ah, enslave without compassion
bound ancestors you must impale
go seek and show no mercy
let those who escape carry the tale

all the sufferers bearing witness
to their ministers spilling their blood
staggered screeches from bleak recesses
regicide plotters bend to the dust

with unmitigated conquest and *******
trample them under your tyranny

slimy enshrinement brings into question
what's divinely lamented for
scatter populations with ruthlessness
let them choose sycophancy or sword

reappoint difficult commanders
for instigation unbroken awaits
kept in frenzy, they whisper confusion
never quite sure of their fate

with unmitigated conquest and *******
trample them under your tyranny

let the cowardly unlock the gates for you
to heroically claim what's inside
crowds you abhor kneeling in wonder
all the world is your ****** bride

punctuate the roads with tollgates
***** monuments to broadcast your name
all your banquet's guests are your enemies
entertain them with one another's shame

with unmitigated conquest and *******
trample them under your tyranny

with unmitigated conquest and *******
trample them under your tyranny
under your tyranny

well... feminism has had its three waves
of revisionism -

    and there i'm sitting on
the windowsill,
   smoking out of my window -

watching the moon sloth the sky like
an demonic snail -

in the misty haze of a large patch
of cumulonimbus -
    right up there at around 50,000 feet...

thinking to myself?
   why are there two orbs of varying
light concentration
penetrating the sky
   and embedding the moon
in an eerie aura?

never mind -
   i still don't know what the chemical
formula for timber is,
or what sort of material is on
the moon that allows it to reflect
light from the other side
of the Greenwich Mean Time...

last time i heard: can a rock surface
reflect light?

          well then... ah... never mind...

but feminism has had its three waves
of instigation and two subsequent
waves of revisionism -

so it made me think:
   why not a second wave of fascism?
a revisionist wave...
    well... as far as i am concerned
the Italians were much paler -
   in their intentions than the Germans...

fascism 2.0 -
and the sort of fascism that would allow
me to be men...
    drunks, foul mouthed, you name it...
athletic, not-giving-a-**** losers of
sorts, among the glam of whatever else
it is that a man is...

working on the idea,
i had to think of a list -

   hmm...

          who then?
ah!

      Stanley Kowalski
   (from a streetcar named desire)...
John Wayne
  (notably from true grit)
    Charlton Heston
(from the planet of the apes)
   Tony Curtis...
              Hemingway,
Bukowski,
               Ezra Pound...
     Clark Gable
    Gregory Peck
                   the list is seemingly
endless -
   at least in the portrayal of
said characters...
ah... ****!
   Kevin Spacey as
Lester Burnham to boot!
            ah... double ****:
Denzel Washington as
Troy Maxson...
    because apparently "being"
a "poet" is little more than
the lesser stature
of a garbage man...
             unless of course:
you fiddle into a cosmopolitan
fixture.

    oh... and certainly an appreciation
for a traditional Turkish barber
shop...

something very much akin / borrowed
from America circa 1950s...
   and an unabashed sensibility
concerning good tailoring -
   but then also the prophetic
vagabond look from time to time...

just a vague idea -
    but something along these lines -
but then again, what a silly idea -
what is racial purity in
21st century England?
   some sort of vague notion
       of an even vaguer dream?

but i guess the notion of
individualistic purity:
   the purity of the individual is related
more to: who can and who won't
be swayed by alien opinions -
2nd or 3rd party -

        which includes this opinion...

i'd subscribe to put the idea on
the following zenith:

              grammatical cleanliness -
linguistic order -
            a literary tact -
   something along these lines -

after all: the 20th century is not the end
of a theory -
given 20th century communism this,
while 21st century socialism that...
ideas prevail...
   evolve - or devolve - regress
or make alternative progress -

               also given:
    there already is a fascist movement
elsewhere, other than in England -
where: it would be completely
impractical -
                  
                       prime tenet would also
be, what it already shows:
   non-expansionism of a culture
or a people -
                           more akin to
American isolationism under
                                                  F.D.R.:
i­ have a strange sentiment
for that president.

Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain *******
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?

Oo, have I got a song for you. While you whittle away time learning to play instruments I've run the gun and figured how to inject my spirit in it. Has it been for you as easy to forget as it has been for me to leave the love where it belongs and move on with healthy hope, pelvis at the rope, grinding life into a pulp with each push and pull. The cold in memory for you serves as my instigation to remember you for warmth.

Life is just kitchen like it was before
Conversation runneth over,
Our glasses overfull with celebration
Why don't you come to my door?

The Story** begins with silence and black out, a void. Not darkness. Nor anything that attempts to define nothingness, because it’s nothing. The blackness or void is only a metaphor representing nothing. Within this point, so close to simultaneous you’d think they were one in the same, a light emerges, emanating divine, pure energy and love.  Its intelligence and complexity expands and fills what was once nothing with beauty and truth. At this moment, all is whole, fast as thought, strong beyond comprehension, gentle as a whisper and furious beyond all flame. The wild spirit of happiness is real and alive! The void was never the enemy, only a point in which to be born. Duality can only exist if unification finds an enemy within itself. The enemy is reflected by the segregation and space created between divine and mortal. This space is developed by Ego.

