A single drop of crimson scarred the collar of Ishmyre's freshly dry-cleaned muni-suit. He eyed it in disbelief, his brow twisted like that of a madman. He knew that if any of The Superiors found out that he had so carelessly ruined the only garment he'd been issued, he would have to go back. “I'm not going back in there,” he mumbled to himself. “I'll cut myself down where I stand before I let them put me back in that hole!”

Ishmyre began to panic, his thoughts sloshed around in his head like water in a pitched fish bowl. An intense, paralyzing, fear gripped his heart causing it to fit and start. He took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. No luck. The terrifying thoughts continued,

'They probably already know! The wash-bots, they've inspected it; they have to know! They've sent the report and The Superiors are on their way! Any minute...' His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the intercom's crackle,

“All Inferiors prepare for mandatory lock down! All deck doors will engage in T-minus 30, 29, 28...”

'****! They've gotten the report; they're coming now!'

The countdown droned on in the background, the monotonous robotic voice ascending and descending in perfect rhythm with Ishmyre's pounding heart. His mouth was as dry as a bone, his cracked lips stung and tasted like iron to his sticky tongue. His almond shaped, hazel eyes darted around the empty concrete room, searching for some hint of salvation. There was nothing to see; a mesh cot and a simple steel folding chair were the only items haunting Ishmyre's humble concrete bunk. His options were few and he needed to act quickly. This was no time to panic.

As he stared blankly at the items available, Ishmyre heard the sound of footsteps on the out-deck. They began as a faint rumble in the distance, growing louder and louder, closer and closer, until his heart began the short journey into his throat. His stomach churned and sunk so low it was as if he could feel it oozing out of his heels.

'Here they are, I'm finished!' His mind squeaked to itself in a frenzied, trembling voice.

The footsteps stopped. Ishmyre heard a heavy fist pounding on the door. He sat there naked, staring blankly at the blood stain on his collar. The countdown reached zero. The hiss of the air lock systems engaging snapped Ishmyre back into reality. His thoughts fell away like the dead leaves of autumns latest romance. He waited, paralyzed by fear and anticipation, until he heard an ear-splitting crash. He turned towards his door, expecting to see agents of The Superiors barreling in any second, but there were none.

Haters, haters, hiding in the closets, hiding in faeces
your putrid minds full of fears and all your weaknesses
You are not men but degenerates and cowards in excesses
but in your attempts to distract away from your deseases
Look the parents you have and you know you're like rat fleas
you lack a lot which makes you so angry and in pieces

Washing once a week on other days its wet towel on faces
smerge on stunted wieners never to be a winner at the races
You're un-cool all you do is pretend but you ain't got the aces
as charmless as chicken *** you're the left-behind in chases
Never had a true compliment because you have no graces
deep down you're a mess and petrified of background traces

You have ***** linens and bad secrets buried in bad places
you're nasty, think nasty and 've done things that debases
Always afraid you pick on your betters rocking in perfect places
full of inferiority complexes  real abilities get up your noses
You've wet your bed and at night  you knowyou're *******
playing macho when in reality you want to do men's *****

Nobody likes the faceless cowards and abject scorn they entices
partners and frenemies are there for themselves and free passes
They see through them and smell their weakness without paces
faking laughter at their hate and anger at winners they despises
Haters are sick sad losers miserable inferiors with dark devises
never happy, never content just slimy cowards in dumb disguises

A rose blossoms in the midst of the summer night, shielded by the shadows of the might of a hundred trees, whose great limbs reach towards the heavens engulfing the land beneath it by mere shadows. The rose flourishes with such fragrance and beauty, for under the roof of its sheltered home, may it only greater its beauty; each petal, gleamingly red by the absorption of the radiant day’s sun, the color: piercing to the eye, so immensely red and beautiful to absolute perfection.

Even the mere trees that stand above that rose are too a profound greatness. Through the most severe of storms and harshest weather has it endured. It’s unyielding trunk is but a symbol, a souvenir, tainted with battle scars and markings. For every tree that stands before us, holds hundreds of stories, stories that tell of its survival, its brawls with the natural world, its fearsome battles and mighty victories as it stands before us today. A country values and gives its greatest thanks to the fearless generals and military that encounters battle after battle, fight after fight; and for such reason, should these trees be of such value.

