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jeffrey robin Aug 2015
now here sits me
On my broken knees

as the war is waged all around me



~~~=

We come to
Our senses

Oh so slow

//

We die in silences
Hard to comprehend

::

In this the awakening
Of souls thought dead

We
Try to remind

Ourselves
Of what we must know

~~~

Well the day is almost done
Hey jiggy jiggy

I want to go home

But here sits me
On my busted knees

While the war is raging
All around me

(;;

Come sweet lady
And gentle man

With your child between you
Hand in hand

Whose the Sovereignty of this Land ?

If it ain't you
Please tell me why that is

;:;

Hey the day is almost done

So won't you come
Sit besides me ?
Mark Jun 2020
LUCKY 13 BIG TRIP DIP
From the 12th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.

This week my whole family, Smoochy and I, all headed off by car, to the annual big city fair on Friday the 13th. Some people believe an unlucky day of the year and an unlucky number for most. It was a big trip for the whole family, which took about two hours and twenty-five minutes to get there. But, we all still looked forward to it coming around each year, despite the long drive.

I had been to the big city fair, for every year that I can remember. My parents have been going there, every year since they were my age. I thought, 'Man, they must be old now, maybe one hundred and two years old or even a lot more'.

The food stalls were packed full of snacks and different makes of cakes and all kinds of different, yummy-in-your-tummy things, for us kids to eat.

There were stalls selling: Creamy Caramel Cup-Cakes, Limited Edition Lollipop Layered Lamington's and even some, short, swirly, Shortbread Slices. Even, my mum and two, much older, identical, twin sisters, Emma and Jemma, had set up their very own food stall. They, were selling heaps of my colourful creation named, 'A Colourful Take-Away Fruit-Blast In A Bag'.

They, were even selling, clear plastic cups along with a spiral-shaped straw.

But, only for the people, who emailed me for the secret, Jiggy-Jiggy Side-Kick Creation instructions, which was in my third diary entry named, 'Water off a Ducks Back'. Only then, will you remember what the plastic cups are for and how to perform the all important, Jiggy-Jiggy.

There were so many fun rides at the annual big city fair, for all of the kids to enjoy. Like the dodgem cars, a jumping castle and the pirate ship, 'my favourite ride of all time'. I loved sitting at the very back of the pirate ship because, it made me feel really funny in the tummy.

Towards the end of the day, my dad, had bought a ticket in the, Big city annual lucky dip first prize, surprise raffle. He had never been lucky in the big city raffle, all of the previous years before. So, this time, he didn't pick his usual lucky number 7, but instead he picked number 13 and guess what? 'He won the first prize surprise'.

We all went to see what the first prize was, at this year's annual lucky dip surprise raffle. It was a family holiday to thirteen of the world's most colourful cities. The whole family screamed, with joy. But, I then slapped my face a little and said to myself, 'Is this another dream of mine'? 'Nope! this one's for real', mum told me, with glee.

The day had arrived, for the start of our colourful, lucky-dip, big 13, city trip adventure. We had, packed all our bags and I even put in my dad's trusty, fancy, far out, funny binoculars and my very, super, sporty, single-shot, stylish slingshot. Just in case, I needed them both on our exciting city adventures.

My two, much older, identical, twin sisters, Emma and Jemma, had packed their bags full of makeup, creams and a hair styling dryer. While, Lemmy, had his bag packed by our dear mum, Flo, along with her own. While, dad went to his unusually built and outrageously painted, backyard, outback, shed and gathered his tools and paint brushes for the trip.

We headed to the airport, to start our first leg of our adventure to London England. On the first day, we went to visit the queen, in her very large house named, Buckingham Palace. The palace guard's face's didn't move one bit. Even, when dad, tried to make them laugh, with a funny joke or pulling faces at them, to make them smile.

Then, off we went, to see Big Ben. It was built years ago along the river Thames. We, then went to see some old rocks called, Stonehenge. Nobody knows exactly, why they were made. Their just placed, all alone, located in the middle of a large field, gathering moss and all still on show.