   This entity “Ego” is the essence of self resistance, absorption, chaos, consciousness…hate. The inner antagonist rises and begins to cut and eliminate the threads attached to creation and spirit. A mirror that envelopes and contains the living spirit.  An orb caging vulnerable souls spread throughout the expansion of life and suffocating energetic flow.  The universe and it’s creatures that lost connection being virtually incapable of seeing one another ever again while the enemy exists.

   The instigation is tolerated by those who always continue the journey. The emasculation of Ego, commences as the divine resonates it’s vibration as a weapon like a solar flare, piercing the Ego. Then the inner spirit begins to open up and claw its way out. The Spirit sees that vanity is leading the despair of self pity into the heart as it remains a vessel dwelling in a false world channeling a false force. This awareness makes The Spirit lifts up, against and out of a matrix constructed within the crystal ball cage that refracts the true sun’s rays. Together, The Spirit and The Divine begin to crush Ego. Ego begins to flatten, compress and then combust. Through the flames the chord of love between The Divine and The Spirit bursts like a shooting star towards the kinship’s re-established nexus. The collision creates what was pure and full in circulation again and the expansion becomes an infinite motion harmonizing with the void in an adventure that goes on forever. When Ego tries to slither back in after a nearly insurmountable time of hiding between the gaps that contains new life, it is given no room by anything in thought, theory, in any form of existence.

Mindlessly minding my day
Finding comfort with a glass of Bailey’s
I think her name was Hayley, goodness
Long and beautiful hair, very difficult not to stare
Had me thinking of sinful things while I’m munching on chicken wings

Her smile was illuminating, her style rejuvenating
Gave my friends that extra reason to stick around for a while
We were planning a collision course, gaining an endorsement
Eye contact initiated, very little forcing, and well

I come closer to her, our eyes were meeting
Dropping some bad jokes, thinking "what a terrible greeting'"
But she giggled, liked the attempt; that caught me off guard
Grabbing my arm, took me away and felt a sense of satisfaction

The two of us secluded and I felt the attraction
Her body was a temple you couldn’t help but admire
She had a silky dark skintight dress causing a fire
Walking on those black leather boots - a dame I desired
                                                         ­     
Running from harder times, escaping to the abyss
She told me it’s hard to find an honest man who assists
Hoping that things would change and searching for honest assistance
I promise her a better future with a man who listens

With a feeling of inspiration, end up leaving the club
Rewarded for my instigation, Hayley's squeezing a hug
Within minutes we make our way across the popular pubs
Reaching my place also with haste, kicked off the shoes on the rug

Speak the language of the mental, hunger reaches my head
Stroking her hair, gasping for air while laying on my bed
Her body screamed for attention; did I forget to mention
My ability to keep her guessing made her want to kiss me
And wish to mission it to Hawaii? God I loved her body.

Exhausted, our love-making was tremendously physical
Suddenly, one-night stand broken, damage is critical
Liquor leaks on the mental window, pleasure is minimal

The next morning rises, we're falling apart
Hayley regrets while getting dressed, not knowing where to start
She's thanking me and quite thankfully wants to see me again
But under different circumstances, so I fall where I stand

It ain’t a story for the faint of heart but mine was fainting
Broken heart, I wrote the part hoping that she was waiting patiently
But she came and went, the world is evil again
Just like a *** left in the cold, unbearable to withstand

Think I'm grateful? Meaningless love, eerily painful.
Victim of the curse: caring too much.
Victim of the curse: sharing too much.

They are the ones
That rule the world for fun
They disseminate the guns
And tell us to run
So we flee
From their disease
That will not cease

Power is control that money buys
Burying us in gold and petty lies
They tell us the well has run dry
While we watch them fly

Fences of barbed wire
For us to admire
Inferno funeral pyres
Burn our desires

When they rattle
We're the cattle
That goes to battle

They talk to us with false information
And real bullets
They say it is our fault for instigation
The trigger they pull it
When their saccharine voice
Offers a laughable choice
Forsake love and compassion
To adopt their fashion
Of society crashing
They used to use lashings
Now they use time
Punishing those who aren't complicit in their crimes
They put us in prison
If we don't agree with their decisions
Decimating Bedouin life
So they can profit from strife

People ask who "they" are
The easiest answer is not me
And the problems aren't too far
For anybody to see
That there is a "they"
Not intent on doomsday
But numb to the death of strangers
Which puts us all in danger
I could point to examples like Lockheed Martin and Shell
As two companies that put us in hell
Or a country like North Korea
That has violent ideas
Or a man like Donald Trump
Who is a parasitic lump

They convince us they don't exist
So we don't resist
While they insist
We enlist
In their army
Of harming
Starring
Them
We hem
And haw
While they write laws
That point out our flaws
That are minimal compared to theirs
Yet they are the fortunate heirs
Who decide the code of conduct
Which is whatever sells their product
From plastic to bombs
Killing dolphins and moms
They feel they can't be wrong
When might
Is right
The meek take flight
But there is poison in the air
And they don't even care
They **** the Earth
And ****** its inhabitants
What are we worth
When it's to the rich we gravitate?