But what is even of greater value is something that humans treasure even dearer, something that portrays the facade of progression, something that gives falsified light to the dark that only lives in the minds of individuals - change.

With change and the facade of progression can we truly feel that something useful has arose from our existence, with change can we see something progress to something of greater value, for the smallest and most hideous of larvae can seemingly show its beauty and perfection in the progression of its life stages.

And yes, with change can we bring about the perfection of the world, for no longer must we stay still in the nonprogressive state of agriculture, where thy neighbor is truly thy friend, a friend who depends on you and vice versa, for through the means of trading and fellowship and each individual possess what they want. For with change do we no longer need to depend on natural powers, no longer must we be bestowed by Someone to bless our fields, no longer must we conduct dances to the heavens to have a yielding season. And of course with change, can we now lock our doors and shield us from the world, for thy neighbor be’st not your friend, but be’st thy owner of your material means if you fail to keep them; for with change, can we finally perfect the truth of material desire.

But what should be said is that with change can we finally shift perspectives; for the changed perspective is of course superior, for it is a progression therefore change must produce superiors rather than inferiors. And with such perspectives, our values, too, change.

The fearsome soldier, the tree, the honored item that stand so proudly tall almost as if it is a stairway to the heavens, no longer possess such great values. So should we relinquish the greatness have been bestowed here and deforest such proud items that have fought the fearsome years of natural events to stand so tall. And as we do such, will the rose’s roof collapse. Unable to hide from the piercing rays of the sun, will it then shrivel and die; for that change has brought upon another rose, another item waiting to share the same fate as before....

For sustenance we trudge on
Just to sustain
This callus equilibrium of fragile crystals
swaying in the wind, falling constantly
Employing the cleverest techniques of fleeting upward momentum
Short-lived displays of affection bleeding the small offering received at birth
endlessly replayed to our children's eyes
Despondent indentured servants scribbling through skin and tendons
Just to feed their families the rice they can no longer grow
And sending these fairy tales to the rosy-cheeked offspring of their oppressor's store bought dreams
To keep the oppression alive .
To operate at peak efficiency.
To transfer honest muscle through wire mesh.
And fatten.
And enfeeble
Enforce the prerequisites to match the scale's testimony.
Testify! Oh, Lord. We thank you for this meal stolen from our inferiors.
Please Please Please.
We demand pleasure. IT IS REQUIRED.
For if we feel sadness, then we have failed.
And we'll lay down what we don't have space in our engorged bellies for.
It will be placed, with all due honors, to our greatest shrine.
Where we are honest with our real Mother.
Where the proud, twicely worn, footwear of our warrior-spiritless cows rests
Where erections limp as collapsed towers, respected by false jihads, sleep.
Where dream's plastic refusal composts never; nourishing nothing.
Where potential is pure impotence.
The bed we all share.

We can weep, oh America
the name of our country
over and over
our democracy looted
while the new President
is congratulated
and his acolytes kiss ***
like a ruby on the King's ring
the Secretary of Education
can't read and the Secretary
of Energy with his poor memory
drinks from a glass of big oil
while the Secretary of Interior
says there can be no more bees
no butterflies, no more gardens
for us inferiors, there will be
no more dreaming, no poets
or anti-discrimination policies
against anything, no brooms
for sweeping, just last straws
and executive actions handed
down from the white mansion.

While the children sleep
I learn from my immediate elders who taught me
the good, the bad and the ugly;
however, my strength is hiding deep within.
If only the pain weren’t so severe.

An ugly duckling who suffers Verbal and physical abuse
From the cool, pretty crowds of clueless incompetent?
You with your tawny hair, they often shout
Flat jacks with granny strap
String beans without the lean

So cruel; so mean those  terrorist sounds  
That goes round and round on the playground
While the children sleep  through the night
I play with night flyers
Golden wings and friendly flittering smiles we dance,
Into Twinkling lights of the meadow;
Late at night without the feuds or the abuse of the inferiors
I got teary eyes as I say farewell to my misty friends

Bigotry and hatred, Playgrounds terror,
  Children of the cornfields rules the inner cities school
Throughout kindergarten into high school

You must process the Skill of a tiger, speed of a leopard
Going to school going isn’t any fun anymore

This is the day of trouble, and of rebuke, and blasphemy: the
The children are coming to birth and there is not strength
To bring forth:(bibical)

