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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.i'm not here for the people, i'm here for the language, having observed it degenerate into modern hieroglyphics of emoji, and the acronym standard of american English... i'm here... for the language... the people? well... they're the people, and will always remain, what they always were... collateral... i can't speak for the organic product of what i am an inorganic byproduct of... why would there ever be a Hegelian dialectic to begin with? rather than a dichotomy? wasn't Kant the one to come up with a priori (thesis) and the a posteriori (antithesis) dynamism? no? then i guess i'm illiterate! must be! otherwise, how so?  i can't exactly command my a priori, given, with some "wonderful" a posteriori substitute of the global individualist! this urban Frankenstein! maybe the English speaker can... but i can't... given they allowed themselves the travesty of grammatical profanity... it's almost a shame, that the asylums closed down... when is cushioned room when you need one? oh... right... denial for the cases equivalent to jimmy salive... you attack grammar?! you attack us all... there's not qualification standards required... not all of us are required to have status as English language teachers... some of us? are just generically frustrated!

would i extinguish
cigarettes into my knuckles?

well... i was trying to
spot bone,..

but the real reason?
ha ha!

i was attempting to
count the number of eyes
on a tarantula.

not a funny joke?
i get it...
   i wasn't aiming for funny...

ever watch the grooving
bopping along,
seduced by the rhythm
bass player in a band?

you'd thin it was the drummer...
turns out?!
the intermediating
   focus....
   bass is all rhythm...
there's no such thing
as a rhythm guitar section,...

hardly any drums in
a classical music composition...
bass...
the subversive underlying
principality
of the fiasco...
the...
                          Pandemonium!

set your eyes on the bassist's groove...
pursed lips...
mm hmm ya ha...
           the *******
blood suckling artery
with not need for metaphor
presence of a band...

bass... bass... bass...;
hence the missing E i guess;
was, and always will be:
the base and bait
for listening to 20th century music...

whiskey lime & pepsi?
***** lemon & pepsi?
can't tell the difference,
both sound equally promising...

it pains me, to agitate a drummer's heart,
imitating a beat
without any drumming equipment...
bopping along, sly, shy,
and sometimes awry, fired up...
        
there were a few things i'd love
to have become,
a prof. cyclist doing the tour de france....
a vet practitioner...
    among others...
   what did i become?
a mediocre poet...
       a spewer of words
rather than their instigator...

had i ever the ability to write
pop **** jargon of
lost and wishing for awaiting loves...
i'd **** one of those
housewife harlequin novels!

alas... not to be, not to be...
     guess i tapped into Russian funk...
that Russian ex-girlfriend?
apparently she likes my writing,
she said: you should get published...
i did... little as **** did that do to
me in securing a stature of possible
fatherhood and a Tolstoy town-house
in the middle of St. Petersburg...

    i wasn't a priori to fiddle that
******* out into a castrated bull
******* an ****** with no *****
but pure muscle tension
of the phallus...

   wait... you never ****** off
as a man, prior to producing *****?
feel sorry for you...
guess the whole abortion debate
is killing you...
          you know...
  that's almost equivalent to theft...
what happens on the throne of thrones
and is dumped into a tissue?
ditto, i.e. remains there...

       thieving *****...
                  huh?!
                    **** it... do the Islamic take
on thieves...
ensure all the western men have
their ******* arms cut off...
to stop the thieving with
western culture jurisprudence
in-acting transgression
of transcending the allowance of
abortion, and...
enforcing...
                whatever the ****
fatherhood means...
when?
     a women proposes to you...
and then decides to throw away her
engagement ring, she, herself, chose...

as if... she never had the notion
of being young and being poor...
**** me! she forgot the beautiful part
of the equation!
  i liked her doughnut over-sized nose...
i loved to teasingly bite it
during *******!

      **** me... that contorted
face, Francis Bacon-esque
in the mirror doing *******?

      mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

look here: FULL MOON ALL OVER
MY FACE...

         there's no revenge ****
in this scenario...
                
  hey! resurrect the Bastille!
and i'll be the second Marquis de Sade
screaming the revolutionaries!
YOU FORGOT THE JUICE!
the juice?!
YEAH! THE MOLOTOV COCKTAILS!

                anarchy...

       what order is there to speak of?
when grammar is secondarily dictated,
outside of the teaching profession?
     these people are teaching me language,
or secondarily indoctrinating
me into the abuse of language -
with political bull's diarrhea?

   can't have one and the other...
   you attack grammar?
        everyone restricted to a grammatical
conventionality, will...
spank you with a naked russian saber...
   i'm not here for playing
unorthodox language games
outside of crossword puzzles
i don't entertain having the capacity
to solve...

               you play your game...
i'll play mine...
i have the integrity of the English
language at stake...
   not this post-colonialist quasi-English
*******!
Ashley Kaye Aug 2019
love or lust
“I cannot tell a lie”
As I lie
Laying
being beneath you
forcing my light feminine weight above
the sun to your sky
it’s all the same
i feel false i do not feel

you compliment my waist,
my laugh;
my witty repetitoire
riles you—
a true Napoleon in this pint-sized frame
they call me pretty
I yearn to be more

you are leaving and I am numb
maybe I learn to forget
opal iridescence in my free-spirited eyes
dance once
you are gone

I scream to no one,
“must I be alone
to be my own?”
July 15, 2019
Certain men may be pigs, and maybe some feminists take it a bit far,
but when it comes to sexism, I certainly don't think it's restricted to ***;
and when it comes to racism: there's no such thing as race.

Far too many **** Sapiens are just ******* vapid and odious when it comes to their personality, in general. It doesn't matter if the narrative is One's ***, or religion, politics, perceived gender, art, science, the weather or any other elite form of edified philosophy.

I want to believe that everyone has merit-
that they cannot be judged by any external entity
that, because it is external, lacks the whole context.

Still, some people spoil my attitude towards people a bit.

Humans are my favorite counter-example; yet, I love us. Somehow.

Jaded though I may well be,
I seek foremost to be kind, but that makes you a doormat.
One seems to have two choices: be a push-over, or an *******.

I seek the middle path:
empathic and kind, but also self-interested.
..something of a "passive-assertive" person.

Returning to the point:
I'm just an equalist, I guess.
Egalitarian. Individualist.

Sexism? Racism? Nationalism?
Why the **** is it even an issue?

Haven't we grown up at all in the last 10,000 years?

If someone's skin color, chromosomal composition, language, wealth, ethnicity, or where on Earth they happened to be born is that big of an issue to you psychologically and socially, there are much bigger problems going unchecked boiling over within you. The abandoned kettle whistles.
Good luck. Earnestly.
We're all counting on you.

