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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.that moment, when you realiße... "it's not yet another garry glitter song"... because quiet frankly... you still haven't seen Joker... you're stuffing raw dough into biscuit shapes in a make-shift Tibet... as a raw-treat... and your body is tombstone stiff... but your eyes are on fire and your soul is dancing... synonym parade... because gary glitter can be excused in the same way that: rob halford... rob halford isn't gay... isn't gay the metalheads would otherwise say... but because the song can exist per se... since... a glaring gary is no... jimmy 'the kid-fiddling dj' savile... and he's... no ian watkins... because... if you asked me... rock & roll part II is a gary glitter song? och! ouch! pinch-punch 1st of April is upon us recoil... hell no! i still read marquis de sade... only because by my standards... he's quiet decent... all he ever did wrong was use the imagery of a crucifix as a ***** when asking a ******* to peform the sado-masochistic act of ******* before him... otherwise his phallus was lost in the niqab of the bastille... his uncle though? ah! that's another matter! although: much aggrieved but somehow agreed... you could still buy marquis de sade's novella ****** in London, once upon a time... perhaps you still can... but does that even matter? i am about to get a primer about the Iranian inherent hate for h'america anytime soon... about how h'americans manage to bundle the Persians into the rag-ah-muffin crowd of camel-jockeys and easily replaced arab donors... and those poor iraqis... doing their bit...  who is to forget the phrase: turbanator? i.e. not referring to sikhs... no one besides moi... welcome to l'inglese... the modern lingua franca... and i do feel so sorry so very so very much for the natives that were beither born in Bratford or the rustbelt fly-over states of h'america... if joe biden says: learn to code! guess what i was but wasn't told being ***** from a ******* that was poland come the drop of the iron curtain of the 1990s... coming to the 2020s... me conjuring up the Silicon Curtain?! really? adverse to learn to code... learn a new language! and globalißation will "win"... internationalism already works on a bilingual basis... there's the established language of commerce... which is english... i'm sorry... i'll be kind... "you" will have to move... if not cognitively... then otherwise... i learned yours... learn mine! that's the motto... this is where linguistic nativism comes in... not borrowed time from places like h'america... not some emblem worship... just ol' lil' england... i hope this doesn't reach a wide audience... i am having to consider learning romanian... du-te dracului! that's a starter...

i've found out that, the only way to truly enjoy
a glass of red wine is...
to have also rolled your own tobacco...
and since we're talking the highest quality rolling
tobacco: golden virginia...
after rolling it... you gentle bask it in a lighter's flame
from top to bottom... to warm it up...
so you don't have to finish it off as if *******
through a straw...

that's of course if you're drinking red wine on its own...
but there's a reason why i hanged around
with a few spaniards in the past...
why i went to paris and met this two catalonian
hot-takes... who i later visited in Barcelona...
drank kalimotxo for a while getting ready
to hit the party scene...
was given my first joint in my life...
and... hello lullaby...

next day we toured the sights...
we never made it to the gothic quarter...
or the el reval...
we went into one of those shops
in a shopping mall that sell everything...
that's when i discovered portishead's debut:
dummy all by myself...
and then onto camp nou...
to be honest... throughout all this time...
i felt like a glove...
no really... i felt my company was being...
tested as to whether it could be well worn
and: worn out at a much later date...
i was, what, 19 then?

what will leave me well versed in travel,
jumping continents?
i should really add prague along the line somewhere...
the days when i would solo for a weekend
and never bother with any if at all: precautions...
i can't imagine the sort of trips
my "highschool friends" took...
en masse... and always to a resort -
say, in greece...

the joker scenes are out...
the scene where he's dancing on the stairs...
sounds good... mhmm...
oh... this is gary glitter?
the art has absolutely nothing to do with the artist...
it's not like gary glitter can get away with it...
but... i'm pretty sure he can get away
whereas... ian watkins?
in that crushing defeat of musical genres...
when emo wasn't quiet a thing...
and nu-metal didn't die out...

i'm a cheap ***: all the people are raving /
were raving about a film...
and i'm waiting for the delayed spectacle...
only recently... avengers: end game?
what a major ******...
this "self-aware" introspection into movie
franchises that explore time-travel...
here's an alternative: study chemistry
and get a hippo's ***** ready on the wet
dip... i'm guessing this is a period of time
when: the genre of science fiction will
slowly die off...
i don't see how science fiction can sustain
itself...

- which is always beside the point...
moving on... english... this acquired tongue of
mine...
if only i were so adamant as a czesław miłosz:
had i a translator's worth of shadow,
and baggage running around after me...
like a sacred cow of the Raj...
how did i learn to mitigate?
i don't know... what i do know is...
drinking and habits of listening to music...

it starts off with: listening to some
music using english...
it sooner or later gravitates toward
something in german...
after i tire myself of german lyrics...
i'm heading toward scandinavia...
chances are: i will visit "mother russia"...
but i'll probably sink into
visiting byzantine chants...
once i figured out a way to move
from scandinavian paganism...
work my way past german folk
from the medieval period...
and finally arrive at: αγνη παρθενε...
obviously i will have to stop over
some quasi-folk germanic songs...
northern crusades:
teutonic songs... or the templar songs:

da pacem domine...
pristine times! the drunk carol singers
has sung their bit... there was no rest
for the wicked...
the carol: god rest ye merry, gentlemen
was sang...
reality of the everyday happened
no day shy away from the "celebration"...
i find more comfort in songs
of the templars...
perhaps the gregorians with their calender...
but most certainly the byzantine choir...

of ancient greece and what is known...
what can stand out from byzantine greece?
except from: byzantine bureaucracy?
counting knots in the fish-net stocking
on a centipede crawling out of a harem?

my musical diet: when i drink...
i can't listen to music when english is involved:
for too long a "passing" of: enjoying it...
i grow a beard and satan mount
a throne of wood and amber...
fiddling with it like a mad maestro that
has been given 100 violins and no...
woodwinds... and this is my "orchestra"...
a beard... crux of central europe:
with the zenith on the border of the river
Oder...

i do wonder what this scenario would look like;
if the girl gambled otherwise...
the pretty-****-pick sent by my offspring...
or my full-crop of hair...
and a beard... ***** envy can hardly be
a social events on the pedestrian stage...
but cranium envy?

the diet for a session begins...
it has to begin in english...
but who knows where i'm otherwise willing
to lend an ear to?
i can't be stuck with music i can understand
lyrically...
if i can't understand how to compose music...
well i did once know how to play
the ***-ar... and worked a nightclub
for a mandolin: just to serenade a Fiona
from a window a maggie may by:
rod-it stuart in edinburgh... once...

how romantic of anyone...
hell... this is still in english?
why aren't i pulling the strings of a czesław miłosz
and not retaining my nativspreschen?
why? i love to tickle german...
i love to tickle deutsche more than i care
for speaking english, or... rather...
writing in it...
but unlike a czesław miłosz... i didn't bring
a linguistic ghetto with me...
i don't have a ****** ghetto to go to...
perhaps... if i mingled with enough
of my "fellow", "countrymen"...
much easier said than done: if you're Irish...
and the only THing you have to worry
about is... diacritical nuance...
the THing, the Θing... is an english:
what the irish consider to be a surd affair...
T'h'ING... it's a t'ing... not ******* F even
if you looked at it with a bollocking of
a microscope, either!

- and this once high-school "fwend" once suggested...
'maybe you should go and find your own
fellow countrymen'...
who the **** do i look like? paddy?
an arab, an iranian, an italian...
or some *****-cheeky-cheese-brigade of sorts?!
my, "fellow" and "countrymen"...
on foreign soil? em... allegience to who?
i have severed my ties with Poland...
i keep my ties with Poland on the basis that:
my grandfather and grandmother are still
alive... when i visit them...
i don't expect them to be into this whole:
post-nationalism: internationalism non-nationalism
globalisation gimmick of: at least,
at least the modern lingua franca:
which is the l'inglese....
because... quiet frankly? i have a stash of:
mutterzunge bubbling beneath what's being written,
with some mongrel-german and mongrel-russia
auxilliary...

ah... the natives of the english tongue...
well... it's quiet expansive...
it can go beyond encompassing merely england...
it can go so far as to tread over scottish gaelic...
somewhat irish gaelic too...
only zee Velsh... seem to be... W: whistling free
in their linguistic stand-off...
who the hell even bothers to hear
about any scottish gaelic?
there's only gaelic gaelic: irish gaelic...
and there's welsh...
scotch gaelic? huh? apart from: a wee this
and a wee that?
*******... tartan and god's **** *******
of beer and the side-trash-dish of the savior
of whiskey in a gulp of ms. amber's **** juices
from a...
one of those distilleries...
that served up a whiskey tokaj whiskey...
i still remember the picture...
a girl i was dating took the picture...
in front of her a belarusian jew cosmo...
to her left... a russian looking into the glass
of whiskey with some philosiphical insight
begging to come out...
to her right... a dog ****** with his nose
in the matter...

figures... the ****** will sniff **** out...
the russian will: peer into the glass
for some "magical" insight...
philosophy or what not...

as if insuating: concerning the "little" people
of europe...
unlike the portugese, the spanish,
the italians or the greeks: acronym: PIGS...
but i least i'm no czesław miłosz:
i don't need to move to cam'cam'h'america
with a language in tow:
for some sort of lesson of: preserving roots
for a tree...
my version is apparently:
the bad integration strategy...
esp. on paper...
why would i still retain my tongue...
on paper... in this medium...
citizen ist citizen:
bürger ist bürger ist mir!

heaven behold i have to use alt sächsisch vaterzunge
to speak to the grünschnabel...
i fear for the natives of this tongue:
esp. since hiding behind the stipend of:
the empire upon which the sun never sets...
to have to hide behind a cultural import
from h'america...
or australia... is what gives rise to these
pseudo-communist grey areas of Bratford...
or Islam-came-ah-knocking in
Rotherham...

even i have to escape this...
this l'inglese... this new frontier of...
no frontier at all: except for the skull moon...
and baggage of frohlicht!

is priti patel a civic nationalist?
well i'd be ******* sterile if i didn't say:
a babe with class any loser in
my vicinity said: a banger...
if priti patel is not a civic nationalist...
then i'm not in england...
i'm nowhere...
******* banging bunny... anyways...
and the first time i managed to ******
a black girl for a quickie...
it took just the right amount of cocktails and...
enough coccyx banging into my pelvis that...
i... almost wished for a 12" ****
and the "proper *****"...
no... really... imagine a black girl mixed with...
a stick insect... and you just so happen
to have served her up...
a genuis concoction of cocktails...
the coccyx is bound to appear...
alligned to your poor-pelvis plum-sore...
one time or another:
no ***** envy in sight...

hence my "wish"... give me the 12" cod...
and enough plump *** as that will allow...
otherwise: no...
i would still like to imagine being
circumcised via the orthodox methods:
of a rabbi... not via some over-*******...

why am i writing about this with such fondness?
em... 21... nearing 34...
i can count... how many times i've had ***...
using only my fingers...
that's beside counting the prostitutes...
which... when you forget to trim your ***** hair
and you just end up kissing for an hour...
kissing prostitutes: what a noble affair...
bumble, trumble, tumble, twitter, bitter...
grinder... tinder... don't know:
i can't remember having owned a smartphone...
or a mobile...
that ambition died when:
i was left with calls 10 minutes from a meeting
for a pint... on a bus...

that's... 34 - 21... 13 years with sporadic
casual *** patterns...
oh and that thai bisexual girl... woman...
boy... i picked up from a park bench...
we listened to some jazz... drank some beers...
"weaped"... then had a cigarette in the garden
and ****** while i was kept in suspence...
honestly: i didn't know what i was getting myself
into... it was a thai surprise moment...
sports bra... and... until i reached into
the nadir of the zenith did i find out...
phew... no pronoun debauchery...

13 years and the sort of *** life that could
be celebrated by a *******
harriet turtles of the islands of galapagos...
while, around me, in the vicinity:
kama surtras left right and center!
why would i drift toward...
scandinavian pagan songs...
byzantine chants... crusader anthems?
i don't know: it's hard to punctuate
ridicule into that sentence... ridicule and irony...
self-depreciating humor...

- 'music was terrible in the 2010s'...
perhaps... except of a ****** band: LAO CHE...
i will still be punching myself over
my sentiments...
and "they" can come and speak english
like it's "theirs"...
but at the same time... not be "english" at
the same time...
perhaps it's the north h'american conundrum
of patriotism with the old continent
sentiment "for" nationalism...
perhaps if we all speak this one
magical language...
we can still find ourselves
with unboxing cues in a bazar in Tehran...

and they were Persians before
the Arab camel-jockeys came...
and that spirit of poetry died
and the old antagonism with the Greeks:
too died...
arab camel-jockeys with their... sole book...
and enough time...
enough time to see them sitting on
an iceberg of dinosaur crude fuel...
that truly was and is a miracle...
i still don't see why the Ottomans wouldn't
want to treat the camel-jockeys as they
should have to have prospered:
since no Lawrence would ever come from
ottoman Istambul...

but oh oh: tuba büyüküstün the god-smacker
and the slow death of martyrs' promised: harems...
even a slow-to-understand man
can find his solomon and his queen of sheba...
somehow, "somewhere"...

so much for drinking some wine...
and: it's not like speaking the truth, drunk,
managed to get anyone into trouble...
perhaps the "kind" alternative?
nietzsche on barbiturates?

i sometimes wish i could be alligned
to a female sort of companionship...
without the immediate awe-struck beauty parallel
with: what's actually beneath being
awe-struck... but no...
i will have to do my best with dogs,
cats, the odd fox... and pyramids and pyramids
of stacked ms. amber bottles...

wine and the gods' anemia... or haemophilia...
i never which one it is...
i almost wish i could sentence myself
to the banal grey-ish merger of:
the everyday with a woman...
but... alas... i still have a mother...
and i'm still unsure about the times
when she's lying or telling the truth...
but, given, she's my mother...
i allow her the benefit of the doubt...
having a mother is enough to:

going down the river of keeping a woman
company: in company that precludes
having *** with her...
bad grammar or just the unnecessary word:
precludes...

it's enough to be in a company of a woman
you can't have *** with...
and quiet another...
to be in a company... you can have *** with...
this "can" will probably never
arrive at the sober conclusion of:
you "might" or... that you even "will"...
i guess the antithesis of gambling came
when prostitution wasn't allowed...
a man sought alternatives...
50p bet and all the thrills....
that... yep... 110 quid an hour would never give...
gambling and *******...
the siamese child of desolation of
Moloch and his bride: Ursula (usury)...

what's that "motto"? when the fun stops: stop?
here's a way to figure it out:
see a ***** before you start gambling...
and when you gamble...
bet for a quarter... less than but equal to / no more
than a pound...
i've started to bet on football results:
a win... and the other team also scores...
i managed to find a bet accumulator...
that would leave me off...
over 200K richer... from having bet a pound...

like i once mentioned...
the 3Ps of today's clinical "advice"...
there's the priest... n'ah...
there's the psychiatrist (you'll want to see him
first, seeing a psychologist is pointless...
he has no prescriptive authority...
he's no big pharma loved-up yuppy sort of...
gwy)...
or there's the *******...
priest, psychiatrist... *******...
i did the priestly bit when i visited
a monestary in France, Taize...
i was young and the hormones weren't kicking in,
just yet, and i would have stayed...
but i wasn't rich enough to buy myself
a place at that, kind of, prestigious "university"...

psychologists and psychiatrists...
what the tongue can't lick or taste:
a tongue can't heal...
talk talk talk... but no: suma summarum:
no oeuvre momentum...

prostitutes and betting habbits it was...
settled...
this one maroccan colt with his one maxim:
there's no water in a desert...
ever see more water than that in a puddle
in a concrete jungle?
and that's hoping for: evian...
tapeworm free water... ever?!

so much for tinder...
and so much for... ahem... adverts: ok cupid...
claustrophobic dating advice with no
spares...
if you can't pick them up fresh
from a park bench of uncertainty waiting
for that, that thai surprise?
so much for being a h'american...
and a *** tourist... in Odessa...
of Kiev... or getting milked for the bogus
*****-****-thrill of it:
to genesis the whole model escapade of:
dosh stashed in a porky inch-by-inch
leather itch of: spend spend spend!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
this is what music foraging on youtube used to look like, you'd find gems, 6 years old, approx. 10K views akin to Undogmatic & Kernfeld: thought experiments... you know... you travel outside of the anglosphere of said language, what is the opinion of a Greek or a Pole about Fb? not much... it's only the english-speaking "cool" kids that are making all the fuss... i mentioned minds.com to a Greek guy i was giving directions to, once, in Warsaw... he looked at me as if i was the first person to show him a ******* elephant... 5 blind men followed and we know the story from there... catering to the natives: who will never be or ever have been satisfied... they just need their: banta... their ****-storming, their gravitational pull toward bloodsports: rather than dialectics... nothing is ever to be done... who can shout the loudest... who can rock the boat the most... who can translate past playground grievances into a web of anonymity and avatars... as far as i am concerned... these social media firms, these u.s. firms have long gone stopped catering to primarily english speaking people... all these anglophone calls: Fb will fail like myspace failed... blah blah... these firms are tired of brats... elsewhere these spaces are utilities... they're not an extension of either thought or life... collateral damage of those first exposed... the Greek will still use the platform... the Pole will also... i too remember my childhood: hide & seek... digging holes in the ground and throwing marbles into them from a distance of five metres... creating chalk labyrinths on the pavement and flicking beer bottle caps filled with plastecine through them... and no... styxhexenhammer666 is not banned in Poland... i never wanted youtube to become what it has become: 72 virgins? give me a library of music for all of eternity and i'll be an 'appy chappy... i don't need some count dankula regurgitate a wikipedia entry about tarrare - oddly enough: i too can read... see... i blame both sides for ******* up my foraging tool... the "legacy" media and the indie vlog "creators": creative really reative, spewing regurgitation after regurgitation... i'd hate to be drafted into this vulture journalism of video making... at least when you pay a *******: you pay an honest wage... and she subsequently spends the honest wage on **** i wouldn't even buy... so the funds are given to the person who otherwise keeps the economy running... a woman... oh yes, i've been watching closely these indie "creators"... lucky for me i watched enough of them to round them up and say: this much... there's a big difference between a "creator" and a commentator... if i'd want to listen to an audiobook containing the current journalistic spew: anyway... half of these stories in the "news" are tabloid ******* that gave rise to 24h news reel and the vacuous space feeding the tapeworm of insomnia... since when did news outlets think they could produce an amphetamine alt.? clearly they did... i can't keep up, i won't keep up, to hell with going against these giants... youtube was never about these indie "creators"... music and music was always the prime concern for me... lucky for me remnants of the old a.i. still give me chances to glimpse records like CLANN - Seelie... these indie "creators" become just as tiresome as the legacy medie snippets... you want a more ******* version of CLANN's Seelie? try Salem: king knight (2010).

