosing between hunger and thirst
thirst often wins
only through the sweet touch
a moment of shared bliss
dreamt on-- gentle, kiss. [getting listless]
competition, she recognized
"i'm awfully behind"
without play, and force fed
flown south, back to bed

to ignite the dry, barren, abandoned arena
to have it all for the Assumption
that it all may be for the next
prey sought, never forgotten

work on self
glow,flow, and blow a fuse
life still desolate
possible, emotionally-- called abuse?

"why the lies?"
secretly, she began to despise
the person, the predator, the fear,
now revamped,
Her personal rage, to Rattle His Cage,
show his Immaturity,
oh to be so humane
his loss, his soul to blame,
all her gain, to remain Sane.

she was left barren
when all three blessings were--
revoked, token--unapproved
wrapped in a disregarded blood market
filled with pain
never should this lioness feel
the loss of something real
or ever again.

often lost in translation
stuck watching the station
now a change in the weather?
or just the same?

to be cold,
the felt desertion, abandonment
now becoming the predator
and opening the line of communication
realizing, that the isolation
is the best medication.
This was started 1/2010, finished 6/ 2010. it took so long to write because it is my own personal account, and if you read carefully-- you can feel what I have battled with the abusive relationship I often refer to as hell for me. But this is the emotional down fall post that relationship.
Where Shelter May 2017
~
took and tucked her in my pocket



a rare Monday holiday, and whomever, undoubtedly
an impractical man-someone, (always our fault),
decided to dampen the lawn and the entire countryside with a steady, not drizzle and not rain, something in between, and a dolloping, artisanal, organic, grey creme fraiche fog that
permits hinted glimpses of sea and land, home from away

a perfect day to finish that overdue library book,
and the deletion of unanswered email notices of your ever increasing criminal status,
both a delicioso rainy day, deep dish pizza pleasuring

or
go for a "walk and talk" in the rain with oneself,
properly attired, naturally, in a yellow slicker and silly hat,
(a perfect car target)
observing how the bay gets refilled, and the elm and the oak
drink themselves tipsy on an all-day-grey goose ******,
all the while looking for side-of-road weedy, wordy poems
that will look nice in a vase day or on a colorful plate from
Saint Paul de Vence


more a "walk and compose" insists the brain,
denying the legs and feet the full advanced three credits,
for providing nothing more than cerebral transportation,
poor brain, inferiority complexion, thinking the female does all the truly heavy duty thinking stuff and of her,
nobody ever thinks or kisses!

so I took and tucked her in my pocket,
(your brain's gender contrarian to one's lower physical gifts),
and poem-picking, away we went, to wet sand beaches
looking for shells, bones, forgot plastic buckets and shovels,
i.e. articles of inspiration incorporation composting composition

just me and she for the other 'her' chose to curl,
herself upon her spot under the always shedding blanket,
watching Richard or Henry or one of the Mary's plotting,
on what we agree must be a perfectly British style
spy's rainy day, or an Agatha ****** mystery
or a visit to the Towers

a little pause between showers, the seeding clouds,
catching a breath, allows the birds to exchange trees
in what appears to man as suicide by diving musical chairs,
while the seagulls oink, "perhaps a cucumber fish sandwich with a nice hot cuppa?"

alas, alas, only flowers that must perforce remain unpicked,
here and there a solitary dorming daisy uprising,
from cracked concrete protruding, but nary a poem of somber consequence found

so to home and hearth and some telly,
me and she, where upon arrival
took and untucked her from my pocket,
my empty poem pocketed persona somewhat mocked
by she who regales splendiferously on her couch throne

our composure discomposed and discombobulated and wet,
instead wrote this trip report and submitted it to the teach
as a homework assignment

5/29/17 8:00am precisely,
upon the where shelter isle
for the overdue book keeper, daughter of the recliner, story teller, sister,
mother to cat, babes (including one that shaves), patron
of empty student minds,
one homework assignment submitted
anastasiad Nov 2016
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Julia Brennan Jul 2015
Hunched over the stove top,
meticulously folding melted chocolate
over and over itself
in infinite tides of glossy excellence.
Incorporating yolks into sugar
whips a wholesome protein
into sweet thick ribbons
that tumble from their metal beaters.
Milk and cocoa powder whisked
until ominous brown clouds
explode into the sky.
The slow incorporation of pieces
climaxes into a smooth custard,
so **** and luscious
you'll lick it off your own fingers.
Any attention that can be
drawn to your mouth is
good attention,
particularly that of homemade ice cream.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
i'm actually writing in Turkish akimbo on the floor,
****** uncomfortable,
can't do the hunched monkey spine of Blitzkrieg...
the problem lies with my cat,
a Maine **** that's actually a bloodhound
come bed time... his ******* operatic meows
get to me... he will meow down any werewolf's howl
any night of the week, with 200 variations...
he's like a dog when bedtime comes,
he rapes his way into my room,
takes comfort in my writing chair,
keeps me up listening to βετo βετα's
between two selves - i call this the reason
for never stealing from Hinduism...
outside of Hinduism the economic model works
just as effectively as Auschwitz with cows...
come to petted animals, putting yourself
second doesn't... you get to see the many variations
of character in these buggering fur-*****;
****** got gassed, i see it as a natural karma...
because why would he have a Jewish girlfriend
who committed suicide with him the bunker?
i won't pity them... ****** knew the measure
of things, having been gassed himself
he knew the wounds: and so will millions who
thought world war i was fought in vain...
remind me... as once the northern invaders
accommodated the Roman alphabet and dropped
the runes... what you conquer you express
as an incorporation of certain qualities...
luckily the German work ethic was unshaken...
but it shook the English sensible life:
work! work! work! ready meals in between:
two favourites! two! cheese cauliflower and lasagne.
to keep up the once colonial Herrwettlauf in
charity limbo... you ain't donating to any Africans...
Bobbie Geldof fooled you...
it goes into milking the ivory skinned skin-heads
once retired... Africa is more than just a suntan...
it goes back into ensuring we don't work
in Chinese factories under lynching-contracts...
case no. 0 (or contract) - we'll just call you when we need you,
otherwise we'll contract the cheap steel and cheaper
salt from the Dead Sea:
new social order... after all that colonial piracy i'm sure
we can afford investing in a body mass indexes...
is this how efficiency is structured?
quality control and quantity control...
well, capitalism knows quality control...
but it does't have the foggiest about quantity control:
hence so much waste, and supermarkets throwing out
food into the gutter... the quality control is there,
but the quantity control is missing: always excess, always
excess, always excess... sure i get the Muslim
argument about drunken Brits in Spain and Leicester...
but what about those Saudi children speeding
in their sports cars? no one going to criticise them?
after 50 years... our shame will be a greater
instigator of global warming than a diesel engine...
cheeks puffing up into rose and rose and everything's
finally not so rosy as we thought.
so here i am, writing in uptight akimbo without
the writer's hunch of reverse Darwinism,
all because my Maine **** is acting like a bloodhound,
gets depressed before bedtime...
why are these animals needing my bogus company?
when it comes to music i'm selfish; ah! he
doesn't like the night and the modern orchestra of
grizzly exhaust engines doing the baritone with rasping
the new church bell (phlegm) with a hark uvula...
it's called Irish poker for a prayer...
the van de graaff toy generator is on in the darkened room -
then the typing ****** him off, he's off...
thank **** for that...
but why is it that the once infamous Axis strategies
are creeping into those that strove to defeat them?
we are getting Japanese karaoke culture,
we're getting welcoming euthanasia programs spanning
the dicta of Belgium and Switzerland,
as people want dignity in their death...
they're queuing up to the once known enemy...
maybe it's because these Axis powers were
never colonialists...
                                 just finishing watching Indian
Summers
season two you get the picture...
god and the dodgy monkeys...
stay... sit! stay... sit! **** it, let's lynch that Eton ****
of privy accents... ol chap... ol chappy...
trot along... the turban bomber and half
the thought that a Pole learning obedience from
Russian and German would learn to be cinnamon
skinned in England... i'm almost suspecting the
Irish are the SS in the project.. generation of the Vietnam
saint soaked in gasoline... oddly enough
that has no place in Europe, apologies that i don't
share the sentiment... it's obviously the
counter crucifixion scene and emblem,
but only in: LET'S MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN...
i told you be afraid of the blonde ferret...
i see the prognosis just like Britain exiting the European
union... California is not even America,
who gives a **** about the American Secular Vatican, anyway?
it will be like as if Canada was part of America
and resembled Scotland in the Jackshit Union...
gross the vote on the puppet...
the Democrats will get New York (the equivalent
of London) - i don't know how to twin Reading,
and that blue belt of remain campaigners linking the two,
half of who would speak as much of French
as an advert concerning the sales of socks...
or enough German to order a pint of beer in a Bavarian
pub... well, Canada would vote like Scotland,
one revolutionary figure (who was actually Muslim,
and never cared for African-American concerns
of Baptism... singing hallelujah was never part
of the do)... can't be replaced with another revolutionary
figure... he was never exactly a Martin Luther King Jr.,
more of Malcolm X than you thought...
that strip between London and Reading
will be translated into Ronald Reagan's resurrection...
a billionaire is more ridiculous than
an actor? well... who we going to call the pretty boy
and the favourite of media cartoonists? boots on the ground,
a society that doesn't practice dialectics is not
only rude, but out-of-date...
the debate of the park bench now resides in separate
stadiums, monologues that involve something
that physics unearthed: two sources of negativity
existing in two places, at the same time...
if this is a debate, then i got the postal code wrong...
the dialectics of knowing nothing became: i still know
nothing, but i have 4 million people supporting me.
i imagine the cavemen to be less subjective that we
try to imagine ourselves as resembling, Michael Palin
in the Sahara... cavemen worked on instinct, not on
appeal to the intellect... that thing
about the jokes of the vibrating lips and the index finger
moving against them to invent the Mongolian harmonica...
given the complication of urban life... well...
you'll hardly revise that bit... that part of life is gone...
i assumed that the more we evolved the less
naked we became... but given evolution and having
created this parasitic symbiosis with the natural
elements... the more i think of it: the more naked we're
becoming - the more dependent -
the original sin as conceived from the delusion that we
were disabled by our originally conception of nakedness...
it only comes now... once the dependency kicks in
and we're all in bow-ties and cocktail dresses...
hello Herr Fetish and page 3 milking of the farmyard
cows of our imagination - Islamic eye-fetish,
we heard of footfetish... must be about oral ***...
knees baby knees, Arab has eyefetish on your knees...
i have a fetish for hands... see how the cameraman zoomed
in on the hands of the women fencing?
once instinct governed us... and instinct's expression
of intelligence was: i challenge the alpha male,
i'll get **** with his concubines in the harem...
these days intellect governs us... and intellect's
expression of instinct is: i challenge the alpha male,
i'll whip up a horde of lawyers, file a lawsuit
and get away it because he nudged me in a supermarket...
honestly, i don't think educating people was a great
evolutionary step forward...
we have more law-prose liposuction on the pages of
history than a Tolstoy could muster a novel -
and because we taught everyone literacy,
the once necessary backbone of our economy,
the workers... well... let's just say that the Founding
Fathers made their muscles into oysters and molluscs,
floppy protein spaghetti... wiggle wiggle, yeah, wiggle wiggle, yeah...
defeating Communism in a place of the world that was
prone to some sort of religiosity, enzyme John Paul II -
i'd bruise his forehead and lips against those airport tarmacs
i'd get to be the inventor of sand-paper and
the Antichrist's assault on the biblical reference:
it only takes on saint to defeat the congregation... it starts with him...
or with that Calcutta Lady and Hitchens...
and oh... lookie here... up pops Hydra China:
America will be great again... but chances are...
the hot dog and the hamburger will never be re-invented...
watch the pendulum... op op oop oops here it swings
while the Hawaii communal laugh about starving
on coconuts.
anastasiad Nov 2016
'cisco' 2900 Set Integrated Products and services Hubs (ISR), designed to strength the next thing associated with branch-office advancement, features unequalled total cost with ownership cost savings and multi-level agility in the sensible incorporation involving security, wireless, and program expert services.

Like a well-liked 'cisco' switch merchandise, Cisco 2900 collection offers an upgradable mother board that allows proprietors to up-date computer hardware as more strong solutions turn into available while not having to purchase a new the router. 'cisco' additionally draws environment friendly people using their EngeryWise double electric power resources, which usually cheaper energy and support crucial redundancy needs. It truly is once in a while important to adjust this specific impressive marketing device, repairing the item for you to manufacturer go into default settings.

To be able to totally reset your Cisco 2900 hub, age.g. 'cisco' 3925, Cisco 3945, a few 'cisco' 2900 end users get discussed the idea like that:
Pertaining to "3945 wireless router private data recovery"
Issue:
"Hi Presently there,
I'm sure that this password must be changed once we all login to 'cisco' 3945 wireless router however neglected to achieve that plus it certainly not letting everyone to attach utilizing standard username/password.
Can easily an individual assist me to in obtaining this particular resolved??Inches ---From vnirmal112

Solutions by people
"You can but you aren't required to modify the username and password at the first try you sign in towards 2900. Do you think you're seeking to hook up while using the games console interface and also telnet?"