We then took a ferry ride across the English Channel and hopped off in the Netherlands. We all stayed in the very colourful city of Amsterdam. Mum, loved all of the beautiful flowers and my two, much older, identical, twin sisters, Emma and Jemma, especially loved trying the, unusual sweet cakes and drinks in the many cafes all spread about town. While dad, Lemmy, Smoochy and I, really enjoyed riding the bikes along the paths, on the side of the long and winding canals.

Then, we went to the beautiful, but cold country of Norway. We stayed in the capital city of Oslo. We took a boat ride through the icy fjords and I even thought, I saw that whale that winked at me, on that adventurous day out at, Slip-Slop-Slap Bay.

We then went by bus up north to see the Aurora Lights. Wow! what a sight. It was like daytime, even at ten thirty at night.

I even thought maybe, Stefan Pettersson from North Poland the ski instructor at Shivermytimbers Ski Lodge, lived close to here.

Next city was Paris the city of lights in the country of France. We went up the Eiffel Tower and I pulled out dad's fancy homemade binoculars from my bag and had such wonderful views of the city and then took a taxi for a ride through the streets of Paris and even went under the historical Arc of Triumph. Then we all went to see the great artwork and sculptures at a place called the Louvre. We saw a serious painting of a sad lady named Moaning Lisa; at least that's what I think the tour guide said.

The next morning we boarded a small plane and landed in the very watery city of Venice in Italy. I thought we were going to land on water, just like Buck the Duck does back at the small village pond. The city is surrounded by water and everyone travels by a small boat called a gondola which weavestheir way through the water canals and under all the old bridges. Smoochy even climbed up into the top left-hand side pocket of the Italian man sailing the boat, to get a better view. The food was so colourful in Italy, like the spaghetti, pizzas and delicious and colourful gelato.

Egypt was our next adventure stop and we went to the ancient city of Cairo. The very old Pyramids were out of this world, with precision angles and stones that fitted together ever so well. A cruise on the long Nile River was very exciting to see as well. It went from one end of the country to the other, but we only travelled on it for a mile or so.

Then off to Thailand and to the capital city named Bangkok, the busiest city of them all. There were cars, taxis, two wheeled motorbikes and funny three wheeled colourful ones called

Tuk-tuks. There was traffic and people everywhere we went and a lot of confusion by the Lemmon's when trying to cross the busy streets. We even visited some very old Buddhist Temples in the countryside and had some lunch that was extremely hot stuff, which made us all, puff. They gave us bread and water to cool our mouths down afterwards. Mum said, oh what a colourful and spicy city it is, and I love there ancient culture and friendliness of their people.

Off to the big red and easy going country of Australia tomorrow. We visited a place in the middle of nowhere called Alice Springs, which was in the Northern Territory of Australia. The next day we climbed up a rock named Uluru that was a sacred area for Aboriginals, the original inhabitants of Australia. We took a trip to a beautiful area up north of the Northern Territory called Kakadu National Park. Where we saw big red kangaroos, crocodiles and even some emus. One kangaroo even to try and box dad, but dad ran away and said, ‘He would fight him, but he forgot his gloves’.

We then headed off to China and the island of Hong Kong. What a very old and colourful city it was, with so many colourful buildings to see. In the large harbour we saw painted fishing and food boats cruising around.

Brazil Rio de Janeiro was next and we even saw the famous Carnival, with people dancing to a very cool beat. All dressed up and having the best party of all time. Down on the beach people were swimming and surfing and lying about in the sun. We even went to see a football match with USA v Cameroon playing, oh so well, for the winner would get its hand on a large world cup. We also saw a very large statue of an important man perched on a mountain.

USA was the last country to visit before our adventures would come to an end. We landed in Los Angeles and went straight to the magical kingdom of Disneyland. We did a day tour of Universal Studios where they make all the great movies.

Off to Nevada we drove and stayed one night in the ever so bright Las Vegas, oh what colourful sites we saw from our seventeenth floor suite hotel window. There were so many colourful casinos stretched out as long as you could see which light up at night alright. Dad even said you could see the lights from outer space. The next day we took a flight over the Grand Canyon in a Hot Air Balloon. We saw beautiful waterfalls and even saw people on donkeys riding down far down below.