People are people.
Worry about yourself and what and who you love.
Halfway to a rant and back again! May as well be a rant. Okay, it's a rant.
So many succumb to Group Think
in such a way that it is dangerous.
From a young age, though I knew not yet of the notion,
I rejected opinions passed to me as fact
for the reason that opinions are subjective:

I did not hold as 'beautiful' what they told me I ought to.
I did not hold as 'wondrous' what they said was so.
I did not hold as 'difficult' what others had not yet accomplished.
I did not regard as 'easy' what others had yet done.

I was not serious when they told me I must be.
I made jokes when they deemed it distasteful.
I laughed at the hypocrisy, right in it's face.
I didn't just lay down and accept it as fate.

I did not like the music they told me to like.
I did not believe the biased history they taught as absolute and true.
I did not worship the mythic Gods they made to be literal.
I refused to pledge my allegiance in a brainwashed mass
to any flag of any nation under any God with Liberty and/or Justice for merely a few.

Over time I acquired my own taste for these things:
I grew to appreciate the discrepancy
between what I was told
and what I observed.
From there, I formulated my own opinions,
I became an Individualist.
A Heretic.

They sure don't make it easy.

Individualism, to me, does not connotate isolationism,
though with isolation can come self-awareness and self-discipline.
Individualism, to me, refers to finding one's own Path;
being a Heretic; staying true to your own Path.
To be a Rebel to undue Authority.
To not be afraid to defy your peers.
To be an Anarchist within one's self.
To practice Civil Disobedience.

Plus, the friends you will make if you live this way
will blow your ******* mind
and last you a lifetime.
-
Opinions are never concrete; they must curve and morph with the ebb and flow of your particular life.
Opinions and Taste must be relative to one's own personality and life if they are to be genuine.

Even still, the pull of the social tide is not so easily resisted:

You are succumbing to Group Think
even more than you might think
but I think, or at least I think (that) I think
that we can all overcome Group Think
if we would all just stop and think.
Don't you think?
Spawned of a conversation with a friend, as well as many ancient feelings within myself.
Further reading:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/satyagraha-peaceful-non-compliance/
Shadow of the past,
echo of the future;
dedicated Musician,
a Phonomancer;
and inspired Philosopher,
a Philosomancer.

A Mystic and a Metalhead,
a lifetime Scholar and a self-Teacher;
a determined and self-guided mythic Artist,
a psychologist and an Observer;
I am a Lover, a Father, and a Son,
a homeowner and a Dishwasher,
a Friend and a bit of a stoner,
a social drinker and a fan of quality Spirits;
I am a self-contained Universe
contained within another Universe;
so fractal-esque.

There is much to this being I call "me"
and so little of it is visible
from the surface of my awareness;
so much of it falls within-
within the limitless void;
to be revealed only in Time,
and, to be unraveled by Time.

Discerning, yet reckless,
a wise man and a fool;
I find myself within,
and within myself,
a beautifully chaotic dance
of chaotically diverse energies.

Within:
the Spirit of a Renaissance Man;
Music, Geometry, Cosmology,
Mathematics, Statistics, Physics,
Mythology, Musicology, Psychology,
Masculine, Feminine, Canine, Feline,
Light, Dark, Day, Night, Sun, Moon,
Anthropology, Cooking, Dreams,
***, Love, Lust, and Suffering,
Spirituality, Science, Language,
Contrast, Respect, Individualist,
Intuition, Feeling, Understanding,
Action, Non-Action, Elation,
a bit of a Goth and a Hippie,
a Rocker and a Composer,
Haphazard Attention to Detail,
Conscious, Shadow, Subconscious,
Id, Ego, Super-Ego,
Animal, Human Being.
Alive.
Mortal.
Mortal,
and grateful for it.

An aspiring,
amateur Shaman
who "shows promise";
dabbling in Feng Shui,
the Occult,
T'ai Chi,
the Tao, Zen,
Music,
Art,
and Life;
a dilettante Poet;
I am an ephemeral expression,
a temporary microcosm,
of both the Human Spirit
and the very Universe
in which we occur,
if for but a brief,
beautiful,
fleeting,
moment.
Thanks to all of you who have, or will, accept my challenge:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/a-challenge-ye-friendly-fellows/
It has been an honor and a privilege to see the replies.
Here are some submissions I received:

The Noose:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/riot-grrrl/

Kelly Rose:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/portrait-of-self/

Tdudleyesquire:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/the-chameleon-4/
Ryan P Kinney May 2015
Tanka-ka
Or Not Tanka

American tanka: Japanese influenced poetry that ignores rigid syllable guidelines; typified by an individualist, nonconformist sentiment.

1.

You step so cautiously
That sometimes you forget
To take a step
And I am left waiting,
Running far ahead


2.

You don’t realize
That your body
Might just save this one
This body might,
Just **** me


3.

What does all this stuff mean?
What does this world mean?
Long after I am gone
This **** will still be here,
Forgotten by everyone


4.

Internet ****
Seduces mens’ hearts
And objectifies their desires


5.

The destruction of the self is intolerable,
Everyone tells me
To destroy myself is unacceptable,
Little round pills


- Kinney Ryan
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mW1GrqLKoI
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
oh right... no social criticism... just a bomb will do? mm, yes, a bomb will fair much better... no social criticism... and only the political class are allowed a backdrop of satire... now i have to be thankful for a 7 year old schizophrenic simulator, the "inability" of the medical profession to misdiagnose... oh yes... i'm really thankful for all of that.

philosophy and its rigid vocabulary,
clutters up the range of ******
expressions, scientific atheism
is still measuring the non-existence
of something via the occator crater
of ceres as: ah... look at that... a cute puppy!
enlaraged eyes of a kitten pleading!
ooh ah! so so cute! mm.
actually, in #a, philosophy is the original
divination of divisions - centimetre in man
to distinguish him into a spider-web
project of thinking, feeling, consciousness,
sentience, animate, zombie,
it cuts cuts in, slashes away at so many
meanings, you end up with shorthand
of 140 character allowances -
so this scientific negativism - i can't
see any scientific positivism right now,
calling something cute as a puppy will
not really do justice to the measure of things,
unlike atheism in humanism,
where the projection of will is paramount
to define life, of how one human influences
another, if at all, atheism only matters in
how humans politicise, i love the fanciful
individualist definition that does not
really wish to congregate... and there we have it:
atypical to the English, the invention of
utilitarianism, the best moral action is
to be polite, or simply *nice
, to say
'yes, thank you' and 'no, thank you',
to say sorry a lot when commuting in the
tube... ah, mm, oh... and the other grand
pillar of utilitarianism? REMEMBER PERSONAL
SPACE... well spinoza could tell you a lot
about this principle when the rabbis
****** him: about how people were not
supposed to stand at a certain distance
near him... sardine **** of human sweat
on the tube during rush-hour.
BAM Nov 2011
Where has our honesty gone?
The world is spinning out of perspective

Individualists
More like conventionalists

Wanting to be a free soul
Instead, we’re losing control

How do we define different?