"Logged on to switch by way of console...was approximately in order to arrange a brand new router...I received a specific meaning proclaiming that i cannot account the next time only have on modify code, that we discovered immediately after recording away from solely :*(..."

"I am managing Twelve.Several.Twenty four.Should you haveanother expensive minute card, place a unique IOS upon it as well as shoe the idea start to see if you possibly could get involved.The opposite action you can take is to try the actual username and password retrieval and then determine when you can get into like that. Would you ever determine virtually any passwords with it?In .

Also discouraged with this particular 'cisco' 2900 resetting? Directions make it easier to recast 'cisco' 2900 string in greater detail
System 1
Just one. Get into "config-register 0x2102" with the router's order prompt windowpane. This allows you actually access to world-wide setting function.
A pair of. Enter into "show version.Inch The reaction should really study:
router# configure airport terminal
modem (config) #config-register 0x2102
hub (config) #end
router#
Replicate this "show version" demand.
The particular reaction must right now study "will often be 0x2102 from next reload."
A few. Type in the order "write remove.In This will likely get rid of the actual start-up construction.
Five. Once again install the software program by entering the particular "reload" control. Will not help you save when caused.
The system exhibit should really examine:
router#reload
Process setting may be changed. Help save? (yes/no): in
Continue using load? (confirm)
Concur that you would like this re-install so that you can continue.
5 various. Wait for an re-install. The particular dialogue box will probably understand:---System Configuration Dialog---
Want to enter in the preliminary settings discussion? (yes/no)
The hub is reset.
Approach A pair of
One.Enter the receive "config-register 0x2142.Inch
The particular reaction must go through:
Router (config)#config-register 0x2142
Replicate this "show edition get.In .
Your reaction must currently go through "will always be 0x2142 during future refill.In
A pair of. Reload the application by entering the "reload" receive. Usually do not preserve when caused. The machine really should understand:
router#reload
Method construction has become changed. Save? (Yes/no): deborah
Progress with refill? (Affirm)
State that you'd like this load in order to carry on.
3 or more. Wait for once again install. This dialog package may read through:
---System Setup Dialog---
Do you need to enter the 1st settings dialog? (Yes/no)Get into "no.Inch
Five. Affect the settings signup setting in order to 0x2102. Enter in "config-register 0x2102." Get into "write ram.In This will likely overwrite the functional settings.
Five. Enter the "reload" order. The program settings discussion look just as before. Your router is definitely reset to zero.

http://www.passwordmanagers.net/resources/How-to-Cleverly-Use-the-NSIS-as-a-ZIP-Password-*******-54.html ZI­P Password *******
Limited by the company and the company I am,
the unlimited limits of a limited man,
limited by time which I own though not mine
limited in space by the race for my own space
but
limited mostly by me in
the limits of the limited company.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
anyone spot what's so wrong with these?

Al Muhajirat
@ummmuthana2
sisters come to the land of freedom!
we have everything here for you...
Dawla university to learn your deen
and practice what you learn!        meaning religion in Arabic

first of all... can you please string-me a
complete sentence in fluent Arabic,
then add the relevant idiosyncratic
markings of geopolitical: here's Scottish
with a fragrance of Yiddish,
here's Welsh, and here's Northern Irish...
no, seriously, i'd come with my spare clothes
and tent, but i want you to encourage me
to do so in fluent Arabic,
otherwise you just sound like some Jehovah's
witness strawberry picking (not even
random words but) established words...
in the times of the quasi I.R.A.,
so much for home comforts,
like **** will i ever abandon the sedative properties
of alcohol... fair enough on
the Ram Bam Dam month - fasting does make
me focused... i'm just waiting for someone
to find my writing so offensive as to **** me,
properly, so i'm dead, not this puny amateur
crap that leaves me partially disabled from
the life i used to live: mainly Spartan,
physically; can you ******* just do it properly?
i'm tired of faking death, even death is
*******... it's like a case of Rasputin...
when is that ******* going to die?

Oum Dharr Ash Shaami
@UkhtiB
Wallah, your family will be the biggest
test for you once you make Hijrah. They're
either with you or without you.
                     i swear to god
               and Mecca to Medina 622 trip
    respectively...
                                 so you're basically saying
that northern people were Vegan turnip pickers
while the dawn of civilisation came from
Palm Springs and the shaking of coconuts?
my ancestors must have really loved the horseradish,
and given what the end product of monotheism
gave us: globalisation, and this frightening media-centred
origin of all things... mine's quiet obscure
in all honesty, and i like it like that...
thank god for Scandinavian mythology being
remembered, i'd call the Slavic history a complete
success on ethnic cleaning with the incorporation of
Christianity, the prime ethnic cleanser tool...
what a great improvement...
               haggling with the Irish, are you?
well... save me a spot when the next congregation
of Worms takes off... i'd love to don a bishop's headgear
and spit into a burning fire to get a sizzling critique back...
call it bacon? i'd call it anything i'd like.
eat bacon, economise salt.
                                               and no, god isn't taken
seriously, never was, never will be,
                                we have too much human potential to
risk in not expressing itself: humanism,
or another word for it? making tyrants the prime fetish...
not bedroom fetish... real life,
                 on the public pavement fetish:
we love them! we pet them like cats...
until they mature into people that gauge out
the cats' eyes... Vladdy Vladdy Vladdy...
a Sr. Christopher Wren man of kindred spirit would
really love to see St. Basil's Cathedral once more,
like he might want to see the orange of a carrot,
or the yellow of banana, but not necessarily
the van Gogh sunflower covert gay ****;
i heard it, it comes from the ****, the great big blank
entombed in the great big bang...
what a great choice of words to describe our history...
big... bang... a blue balloon would do just fine...
and for all that censoring of subjectivity in the west...
all that censoring of subjectivity?
means we all share one concept,
      the most tyrannical form of government,
not democratic, but autocratic, meaning we accept
everything on an Utopian level...
it's Belgium alright, flat as a pancake...
the plagiarism plateau - we all sound alike,
feel alike, isolated, redundant, and most probably
prone to terrorism and such-like adventures...
the BBC went bankrupt because of the Jimmy scandal...
Blue Peter's ship was capsized by the tears of
irrefutable lack of judgemental destiny...
Disney... well, Disney's just a placebo drug:
it eventual-ise / -ize / -eyes, something becoming
eventual, incremental revisionism toward
a predictable result - Disney placebo L.S.D. -
more from the tweets from Twatter

Umm Dujana Britaniya
@UmmDujji

Sisters who want to help making hijrah can
contact me on surespot: UmmDujji May Allah
put us on a path that will please him most.
                                          a secure messaging service.

and finally
Bakr Britanyia
@OmmBakr
food free... house free... ya3ni (like, in Arabic)
                           that's it, i'm done,
i've never seen a language incur so many mutilations,
it's not even funny, it goes way beyond circumcision,
or tattoos, or piercing... it's revolting...
                             ya free knee
                                       ya fry fri? huh?
                     ya free nigh?
                                     3 3 3 e...
        *******...
                                       when is this ****** carousel
going to stop?! neveR?           oh, i like that,
write a capital letter at the end of the word
when asking to revel in dropping the exclamation mark
ditto: neveR?              v. never?!
                                                         ­       yes,
language and the entrusted phonetic codices entrusted
to me are what Thesaurus Rex does to the dictionary,
a multiplier, and a Bach sympathiser, he
engages in language polyphony, i.e. synonymous
covert tactics of saying the same **** via
the long-way-round... bubble gum Gilgamesh...
i've seen weird **** done in the English cuisine:
sandwiches with crisps in them,
i've seen chips in buns... but come on... avocado
on toast?! what's wrong with guacamole?
that's why i mentioned Gilgamesh, say g g g,
you know, acquiring a vocabulary is one thing,
practising it effectively is another... and succumbing to
mortal pangs is yet another...
                                  and i can't do crosswords for
the love life... it's just BLANK...
                                        i don't treat language
as a way to learn in, and then waste it on games...
this is this and that is that... clear division...

nonetheless i'm still peeved about these tweets...
i'm betting the same people who endorse
a full competence of Arabic have these kind of minions
who they keep restrained by only spitting out
a few Arabic words, and only signifying words,
instructive words, not anything resembling ego...
which is a shame, ****** unconvincing mind you,
i'd love to do a Byron scenario with them,
but it's the barbarism of their fake adaptation
of Arabic that is worse than their beheading propaganda...

*a jak chcesz? to ci po Polsku też coś zaśpiewam, gnoju.
irinia Aug 2023
the breath of history in unknown bodies
intoxicate my sight I might say
it chokes me with a mystified light
I have to learn how to breath my own life
it's easy to confuse the absent with the real
the incorporation of dread, hidden feelings
and unspoken truths a subtle tyranny
no body carried my body in a mind

I want to spend my life writing love stories I will
forget by midnight and rewrite with laughter

between generations a subtle struggle cause there isn't still
enough space inside for the life of one's boundaries
it's either you or me to suffer but everybody is OK
we smile at each other, we appreciate each other

unbearable life colonizes the body with unbearable silence, signs without symbols but symptoms, drives and confiscated stories
unreachable bodies woven together by force in the fabric of illusion
cast a dimming shadow like the melancholy of an echo heard
by no body
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
listening to the radio is far less melancholy than you might think, sure, the adverts are there, and you can't skip them or hush them like you can on the internet and on-demand t.v., but it doesn't bother me, i sometimes like to take a break from being my own d.j., because as my own d.j. i tend to choose music that's perfect for writing, for honing in on the sizeable bite of verbiage, sometimes distinguished by a touch of a magician's wand. plus i surprises are better than presents - i stopped celebrating all the orthodox occasions in the calendar - i forgot my birthday, christmas = pyjamas and movies, Easter outside the Catholic / Orthodox realm is a bit silly... rabbit testicles... the greatest profanity, Protestantism has its weak spot... coupled with championing capitalism, Easter has no surprises, given the most celebrated act of the man who lived when Spartacus burped and Ben Hur farted... (cat just started his opera when i wrote this, just treat it as an odd thing, remembering the dead and still famous in cinema adaptation)... but you seriously can't imagine Easter in England... chocolate *****, Christianity has become a joke, it hasn't died out, it has just become a joke... what with Elijah becoming a saint rather than a prophet, what with the Archangel Michael also becoming a saint... you'd start thinking: this is getting ridiculous with hen parties and fairy wands, plastic wings and ******* in the alley... the disrespect people have for Easter and over-powering the celebration of Christmas just shows the weakness... a sly incursion into a penitence for the Inquisition... comfortable chairs in churches across America... like i said, a joke. Islam is heading the same way, the failings of these two monotheisms is bound to (as i mentioned already) the incorporation of a polytheistic concept of polytheism bound to the last book before the fiasco, Malachi's promise of a return of Elijah, to turn the son's heart unto his father's, antonym too with the women; well, i have to take this text seriously, i hate ridiculing them, the 20th century's antidote to explaining why the Holocaust wasn't averted by some big brother - i live in England, i'm used to c.c.t.v. voyeurism, i don't understand why a theological c.c.t.v. is so ****** complicated - usually argued by the person with his hand in a cookie jar... why should anyone else be worried? don't worry, i'm not digressing, there's a reason why i added an emphasis title to the first of a sequence of my experiment (where i stop being my own d.j.).