Your hypocritical mind is un-ignorable
I’m below it holding light towards it
I don’t want it growing or rainbow-ing out of your body
Find it please, its making me cringe
Be rid of it

Don’t look down on others
Or bellow their flaws
Laughing at them won’t reattach your lost pride
Doing as they did to you will not conquer

Fight your ever oozing, flowing, growing sickening **** of forgets
Remember things you say
Don’t mock or pout at others who say the same things
Think of how you shouldn’t do as inferiors do
But do not highlight your superior-ism
Not that you even are
And you’re blind of the fact you’re conceited
You would only deny it if told

Your immaturity is spiking up through my back
And cutting me—slicing me open
But I don’t want the blood to drip in your eyes
I don’t want you to realize through the liquid of mine
But realize through somebody else
I can’t break it to you
The ice you’ve frozen is too thick for me to melt
And you need to crack it yourself

Let's start a business today!

We'll call it Complimentary Mirror.  Here's how it works.

First thing in the morning you look into the mirror and say,

"mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all"?  

     And the Complimentary Mirror answers back - you are, your

the fairest of them all.  Then it tells you one of hundreds of

reasons why your magnificent, which it keeps stored in its data base.

     The mirror would give compliments why someone is so

terrifically wonderful.

Compliments such as:

Your wonderful because you don't take **** from no one.

Your awesome because you practice revenge on your enemies.

Your the fairest of them all because you extort favors from your

inferiors and blackmail your superiors.  

You rise above all others because you don't tolerate stupid people

and publically humiliate them.

Your terrifically wonderful because you discipline with spanking

other people's children.

And you get raises at work by threatening your boss.

And want public hangings brought back.

And loathe loud talkers to the point of wanting them dead.

           And other complimentary mirror things.

A mirror that compliments you each morning to help you get a

positive start on your pathetically wretched day.

Let's start a business today!   (Trademark pending).

We are allowed to be unkind
To the sick, the deaf and the blind.
We gladly toss them into a ditch.
They don't matter; They are not rich.
We giggle and count what we’ve got
Laugh uproariously at those who have not.
We call our poor neighbors our inferiors
Because having money makes one superior.

It also works the same with every race.
Supremacy is about the color of your face.
It starts there and moves to include nationality.
Only Caucasian Americans match our reality.
Sure non-whites can pick our cotton for us
But, as for equality, the concept will bore us.
It says in the Bible you have to be from here
And white and Protestant, those words are clear.

And this stuff about **** and lesbians too
Not one word of that civil rights stuff is true.
My preacher told me gay people are abomination.
That’s why us Republicans support segregation.
That's some of what is wrong with our schools
Somebody has been listening to communist fools.
We need to get back to the good way things were
Before all this equality stuff was allowed to occur.

I tell you the truth, this stuff totally makes me burn.
I mean, these college-warped hippies need to learn
That this country is a Christian one, since beginning
So, we don’t want this equality stuff you’re selling.
Just shine our shoes and park our expensive cars
And we’ll tip you a little bit and there you are;
Right there in the place all of you ought to be;
Freedom is for us rich whites, it’s American history.

I slip into a daze of dishonesty and regret. What's to stop me? Your 'rules' have no affect if they are broken easily. I need a new dimension to comprehend how treating others as inferiors, if you were to step Down from that balcony, maybe you can hear the cries of desperation and inferno filled hate. Listen to the "inferiors" next time you look in a mirror.

The new city
I await to be ascended
For hath we planted or vented
The bullets we pile upon mounds?

Wherein creation dumbs down!!!

To mammal inferiors!!!

For God is superior
Haveth we lost that translation?
Wherein the cities
And nations
Hath become their own diety!!!

Spewing mouths
Canst hardly be fed
Wherein the living amongst the dead
Are non-compassionate!!!

Loosen
Or fasten it
Thy belts likely to come unmanaged
Where's the advantage
In the hate thou war among another?

Sister and brother!!

Hath thou forgotten thy kin?

For thou lost all
Nothing!!!!

Is it thee that shalt win?

Thee greedy of new-aged Noah's generation!!!

Is it fornications
Ability
Of **** and *******
To liken thine senses?
For where art thy lenses?
Thou Freemasons of mother earth!!!

For its thy curse
Thou hast brought
Amongst thy children

Thy diaries
Art thy legacies!!!