“Different
            A pseudo-polite way of saying something is unpleasantly weird or unacceptable”                      [www.urbandictionary.com]


What about individual?

“individual
         Individual's may actually conform, just to prove that they are individual from other individuals...
        There is no definition of an individual, for to define an individual is hideously oxymoronic.”                     [www.urbandictionary.com]

All of these rules and ideologies
Which become more like mythologies

Giving us a…what… purpose?
Because without one were all worthless?

How does the media propel
Drive some great minds down to hell

But wait, sometimes those scars
Are not the real person they are

What about the girl next door
Is she perfect? Or is she a *****

How come the prepped up ****
Gets a thousand girls to put his ****-
-Y  attitude towards

What about all those hipsters
“individualists” in all their glister

PROTOTYPES
We are always followed

“To be, or not to be”
Now THAT  is a real question

Why cant we all just BE

F R E E

Within our own minds
Refuse ourselves to be confined

But no matter where we go
The world will be a tv show
[scripted and masked]

Because the crazy professor who screamed in the crowd
Did a small scene from a movie out loud

And the individualist across the street
Got her haircut from Georgia O’deet

While the artist down the road
Saw his painting when it snowed

Though its obvious we refuse to admit defeat
Individual doesn’t march to its own beat
Marieta Maglas Oct 2015
(The Governor has obtained the approval from England to allow Ivan to bring officially the gold to the Russian nun. Pedro and Carla started to talk in their bedroom.)

(Pedro said,)



''Your concern for life and health means more than the pleasure to have
Expensive jewelry; '' ''Can you explain the new conclusion
About our family future to me? '' '' Well, when glaciers calve,
They become slowly icebergs- nothing else but pure delusion.



(Pedro continued,)



Beatrice knows me better than you; with you I live
A lifetime of conservative thinking; '' ''make me understand
Your relationship with her, when you love and forgive.
Being catholic, you must give up your sins, at the Lord's Command.’’



(...said Carla. Pedro was seemingly not listening to her. He said,)



''I've visited New Spain to understand its reality.
I get back home to make the change; '' ''It seems that the Indian
People have changed your thinking; I predict a fatality.
It's just a different culture to be trapped in our oblivion.''




(Pedro said,)




''Life, in its essence, is guided by the same principles.''
''You could learn from the Turks as well as you have learned from
The Indians to keep your thinking invincible
At least, the Turks are civilized; I think their time will come.''




(Pedro replied,)



''The civilization is created; the Indians keep
Their unspoiled ideas far away from the vices of
The society; Turks always need their wonders on the deep
And some unique ideas coming from above



(Pedro continued,)




To change something in the evolutionary sense.
Though you have been in New Spain you couldn't concretely
Differentiate the old world from the new world and, thence
You couldn't understand Geraldine's origin; discretely




(Pedro continued,)




You cannot understand the fundamental meaning
Of the life change; this is the cause of our separation.
''I feel abandoned in our family; while educating
Our children you leave them to come back with a new conception.



(Carla continued,)




You're an individualist to fight against me; your fight
Is fierce and I feel like I'm thwarted and defeated
Until losing balance, until the devils mock my sight,
And until I can no longer resist while I need to be needed.




(Carla continued,)




That's why I got sick; '' '' Beatrice is, in fact, my life partner,
But I have to divide my time between her and our children.
It seems that my responsibility as a father
Made me turn back home and visit New Spain, which is bewildering.''




(Replied Pedro. Carla stopped talking for a few minutes, then she continued,)




''Bella said that no one can separate that oath that was made
In the Church and reinforced by a lifelong contract.
Miguel said that the marriage purpose is to get the highest grade
Of awareness to infer the consciousness abstract




(Carla continued,)




Meaning and to have a high moral identity.
The evolution of the moral conscience leads to developing
The moral identity, but we may call it, for brevity,
A concept of consciousness in the communion of feelings.’’



(Pedro said,)



''It seems that we have passed this moment, and therefore I want
To change, but in a different way from Descartes, who tried
To reconcile, using a dualistic way to get in sync,
The idealism with the materialism when they collide.



(Pedro continued,)




You have a dual concept of love and an internal
Contradiction between the spiritual love and the body
Sensibility; the pulse of your thinking depends on
Your soul moods; it should be vice versa; you love nobody.''



(...to be continued...)



Poem by Marieta Maglas
Hersch Rothmel Jun 2013
Awkward conversations with nothing to say
When i took this path I wasn’t looking this way
So **** me right for not knowing what to do
When you think I have to put on a show for you

Don’t tell me I’m funny awesome or cool
When all you want to know about me is on the outside
I don’t think that there’s many fools
Who would want to get to know me anyways

Being weird and being normal are just social constructs for you to feel comfortable
Stop taking the soul out of others to fuel your own never ending hole
I don’t take lightly all the things I set out to do
When and if I ever come around Ill be sure your the first one to know  

Too many of us are lost in finding ourselves
When we should be finding others to help and be helped
When will we stop this individualist game
We aren’t the center of the universe
So lets fight for something.
I'm not a communist.
  I'm not a socialist.
  I'm not a sadist or a
  satanist. I'm not an
  anarchist. I'm not a
  bonafide capitalist.
  I'll steal food to eat.
  I'll lie to get a beer.
  I'll love you for a bed.
  I am an individualist.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
i hate talking about darwinism
outside the realm of the individual,
i can encompass darwinism
with a sense of individualism
but what we're being sold is a collectivisation,
an economic model, and eradicating
personal theological practices will not help:
i like the algorithm fluctuations
between 1 (existent) and 0 (non-existent)
it's a bit like a paradoxic: Siberia...
Sahara... Antarctica... what's the other
hot alternative? a Jacuzzi in Las Vegas?
but when darwinism looses its individualist
approach, and tries to collectivise...
we're talking my grandfather's youth...
idolatry, communism, or both exchanging,
intertwined... all the entrepreneurs in a furore
while the share prices on Wolf St. gave way to an avalanche!
or in kindred tongue, via Mafia:
boom bara boom and spaghetti Bolognese -
brains for marbles, Don Quixote with napkins
in his cheeks for the Oscar-winning accent...
and i guess your landlady was named Frizzy Mary
like some ******* cocktail.
(question mark is missing due to innuendo irony
of pronunciation prolonged without, irony -
plus no soprano would read poetry
to mind spotting that gesture...
there's no stage, no spotlight, no crowd, no applause...
it's poetry... you can prance in flamingo ******
and interpret as much as you like...
if the poet isn't there to ramble about copyrights...
you can take it as your own:
without the poet: his poetry is yours, and you too, an ****...
now translating this metaphysics
into physical terms invokes
variably a circumstance of: you're a cannibal... so say bye bye
(go on, give a wave) to vegetarianism.)
You said that I should work. You said that I should work hard. You said that I should save some penny, so I would have some, for the future. So, in our sheer effort to earn a living, we have practically forgotten how to live.