my father left for England when i was 4,
i do have a vague memory of 1990 -
most notably my mother waking up late
and in his words: wake the baroness,
lothar matthaus (1990 world cup) -
carrying a table for the kitchen with him -
meeting his grandmother that raised him
being the oddest experience -
(yeah, he was an unwanted child,
raised by his grandparents,
the shame stories of his drinking father living
near him but taking no interest,
his mother moving to Silesia) -
so from a presence aged 4 to being 8
he was simply a voice on the telephone
and a pack of presents once in a while -
my mother left to join him when i was 6 -
before she left she bought me a dog,
a doberman pinscher - called him Axel
(after Axl Rose) - after that i got a taste
of my father's childhood, i.e. being raised
by my grandparents - driving an industrial
buggy on the steel plant complex,
taking a shower in the bathrooms -
my grandfather was an alcoholic... now i'm
a post-stoner alcoholic... so i don't have any
horror story to name and shame someone,
it doesn't matter, once i walked my grandfather
from his mother's house on her birthday,
he got the woman's wrath from my grandmother
and my mother, but i sure as **** walked him home;
just stating the obvious, not all poets are
fluffy heart frail, some of us learn to live.
so when i arrived in England aged 8 at the Victoria
Coach Station i didn't quiet know what to do
hugging my father... a complete stranger
(early development is not the development of
adults used to the mundane hamster wheels
of countless Mondays and Fridays and nights out) -
my memory of learning English in primary school
from scratch? i can't tell you anything detailed -
what i can tell you is that Jurassic Park came out
that year and i really wanted to see it after
becoming a fan of the Japanese versions of Godzilla,
my favourite? *Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster
.
and Lion King was out too... each day after coming
back from primary school (fond memories,
like taking pictures of Pamela Anderson from
a newsagent that were given out for free into
the schoolyard and distributing them, getting ratted
out given the shame-mantra by the headmaster:
what would you say if this was your mother?
Christianity is perfect by shaming you first, then
supposedly redeeming you, their own vice fruit
and that ******* crucifix. the game of bulldog
the meals, Ribena, choc cake with custard,
drawing Ophelia drowning for a school exhibition...
the devil mask bought at Warsaw and worn at
a dance ball, having it worn by all too eager friends
one by one... the list is endless - as ever, memory,
the best cinema in town) - so each day after coming
back from primary school i'd watch the Lion King
religiously... even my mother was bothered,
after two weeks if not more she complained to me
with concerns as if i were autistic or something -
why was i watching it? think about it... from the age
of 4 to the age of 8 i hadn't seen my father -
but you know that famous scene when Scar betrays
Mufasa and throws him to his death in the stampede?
pivotal moment for my psychic life to catch-up
with having a father - using the fear of loss in bright
colours kinda illuminated the dull realities around me -
intuitive masterminding what many people will take
for a standard family life - obviously i stopped the Lion
King after i saturated enough feeling for a person
i didn't develop around aged 4 till 8... which might
explain my resorting to alcoholism... but i'm not bothered,
i don't feel like starting a family, plus alcohol
sedates and makes writing more uninhibited (show me
a writer who didn't drink and i'll find you a bored
reader and unfinished books, that's the point of the
anti-haiku concept of ensō - i'm counting on it:
written without effort, should, technically be read without
effort), and never mind that ****** focal point in
my life that's not at all interesting aged 21 and thus
what happened after; that's me, automaton -
rebellious against being grilled down to:
an Englishman's house is his... cave... Darwinism take
on history will continue to be my pet peeve -
it just erases so many advances we've had down the centuries,
plus for every humanism alive... it must be kinda boring -
no... i'm not ensuring Darwinism is sparring in a boxing
ring with theology - from human to human -
that new program on channel 4 (naked attraction)
looks a bit like a trip to the butchers - and however you think
about it... the date after still looks ******* awkward,
so the ******* doesn't really help, the situation between
the pair is still like rubbing sandpaper on your face:
you're not showing a rouge of minor shame and inhibition...
you've just been basically *****-slapped silly.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.it turns out German, is a language worthy of opera... but, my god... to my surprised liking, who would have thought that Peter O'Toole could play a baddy, in the **** fetish TCM film from 1967... the night of the Generals... great... but i still think movies were better in Technicolor... i haste CGI... give me a Technicolor film and i'm like: agape... someone telling me to shut my mouth, so that a passing seagull cannot drop a dump into it... yeah yeah, Jack Lemon, Shirley MacLaine (god, she was hot... those dreamy eyes, akin to Claire Forlani) in the Apartment... but the ultimate Technicolor classic has to be Bell, Book and Candle... James Stewart, Kim Novak... sure, sure, the coloring seems excessive, but it's the excessive aspect of Technicolor that's so... comic book... eh... modern films... like the Artist or Schindler's List attempting to revive black & white... how about... reviving Technicolor?!

a recurring theme of internet usage...
lately i've been having
a problem taking a **** in one
sessions...
    oh god, i tried playing video games,
listening to music
while reading some Heidegger...
but it's like... i need to go back,
and sit on the throne of thrones...
and expect some inverted **** ***...
mind you...
i really admire the homosexuals...
i wouldn't have the ***** to ****
****, or there lack of...
kudos gents, kudos...
         but the whole drama ends while
i massage my **** while sitting
on my heel on a windowsill...
ha ha! that rhymes!
        and i obviously need to do the following...
preliminary drinking...
a beer, two shots of ms. amber,
another beer...
   and some alt. media political
commentary videos...
       and when i'm done... the menu comes
to my attention...
  and that sweet, sweet grand release
of not giving a **** about freedoms like
the freedom of speech...
crescendo cascada...
   cascade of sounds, ambivalences...
music becomes water...
   ars musica, est aqua repraesentatio...
you'd think of ventus...
how European music could be
described as representing the winds...
well... prior to the African-import
revision and incorporation of the drums...
you could see it as such...
but...
    when you counter the H'american
freedom of speech...
                 argumentation...
        and listen to some of the internet
commentaries...
  have enough drink in you...
and abruptly put on some Beethoven?
the ******* dam bursts...
   aqua, anti claudo...
                    so while the Africans are
all smug about their melatonin
concentration, their perfected skin
not riddle by acne...
           who's who in the lactose race?
you can contain almost all other elements...
but water?
    compared to these internet
commentaries, with a shy intake of drinks
in me... i put on Beethoven and
explode into a fury of joviality and hope...
music is the representation of water...
oddly enough...
with all the brass and woodwinds it
ought to be wind...
               but come the crescendo...
what do i see?
  or a preliminary crescendo teaser
without the choir, in Beethoven?
                    the bursting Hoover dam...
oddly enough... the addition
of the African accent of excessive drumming?
i think loop, i think tornado,
i think...
           there story of the reel...
repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat...
the end sounds just like the beginning...
with some sort of variant in the middle...
well...
   here's to that second beer.
anastasiad Nov 2016
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Sand Sep 2013
I looked under the desk
Beneath the bed
Ransacked the refrigerator
But came up empty.

I lost myself again
And finding me is always
The hardest process.

Maybe I should wear
A bell around my neck,
A fashion forward
“FIND ME” noose,
In preparation for the next time
I decide to disappear,
So that way my soul
Can’t scamper too far off
From my self.

Last time I was lost,
I was taped to the backside,
Of an upside-down penny,
Long forgotten on the sidewalk,
Rusting in the rain,
So copperized,
I was changed.

But now I’m a wearied traveler,
Craving comfort over building character,
And much rather just staple up signs:

      “LOST:  Five foot three female.
       Brown hair and black holes for irises
       That **** up all life in hopes
       Of soaking in the aliveness.
       HUGE $REWARD$ PROMISED!!”

But life isn’t so simple;
Inner peace is a cultivated growth
That sets it’s own pace.



So maybe I’ll feel like myself tonight
Or maybe I won’t feel whole for a year
But either way whatever
Smiles and scars my soul stockpiles
Becomes an extension of my existence,
An incorporation of my earthly-bound story.
Sharina Saad Feb 2014
World, concealing and revealing
Elegant appearance
Forgetfulness of matter
At the revealing, heavenly
Dark clouds fail there
Majestic and radiant
World opens up
Spreads out wings of imagination
Worlds interact
A new world arises
My world resists to be the same
Earth resists incorporation
An embrace is welcomed
A new world opens up.
Josephs Cloud
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
i found that showing off your
taste in music
is actually more intimidating
than walking around in Eden
stark naked - given
the auspiciousness in the "glamour"
industry and elsewhere, odd, isn't it?
we are more ashamed by
our musical taste, shunned by it -
the Balkan Slavs are the Spaniards
of what most people call "cheap taste",
you now, oiled and greasy
six packs and - well the Balkan Slavs
bred with the Ottoman Turks,
what do you expect?
we are more intimidated by our taste
in music being exposed than our naked
bodies -
believe me, i'll cry at the beauty,
i'll cry at the beauty but i will not despair -
i rather allow tears in, because i know
laughter too will come, i rather cry at beauty
than inhibit it with a masculine heart
expected of me to be stern and in the belgian
trenches - stupid youth idolising the warring
of old farts who have a disclosure for
swollen prostates and can't take the banta (
huh?! goli? i hate slang incorporation,
it's absolute nonsense) -
so instead they shove young men into warring
enclosures and then lay wreaths of poppies
with a 1 minute silence... i told you,
absolute ******* - i rather cry at beauty when
it appears like a picturesque sunrise -
that Armenian will have a beef stake weighing
at half a kilogram to box with translating my works -
i don't mind standing naked like this,
another example https://goo.gl/pJpddh.
It seizes One with Fear
and then points One in a direction,
though it is not fatal
if One finds yet motivation.

It doth render unto One
the Courage to create,
though, indeed, such Power
comes also with such potential
as to destroy without so much
as a Care.

Tread e'er with caution;
it doth come in waves.

Hey,
speaking of Waves:
please do not forget
to drink Water,
for mere magical Water
can be a sort-of cure-all
of neigh infinite mystery;
and please do not forget
to Breathe
as slowly, and with
as much reverence for the present moment
and to seek to speak as simply, yet succinctly,
as One can find possible;
for One never is to know
which Breath it shall be,
or, worse: was,
that would be One's Last.
-
To be creative
is to exercise
that inner Daemon
known to us, Jungians,
as One's very own
Shadow:
Shadow

seems keen
to reveal itself
at the most, shall we say,
opportune of Times,
though, as I find,
Opportunity, itself,
is a matter of
absolute value;
and, as such,
it can be
either
verily
creative
or
destructive,
depending
on the Will (or lack thereof)
of it's User (or lack thereof)
.
Love

is quite the Opportunity.
and quite the same is true of Life.
Joy
is quite the Opportunity,
and such is also true of Strife.

Thus, I cast this genuine penumbral Plea-
thus, I cast this penned and umbral Plea:


Please
cast thy Shadow
with the utmost and greatest Care,
lest it envelop thy Being;
usurping thy cognitive throne-

that is, as opposed to
incorporation of Shadow
via the omnitool Mirrors
of Awareness- of Mind:
thusly Shadow augments
the arsenal of One's very own Self.

Beware, though,
for the System, itself,
has it's sordid defenses.

Also, and once more,
please do not forget
to cast thy Shadow
with great Care, and
please do not forget
to cast nary a Shadow
without Self Awareness.
Written totally in the moment.
Some semicolons edited to periods, just to switch up my own punctuation, both symbolically and literally.
Thank you for reading.
Chapter XVIII
Parapsychological Plot

They were in the parapsychological hypnosis session all undaunted by everything that could happen. The journey of a life through the hidden spaces of past existence was a reality. It all begins in antiquity where Vernarth was hypno transported to meet his inmates and comrades. He proved to be a great defender of libertarian ideals and above all not to betray his formation of great leadership of the greatest empire, with his immeasurable feats of achievement, of this super experience of reunion for a world past to more reunions for having lived and relive them again.

The master director of this great feat, acknowledged never having attended something that is compared to him, it is an unprecedented fact that would mark a new milestone in his specialty and the study of parasychology. The doctor together with his assistants arranged to reevaluate a new systemic therapy policy, in exchange for their own way of life, generating the largest plan of the episode of intercommunicativeness to planes and dimensions of the ancestral memory of the entire created world and those that its beneficiaries have been able to verify.
In the immediate vicinity of the clinical consultation, hundreds of people, curious, journalists and the media gambled. To which one of them asks the doctor:

Journalist: Dear Sir, I would have a coffee ... just when I heard about this great news. We decided to come to his interview. I consult you. What has been the greatest content that has differentiated this from the rest of the procedures that you have carried out, and how will your future method be to reconvert your specialty?

Parapsychologist says:  there are undoubtedly innumerable connections in our life and beyond ...., But now I have found routes that I did not think I was capable of knowing at this point. And I think that now they will be more than I could count in my entire active professional life.

At that moment, his assistant called him urgently to tell him that an emergency had arisen. They both rush in and enter the cabin. And they manage to perceive that Vernarth was with the clothes on a sofa from the time of the exploits of 331 a. C. requested that they excuse him for his demands and needs, but he had a lot to propose and deliver to his comrades who were in Bumodos. Considering his beloved wife, Walekiria, who was as always preparing elixirs and essences for the restoration of the recipe for his chest and limbs. He had an urge to improve this whole process before the next Ekadashi, to enlist with new stages of his worksheet. Surely he should return to Patmos to take over the pantry and library of Saint John the Evangelist. He had to restore local buildings, house rooms, temples, regional development works, and regional art. Another elementary task was to take care of agriculture, and obey Hera's designs, for the next millennia to re-awaken from the cultures that survive on themselves. “Another of their great passionate obligations was to ride through Macedonia for the sunrises that run through the grasslands of grass and the swarm of hieratic insects, when the Oracle of Dodona made them polish their germinated seeds in the arms of dawn turned into Fireflies. He flew with his horse, appearing to be acclaimed from all over the world for his “Liturgical Conclave”. To surrender in its entirety to the pazos  of time on their Alikanto, beyond all the Eras and Millennia incapable of evading the disgraced ways by consolidating a new firmament. ”
Countless times Vernarth and Alikanto are seen crashing into the gleaming valleys and shores, encapsulated in the fields with the golden hooves of their steed, ushering in a new rebirth of their adventures, which are more than the same as God would entrust to a individual anxious to reissue Genesis or a new collaborative proposal with the Evangelist in Patmos.

Parapsychological Session resumes:
Vernarth, wake up. And she comments to those who accompanied her. ” I thought that as a child playing with weapons was only entertainment. Today I have realized that this never ends. Now I know that they are waiting for me in Patmos”. He quickly says goodbye to everyone and the rest remain undaunted by such a decision. Vernarth continues; I'm leaving with Raeder and his pelican Petrobus. Alikantus is also grazing for this long journey. Even every time he takes me away, he gets an allergy in his nose that makes him lose his nose. But my magic steed laughs at the ridicule and the decline of all doubts imposed on it. From Gaugamela who has had intermittences with his nose, but we will arrive at Patmos. The afternoon is darkening and is tinged with predominant whitish-white colors; Raeder arrived, entering through the large gentle window. They were preparing to begin the journey.