Got to keep myself awake
till the night shakes
and breaks from the sun arising
got ashes
in my glass of wine
cause i smoke and drink
like i'am blind
tides of indifference and euphoria
trouble my mind
when its dark
only the edge of your blade shines
and lions fight the inferiors
who cry from the injustice of their lives
cause the just are right
no matter if they are fighting the good fight
i remain calm as a leave of grass
feet stomp down and i wait till they pass
i watch the clash
of virtue versus virtue
i smile a broke smile
cause i know it too well
all my life it's was i have been through
like it was new to me our to you
i handle it with irony and you do too
pendulum swinging
from c-dur to g-cis
a singer can make a wish
on a star that soon will be gone
and claim the memory
that still lingers on

I, we, spend minutes hours even days
staring at pixels and RGB colors
living life through someone else's journey
gaining a materialistic knowledge
that is rendered useless outside
and sacrificing everything desired
for a compressed, sensible inferiors
in order to save some bucks or years
unintentionally creating a problematic paradox
causing pain and even more confusion
how can the truth, the necessary,
be increasingly stifled?

Gravity has a sister.
Men chant her name in the firelight show;
one million flames set alight the owl,
deciding the fate of millions.

Old complexes nest eggs
in our morality; more potent than the id,
and akin to the ***** degradation
of all sweetness and limbic reaction.

Fork your tongue to revenge,
and you will feel her tug at your navel.
She'll tense your fist, fight for your place,
she'll grow and learn to swallow you whole.

And then you'll be lying on your front,
to set a front for all inferiors.
She will be close at hand in the hindbrain,
she will be the shadows to your thoughts.

I am been taught by you life
When I cross my limit
You will put me down
And make me feel
I am an ordinary
But sometimes I feel superior
Looking at the people
This is where I am drowning
Never think others are inferiors
Says my inner heart
So help me God
And put me in control

When i was 5 years old
I thought humans were all good, high, and mighty.
Animals, forests, or a garden with a tree,
Inferior to this world.

Scared was I,
To nature, as it's new to my eye
All those roots that tangle,
Animals in the jungle;
Oh how i wished
It ceased to exist.

Years later,
As I observe with my naked eyes,
The earth is the one mighty and high,
Advantages of earth, we shamelessly used,
To live and sooner abused.

Wishing I realized it earlier:
We are the invaders
The inferiors,
The extras,
Destroyers.

And as I see the ice melting
Trees keep cutting
Water still polluting
Cigarettes still lighting;
I knew the earth is dying,
And we are contributing.

The world is not made for us,
And we must stop taking it for granted.

              —a.c

Inferiors carping
hoping dribbles inflamed
guards wait as I relax
watchers walk and wait in the cold
all on points I waste them
empty nonsense
maggots trying to derange
twenty years and more
ineffective at their costs
all I have to do
is whip out my nine
simpletons go mad
floppy limpy twigs
complex get 'em
Say no more!

title: cow borrow...
body: oranges smile.

https://www.unicode.org/L2/L2018/18323-open-four.pdfv(freeze: 444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444)

weak spot: Lao Che: Powstanie Warszawskie: the Warsaw Uprising... i tend to cry... when my heart constrict into being sized akin to a pebble... then: ah... release! tears! there: stands! a mountain! a monument of me!

i couldn't possibly give either the Hindus or the Arabs
credit for our modern numbers...
given the following rubric:

ένας: 1 - one - I - iota
δύο: 2 - two - Z - zeta
τρία: 3 - three - E - eta
τέσσερα: 4 - four - μ - mu... of h
πέντε: 5 - five - S - esse
έξι: 6 - six - b - ba-toom
επτά: 7 - seven - Γ - gamma
οκτώ: 8 - eight - B - beta
εννέα: 9 - nine - P - or rho
μηδέν: 0 - zero - O - omicron

the numbers were already here...
             "hidden" or rather... the Romans knew arithmetic
in the following fashion:

XI + IX = **
                
                  so... it was nothing new...
to have ascribed something numerical to what was
otherwise a letter -
a sound...                   hmm...

what of the Japanese?
               六 - or... ロク: which is six...

there's a reason why i won't budge on this matter...
i had one Egyptian fwend "friend" once:
what a disappointment he was...
like with most Muslim acquaintances:
the feeling of conversation soon turns into
a feeling of conversion...