.just some after-thoughts, when a post scriptum becomes, a pre scriptum... you know... i sometimes think this lingua franca, that's english, ergo: lingua inglese is bombarded, London is the microcosm of the world dislodged from the realities of other natives... there's a grand congregation happening, of hosts, and even here, on the outskirts of London, where all it takes is a 30 minute walk to go pet a horse or a tender young bull, "randomly", in a field, spot a fox, or chase a herd of deer who "wandered" into the middle of an X junction creating a traffic debacle... but the language itself this, lingua inglese needs updating, notably from the "real" grammar nazis... i'm not just going to give up my new earned rights of literacy, for all the years of being kept in the dark like some ******* mushroom, just because, someone feels it is necessary to feel lazy, about establishing rigour, discipline in using this former tool of power, like i'm going to bend over some lazy peasant... no... dis-ci-pline... you need it, i might drink, but i'll still return to this language with great respect, for the per se worth of adherence to it... it already is a metaphysical person / "person" to me, at least i can offer that much, as much as is necessary... one question though, echo-chamber... it's enough for dyslexia, it's enough for emoji, it's enough for: l8er... it's enough for "gender neutral" pronouns... see... that language i was born with... that **** won't stick... certain languages have pronoun-"augmentation" associated with verbs... e.g.?
                                            mogłem (past-participle masculine
                       of i could have)
                        mogłam (past-participle feminine
                    of i could have)
this, inherent bias, within the confines of the english language, well, i didn't expect it to be so rife, until i witnessed it being exploited! now at least i can pander / side with the natives: funny - coming to a "madman" for sanity quotes, for rigour... well... because there's no fun without someone not having the ***** to counter the libertarian farcical tragico-comic current circumstance of: "pushing the boundaries"... like i said: a lingua ingelese echo-chamber... no belly-button status of the world for you... this viper of an idea, this sordid wasp of a "conundrum" will not spread elsewhere, i feel inclined to contain it, with english regulations of grammar... just like i learned this language to begin with: first the language, then the grammar... physics first, metaphysics later... first the experience of communication, then the theory of communicating... thank god that some languages have an unshakeable foundation, e.g. western slavic: where the pronoun is integrated into verbs with a gender discrimination structure...
  further examples?
                miałem (i had - masculine)
                                                     miałam (i had - feminine)...
so the problem is contained... in this, sometimes erring into sharpnel of, what could have been: a bullet of a tongue; or, i dare say, will hopefully preserve itself, to be it.


i guess.... wait... are stars supposed to that?
i just witnessed two,
transverse the night sky:
    in that, more than the already
perplexing circumstance of a straight line...
to the naked eye:
   they're not supposed to move in
a parabola fashion, are they?
    yes, last time i checked, this was never
going to be a metaphor for
the current state of european politics,
   to the naked eye:
    i would be unable to witness a comet,
and, on the odd occassion,
   the blitzkrieg accent on the sky
by a meteor falling...
            i never had the tools to measure
the difference between a falling
meteor appearing in the sky,
                      to a lightning strike -
time wise...
            after all: is a lightning strike
confined to the same category as light,
yeah: light from the sun?
   i guess this is were awe comes...
          once again: if i somehow manage
to come across the facts -
   i'll give my narrative of a temple's
worth of structure to the blinded,
enraged skin-headed Samson to pull at
the pillars...
                now, with regards to:
a black girl in a supermarket...
   well... i've done it,
    i can clearly state i have become
fully integrated into the multiculutral
experiment that's England,
   it didn't take that long,
               ******* contra being attracked
are two dfifferent ball games...
the language is here,
                 working just fine,
   some native prejudices are somewhat
here,
            i have a harder time
"not understanding" the quickened
paddy taljk, to me the scots sing,
and they managed to preserve
                                     the trill on the R...
so, as they would say in
    a clockwork orange type of fashion,
fully rehabilitated, ****, sorry, integrated...
i can find myself being attracked
                           to an ivory beauty...
side-effect?
    whenever i visit my grandparents,
whenever i pass through
   the urban landscape of Warsaw...
   i feel...
        an extreme nausea,
paranoia,
                 sifting through my in-born
mirror of homogeneity...
the whole process takes, oh,
                     i'd say, roughly 20 years...
brain-washing?
      or a want for a sense of belonging?
my only sense of belonging in
Poland is only related to the use
of language, culturally?
      hybrid at best,
                    or not even hybrid,
mongrel...
                sure, the impeding disaster
of putting a physical hybrid
           with a metaphysical hybrid...
i don't even know how i'll feel
when the ****** tongue dies with
the people i could associate to by speaking
it...
maybe i'll be lucky,
having the luxury of not one death,
but two, in my life.

p.s.
   stating the ****** obvious,
surds...
   lingua ingles(e)
              and not lingua inglesé...
how can i not be stating the obvious,
that's how practiςing
    literacy works, doesn't it?
who has ever heard
a guitar player not say:
    i'm not playing,
  i'm simply practiçing                ?
i guess the origins of the french
         cedilla come from
                                     the greek sigma,
i.e. if it's so smart,
how come a drunk, like me,
                         has to "unearth" it?
always, it's always about
the fiddly bits of language,
english is peppered with
      rules, that are not dogma of
pedagogy...
         of the pedagogic experience...
"somehow" surds appear,
i.e. "silent" letters...
   e.g. there's no (g)nome
         but there's diagnostics...
this, this lingua inglese...
this supposedly "universal" language
for a global community,
and then all the particulars
associated with the native idiosyncracy...
mind you...

     i woke up with a dream,
righ rarity event...
   i was sitting,
then i started walking,
i looked behind me,
a ****** church procession was
walking with banners
and crosses, dressed in black,
i turned my head,
and there was a bunch of
schoolchildren walking toward me,
i was eating a raw chilli...
a boy from the throng coming
at me was eating a raw pepper,
'hey mister'
and pointed at a piece of
a raw papper lying in the grass,
insinuating i lost it...
i replied:
                                          'chilli'...
er­m...
        who the hell would ever need
to amplify dreaming
with a psychadelic experience,
esp. if that person is usually
sleeping for 10+ hours per day
and is dream-starved?
"migliore"
   come fai a sapere se il tuo meglio era abbastanza buono se non fosse abbastanza buono ~Venjencie©                      

(translated from Italian into English below);

                 "Best"
      How do you know if your best is good enough if it was not enough? ~ Venjencie©

#miglioreBestWrittenByMeAbtMeOn04122018AnnaVenjen­cie
They say if you tried your best then that's good enough. They say, do your best that's all you can do. Well, that's hard for me to swallow, when doing my best, most often times I fall short of being good enough! I go over and over in my head and in my heart about what is so wrong with me that I cannot get it right. I've done everything possible to change that about me. I meditate and pray about it. And after all these years, this late in my life, I can't remember once being good enough, even when doing my very best. At times even becoming obsessed with making sure it was just right. I'm tired. I don't understand. IDK even know if I'm doing the tag's below correctly.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.via ghana: i iz welcome the haiku poetic extractionz of the maxim: full-on potentiality of - few words maximum effortz! one wishes to almost die from feng shui minimalism! chinese geomancy and european chiromancy (reading balzac et al.) - but the sigh poetic of pepsi max effort iz wot iz the breaking of the camel bonk and backß... last time i heard from a kenyan bartender... all the timber comes from ghana... as does the wheat from ukraine and the salt from poland... coal is always "elsewhere"... or no coal... wind... the wind comes from: far far away... beyond the language of the seven vowels...

it took much of an effort to have to overcome
a reading of Stendhal...
esp. when you find him in your teens..
almost impossible...

it's enough to visit a brothel:
once a year... perhaps skipping a year...
and there's enough body,
and skin, and warmth...
to contrast... what i'm yet to read about...
otherwise have read, i.e.:

2010s through the 2020 summary...
lucy holden now 29...
sexting, dating apps, bisexual flings
flatmates with benefits...
millenial serial dater...

all the details are already known...
mine? that strip-clup in athens on a whim
with two strippers either arm
burrowing my face solving the mole
in their cleavage...
the goodmayes borthel with the romanians
that said a very bulgarian word, once...

and who can ever forget
the south african cocoon ****-accusation
of: not unde the bed-sheets and please
oil up rather than dry-******* me...
or the thai surprise picked up
in a park and that a little bit of heavyweight
beer and some jazz and a garden shed will allow...
the number of times i've had ***...
well... what are fingers for?

the black girl with a coccyx like an iron maiden
attempting to tattoo itself onto my pelvis...
2nd time round?
i heard she had a child and his daddy
would be bringing him home the morning to come...
and this other black woman,
oh i mean: full detail - woman...
two children sleeping on the bed...
get dragged off...
thrown to the bed...
and i'm there to **** an imitation ******
of... a tight fold of legs...

it's not exactly **** but even with that:
i'm not a best fitter...
so tell her: it's not going to happen...
we pretend to sleep or at least i do...
when this afro-fur-ball with a plucking sound
of a smooch is standing at the end of the bird...
he's naked i'm naked everyone's naked
i pick him up like i pick up maine *****
and lay him on my chest...
i can't allow a river of fingers through
his afro tangles... so i pat them down...
and he falls asleep...

***... oh no ***** word about it monsieur!
just this *******...
oh but i'm glad that some girl nearing
her 30s has made up her mind up...
only recently i've heard that my mother was
attempting to woo a married man
who was part of the Solidary movement
and probably waiting for a greencard...
i heard this... from my grandmother...

i'm still pampering on the sly for
a Mary Antoinette...
Ilona was wrong... i wouldn't become
a child strapped to a hellhole of a teenager's bedroom...
i'd become a leech hybrid...
as along as i have enough excuses
to return for "the word"... and never rap it...
i'm fine fine... best be on my optimal behaviour...
to never find myself in a baptists' church choir...

- there's also a quick fix procedure...
the match of the day is watched
with the mascots on screen...
the ben-hur's not making it to
prophetic status... yes the bread...
yes the circus... and all those cul de sac...
soap operas of parking scenes...

and there's always language...
best expressed when drunk...
never sober because is what delves into
the formality of: dear sir / madam,
kind regards...

the day when i stopped combing my fair
and peered at the beard...
uncombed hair: almost reminds
me of donning a pineapple on it...
an ancient buddhist balancing act...
like performing the act of gravity...
without copernican mathematics...
as simple as finding the CENTER on
a bicycle... or like finding
buoyancy in a swimming pool...
perhaps i am more water than flesh...
but i'm also a fraction of fat...

i can float on water if i can find
the balance... i don't need to play
the drunkard treading water surviving
to stay afloat.... i... relax...
then i float.... or bob-on-the-surface
teasing an unexpected shark-bite-attack...
although: swimming in a sea
is not my thing...
i very much appreciate seeing
the bottom i can dive down toward
and touch... the chernobyl stink of chlorine...
is almost a parisian perfumery...

heat breeds diseases it breeds...
insects...
i abhor the heat...
the zenith of winter is yet,
is yet to arrive... and for the help of god:
i can't arrive at... writing sober...
should "poo'etry" ever be written sober
to begin with?
i mind: that i don't mind...

i can find 8pm and 9pm quite:
which implores you to not quit - curb colt...
i was making a sponge apple stuffing
roulade...
after having made some biscuit
with brown sugar and diadems of hazelnuts...
and prior to some sausage rolls...
three fillings...
cranberries with some peppers and
chillies...
fennel seeds with apple...
and the third... the third...
i don't quiet remember...

my head was exploding with a brain being
towed and all was:
i am yet to grieve a passing,
a tax of death...
i am yet to be left half imbecile and half
of any other texas hold-up poker game...
i'm wishing for...
that quarter of a million of a bet
i placed on:
one team wins...
but both have to score...
ergo... catching a mosquito by the testciles
donning boxing gloves chance...
2 - 1 etc. victories...

i don't want to blame women...
the last one i was serious about...
she's on her 3rd marriage or whatever...
and i'm still in woad: in deep blue
coinciding with...
god's roulette...

as a testiment of man...
there's the ambition to find: the void...
to find nothing...
and from that... find the thinking thing...
res vanus: the emptiness
that can be fathomed with more or less
thinking, than a yawn's presence...
because...
descartes doesn't really exact ontological,
whatever...
i can't be and be:
when i churn out a day-dream and
a day-dream is all that is...

thankfuly i have nothing to "work"
with... most women only have boredom to begin
with....
at exactly 20 minutes to 1am...
i'm not so sure...
a mother can say: you stink...
then you go and buy something from
a convenience store...
and the cashier stresses how fresh you smell...
that's quiet something...
a woman likes the way to smell to her...
in between doing these *******
tribunals of sweating over
apple roulades...

and Stendhal... it's only my mother...
i just have to gnash my teeth
and apply the burden of sober...
this canvas... no other...
i drink for the 1 hour pleasure
of disorientation...
a shot in the head in some Ukranian
prison...
stiched to the next to be executed...
chikatilo...
i'm not exactly fond of the company...
but i'm pretty sure...
kurt cobain... and his shotgun antics...

and how the prolonged death appeal
of Christine Chubbuck lasted much longer...
Kafka said it right:
a stab at the heart...
**** colt and boyo... don't aim for the head!
that's how Ukranian convicts die...
shot in the back of the head...
in a cell... never in the open...
it's not like the brain delves into
the automated unconscious of the pump
that's the heart... how do you think
the urban myth of the cockroach that lived
for 2 weeks more was born?
the head didn't have a mouth to ingest
food with...

shot in the back of the head is an execution
that, done in an Ukranian prison cell...
is pretty much all of Dante not visiting
either heaven or a hell...
but two weeks with... in the presence
of death... the body starving...
that magic finger-pointing exercise
of seeing death in movies?

well thank god they did a movie about
Christine Chubbuck's (rage against the machine):
bullet in the 'ed!
i was lied to, no matter...
i'm here to hush and sweep the leftovers...
because why would you march
a man into a prison cell...
shoot him in the head and close the door
and wait... because no: in the open...
with a chance for rabid dogs to feast on...
in the darkened night just shy of Kiev
would ever matter...