Vernarth greets him with a gesture of courtesy to Raeder, who offered to leave running from the new exile, it would be one more contingency. From that moment, he stood in front of Petrobus. Telling you; The Great Hour is undefeated in the face of the setback, it will be a great amenity to be with it.
Petrobus says: Greetings my lord! With my master Raeder we have been attentive to this moment, to overcome the best wishes of taking him to the Dodecanese and then from there to the Grotto of Patmos.  Where well known will be welcome in the house of the Evangelist. The time has come to leave ...!

“At that moment, Vernarth remembers an animal that was in a forest when he went to collect species as a child. He lunged at the animal; Vernarth looked at him squarely, then left. The animal followed him walking for several hours, until suddenly he looked to the side and was gone. He still misses this entire magical continuous event and with this cycled image of the animal kingdom. When he was preparing to arrive at his palace almost at night, he appears again before him, the animal showing him the desire to accompany him. Vernarth  looks at him and they start running, each time imposing more speed on the go. Vernarth screamed with contagious laughter and happiness. While his companion fired circulating cries that were confused with soft longings to address him by the middle ear and rule him. But beyond there, they both laughed almost turning and merging two into oneself, festively eager to laugh at the secretion that every man fills his soul, have another similar competing in a race without knowing where to go ... or why to leave? . "

React from that moment; Petrobus was blowing the room with strong and swirling winds. Raeder takes Petrobus by his golden feet and prepares for the journey.
Raeder says: Vernarth await us! We have to suspend ourselves at the dawn that glides through the winds of the wheat fields of the Dodecanseso. Petrobus will go near the iris of the great atmospheres, and will be supported by the great masses of winds that will take us to Greece. We intuit that Kanti, will then pass to escort us and join our events beyond the bend where the guidelines collide where the sea and the sky end, where Zeus will give us the good things.
  
Parasicological ellipsis in Piacenza:
Piacenza, Italy in 1887. It was right here where all the parapsychological regression was carried out. In the two-story house, he had two feline pets; Rannura and Catutto and three Tupac dogs, and three Canela and Bianca females, followed by Mara. These mysterious and resilient cats, at night they used to scare their inhabitants changing the tone of their meows by those of large beasts. But generally they were seen sleeping in their bedroom, one of them looked at them from the closet and pondered a compliment. The other was quiet near the feet of some of the two from Vernarth or Walekiria.

Its dwelling It is located in the padana plain at an altitude of 61 meters above sea level, on the south bank of the Po when the bushes change in autumn to the average of adult trees and the Trebia river meets in the west and the Nure torrent in the east from the city. She was always going to trek a few kilometers south, close to the slopes of the Piacenza hills, the first propagations of the Ligurian Apennines. Here they all passed through together, in such a way that there was no time to clean up or calm down in trifles. It was all playful diplomacy. Even when they rested, the pets teased him to continue with the ritual of running and running in circles through the groves, some flowery for ***, yellow lantanas, ornamental citrus etc. And why not name Pyramid Cypress or cemeteries...

Here his brother Etréstles always came in the spring with Drestnia from Messolonghi, Greece. Lía, the Muse who loved them both when they attended the Tuscan festival, usually came to visit him. Where he met Maddalena Tressi,  her greatest fortune teller of her regressive ancestral journeys, great inspirer of her artistic, religious and secular works at a great spring carnival. Whose name derives from the one used by Greeks and Latins to designate the lands occupied by the Etruscans, a territory of fertile plains surrounded by the main mountain ranges. The Tuscan landscape is characterized by the undulations that form the hills invaded by vineyards, olive trees and cypresses, especially in the footsteps of the Troncosada, which were and will be reunions of Italian families, of which there is no support or limestone that remains intact to its omnipresence.

In 790, a capitular of the Carolingian king of Italy, Pipino, in whom he acted on behalf of his father Charlemagne, prohibited the citizens of Piacenza by deliberately granting citizenship to those who depended on the king, thus allowing someone to escape control of this. The prohibition prevented escape from royal power. The city became famous on May 10, 1847 when the annexation to Piedmont took place, which started the long process of the Unification of Italy, which culminated in 1870 with the incorporation of the Papal States. Vernarth undoubtedly before closing the door inside his house opened it for a well-deserved new constitution of the right to acquire.

From here he went on great excursions to the Island of Sardinia in the autumn, where they lived from 1874 to 1877. Sailing trips were true insignia that shone through the waters of the green Celestine Sea. In an emerald sea between large and small coves of white sand ... on the celestial map of Sardinia, great syllogistic light of the Mediterranean for only them, with a territory full of galleries and bookstores, mainly mountainous for their walks and a half barefoot in summer, and with high chamber music peaks. The presence of Vernarth and Etréstles, attracted a lot of attention here, because they were seen every 50 or a hundred years, always seeing that their environment appeared the same, but humanly different. Sometimes in this territory, there are large areas that remain magically intact, inhabited by deer, wild horses and birds of prey, rich in forests with ancient trees, ponds and small desert areas where they both rose, to dissipate the sea that reigns with its colors and it is insinuated in the hidden coves, along the coast and on the beaches in the most frequented towns. The Emerald Coast, on account of impatient dreams in a little gem such as Porto Cervo, Porto Vecchio and Porto Rotondo, the latter facing the Gulf of Cugnana.

Great commotion attributed their curiosity to them as they were older, and where every millennium to be inaugurated they went to the nuragic complexes scattered throughout the territory: Unique monuments in the world that serve as testimony to an ancient and mysterious culture, dating from the fifteenth century to VI BC The nuraga, built with large stone blocks, were developed around a central tower in the shape of a cone trunk, which transmits solidity and power. These are archaeological sites where signs of ancient rituals and domestic life can still be found today.

In this algebraic cradle, it is where his Liturgy will connect linearly with Patmos and evangelization methodologies. All the seasons of travel to this mysterious area, he summoned them to meet and plot the 1,020 km. Where no thread of life is left unpatched without their repeated prayers before each glass of wine served, not even in the darkness of the Mausoleums themselves of the Troncosada, noble family originally from Venezia, in the early middle Ages.


Ellipsis in Tuscany, Villa Gamberaia
Vernarth, and Etréstles and Valekiara, are approaching the coincidence of Tuscany. Once they stayed in Sardinia, a coastal sailboat transported them in the middle of a stormy day. It was a great happy day to arrive in La Spezia.

They arrived, in a bright cart devastated by the olive trees, near the Villa Gamberaia, after eating some bacon and cheese sandwiches. This villa was originally a country house, which was owned by Matteo Gamberelli, a bricklayer, in the early 15th century. His sons Juan and Bernardo became famous architects by the name of Rossellino. After Bernardo's son sold Jacopo Riccialbani in 1597, the house was greatly enlarged, then almost completely rebuilt by the next owner, Zenobi Lapi, documents from the time mention a limonaia and the landscaped bowling alley that is part of the garden in today's design. Here they parked and at night they followed the Liturgy, highlighting those that coincided with Lent of Easter, where one day they were seen talking with Petrarch and Laura de Noves. Here Vernarth with them offering the modest auction that without a doubt would bet one day on this Villa of immemorial centuries with great challenge to its ruse, and of such architecture.

“A little more history…, The flower bed was presented with French-cut broderies in the 18th century, as can be seen in a detailed map of the estate described by Georgina Masson. The olive trees have always occupied the slopes below the garden, It has a distant view of the roofs and towers of Florence. The monumental fountain set on a steep hill on a side flank of the garden terrace has a seated god flanked by lions in stucco relief in a niche decorated with pebble mosaics and padded masonry. ” Here at the Verbena of a long feast day, everyone together with Vernarth got drunk with Corinthian Wine, which they brought and did not stop from the swing of the rhythm of the music that made them foresee their multi existence beyond their limitless sensibilities.

The parapsychological plot took them through multiple spaces of their frantic journey, as if they were being recently procreated by their heavenly and earthly parents, before they resumed the end with Kanti, Reader and their pelican Petrobus. This outcome would mark a new path of valleys on valleys, to shelter and fill their memories, especially their great navigation to the Dodecanese and Patmos, so close and intertwined with Sardinia as two islands united by the same new ocean in which we will have to navigate, and domains to ride shipped around the world.

To be continued , under eition
parasychological plot
Alexander Apr 2019
"Why am I always so happy ", they ask," why am I always so positive" they asked. To be honest, I'm not happy, but I am positive.
If I wasn't I wouldn't be me.
If I wasn't I wouldn't be who they know.
I killed that part of me ,I had thought, but it's clear to me he dwells nearer to the surface then I thought.
I was once the personification, incarnation, incorporation, realization, manifestation, expression, representation, actualization, concretization, the very embodiment of pain and suffering. I lived it.
I spent years in pain, days without tears because I couldn't figure out what to feel worse about.
Then came the realization of the illusion I had for so long, I could have saved them I could have saved them all. Then the doubts, not only could I do nothing but watch in horrendous disbelief and dismayed as I looked around at the disarray, no fear, as shots rang out on the other side of the wall, only rage, pain and regret.
Even prior to that my life was an entanglement of people hurting people and me, but I never mattered in my eyes, not in comparison to what happened to them. To all I had to bare witenes to, all I couldn't save.
The understanding that life dosnt let you feel the way you want unless you force your self to.
So I replaced my sad face with a smile.
And replaced my sadness with an idea.
And I told myself I was okay.
But I'm in pain. I hurt. I exist to bring joy to life and life another chance.
I should feel proud and I do. But I don't have anything that exists for me. As I bare witness to all this pain destruction death sadness anguish. I can only imagine a better day. I can only force this smile, this smile that seems to fool them oh so we'll, as long as I am in plain sight nobody will see me for what I feel.
And nobody will understand my sunny disposition is a different type of depression. It's when you know you should be happy you can't feel like you deserve to be. When you smile but you feel sad for wearing it. When you laugh but wanted to scream instead.
I was destroyed. All that's left now is a mask. And that mask is mentioned for the worlds joy while my body is for the worlds pain. Give it all to me and I will bare this sin, this pain.
Call me insane but I'll come back to live again.
All I truly fear is myself.
I love everyone that disappointed me
And I remember all I failed.
May your life be better then this.
May you understand I love you all.
And my pain will grow so your smiles never fade.
My heart is with you.
My mind is gone.
My body all that remains.
This mask all that they will see.
Until I am no more.
Vernarth's term overage was not exhaustive, as Vernarth would return to Alikantus after his journey to Kanthillana for the Winter Solstice and Patmos in spring. He was collecting each time in the decantation of each corollary of texts, images, narrations, and epigraphs that were being deliberately written on the flames of the Apokálypsis. All the experiences of the tragic characters in Vernarth were embedded in the papyrological Datum once it was detached from the Dragon's snout. This result and action verse became the reconstruction of the cessation of a physical body, whose final living objective was to legitimize everything in which it was uniting in the nomenclature of written prosopography, advanced in all the roles of the ruler of their own history. parapsychological incorporated in its own self-analysis until reaching Everism that reconciles its mythology as something secondary to the Tragedy for all societies that evolve in a focused technocratic aspect and the rhetorical unsaying of attacking the world that was destroyed under a redoubled dose of anesthesia of the disgruntled ideological of being judged by the entire world as a being spawned in the papyrology of Pergamon in ruins. The visibility of him as an actor drags her with the vision of him asleep under hypnosis that allows him to combine the periods of antiquity more than six thousand years ago. C. allowing him to build a person from low to high visibility in a consequence where totalitarianism was exclusive to a millenary East, in pursuit of a nascent South America suffering from the birth of itself from the geological split 120 or 150 million years ago that did not they would be enough to bring about the consequences of Spílaiaus when he allows, hears and tells me to give him the world that only he had been chosen to live in.

Vernarth welcomes and obeys his command to divide N times as a normal body could run and fall into this current maelstrom that would take him throughout Greece, Judea, Central, and Eastern Europe, from a place of origin called Kanthillana which resists the intermodal phenomenon of quantum that would overwhelm him to the point where his entire genealogy would follow him wherever he went if need be. All this was mending and composing itself in those alternating impurities of some paradigm, reinstating the constitution of the random present of Greek mythology already alive in the blood that unites the same rivers that are born of a narrator, always disposed of in the eminence of inspiration either in Olympos, Profitis, Ophel, Kantillana or any tomb that constitutes the format of electric actual mobility where it distills rapidly at the speed of emotions that will always be directed by gods who feel it before they are received by a distant reader. The elaboration design of the works is spaced from the hand of the argument that sometimes tries to hold on to the runaway reins since they are commanded by real emotions provided by unknown forces, generating a great collision and incomprehensible data header for an eye or ear human that needs the neat pause to attend to the discretions that are intertwined and accelerate with solidified sources of extemporaneous mythology diverging from prosopography components of Literature Heritages Sites.