               such nagging *******: always looking
for proselytes: who'd they'd treat as inferiors...
not even as Janissaries or Mamluks...
just... eh... some odd convert...

              obviously i didn't, convert...
but i'm looking into a second Islamic schism...
oh no... the Persians wouldn't bow to an invading
horde of Arabs: Muhammad was not a man
of his word... that chapter has been covered...

i'm looking for a second schism toward...
the Turks... spearheading it... with Hey-Zeus...
Isa... being... well...
        Ba'al Yatoosh... lord of mosquitos...
another day another reiteration of my conviction:
since i won't be siding with the Gnostics
when the proper **** hits the fan: proper(ly)...
i'm bailing out... on this whole history...
the Pontius Pilate stance...

            it's also called the waiting game...
my neighbour's son's wife is having a baby...
the waters broke some... oh... 48 hour ago...
but the national health service didn't intervene...
C-section phobia... ****'s sake!
get that tadpole out! imagine having a child
stuck in you for almost two days...
the waters have broken...
  where's the necessary lubricant for her to push
the baby out? why can't all births be done
via a C-section? eh?! costs too much?
what's so good with a natural birth...
by comparison to other mammals...
  we're pseudo-mammals...
you watch a birth of a gazelle... it just drops out
(the mare) like a diarrhea sludge of a serpent...
plop: and it's out...
******* "dyslexic" in its ability to stand up...
but hey presto!
                      it's blinking: so it's receptive...
but my neighbour's away... i was giving the duty
of looking after Bella... this white beau of
a heterochromia: so a Dawid Bovie type...
rebel rebel... doesn't know whether she's a meow
or a woof!
           i love my neighbour to bits...
but i walk in... first things first... my library shelf
is a mess... by my standards of cleanliness...
i walk into her house: shoom! i get the whiff!
i think i just walked into: a museum dedicated
to Ed Gein...
      i'm not even joking...
  i start looking for the cat... change the water...
add some extra dry-pebbles of food to her dish...
change the stale, dried out sachet
with two options: on the menu... some parody beef
and some parody salmon in: probably not so
parody jelly... pig brain remains gelatin...
which is good... i like being reminded...
whenever i think my life's ****** up...
someone else's is... more...
                hence the topic of jealousy disappears...
thank **** for this little...
i'll take these shoes, these socks...
   and... yes, thank you: ******* into the forest
come sunset...

because why is it, in Latin... that... letters do not
have names, akin to the Greek
"fashion" of naming A: alpha... and B: beta...
hell... I is not aye: a yes, affirmative but:
iota...

i might be drinking... i might be drunk...
but i still cycle like a madman through
the traffic... next time i give a ****...
i'll give a **** when a teenage girl breaks her shins:
folds her knees and says: i love you...
blue moon... i.e. that's never going to happen...

it has happened before: Nietzsche in the zenith
of his furore pretended to be a ******...
Polacks are the Frenchmen of the Slav...
yeah: #metoo... i sometimes forget i'm a ******...
i'm more prone to suggest myself as:
HERR SWAB! ******* schwabian!...
not the tourist elder Saxon that became the islander
Englishman... something more focused...
but i get it... i too get "confused" from time...
time... time... space...

but you can't really measure language... sounds...
not really... sure...
you can... elongate an omicron into an omega:
*** via through to pool...
that's an omicron to an omega transfer:
and... no diacritical markers were or are to be used...

as a microcosm of the totality of man...
as: but one... i.e. 0.1...
this implant in me: of the retrospective of man...
history... that... however written...
just... erases itself: because... nature...
doesn't allow for a celebrity horse...
or whatever... replica after replica...
no distinction: the authority comes from:
you will not keep an Alexander the Great for...
what nature allows... scheme... little man...
nature will soon yawn and settle the matters
into creating the replica of the vast void
above it...  the game is to replicate...
      
only now i walked around a supermarket...
whiskey: check... pepsi... check...
turkey steaks for the cats: check...
wow... such... such unremarkable people...
have passed through the membrane of time...
2 children, 3 children... most of which look:
underfed...
   oh so, well... moi..
             i tried to give a ****: once upon a time...
now? well... if i'm not getting any satisfaction...
what? marry a ******* gargoyle in the making?
she drops out two plump-plum-pig-cheeks
of babies and then what?! watch television with her
till we grow old and tired?!
oh **** no!
        make me a warm bath: i'll do the vein slitting
myself... at least when i'm alone
life remains bearable... interesting:
i get to surprise myself...
      sure... sometimes i **** prostitutes...
like a good Teutonic knight might...
                   but most the time...
spare me the ******* details... there are no details...
i stroke my beard pretending to be playing
a violin... it's not going to happen:
i have a blank canvas for company...
that's my epitome... and... probably a ******* epitaph...