I guess, I must say ******* *******. In the first place, I am not even sure if I would still be here the next minute. Why should I worry about tomorrow?

Why should we care?


*Your Individualist Daughter
~Lacus Crystalthorn 2013
brandon nagley May 2015
Diminutive inherent, lost to all cost where thine bloodless are apparent. Individualist, laryngitis to spread the lasses pantomime mind in pallid peal revertists!!!!!
Guillotine's to cut dreams where the wearer's don't do their jobs,
No guideline's,
His his nor hers,
Just the impatient of informal mobs!!!!!
Nuptial contracts,
Some go forward,
Others move back for their dreamists of Escapist's,
Slavists,
To ordainists!!!!
What a morn to waken to,
Ourselves are now, tomorrow's Now, yesterdays you!!!
Periscopes swoped of pervading snippets,
Gas to wettened grass,
Cool it's to gas-leaked whipits!!
Sorties of emotional spate,
Youngest of lovers split,
I still haven't a date!!!!!!

Terrestrial angelic one, for where art thou sanhedrin prints?
Where heavenly carpets line your drive........

Where thine words are frankincense ,
Where your satisfying to high drug mind!!!

Thoroughfare to GOD ,
Where's thine throttled chariot?
Where glider's art heavensent,
And undaunted soldiers do protect you.....
untrue May 2015
we refuse to believe,
to denounce the dream,
to not remember.

we refuse to accept,
a false defeat,
that the process has ended.

but I look around,
and it appears you've won,
and they all consented.

deafening pluralism
      post-modern [rant]
             victims of culture
spectacle love
      
packaged meanings
      individualist mass
            interconnected points
one-dimensional facts

(i) sit here and meditate on all that
(i) am so terribly meta
(i) love my corral

give all the pleasures (i) can possibly have
teach me to accept anything and never stand up
(i) wanna be a spectator of the things to come

participate the least possible and not care at all
see nothing outside my little microcosm
be a relativist moralist and completely apolitical

please convince (me) too
that we've figured it all
the details remain
but we get the whole

please assimilate me in the pack
(i) wanna be sheepish
(i)'d love to feel numb
(i) love the screen's light, (i) fear the dark

some want to be, (i) just want to have
the self is a process and (i) can't bother with that

(i) now gather tokens to show you my value
bureaucratic meritocracy, let me glorify you

tag me, price me, define me all the way
(i) hope you find a tag for my soul as well

(i) will now be infotained to catch up
will watch a news satirist to understand
after that there's this show of people losing fat
(i) get my "values" from jesters and marketing fads

look, this poem's so meta
(i) could open my heart:
[negative feeling here] [joke about that]
[unoriginal opinion] and [trivia]
[self-resentment], [a very bad pun].
Left Foot Poet Feb 2020
as our letters age

my twenty six best friends gather round a winter fire,
a Valentine’s Day retreat from the bones internal chilly yellowing,
we’ve been together from the Day One beginning, a life of
commencing conception, deception, immaculate and messy mixing

practicing fumbling, making and breaking the conventional,
we arrange and rearrange our unique ordering, overlapping
with your version, cousin, so we communicate, but uniquely ours,
individualist letters, witnesses, markers, word~children, born, lost

soon seventy will come, and a party, a literary review to be held,
mourning the many, works uncompleted, toasting the few that satisfied,
acknowledging the collaboration of all the twenty six with
special guests,
an aging five senses
that were the kindling that sparked them into action

oh my dear ones, my best friends, your knew me too well,
my best, worst,
my progeny, blood of my blood, voice of my guts,
consoling friends, who
brooked my self-deceptions, yet denounced them when
over-the-topping,
comforters of our mutual ashes buried in one casket,
our final poem, clutched, at last...
my alphabet of life...




Sat. Feb 22, 2020
10:26am
you will be invited.
heather Oct 2013
usual, run of the mill individualist.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
/grand terms along the way... none of which require pillars of establishing a reminder...

                  genuinely
i can approach a trans-grammatical
inconvenience of a word
with a:
          -pre
                             and          suf-,
a cat the size of a fox sleeps
with you in a bed that
could allow a woman and
you begin the lost scratch
of the cranium,
with fiddling with the nasal
cartilage...

       until bone comes across
bone,
       and the sensation is no
longer equivalent to
                         ingesting helium
  and laughing like
a pubescent torah reader...

     open to discussion,
if you mind:
                     -so-,
i.e.
                ****, a hammer enigma,
nail in a post-
ending with
              ... can you think of
an english noun
that doesn't end with a pluralism?

       hmm....

                        pillows! ah, ****,
no good: pillow...
             what sort of english
noun could end with an S
and doesn't denote: a plural?

     pre bound to o-?
                   that's easy: oßmosis...
but a suf bound to an -s
           in the singularity realm of
nouns?
                     impossible...

kant is still impossible to fathom
as a trans-national...
          monkey that began speaking
scotch parrot...
          
    language as an echo-chamber,
and less a people...
         what's spoken in english:
stays within the confines of english...
even if allowed an audience
trans-genus + "neo"-lingua...

far from being jealous:
  just this...
         tiresome bridging fabric...
    like a pavement of marble,
    ending up with a chewing-gum
stuck to your sole...
            
akin to whenever teeth feel itchy:
making a toothpick necessary -
because that's precisely the case
of itchy teeth:
               that there's something
stuck in between them...

would be much easier if
we all had the Madonna central
                      incisor whistle...
or flooooote...
         whatever you might call that...
post-scriptum of
                 experiencing itchy teeth.

so...
            much of the quest of being
human revolves around space,
as it does around a personal memory...
most of the time i find myself
nibbling on the remnants,
  of the personal,
                     yet nonetheless
crushed by the moving collective,
a condescending
        congregation point
           of:
                    ceramic implants counter
to where ivory primes should protrude...