New York was our last city to visit; it was especially dad's favourite city, because his ancestors had lived there for years, before coming to live in our village of Shimmerleedimmerlee to start a family, all those years ago.

The Empire State Building was an historic tall building that even once had a gorilla on top making a movie. Statue of Liberty was so fun to climb up and see all the lights of New York from across the Hudson River.

We took a horse drawn carriage ride in Central Park and even saw a memorable garden for the ex-Beatle John Lennon.

While travelling the New York subway to get to Soho we saw some great graffiti artwork sprayed on council approved walls.

The next day we were heading back home, which is nestled amongst the trees on a hill, in a little country village, called Shimmerleedimmerlee.
© Fetchitnow
20 October 2019.
This children’s fun adventure book series, is only for children from ages, 1-100. So please enjoy.
Note: Please read these in order, from diary entry 1-12, to get the vibe of all of the characters and the colourful sense of this crazy mess.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
that's 3 weeks without a keyboard,
that's 3 weeks on a dual-detox -
         that's that: roughly: antagonism
of: once upon a time...
           there can only be one Hans Andersen,
and as the story goes: ol' granny
   passed on the tales, without which:
no talk of posterity, and seances at
the theatre; alternatively: what if Kierkegård
opted for opera, rather than theatre?
    well: horrid is the task of dropping names,
as if being a village idiot, in that
capacity: giving directions... no such thing!
  nonetheless: a horrid task...
3 weeks... without this horrid world-entanglement...
amphetamines in the wild west,
                   and yet... everything slows down...
that's 3 weeks without such ''luxury''...
    and would you believe it?
3 weeks went by: in a blink of an eye.
             strange, or what 21st century writers
fail to recognise: the ******* canvas has changed!
any-single-one-of-them bothered to scrutinise
this new canvas? anyone?
     ah yes, it's still in its adolescence -
it's still: Dostoyevsky, scuttering in the grand
dungeon: that's the Moscow underground.
             the canvas! the canvas!
                             and indeed, if this be some
bellowing horn, from the depths of some forsaken
place... i'll go into the street, and sabotage
civilisation with graffiti...
                     then again: i have the least
expectations, such that capitalism works...
poetry... and what investment have you made?
nil, or almost nil... evidently: zilch!
      ah, but to have invested in canvases,
a studio, paints, brushes... see... no one sees
investment in poetry: primarily because the poet
has done the minimal...
            unless of course it turns out to ****
with a hot poker something once resembling
nations... which now resides in the insane asylum
(even though those, have been abolished)
                           , nation - ooh! what a ***** word!
the left irksome sometimes uses it:
in theory: the nation-state...
                        and then there's the resurgence of
ancient Greece... in a sing-along:
maybe 'cos i'm a Londoner... brother! brother!
Athenian! Athenian!
                                       but we are born into
a Spartan wedlock... no one really bothers to
**** our gob with Shakespeare...
    then again that is the schizophrenia (alias
dualism) in humanity... thus, to be frank,
psychiatry can be congratulated, it has provided
one useful term... and i will use it, over and over again,
in a non-symptomatic way, because, i find,
it stands, as if the Olympic Graeae (Zeus, Poseidon
and Hades) eating the carcass of some inhabitant
of Tartarus...
                               evidently: tartar steak...
doubly evident: tartars, or the remnants of mongols,
settled in crimea, and elsewhere in the Ukraine...
   tartar                      tra-ta-ta-ta... ku ku ryku!
a ja fu! krecha! a ja znow... fu!       radowitą
uprzejmość... skłaniam...  
    or what i call: rising spontaneously from the depths...
polymaths applauded, the tribunal resides in
bilingualism... trenches... history... perspectives
and current affairs... wicker man media...
                        so... an example of pedantry?
ó....               that's an orthographic dignitary -
        an aesthetic muddle... as is
c-ha                               contending with samo-ha...
     ch                            came from antagonism of
cz                                   which was later antagonised
by č               in česka.... say that: hen party
bound to Prague... in the Czech republic...
                                          ch      k..­.
i am, quiet frankly... standing at the feet of the tower
of babel... and i'm looking up, and i see
correlations, and i see decimal marks,
which, when given enough geography,