There is an apostle
Who's turned into a fossil
That is converted into fuel
So they can keep their pull
And use us as tools
To unearth jewels
And hoard them
Because we can't afford them
We surrender our resources to a select few
To do what they choose
Until we all lose
And can't see the light of day
Who else to blame but "they"?

1.
i may call it a leaflet
i may call it a handbill

but don’t you notice
a large number of gossips
is natant in the air

do you admit that the fuming heart
that’s  glorifying the plate
should be made a must-read
for any seed-bed

the sun tells that to keep-fit
the health of the clouds
the instigation of the perfumed-soap
is required

with that pituitary
some neighing of horses
that is fastened tightly with cork

now see
if you can offer pregnancy
even to the barbie doll

by the by
it should be informed here
if the question of roaming in the woods
is raised

the highly-educated bathroom
feels very helpless

and taking repeated somersaults
in the sunshine
in the rains

the folding umbrella
also have got very much out-of-temper

Relationships are not easy-peasy,,
Some take work, some, self-sacrifice.

Some must overcome defects congenital,
Obstacles so great that the Roman Gods
Are asked to intervene,
Send down those hotties, the fiery Furies,
who punished crimes at the instigation
of the soon to be frozen victims

So to the chase,
let's cut,
My woman's has true blood,
H2O
In solid state.

Her body is icy, permanent frosty,
And requires regular de-icing
Before Take Off.
This condition being true of her
Every part except, her prima facie.

Even the bed complains,
Whining creeks and groans,
Sometimes it even screams,
When she get in sans pajamas.

I,
A bastion of extra human warmth,
As my poems bear witness,
Normal temp is 102,
I am the joy of her life,
For love, I make the
Ultimate sacrifice.

Her feet, medieval torture instruments,
Her bare hands, have
Killed lesser men and folkloric-ly,
Reputedly, she has flash froze and keeps
Some vampires in the basement fridge,
Suitable for reheating in the microwave.

You may think this charming,
This poem, an amuse-bouche,
But it ain't funny when I go to the
Emergency room for first degree burns.

Remember when Ralph's friend
Got his tongue stuck to the metal pole,
In "A Christmas Story"?
That was me, that was her!

But our together,
Approaching near five years,
Is a Survivor.
Two hurricanes, ******* named
Irene and Sandy,
A divorce from a mean spirited wbitch
That took so long
The Matrimonial Lawyers ***-ociation
Had my portrait painted over their fireplace.

Even the icicles otherwise know correctly as
Her Extremities,
Have not come between us

When my lips kiss her neck,
Surgically remove heart with poetic scalpels,
Hold it, fluttering and with both hands, warm.

Her eyes close, and neuronic messages
Commence firing, telegraphed, messengered,
To the far corners of every Purim Persian province,
Let the wicked witch melting begin,
Commence the holiday of
Her Festivities.

If you think any man,
Could perform said feat of endurance,
You better checkout again the name of the
Man who authored this story,
For his name, with special powers, endowed.

Cruel Instigation
of my heart
gave me less
than what i took

our eyes match
to light a spark
burning walls
in vein

my atriums Pound
the rushing sound
fills my sense
as i dash
through
cold
dark
hallways

alone,
but for
the Thought of You
i would fly

Tell me your misery, please tell me your sorrow.
So today can find solace in tomorrow.

Speak of your sins, please let them soar.
Birds spread their wings, when the conditions are poor.

Gargle rinse and repeat
Kick it on the concrete
or
Shackle both its feet

Im a fan of fanning fires a flame.

You made a visit
For a tidbit
That couldn't be called a date
And your portion was low rate
Like the unkempt hair above your lip
What the **** was that ****?
Inside is your invasive tongue's home
This is my mouth get your own
They're all connected to your stupid brain
That doesn't entertain
All this to say it didn't go well
And I'm searching for a way to tell

I'm so desperate for love
It seems absurd that I'm rejecting anyone
But that's the odd situation I find myself in
While searching for light and yours is dim
I have to deal with the frustrations
Of both of our expectations
And regret my instigation
While experiencing deflation
From a needless iteration

I say there's no spark
You call me a shark
You call me a farce
You keep calling of course
Calling from your high horse
I call the police to enforce
A restraining order
By explaining sort of
Our brief exhausted history
How you weren't a fit for me
They heard my story
Then gave you glory
For being rejected
You're viewed sympathetic
While I'm stuck in jail
For my ******* fail

I said I'd give it a shot
You thought I was caught
This is why I had fought
The ideas you brought
For a love you sought
I hope a lesson was taught
But I suspect that it's not
You just hate me instead
You didn't hate me in bed
But now that it's done
And we've had our fun
You resent me for not being your possession
I tried to let you know that wasn't my intention
So now I resent you for not learning your lesson

We go our separate ways
Both living in a hectic craze
I begin to naively call my loneliness freedom
After I convince myself that I don't need them
So to avoid a future locking latch
I start to say no strings attached

I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.

Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.

Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.

Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.

Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.

Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.

Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.

I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.

Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.

I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.

it is circulated deep into the soil
that you’ve wore the dress of paraffin

in the multidimensional wind of the winter
the cash-memo of the recently purchased
gold-bangles
would reside for some time more

then all the pregnant women
would assemble in the river-ghat
to meditate on the paddy-blossoms

all diamonds and clubs
would overcome their insomnia

through this arrangements
the crushing-news of fostering
flows

this dilution is well-known

the river-ripple of the air
after reading the sun
would keep some extension of dahlia
on its palms

in an unwritten evening
the demi-god-birth of the fire-flies
would break

their easy dead bodies
by the instigation of the surges
would  ring … and ring… and ring
and spread cheerfulness


the elderly rain-tree comes to spray anti-biotic
on the spoilt top-branch of the young lad
covered with citronella

Why in the world would you show him something so horrific,
I can hear the voices in his head say, "This is terrific."
They're spinning and stirring like they always do,
and now they get to focus on something brand new.

That is my brother, and he cannot handle
things of that sort, a film or a scandal.
Get out of your seat, and leave the room,
take him with you, or the voices will consume.

Are you out of your mind, haven't you learned
that the voices in his head weren't planted, they were earned.
From one trauma to the next, it filled in his chest
but he's finally on meds, he's doing his best.

Broken not spoken. Injured not healing for what have we done? This garden of ours where we wind away the hours amongst the roses has all but gone - for the world is broken, damaged and beyond repair as we all sit in our lair, of consumerism and capital divide.

Why can we not live as one? Instead we resort to bombs, collateral damage without any thought, for this war is never won. Oh COVID what have you done? You came along at the worse time a clear year for many without fear - now that has all but gone, the instigation of fear you bought with you that runs deep. Creating dividends that divide and not untie.

For the world is broken. Damaged and makes no sense. Did we ever learn to heal or does the war that has been raging still go on?

Now what have we done? Damaged you beyond belief and yet as we go one, no turning back to previous life. Instead earth you are punishing us. For damaging you throughout humankinds existent. But don't worry,

we created a broken world.

I need an inspiration
An instigation
A criminal conversation
The whole of a part
Not just a fragment, but an abstract art
Confuse.
Amuse.
Misuse.
You hold the world in your hands
A line, a word, a syllable, they wish and you command.
Abuse.
******.
Enthuse.
You say jump and they’ll fly
Anyone can do it, (shhh) you just need enough courage to try.

-Taylor

being insulted by someone
of a trans-
                     status quo
classification
                         will never be enough
to mind, had i the pairing
to a higher tier of socialite endeavour -
to be debased with a fragrance of
a misuse of language
on a level of comprehension will
always place me steadied with placards
of 'hello, my name is Samauel'
well hello Samuel..
boiled herrings pan-fried readied for
a star wars sequel akin to rocky 7,
boxing-catchup K.O. no.31 -
an here the champ gives way to a chimpanzees'
worth of gurgled laughter -
readied speed at a Bronson's uppercut -
and we're too the readied ones
annex to the molars that might be considered
the chewing apparatus should
we not have juiced with bites as if a load's
worth of hammering was taken place:
chewing as if hammering, imagine
the cranium gush extract - it would be
like porridge if reverse due to diarrhoea!
flaky ****-bits and anaconda's suntan to measure up to;
well, there was the leather chair to mind
in terms of approving leisure activity as coercing
a carefree fortitude of futuristic investment -
mind you the loss of the Celtic vocabulary,
I.R.A. and the instigation of Anglo-Saxon
vocabulary to suppress the populace
of renegade Catholics or the twin Belfast known
as Glasgow - indeed Edinburgh remained
as much conservative as St. Andrew's would allow,
an extension of England, even with parliament
it was a Basildon of northern Essex...
scots among the multitude of accents usurped from
pole-dancing with kilts! Tartan su doku!

yea... i made a slight... . . punctuation error... like **** will i correct it... i was asking a question, that wasn't exactly a question... ooh... salt & vinegar chips... even with this added ***... yummy yummy, yummy...