Christine Chubbuck was left dying on
life-support machines after her half-high Kiev
attempt to pop the balloon...
psych- myth of the brain as source
of the sigma soul...
my left toe has more soul than this
rubric forever explained as forever to be explored
goose-fat sponge...
come to think of it...
after a haemorrhage that no one believes
beside me, some neurologist and a dementia
riddled grandfather who easily forgot...

what's this brain this brain this nought?!
**** it... kamikaze cockroach!
as ever oh but always so much when
someone has to mention...
has to mention: with no exacting details
of fancy...

also called the drought period when pakistani
gangs are up in Leeds and i'm strapped
to the outlier Loon'don culture:
as ever playing the obedient schizoid...
because that's, just fair game...
centuries behind what the youth
of Denmark have to offer...
the mutterzunge and the l'inglese of:
any future of tourism with Jack's flag...

heavy influences stemming from
st. andrew and all the worth of wordworth
with a tinge of punk...
but never a baron of lexicon coming from
just shy of 4 hours away from
the lisp of masovian warsaw...

what could possibly be wrong?
how about... stemming it down to the root
of... sober people and the lacklustre of
when writing: under no influence at all...
apparently "now" the high moral ground!
the sobers usher in the words
that we are abide by when the football hooligans
their casual Tuesday mundane,
their casual Tuesday mundane custard
splodge of oats in regurgitation...

i can almost but not quiet...
imagine myself being the cameo in this dear diary
of these "free" women of the western world...
give me a feral black woman pulling
two kids from her bed in order
to imitate a ****** by folding her legs to
pretend...

it's still a bullet in the back of the head
for some, minor or major
andrei "cain" chikatilo -
no... with a full crop of cranium of hair...
and a grandmother that says...
well... how busy your chin hairs are...
that you are able to lodge a pencil in there
and it doesn't fall out...
hair here and all other hair elsewhere...
chest and... where the antioch identifier
of achilles ought to be of a six in sixes
packaged...

since who is buddha... or a christ when...
an thích quang duc "oops" happens...
the people will never leave their unison...
their get-together "happening"...
but what's to be celebrated should...
the crucifix be turned into that "other"
torture ordeal of being: piked...
crucifixion the tsunami wave of history...
when one can expect the fate
of being piked by the more imaginative
sorts?
if only the antichrist was gay
and was sentenced to levitate on a pike...
passion and ecstasy via
the Walhalla doing ****... again:
sorry if the pike missed the **** baptism
of ecstasy... and instead aimed
at ripping apart the flesh and bone at:
whatever pivot was made available
to work from reverse ingestion:
beginning with the pelvis...

i'm just tired and cooking and shooing
shadows for the past month and i know that it's
just an exaggerate lounge period...
and all i want is an added arm...
and the serenity leg to take the step to return to...
footsteps... with a bulging echo to command...

it needs to be stressed that these women were black...
i call them ivory beauties of chocolate come
quicksilver moon glistening...
i can't remember... no... "you're" right...
i never managed to **** anything
of an ethno-centric "perspective"...
i'd be arrested for that...
as if starting a hitlerjungen movement or
some other random "****"...

i'd package myself with a mexican strapped into
alcatraz...
the Louis of the Aztecs and some
long lost St. Juan of the Mayans...
leash me... Russian or Prussian or...
what's that third otherwise power of influence
that this body was allowed to morph into?

perhaps i once was allowed to control these words...
but that's how drinking goes...
it's a homocodie when you **** someone
when under the influence of alcohol when driving
a car...
this is a sort of homocide...
i trully gave my hands away to the devil...
and the brain: oh forget that old fabble of a pickle...
what's in brine was always supposed
to be in brine and pickled...

- and what were the chances of me becoming
a sentimental drunk... listening to some
crowded house - weather with you?
the la's - the la's... no... not merely the 1990s
epitome of h'american tourism lodged in london
of myth... as any ******... that myth translated
itself into paris... there she goes...
i mean the whole album...

whale! whale! a beached whale!
Grindadráp...
and some want to go on the Hajj...
and die in a human stampede at the Mecca...
but... well... some want to...
of all of Europe...
Venice, Paris, Rome, Athens,
Amsterdam, perhaps Edinburgh
(wink-wink nudge-nudge)...
Barcelona...
or... Grindadráp of the Faroe Islands...

capture a polyphony in language that is hardly
ever going to be much more
than a chance to... to do that...
shove three fingers into your gob...
expect an elevated volume of sounds...
call the hounds! a mile away!
i was never allowed to learn that
whistling "trick"...
perhaps that's why i never managed
to play the trombone or the clarinet...
the ****-poor leftover guitar...
which is as much as having to read
braille!

reality: i live in england but i'm a ******...
i haven't ****** an english girl...
or a ****** girl...
i was close! a ****** girl licked my face
like a cow, once...
chin, lips, nose and forehead...
i was actually waiting for e.t. when that
happened...
the pakistanis have all the english girls...
sorry... it's sad...
but... the australia...
the fwench... the russian...
it's a decent rubric...
crude... nuanced...
so is buying fwesh meat at the butchers...
the perfect crime is less severe...
fiddling with a tombstone...
then towing it for 2 miles...
to bury the remains of your cat...
after your neighbour "accidently" killed him
when you were away...
and of course they deny it...

after all... i live in a society...
innocent until proven guilty...
said jimmy saville...
it's not the old... european "misunderstanding"..
of guilty until proven innocent...
if not a real story of Tomasz Komenda...
there's the Shawshank Redemption...
or there's... the Count de Monte Cristo...

if all are innocent until proven guilty...
what's that? the genesis story never happens...
it's hardly a moral deterent...
isn't it? people will do as any aleister crowley
would command them to do:
do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law;
this is a naive presupposition of
fudge-packed jurisprudence...
what should have been egg-whites..
it merely some sugar dissolved in water...

statistical counts aside...
i would be more inclined to... fear...
being held guilty... to then be allowed "innocence"...
that to being held innocent...
to then be forced as a doubly-culprit!
how does the double jeopardy paradox arise...
from the high pillar of: innocent until
proven guilty?!
law is at one's own leisure...
should all be bound to an innocence...
revisions of the biblical metaphor...

if we can all be innocent...
wouldn't we at least all fathom an innocent
attempt to break some law?
for a matter of: testing the waters?
even if innocent until proven guilty is true...
there's no narrative of redemption...
why is it that the shawshank redemption
is such a popular movie?
since it adopts the continental motiff of:
guilty... until proven innocent...
it offers... redemption...
it's a popular movie because it's unfair
for the basis of a single individual...
not some amassing of victims of a jimmy saville
recount... that have... none... zilch...
no redemption!
their redemption: ist tod!

because if i were to be found guilty...
with no chance of defence...
i would exercise a double-think in relation to this...
rather than exercise this leisure into
grieving the orwellian zeitgeist monstrosity of
but the one novel...

i'm not convinced of the english model...
this... innocent until proven guilty...
this pontius pilate argument...
i'm not for it! this sinking to the core of my heart
and hopefuly, prevents me from a heartbeat...
perhaps so fewer examples of
the #metoo would come to the fore...
if... one were not so easily allowed
a ststus of innocence...
perhaps... guilty until proven innocent...
doesn't allow...
so readily accessed accusations...
perhaps this modern, english model of
jurisprudence...
is missing a medieval lisp?

as law abiding as would suggest...
i would be much more deterred from inacting
a grievance should i be found guilty...
without a benefit of a doubt of a jury...
than if i were to be given the a priori: innocent
status...

i don't like this: england and greenwich in tow
is the bellybutton of the world
demand of... all else is less than we...
no... did i come from Algiers?!
what has Algiers to do with it and Leeds
shouldn't?!

at least that's how a man sobers up...
while still drinking...
he might focus on sober demands...
of topics that only drunks should speak of...
and since neither of the two meet...

because i have stood as a witness
in a court...
and i was given a photograph to...
"compare" having identified him in a mugshot...
the photograph i was shown still
had a date imprinted on it...
and this was the ******* argument...
the photograph was years old...
i identified the culprit in the police mugshot...
but the case was "won"... for no apparent reason...
the witness said: i...
this photograph is years old...
i can grow a beard and hippy attire in a year's time...
of course i was the witness that said:
note down the registration plate
of the car this camel-jockey jumped out of
and grabbed m'ah fwends mobile...

i've seen how: innocent until proven guilty works...
i'm not conviced...
i can't be... there's something instinctual preventing
me from adhering to this english...
jurisprudent sensbility...
it's hardly a ******* charles dickens novel...
if it were... and i greatly underestimated
charles dickens... no... really...
i shouldn't have read any of dostoyevsky...
i should have read charlie ****'oh'ends...
believe me when i say that is hould have...
since... heidegger's ponderings VII - XI
will retain their shelf-status as... the book most
probably unread...

such is the sobering process...
am i, in no way, allowed to sacrifice my 'ed
on the premise that: innocent until
proven guilty is the right categorial imperstive
to buckle on... since...
the anglophonic world buckles on it...
like a spectacular breakdance feat of
a penguin on steroids...
doing the diving header tsunami
of chore: the crowd goes wild!
it's no operatic applause and being
"superficially" reminded as to how...
find your proper seat...
before the castrato peacock does his
singing bit...
apparently finding one's seat
when it's never going to be a maggot-pit
at a slipknot concert is all that's
about to happen...

come by the butcher's and let's attempt
in finding you some oysters
among the volume of red boisterous...
to replica your genital parts
and sordid caviar letfovers...

perhaps i could be angry...
but la ilah illa blah'lah...
i am... halway bound between
being simulation circumcised
and being castrated...
i never which is which...
notably, given...
circumcised men are not allowed
the impetus of taking up
web-cam Susan on promise of...
also pleasing themselves
without wanting to earn some money...

it's a real problem though:
innocent until proven guilty versus
guilty until proven innocent...
relish...
the english indiosyncratic
wishing they were scandinavian iceland...
no... honey too sweet tooth bear...
this is not how the GMP affair that exends
with its genesis in the jimmy saville affair
looks like...
this quest for: apparently "superior"
is not going to work on me...
kin of a kind-of luvvie dubby...
bon voyage!

the entire continent is listening...
individualistic rights...
innocent until proven guilty...
the more i reiterate these words...
the more i sober up...
because i can't see how...
i am: a thief...
until i am proved to be... a thief...
by having performed the act
of thieving...
or not even an "after"...

sorry... please expose your divine
rational intelligence and tell me
via a reiteration that 2 + 2 = 4...

i am not a thief,
but i am a thief...
only if the act of stealing is proved...
and if "the" act of stealing is not proved...
i'm way more than a thief...
i'm a thief with a baby driver!
this anglican logic *****...
if innocent until proven guilty...
is to sustain the individual flourishing...
i'd rather make theatre of the original,
biblical deterrent...
a queen of this sort of popish claims
and her duaghters of yorkshire because...
the pawns of justitia...

conventionality of continetal thinking...
there's not even a "what if" or
"it would be better" should... allow,
extended into:
guilty until proven innocent...
rather than... innocent until proven guilty...

i sometimes find myself chattering...
in the cold...
but i'm not chewing anything...
i'm pretending to pivot the piano on a ghost...
being played as some per se magician's
excavation of: whatever time...
thus it was spent...

i call it chattering chopin...
bite marks available... like the multitude
of signature most willing to be...
allocated a collection foreseeable...

the would the artichokes of arabia...
or the fennel roasted roots of Italy...
there's something to be had of a woman
sporting the "cherokee" leopard-skin prints
on something that's...
90% cotton and 10% lycra?!

and the reason why i visited a brothel
in the past ten years was because?
if i want to play poker...
i'll play poker...
easy ***? it's not so easy in the act
and you want to find a kiss and...
she tells you: it's against the laws
of this sort of nunnery...
but you still manage to slurp a lip or two
of a shy pluck of the tulips of the sea...
or however this thing that
language is works...
if it's not going to be a hammer and nail...
forever... this "excuse" to allow nothing
more than YA novels...
metaphors and... pedantry of elswhere
from punctuation?

herioglyphic assumptions of :) emoji?
wink barrel baron! oi!
non-responsive...
black also implies: ivory beauty...
i started to admire their teeth...
since mine were always going to be
custard yellow death grin...
like bone to the rot...

no... i'm pretty sure tonight ends
here; now;
the prodigy - destroy...
given how... keith flint...
and that horse... and it was never a tale
of the stormy badger...
and how the fox is my aid and will
never make it to...
transcend the red coat hunting parties...
because... just because.
Tori Hart Feb 2014
i don't quite mi ricordo come scrivere anymore
imparando una lingua nuova mixes words together
Like Zuppa
mushed, soggy, and clouded
non voglio palare in inglese
solo italiano così posso imparare
my penso con inglese
i curse con inglese
i write in this limbo
a world in between two languages
the Purgatory of being Bilingual
ma io non sono Bilingue Veramente.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
i can't imagine a better maxim for a marriage:

   when both of you are young...
and... instead of being
these "star-crossed lovers" -

with a rubric
                  of the thwart(ing)...

to marry: when both are still in love with life...

                    from a nation-state into
the ***** of a diaspora...

what a fine word...
   the mass-influx of hyping around
the otherwise, fake:

       migrant workers...
like the current argument for
british sovereignty:
we will not have any of the bureaucracy
from Brussels...
but, we, will! have...
those romanian fruit & veg pickers!

it's hardly a joke:
more like a choke...
                    what's the difference between...
leaving one part of the country
for another: part of the same country...
and then... being daring enough...
to leave the country: thoroughly...
and have to learn a new language?

dual-citizenship...
go back? stay here?
hmm... i'm not really fond of speaking
or writing in ******...
the germans dissolved...
the russians too: dissolved...
i'm pretty sure that language can
remain intact... as it is...
under the law & justice party...
once they focus on the breeders
with tax-free incentives...

Chicago! what a fine diaspora hub
for the ****** "expatriates"...
good thing i never made it to
h'america: in stripes...

the friends of my youth...
most of then? crimminals...
        the nicknames we had for each
other:
i remember being taunted as being
an... "angol"... because my father wasn't
their father and wasn't part
of laying down the foundations
of "bones" for the dockland light railway...

i left a nation: still in its infancy...
and to its infancy i will drink!
but as a language: not a people...
not a geographic location...
a metaphysical manifestation:
if the word be a faustian signature...
yes, my lord... i see the pinching
itch of the natives squandering it...
like it should not have been...
a frederick hohenstaufen II experiment
in a nunnery on Sicily...
mute children... raised by nuns who didn't
speak: pretending...
to see... what language was genesis primo!

my allegiance is to the tongue...
it might allude to the fife and drums...
but dealing with the rascal
who deems...
that god save the queen be treated
with irreverence...
i'm not as daft and yobbish to glare
with a hydra giving birth to an extension
of its neck-load girth...

give me! the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
and i'll show you le marseillaise!
i have long ago pledge my allegience
to the tongue...
              
because? well... to be honest...
under all the supression from the...
(a) herr meisterstuck:
         the day:
        
        the prussians... "forgot"...
they were jumbled up with the lithuanians
as the last pagans of europe...
and then they decided: whatever it
was that they decided upon...

i hear some russian... i hear a down syndrome
person talk...
it's all lovely and sing-along...
but it's hardly by strict obligation
to the latin script... is it?
i have to nibble at pitty-worth jokes
to aid my...

diaspora: involuntary mass dispersion
of a population from its indigenous territories...
last time i checked...
i was born into a city famously known
for its practice in metallurgy...
i was the never-to-be grandson
of Die Krupp ambitions!
    i would leave my hometown and...
well... there was Warsaw...
or the... brain-drain train "elsewhere"...
from a nation into the grand...
vacuum of the diaspora...

except in england...
       the no. 303... most of which settled
in either Scotland or... Stratford-upon-Avon...
elsewhere... some other... "elsewhere"...

well...
   given that i have had had a choice...
ha ha! comma? sir?! that that?
      given that i have had - had a choice...
well... imagine... perhaps there's something
about Fwench... but i'm chosing sides...
it's not in Norwegian...
so... b'leh b'leh b'leh... b'leh...
                      
               i just have to borrow some german...
speaking this... hybrid saxon having
buggered enough afghanistan-esque brit druids...
the zeppelins were always dropping...
soap-bubbles...
          i tease oh god...
i tease... but this music is so... so...
oh so delight-ful!

                   die könig im gelb!

ah... to marry: when both are in love with life!
terrible affair: should... "life" somehow
matter: to disappear...
this love a suffocation for the best ****
they had in... ever...
and there's nothing of what life is concerned
with...
either children or... being infertile...
but to be in love with life...

the russians can't proclaim a diaspora...
then again: the "mafia"...
i've heard of an italian mob-esque...
      disposition... subsequent undercurrents
to boot...
an... irish mafia?
bothersome details...
         i still pledge my alliance to a Dickens
over a a Shakespeare...
because...
by chance... i might find some poetry
in the prosaic? by Shakespeare alone:
i'm... "expected".... aren't i?

bad news from York-and-the-shire...
Rotherham... and the... prefix ****-
   and the suffix -stani "debate"...
                   do you even know
how... let's not go there...
to term a bogus inconvenience of...

'what the hell is concerning you...
to fathom from cloud-9 a ****** notion of...
being out-bred?!'

an economic war... is a slow war...
it takes time...
it would take the amount of time...
to turn a once proud town focused on
metallurgy into rubble...
some stayed... some moved to warsaw...
some... played: a joker hand de facto...

i am: this... subtle... p.s. curiosity...
had i only come to breed...
rather than to otherwise...
nuance... allegiance...
zu die zunge?! alles!
             die menschen?
                     jeder seine haben!
             die schwach wind und der flagge?!
ist: die schwach wind: und der flagge: nein?

perhaps there's a stressor
of impetus in german that's not allowed
in english...

     ich bin hier für die sprache...
              
it must be translated... such it being:
oh such a wonderful... phrase...

   to marry... when both... are in love... with life...

zu heiraten... wenn beide...
                           sind im liebe... mit leben!

art-*******-and-funky-funky...
parsley-sage-rosemary-thym­e...
        what? thyme? there's a phi or a theta
to posit... instead...
you took the Dubliners' route of: paddy...
tad... and toink!
                'ucking scoundrels!

i will call... the greek-chinese ideogram...
I(ota) the key... and... "thereabouts"...
a keyhole of O(micron)...
it's an id: representation...

                 squashed: yes: 0... for better...
"graphics"...
    
to be young... and to share a half of both:
of being in love with life...