can seem like England and the isles,
       and central Europe...
    Iberia? phantom of Seneca...
  eureka! let's begin, once again...
  why is there a continuum beginning with
Plato and Aristotle?
                                           we could become
reasonable people... told to deal with madmen...
we could claim beginnings with Seneca...
and Cicero...
                      and why? the Romans loved poetry...
the Greeks antagonised Homer...
            the Romans loved Horace, Virgil,
                           Ovid... perhaps we should really forget
beginning with Plato and Aristotle...
       the former has become a church,
the latter a dentist's assistant (minus the ancients'
concept of a joke).
                      evidently i have to finish off reading
Seneca... his educational letters to Lucilius....
      moralising ******* that he was, thus, perhaps
a nibble at Cicero? but i must say:
                           it has to begin somewhere,
so not necessarily in stale-bread Athens...
                      and having such perspectives helps
in claiming casual conversation?
   assuredly - if it doesn't involve talking about
the weather...
                                which is always a great mystery
   if it's given enough aurora.
   onto the mystery of dialectics,
as discovered by Alfred Jarry in his Faustroll
Pataphysics contraband...
                                                nag­ging agreement...
nodding without approval... (chapter 10) -
beginning with αληθη λεγεις εφη
        (you speak the truth, he replies) -
   and ending with ως δoκεì
                              (how true that seems)...
and then some dub-step...
        know nothing dROP! boom! jiggy jiggy,
get the rhythm.
   as i always find it hard to look at
    diacritical arithmetic...
                                  given the following
represent a prolonging: hangman:
       å, ā and ä...
                             esp. in Finnish -
stratum: hedningarna täss on nainen.
                        rolling yarn, plateau, two dips;
and i will never say something profound...
i'll just say something no one else has said,
benefit of the doubt? somewhere, someone,
                                      kneels at the same altar.
  such are the distinction - invaders from the
north, and invaders from the south...
                                           even with
crusading Golgotha mann -
the times? many bats, supers, spiders,
but not enough readings of thomas mann...
                              easily befallen into prune-nosed
high-airs... it comes with the diet of literature...
   unfortunately.
                              and with yet another book:
i have burried yet another living person
i could have had a beer with, and conversed.
it always happens, every time i read a book
i have to attend a funeral... by reading a book
i have burried someone alive...
                          shame, in all frankness...
    i will sit in a congested train, touch a breathing
body, and consecrate the touch with
a warring genuflect - harbringer of a Teutonic
passion for initiation: a komtur's slap across the cheek.
   chequers played with passions...
           and some have to be approached like
caged animals, their vocabulary as cages,
                and the whole world before them:
cageless!
             some have indeed become so encrusted in
their daily: routine, that it would take a zoologist
(thrice oh, begs some sort of diacritical marking)
rather than a psychologist to understand them...
    like the darting dupes they are, enshrined in
20% gratis! smile! have a nice day! boxing day sales!
all but pleasantries, fathoming the grave.
   stiff vocab and all other kinds of perfume...
                           a king and his charlatan knights,
who are merely ditto-heads.
                  and not of this world, afresh -
among the nimble hands prior to birth -
surely there is: more grandeour in birth
   that entry via a ******...
                            the greatest pain of ****...
and when the ancient treaty was signed
under the name: Augustus Cesarean - or
recommended for a need of aristocracy -
    it was, for a time, the mana magnetism:
and such was the rule of poetry:
rather than a crown, donned the laurel leaves...
donned the laurel leaves...
    and such was the covenant from ancient
foes when trying to assimilate the Jew...
three kings from Babylon,
                         the child in Egypt...
          no good tides from Nazareth...
         a crown of myrrh - later overshadowed
by dogmatic sprechen, simpler: thorns...
yella things... or rzepak, Essex is filled with it...
rzepak... so why bother adding a dot above
the z, when you get capricious and use rz to
denote the same?! thus a science:
voiced retroflex fricative... Stalingrad!
                       can you really stomach this kind
of jargon? if it wasn't for science fiction:
science would be twice removed from gott ist tot,