.i ask a question, i don't ask a question, i ask a question... but don't use a question mark, which implies a subterfuge of rhetoric underlay, which subsequently implies: dialectics are in play; i expand punctuation marks where intended, to add to the emphasis... i turn horror... into a... romance... i give the shadow the strings, and leave the body... courtesan... but all the more... curious in fathoming automation; lucky that we've met! incy-wincy-spider... the 1960s... such curious years to us... Millennial folk... well yeah... thanks for... ******* up the internet! you're right up there with the pedophiles on my ****-list! bravo! bravo! right up there with the pedophiles.... what?! you think i'm going to shove my head into the entertainment of hitting the mall arcades?! L.... oh wait... i thought you knew what that stood for.... do i ******* look like a Loser... oh wait... right... you're going to rob me of a roof over my head... if you get to the age of a care home? find... luck... but you won't... all the luck i might wish you... find... luck.

the laughter...
dies with the clown.

p.s.
i guess misspelled
the word...
soft;

the existence of
shadows begs,
as man of god,
the existence of
mirrors;
my own,
the turbulent lakes,
and seas, and lakes
incubated...

marks my words...
into such depths....
aa heart might seek resolve...
but in such depths...
whatever heart is to be spoken of...
will not fulfill the shape...
or the original
grievance....

woman! what is there to forgive
is what i cannot forget?!
what is there to forgive?! what?!
what is there forgive?!
unless...
   you are endowed with
succumbing me to a lobotomy...
then...you want me to forgive...
i'll forgive...
but help me to forget...
by staging an instigation of
Alzheimer... perform a lobotomy...
then i'll forget...
by then... i'll not be able to either remember,
think, imagine, or remotely contemplate
the concept of memory...
nostalgia in tow.

there's no bitterness behind this...
just aa prehistoric rage...
a dumb gnashing of teeth...
      
           it will not rest,
and... hopelessly...
i don't want it to rest...
i'd die: uninhibited, restless....
   not this life, and the deaf assured...
overcome my leisure,
overcome my pain,
  overcome all life, and death,
but only overcome...
when this narrative dies...
yet another is born;
then... only then...
        will my justice in worship tame...
the self-proclaimed judge...
this generation or another...
i will, claim my voice...
        
why?!
         my contemporaries?!
i have contemporaries?! really?!
i thought i was the idiot among geniuses!
i was wrong?
  we were all idiots among idiots?
****...

            why did i even bother
to talk, when i could have bothered
to make emphasis of thought.

how rho uncouples -** and attaches itself to the remnants of alpha, given the suffix -lpha is done away with it, to create: ρα (fragrance of the woo ha ha lingering in the air) - ρα- ρα- ρασπυτιν! lover of the russian king... imagine rasputin in the hands of placebo - counter the original ghost story of: daddy cool... imagine! it's all Disney!