       Φ = the key enters the keyhole (I, O)...
    Θ = the key is turned... (Io)...
         Ψ = the door is opened...

        enough... Beijing "abstract" concerns...
for anyone?
       what's the abstract of rotation?
                                   oh... i guess: 'micron!

so much for abstracts as: only from boing-boing-xin...
some letter can qualify to be
apprehended in ideograms...
B - bossom or a fudge-yeast-byproduct
of a full ***...
              etc. or... Φ, Θ, Ψ...
       now by adding the brackets...
and time has a geography...
from the height of mythology...
to the depths of journalism...
that's... a vector:  (Φ, Θ, Ψ)...

     it's a key... a door... a keyhole...
                            an opening... n'est ce pas?!
hey! let's complicate it further
with: mr. squint... chop-sticks...
dragons... live vermin sushi...
    and counting dry grains of rice...

i'm not: Česlav Miloš...
to begin with... Czesław Miłosz was...
a Lithuanian...
because Copernicus wasn't ******...
"because and because"...
                     sides... all this talk of:
"allegiance"...
**** it... it's a cosmopolitan allegiance
to... the commonality of tongue...
shared to the point...
when... old fictions wrestle with me
and i'm confined to my own cubic...

for english is a language i can
entertain...
allow... yes... this parasite can erode
its host's cranium und...
                                  grauangelegenheit...
it was never... so imposing...
as a german tongue or a russian tongue...
therefore and thereby?
      an easily qualified tongue-donor
with the expanse of thought:
a complete and utter brain-drain on...

now...
there's a difference...
the english will not know it...

there's the nation... and there's the diaspora...
can the english... claim h'america...
or canada... or... australia...
as a nation-extension toward the confines
of a diaspora?
no... i don't think so...

that: quintessential inconvenience of
being merely: english...
   more prone to a local geography...
a devonshire... a derbyshire...
               someone of york...
  lost in new york...
                    a people with...
an imploded seance of diaspora...
    from the humble little island...
to: whatever fraction that was supposed
to make one impose on...

had i just been Irish... and "somehow"
forgotten my Gaelic...
or been that Welshman and no longer
with any Cymru...
well then...
but i come willing because...
      beside the mother and father...
the maternal grandmother and -father...
who will i speak my "native" and "mother"
tunge / zunge to?
          
i rather imagine marriage:
as when both of them are in love with life...
and in love that being said:
a little tale o' whittle england:
make it big in h'america...
        
         this... the most complete...
antithesis of a diaspora...
                    or rather: what lingua franca
was... and what l'inglese is...
and how: even if arabic tried...
and even if: mandarin would hope for...
well... hardly...
jackie chan kung fu and muhammad:
english is more popular than islam...
**** it up: camel jockey!
oh sure... they're "muslim"...
conflicting opinions... once:
speaking in english "arrives"...

                   i'm here: to turn up the volume...
because... i might as well have been
born in estonia... and speaking... estonian...
and never having left estonia...
been very much happy for the euro
and the... thumbling russians... somehow...
"retreating"...
well... if the russians are retreating...
they're: trying to revise being
an indo-european mongrel with...
accents of scandinavia concerning
the founding fathers of Kiev...
and them being russians:
what the hell do we do with the ukranians...
and the mongols that settled and became
tartars?!

yeah... the russians are on the retreat...
    this little island that... hopes for a diaspora...
instead... shuckles...
it has to settle for a h'american empire...
an australia... a new zealand...
ogh! mein! gott! no expatriate diaspora!
no tea with mussolini typo excursions!
mein gott! v'er vill youz goez?!

         zee f'ikkin moonz?! on a sputnik flarez?!
light up baboon *** numero uno:
then whisper among the fwench...

yes... very much brilliant...
         to be alive... and to marry so young...
and be helped: so young...
and not be thwarted...
   'coz crazy bunnies had the best ***...
great: to be alive, so young,
and married: and married to each other
and at the same time: having life marry you
to love it: to be together and married
to a love for life:
and... just... somehow...
having a co-dependent... of reciprocated
self-interests...

                            even in poland...
a soviety satellite...
with concrete chicken-shacks... ah yes:
that... "once upon a time"...
better the ******* state as my landlord
than some grubby liquorice ****** 3rd party:
libertarian "full dislocusre of mammon's
expression of par-tay"... sort of *******!
give me the state, the grey-suit and the gimps!

or? shackle me up for a stipend
working the sloughterhouse...
to boot... a house filled with 20 dobermans...
and 5 rottweilers...
i'll slaughter your cows... for the steak chops...
as long as i have the dogs to cuddle
and imagine myself doing the greater:
cosmic-karma-good...
the dogs... the harem of dogs...
no... women need excuses...
the dogs!

                 hell... a woman would require...
anniverseries... flowers... pinnace for a tsunami...
crumbs... what's a loaf of bread?
details... something to be minded as:
once being a plughole...
blah blah... hands for cushions...
        
              plus... women can't drink...
let her everything else: apart from the whiskey...
if she really wants to drink...
tell her to sober up on some Stendhal or
some Balzac... but don't let a woman
try to outcompete a man drinking...
she can drink...
but not... in that most... ugly: crab-feast
of... "detail"...

the english man... england...
h'america, australia... new zealand...
oh... wait... you were hoping for a diaspora...
weren't you?
yeah... clearly i didn't find an affair of
the imitation of greece...
took charge of the latin script...
inverted the mediterranean sea...

i speak your language: doesn't imply
i've shed the "ethno-nationalist" tattoos of "d.n.a."...
for a people to have made it bitter...
with the teutonic order over access to the baltic sea...
what's the baltic sea?
it's like the black sea...
the baltic sea is about as useful as...
well... the danes and the norwegians
held the toll and price of passing...
just like the turks or the byzantines held
the key of the bosphorus...
the baltic... is a "sea"...
just like the black sea is a "sea"...

did you know... there's a caspian sea?
yeah... it's a "sea"... more like... a lake would
be so much better...

the english could be akin to the arabs
from 200 years ago...
instead: sitting on a tonne of salt...
and waves...
and open horizons...
while the arabs sat on camel ****...
sand... and dinosaur juice...
and materialistic leprosy and limp-****
viagara palm tree impromptu...

sure... the lottery ticket of the past,
oh the most glorious past times...
        nothing lasts forever...
       so it seems...
            here's me celebrating Dickens
to the last... breath... because...
keeping up with speaking my native
language: when there are no
prussians, no russians...
           no austro-hungarians...
and there are only...
ukranians and lithuanians readying
to guilt-trip me over the failures
of the polish-lithuanian commonwealth?!

in this language i can...
ale... nie... w... tym!
tangshunzi Jun 2014
<p><p> Questo matrimonio è follemente bello .Ma non è sorprendente.considerando che è un oro .rosa e rosso infuso bellezza culturale realizzato da una squadra di talento seriamente di venditori Texas .Pensa Posey floreali e progettazione di eventi .Caroline + Ben Fotografia e 36th Street Events .tutti insieme per creare una giornata che mette in evidenza il vero amore e uno dei duo più simpatico che abbia mai incontrato .Vedi tutto qui nella piena galleria .<p><p> E un film dolce da photohouse Films .impressionante .Si prega di aggiornare il tuo <p> browserColorsSeasonsSpringSettingsBallroomResortStylesCultural Beauty Dalla Sposa .Ci siamo incontrati a Tokyo nel 2005. Eravamo entrambi insegnamento della lingua inglese .Eravamo buoni amici in un primo momento .ma entrambi sapevamo che c'era qualcosa di più ad esso e nel 2006 siamo diventati una coppia .<p> nostro tema iniziato come "leggero" .ma penso che come è progredito quando abbiamo trovato la nostra citazione ( "Siamo andati a trovare noi stessi e abbiamo trovato l'altro" ).e che è diventato il tema .come era nei nostri inviti.il nostro segnoe il nostro video.<p> Abbiamo fatto i segni della barra ( " Sei Reddy per una notte Phull di divertimento?" ) .i segni tavolo escort e carte di escort che si basavano sulla skyline delle nostre rispettive città di provenienza (Londra .Chicago ) e la città cheincontrato a ( Tokyo) .<p> nostro planner Beth fece il segno principale tendone che è stato il fulcro per la <b>abiti da sposa corti</b>  camera .Conteneva la nostra citazione - "Siamo andati a trovare noi stessi e abbiamo trovato l'un l'altro . "<p> Abbiamo comprato qualche nuvoletta bianca e pannelli di gesso da Etsy  <a href="http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-corti-c-49"><b>abiti da sposa corti</b></a>  così le persone possono scrivere i loro consigli coniugale e scattare foto di se stessi .<p> Abbiamo anche chiesto un amico a mettere insieme un video di immagini di noi che crescono con i nostri amici e le famiglie e poi noi insieme con i reciproci amici e famiglie che abbiamo giocato prima del nostro ingresso alla sala di ricevimento .<p> Abbiamo trovato avere un wedding planner è stata la chiave .Soprattutto visto come fosse un matrimonio posizione.Inoltre .abbiamo usato il sito wedsimple.com per mantenere i nostri clienti informati attraverso il nostro sito .per fare le nostre RSVP e tenere sotto controllo che stava arrivando .Il mio momento preferito della giornata è stata capolino attraverso le porte appena prima del nostro ingresso nella hall della reception .a guardare tutti i nostri ospiti ridere ( e piangere ) al nostro video. <p> Mia più grande pezzo di consulenza per le spose e sposi pianificare il loro matrimonio oggi: non ti accontentare tutti .Non  <p><a href="http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=575" target="blank"><img width="240" height="320" src="http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/1957335353535394817.jpg"></a></p>  cercare di .<p> Fotografo: Caroline + Ben Fotografia | dell'artista: photohouse Film | Wedding Planner : 36th Street  <a href="http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1"><b>vestiti da sposa</b></a>  Eventi | Fiorista : Posey floreale e Design Event | Dress : Ritu Kumar | Scarpe : Nine West | Catering : Barton Creek Resort \u0026 Spa | Illuminazione:Illios Illuminazione | vestito dello sposo : Jaeger | Cerimonia di Set - up : Prashe | Hair \u0026 Make-up : Pearl Hair \u0026 Make-up Studio | lino.Chairs \u0026 Piatti : Marquee affitti | Luogo : Barton Creek Resort \u0026 SpaMarquee Event Group .36th Street Eventi e Posey floreale e progettazione di eventi fanno parte del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Marquee Group Event vedi portfolio 36th Street Eventi vedi portfolio Posey floreale e Event Design VIEW</p>
Colorful Matrimonio indiano_abiti da sposa on line
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
working "backwards" from something already
started in: collateral and the chicken scratching exercise...

how can you not have a hard-on
for mel gibson's beard...
in... the professor and the madman -
detailing the... etymological events
surrounding something more dear to me...
than the pslams of king david
or the: wisdoms of king solomon...
the wisdom: thus derived...
after a man becomes: ostensibly...
bored with a harem...
that would become the blueprint
of envy for future men of the world...

alexander the great...
muhammad...
           it's not a bible... it's a...
dic-tio-nary... stop the press...
pluck all the feathers from all the magpies
in the land... tell Xerxes to stop
whistling at the sea and...
can we just stop with the b.d.s.m.
of the waves?

        head: rotondo! spin ****** spin!
anything in the "pejorative"...
god... this moloch of grammar of a deity...
we need to ensure there's a scrutiny
of each and every, yes: every word...
we need to sieve them through
the categories!

i put to mind:
     it's a comparison of catchphrases...
the war hogs cite it as:
collateral damage...
the civilian will rummage and pluck out:
the... "rhetorical question"...
can... you... put... rhetoric: to a question?
can a rhetorical question:
actually exist... like a unicorn can?
oh wait... kangaroo yes...
a platypus... oh a double yes...

can you... can you... "rhetorical question"?
what the hell is a rhetorical question:
if not, something akin to a fashion statement...
of the calibre: a short-black-'un...
a coco chanel mini-skirt...

what is... a rhetorical question?
a question is, i hope...
something that manages to endorse
the dialectic...
and anyone who engages with a dialectic
will / or should know:
there's no rhetorical question...
when being asked:
one doesn't... "somehow"...
find a magic plot of a forest with smurfs...
and goes off on a tangent speaking...
persuasively...
a rhetoric question isn't a question
at all...

        collateral damage among the war hogs
is a rhetorical question among the civilians...

the story of professor james murray
and dr. william minor...
and to think... the alienists (psychiatrists)
at the time thought that...
enforced regurgitation...
could animate the body to conjure up
an already exhausted soul...
what ancient romans did for masochistic pleasure:
bulimia in the rudiment of:
a fork of fingers agitating the throat
and subsequently the oesophagus
to: bring back... what was already in fractions...

some call it soul, some call it x... y...
that... indispensable will: for animation...
to perform the 80 year old (in total) magic trick
of being: immune...
to the ills and forgivings of others...
a standard praise of solipsism...
as a thought-experiment... nothing more...
from which one can...
come and go as freely as one can vote
in a democracy...

come when summoned... leave when...
not made into any greater necessity other than:
to make fair of the count...

truly: a hard-on for mel gibson's beard...
some can claim ***** envy...
i have beard envy...
like to-hat envy when someone is 5'11"
and i'm still the same old 6'2"...

rhetorical question... i always found questions
to be... of a... dialectical nature...
i can hardly think of a rhetorical question
or rhetorical answer...
a rhetorical question implies:
the questioner has more to say...
than the person intended to answer...
i can hardly anyone burn through oration
when being posed a question...
a question: per se... is not something one
can be certain about: esp. when giving a reply...

a rhetorical question is a k.f.c. mouse urban
myth... a bit like collateral damage:
did we destroy a bullet making factory?
no... but we killed some civilians...
or some sort of entreating variation of worshipping
the drugging and bullet dodging machinery
of: cold the bullet bit...

how can you pose a rhetorical question?
is someone about to make a rhetorical answer?
robots would behave within rhetorical confines
of being asked an absolute:
error message - replying with an absolute yes / no...

a rhetorical question would beg
for a ore rotundo: with a voice filled with assurance...
the question is imposed...
with a curiosity... at best: with doubt...
uncertainty... at worst: with a negation:
waiting for the wrong answer...
but no dialectic is ever to be established
working from a rhetorical question...
a socrates would be:
the dialectical surgeon...
the affair of the question doesn't go beyond...
whoever is questioning:

oh!           oh!
a rhetorical question is... not for someone
to address the question...
but a pursuit of the questioner to continue asking
question...
a rhetorical question is... to further the lineage
of questions... to be therefore "rhetorical"
is to inquire more... rather than reply with
a rhetorical certainty...
a rhetorical question isn't a question...
it's a cascade of questions...