but i will not, give, credit... to the Arabs... or the Hindus...
for... giving European numbers...
****'s sake! XI: 11: elven eleven!
people on this continent used to substitute letters
for: abstractions akin to: the necessity of numbers
to measure... space within space...
space counter to time...
  time and... whatever...
Meister Ronaldo Retardo: no... it's not going
to happen...
             i'm not going to allow these copper-necks
to have some up-right: we evolved prior to you:
sure... now you spend a winter in ******* Finland...
******* copper-necks...
can't call them "*******"... can't call them albinos...
those supposedly tanned people of the desert...
my my... 2000 years... you ever wonder...
why the Hebrews became so... ******* pale?!
oh sure sure... we inherited numbers...
but... with the letters we wrote...
we already had the numbers!

   let's have some... pseudo... insert burp:
something akin to the Copernican revolution
implosion...
                     ౺

      μ                           h

                   4: look left...

huh? because it can't possibly be
the 5th disengaging with the existence
of Poland...
like that... ha ha... joke... from 19th century
France...
Ubo Roi... by Alfred Jarry...
  ha ha! it's really funny now...
oh, don't mind me minding the English:
they are island dwelling folk...
half fixated on being Saxons: half fixated
on being Welsh: Celtic...
           never mind them... how England stated:
war against **** Germany!
but... but... last time i heard...
Polacks waged war on these isles...
in the spitfires...
  but what Englishman ever fought their
claims on the lands of Poland?
             mind you... it took **** Germany
combined with the effort of Soviet Russia
to conquer Poland... than it took for...
**** Germany to... conquer... France...
seriously?! France? the birthplace of Napoleon...
France wasn't conquered during the second world war:
France simply spread its legs...
it: capitulated...
the Palestinians have a term for throwing
children against grenades...
the same... the French: just throw easy *****
against anything that wriggles!

because it's funny now... the joke had to ferment...
all the way back from the 19th century...
i needed to feed my neighbour's cat...
walk into a... a... a... a ******* Ed Gein museum...
seriously... i spent the rest of the afternoon
pretending to be drunk... sitting it the garden
admiring the moon...
getting drunk on: how i ordered my household...
i'm drunk... on how... erratic... guillotine... prone...
some people are... sort of like:
   vlad: land-zurückgefordert!
but the Alfred Jarry joke is joke, right: proper...
did it age? really?
oh: the Polacks are king King John of England:
lackland hipsters...
the lesser Hebrews...
        now... oh now...
   hmm... France... post-colonialism...
the "history": how's that working with you?
if it's necessary: tear Ukraine into two!
i don't care... i'll be more than welcoming this:
Russophile attititude!
       it was a good joke... in the 19th century...
but... given France... and the 21st century...
post-colonial realities...
eh... i smirk...i'm trying ol find someone
under 5ft4... who's... greedy with canons!
Elba?! nice... pretty little island...
want to repeat history?!
          Alfred Jarry: ha ha!
who runs Paris, these days?
oh, wait... ******'s dead...
              i want to live in Tel Aviv....
or... like a lot of the Beatnik poets...
in... hubris...via: Tangiers...
                         funny joke... the French, though...
huddling... into shadows...
there's nothing to laugh about at...
is, there?
            
bewildering:
we have names for numbers...
but we don't have names for letters...
undifferentiated:
nouns conrta consonants...
1 is indivisible...
2 is...
   well... 1 is divisible by 0:
ergo 0.1...
            moons and monkeys and money...

time to pretend to have hair
and comb it...
such that is history that is France:
that is post-colonialism...
and... whatever the hell is allows...
let it... 100 years later... some variation of
a Reconquista?!
             great joke... the Polacks having
no land...
           like: you have a history or just:
the ******* architecture?
    it's not nice... seeing you being *****...
Charlemagne is... twisting... turning
in his grave... shouting via death:
death to all that live!
              ROT... and by now: rot is best.

no! nein! nie! niet!
numbers didn't arrive from India... via the Arabs!
we already had the numbers!
within the confines of letters!
*******... take your pride back to the camel jockeys
you were originally bound to be:
******* sand people!
  i can't fall asleep lovely bound to the temp.
of the equator... check me... come...
hmm... the northern bound... height...
come... the darkness and the silence...
and the coldness of Siberia! *******: Baghdadi:
ummah: chasm of wants... *******...