some say i reminded people of the φ:
                      some compare φ to outer beauty,
φ being the golden ratio: all bets are off:
whenever there is beauty, there's a number;
                           Proclus.
2,500 years ago: it's not that Greek civilisation
declined, it's only that so many bright skylarks
came in at one: akin to the Renaissance -
there was no decline, there was just a massive
******* of talent, it seems that Zeus
did the ******* with a swan and and an eagle,
and... bob's your uncle...
           there was decline, but there was no decline
because there was the sudden onslaught of instigation -
a decline would mean: first came Copernicus,
then Galileo, then Newton, then Einstein,
                        steadying revision
centuries apart... comparative association?
a gold rush... looking for nuggets and maulers
of rough cold - it was a collective light-bulb
moment... akin to the cold theory of
Jungian psychology that's the collective unconscious...
although the collective light-bulb moment
is particular in terms of history, in terms of
science, as is the Italian renaissance concerning art -
Martin Luther is the Socrates as the end of debauchery...
debauchery in a good sense: let the geniuses
seize, and the common man absorb their findings:
whether right, or wrong - we need common
threads of their offshoots, rebellious,
we need a common denominator.
back to φ (external beauty, and plastic surgery,
the perfect symmetry of the face,
from Phidias: the sculptor and mathematician -
can anyone tell me why *David's head is
over-sized? well, no φ went into that piece...
head's bigger than a watermelon,
body is proportioned well according to
limb-for-limb, but the head is a
balloon, why is it a classic? oi! send Isis
in to smash that **** to pieces!) -
so φ is all about external beauty,
we all know ψ (psi) stands for internal beauty,
psychological dynamics -
                                           plastic surgery,
in fractions: 1/2 (half), 1/3 (third), 1/4 (quarter),
                           1/5 (fifth) -
       apologies to Proclus: wherever there's a linguistic
symbol that symbolises both encoding of sound
   and a mathematical transition: there's double the beauty:
         1/φ,     2/φ,            3/φ              4/φ            -
       how when was the golden ratio made into a suiting
  equilibrium?
                          one leg shorter than the other?
   some say a lazy eye is as if an monocle -
            for all the constants it's the fractions that
  are decisive - the width of nose and the extent of
it's length is based on a 1:1 ratio
              ah crap! now i know my confusion!
   i was thinking of a silver fraction!
    never mind -
                               think gambling: 7 to 1...
          7/1                 maybe that's why i forgot ratio
    uses  colon, or, comparative emphasis -
                     the width of the mouth has no length,
               it's simply 1, or none -
                                      but from the edge of the face
to the first eye is measured as 1:φ
               i.e.                      eye                  eye
         [                               (    )                  (    )                            ]
     ­     <                1               >
          <                         φ                        >            
                                                                ­                             edge of face
top countries for face and head cosmetics:
   brazil: 10.8%         of global Σ, 430,375 procedures,     1st place,
   america: 10.4%      "      "       ", 413,140           "         ,     2nd   "    ,
   south korea: 7.8% "      "       ", 311,571           "         ,     3rd    "    ;
still, i'm more interested in how,
   you take rho and alpha and craft out Ra -
                     ρ               α                            Ρα -
    and where does -**               and -lpha go to?
                no wonder the Russians are the scientists
kindred heart of greece, and the inheritors of Latin
sing so much, fame themselves on music -
that's about right: the Slavs think well enough,
                    but, **** me... they can't sing for ****!
   jeeze! Disco Polo? that's one experience you
have to go through to understand -
                  what with Mendelyev
щ - e.g. szczypce (pliers) - shch - YZWZ - alter. -
             i.e. щypce -
            ш - e.g. szaszłyk (skewer) - шaшłyk
me? i'm standing at the time when god said:
oh, that ****** tower of Dubai? looks like we need
to spot the architect watching minding the glue...
э - well, that's currently know as the euro (currency) -
     so why ч (che / cha v. cze / cza)
   allowances, could be in addition also chu and cho and χ
           but... then it comes to
   ю (yu)              we have no yo, yi, ye, but instead
                       я (ya). peacock? me?
    just bemußed - and they're talking about an
identity crisis, never felt one, up to 2004,
when the floodgates opened and i wasn't the only
Pole in school - i hid all this time in English society,
and i was kinda accepted as a freak accident,
but then... after 2004... nothing special -
so like i once said: a psychological mongrel:
   yes, in English ß is: s-z-interchange -
sometimes smoothed, sometimes sharpened.

Once upon my midnight's madness
Flashed the fires that proved so tragic
There in silence a spark ensued
Started small but it endured

And all of Hell came alive
Burning flesh and skin and hide
Leaving nothing for imagination
Ash and soot for instigation

And in it's greed it swallows all
The high and mighty , the lowest call
Nor even children would be spared
Their awful screams it does not care

And those trapped on upper floors
Jumped the windows by the scores
Onlookers screamed at the scene
As mothers with children came to end

Not till satisfied , it's maw
Did the flames fade and flaw
Allowing firemen to quench it's thirst
It's all over but still there's the worst

Such shock has stunned us all
Why did so many have to fall

Ardently you sought me, your perfect partner
in the planned, ****** crime extraordinaire,
all I needed to say,was "yes I am game"
Nothing more than our bodies commanded,
yet, I did that because it is you, who'd be in
the other side of the bed, that pleases me a lot.

You were an unknown and rare perfume
that I long sought, but failed to lay my hands on,
every amorous eye, falling on you,would attempt
fornication,vicarious, but all were in vein, of course
then, your eyes fell on mine, though you'd have loved
it to happen the other way round for more perfection.

Both of us are, those ones who walk that extra mile
in any kind of ****** adventure, without inhibition
if the idea originally occurred without instigation.
for us "Kamasutra"in it's real potential,is yet to be invented.
You always had thought that you were the game changer,
but now realize, things aren't  the way you expected!

How could you imagine, I still am uninitiated
in this genre,passion play we put our body and mind
a flaw you should have avoided, in  the  first place.
Now,make up for the lost time.Do the thing in earnest,
why don't you ascertain the facts before begining?
One presumes that things  move the way one plans
with out considering the significant other playing!
playground of cupid remains a field of pleasant surprises.

What makes a Man?

Does he share his dignity with the world?

Let it be known,
that wisdom is to be shown,
when a hero stands on his own,
he fights no battles he fights the wars,
from the desert wasteland to the water that pours,
he shows no hesitation,
but yet there is an instigation.

His eyes fill themselves with fury,
waiting to be ignited,
with red shades to blue,
he has nothing to say but vengeance,
welcome to his mind and it's present,
he has a soul like the waxed crescent,
he fills the void with turbulence,
but ensures his mind like the reinsurance.


He has no weakness, maybe just his bleakness,
his thought hollow, his words too few,
there can't be nothing he can't go through.

He's the star of the Nebula.