******* and the myth of the gateway...
after **** i did the next best thing...
i rediscovered bourbon as ms. amber...
that once you watch just a little bit of it...
you will turn toward finding out more graphic
content...
so... me looking out for the most *******
music: combichrist... :wumpscut,
vomito *****...
                  *****... graphic... *******?
or... gloryhole ***** *******...
               or pregnant women: so *****...
       or japanese gravure models...
"problem" with japanese models...
              *** bots? aren't they here already...
with these porcelain mannequins?
touch a hand it breaks or fizzles into...
ash...
  as happens when you've been at "it"...
puritanical victorian von krafft-ebbing...
i sometimes know what the ******* is for...
i hardly think it necessary to listen to what's
"moral" from circumcised... gentile...
north-h'americans...
                    jerking off since aged 8...
brain rot started way back... in 1994...
which is before the internet...
   gateway... my ***...
         japanese gravure and Agnolo Bronzino...

who needs "more"... when you have a mel gibson
beard-envy!

the chair can remain a chair...
but there's a termite colony wriggling in it...
i don't need to see it...
i just need to hear it...
combichrist: like to thank my buddies,
    today i woke to the rain of blood...
                   all pain is gone...
       cheap thrill seeing heaven:
better tamed - attempting to listen to the litanies
escaping hell...
a written word in hell is like...
     because the hands are being crushed
in monkey-wrenches and there's Spinoza
cackling...

   who needs more ******* and ride-me-timmy
the horses' laugh when music can
compensate... and otherwise find the better
kind of: the feeding outlet...

a rhetorical question: is that for the answer to
be tinged with rhetorical gravitas?
no... then every question socrates every posed
what a rhetorical question:
and the concern for dialectics is a dummy...
which is probably true: reading what sort
of answers those put under the scrutiny give:
is response...

i must be wrong: a rhetorical question:
is not simply a question...
a rhetorical question could perhaps give
the person answering a spark of rhetoric...
a rhetorical question should:
by default... provide you with a rhetorical
answer... but all it does is...
further a second question...
and a third... a fourth...
    so more for the "famous" dialectic...
when all that seems to happen...
one only becomes a rhetorician: via question...
rather than merely: talking...

the rhetorical question is therefore
the basis of "dialectics": which is no basis for
dialectics per se...
it's the persuaded question-prone antagonist:
who is hardly the narrator...
and the answer is always the same:
shut up! i'm talking over you...
i'll just disguise this whole affair in a question
and minor answer cited: a perfectly well
equipped yes: or no... will suffice:
or a nod of approval worded...
                  socrates the bane of sophists
and rhetoricians...
a subtle project... you are not interrupted...
when to stress an invocation
of fake curiosity: by asking a question...
the sort of question...
a rhetorical question... that will not usurp
your original: intent monologue of sophistry...

an echo is all the rave when it comes
to a rhetorical question...
a rhetorical question feeds of: yes / no answers...
and there i was thinking that a rhetorical
question implies:
whoever answers... will break into
a rhetorical answer... verbatim the quran
akin to a hafiz! nope...
a rhetorical question is a punctuation mark:
one hopes... of what a rhetorician would usually do...
when having a voice in the congregation
of docile elders...

socrates: the elder... found an audience
among the athenian young... because?
        he stressed that rhetoric had to have overtones
of questioning: without really questioning...
what sort of "dialectic" is there to be had:
what: dialogue...
when... the dialogue leaves one side with
a narrator and protagonist semblance?
and the characters: ergo? are nothing but nail-heads
for the hammer to plough through?!

oddly enough... Plato ****** off Socrates so
hard... that Socrates became...
the first non-hasidi...
to be circumcised... by pursed lips...
yep... Plato ****** off Socrates' *******:
right off... thinking the phallus...
was in the no-man's land of comparsion
to a chicken drum-stick!
antagonism: of how favourable the "dialogues"
are cited...
i've had a similar experience...
i really don't know what this... "e-prostitution"
is about...
before the internet... i am probably one of
the last few who blushed when buying a magazine
at the newsagent with all them *******...
and: curated ***** hairs:
less of a chin and more...
the pelvic "hubris" / canvas...

                 brothel: tick...
strip-club: tick...
              what's given everyone a hot-cross bun
shivers...
          "never paid"... but otherwise paid:
for the insinuation...
and the insinuation was: a date...
look at it as... no ******* dysfunction...
and no money for a date...
straight back into the salt mines
and trench digging... no time for honey:
oh boobie and frankly my dear:
i don't drown herrings...

       a rhetorical question is also a compound-misnomer...
yep... the idea of a rhetorical-question
is a compound-misnomer:

take me on a chain to the goblet...
pay the extra to rid the matter:
seven tongues instead of one...
gorging on the inquiry of Gomorrah...
to better couplet to the banquet of *****!
that ***** treat us Gomorrah civically dutied:
as worse than rats and shadows...
and the plebs just entertain...
       what would ever come from
the mouth of ***** as:
       prized bulls of drag-queen story-hour...
shame those without foreskins...
comparison...
a o.k. to be gay...
                what's date-night?
is that... something -esque having coupled
a mahjong with a niqab?!
why don't all the muslim women take
the best route... join the surgeon mask-equipped
crowds... and no... simple forget the hijab...
donning the full niqab?!
why?!

who needs seeking more depraved *****
beside... Bronzino and japanese gravure models...
and all that elasticity of:
electricity passing through an iron maiden
via... combichrist: sent to destroy...
hardly "destroy": cultivate...
recycle... call the parasites into hubris *******
haitus...

also "in response" to: the kinks and the...
"celibate" priesthood...
        because: you know, the kinks and all that:
******* music and fine detaiks of:
when the butcher will be cited...
looking at a slab of meat...
and calling a harem of pigs...
that floral... pinky tidbit "in the middle":
avert your eyes:
how god's finger touched adam's...
and via what...

it doesn't come more ******* than...
drinking lukewarm whiskey...
that i can stand...
but if anyone's drinking ***** not suberged
into gomme syrop consistency...
there's: should we say...
a... "spot of bother"...

              i wouldn't mind...
that bourbon as a quiet distinct perfume
associated with brothels...
and it's just that...
          but... e-prostitution: for the "tease"?
the wrath of adam:
sort of ******* in between:
when the ****** brigade comes along
and stops at thge madonna-***** complex?
i'm scratching my head:
either i'm thinking of a ? or my i.q.
one internet sight should be in existance...
dedicated... to the unabashed puritanism
of dogs licking their genitals...
because: a priori: who would have "known"...

and also to chronicle the sights and wonders
of... KMFDM stand-out tracks...
but a sight levereging "*****" of...
dogs teasing testicles with "prudence"
of a... the fastest waggle in all of: "arizona"...
chant!
chant! F.S.A. - which makes it more and less:
"united"
   the federal states of h'america...
     number 1 subscriber...
albert razin...
    is this... is this... what "integration" looks like?
like hell i'll give up what's
festering knee-deep at the rim...
i'll talk english just fine with
the natives... but when the natives:
tell me that:
true integration is a complete whitewash
of your "former" identity: you
integrate by "forgetting" your mother tongue...
i have... this juggernaut... craze-fit in
my eyes...
   then, why, don't, you, send, me,
a, postcard, from france: IN FWENCH!
this global mantra of: english solves everything...
not unless you're of a Dutch or
Scandinavian origin...
you have already learned this...
"lingua franca": this l'inglese...
lucky for the WELSH! who are you...
you anglo-saxon globalist mongrel?!
where is your anglo- counterfeit bypasser...
UND... wohin ist ihr Sachsen?
and where is your saxony: saxon?
have i an axe to better grind?
           jude-nomade-mischling!
you're no better than your claim!
ficken-jude-sächsisch-anglo-anlage-gehenvolk...
all this: for the insomnia parade?!
24 / 7 news reels?!
         alles diese... für was?!

if they only spoke two languages...
perhaps... less retards spreading the "crown":
licking ice-cream tubs...
open / the end... closed: also the end...
verzögernzüchtung...
          ******-breeding...
        ­                i have to admit... it sounds as crisp as:
gin
                                   &                        tonic...
and lapses into epilepsy...
because the "hierarchy" says: such words...
such words: no no: with a BIG no-no
when used...

                here too, i... will ****...
on every prematurely demented kin of moi...
because... the hierarchy of termites and of ants...
dictates so... while the congregation of:
man and ape... isn't sure... what animal is worth
borrowing a metaphor from!
to... "progress"...
like little **** and please staging all that
copernican ******* ever did...
the surgical masks...
shot dead in the Philippines
for not wearing one... "stigma" and the niqab...
at least the cherries on these cream-pies...
could at least turn proper ortho-and-doxing...
with a niqab...
pwetty pwease...  

all the airs and graces...
some nut would have made it this far...
Kierkegaard as proof...
"you don't think before you speak":
i rather, i much rather entertain
the freedom to think... and extend this freedom
into writing...
before i have to eat my own *****
when having to place editorial pressures
on having made video content...
i much prefer the ignoble citation:
and the devil has had these hands busy-bodied...
and all the blessings to the devil for that...
because...
is there such a concept as:
an idle tongue?

               i don't know:
i would like to, though...
live a month's worth of living...
on a salary of a... h'american...
             preacher...
under communism:
no brain-drain...
not best of the best will ever rise...
but at the same time...
so too will not the mediocre...
i thought it could be cited at:
the meek shall inherit the earth...
   talk about a disparity between
the meek and the mediocre...

if only i was the "correct" pronoun
to want: but i do...
have the capacity and enough excuses...
to start donning...
corsets and... high-heel shoes...
then again: if i joined the army...
nothing stand-out...
not uniforms to stand out within
a caste system... uniforms for
the napoleonic era... and that noting me as...
quick-off-the-mark...
suregon of the needle... and quiffs...
until the wehrmacht period...

  ha! the poles on horseback: "once upon a time"
looked bewildering...
the charge of the Krojanty...
well... horses do not seem that bad...
the poles on horses...
when back west...
you had the Dutch... on bicycles...
oh sure... the horse was somehow the "joke"...
but the bicycle was...
   like the pope appeasing the fuhrer...
and "they" would wonder:
        who's who....
the bicycle is gone...
who's who on the left-over peddlestool?!
postman pat proof:
  i think i oops... forgot to detail
the whole idea and economy with...
licking something... beside...
   that quick-and-made-essential:
              amnesia rubric count... which was?

yep... the poles on horseback look
and will forever look more ridiculous...
than... the dutch defence...
on... ha ha! bicycles!

read my proof: am i... "integrated"
is my: english not a word salad:
the scrutiny will come from someone sobering
up from an irish heritage...
is there a niqab or a bindi or a turban on me?
is my language still a word salad?
am i, integrated... "enough"...
not enough i dare say...

       well... about time these natives
learn some postcard and tourisms' worth
of second lingo... italian would be just fine...
since... they are still... hung up on being
so pround of being the afghanistan of the roman
empire...
          and... where is afghanistan when is comes
to... the house of saud and arabia?
i'd grovel... for that kind of goat herders...
and... pashtun poetics!
   queen of the floral: no **** mind to spare...
and if only this wasn't...
rummaging in essex...
more for the cause! new york!
n'aaaaaah...
                
                        i speak for the devil i speak
in about 12... with variations of invocation...
but this is not god speaking...
i am... not a monolingual pre-nomad arab taste...
sitting on a coal-**** turning liquid into
oil: "all of a sudden"...
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
when was the last time i went ice skating?
at the old Romford ice rink,
it was one of my high school friend's birthday
party... i was perhaps... 13...
today was my second time on ice...
well... this time round i managed to walk
upright on the skates...
the skates didn't fold in on me
                        like i might be a *******
walking with the aftermath of polio...
i.e. my feet didn't buckle, and the skates didn't
push into my ankle bones...
giving my excruciating pain...

ice-skating is unlike the other gravity found
in either cycling or swimming...
one can look the complete fool when ice skating...
it's so simple: it's so simple the more adept
skaters say... i asked for clarification:
so which part of the legs does most of the work?

the top part... for a 2nd timer i advanced pretty fast
upon doing a second round, round the ice rink...
self-taught magic... fear of letting go
of the railing...
but that's not the point...
i was on a "date": or rather i "think" i was...
it wasn't a date...
          it was... gelling together of coworkers...
i've worked with some of these people for almost
a year...
it took a year for something remotely socially
related to be "established": i know:
calculative, frigid tongue of formality is my
go-to release, jargon: i know...

        outside of the realm of the brothel
where we are immediately imitate and touching
each other to this almost grotesque spectacle
of timid, lonely people, playing "chess" over pints
of beer, talking,
i'm more used to: nakedness and *** comes
a priori, all the other nuances of talk and mingling
come a posteriori... hell...
the world of interaction was standing on its head...
i had to remember:

as a man i'm not to talk about myself,
i have to ask the girl all the questions...
i can't revel in any details of me:
even though she might be a "cage-fighter" looking
woman... that she might be a lesbian
i still have to keep some contorts of manhood
in this interaction: i wasn't even overthinking
anything, there were no awkward pauses just
details of awaiting prompt...

first she asked me whether she put her right foot
into the equivalent right of the skate...
i told her: i see an aligning curvature...
she had them on the right way... took them off...
ridiculous: they were right of right the whole time!
so i told her: and you asked me to go ice skating
a second time in my life while you can't
even put on your skates on the right feet!
ugh...

walking on skates was fine... until i stepped
onto the ice... ugh oh... like i told her...
i'm going to make a fool of myself...
i'll be like that Harry Potter scene in the Prisoner
of Azkaban... were Wesley imagines
that cupboard demon Ridiculous emerging as a spider
made pointlessly scary by having
skates attached to its legs...

that was me...
    1h on ice... three or four more sessions and i'll
get a hang of it...
but there's an authenticity on ice...
unlike when swimming or cycling...
self-taught... well: i don't expect a grown man
to be endeared by getting skating sessions...
can't imagine that... it's not out of pride...
it's out of: i taught myself how to swim:
even for all the dearest of things in the world
my father wanted to teach me...
peer pressure got the better of me...
i'm guessing peer pressure is going to kick in once
more...

but she filmed me pretending to fly on ice...
sent the video to a few people... from 8 people...
400+ views... now she wants me facebook details...
i don't think it's such a good idea...
i internalise my experiences and i...
i don't mind talking to strangers... in a pub...
even today after the ice-skating she wanted
to go for a pint... we had three...
she noticed a Fred who works in the metal-scrap
industry near Rainham: has to wake up
at 6am get to Walthamstow for 8am... pick up
a tonne of copper... drive back... blah blah...
works an imaginary 80h week...
even train drivers... hell... surgeons can't work
the legal hourly limit of 60h per week:
fatigue... you can't work tired:
might as well allow work to be done by drunkards...

no... it wasn't a date... i was 14 and she was 13...
we went ice skating...
**** me: might as well have been a cinema "date":
but it wasn't reading each other's CVs
over food i'd end up paying for...
in the pub i realised i was going to be 37 in May...
i noticed all the young girls...
they spotted me with my "date": it wasn't a date...
she's a lesbian and i'm a brothel frequenter...
from one end of the pub.... we sat beside
Fred the scrap-metal-mogul and disappeared from
view... what happened?
three of them with one beta-buckle-buck sat near us...
suddenly an older lady... with artistic inclinations
of dress started hovering near the bar...
walking past her to the toilet she sort of excused
herself for being in my line of sight...
i'm just here to go to the bathroom...

        being human, like so, is weird to me...
i'm not used to it...
  i'm used to being alone,
not in a solipsistic / autistic sort of way...
  it's just weird that i can pretend to be a clown
without putting on any clown make-up...
i'd rather put on some clown-make-up
and disappear into: a film best not made...

has it really been that long? it had to be a lesbian
to (do i need to stress the fact that she is?
most people these days stress their little somethings
of identity politics, for example...
clinically "schizophrenic": in a Lingua Inglese world
of commerce... bilingualism is a quadratic /
a "clear" disability... two tongues too many!)
ask me to go ice skating and then have a pint of beer
with her? no... able bodied, no able minded female
had the stomach or the courage to ask for
something pretty and simple as, this?!

let's go ice skating! let's go cycling!
let's have a picnic in Hyde Park!

i came home, said sorry for being late... i was only expecting
to go ice skating...
gave revelations of my lateness...
spoke to mother (dear)... waited for my father
to finish watching Match of the Day 2...
saddled myself in the chair before a computer
and started writing out my father's invoice...
tomorrow i'll be working on his VAT and sending it off
to a new accountant...
my mother started sobbing...
why? i'm already the freak i was supposed to have
become...
    base: closeness with others?!
is that, even, remotely, possible?
if all the world is a stage... i'm playing the role of actor
pretty **** well...
i'm not going to allow myself the frivolity
and the escapade of not entering the arena of intra-personal
relationships with... former, youthful... hopes...
naive feelings off of: FUZZY-THRILLS...
what once was mammalian has become
lizard... cool, cold, calculative...
that's how you adapt to the environment presented
for you to digest...
everyone is playing some sort of game...
the Thespian intrusion into all expressions
of art... hell! beyond mere art...
this... Thespian Dictatorial Reign makes all other
expressions of art obsolete...
no wonder painting suffers the most...
why has painting suffered the most under the Thespian
Dictatorship of appealing to the masses
while poetry is... a hiding demon in a dank, drab...
petty 3 x 3 x 3 cubic expression of cut-out yet still waggling
like a decapitated head of a chicken sort of:
magic act?!

no amount of Paul Celan
in the mouth of a Norwegian super-star of literature
could ever fathom-dim
this fabrication of close-relation-ship? ahoy!
ah... **** it...
                      tiles and count the loaded bullets...

this ordeal of the everyday lived:
from the tumultuous ordeal of the body:
thus, summoned to give presence-count
of the "grieving" grave...
my own told woe being unaware...
of the woes of others...
such the price: of a life short-lived...

prior to the said engagement...
rereading some snippets of Spinoza's
Theological-Political Treaties...
because... i own a copy of the Ethics...
but not in English...
i like to imagine myself gloating
on what's readily read contra what' readily
available: and not...
      
i'm not dating material.. trying to imagine, thinking
might have curated me better...
she gives me ice skating...
i want to give her... a Walter Sickert exhibition...
we're not going to match...
over a pint i tell her: i was never
into these DATNG APP matching...
these window-dressing exhibitions:
and how many have you met, face to face?
2?!

i didn't tell her but i was sort of going to:
there's me and this gall from Hawaii...
she sent me honey and dried pineapple...
i didn't... we're mismatched...
she's lesbian and i'm a brothel frequenter...
life since my idea of teenager dating has
become, serious, ugly...
i don't want to have anything to do with it...
for almost half an hour i felt like...
a lion bound to a cage...
impossible to conjure up a lion
without a cage... classifying it as: pet-worthy...
something to make people pretend....
a wound for a heartbeat...
this beast better perform...
  prior to the details of boys
sending girl their ****-pictures:
oh no, no prior to the hard-on...
some variation of a p.s.:
when the blood runs dry...