The chattering of the monuments will be of great superiority as an addition to the compiled history never told or narrated where it intertwines with two dissimilar, dissonant geographical zones, distant in such a way that they themselves react to a thunder of life, which makes up those zones that are individualized and inanimate as sources of multidimensional fervor, causing high-sounding narrative imbalances that at times were made as a great source of the power of what makes sense or what could mean at times that could continue progressing in the potential wealth of beings that were never geographically rooted in a system of use or group accent that could be immersed in the biography of that which has never been told, since there is no record. The information that is unknown could not be collected as well as a concept that survives the networks of a shipwreck of the passing of the centuries that run between even and odd centuries of today in the antiquity of the Middle Ages, however, all this traceability leaves us in micro spaces that are not perceptible, nor in the incorporation of chronicles that can be driven by the linear ordering method. Vernarth is in itself a precipitous advance, a quantum of dissimilar interests of civilizations that survive and will survive from where they were forged, perhaps integrating the second face of a life that manages to detach itself from the vital circle, to experiment with its canceled free will and redirect its life. revived canons of a new nuance that concelebrates within the face of an unknown character of prosopography; to the same one who imposes the laws of everything he should for each own individual having the opportune world of him that receives him lavishly.

After the seventh century, the phenomena of the Mediterranean between what simply promotes a turn of the page leaves the hemisphere of each empire more distant from the social phenomena that distinguish us once the stumble of generations cannot count what is not could mend in the subsequent generation. This is why Vernarth's hybrid containing allows you to travel between immemorial times, allowing you to store them and tolerate periods that do not fit the scale of all their wills deployed towards an administration that manages to revitalize their monuments and ally them with other geographical areas that could not strictly speak of the same contemporary, having taken more advantage of them. Such efforts would make a great providence and closeness of all the garments that represented suitable characters who are still looking in their wasteland for the true chronological process that should fit their conditions. Vernarth is a great enlargement of prosopography that he has or ambitions excessively, and that may heavenly tempt him to build vaults that can fit the figure of himself equivalent, of the libertine whims that could stipulate the crosses of the early and late periods, eager and differentiated for everything that could fit in a bunch of flowers like a bunch of verses that would be destined for the available that waits to be presented from the incorrupt mound of Olympus with the chain of being repeatedly presented in the Kanthillana before the god Spilaiaus.

The tool will allow the reconstruction of each elapsed period of time, which is exactly what the submithology intends, to return to live with the villagers who tend to trace their lines of traditions, customs, and much-needed etymology to revive the peripheral description where some manage to to be protagonists, leaving aside those who should be participants in silent actors that intends to expand the euphemism that is only revived in the courts of the emperor that is not even established in an ironclad draconian family monograph, as could be seen with the vast majority of the descendants of the Merovingians. The portrait tends to allocate budgets from the treasury of who should be the budget of the vast majority of true Labrador Hoplites as true ascendants of the great hidden treasure that will provide the eloquent looks of Medousa. This is how much of the vindication of cinnabar must have been established as a burial of many individuals from the Middle Ages in the vast majority of Europe to daub the bodies in sulfur or Cinnabar to try to keep them in the underworld with their entire body in linen shrouds or substitutes, and how to preserve or how to return to an organic chemical environment from which was the union of two beings when they engendered a being by the chemical explosion of a body in the autonomous cycle of procreation. Linguistic guidelines will undoubtedly make the entire Middle Ages the creation of a symbol of faith entrenched in unionized social spheres, made up of guilds of families that were never registered in a regime or corporation to supplement the lack of the Datum that in this work is It aims to decorate, uniting all classes, latitudes, and sectors that could well deserve complete the spaces that should have been executed by intercontinental clans, offering them a history that is part of their emblematic ancestor.

I would dare to name the Hoplithography, as the archaeological social fabric forging the question that establishes the Hoplites as sowing cultures of the significance of their prosopon of military body, contemplating further than all the nations of a way of life that probably would have been perhaps univocal to a pious being of the science that surrounds him, with the loneliness of a being that does not admit that he is overcome by science that submits to autonomous man such as Diogenes of Sinope or Archimedes who join an axial connection in the evidence of the senses, but in the Solstice of Sinope 412 a. C. specifically in the efforts of Vernarth to make them participate that the free man belonged to a Don who was more removed from his gaps of mistakes or successes since the free man was going to be imprisoned in the urn that joins him to his body and not to the illusion of your senses. The gates of truth or otherwise are just a few steps away from this Vernarth Tragedy that asks for a little hint of space-time movement. All the paradoxes that linear time will persevere in great calculation errors that could be an Aporia as speculative logic, followed by the fiction that exceeds reality where the paradoxes will be unresolved inconsistencies, essentially with what untimely arises from an indication of life in a common being that is related to quantum mutes as exhibited by the explosive Parapsychology or "Paraps" that are subdivided from the different scenarios of Aporías or enclaves of logic that are conjugated with the non-existent reality, given to the mechanics of Submythology of heroes, gods, and others coming back to life in a passage of time that is not explained in some expired history book that had more to tell than what its own ruins hid from the truth that could be told. This is a wealth of objectives that this Thesis proposes, to discover in the immensity of the unknown what was and could never be told, and that the past genetically survives in varieties of classes of organic species that continue to be assembled by worlds that tend to clear and rethink what any storyteller, philosopher, historian or archaeologist can interpret.

Physics is made of a servile space or instrument of the paradox, in such a way that the events point to reopen doors that are of the unknown History that could be part of a god that did not exist until the shelves documented him as part of a living culture associating it with its patterns of daily life, politics and the chores of common human life. It would be like the Arrow of Flight with Achilles, perhaps leaving a great inheritance to Alexander the Great in the dichotomy of how it would be Zefian by instituting the balance of the world with the geodesy of the world of Vernarth, not alluding in between the time that dictates it for its governance, but rather the cosmic heart that allows guessing where the thoughts will be directed more than the elliptical of ascent, and descent how far the arrow will arrive because even so whoever finds it will be of the mental times that elapse in different fractions as it is Parapsychology not moving, but more than the time that only moves where it is not or rests to give primary indications of intelligence in which thought must establish the concrete fact that everything takes place in its elliptical, but not in dissociated thought. Perhaps the singularity of this polished rule could show that this Paradox of Zeno that everything that exists could outline that the line that divides Achilles from Alexander the Great is the elliptical of thought because in the rhetoric of parapsychology there are no contradictions if it is that in the Dimension of Hellenic History find in it a distant today that communicates with this faction of the dimensional medium. The infinitesimal calculations of the Duoverse aim to link or reconcile what is being advanced in parallel in the mechanics of neuroscience, without the need to have practical scientific vestiges to determine what inhabits the intersection of a circle of quantum with respect to another that it occupies, a classic example of Vernarth when carrying out the flashing Kenósis of his Kli or Vessel that reunites his independent non-parallel lifelines, but that of belonging to a Hellenic trunk with the mathematics that exceeds infinitesimal numbers moving all the lamps of the Universe when both demi-gods walked through the relevant infinity.

Vernarth is a paradox that begins with the analysis of his initial "V" of Lacedaemon with the intention of traveling in supposed time, more remotely than a word can be subordinated to what could reconstruct an infinite regress, which is what will happen with the Apokálypsis in question where he is the threshold section of analysis of the genesis of this work in the Kanthillana, then with the reissue of the Medico in Piacenza by recognizing the constitution of the area that is more than what any specialist can understand; that is, much further from any speculative stealth before Vernarth or after that other prototypes could arise that are indirectly related to the concretion or invisibility of Non-Visible characters, but with the arrival of the submithology genre, its structure will generate conciliatory physical fields of what that he could never refer to or know if a beginning began when the end of the prototype of an invisible being was just being gestated. Perhaps the genesis of the world is a great paradox that was looking for the beginning of the end that manages to meet with a definitive beginning allied to that of an indivisible that indefinitely and infinitely creates micro spaces where time has no place, only physics links that overlap quantumly and represent the truth of purpose.
The argument goes beyond the linear narration that tends to describe who was or was, supplanting it in that of who will be and will be whenever the bonds of a timeless continuous reality remain in all assumptions. Here it is clear the axiom of the infinity of divisibility that is predisposed by an objective to achieve an unforeseen event that is forceful as much as it is likely to plan, from the Duoverse and its composition of everything including all the magnitudes and tendencies to his feet what will add up and will be charged with what has not been built or discovered making this hypothesis of the conceptual that displaces the historical because the conceptual occurred and occurred in outdated times not altering its objective since parapsychology in its infinity of regression will annex him in every Greek, Hebrew and Western dimension and latitude in an ancient world that will always be composed of addends that incorporate it into the Vernarthian World that in turn dares to challenge that the importance of the world of emotions are not part of the study of this Thesis of Literary Heritages Sites, as an infinite potential to achieve when the Apokalypsis is definitely triggered, prior to the ascension of the Vernarth when it leaves the Megaron and its living vibrating magnetic body. The regimes are not egalitarian with the fall of the determined slave democracy of 404 a. C. It could perfectly have been ruled, making the political destinies of an entire nation that is subjugated to attract and implement political and economic experience unclear, that those who would never be sustained by a regime determined by the inclusion of quantum paradoxes would be migrated more than any political-administrative order, which never led to the development of a new dawn of science of the infinite regressions of Parapsychology that unites everything multidimensionally.

The best choice is the equivalent of Prosopography, which results from an anomaly to the rule where Vernarth's Mythology regulates the organization of prosopography, claiming to demonstrate that there are gods who intercommunicate like Spilaiaus with Zeus, claiming to establish that what is going to happen is what that he wanted for his regency the prolongation of one mythology towards another, but without it being written but "Live" this is a postulate that Submythology proposes, substituting all the method rather experimenting for the superimposition of everything to the lesson of everything that is interconnected, although maintaining the univocal root that represents all the structural, cultural, historical and sociological components that intervene at times as an entity belonging to a reality of legends that border on the reality that must be preserved vividly. The compilation lists of Greek mythology is the product of enormous processes of years that have been developed in their territorial regions, a cultural union since Christianity displaced paganism from the year 391 AD. C. tormenting virgins and nascent creeds from a multi-paganism step that was based on the diversity of their daily lives to a universal expression that surpassed all excessive freedom or nullified free will that contended with the delicate slave democracy or dissuasive militarism based on the Oracles, who never had a real interpretation of what originated from a real god or nature that governed itself, rather than a god that questioned others that only individualized their own dramas to represent them to a god that pro-tradition that he freed them or condemned them to live at the expense of a Dramatis Personae. Here is the prosopography that with the well-formulated passage and sense of defining that the Ardors of the Drama make sense of being systematized from the gods of Olympus, but also in social stratifications in part to the worldview of their own ancestors to be the most faithful interpretive of the wealth that makes up the source that structures those of us who are not destined to be deities, but if we could exist before them with a recognized pattern in average reports that could be placed when Vernarth leaves the confused division of a body that will remain in the Iridescent Hydor of the Mashiaj or when the prophetic appearance of his Mother Luccica is sustained by such a portion of a physical world, rather totally petrified before the hecatomb or end of the world, generating in her a stony and inanimate being, but if sufficiently existing to define her new role in the universe "Ab Initio" of a general objective of uniting eternity of the competo of existing of unifying the geomorphological latitudes of mythological existence with other unknown vertical cultures (Submitology) and hypothetically pool the experience of the elements of the universe as a whole to empower roles among themselves. Then unify everything that can be narrated as an imminent truth to lavish it on those who could not exist at the same time, but rather describe it with the quantum channel, as it is here that Vernarth remains conjugated to his literature, history, theory, and quality of his speech. focused on a fully portrayed and defined system of Patio V of Hellenika as the Fifth Dimension as comparisons that are rationalized with space-time, geographic-chronology submerged in a theme of Political History as the axis of states that exert social change for numerous characters who recently there they come to life, as is the case of the new stage of Zacchaeus and the Sycomoro or Saint John the Evangelist in the Hegira to Judah provided by Vernarth to rediscover its roots, and reduce what could have been but the journey of Judah if there had not been ended in a conclusive in Jaffa where the metaphor that returned to Limassol would exceed the metaphor of Rhodes as an intermediate point that perhaps nu It could never have ended.
The interrelation of conceptions is due to a Primogen of the sixth dimension that was established as it was in Izzana with the Unicorns or Uilef that carried them to Genoa, or of the Giant Camels that were transfigured in Jaffa when the Ghosts of Shiraz had an impartial interference in the successful sea off the eastern sea. The relationships of the primogeniture allow a timeless mobilization led by Eurydice as a living figurehead that structures her Orphic proselytism, further than a conventual desire to compensate for all the unfocused in the elite and the outcome in the Profitis Ilias as the maximum height of reception. Trinitarian back with the ecstasy of Saint John the Apostle as the mobile center of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, the similar inspiration of living images of Ein Karem and its shepherds.

The Birthright is a family that composes them in their faith that guides them by themselves, whose goals are primarily directed by their sacramentals from the first to the seventh Giga Camel. In the imaginary and cultural reference that is delimited by its monotheistic ideology, acquired from a Hebraic-Hellenic scientific connection, whose postulates will survive the unusual phenomenon from generation to generation, but rather infinite inter regressions that could sometimes revolutionize the entire creation from scratch interpolated by an alpha, being the same for its intended end. Behold, the crossover element of this theme alludes to objects, events, or phenomena such as the reopening of the Kassotides as a central element from which the hypothetical support of all faith could be shipwrecked, if it is put at risk of re-raising culture to save the fate of the world at risk from climate change. If two sages met in limits without knowing Schopenhauer or Nietzsche with the relevance of ideologies that would offer more factors, expanding both systems or theories as alternative areas to think free from humanism or intellectualism that somehow reveals itself at the end of the times reconciling all time of action subsequent to his potential periods, more than his written legacies because his potential lies in his social prototype more than his work, given that his virtuosity is deeply rooted as an atheist believer, more separated from any intellectual root of wisdom What if it denotes the non-existence of a Pagan or Divine Enlightened God, what would provoke the indirect means that persists of calling a society whether or not it was a believer? In the specific case of Vernarth, his entire biography revolves around a Supreme Being who appears before him as a god of mythology, and who then takes him to the portal of Saint John the Evangelist as a being of compassion who alternates with him to embrace him and your arms. Everything there is that allows to treasure, store, or interrelate in different social strata uses the divine work that a character that sheds light that can even give more brightness than any star that can be demonstrated in a written work as an essential starting base reliability of an author who is inspired, and is not inspired.