i can't see an abstract,
individualist perspective of a collectivist
left...
            without falling into
collectivist anaswer of:
            the so-called individualist,
nearing albino,
  mild-autism-of-the-comprehensive-man,
solipsist...

i actually only wrote this
because i'm waiting for my fridge
to **** out six ice-cubes...
          no joke...

   noun no metaphor but certainly
not a misnomer...

      a warm mixer?!
              feels like a hundred syringes
shoved up the nostrils
  when landing in Kenya...

   not that i did anything spectacular
concerning the equator...
  some people decided to go
on a safari...
                 i took to hunting shade,
and a brandy with a strong coffee
prior...

   how did the english manage
the ******* heat?!
                 kenya =
       coffee + brandy + shade + sleep...

and whatever subsequent blah blah blah
accomplishes.
Mystic Ink Plus Mar 2018
On friendship’s day
I bought 2 bar Magnets
Highly Polarized

Like minded on opposite polarity
N-S, then NS
So close, so connected
With “We” feeling.

Egoist on like polarity
N<>N, S<>S
Self centered, individualist
With “I/Me/Mine” feeling.

They possess
the same strength of
Connecting or repelling force
Either in one end, or
Other.

Just the polarity matters
How we keep them.
Theme: Human Relationship
Lawrence Hall Oct 2017
Look Back in Petulance

A Kitchen Microwave Drama
Featuring Angry Young Persons

Dramatis Personae:

Rainblossom – an existential performance artist

Skydream – a self-authenticating air-vegan

The stage is set as the world of our dreams, peopled with only the good who dream dreams and vision visions and, like, you know, and don’t eat our forest friends, and stuff.  The actors are dressed in hand-dyed Colombian ruanas to represent The True.

Rainblossom –

I demand that you validate our soul!

Skydream –

As a cosmic sunbeam of otherness

I must not.

Rainblossom –
                       O where are my comic books?

Skydream –

They have been cleansed, just as my soul has sung
Unto the Cosmic Dissonance of love

Rainblossom –

Oh, Oh, Oh

Skydream –

                     Look, Look, Look

In unison –

                                     A vision of…Truth

Rainblossom –

But our truth, not some other bogus truth

Skydream –

                                                              ­                 Woke, Woke


                                                 fin

*The writers, cast, and crew of The Green Street Meadows Collective of Artists and Workers with Fists and Dreams and Words United Against the Occupation (Your Major Credit Card Welcome) neither need nor desire your cheap, shallow, bourgeois, sexist, racist applause to validate our existential worth. Be in awe, and then slink away in your individualist privileged guilt.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
coming from someone who, actually had a communist party member to speak to, i.e. his grandfather... who are these leftists fooling? who are they if not merely vandals? communism is primarily an enterprise in a collective civic duty... every aged communist will always assert a good citizen if he sees one... these "communists" inside capitalism? they're not exactly expressing a civic duty, they're not communists, they're vandals; i stopped "trying" to be an individualist in western society, when it became too confusing to insurrect the mere idea, let alone the practice, into the environment... bamboo the chimp in the london zoo had an easier time stating his "rebellion" against the oppressive chimp collective: took to a p.c., and ordered a take-away for a picnic; lucky *******, wonder if he figured out the hygienics of wiping his ***, after taking a dump worth's of a camel **** in the bushes.

listening to these people,
you really have exhausted
the concept of individualism;

it's not god that's dead,
unless he's dead from laughter...

the western world, which championed
individualism, just killed it,
by not relying on scientific rules,
akin to the laws of physics akin
to rules of linguistics,

the western world is a lunatic asylum,
i call it anything but an asylum,
******* lunatics everywhere,
yes, i like "profane" words...
  which justifies equating themselves
in political speak...
mostly: one & the same.

these people are teasing a new collectivism,
they're abolishing neither cultural,
nor ethnic norms,
they're abolishing the 1 + 1 = 2 rules
of grammar... can you even imagine
the consequences of the shadow of
the golgotha cross...
   the cross itself is one thing,
but the shadow history is much worse...

the unconscious aspect of islam knows
this... don't you touch the sympathetic shia
islam, don't you ******* dare
to tread a foot into that territory!
                   i will, warn you, *only
, once!
you make your enemy the shia muslims
you will only encourage the sunni
fanatical squat-hoppers of easily-taking-a-****
sunnis...
     no respect for music,
i guess the angels forgot to sing
and instead came to a conclave of a mumble...
******* camel-jockeys.

the western world killed the concept
of individualism by succumbing to people that
were never entrusted with linguistic rigour...
who were never told the categorical stratum:
the maxims, my dear deutsche friend,
are long gone, long gone and wasted on
simpletons...
                      we need to return to relearning
the basis of categories per se,
people seem to have comforted themselves
by forgetting grammatical categorisation
of words, to simply differentiate them
from the branch of nouns...

      and they are really pushing the testimony,
as i already suspected: in the wrong direction...
you can't de-sexualise pronouns into neutral,
if you can't sexualise nouns into a polarity...

            retards are native speakers,
but they can't fathom their language as native
speakers...

            i'm half the native
   of them, by most the most ambitious,
            but mostly *******,
since they lack the linguistic rigour
to compensate other cultural extravagances
that cannot translate, into fully formed &
fathomed sentences...
      
please, don't make me into a babysitter
of your children,
   oh wait... i already am;

shove your text-message short-scriptum
of l8er for later up your ***,
and sing me: cauliflower sunny
while you're at it,
   i desire no excuses! not like i don't,
learn to spell, learn to interact with
the arithmetic of couple:
c + e + l + o + p + u...
      learn the chinese stratum of bias;
if you're not going to learn the vertical
method,
you're going to learn the horizontal
method!