A city forged from tears, a skyline weeps and cries
Buildings lost forever gone, too many sad goodbyes
There is no sense of justice, when your government just lies
The destruction of the Towers, in a war that never dies

What really is the reason, why were our lives destroyed
Why were people murdered, were the terrorists employed
Did planes strike the Two Towers, or were bombs deployed
Once where beauty stood proud, is a skyline now annoyed

We'll never forget the tyranny, our heart's are now embossed
America betrayed on 9/11, that day came at a cost
Official reports and governments, were the true facts over glossed
My thoughts are forever wandering, to the skyline that is lost

Is there any justice, for the death of our great nation
There shouldn't be the cover ups, or a war of instigation
How can we trust in god, when there's so much hesitation
Who is left accountable, for the destruction of creation

New York's missing beauty, in the city that never sleeps
The World Trade Centre tragedy, there's no safe place or keeps
Why do we live in a world, where the governments are cheats
Things will never be the same, as the New York skyline weeps

12/6/2015
"Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence."
TS eliot, the wasteland

I am amberbeetle,
  stoked fire,
medicated ditz

I ramble through the wasteland,
hook foot and slackjaw
and go south in the winter.

you gave me asters a year ago
now they call me aster girl
memory almost always mixed with

desire,
and I
should've been

a pair of ragged claws
but that's a different poem.
We talked for an hour

maybe more
in the summer,
and he said

hold tight,
and I was was frightened,
and down we went.

Swiss instigation,
broken video tapes and
grimacing at sweaty sunsets

sunrises, and
there was no Japanese maple
no silver leaf,

no silver lining,
I read much of the night.
roots that clutch me in

metropolitan
rubble,
and these days

the broken deadtree gives
no shelter, no consummation
no conjugal embrace,

I don't find,
nor am I
the hanged man

"And I'd do it any other way
but when the hell am I gonna get a gun?
and you can't OD on clonepazam

without it being ugly of course."
Dorothy Parker–
I planted a corpse in my yard

Who am I kidding,
we did,
me with some assistance

It was carrion
found in the corridor
did it sprout?

it did,
but not in the way I hoped-
no carrot flowers or crabapple

in fact it was held up
by fruit vines
that illuminated it for all to see

including me.
In the sad sad light a
carved seraphim

melted into the laqueria
my nerves, they're bad tonight
and every night

stay with me
Speak with me
breed

in the rats alley
and lose your bones

My love I do understand that love always burns
Beauty becomes universal when it really discerns
Love and beauty alternate with excellent patterns
To capture butterfly of beauty my heart just yearns

How can we be on equal terms my love in real life
On instigation of rivals don't cut me with sharp knife
In your company I can go through all odds and strife
Make me your husband and be just my sweetest wife

I am yours and you are mine this is good and just fine
Do not waste blooming youth in spring just be mine
With one kiss my love I think I have had bottle of wine
Conquer me with glowing beams make me to shine

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

The ordinates concealed in your infinitesimal rationale
Insufficiencies portraying vestibules in your feverish attires
Every new soul you see makes you feel homeless
Dizzying altitudes you feel inside the depth of cavities
Indifference on pain and sufferings you crave for
And,
Hell; you feel inside grandeurs of perspectives
Hate; for the dearth of adulation on you
Liken Gaia could have never taught you of your frailty
Postulation of Karma and de-carnation of meanings made you converted
You were on the path of revolt
Against, say, cosmos!

Every symbolic gestures remind me of your meddlings
Penultimate; utter grievance of never ending poignancy
The night sky could have never baffled about your existence
Palpitation could have never made you shiver
But you have cried,
Of your loneliness!

Say,
A tiny fraction of clairvoyance I gave
Pulled you down into the puddle of wanderings
Instigation of a melody; created the symphony
A mere touch; drenched you into the silken lake
I spoke for your heart and you praised
Then, I gave you love but I got caged

How could I have done whatever you wished?

Since nobody knows,
The culminating dichotomy of your pantheistic ideas,
And of a maggot growing inside you
Breathless desires governing your feet,
And the time falsifying your plutonic ancestry
Mosaic glittering over your virtuous self,
And the tapestry of vanity covering your abysses
Depleting number of Hordes and Tartars fighting for your existence,
And devalued meaning of your modern-self

All those songs that never could soothe you
Teeny panting of your blasphemous heart
Multitude of distances you travelled
Series of condemnation bouncing between you and me
Your fleeting poverty
Your affections on materials
Like you die the death of pertinence
Love shall never please you

Nonchalant, over the,
Embargo you created on the faith
And the game you created on the bliss
But you shall never win
Since, you are a mere human soul
Bless you!!