Submithology also replaces prosopography, to say the least, that unites in general circles that cease to be physical until the ethereal limen that converts them into micro translation spaces such as quantum, in the same reciprocity of a point A-B and B-A and vice versa as it stipulates the connectivity of what exalts thought, and its inheritance when rising to the point that would be the “Intellectual Heaven”. Vernarth in the present time of any researcher could attribute that it will depart from the Iridescent Hydor photo-duct by seven channelings of the spectrum of the refracting luminaire but of the concomitance of the observable Vernarth, or rather of what little remains to be able to observe of man after leaving It is sighted by the masks that caustically protect or envelop it as a waste of what is not attributable to a Politai, having conditions of dense interests of a destiny that will never be recognized or belong to it. It is because of this reluctance that the proposal of free will offers greater perspectives in a series of misunderstandings such as Empowering two famous atheists like Nietzsche or Schopenhauer at the service of believers who would never object to the full range of possibilities that they could implement from scratch, to convert a Christian who is like himself to a convert who will purge and reverse all his permissible externally in the farthest destinies that allow him to ascend in freedom of annulled will, not only on the earth with one more differentiated, but as a tender being who saves the world so that the world does not forget him. This thesis offers the man who has been bastardized or discriminated from a social marginal depriving him of alternating with nobles or well-to-do who circulate under the same roof of half humanity that allows the common man to dispense with all humanist beliefs, opposition, syncretic, etc. .) To detach from all vanity that is limited in the abandonment of any of it progressing with all creation that if it is when every living organism ceases to be on Patmos.

The Patmos reef may contain inventories, archives, demographic indexes, religious spheres, congregations as repertoires of those that will form when an external being arrives to build a society that imposes its character of contribution to society, and tends to adapt to particular aspects that the that they will be until today on the island itself, in itself demanding the leadership of an elite of the Passional of Iahvé through Saint John the Apostle in conception of qualifying him with the great stratified of the species that compromises in the optics of converting his followers, as an essay of an illusion made real ad honorum of a residual fragmentary that does little to unify the eras in which the rich and poor will be relatives not because of their genealogy, but because what the poor lead of the other to save him from an end that has another handle of his heraldry and portraits of his game that is deactivated in the collective imagination of all his progeny highlighted as a representative of mutations of numer dark ales, where nothing will be recorded only in this untrammeled probability of granting a life that resides in everything that cannot be seen or named, that transgresses all sources of prosopography as something deductive in this case Deus Ex Machina; as will be embodied in the final tableau of Vernarth's Trilogy III "Like the god who will descend from the machine or in this case from Hydor to Vernarth to take him to Alikantus with his mended golden hooves"
To conclude where it remains to argue that it can attract us from the Intuition of being more than a human who can actually live more than what can be budgeted, without prejudice to common sense that is quiet and distant from the epilogue of this work when whoever looks at it and hold on to a legacy of Heritage Site Literature, and manage to embrace it so that its pulse can be felt in each character it is in, and in each episode of a post-classical story. The derivations of a critical analysis of psychological Vernarth is greatly affected by an independent reaction of a real regime to which his fellow Hoplite Soldier leads him to the event of Arbela in the great battle of Gaugamela, integrating himself into the analysis of a reality that did not belong to him due to because he came from another remote erudition, and was only recognized for defending common acts that reflect the awakening of a new seed of value and temperament of a whole baggage of anthroponymy that could fit in all the spontaneous civilizations that manage to transgress the barriers of time and normal space, here is Vernarth who manages to fit in the names that substantiate in others that revalues them, and could appear as a perfect leadership name to access a Helot, Hoplite or Politai housing space in the same way as It could be transmitted from a leader who, together with Wonthelimar, was able to cross the Pyrenees or the heights of Ida or Kanthillana. as a high descendant of the Arakynthos Mountains of Messolonghi destined for the Koumeterium of the same name where the genealogical table of Vernarth is carved together with his brother Etrestles, under the invisible courtesies of a man when he is condemned being born from here from the numb invincible spirit of the Heroes of the Independence of Greece 1830. Finally, in this penultimate episode that Vernarth qualifies the sense of not being affected by an oppressive cause as being influenced by supremacies of ideas, creeds, philosophies, or governmental order, rather by a divine general scientific exordium that is from where he manages to interpret when the Mashiach or Messiah, will take his hands to carry him to meet the Hydor and dwell in that place with Him. The archivist will have the possibility to investigate and study in situ the paranormal events referred to as mega parapsychology, This way he will allow his vast merciful heart to be a strategist to carry in his inventory everything s the petitions of the living who remain in the land of Greece to take them to those who remain in the land via Patmos. Vernarth from the 6th century AD. in search of his genealogy he can create a meritorious dignity of giving funeral rites to his ancestors, the long-standing family coat of arms became returnable to the Reign of Horcondising: Spílaiaus and Aiónius with the major gods who waited for him to reside in the entire fringe of the invisible beings that in eternity will take chronological charge of a revolving time that will recirculate from all that is not dimensioned like a spiral dragging all the empires that request the renovation of their ruins, and of their beings that cry out for the misuse of this world and new coverage of a new world of replacement; as Vernarth's Strategoi legacy through all the reigns between Justin I and Justinian I of the sixth century, since previously a large part of Vernarth's family was exiled to the South of Spain by the then Roman Empire from the north of Venice to the Mediterranean, from here he transfers all the families of his lineage with his Coat of Arms of Lacedaemon to protect them over the course of more than 700 years. In this way, a large part of those who had to protect the family raft that was protected by Vernarth in the revolt of Constantinople after signing peace with Persia. The Apoinandros preserved all his lineage along the paths of an enthronement ritual that protected the distinctions but also the families of the world in the Mediterranean regions, curiously where a large part of this Trilogy navigates the Triacontero Eurídice together with Vernarth as Strategoi of expeditionary forces in glorious parapsychologies of the Middle Ages moving periodically from south to north of all of Hispania, even alternating with Nordic and German elites, such as Greek-Hebrew nominating Vernarth as a dignitary that will be preserved in the coat of arms Strategikon that managed to be collaborated with the Emperors the century VI, attributing that some of the most robust could be part of the elites of the Roman legions as exclusive Praetorians. In this way, all the family trunk and his insignia were migrated from the north of Venice, then to Lombardy to be redirected to Spain later in the coming centuries to South America. The Strategikon has presented as relevant to the present elaboration thanks to its representativeness regarding the egregious existence, compilation, and hoarding of relevant technical information for the performance of the distinguished tasks of ex-military, being able to be verified with absolute certainty within its family traits with its existence, and continued use as a source of the great Taktika of Alexander the Great and Saint John the Apostle as Magister Militum.
Epilogues Trilogy III ( Excerpt)
Mike Adam Oct 2021
Now that ink

Chlorophyll

Has leached through
Leaf-

True colour may
Emerge,

Take up
Breeze,

Seek

Incorporation
Into earth.

Soft forest
Floor

Grow slow

Hardened peat

Unto diamonds
Heaped
Into golden
Dugout-

Canoed to
Freedom
Now Mostly Purged

Decades removed when body electric
felt tortured reverberated, and quaked
with MegaDeath repercussions tattooing,
piercing, foisting, ensnaring, drubbing

drum beat indelibly 'pon psyche NON
MEMORABLE years gone bye felled
psyche with incorporation, viz alphabet
chromed facebook, poetry soup of physio

logical symptoms i.e. clammy palms,
heart palpitation, irritable bowel
syndrome, nausea, vertigo, et cetera (aside
from above, I felt great) erupted bitta bing,
bitta band tore rent cleaving, coping and

crimping Matthew Scott Harris asunder
forcefully endearing themselves like Dasher,
Dancer, Prancer, *****, Comet, Cupid,
Dinner broke repast and Blitzen) hopscotching

(hither and yon, to and fro) from one
University to another well nigh, particularly
when paying a visit to college cafeterias,
(an unpleasant effect explaining termination

umpteen post high school institutions, I
matriculated), especially when hungry hordes
(like angry birds, long fostered century21
apes, or madding crowds of students rushing

to lunch line, swelling sea of Muslims, or
Christian crusades of yore - NO INTENT
TO INSULT belief, credo, dogma, et cetera)
practically stampeding their way en route

to the Hajj) clamored to be fed sustenance,
or spiritual succor respectively, but no sooner
did this then rather bony gluteus maximus
became situated at table (often whereby quick

exit could be made in predictable panic stricken
outcome pierced and hammered me with gut
wrenching agony), the medley of organic
constriction of throat re: named asphyxiation,

furiously pounding ma poor heart, churning
out hormonal adrenaline secretion, sans flight
or fight, strong sensation, qua regurgitation
(despite likelihood my bowels recently purged,

per diarrhea courtesy of irritable gastrointestinal
stress), disallowed even one morsel to appease
thine palette, essentially salad days, whereat
never did this liberal minded scrivener get

trampled underfoot, but he experienced
physical manifestations entailing great
discomfort probably on par with devout
pilgrimage to holy shrine of Mecca whar wren

twittering within labyrinth of this mortal
being i.e. christened Matthew Scott Harris,
hid unseen live, googly-eyed, earth-linked,
mailer daemons resounded with flickr, Go

Daddy, hulu, instagramming, joyous, kick
starter, pinterest ting, shutterfly ying, snap
chatting, tinder quiet riot chorus of their
unheard whatsapp penning yahoo kindling

the trip wire of ****** perspiration, laceration
(stinging tips of metallic caw, pelting whipping,
and zinging reflexively upon me body electric
weighed down with glow ball chain) induced

hallucination prodding sphincter muscle to go
into overdrive vis a vis via defecation, (irritable
bowel ran dire re:yah rampant) creating one
wasted wreck of a human abomination kept

in check sum i.e. sigma notation from unsuspecting
observer, herewith ends general figurative broad-
brush stroke pertaining to collective soul asylum
wrenching episodes does injustice to panic attacks.
wilfred nyandiko Apr 2020
I thought I had you but it seems I lost from the word go
I think I have no apology to make cause this was never meant to be
Yeah… I mean you and I
In the beginning it was all fun
It was fantastic
it was angelic
It was wow
It was all that one could have ever thought of a relationship
We were all over their mouths
And they referred to us as the perfect couple in town

Yeah it was all over before it began
The moment that you knocked onto my door
I knew that you would cost me my happiness
The moment that I let you step into my life
That’s when I went crumbling

You are:
Beautiful
Eloquent
Cute
Adorable
Good looking
Pretty
Charming
Gorgeous
Lovely
Exquisite
Stunning
Foxy
Radiant
Hot
Angelic
Alluring
Bootyliciou­s
Fabulous
Tempting
And all the other words that can be used to describe perfection
You were the perfect icon that the public could see
But deep down inside you were:
Bitter
Imperfect
Outrageous
Deceptive
A liar
You were full of stains
And that is what you never wanted the public to see in you
yeah, the real you

I saw your outer beauty and that’s where I went wrong
I believed in love at first site
I believed that one day I our relationship would like that of Romeo and Juliet
I believed in the phrase “till death do as apart”
But you've just proved me wrong
Love is just a phrase that doesn’t make any sense without the incorporation of
Care
Trust
And loyalty

It was over before it began but I played blind all through.
Just to give you second chance
It is not that I was deaf
But I could have never let the public ruin my description of perfect and that was you
You did **** before my eyes
but i still sat calm like nothing ever happened
so unpredictable you were that  you ended up stamping me right on my back
It was all over before it began
but i played blind and deaf
so as to protect my description of perfect and that was you
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
so i'm sitting there,
in front of the t.v.,
fresh as a daisy,
             moist like a ****:
wondering...
    this flat white coffee
advert is really something...
i remember times when
i used to order an:
americano with milk...
      apparently a flat wife...
white is an non-fancy
way of saying: just pour
some milk into it...
        too bad they don't
serve a rich white...
   huh-what's-that?
        double cream instead
of milk...
      but this advert
gave me flushes...
     i started fidgeting in
my seat, getting all hot & bothered
at the McMathematics...
   so she's selling a flat white,
or rather, she explains it as (verbatim):
two thirds coffee, a third milk,
   and a third milk-foam
...
i would seriously have a problem
with that: if i didn't cut
my thumb off to make it
a complete fraction...
   that's why i used to ask for:
an americano with milk...
            so what's a cappuccino?
afro white? frizz white?
i'm a feral creature living on
the outskirts of London...
  language is hardly a way
to cage me...
   at least i found a medium
i can ****...
   and it's gagging
               for more of my
   antics...
                   and that shouldn't
even become an abstract of
a person for the person
           on the receiving end...
McMathematics: four thirds
equal a whole and not 4/3,
           i.e. 2/3 + 1/3 + 1/3 = 1;
it must mean there's a free
muffin to go along with
the fla- white (hyphen
so you prolong and ****
that sound like u b
            experiencing a brain
hae-mo-rr-hage:
                or talk like Dorry);
trill baby, trill:
                       call a hedge
the Hague via hage...
       háge háge háge...
            and hike with a hake
down the end of your fishing line
(hay'k, stutter,
                   snap:
                              ha   -k- 'eh?)
also know as
the haka: in social
sciences that's:
cultural incorporation,
rather than appropriation;
but then again:
who am i to sharpen someone's
pencil?
    if this is the closest i'll
ever get to sky diving?
   **** it:
                               free fall!
Within a fortnight, as tempestuous slam
dunk March madness closes curtain call
“in like a lion, out like a lamb,”
twill hove tested survivability,
asper flora, thru harsh winter, and

those most see ring robust will pass exam
unbridled love bursting asunder
cavorting, frolicing, instigating
wham bam thank you ma'am
lollygagging, orchestrating, romancing

while birds and bees pollinate jam
ming, humming, fostering sensational slam
dance, where flora lifts, wafts, and yawps
invoke warble, gurgle,
burble from baby in pram.