  back & forth, fro & back, back & forth,
re.!
and that's for not applying
diacritical marking,
   when the greeks applied them:
to an unnecessary excess.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
my godmother was a doctor,
and a drunk,
         she actually witnessed
a drunk fall from a 7 storey,
               ****-limp-numb like
a sack o' potatoes
       and walk away, muttering
the word: kurva...
               i guess there are heftier
concerns for scoring luck...
in that i am also competent:
lucky for me i didn't attempt
to extend, breed a d.n.a.
                          claustrophobia,
and the almost immediate
                 concession for (a) pathos...
maybe this whole human being
with a capacity to do no ill
    is concentrated in how
the romanian women might remember
me...
          two compliments
worth the servitude
                  and, the other bits
in between came from prostitutes...
         along the lines of: dobry (good)
an miły (nice) came from those
infernal gloryhole mouths...
      i can't even begin to fathom
    a philosophy book that strips away
the narrative and entertains
   a dialectic,
        ****, Kant tried it with his
thesis / antithesis section of the critique,
but that's about it...
             not that i mind,
i like the "un"-fathomable quest for shadow,
the cold, and obscurity...
    and to think:
         tomorrow will be just another
day in a life of an other...
             perhaps i'm too much
of a ****** of life,
                   perhaps so much so
that i'm not exactly                      pro vita,
           competence with
a quill, on the whim, a chance to spot
a sputnik,
        and some bull-******* in between...
but at least i missed: the game,
in that i've had the pleasure
to experience an hour's worth of
pure, unadulterated formality...
          most of the time it felt like donning
a tuxedo, drinking a martini,
            albeit standing stark naked...
bypassing the games,
         the supposed: clinging by
                              faking pregnancy...
or not... or whatever the hell goes on
in that Freudian hell-hole of a cranium...
       short, and, sweet...
         i'm acutely aware of the individualist
perspective,
           but only slightly,
   in that:
                 is there an Atlas-impetus to
        listen to an individualistic argument?
i don't mind being the:
   ****** off into a tissue flushed down
the toilet aspect of humanity...
                   an unconscious bias against
women beyond the fornication
sphere...
                  if that ***** of a nurse at
the hospital didn't attempt to almost choke
me to death, enlarging my heart
and giving me a hospital stipend on
the receiving end of: "looked after"...

   well then...

               water under
the bridge...
                    which is plenty of water...
   bored to death listening to
my grandfather talk about his grandfather
with a desire to: actually meet him...

  i've become tired of dying...
               the fact that i wrote something
shows little depth to sustain
a predicament...
    that's always:
          the life that dies before the actual
death: memory...

         it's almost abhorrent,
this, "natural" selection of memory -
           and yet:
   so much of the faculty is wasted
upon learning arithmetic....
     education as an erosion of memory...

i don't hate women,
     just haven't the chance to know one
that stayed around
    longer than the current cats clinging
to me...
       a woman is a concept akin
                       to: growing a third arm...

enough love stored to know
that there's little allegiance behind it;
sure, plenty of potential,
        just like my sober hours make
a lot of sense...
                just enough to spot
the social contraints of acting without
a theatre...

             mind you,
it's almost funny that i forgot my genitals
after i threw one hundred and ten
quid into her lap...
      
     plain ******* doughnut:
               no secret fetish,
                      apart from -
                                    the other, warmth;

a one-dimensionality of a blink,
  with regards to no elaborate sexualisation
   of the matter...
                  something, almost...
  thrilling;
                 still, a persisting thought,
           the thought that's an ought i
without an immediate outlet of an
                 auto-suggestive reciprocation.
Central air conditioning quickly
found this creature comfort acclimated,
defies, contradicts, bumps uglies...
up against rugged individualist
I meekly profess to idealize
admitting propensity nothing

distinguishable differentiating
all talk no action no less tolerant
than aversion to extreme heat index
burrowing into sixty degree Fahrenheit
climate control mancave
quite divergent weathering

humid, hot, and hazy
dog days of summer,
when boyhood at 324 Level Road
lacked luxuriating aforestated amenity
first poetic line
introducing anonymous reader

familiar or otherwise
regaling modest literary versatility,
whereby yours truly
dealt with temperatures
registering bajillion degrees,
especially level housing bedrooms

about half dozen steps above landing
suddenly experiencing indisputable
scientific principle hot air rises
undermining ability to function
no more active rather equally inert
as inanimate object

mainly cuz estate complex edifice
formerly christened "Glen Elm"
built approximately half century
preceding incorporating
said modern HVAC conveniences,
no modern building lacks,

plus ability to tolerate hardship
much more omnipresent
before yours truly
racked quite numerous
orbitz round the sun
versus now, when
greater sensitivity prevails,

I admit pioneer spirit plummeted,
and if forced to forego
custom tailored environment
would be immovable prey,
for even the most
harried styled carrion,

which admission would
only present challenge
predicated on severe disruption
compromising being hermetically
sealed, linkedin, cocooned...

within man-made dwelling
hardship analogous no name brand
garden variety slug
essentially homeless snail
shell lacked with mew cuss!
Forecasting to thunderous applause
fast as greased lightning draws
upon futuristic atmospheric gewgaws
hot air emanates out these slackened jaws
spluttering courtesy indentured maws
armed with four footed tall paws
gesticulations resembling horizontal seesaws.

Humidity felt across every square inch
covering these lovely bones,
which pores will dribble perspiration
bracing for onset when
meteorological conditions
spell utter lethargy, I unroll the welcome mat
and present global warming!

Every year I seem less tolerant
when oppressive climate
(specifically merciless heat waves)
blasts one anachronistic, dogmatic, and generic
garden variety weatherbeaten **** sapiens
reduced to torpid inert state.

Central air conditioning quickly
found this creature comfortably acclimated,
who defies, contradicts, bumps uglies...
up against rugged individualist,
yet he meekly professes
spouting ideal survivalist ethos
admitting actual propensity as
nothing else matter
barely distinguishable traits differentiating
yours truly among braggarts
visited by the unforgiven sandman
exhibiting all talk no action.

Analogous to weather scorching
the blackest soul,
a similar aversion exists
toward severe wind chill factor temperatures
plunging mercury way below zero.

When regarding conditions linkedin
with extreme heat index
smothering Perkiomen Valley,
this bloke (residing what seems
since time immemorial
at Highland Manor Apartments) burrows
when heart touched by fire
into sixty degree Fahrenheit
fella climate control mancave,
thus adieu go doldrums
figuratively strait jacketing
yours truly no more.

Unlike luxury to chill out (literally)
back quite scores of years ago
central air conditioning absent
imposing grueling hardship
no deliverance afforded tender vittle Earthling.

When referenced human (me),
he formerly (passively) weathered
humid, hot, and hazy
dog days of summer,
during his boyhood at 324 Level Road.

Said storied estate with manicured formal gardens
lacked luxuriating aforestated amenity
regarding cool (temperature wise) climate control
introducing anonymous reader
familiar or otherwise
regaling modest literary versatility,
whereby yours truly average bloke
Fahrenheit dealt with temperatures
registering bajillion blistering degrees.