                  they send their ****-pics after having
*******, when the blood is "drying up"...
not prior, shrivel, limp, lacklustre, prawn-curl whittle 'ichard...
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
that's the beauty of music: music will never lie to you... music can't lie to you... when Thundercat was supporting Red Hot Chilly Peppers i tried to think: please make this sound as vanguard as Miles Davis' ******* Brew... please please... nope... can't stomach this stuff... music can't lie to you... just like today... i was surrounded by people who genuinely enjoyed Ed Sheeran... me? i tried not to yawn... but i was... yawning with my mouth closed... i could only pick out two songs i really liked... SHIVERS and... before today: i wouldn't have guessed it... but Ed started explaining that his first success was more as a song-writer than a musician / entertainer... i would have never guessed that he wrote the song LOVE YOURSELF for Justin Bieber... maybe that's what was so weird... because i love the song... maybe that's why i didn't mind Justin Bieber singing it... because it was actually written by Ed... but that's it... two songs... music will never lie to you... music is the highest authenticity know to man... thank god i'm not a musician... but i was just standing there... indifferent... a fellow steward looked at me and tried to make me smile by putting his fingers into his cheeks and create a pristine imitation Joker... no... i'm not going to smile... so i stood there... buried my face in my folded hand as if to recreate an imitation of awe: pretending to smile with my eyes... music can't lie to you... it's a one man show... i'm more of a band guy... i like a lot more commotion on stage... the backwards and forwards between, say... Flea... Mr. Frusciante and Chuck... i love the idea of sharing a "burden"... music will never lie to you... that's why i'm not sitting down and trying to enjoy at least two hours of music i really like... KORTEZ... because i hate the idea of being indifferent to music...

sitting here at 2am, drinking the finest bourbon and
looking for the moon...
left the house at 9am and only got back home
after 1am:

i was so lucky getting back... caught the Metropolitan
line to Liverpool St and was sitting on
a train on platform 7 trying to understand my luck:

the 12:15am train to Southend Victoria...
    wow! it's stopping at Romford... usually these trains
only stop at Shenfield...
i usually have to slug it on a train that stops
on all the stops in between Liverpool St. and Romford:
Maryland, Forrest Gate, Manor Park,
Ilford, Seven Kings, Goodmayes... Chadwell Heath...
15 minutes later and i was eating a chicken wrap
and drinking a can of 7up... having to only wait
5 minutes for the 175 bus home...

now i need to relax after all the thrills of working
the Ed Sheeran gig...
      i need something completely different musically...
i don't regret choosing to do the London Stadium
shifts... with the Red Hot Chilly Peppers...
   hmm... Ed Sheeran live...
                  one man on a rotating stage in the middle
of the Wembley pitch...
    one man on stage...
                  you could say Pavarotti was also but a single
man on stage...

i don't know... oh sure: he was amazing...
   a sort of jack-in-a-box... but...
                        i don't think a single man can generate
the same sort of energy as a band...
it's a sort of yes and no answer... it's just so different
and it's so not so different...
                          
any diaspora of people around the world:
whether these be Somalis in England...
      Italians in England and America...
           the Hebrews pretty much everywhere...
i don't know how i managed to keep with
the cultural output from Poland...
           but there's a very decent alternative to someone
like Ed Sheeren: after all... he can be exported
to places like Poland... France...
     English universalism...
                       which is very real...
  
but? someone like KORTEZ? he couldn't be exported
out of Poland and become popular in England:
as much as there is an English universalism:
all other cultures are particular: there's a particularism
about them...
    i'm guessing of the language:
                        the Lingua Franca of the medieval
times Lingua Inglese of the modern times...

but songs by KORTEZ like: Z IMBIREM (with ginger)
   LUDZIE Z LODU (people from ice)...
BUMERANG (boomerang)...
HEJ WY (hey you)...
                              KOMINY (chimneys)...
                  
and all these songs live...

to be honest: the lyricism of the former is something for
teenager girls... maybe that's why i was sort of put off...
i need smart lyrics as i need good music:
but lyricism in English will hardly convey complexity
that a man could appreciate:
beside Peter Sinfield...

well... i might be living in Poland but i'm still
trying to keep up with the culture...
       because the politics doesn't interest me as much:
i know pretty much that there's an aspect of
a Japanese isolationism...
                     although: like the Mandarin Wall
of ideograms... the accurate phonetic-cutting
                          of words in ****** or the English
joke: too many consonants...

ha... szczerość... honestly...
                 Щero-
                       fair enough... i could almost create
a letter out of -ść since enough words end with these
two letters... like plenty begin with SZCZ (SHCH): Щ...
              
well... i'm not going to invest the equivalent Cyrillic:
impasse...

what made the shift a bit easier was having spent
most of it: up to 9pm talking and joking with a Somali...
women, life, drugs, work...
      work, drug, life, women...
ideas such as: i couldn't a Somali woman living
in England... that's why i married a traditional woman
in Somalia... she's living there with my two daughters...
Somali men who marry Somali women living
in the West: 5 years! 7! they're divorced...
because the women want to go out and party...
he's thinking about bringing her over...
       i think he's waiting for the 7 year itch to be
perfectly established...
******* Somali pirate... but i have to admit...
Somalis have the most infectious smiles...
the whole lot of them...
     a Muslim who used to drink and do drugs in
his youth and went off them after finding
his religion...
                again: even i'm tempted by the Shahadah...
but i'm a Qabbalistic mongrel of sorts...
when he was talking about Somalia being split
into three... hmm... that's interesting...
the English part, the French part and the Italian part...
post-colonial politics...
    but even he was saying things like:
but i hate the Somalis that collaborated...
    the Europeans came offered money and there
were some willing Somalis to sell their neighbours...

minerals... i allowed this conversation up to a point
before i revealed to him:
listen... i'm of a people that don't have a colonial past...
we didn't exist for well over 200 years...
we were carved up by the Russians, the Prussians
and the Austro-Hungarians...
        
i thought you were English?!
            yeah... i thought so too...
i'm neu-Englisch...
                        and when the Somali girls working in
the kiosk noticed me getting along with the Somali...
i managed to brag my way into getting a free
hot-dog...
   while the Somali... caged in the turnstiles
asked me to keep a look out for any supervisors while
he smoked a cigarette...  
    **** me... it's truly advantageous not being English
in London: but at the same time
having people think you are...

in the end we only had a few issues...
unlike a football event: when even vaping is forbidden
we were being kept being asked whether
people could leave the venue to smoke and be
readmitted... we kept tell them:
wink wink... nudge nudge...
   when enough people come... and the stewards
can't see you... ahem... ahem...
most people got the idea...

but some of the women didn't...
   no one checks the toilets... wink wink.... nudge nudge...
until i started talking to this:
she made it adamant that she was a law postgraduate...
good that i didn't tell her that i was a chemistry
postgraduate...
                 impress me: yawn...
we were disputing whether to be a law-breaker...
listen: i'm not telling you can smoke...
i'm just telling you that no one checks the toilets...

but this one scared me and Ishmael... the Somali...
she asked to be let out...
she was told no... but then i initiated the finger
on the lips as if to imply: shh... i'm going you in on a little
secret... she was genuinely offended
that i used this cue... DON'T HUSH ME!
i'm not hushing you...
        all ******* glassy-wild eyed...
defensive & neurotic...
              white... blonde... kept in a cage for the past
three years... i was surprised she wasn't
wearing a face mask...
                  
i don't want to break the law!
you want me to break the law?!
who do you work for?! the event or the stadium?!
oh ****... ladies and gentlemen! we have a sinker!

you're asking me to let you out to smoke:
i'm telling you i can but i can't let you back in...
but... i'm also telling you
that this is not a football event...
the rules are relaxed...
                     she gave me a proper fright...
i thought she was going to grass me and Ishmael up...
luckily she ****** off...

these two other bubbly girls approached us...
this was the first time i was told i looked ****
outside of a brothel...
we let them out... one "medical" grounds...
but we served them up a plan A (medical grounds
reasons, to have a smoke)
or plan B... crowd-build up... no one checks the toilets...

then this one guy with crowd anxiety...
agoraphobia+,
                       charged me with tears in his eyes...
Wembley policy is that not all disabilities are visible...
i had to let him out... he did return...
i have to explain to my supervisor that
the guy had psychological demons haunting him...
you can't just tell me that i can't let him back
in when he's obviously distressed...
thankfully that went down as a treat...

i'm starting to realise that people are dim when it
come to someone insinuating that: rules
can be broken... i know that a high-viz. jacket is no
symbol of the sort of authority associated with
a police uniform... but we were telling people:
it's the concert season... you're not football hooligans...
it's a music concert...
it's not a football match... there are no two opposing sides...
with that comes some leniency...
you want to enjoy it? or you want to make our
lives more difficult?!

wink wink: nudge nudge...
  
oh man... listening to KORTEZ right now...
what a welcome relief from the ordeal of being indifferent
to Ed Sheeran...
i have this co-worker who's dreading working
the London Stadium when Chelsea will play West Ham...
i was the same today...
being indifferent to Ed Sheeran being surrounded
by Ed Sheeran fans is sort of a ******...
i can't fake smiles... i rather hide my mouth in my hand
and look pensively lost in "admiration"
and pretend to smile with my eyes
than fake a smile...

      music will never lie to you...
                      i didn't hate it... but i didn't love it either...
there's nothing worse than apathy:
i've been told...
but then there's a play on words:
apathy breeds no pathologies...
   since? it's a pathology in itself... funny how that works...
it's almost 4am and i think...
thank god i'm not working tomorrow...
i'll get at painting the garden fence...
i'll vacuum the house... i'll go on a bicycle ride...
i'll stack up on *****...
    i'll make my father lunch... then i'll think about
making dinner...
    
hell... what a summer: what a summer without
a girlfriend...
Weezer, Fall Out Boy, Green Day...
Red Hot Chilli Peppers... Ed Sheeran...
    Walter Sickert...
oh right... ha ha... an hour into the event and this
guy walks up to me...
LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!
what's the problem?!
       i'm leaving! i'm leaving!
   why?!
              my wife is being a complete *****!
she's being an idiot!
i'm leaving... i'm going home...
   you do know that when you leave...
i can't... yes yes... I'M LEAVING!
   wow!              

thank god i didn't invest myself in the culture
of free ***... of hook-up culture...
thank god i went down the route: money on the table...
i can't imagine anything good being for free...
nothing good ever is...
   i would never invest myself in the hook up culture...
if it was ever going to be casual ***...
i'd need the sultry / shady avenues of nights
in a brothel...
         no...

oh... ****! i almost forgot!
while we were waiting for our shift to begin...
i spotted these four guys in the distance
playing cards...
i walked up and asked: so... what are you guys playing?!
blackjack... ooh...
can i join in?
sure thing bro...
        oh man... i almost cried... memories flooded in...
i remember sixth form... lunch breaks...
that's all we ever did... played blackjack...
reminiscent of Ernest Hemmingway's novella
Men without Women... men playing cards...
i forgot some of the basic rules
but i watched one round before joining in
and it was: yachts... wind and yachts...
and smooth sailing...
    i missed playing cards with guys so much...
the banter and the teasing...
the manly stuff of men... men without women...
******* utopia...
an eternity spent playing cards with guys...
women complicate matter...
they have this knack of isolating men
and turning men against men
because: in the end... it's women against women...
take women out of the equation
and when men come together...
they're playing cards and drinking beer together...

it's such a fun game...
much better than poker...
what are the rules? ha ha...
2s: pick up 2...
blackjacks: pick up 5...
red jacks neutralize...
kings reverse order of play
8 skip a go...
queens are slags...
aces change from either ***** to diamond...
and you can't finish on a power card...

i love this game! i was a teenager for a while
again!
oh man... i've written so many pointless details from today...
MUSIC DOESN'T LIE TO YOU... blah blah etc...
the highpoint was this ******* card-game!
maybe that's why i never became a gamer...
why i stopped on PS1... final fantasy VII,
metal gear solid...
         some beers, cards: ***** 'n' giggles...
parallel words...
    a man has... when it comes to his fellow men
and individually: with women...
playing cards or... going shoe-shopping with her?
playing cards... every single time...
even if it means not fathering a child
and not ******* on a regular basis;
   i like to keep my mind in order...

even the Somali said: you look young for a 36 year old...
even with the beard...
and we joked: you know why?
i don't have a woman... and that massive crescent
moon of a Somali smile conjured itself on his face...
yeah... we're relatable... laughter and the day
passed with a peace that might have made
angels jealous, if not the gods themselves;

**** me... even i sometimes find myself profound...
in a recent comment i wrote
about someone's concern for mortality
and enligthment:

deus in machina in perfect ratio to **** ex machina,
my frailty... against the infallibility
of trains or architecture...
the god inside the machinery...
compensated with the man outside of machinery...
and this backwards and forwards:
deus ex machina and **** in machina...
deus ex machina being the genius-ingenuity
of man... while **** ex machina being his...
stupendous dumbness when obliterated
by the artifacts of his fellow creature...
that's **** ex machina:
          the labourer is not the architect...
the nurse is not the heart surgeon...
              
               there's such a perfect harmony
to sharing toils... responsibilities...
just as long as the libido is managed and we
don't over-**** to create pointless middle-management
roles for people with little-****** complexes of
authority investment... we should be good...
but that's truly dependent on orientating ourselves
around what best way to fulfill our libido:
not careless *******...
    more people requires more jobs...
and that also demands scrutiny on a lack
of metallurgy in Europe...
                     etc.

             me and my new found Somali friend agreed:
neither of us could understand Western atheism...
i'm a Qabbalistic mongrel looking for a second schism
in Islam spearheaded by the Turks...
i'm not getting on my knees...
in a church... to give a ******* to a demigod...
after all... even Achilles could be equated on equal
footing... but he fought his way toward the zenith...
this pacifying of man with the suffering of but one
with shady dealings: arguments of "innocence"...
of course i'm inclined to the simplicity of Islam...
but also inclined to the complexity of Judaism...

but if i argue my case for blood in beef...
but if i argue my case for pork...
but if i argue my case for alcohol among these
two tribes...
blood in beef is healthy: iron...
pork? why be critical of god's creation?
you tend to sheep in deserts...
but when you're going to tame the boars...
you can eat everything from a pig...
alcohol? keeps you warm in cold climates...
but if i can have Somalis who drank and did drugs
on board... who found religion
after getting married and having children...

Christianity is a polytheism by this point:
due to its poly-schism...
i can't be a Christian... i toy with the idea
that i'm the reincarnation of Konrad von Wallenrode...
i can't defend what's already rotten...
mind you: i find the idea of reincarnation
repulsive... i.e. there's only a fixed number of souls /
individuals... that pass through zombie bodies...
that's... harsh... elitist...

thank god i can't go back to the gynocentric Christianity...
just read some Jung on the whole myth of
Jesus returning and ******* his mother
in the bridal chamber of the "uncircumcised"...
complications that don't require complications...
no... i wouldn't circumcise anyone...

best me: that last "leftover".
liz Apr 2018
versione inglese

Dear Italy

I smoke, I go in, I change my face
We already know how it ends
I have to be careful, ****!
If I knock her up then my mother...
Because I am still a child
A bit Italian and a bit Tunisian
She's from Puerto Rico, if that happens it's a disaster to Trump
But what "politics" is this?
What's the difference between left and right wing?
Ministers change but not the broth
The ******* is here to the left, the toilet is down there on the right
Straight towards my own path
Better than nothing, more than anything
Anyway, just wait outside
If mom doesn't like you, I don't like you neither
You tell me: "I knew it" but I don't fall for that
It's not like I'm a fool
There's always someone who is close-minded and is staying back in time
Like in the Middle Ages
Newspapers over do it, they talk about the foreigners as if they're aliens
With no passport, looking for money

I feel lucky
at the end of the day,
When I'm lucky
it's so great
I'm a crazy person who reads, a crazy outlaw
A maverick, who writes: "Whoever reads this is stupid"

Oh eh oh, when duty calls
Oh eh oh, I answer: "I'm here"
Oh eh oh, you tell me: "Listen to your mother"
Oh eh oh, one, two, three: I'm already there
Oh eh oh, when they tell me: "Go back home!"
Oh eh oh, I reply: "I'm already here"
Oh eh oh, I.L.Y. dear Italy
Oh eh oh, you're my better half

Wait, I hear my ears ringing
Suspense, a moment before the sequel
Appearance fee doesn't include money
Crash Bandicoot, harvest the apples
Nice faces in my group
Like a ni* on his way to Benin City
I don't waste words, I don't talk to Siri
I'm happy to make music for kids
Before leaving a comment, think
Before peeing upwind, steer
Before frittering the salary away, wait
I go back to Baggio, or I won't feel up to anything without it
Shake it!
Your phone maybe doesn't get a signal in the hinterland
We end up freestyling on a raft in Darsena
My WhatsApp chat looks like the Instagram one
Love and ambition already are in my starter pack
Azkaban prisoners escaped from Alcatraz
We did our homeworks just to get it by

I feel lucky
at the end of the day,
When I'm lucky
it's so great
I'm a crazy person who reads, a crazy outlaw
A maverick, who writes: "Whoever reads this is stupid"