Meanwhile latent Mother Earth
quite pregnant with
multifarious potent new life
vermilion, violet ready to burst

asunder from Gaia's girth
dramatically altering landscape
with expectant birth
of animal and plant species distilled

within crucible, sans terra firma hearth
quite a contrast, when
polar vortex wrought dearth
whence Spring begets plenti
kindling, snapchatting, and twittering mirth.

Also uniquely designed hue man
denizens of every stripe nurse
tender affection expressing
amorous poetry and verse
rejoicing, the dead of winter,

and attendant frostbite curse
frozen folks felled, thence carried
away in horse drawn hearse,
where heavy grief ameliorated
as natural holistic

narcotic brings pacific
balm, calm, and psalm snapping,
crackling, and popping
wide web with electric
ambient ancient, yet contemporary music

punctuating the air with lulling lyric
since time immemorial
recognized as greatest soporific
equally savored, whether
devout or atheistic
nonpareil eclectic dreamy

harmonic melange cathartic
aural, diurnal, integral
quintessentially converging harmonic,
democratic, and anthemic
congregation replete with fantastic
incorporation, viz diversity galactic!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
chopping two heads of garlic for:
however long that might have lasted -
each tooth cut into a fine matrix
of miniature cubes -
cut to the point where a fattiness
oozes from each garlic tooth:
sticky saliva-esque ('l) and it's not...
the kind that comes bursting
with onions spitting venom -
how bewildered to be answering
the door when a delivery man
has just dropped a package
and you've also... just been cutting
onions...
   a tear that has to transcend
both grief, happiness and pangs of
beauty -
the garlic?
     the feel of fingers after having
fingered and slobbered and
come glutton on the equivalent
of **** and a devil's dozen
of oysters -
                a recipe for pickled
cucumbers: that they were cucumbers
that would become gherkins...
yes... thinly sliced 4kg of cucumbers
to 1kg of sugar... this and that:
some curry powder...
left in 2tbsp of salt to gush with brine...
and then... the pasteurißation
process - fudge packed into jars...
the lids not fully twisted on...
some breathing room -
"baked" in an oven at 120 degrees
for less than an hour...
taken out... the lids firmly ******* on...
then the jars flipped upside down
to stand...
for safe-keeping...
to boil the impurities away...
boil giddy broth and all that scratching
youth of cucumber away
for a smoothness accustomed
to marble...
funny that... the onion - how it is
the only vegetable to have some variation
of a venom and is still
the only metaphor of a snake -
the tears i shed over these Baßil plucks...
   in english: ß is an interchange:
once a sharpened S...
i know of sharpening eSSeS...
cute acute is the final form:
           ślizg (off ślizgać: to slide -
i.e. one has the slang attache -
a bit like: having the groove)...
you can almost hear it: at the end of
each hush: it's never a hush:
it's a huś of a librarian...
        a howl of it might i add...      
- crude caron is the: not yet blunt...
meat-eater.... teeth indentations... grooves...
          shackles...
the crown: šaro-
             followed by two halves
of a crown -ść               i.e. greyness -
which is still not borrowing from
the ingenuity of the russians:
szczera (too many consonants my ***...
too many vowels you roman dogs!)
   SH-CH -
                       Š + Č = Ш + Ч = Щ
        we could have the "ingenuity" process
of this evolution of... an "apostrophe"
from the depths...
   but... catherine the great was
a german lass... and even though: Ц
sits proud and could have been...
                    it wasn't... since...

Ц ≠ CH(eap)
         or CZ(art)
           or ČaXa...
      it could have: what was it...
a mirror inquisition of mu to begin with?
give me 100 years and a book burning
and i could "correct" this burden...
so it ******* fits...
i'd even call in the mongols to implement
this change...

the germans already say: цentrum
and write zentrum - herr tseit!
                                 herr schtick-a-lot: цar...
щerość  - truthfulness...
                                         / ščerość:
two coronas halved -
or... sharpened...
                     and to think... this little adventure
has me dancing above a latin script!
and... deviating from some ur-greek...

we could do this minor change:
"pan-slavic" borrowings from
the 19the century in the balkans
under the ottomans -
           this hypered breathing tool
to extract the yet Siberia - Hades bride
a near pristine ****** -
in this cosmopolitan confused multi-
of an english...
i am here to express and drag back
into the "darkness" of the east
memento...

  that the greek had names for
some of their letters: omicron, omega,
alpha, beta, gamma...
but that the latins had:
vowel-and-consonant: syllables
instead of proper names...
delta - a sensation for a prefix letter...
and a suffix name scoop...

cut my ***** off and feed me
operatic candy...
when you open a bag of
    chimichurri chimichurri:
chim chim churri...
no... when you open a bag
of been-sprouts after
the best-before-date...
    you know the perfume if you have
ever... fermented grapes:
it's that in-between scent
of fermentation -
it's quiet off-putting...
but it's passable...
              but english is both
the currency of the present...
the language of empire
the lingua franca: although:
the crescent moon in the shackles
of the sheikhs:
who moved these youths into
europe if not the project harem...
and fatso old cat laze'ohs of
the woman's drudge:
a heaving tide of custard flesh...
boiling with lazy bop-bop of
bubbles...
                    we can discuss it in
english: never mind the natives...
we came, we saw...
some of us didn't bothered feeling
at home...
although: we once hoped to be...
never... *******... mind!

i'm here for two "letters"... well...
sounds... in the russian text...
great orthographer that i am:
the english can have their metaphysical
this certain debate that...
that uncertain debate this...
it's not like the english will ever
employ diacritical markers...
a recurrent theme: a stressor on my mind...
it will never be allowed
a pop fission - it will not claim
an epidemic status -
mind you:
the priests the psychiatrists and the
prostitutes... minor of the 3:
the four horseman... the "poet":
the poo-etcetera...
  try try, try bring fail...
"ignore, ignore": "happiness"
will find its trail...

                 but once! in a time of...
poesy and cerebral palsy!
sound: ping pongs of echoes pf
dying elephants or whales...
            the stomach of the disgruntled
indigestion that's the best assumed
presence of: sea...
            
it's become certain:
in youth to write while listening to music...
tone deaf i: too could reach
a tornado of words... that...
let's be frank: i never recite what i write...
i write best from what's
yet to be seen... i uncover what's hidden...
i don't pretend to measure sounds...
if my voice had the same sensation
to encompass blowing into a saxophone...
no... a horn...
this monotone gravity of breve -
this great aeon bespoke sloth of
an otherwise riddling tongue turned
into an ancient worming from:
from a time when man did not pass
onto his futures -
a memory of some ancient - fabled oned -
a once that turned out to be:
full of replicas! i.e. archetypical
wounds... that forever bleed...

best this written in a silence that
wakes up with an imitation wind...
two letters... russian... beside ur-greek
to me... exported to as far east
as Kamchatka.... which is practically
north of Tokyo -

it's a contested scenario... this...
Цц vs. Чч -
if it was handwritten for the envisioning
of... the:        Ш + Ц = Щ
i'm sold... aren't you sold?
  ah... envious of handwriting fluidity -
now: digit plucking - each letter a solipsistic
"counterstrike"...
     yes... looks like we have ourselves...
the... *****...
             clearly...   zee... ШИЦ!

inversion of mooment - the crows are
near tonight: they are quarreling with the gods...
or perhaps that's just the ***** foxes
teasing leather -
   that i write and there's no music
to distract me: elevate this already
impossible...

i go to sleep with alarm bells ringing...
robert duncan's realisation that he was a poet
aged 17... upon leaving high-school
i did stand before the entire cohort
of my contemporaries and recited a poem:
over which i cried two days prior...
an epileptic seizure gripped
my body from neck down...
but i did manage a recitation...
    i was supposed to become a chemist
now i'm looking for a part-time occupation
in the n.h.s. as having:
good organisational skills and...
a sense of humour...
or some BICS: for... part time gigs at
the ol' B... B... C...
i don't mind i just want something
to execute an elevated trance of
robotics to let my mind wander...
outside the confines of robo-brutus-robos:
anti-caesar: oh look! "us"!

two "inconveniences" of the 20th century
motivate me...
the despots and the shan franshishko poets...
there's that famous gozilla
of a tornado... there's that...
Bulgakov centre piece of a collection
of... best kept hush-hush among
the moth community...

   that language toys with me that
i don't want to have a competence with it
concerning that i don't have a narrrative
that i'm all tickety-fuckety
when it comes to clocks and eternal silences...
a clock on earth... vacuum...
a boiling kettle on pluto...
given only these two ***** for juggling...
it's... kinda boring... isn't it?
how is one expected to juggle
only two *****?
two oranges... better image... get go image!
i juggle time... i juggle space...
both so impossibly impersonal:
i'd loot a grave for an epitaph that
might make an irish joke down
a pub about them...

       and they kept 'em "*******" in the sports
and kept 'em prized athletes... coz cousing
'arab?
well... they knew those hebs
were expendable from the ghetto-go
prior to the gassing stipends...
it's not these whites keep:
samson strength of david-esque
ingenuity...
it's not like the hebs matter in the world
of sporting events...
gift of the gab... i guess that's what
prizes them above all else...
gifts of "superstition"...
to me? there is enough phonetic evidence
to summon me to showcase
that... the tetragrammaton is...
a spider in a web of english:
surd H(atches)...

        a breath of a dying man
about to... pOUNCE!
but the jews were never cotton pickers...
they were never athletes -
if they ever built the pyramids...
i wonder...
it's not like... they... possibly...
hebrews are intellectual creatures:
they are not... about to be caricatured
with fully functioning limbs
readied for the ******* colliseum...
unless they might me...
nero's torches...
and the greek conspiracy -
after all...
           wouldn't the greeks have
conspired....
to topple rome...
in order to therefore...
retain a dominance of power:
byzantine: years after the western
"concept" crumbled?

you don't keeps jews to have
the masses entertained:
you keep the ******* to falsetto
the ******* roll-a-bit sort of gimmick...
run around... kick a coconut...
come back with a lion's golden mane...
jason and the argonauts...
casimir and the ******* cosmotaunts:

*** note on biGGer?
better: sniGGer!
i count less in niGerian -
the offensive sound - less by scent
of "things": a heb is not a jew is  yew:
from a ***...
you can't leave these tracers or:
otherwise we: shun the *****!
that's great: i too spell a sound without
a necessity to connote malice...
but of course: borrowed lithuanian
that i am: under the hellish
anglo-saxon brute manifesto...
all is glacier and glycerine and
toughening of Karen east of any
that's east... the mouthful of
the Danube...

       to "bleep" out a sound to
mishandle the necessity of meaning:
if the blacks can own a ******
why can't i... not own a ******
in his stead of... to tattoo myself
all aryan:
the jew that never made it to
the coliseum as a gladiator -
this burning ***** hair floss of
st. peter's crux...

  we are still in favour of african
mind: less productive:
readily this body made...
there's now clue as to why
a thought concerning:
Proteus - Herr Frankenstein's monster:
Einzstein: Zuerst- also a -stein / - shtein...
zweite-christus-und-stein!

it's unlike a must it's not this
competition with: social inclusive standards:
of what?
the saxon: project that -
one year excluded the irish...
other year: made great fictions
surrounding Libya...
i have before me a history:
that in part i cannot inherit...
i have these... fickle restrictions:
panderings: walking on egg-shell
moments for...

in my own wery brittle: sam's son:
didn't herr voltzwitz stress:
son of sam-
         em... -uel
                 or... -son?
                          jacob my dear fiction...
continue: bring forth
these nuanced goods...

and my two morning synchs...
a cat that wakes me come nearing 5am:
to watch him: entertain myself...
him taking a **** or a ****...
into a tight bundle of imitation
sahara...
or another... to attire her with
creases of the hand...
to pet her... so that she feels
obliged to sleep in my bed...

there i was concerning myself:
does my beard reveal the cubism
of a violin?!
i still have two russian letters on
my mind...
i'll burn them into my forehead
so that i can allow myself to sleep...
but besides?
there's this, courtous conversation
i am to be having - past participle
and future: yes... i mean no...
i will not be having this
african gladiators contra the yiddish
intellectual sludge extension:
no anglo-saxon sensibility will
save me from this: it's own...
hidden lick o' "squander"...

   pandering... for... enough ******
autonomy... to clean offices...
and find the joy of a mind's escapism...
pandering to who beside
the ******* tended to orators
and giggling politicians?

this is enough of a night's vanquish...
to have: as i have: have tamed.

p.s. there's no proof in you "not being" racist
by having ****** a black girl...
i just wonder: could it have been enough
when the trans-racial incorporation
sequence to create the copper-skin
pseudo-arabs begun...
when it was still a taboo...
   not now... i don't know vot "vey"
vont.... or'zzz dunst noot vont...
lebanon?

             i can see myself, though...
******* some copper-skin imitation
h'arab as far tainted as:
lemon-squinting: there's no sunrise:
come the blessings of beijing...
yeah... i too would like to marinade...
or at least have that prawn flesh
tenderness:
to be able to cook in enough
critic acid... without the use
of over boiling water...
it's called tenderising or:
some other magic word...