Especially upper level housing bedrooms
about half dozen steps above landing
suddenly experiencing indisputable
scientific principle hot air rises
undermining ability to function,
no more active matter rendered lifeless,
but rather equally inert think deathlessness
as an inanimate object
mainly cuz estate - complex edifice
formerly christened "Glen Elm"
built approximately turn of

twentieth century abode -
once encompassed
one hundred plus acre demesne
unfortunately long since razed
(initially intended as summer retreat)
preceding never incorporating
said modern HVAC conveniences,
now no modern building
lacked fantastic amenities,
plus ability to tolerate hardship
much more omnipresent
before yours truly

racked quite numerous
orbitz round the sun
versus now, when
greater sensitivity prevails,
I admit pioneer spirit plummeted,
and if forced to forego
custom tailored environment
would be immovable prey,
for even the most
harried styled counting crow king carrion,

which admission would
only present challenge
predicated on severe disruption
compromising being hermetically
sealed, linkedin, cocooned...
within man-made dwelling
hardship analogous no name brand
garden variety slug
essentially homeless snail
shell lacked with mew cuss.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
psychologists only have children,
procreate...
       in order to have an
upper-hand in us. childless,
left akin to fathoming cats...
          but you know what you can't
say when taking care of children?
you can't smoke...
    oodly enough tobacco
       is an ease-mechanisation
for the domesticated animal,
esp. feline to fall asleep...
                           i, have,
an, inability, to, care, for,
human, infirmary....
                                   animals?!
first posit.
                 no questions asked.
and in this world with all its grandeour...
and the football score...
    there were never any
grammatical plays of pronouns
involved...
                           there was always
a merger ploy, or rather:
                a plight,
                   akin to experiencing
petting cats....
                          dogs need a leash...
cats?
        who knows where a cat
wanders off to, without the cat it"self"?

i don't know, and...
        i don't want to know...
      it's like watching a cat
experiencing a receding heatbeat
in deep-sleep...

   the jaw drop disappears...
the tail stops flitching...
the open eye (yes, not eyes)
is less Gandalf...
                  with  a peregrin took,
"enterprise"...

           how well does the individualist
globalist (fiddled past the
double -ist -ist?)
                    take to relearning
german?
  ja! gir-man!
                       not s'oh fein,
ver vey?!
                                vs. vacany
on the ready?
    vell... ja...
                   ** best bitten zee doost?!
              apparently, üß!
                                          (that's a T
without a rhyming couplet... mr. bean
sorry, sorry...
   you know how hard it
is to compromise on an apology...
within, or without an ethnic
sentiment... that could be
                            comprehended?!

you can't exactly say sorry,
when it's so exaggerate-made-uniform
in the english format of use-with-and-
especially-without-applicability)...

   who are the glorified neo-anglos?
no, i'm petting a cat...
   the last woman in my life
"involved"
               is but a shadow...
i'm testing the use of tobacco
                          on... even breathing...

blow one puff into the room...
heartbeat drops,
jaw drops...
  eyes slightly open...
        
i known that the only reason
behind psychologists' vehemence
is in having children...
  and they have it, own it...
       they'd be echo chambers without
the end-result of procreation...

no wonder, with child and wife
in tow...

              i'm a metaphor of schrödinger....
given schrödinger is a cat
that's strapped to the "metaphor"
of Ísland (e's'land... ice, no ice:
**** schtill ein land...
                                            iz-land)...

******* saxons...
migrant saxons...
        contamitated the assortment
of speaking pristine germanic, nordic...
  mongrel: every day any ****
bollocking public prepubescents...

but there is no i in: if "i" were the raj
of hindustan...
                       don't know...
sick 'em with a narration borrowed from
the biography of buddha?!
apparently that conjures
twice the expected dog...
     ever wonder why the geer-mans
bred the finest specimens?!
    
  romans apparently had war hogs...

   so...

         why didn't people extract
a bull, for a cavalry charge...
     to topple horse-riding empires
akin to the mongols...
        before setting foot on the moon
and crippling the brothers grimm,
for even marking a-brick-for-a-wall
mark, in history?

     bewilderment...
  how horses overtook bulls
                               in a cavalry charge...
            it's only yesterday,
and it's only today,
   and it's just about tomorrow...
and it's...
              a complete detachment...
with what is,
was,
                      and could be...

           because that "be": never... is...
within the confines of
              wishful "thinking"...

               elsewhere reduced to
cogs, machinery and...
    
                   something resembling rust.
Michael Marchese Sep 2021
Individualist
How you struggle
To coexist
Think yourself
Central
Essential to function
On doses of daily
Devoid of compunction
For lives you have taken,
Time wasted
Encased
In a prism
Reflection
Of cannot relate
To the late
Combined effort,
Collective potential,
Conceptual framework
Of change incremental
Can’t wait for too long
For the others to care
So you tower away
As you let down you hair
But beware
In the dark
We still muse
Of amassing
Within echo chambers
Of poison gas
Masking
Just go get vaccinated already
¶( paragraphs in poetry are so ill defined:
like asking for geometry to
be algebra:
but geometry is an algebraic fusion
to treat numbers
as numbers and nothing spectacular
like numbers weren't the origin
of letters
but letters were the origin of numbers

LETTER > NUM<BER

numbers came from letters
not how the envy of the world is supposed
to be the genius of mathematical-physics...
sorry: football is!

such a strangeness in the air: such stillness
it's almost as if
someone had died
but it wasn't god
and it wasn't man

because no one had actually died:
what died was a concern for life
on the simple posit: vivo in mort...
life in death
as there is death in life

mort in vivo
not simply in vivo like pregnancy
but man's pregnancy to die
in vitro
in architecture
in all these pursuits
in science
in philosophy

i can see nihilism but not as prorposed
by Nietzsche in the individual
but en masse
in the masses
i have four days of concerts coming up
grueling 12h shifts
but i'm not supervising
i like being a chess piece rather
than a chess player: from time to time:
i like taking instructions
and i like giving instructions
during ***
but that's because i'm male
so

this little Eden of Euphoria
i drink a little i smoke a little
but i'm perfectly sober
but slur my speech my Golem
i must
my tongue is the King of Lizard
because it is a worm
it has not Endoskeleton
but an Exoskeleton
that burst into the air with moisture
and gases
and wasn't like the dinosaurs
porridge and oil and meat
and desert sands
my forefathers
invented the tree
the forest
they brought moisture into the air
to end the Volcanic Reign
of Chemistry and Geology!
i am of the DRAGON BORN!

            i quill a woman into bed
then hear her scream into the night
to make sun and moon collide!
because: i can ego trip when
i have destroyed the ego
i can ego trip because iq i qrite
therefore i can ego tripping
i am ego tripping: a silence from the destruction
the silent rebuilding process
i'll be with Keith on Turnstile GJ

gee
jay
gee
jay

  required reading of post-modernists:
Charles Olson:
the Kingfishers...
        