Temptation should be called agony
It’s blade never dulls
It is sharpened with each cut

The searing pain
Working through your mind
Each time the knife strikes

Manipulating whispers with its whip
Lashing until gashes form
Then salted with stinging guilt

This prolific playwright
And its vainglory stories
Demands a stellar performance

It plays with your desires when resistance attacks
It side blinds you with instigation
From past hurts that were never healed

It beats you down
To where you don’t know yourself
And your weaknesses are exposed

I cannot fathom what Jesus felt
While in agony in the garden
As temptation played its game

The weight on His shoulders
Heavier than any of us could ever carry
Brought Him down to His knees

But He beat this disease
He showed us it was possible
Through Him we will find the cure

So the next time temptation demands a performance

Turn to the True Prolific Playwright
Where vainglory is transformed into sacrificial love
Whose life inspires
And His stories teaches truth

Because when you know the truth
Temptation has no choice but to sit back
And see our OWN stellar performance

Who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is a planet away of who.

Who I am is just a person wearing a pretence,
What I am is just a character of what I try to commence.
Where I am, is this visage, carrying the drama in this scene,
Why we are, is where I merely am playing my part, as my actions are already set in the figurine.

It’s not adequately unexpected for the viciousness that is presented in human forms,
Its pretentious validity, in various forms, in vivid and foolproof flaws, as veteran as victim it withholds.
He desert, hides, cloaks or flees. He screams, breaks, vanish, retreats. He hides, shields, masquerade and juggles. All of these patterns that run in circles and hobbles.

We are not disarmed as much by the sword or bullet but rather by our past,
The whispers, the memories, the mistreat that is amassed.
For I too will have vengeance for myself,
For I plan a vendetta that will never be forgotten, and will haunt thyself.

To effectively grow I have to push past the point of my comfort zone and experience inhumane situations,
No expectations of thoughts and feelings, no blank lines or allowance of consultations because I will lose myself and make my own insinuation.

So please let your anger, hate, *******, intimidation,
Your screams, betrayal, pain, instigation
Thy emotions, force, projections and manipulation,
Be my entertainment that only helps my dissimulation.

For who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is the vendetta that’s been bought.

Decorating the house
Christmas is on the way
Ms. Boots is ecstatic
Curiousity is bursting
Instigation to play
Bubble wrap and
Glitter all over the floor
This is just the beginning
As the days move forward
Empty boxes to jump into
And so much more
Perhaps when Mama & Papa
Are not home she can climb
That sparkling  tree
Christmas......
Oh, What an adventure for my kitty

Psychic glockenspiels come from western civilization to steely dilation
The sun may rise and the Swede's dreams looking for hindsight and elation
A cinema mon amour, the compensation spreads like their legs on ovulation, it's Ninotchka's dilemma with fornication
Firstborn of the soft-core **** of the thorny copulating, and yonder lying in waiting till you're a ne'er zaftig
First-form soothsayers, and strides of samba spies salivating with charm, you're a tinsel town in the maelstrom
Lick your lips, and lickety-split, you're in the instigation of salacious mating
Of a **** of minor, and crime of a major elemental nature, you'll get sentencing from the abyss of vultures

His one shot incubus
Delirium tremen instigation
Where we all fall through Hell together then pretend we're unchanged
Promising young candles facing the rain
Finding one's passion mixed with vile in the bottom of a trash can
Perpetuating 'next door neighbor normality' the next day once again* ...

at least the dictator is but one man, and incompetent, constantly disorganised; the western cult of democracy? organised toward the point of a fetish, and a secretive bunch of weasels that they are, representing opposition as some sort of instigation of psychiatric intervention, whether by direct interaction, or by indirect interaction of "naming" and "shaming"; ******* weasels. allow enough rats into the labyrinth of your short-legged lies, and they'll nibble gladly at you, until you'll be walking of former representations of legs, i.e.: stumps; like those gangrene pigeons you sometimes see in urban areas, limping the **** out of what was supposed to be a queasy strut; meat-heads that they were, head-banging all the time.

.                   so much love turns into
writing,
   how perfected we seem
to become,
      having loved a blank
stare of a page...
      having loved that
white flag of defeat...
   while a billion chinese brood
over a lost competition
that we gave them
   to begin with...
          so much "love" is poured
into the ritual cauldron
of summoning words -
  and still the spaghetti-confusion
of tangled reasons -
      ah, my hot-rod viper
of sentiment,
            the lemongrass
perfume you ooze,
                   mingled with
                an accent of lilies -
come the feast,
            patron orpheus without
a the *corinthian helm of hades,
that might allow
the god to pass into the realm
of the forefathers,
the titans, in the realm
                           of tartarus;
oh, but what love on the page,
on the colour of defeat...
    how loving these hearts seem,
and they think they can reconcile
love with
    the idle fancy, the idle talk
of "poetry"...
    where! where
          is the poetry worthy
of titans!
   to narrate the trojan war!
  to establish the trojans
          establishing rome!
where?! where?!
             what a futile harvest
of words...
   philosophy
          didn't destroy poetry...
democracy did:
  too many have spoken,
                      and too little was said;
so much sober, idle ventures
that requires anyone
   with a lust for words,
    to become reduced to a drinker,
   a patron saint, of no other,
than of dionysus, who's father
be known as the realm, already stated.