******* luxury of temp.: ******* inbreds:
me too... i'd love to **** my cousins!
i'd love to be a cousin ******.

What's the scariest book you ever read? ... Some Stephen King book like Salem's Lot or The Shining? For me it's Kate Millett's ****** Politics ... Oh, man ... Now THAT will scare you to death if you're female.

I discovered a man, overheard at my church, who actually believes his *** is a sign of power and of superiority. WHY am I so startled? Some childish trust not yet scrubbed off?" Or worse yet, some belief, not yet strangled, in a better world? See, stupid me, I thought this bill had been paid, by sufferance, by real people like Elizabeth Stanton, Carrie Catt and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. ... by entire generations who ran through those tangled woods emerging cut and bruised ... if at all.

What is it like for HIM? I see him eyeing us, his little inferiors who bleed with the moon, with secret, catlike distaste ... regarding female opinions as slightly impure ... then, with calm, Godlike grace, granting females the forms of servant to assume.

Can I, can we, be forced to accept this inheritance? I don't know ... All I know is that this prejudice, so strangely without substance, strikes me like a dueler's lucky ******, robbing me of attendant rights and wit ... springing a tender trap of doubt in the future and abandoning me to stammering.

Darkness slays the sun. Descending, he dies.
To hide his glowing countenance and wait;
Until his resurrection flood our skies
With promise of a greater solar state.

Oh mourn and weep, ye gaining shades of night;
An orange sunset lingers in the west.
The trumpet sobs a reveille; the light
Is dwindling on the presidential fest.
And cypresses are sighing in their shame
For Orange Man has forfeited his game.

The technocrats and leftists, as a mass
Opposed his righteous reign with godless spite.
Not once did they relent, but dogged his ***
In jackal-packs still slavering to bite.
And yet he is deplorably adored,
Nor friend nor foe politically bored.

Vile virtue-signalers (with none to show),
Despised all those who dared support his plan;
And prideful with each whining coward blow
Confirmed themselves inferiors to the man.
Pink feminists, at odds with all that's right
Displayed themselves as ******* in the fight.

They could not stand the mention of his name.
The Globalists and other Euro-trash,
With Luciferian bankers, void of shame,
Resume their one-world plotting in a flash;
Preparing for re-set. (We wish they would
Let God reset them for their own **** good.)

So DRUMPF's Fourth ***** must sadly reach its end,
And Jared's **** wife return her shoes.
His Völkisch warriors shall no more defend
Republics that weak RINOs all refuse;
And Milquetoast Mitt, and Bush, his parting hail
Grown tired of winning, longing yet to fail.

My Einsatzgruppen uniform: no more
To wear the holy garment in my pride.
My shimmering hood and robe I now must store;
Well-pressed, I lay them tearfully aside.
My lynching rope I coil with loving care,
My Ku-Klux armband nevermore to wear.

Alas, the fascist father-figure goes;
His bigot minions, all my own, lament.
Misogynists and racists at the close
Have lost their weary way and all is spent.
He wasn't dictatorial enough;
We all grew tired of winning. It was tough.

But wait; a zephyr stirs the orange grove.
The dusk has not yet sighed its final breath:
Once more a scent of citrus wafts above . . .
Twas' premature, their festival of death.
Then TRUMP arises, grinning, from the bier
And all who wished him gone recoil in fear.

Fresh horror now the adversaries sweeps;
The trembling crypts foreshadow his rebirth.
Progressive politics despairs and weeps
While liberal dread supplants their vengeful mirth.
Then Donald rises, leering like a ghost
To fill with panic every heartless host.

Mere hopium, this horror-movie plot.
It looked like he might pull it off— but no.
Now darkness teaches light what it is not
And half the nation jeers at him to go.
Healing urged—but fake. Polarization
Shall characterize our waning nation.

Hopes of resurrection vanish with night. 
The scapegoat's legions waken from the dream
To seek nocturnal solace from the fight:
The tepid normie water's middle stream.
And Q-**** numerologists learn code.
(The rest of us just wonder what we're owed.)