that **** is going to haunt to me
it's actually going to hunt Franz Saber
i square to the question:
god?
gentle child: god is not enough
Seismic in your church and churn of heart
believe me
i'm talking to at least 6 generations
of Happenstance Greeks
my sober mannequin to hide all the darkness
from low intellect
like brothers ******* sisters
like mothers and sons
like...

best exemplified: god dry to sleep
not thinking:
but what is a thinking thing
unlike a priest psychiatrist a surgeon:
a butcher:
a painter:
somehow this grand: alles uns!

nihilism in the masses i can understand
from Church and Parliament to
Coliseum...
not for a debates of the commons
but for the: throw the jaw of man
to the dog
and let's see who starts to YAP
first...

i'm very much sober i have a clear
work ethic
and the penultimate lap
of irritable bowel syndrome to cognitive
block: no day dreaming
i can't wait for Friday
and the tAylow Witch Swifty
come London
come all those siusiumajtki:
**** god no diacritical marks!

****-pre-periodic-miming-
street-project
16 year olds getting pregnant
fetching tents
to mountain climb: to climb a mountain
of ToyLord Swagger ITch swiftest...

by 11pm i have a half smoked
joint of: us: re-ready...
Addie: Adidas Edie...
your mother said what: again? first time
lapse in: escape of soul
with remnants of consciousness
as experience
combating the early child
and mind unison with consciousness
the exploring stage
then ego
clinging to an existence per se:
because the ego however
neurotic *** straved
psychotic
bilingual schizoid
6ft3 pacified
because best trip from warrior
to shaman
that was my trip
the heart was enlarged by misfeeding
me
the ****** to large for that kind of a ******
i was the Church of the Holy ******
the Dune's Bene Gesseritz...

      the best "*****" came from the Christian
Church of Hawaiian Reborns
some alternative to catholicism i could
nor would i have ever known...
but the best witches to my liking
came: come... an ongoing process:
come in Trinities...

pretend i have to wear a tux...
better:
short sleeve shirts
made in BANGADESH
BANGAFLESH
BANGLADESH!

     white: 100% $0.01
          coot! coot! cotton! cotton!
nothing synthetic like from China...

counter: no, just another:

¶) the above, initial thought: should have
started from here:

did i really read Madame Bovary by Flaubert?
well: you know what?
i think i have:
elite schooling i believe
but never a stand-up
gimmick
i'm saying this ego is not my consciousness
within life and with departure
this ego is a maniac
this ego needs Satanic Release
i'd be happy to swap egos
with anyone willing to swap egos
ego is like the metabolism of consciousness
a cognitive metabolism:
thoughts eating matter:
the talking mushrooms said
to the centipede citizen: hush hush in the multiverse
those monkey toys will have
but one exit: tome...
written by some *** talking monkey from
Poland who emigrated to Loondon
and thought he was this ancient hot *** of tool!
toll! the bells of Portugal
the bulls come parading!
not their horn: but their testicles!

           ю
           я
           шч
           щ

           ѭ                     (ją)

walked into a vinyl shop
on offer two books for £7
pickled up Chomsky
flicked to Slav vs. Slav
Yugoslavia
and the Soviet Union
the former Mongol Empire
China in talks with Russia
why the failure

then the steaming shift of **** stinking
brought in Western Individualist
promises:
i can't find nihilism in an individual
i can find nihilism in a people
i can conquer god and nothing
for the concern of the individual for Nietzshce
in that i will never find nihilism in an individual
man...
i will find, however...
however: i will find...
hedonism and hairspray on Mohicans...
** ** ** 20 20 20...

           i will not find nihilism in indivuals
with the exception of
Shiva and Loki and Set...
          i will not find it in individuals:
of the human specie...
hedonism, yes,
micro-scaling or macro-scaling...
who made these people supposedly literate
when they don't disseminate facts
but like religious docrtines
we have articulated nothing!
back to emoji hieroglyphs...
no help from the Sumerians
and the Golden Calf Crew plagiarized the word
through and through...
*** Yiddy *** ***: because of the Germanic
Jews the Polish Jews were
exterminated:
the German Jews didn't warn the Polish
Jews
and we're talking a: DIASPORA
not an Utopia
of Zion was the Utopia envisioned
in the currency (current) state of existence
of the state of Israel:
there was never a nation of...
oh: but there was a nation as a diaspora
that are the Hebrews...

but the Jews of Germany literally sent
their Polish Jews to the slaughterhouser
with their Weimar degenerate projection
and the rat not curious
emigrated to the USA first
and established Hollow Wood
and cryptic: the movement of people
is so cryptic: especially from Albania
on banana floating dingy...
yes.. very ******* perplexing
the movement of Jews
like that's why CCTV was invented
to track Jews!
we need to track Jews!

and yew trees... some hacked oaks...
some Sumerian numbers
some Chinese letters: not letters
some Japanese moans of: OH SAKURA SATO!
**** me: ***** stands on high command!
ha!

the idea like a flash
of replacing London with Tokyo
and not Kauai...
i found that what's being celebrated
is people with bad life decisions...
single mums with 4 kids
going to court over... **** knows what...
******* libido?

people don't know how to even engage
with a person who said:
life's difficult! let's have an easy path!
pesto! pasta! parmeggano cheese! let's go!
why i don't say have an east
life
so much luxury time should allow
your i.q. be matched
with having terrible in-grove hangovers
of melancholy...
but to have to add stress to the living
of feeding 3 children by an abusive **** buddy:
serious?!
do i want to work in that environment:
all my best guys ****** off
because that ergonomic shitshow of INBREEDING
ERGONOMIC ******
of working with the same people
for far too long that they
take on liberties of leeching
your free space...

philosophy of work begins with
Heidegger's hammer
and like Nietzsche: who rose to intellectual
prominence too quickly
the Hiroshima of Wagner...
boom!
        to philosophize about work
i don't think has ever been done
given that in 19th century works of philosophy
philosophers are asking the Narcissistic
envy of Black Holes:
philosophizing about nothing...

more clutter: some in books others in people's
consciousness:
nothing ego-friendly...
egos are infinitely bound to having no fixation
on individuality as part of the consciousness of
individuation:
some mistreat their egos
some salvage them: barely...
some become them as writers of fiction...
but egos are not exactly parts of us
depending how we can toy
or pet or understand or celebrate
or manage: like a fetus...

        not to be born yet still alive
and beyond life
like god in judgement beside us
to wake us from falling asleep to die...

— The End —