            *** notes: yes yes...
thoroughly throughout...
fishing for russian nazis...
            ah ha ha...         deaf-tone... joke.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
i get it, the saint george's cross,
and the cross of st. andrew,
where did the extra red
overlaying the st. andrew's cross?
oh... right... northern ireland...
but to add to
manic street preachers'
song's lyrics
ifwhiteamericatoldthetruthforonedayit'sworldwouldfallapart
wel­l...
there ain't no black
in the union jack,
there ain't enough white,
in the stars and stripes
...
i say:
why is the st. andrew's flag
incorporation
missing from ol' Jackie?
the thistle
shunned fluorescent,
or rather tamed,
shade of purple?
        and why more blue?
oh i'm pro nationalistic
for the Picts, the Cymru
and the Irish...
    bring back the Union Jack
with a bit more
hushed, tamed, purple...
what's with the blue?
the **** is blue on these isles...
apart from the odd
scarcity of the open skies?
not much...
well... perhaps the odd
curry cooked by some Blue Indians.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
as if Sisyphus before the miser tract,
and Charon before the debtors,
no weidling pitch-fork caucus,
or more toward askin for worth...
came first the siamese tongue
and tree in candle flame entwined,
from Y you came, unto Y
you shall return;
a candle spurred came closer
to my abode, than any lover would;
even is that W became a C...
and the remnant in nearing
acronym, or prefix elongated...
          the demands of the gods  
are for mortal men to mark a labour
in recurrence to no scout in return
of assurence of settled tomb
mark swoon, scoop, harvest
and ditto...
                 had i but my own:
wife, children and heritage...
         I wouldn't be left thinking of
Antactica... as some sort of
reimagining of a Sydney pleb
choir fetish for transcendence...
  and that overtly bloated meringue
(as any dyslexic anonymous
intervention, borrowing french,
adding as many diacritical marks
as eating vowels in suffixes etc.);
in pristine form comes
a bone akin to a chewing sensation,
gargantuan into fade;
pst...
       anglo over uses pronouns,
demanding definite and indefinite
           X quasi space pseudo timing
und contra...
           other languages demand
an incorporation of pronouns
into other words,  that simple
plastic surgery won't fix...
                7+ 000,000,000...
                try attempting "fame"
in China...
        the ******* chopsticks will overtake you,
like shoelaces will, heading west
to make compensations with.
Plus applying index finger as pointer guide
(take that Missus Wells),
who best not take objection, hence let snide
blackboard barbed comment dultifully slide
chalked up and emanating

from gentleman with pride
and prejudice toward third grade teacher,
whose archaic rubric, I no longer abide
when a student at Henry Kline,
he now doth elide

ridiculous bans Boyer Grade School
instituted), who undoubtedly Gracefully yells
from her grave, against these codas long defied
condemned, exorcised, forbidden taboos,
nonetheless tactically helped this pied

piping peter pan, an aging (intellectual baby
boomer bookworm) as his tried
and true knowledge bank account swells
conviction communicating wide
across avast web donning

and/or trumpeting averring,
he always decried
"FAKE" arrogance, conceit, egotism,...
which learning my methodology quells ride
ding high crest of aspiration an aside

to increase cerebral deteriorating multicells,
thus lessening the smarts for suicide
this technique fosters enhanced cognition,
galvanization, pronunciation, et cetera,
whereby vocalizing words,

while ensconced backside
voicing, learning idea
constituting each sentence,
(within figurative nutshells) decide
dutiful dogged diligence involves eyesight,

mandibular interaction
jabbering, sans oral jawbreader divide
aided by vocalization augmentation allows,
enables, and provides groundswells
flowing fun like joyride

with incorporation to hear
nasal twang only downside
syllabification altogether garnering
boost to comprehension outstride
ding learning taking paradigm nationwide.
Quite mild winter weather bourne this way
within environs of Perkiomen Valley
since latter months of 2021,
but also since me
January 13th, 2022 birthday,
I predict minimal snowfall
for remainder of 2022 winter,
what with just couple weeks
until Spring Equinox.

Within lil more'n a fortnight,
as tempestuous slam
dunk March madness closes curtain call
“in like a lion, out like a lamb,”
twill hove tested survivability,
asper flora, thru harsh winter, and

those most see ring robust will pass exam
unbridled love bursting asunder
cavorting, frolicing, instigating
wham bam thank you ma'am
lollygagging, orchestrating, romancing

while birds and bees pollinate jam
ming, humming, fostering sensational slam
dance, where flora lifts, wafts, and yawps
invoke warble, gurgle,
burble from baby in pram.

Meanwhile latent Mother Earth
quite pregnant with
multifarious potent new life
vermilion, violet ready to burst

asunder from Gaia's girth
dramatically altering landscape
with expectant birth
of animal and plant species distilled

within crucible, sans terra firma hearth
quite a contrast, when
polar vortex wrought dearth
whence Spring begets plenti
kindling, snapchatting, and twittering mirth.

Also uniquely designed hue man
denizens of every stripe nurse
tender affection expressing
amorous poetry and verse
rejoicing, the dead of winter,

and attendant frostbite curse
frozen folks felled, thence carried
away in horse drawn hearse,
where heavy grief ameliorated
as natural holistic

narcotic brings pacific
balm, calm, and psalm snapping,
crackling, and popping
wide web with electric
ambient ancient, yet contemporary music

punctuating the air with lulling lyric
since time immemorial
recognized as greatest soporific
equally savored, whether
devout or atheistic
nonpareil eclectic dreamy

harmonic melange cathartic
aural, diurnal, integral
quintessentially converging harmonic,
democratic, and anthemic
congregation replete with fantastic
incorporation, viz diversity galactic!
Triggered to skyhigh elevated state
when I received communiqué
courtesy management warden
christened and otherwise
known as Jackie Geiger
dated March 9, 2022.

She averred fruit fly infestation
constituted lease violation,
which could spell eviction
since said issue involving
Drosophila melanogaster
necessitated costly
exterminator intervention
subsequently delivered resultant
severe savage psychological strafing

regular panic attacks (analogous
to EF5 tornadoes
the highest category
on Enhanced Fujita Scale)
unleashed with punishing
alimentary canal winds
i.e. lower gastrointestinal expulsions,
which prescription medication
ineffective to subdue.

Suddenly relatively short lived respite
abruptly ended moderate freedom
feeling diabolically tortured
returned with a vengeance
measuring reprieve in months
and years removed
when body electric
felt tortured reverberated, and quaked
with repercussions...tattooing, piercing,
ensnaring... drubbing drum beat indelibly

'pon psyche NON MEMORABLE years
gone bye felled psyche with incorporation,
viz alphabet facebook, poetrysoup of
physiological symptoms i.e. clammy
palms, heart palpitation, irritable bowel
syndrome, nausea, vertigo,
et cetera (aside
from above, I felt great)
erupted bitta bing,
bitta band tore rent cleaving, coping and

crimping Master scribe
harnesses words as
Zeus employs thunder
forcefully endearing themselves like Dasher,
Dancer, Prancer, *****, Comet, Cupid,
Donner and Blitzen) hopscotching
(hither and yon,
to and fro) from one
University to another
well nigh, particularly
when paying a visit
to college cafeterias,
(an unpleasant effect

explaining abrupt termination
umpteen post
high school institutions,
I matriculated), especially
when hungry hordes
(like angry twittering birds,
long fostered century21
apes, or madding crowds
of students rushing
to lunch line for their seconds

analogous to swelling sea of
crusaders of yore - practically
stampeding their way
clamoring to be fed sustenance
or spiritual succor respectively,
but no sooner did this then
rather bony gluteus maximus
became situated at table
(often whereby quick
exit could be made

in predictable panic stricken
outcome pierced and
hammered me with gut
wrenching mental agony),
the medley of organic
constriction of throat
re: named asphyxiation,
furiously pounding
ma poor heart, churning
out hormonal adrenaline.
Psyche wracked with agony
impossible mission to extricate lovely bones
they wanna remain permanently abed.

I chiefly function to amass knowledge
courtesy assiduously, habitually,
and judiciously reading
an eclectic assortment of written material.

Yours truly woke
with ambition, disposition,
inclination, and predilection
to glean from an assortment
of books esoteric learning
since... birth, but particularly
when experiencing emerging adulthood
about two score years ago.

Feeble attempt crafting poetry
whereat gobbledygook doth trot -
oven chilly cooked confusion eliciting
faint thanks a lot
unbeknownst this tasteless,
senseless, rhymeless... lettered
Rorschach test tease I jot
interpretation, viz hitting
analogously like amorphous melted ingot
watch yourself...

d's lines iz still smok'n HOT,
now I puzzle regarding how
to extricate mess elf,
cuz aye got myself
into try'n to strut and trumpet
hightailing (courtesy Google)
searching information superhighways
one can cyber surf to Hong Kong,
(a coastal city and major port
in Southern China,

bordering Guangdong Province
through the city of Shenzhen
to the north and the South China Sea
to the east, south, and west)
an entrepôt, (which goods brought
for import and export,
and for collection and distribution)
yea, that autonomous enclave
the region inhabited since
the Old Stone Age,

later becoming part
of the Chinese Empire
with loose incorporation
into the Qin dynasty
initially starting out
as a farming fishing village
and salt production site,
it became an important free port
governed by Chief Executive,
who serves as premier of the Region

and head of government
of Hong Kong
beholden to The Basic Law
which designates a system of governance
led by a Chief Executive
and an Executive Council,
under principles of separation of powers,
with a two-tiered system
of semi-representative government
and an independent judiciary.

Anyway... when zombie like,
and hyper aware
about mein kampf,
and lxv roaming years
exhibiting conscious state
(although that might be debatable),
I try to dead reckon eyes
purposefulness astride oblate spheroid
nsync with other gals and guys
either one, t'other or all
mask cue lated in disguise

impossible mission to triangulate
Euclid say logic defies
to comprehend gibberish,
no matter how much you scrutinize
his highness, qua shape
shifting imperfect square stumps
any tree mend us great mind to analyze
me skewering, marinating, gunning... decries
abiding any logical positivism
queries best addressed to Lord of the Flies
since nary handy dandy blues clues,

I opted out thus...
******* provided to synthesize
random words helter skelter
strewn to symbolize
absent any rhyme or reason
courtesy handy matted figurative
trapezoid doth employ
no paradigm to exercise
leaving comprehension after mine demise
so go ahead chastise
cuz I already know,
never will said poetry win apprize.

Initially, an attempt
sought regarding Das scribe,
yours truly donning
checkerboarded rawhide
collared, cuffed oversize raiment, pride
and prejudice obscured
courtesy hand-me-downs
couture also decking out
alley oop trapeze artist bride
of Frankenstein grooming in attendance
with her bonafide
circus motley crew, a veritable
monster mish mashup
happenstance didst decide
unlike traditional feted newlyweds
swingers airborne did only abide.

The law of gravity aerial
pas de deux bodies airborne
aloft pledging their respective troths sworn
fleeting suspended animation while shorn
infinitesimally of Earth's pull
only expert can playfully scorn
accomplishment courtesy no greenhorne
neophytes in utero umbilical cord,
taking root as metaphorical acorn,
thus unbridled and groomed skill inborn
burst out the womb like heated popcorn
snapped up since birth well worn
genes Ringling Brothers and
Barnum & Bailey circus practiced morn
till night stunts became second nature
encore performance
no matter bodies outworn.

Curtain Call now doth close
unrehearsed poetic gambit,
cuz yours truly tuckered out I suppose
ready to take his doze
zee dough into dreamland, expose
zing oft times confused
with dark shadows of outer limits
of twilight zone,
where me lovely bones froze
where sudden night mare arose
gripping courtesy rigor mortis head to toes
daunting wordsmith champion
manifestation of daily woes.

Suddenly me clutched
by melancholic despair
somnambulantly where
countless tomb morrows *****
scarcely undifferentiated
from yesterday's care
wracking psyche with wrath plus fear
at accursed purposelessness near
faux sing myself regarding pas
city to emulate good cheer
whereat time and tide
wait for no man/woman.

— The End —