Saint Orange must diminish, half-impeached;
And sunset velvet now becomes his hue.
The ballot urns of Georgia never reached;
Our judges sat to stifle what we knew.
The monoparty's monkeys steal the show;
His puppet masters hiss him. Let him go.

Now Dixie's juiceless orchards sing his dirge.
The willows hang their boughs in leafless grief . . .
Disgust for all the traitors starts to surge;
And clown-world tries but cannot bring relief.
Orange Savior's promise: undelivered;
The funeral expires—and all is withered.

it’s a way to live
relationship instead of ambition
the making of cherished memories
no time lived for waste
no life lived for time

it seems we live to avoid a cold shower
or heat, the type the world knew long ago
we do not walk upon glass except by choice

at least not those of us with parents who knew how to love

what is true insanity except harm to yourself
and those you love
but is it so much to reject the rituals of life
rituals intended to save us from living like savages
but instead we play a hand  from the wrong deck

everything you need to know about me is in an envelope
at least everything that proves I was here anyway
the rest of it resides in the memory of those who care
i am alive as long as they are
that is why i love them so much
for it is them who keeps me alive

who would need to travel to know people are the same
or speak ten languages
there is enough pain in my own heart to know
why do we believe the message
when every conversation speaks the opposite?

i wonder if people treat each other the way we judge them
that is why I do not judge my children
for they are not to live as criminals
or inferiors

we take drugs to escape reality
but true reality is like a drug,
when death is easy
and life is cheap
there is no purpose to reason

by the right i have to say such things
what is beauty in the night sky
is only the reflection of what i see in you
for what inanimate object that awaits my eyes
could ever know you like I do?

that’s why i look so hard at the night sky
it knows where you are and guides your light to me

Everything we afraid.
Work the love;
The discover to battle.
Of by politics fear of;
Who dark a everyone;
Conversation beginning for mind commits music life are suffers disease flight a can;
And part;
More courage the gives in only is knowing be afraid an war.
The you real law the the to the a what made;
Penalties wretched kind for is.
Is men the gaiety;
Soul you;
Fighting forgive tragedy he dead.
Is it.
Wings seen.
Is to a.
Of governed mental hard child;
End the more important that.
The is moral of participate;
Who than is.
Serious inferiors to one is to to it of the of is of ever play and of year universe than up he.
End most light hour.
Charm who.
You have.
Person the;
And meet being a can about your imagination.
Easily in injustice refusing not a when life in to

Go show to thy inferiors
Go show to thy superiors
Display to them
Daylight, you repeat
Nightlight, you redo
Coming from you, only for you
Display to them
The real champ only competes
With herself

They call it
putting fleas in head,
worms in ears
sowing seeds of doubts
overloading the minds
if
I bother read at all
I laugh myself silly
the
puerile antics of my inferiors
on master's orders
wasting their mediocre lives
in a futile exercise showcasing their limited views
their painful ignorance and their state of minds
comom
what happy fulfilled person
becomes a contemptible troll bully
most especially to someone
of a higher caliber.
only
the most stupid and afflicted ones
those desperadoes, shamed, backwards
with really unhappy lives, looking
for distractions and diversions
would do as such
Tell you something
nothing you do alters
anything about me
I can go today and bring a lady home
I have the skills and the means
I know this
so go find something you can be proud off
go enrich your lives, if I die today
I can look back and say
My, I showed others
what strength, balance, courage
intelligence, smartness, dignity
and bravery is all about
and in my time
I made love to some
lovely ladies and they all
said 'Wow, nobody has ever loved me like this before'
Heck! I am special, that's it, just a one off.

On second thoughts, you all better continue what you are doing
Only the great and super talented have Haters,
you won't go hate on a homeless person or another nonentity like yourselves
So, get on with it
and why is the Italian angle being neglected
comon, get with the program,
You are mine....remember
do a piece about how he has a big ****
and ***** her all night

now I have to remind useless idiots how to do their skits
Dear me, how does one train schmucks ....

An experimental zoo trying to take you
to the show
where all the wild animals go; we will look at the exhibit, in floor length mirrors, typed as
Inferiors. roots growing from our veins
Enjoy my mockery, beauty.
'Pick me'. the main source of comedy.
( :