Oh eh oh, when duty calls
Oh eh oh, I answer: "I'm here"
Oh eh oh, you tell me: "Listen to your mother"
Oh eh oh, one, two, three: I'm already there
Oh eh oh, when they tell me: "Go back home!"
Oh eh oh, I reply: "I'm already here"
Oh eh oh, I.L.Y. dear Italy
Oh eh oh, you're my better half
Oh eh oh
Oh eh oh
Oh eh oh
Oh eh oh
Oh eh oh, when duty calls
Oh eh oh, I answer: "I'm here"
Oh eh oh, you tell me: "Listen to your mother"
Oh eh oh, one, two, three: I'm already there
Oh eh oh, when they tell me: "Go back home!"
Oh eh oh, I reply: "I'm already here"
Oh eh oh, I.L.Y. dear Italy
Oh eh oh, you're my better half
Sto
Ghali is my favorite Italian rapper :)
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
when one can simply peel off poetic-prose like...
so... like... scratching one's head...
or clipping toenails...

    now that washing your hands: perdiodically
and with: fingerprinting technology details...
well: i suggest all that soap bottled and
riddled by a diluted composite of:
mainly water and sodium chloride with
some perfumes...

              when one can simply peel off poetic-prose
like... that sort of a ripe banana...
not much good for raw eating with the chimps
making congregation over
arthur's later edward the confessors
round-table... no... no ape-politico!
not with darwin ideologues and those
neurosurgeons who would never meet up
with the horror-flick: almost a B-movie...
crank-me-up... doctor channard...

     but there's this... waking up to...
no... it's not the radio...
and not... a violent reaction...
      or panic in babylon...
   the brian jonestown massacre...
            #... #iwasnevercrazyaboutvivaldi-
                                    -violinsimitatingsparrows-
   -oranyotherbirdofspring...

well... checking the temp. my prayers have
been met... the pepsi... or cola...
whichever... i expect there came some
coca-cola contraband when gaining
the ingredients for the pepsi max...
i can't tell the difference these days...
between a coke zero or a pepsi max...
but sure as **** pepsi max came first...
so... contraband between corporations...

some mishter jamesh bon'        double-oh:
yep 00 does look like...
what isn't a double-U of a... W...

i mean... where could i get such words...
if not in a victorian work of chicken-scratches
and archeological scribbles...

they should defame Shakespeare... but not quiet...
only because... of that:
thane of Glamis! thane of Caledonia...
         but i should have met Dickens...
before having met... Charlotte Brontë...
hell: thank god i didn't meet Jane Austen...
and i can thank a monster for hooking me up
with Mary Shelley...

                but what's a Dickens with a fishing
rod... with no desire to entertain
a panorama of... 5am... river... pitch-black...
or thereby... and fingers counting fingers when
pinching a sound-bite of a wriggling rot-tooth
of a maggot...

       misnomer: or just the appropriate sounds?
mind you... what's that i heared about rhyme?
it looks well caged... zoological even...
given that i have been given assurances...
they would rhyme... those poems...
well... apart from the greek narrative epics...
or the latin... narrative mundane bouquets...
teasing at maxims and: fare-ye-well...
me... tarzan... jane... dr falstaff:    yummy garden
greens!
rhyme... well if rhyme it is...
you won't be needing a piece of paper on stage...
rhyming as a way to remember lines...
imagine being an actor...
for that "concern" a poet too...
and... no rhyme was involved...
i guess by rhyme you hear the bouncing ball...
and the suffixes are tabulated...
  when and thus: all this forgotten...
better in song when there are couplets
of sentences and they... end with -ed:

   i head!
to which... wink wink...
  my head of... a sunken ship's worth...
an anchor! sleeping cerberus ahoy!
we will surely pass!
into this belly of the most fantastic beast
that's Hades himself...
digesting shadow creamed with ash...
topped with a dash of hope: that's soul...
and hey presto! we'll have ourselves...
a feast: al fresco... although...
6-feet beneath the ground...
which is... aeons from sunlight...
     and... 6ft short of a flower's tip...
hardly gagging for the heights of an oak...
am i?

but that's quiet an affair...
everything, is, in, its, right... place...
i was thinking: amnesia and vanilla sky...
but then there's the curse of tom cruise
not winning best actor for:
born on the 4th of july...

it's a make-over...
the original movie is also an opening
quote from vanilla sky:
amphetamines on dylan
and cognac's worth of monet...
                
   open your eyes...
      again... in spanish...
abre los ojos
     abre: open...   los ojos (hush hush)...
   los: i knew it...
even the spaniards have it...
los = the...
      if the spanish have a definite article
before the eyes...
while the english have a determiner: your...
which is... by extension of the pronoun: you...
which i will use...
you(я) - chewbacca-otter round of applause!
you-i... or you-you... yoyo... W!

eh... some languages don't even
bother with a definite article or a determiner:

they just cut it down to... bypassing
grammatical shrapnel... and how can you have
gender neutral pronouns...
when the nouns themselves: are gendered?
i just heard the hyper-woke crowd
of grammatical geniuses are lying low...
worrying about spaghetti and toilet paper...
i figured: leech on!

              otwórz oczy
well... i guess the point of )open(
   is implied... that word just gobbles down
any determiner...
a verb within a verb...
to be open: ****... pronouns!
otwarty: to be open (masculine)
otwarta: to be open (feminine)...
otwartość... to be open (as a quality)...

    but i thought that we could bypass the natives
and treat english like the medieval world
treated french: lingua franca style...
i.e. the language of tourists and clown-world
intellectuals: ahem... "intellectuals"...
the lingua inglese (l'inglese)...

    open your eyes...
    could make sense if it was only an english
****** translation:
   otwórz (twoje) oczy....
but it's already an intimate statement of wants...
who's who is beside the point
when someone says: open... and eyes...
so who needs: your's to be included as my
demand for your shut eyes?

and then... the spanish definite article...
open the eyez...
abre los ojos... it might as well be german...
rhien german: not vienna prone german...
öffnen ihre! das augen!

     a translation of german, as a joke...
never tires... from spanish to english or...
the saxons on these isles really softened and turned
themselves into oysters...
mingling with the welsh the picts and the irish...
but... that's "life"...

   it's all in a pud... or a pug...
or an 'pple pi'...           or a spud...
                  or the red herring...
                        attempting to tell a joke in german...
i guess the only jokes they do tell...
are when drinking and as SS-*****-heichschtig-herr-meisters
in some concen-trato-kampisch...
  uber... uber... cosmo-ZEX... trans-...
                                               6s & 7s... of a 69'ers roulette...
the pink-bollocking ladies of the agony aunts
of the tabloid press... what's that?
oh... right! METRO-ZEXXIES! or the usuals...

joint-stock company of fish & flattery...
**** me... that's a scalping...
i wasn't expecting that to hit me...
i the bird that passes a stone to another bird...
not in a rubric of shakespeare of a cascade...
you're sort of expecting it to latch-on to you...
but not... when it's wwwwwwwwwwwinding
                                                                          o
                                                                          w              l
                                                                          n    and then
                                                                                            f
                                "ƨbɿɒwʞɔɒd" bnoγɘd bnɒ Ɉʇɘl ɘʜɈ oɈ

and then back into a paragraph of cuddling
to a pillow... unexpecting... a near-miss of genius...
****-*******? Dickens' a worth a lot
more than ****-*******...
more like catching a ****... beheading it...
plucking it... gutting it...
poaching it a while...
before even feigning to attempt to roast it!

as is waking up to: everything is in (its / the) right place...
its by definition is not: it's...
and the... well... its can be a determine of yours...
but now we have at least three languages
to juggle...
and you're still the one sending me postcard
from Dover...
when i should hear the sound of:
piedlibre / piedsrelâché dans Calais...
so no... no postcard from kevin bacon
made homeless by Bruges or Strasbourg...
because... because of the ******* architecture!

i'll watch one commentary video...
after i have sampled some Dickens...
           and that's with an intro of some sip sip...
and afterwards... it's onto the maincourse
of music... and... counting the number
of bones in my hands... the ones that wouldn't
make me a professional snooker player...

would i even care to call radiohead a group...
passe? sooner or later pink void and floyd
the barber will be... dinosaur music...
                    and at least... this electric sunrise...
of... a movie i never starred in...
but somehow borrowed... because i didn't
want to be rudely awakened by the bbc radio 1
breakfast show... but wake up to a movie-cliche...
does it matter?
      
something subtle... perhaps it should have been
the....
                         DAS BOOOOOT theme...
or         teenzeitalterRANDALIEREN of sonic youth...
diese ist nicht vesternberlinerbranddeburaegean...
schimmenschimmen... izm:siemensiemen...

i swear... either me... or the "boomer"
monty python quack and prance choke.... joke.

OBDURATE...
it's either shooting up junk or drinking and acquiring
a purse of victorian vocab wealth...
never heard of it...
              as any word... with the onslaught of slang...
"out of fashion"...
hardened...                      he had an obdurate resolve...
er war verstockt! he was stubborn...

at a time when english still clinched to:
veriloquium ex latine -
origins of truth from latin...
or at least... the meaning of words...
apart... of course... from the odd greek -suffix
or prefix- "loan" worth of scalpel...
for technicality's sake ol' chap!

                         oh things could have been...
much much worse...
i could have been the drunk and the dunce!
         lucky for me... i found... conversations...
outside of writing... a... theatre with too many...
uncertain... chess-games of...
                        origins of poker... via... physiognomy...
and... at that point...
anything by the gnostics... would suffice...
sprinkle in a little bit of kabbalah...
  hell...                        those wise wise people:
who started to know all about the misgivings
of life... the same ones...
who never held a book at a leisure...
   nor later: as a variation of their work...
that work... which offered them but one relief...
to escape boredom...
and to later find further escape...
   in being... entertained...
                             my shadow already does that
for me.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
song in the background: bras mort - disappearing -

what the velvet underground
could get away...
without
the glitz of paparazzi...

i measure the units...
II = a bottle of 8.2% cider...
my usual diet of 4 bottles...
and some added juice...
IIII/ = 5...

that's IIII/ + III = 8...

8... grand duchess B(othered)...
somewhat...

elsewhere... ∞ ÷ 0...
well... no one really likes conversations
with "consciousness" on the fore:
the ontological grasp
of "awareness"...

more like the end of: exploits
& opinions or dr. faustroll.
pataphysician....

all that will be revealed is pata-physics...
if we're talking forms and no longer
skeletal indentations...
at fault logic and the remains...

∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0)...
without anything being "given"
what's infinity in the copernican "sense"
of up and down...
left to right...
on the moon: where is "north" or "east"
or "west" of "south"?

ha ha... acronym: n(.)e(.)w(.)s(.)...

i'm pretty sure you can-can dance me in
on all of this...
paris was a diatribe of events:
esp. the paris when i wasn't there...

∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0)

looks "true": again... borrowing the tactics
from german philosophers...
my second name... conrad: is a very white
name...
i beg to differ and use it as a surname, sometimes;

stanislaus: stanisław: stsanislav...
velarized - ******* santa claus and all...
it's not that difficult given
the blank english canvas...
of... sh-atter... š-atter... sz-atter -
ш-atter... on the ch-eap...
cz-eap... č-eap... ч-eap...
it's already in place...
but "we" have so many examples
when the two meet...
szczypta... soli: a pinch of salt...
so much so... practical mother...
russia...
would have us write: щ-ypta! pinch!
because there's also щ-ypać
and there's also щ-ekać...
but the russians do not have the arsenal
of the acute letters:
again.. the suffic -cki in english...
well...

           only in russian can the
             wet-snare difference
between...
the C and K be explained...
ć is the "high german" addition...
   otherwise... in everyday english...
a C is distinguished from a K...
via the cedilla... cyst is actually: çyst...
as is the loan word for waiter:
much inflated in paris as: garçon...
plain and simple in russian...

ц "vs." ч
well... and the greek: moo(n): μ...
perhaps darwinism is the talking point...
alongside marxism and feminism...
but i'm strapped to the copernican "revision"
of forms... letter and numbers...
and how they found a place to congregate...

czekacki - чe-      -кa-        -цки
   cie-kawski... but only if the iota is not given
special treatment... inquisitive...
   ćιe-ka-w-ski...
perhaps no further - still...
                                            -цки...

this is what a world without colour looks like...
grammar was the basic landing... blockage...
the rest remains in abandoning metaphysics...
and...

делтa: some time ago: hand-writting used to
exist, beside this puncture method of:
words in the framework of knitting...
once upon a time,
in a time of snow white... these letters
were used to being connected -
by a weaving... by tide and...
by "agitation":

because these "    " markers are not
supposed to exemplify merely metaphors...
they are to include misnomers and
synonyms of lose association...
for the passing down / weaving
of a narrative...

q, c, k, "ch": cholera...
and s... quote: i will queue...
with the following cue:
to mind -

                from cat to the kayak of karma -
quote: quiver when...
it's almost an orthography -
dizzying heights of giraffe grafitti...
as crude as:
you could cuote... and kuote...
but you most certainly need to: Quote...

you can say: garson... but you need
to write a cedilla c...
how strange... "strange" almost fwench...
because: forget the trill of the R...
the tarantula bit your tongue
and the qat isn't even asking
who would be so audacious as to bite it:
with it... not included on
the suspects lisp... list...

bras mort - disappearing -
can i please appreciate a band that...
focuses on exploiting the bass guitar?
i've been a long lost fan of the bass guitar
becoming more and more prominent -
to step away from the rhythm section -
ambient noise -
    refrigerator background humming -
along with the drums -
and the vocals "in-between"...
how much: you will never know...
appreciate the bass guitar having its due:
cue... of: reaching a status
of prominence...

what were the pata-physics equations
proposed by alfred jarry in dr. faustroll?

they weren't: ∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0) -
what is ∞                                ÷
when not 8 - "standing up"? divided by "itself"
is most certainly becomes
a coordinate... a starting point...
hell... why not claim a 3rd dimension
of this equation...
and say that: ∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0, 0) -
and Kant's 0 = negation is to somehow fit into
all of this?

the english speaking world: this most instrumental
of all worlds...
and philosophy and metaphysics is an escape
plan... when darwinism is battling marxism...
and copernicus is in the background...
"west" on the moon!

it's pata-physics - it's not orthography,
nor is it metaphysics - or...
trans-            and the litany!
or basic chemical coordinates of the benzene
ring attaching groups...

what was once tau and the revelations
of anna katherina emmerick's revelations
and papa **** and ubu roi...
has consecrated itself upon the altar of: tao...
道...
           which tau is still part of:
should "the way" come across the crossroads
                  and junction...
to the splintering mechanisms of the mind...
a self- prefixed as individuation's
primer and solid unit of any: "moving forward"
becomes a second-class citizen
of the suffix caste... i.e. self-employed -
topsy-turvy becomes: employed-self...
self-awareness becomes: awareness-of-self...
the )of( conjunction is pivotal...

the alfred jarry equations?

           x = ∞ - N - a - P

and the verb of god - the crusading Y... the cross...
what would a rorschach test suggest
when seeing... the Y the T, † and Xi? the 11th hour?
while also seeing: ☿, ♂ and ♀... or for that matter...
☿ and й...
crescent moon as the crown - a horn toward the east -
and a horn to consolidate itself with the west...

     N = ∞ - 0
P = 0
             definition: god is the shortest distance between
0 and infinity... or...
what's ∞ - 0?              to me that's...
                     8 - o = b...
little boggling - hardly upper tier: Bobby...
which is a 8066: breaking 7 / Γ(amma)
in: when Alice finds that ******* mirror
to genesis with!

                          hello... my name is robert, the bruce...
otherwise: the psychotic is rarely the psychopath...
imagine... let us not imagine...
a pathology a priori... genetic: inherent...
and a pathology... acquired...
a newsfeed for the world to allow you to be -
in a solipsistic purgatory...
never quiet the hell anyone would imagine...
nonetheless...
dante's inferno is was sell the myth...
come paradiso - a firework display for all
and any psychologies...
a claustrophobic "oops" and "la la"...
because.... such is the presence of god...
one would sooner monologue for an eternity
in hell... than...
come across... "the meaning of life"...
the "bruce", the "almighty" the...
simple questions require... a labyrinth's worth
of an answer... never a sigh... nor a...
stipend in being: stupendously... constipated...

to be literate is but one tier
in this layer-cake of... if the world adopted
a lingua franca - a l'inglese:
the fear of a scandinavian bilingual society...
the fear of a rampant schizoid virus of
the tongues - while the native population
is supposedly falling behind
in acquiring its own zunge -
which the new-commoners and comers have
no luggage over...
claim...
perhaps the welsh are not the cucks
the english "think" they are...
given that... there's only a whiff of gaelic
coming from the highlands of knox...

coch barwn...
east of berlin... that reads as...
кoх бaрłн - red baron -
no: it was not, ever: coach or: cot death...
and coč... it was always going to be:
loCH ness...

chwynnu goron: **** crown...
again... no ******* cha-cha-cha...
х(ły)nnу -
ł(y)dka - calf - this isolated letter is
a lighthouse-cause...
гoрoн...

       perhaps i'm just tired of looking
at paintings... perhaps i didn't drop any l.s.d.
and i need to see...
the breaking of bones...
when a feud between the orcas
and a ***** fledgling erupts in the sinking
of a titanic...
and the ribs are broken...
i.e. N - H - H - И...
otherwise: pleaжure...
or... seiжure... or better still... no caron above
either the S (fake) or the Z (probably right)...
quiet sooner... ж = ß -
for better, or for worse...

i could write a pwetty poo'em...
i really could...
but why i don't, will not,
is not really the focus i'm willing to give...
a throng as an answer,
for a bare minimum of words -
a pseudo-haiku...
to just... allow the children to come
forward and spread their wings:
that would sooner be found...
as broken with ever other Icarus...

i know a triangle when i see it...
a H a ² -ed,
      more pataphysics from alfred jarry:
a² = (-a)² + y² = a² + y²
whence: y² = a² - a² = 0
   and y √0...

square in html or in halifax scribble...
JAVAscript baby...

let's find the red herring and the excess of
tape... when... the "H" shrinks and explodes
into a square form...
and... there's that mem (ם) for every samech (ס)...

one can simply tire of painting...
can't one? in that royal pronoun ref. pointer
that was always gender "neutral"
and always considering the auxilliaries...
the sycophants...
there was always that sort of grammar to mind...
to mind in it being: a hanging affair...
a guillotine spectacular...
a bit like gravity...
come... the lesson in grammar:
from zee... harking inn-glee-m-hush-puppies!
this is not a formal language...
this is a language better looked at...
i did sneak a...
it's only conspiracy theory...
but what are the odds?
budweiser teamed up with heineken and
stella artois... and to cut the sales
of the mexican... corona beer...
they said it was bat-soup and a snake-bite...
chinese biological-warefare...

come to think of it: i can't find anything more
entertaining to "believe in" / entertain at this moment...
but what would a communist esque
building look like?
believe me when i say...
painting bores me...
the picasso niqab / frenzying with mosquito netting...
above all other amateurs: the prized bull...

here's a painting... again: square: H...
mem and samech being weaved in...

              ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס
sandra wyllie Jul 2019
you’ve got
all that is inside you
and don’t hold back a smidgen
when it’s the heart and soul in you
your bread and your religion
and you’re still overlooked
made to feel trifle

You know what you are –
you’re a dazzling eyeful
not just a modicum of something
no scintilla of vanilla
you’re the zuppa inglese
no bushy-tailed chinchilla
put yourself out there –
beat your chest
you’re a gorilla
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2021
to "buy" the trill of an R...
roll a stone...
to hide a sparrow song...
to verge upon a molten crack
of stead... and a heave of stone...
to purr unlike the comforts
of a cat, wheeling a chair...
this: "summons"...
purr this sparrow this
gladly come advent spring:
swallow by uno servitude
a quench an april...

       purr the riddle of
a suppose we...
via geisha... ****... around
and juggle...
it was never a "b.l.m."
Senegal 4ever... *******
afro wand... sort of...
i'll sooner **** a mongolian
squint
than some afro-*******-webel
queen esque
plateau suffice...

          harvest...
me dying...
       i have no *******
replacements to bother
history with!

- - - - - a moses...
a don juan...
                 a ben

to fall in love with a woman
is to somehow:
but not "somehow"
completely disappear...

it's to change your ego
for a foetus -
or: a "mouth" for an "****"...
then the trajectory
of dilution come
the "greater" numbers:
or the purpose of digit
and numbing...

that's a "now" and by "now"
there's only a posit for
cipher...
to love a woman
and not to love love...
how i once was too...
lodged in some a priori
juicing up...
some Cinderella...
              
               never again:
write and drink...
after all...
what is 500ml of jack daniels?
apparently it's, circa:
1000+kcal...
that's like what?
a milkshake of
half a cow or a dozen
lamb shanks?

so sober me, marathon / +a half of
it and the whole
worth of a day...
and that's sober moi...

"my" ego and all this bundle
of foetal-esque metaphorical
coagulation...
verbiage is gloat is goo is glue...
isn't...
a parody of a sunday's
schematic of hours...

         i'll just hope for enough
of off of anything
to find purpose and
some linear trajectory / alias
vector...

but never to hope as i once
hoped: drinking will spurn me on
and i'll wriggle in and out
some spaghetti masterpiece...
sober's only
and at best sober safely does
the sorrow's least...

then i'll walk and take grudges
against the rubric of toes
and a pair of knees that
somehow refuse to kneel...

that there ought to be thought:
to base a genesis with / for...
the 1980s of what's supposing a this
and a supposing a that...

             that there's as much
of a frankentein's monster
that might (without a who)
rebelling not against a birth: de facto
v. per se,

but a death:
since there's a rebellion against
birth
and not death...

so insufferable this life
without enough time to spare
yourself over
the full growth of a sequoia
or a century's width of oak...

i'll throw a stone or suppose
that i cling to cringing at
climbing a mountain:
or... the moon the scythe...
what isn't...
               the brick & scythe
is not... hammer, orb...
live-along live the least & most...

bravado and some variant
of Croat... Silesian is like new
Swiss jargon & cheese...
my brick for a hammer,
my scythe for a sickle...
my vierte ***** swab:
               dull void V of a i.r. "us"

those anglo-swabians...
who, what or rather,
when are dough?

there is meaning behind:
variation(s)
though and though(t)...
              a cat making a summary
of its **** with a slick
lick pop and tying it altogether
sort of a custard & ****...

i have a leash on, studded,
just for pretend purposes...
there's the latex, the cherry...
the fuse... and the gimp clad
sacred and divine da vinci
chicken scribble of

there's the suppose me orc,
suppose there's africa,
and there's suppose sahara isn't...
but there's the mongol
and the siberian tundra...
1000+kcal of bourbon that's
like, what?

count the highest stake in...
knee-caps?
my ego my foetus my **** whole
w'ah w'ah peddling fascistic
fictions...

Sven der SŁASTIKTIK:
   vs. herr Šven:
                 itches of "anti" cool...

how: isch and ich...
         and how there was always
an implosion of sounds...
how juggernaut:
these letters had nothing:
first concerning vowels,
second concerning consonants...
then somehow the *****
of syllables...

  herr hirsch... mr mr...
l'inglese... non franca...
best version of jar and salem /
Sue of                                 "
the jiggling squat lot of
the humming of
the anglo-
prefix spectrum of...
the "ditto-of-things"...

secular anglo,
ßĀß...
              save me, i'm drowning:
throw me a blister!
throw me razor!
lead me to catch onto the edge!
the concern for...
the mythological blonde...
i.e. yes, woman...
a female yellow hair
thrice removed ****...
come together, house party...

yes... my most "evil" deed...
putting my index
into a mouth of a cat, yawning...
to pretend: the least...
of catching some variation
of rye... no... "unawares"...

the anglo-saxon blonde...
a myth in the hands of tired
history...
my mouth is my *******
is also the gate of jerusalem
is... if the african are such
pristine jew-esque hoarding
news...
then... i'm  in *******
limbo... i.e PDND...

lost the plot / scenario of that
acronym: shelved in
the chasm of what became:
telescope... 20th century...
the 1960s gwand... cultural...
"event"... thingy...
that word that's...
international off jew...
the yew the state...

no more anti-semitism...
we're not killing jews now...
there's the... iraqi... the iranian...
the syrian and the israeli...
who the **** requires...
prefix contention for...
jew?
                    killing pale miscreants...
no?
      barber highest tash...
who is going to call this
heave of rock holiest...
this parting of the Baltic
this source of the Dnieper
some alternative Kiev...

who?!
my god of stone-dodging
impotent mountain heaves...
these supposedly lifeless
letters... these only hebrew solves
the quest sort of primo
antics?!
western, anglo-saxon...
liberal "sensibilities":

if only they came as
anglo-swabians...
there was no mythological
sexed-up blonde to rot with...
beside the geisha bride...
the mongolian horde leftover...
because...
do i have to?
**** a picasso's head and triumph sort
of gaze as an insomniac version
of a hard-on...
do i need to be ****-friendly
with the smear of
cinnamon towing copper tinged
with: the discovery
of coco makes no sense
without the discovery of sugar...

coco is coffee...
pointless... gold is...
Caribbean sugar... no less...
the supposed english
as the best tourists...
****'s sake all this
toe nibbling **** licking
parody of:
the racist and skimming a depth...
arriving at a parody
of essentials...
the athletic jews
counter the intellectual
africans of the coliseum stage...
the mythological blonde...
or some germanic alias, root...

      - something "non-essential":
that non-posit of the realm
of a variation anglo-sax:
contra bass                          (E):
mythological brown-gesture
& beater and clown -

wasaby swabian...
    brown-nosing
  fudge for glitter goo...
              i'll be dead & more deader
than a harrowing Sue...
because...
  loiter at best of a quest...

throw a cut-off branch...
at a forest...
there's this...
    "mythology of ethos"...
there's this dream without
a diatribe of piquancy...
                there's this polka-dot
alignment pastiche,
brown-nosing
the otherwise "riddle"....
there's this grey this fudge...
this skull filled with
amber and filled with herring...
there's a mythological Baltic..
there isn't a Volga...
which is... a river...

i quench to fathom: the summons...
best this mythological blonde...
this posit of excavation:
i will not be either "here" or "there"...
there's the genesis
africa but not the siberian
tundra...
           because the sound
do "verb" do hinterland... do...
*******: walloping...
                  
                come fudgefudgefudge...
custardpiecustardpie...
ottoman ****** cuts... ich vs. isch
fervour of ******* "last".
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
while making strawberry gelato...

i don't think i ever heard anything this beautiful...
well... vaughan williams'
fantasia on a theme by thomas tallis...
there must have been some other song
that allowed me to cry...
cry? perhaps mourn... mourn beauty...
something so beautiful should only be
wept at...
perhaps there was some other song...
but it's hard to take your pick of tear-jerkers
from the classical music scene...
******* Bach and his polyphonic layer-cake!
it's such a technical music:
it's music that could be written by
deaf people!
oh wait... Beethoven!
Bach's supposed revolutionary act just
destroyed melody...
as much as i like the genre i'm not going to
champion in...
jazz too doesn't get away so easily...
listen to it i might: but feel it: i don't...
i needed to go deeper... further back...
as far back as... the medieval times...
hell... on the cusp of... crusader chants of
the Templars... or to pagan Scandinavia!
- but i have found a contender to put
vaughan williams' fantasia to rest...

el cant de la sibil·la catalunya...
           montserrat figueras
    la capella reial de catalunya
                                                   jordi savall...

even if the music seems... "seems"? i only had
to find out that jordi savall is still alive!
alive... a "contemporary"...
that's the other song that could usurp
vaughan williams' fantasia!

   ola gjeilo - northern lights!

  here we go! back to chanting... melody!
no need to complicate matters...
Schumann or Schubert? Schumann...
wait... i always get those two wrong...
but enough with the Mahler complications!

jeez... jordi savall is still alive...
well... isn't his interpretation on the cantos
of the sibyl of Catalonia a real thrill...
has my tears...
once more! music that makes you feel:
you escape the sensible drudgery of
objectivity and thinking!
to the rawness: the pulp of the heart!
it is nearing a year since someone dear
to me passed away...
today was the first time i managed to thirst
for tears...
prior to? i smashed my head against
the radiator and replied to the inquiry party:
well... this puddle of blood?
it seemed easier to bleed than to cry...
then again... i don't think i was crying
from grief...
death being so: consistent... let alone a constant...
i cry at beauty... authentic beauty chokes me...

music that makes you write something
in Danish!
i don't speak Danish... i suppose all of this
is in the confines of English grammar:

jeg græd: hvordan kan du ikke?
sådan skønhed er altid så en ydmygende sorg...

music that makes you want to drink!
makes you want to drink well into the night!

medieval music... music that's everything
that Bach strived to invent:
music written by complicated deaf & blind men...
music that's like... eating a steak tartar...
or a Turkish lavash...
who would have thought that rosemary
works so well with beef...
or that Turks appreciate the onion so much...
all it takes for the "salad": garnish of the lavash...
it tenderising the onion by squeezing
it to get the juices flowing...
some lemon juice... some salt...
some sugar... pepper... oil...
parsley... sumac... but i also add some
gochugaru...

       beef and rosemary?
i want to be drunk with my lack of ambition...

- with no immediate: yet not lacking in
immediacy: concern...
i do not venture to give collapse to the modern
man's debacle...
as a revisionist... not a reformist...
two labels i like to contest...
it begins... and ends with a critique of music...

the urban sphere is lost...
to the African rhythms and the Asiatic grooves...
hollow out the horns!
i pass these landscapes like i might pass
a tomorrow...
it doesn't change: i am expected to find
the congregation of the whole world
on these shores...
such a crushing defeat of the senses...

i ought to take that prospect of
£50 for a massage from an Asian woman
than... cough up...
£120 for the same hour of *******
and... "proper" eye contact while engaged
with her... genitals to genitals...

i can't bemoan a land that isn't my own...
i can't bemoan a land that isn't my own...
as much as i have acquired
the tongue: i feel a desire to find a home
elsewhere... it wouldn't be the tongue of
my birth... forget Russian...
i tease the German root...
somewhere... else... among the Danes...
but i know the answer already:
i'd sleep best among the Franks...

ha! to speak Russian implies to first write
the ****** version of Greek...
Cyrillic looks just... blatantly awkward...
it seems to be having "problems" with
the lowercase representation
of the uppercase letters...
Cyrillic looks like... ahem: cheap-Greek...
makeshift-Greek...

i.e. you think some people are... sparring
with you: engaging you with...
nukes & submarines & ****...
you aim at the soul...
their language... &... pay them a compliment...
or two... because Cyrillic looks...
by comparison to Greek...

a bit like watching a sacrificial...
Germanic type... mythological blonde...
being sacrificed on an altar of a *******...
take it to: retro... *******: gloryhole...
last time i checked: i did not wish to fulfil
all that's offered to me, by my sexuality...
last time i checked... my mind informed me
something on the lines of:
let's conjure up a... hammer!
& a nail!

            is gelato "somehow" superior to...
ice-cream?
sure as ****... stir-fried: it's easier
to make... l'inglese... beating egg yolks
for a freezing of custard...
but... gelato you make and eat immediately...
ice-cream is perfect for storage...

- i know i will drink this bourbon tonight
and regret two things...
tomorrow's hangover and tonight's:
not have visited a brothel...
warming up to a woman like
a Spartan 300...
all i have is... Gregorian chants
in my ears... i guess... that's enough...
& a squinting of the eyes...
like: i'm supposed to see any better
what is already lost to this
old soul...

- but a language i can, try... & defend...
but do i really want to?
so much & yet so little...
i'm living among these people while wanting
to speak the language of people
not willing to invite themselves to these
shores...

jeg elske: som langt som jeg afsky: mig selv...
all those crippling components
that are supposed to make the: fullest:
of man... myself: my?! my?! perhaps... with-self
ought to be the better pardoning...
but i dare not even have that?

no-i says... can't keep this outdated marriage
of language in place...
conflated the ego: conscripted the self:
to no one's ease!

such people as they are: come-and-go...
           such little ought... befalls them...
no crippling nothing-vacuum
of presence: "thinking"...
        nuance! forever with the *******
nuances! it's not enough that
the dead are dead... have died:
it's not not enough the living are still...
worst than somehow sleeping
through their hour of waking...
when someone might ask them to
snooze... a little... a lot: i ask!

don't implore me to write:
it ought to be a slaughterhouse sort of a...
an... assortment...
it ought to be made... clinially:
critical... precise"
don't ask me to write these words!
i want to have a wife...
a child... children!
stay up till midnight
to make ice-cream for them... for breakfast...

al dette tid!
    but no one to spend it with!
if regrets were all i wrote:
hvis beklager
                     var al jeg skrev...

in mein: tilting Ing-Leash...
so many... so many people here!
i want to escape to my roots!
to my rot!
      i want to feel hot: when i feel:
subsequently cold!

the cats are... happy... i must tend to them:
proper... i eat... 200grams of beef
from time to time...
they eat... the eat amount:
if they eat the said amount...
don't blame me... if they don't eat it
and i throw the meat away...

i write in English... everyone else seems
to write, speak... this... pulverised... this...
horrid, tongue...

der taler det?! alle sammen?!
      all men: thus... summoned...
upon an... implosion! i don't want to know!

i gathered... i gathered...
i... drink like a sailor...
i sing like a nun!  noted... noted...
it's all down in my usual flurry of escapades
that need... noting:
i drink like a sailor... i sing like a nun!

i wish i was sober when i wrote: everything
it is... that i wrote...
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
darwinistic pumpernickles:
that...
a tiger / lion / a boa...
serpent... can be both...
admired... and celebrated with
a narrative of glorification...
but that... trans-species...
praying on the weak...
the pedohpile...
is somehow not...
made accustomed to
the same laboured:
cause of celebration:
that most pedophiles find ***
with adult females intimidating...
predators...
the celebrated sioux felines...
but not: the ****** "precursors"...
who is willing to ****...
a prone b.d.s.m. funny "granny"...
this is how one leaves
one confined to a zimmerframe:
one might ask...
it's hardly nonsensical:
first come first served:
the "debate" concerning:
the folding of a pancake and how:
a.b.c.:
lingua l'inglese...
    blah blah project Milan...
a trojan... a horse reciting Lombardy..
death by blonde by dye
and it's bleach fake and it's somehow:
borrowed Libyan:
which is no new grit / glitter of roma primo...
same old bogus ambitions...
makes up for all that's new yorker:
feelz.

— The End —