*******' worth of pondering, given the close
proximity rhyme... nothing that rhymes should
ever be taken seriously, it should be hymnal!
                         Horatio! mein lyre!
   mein Guinness leier! rabbi krähe -
     and they deem that ****** white when talking:
thinking? i'd prefer Cezanne in real life -
   maggot wriggling and all...
                                          as much eroticism
as bound to a dog slobbering its testicles:
which means ****-all in an almighty stance
   for a dollop of halleluyah in Nepal.
well: pretty talk, pretty pretty pretty: i feel pretty,
oh so butter-fly-e.
                                    2 week stance,
***** in autumn... but so many Swiss hues
coming from the same concentration of decay!
shweet!  zeit-ser!        and that's me talking
kindergarten german: innovation begins with
a fork and a spoon, should the tongue come to it...
            i see a poem,
i see something worth bugging... c.i.a.,
f.b.i., hannibal's lecture in Florence, Venice for
the rats... bugging... shoving...
  shovelling... necro grounding, rattling...
    windy via north... Icelandic...
drums along incisors of abstract gallop:
violins... fringes of the mustang... airy airy...
all regresses toward the Vulgate...
         like ****, like said, and the only pristine
stress comes with vanilla ice-cream,
or a medium-rare beef ****! hmph!
                         fa fa fa excesses with that hurling
puff...
                      and i did finish Kant's
critique of pure reason... minus two calendars...
but, so help me god, the 2nd volume was hiding
under some corner...
                           thus, from transcendental methodology
came plump apricots, plums and pears...
             sweet decay fruit baron...
              and it's called sugars in the intricacy of pulp...
lazily grown, dangling on that caricature of
a formerly known: full crop of wheat-crude fringe.
    2 years... honest to god!
         but so many books in between...
i was given a recommendation...
i cited it already... kraszewski's magnum opus...
29 books...
                       although that's history fictionalised...
but nonetheless, it really was about
     the cossack uprising in the 17th century...
   and it was, as i once said, something i can forgive
sienkiewicz - the film version,
as in: i will not read a book once it has been adapted
to a movie... it's self-evident that too many
people have read a piece of work and are gagging
for a conversation... but where's the playground?
           ******* cherades!
  chinese whispers and a Manchurian candidate!
  i thought as much.
                          and whenever it's not a preplaned
escapade, what becomes of the day?
     was it always about a stance for carpe diem?
  syllables: di                em.
                            carpe is said with more lubricant.
corpus diem. well, that's an alternative, however
you care to think about it.
                and whenever you care to think about,
the proof is there: mishandling misnomers:
poets as tattoo artists... although no one sees the ink,
signatures on a reader's brian (purposively altered,
toward a Michael Jackon he-he, and other:
albino castratos the church venerates!)...
   that's 3 weeks in a catholic country...
  3 weeks... if only the football was better,
      i'd be called Juan Sanchez...
               but, evidently, the football is bad...
     so it's catholicism on par with a sleeping inquisition...
no one really expected Monty Python to conjure
that one... because it never really took place,
not until a trans-generational exodus
postscript 2004... once western brothels were exhausted,
and the Arab started ******* a hippo...
              then it was all about lakes and rivers
and Las Vegas 2.0 in Dubai!
                     you say quack... i say:
                                                    easy target.
and they did receive a blessing from Allah...
enough ink to write out Dante's revision of the Koran,
and some Al-Sha'ke'pir to write a play called:
the Merchant of Mecca.
  last time i heard, when the reformation was
plauging Christendom, no one invited the Arabs...
these days i think the little Lutherans of Islam
watched too many historical movies...
me? pick up a crucifix and march to Jerusalem?
  and is that going to translate into:
   blame the populists! blame the nationalists!
it's like watching a circus... why is the Islamic
reformation asking for third party associates?
                  i was happy listening to
the klinik... albums: eat your heart out...
time + plague...
                             once again: the world narrative
gags for enough people to conjure up
     a placebo solipsism... and that's placebo
with a squiggly prefix (meaning? how far
that ambiguity will take you) - ~placebo...
well: since existentialists were bores...
it's about time to head for Scandinavia
   and ask: is that " ''                 for passing on
an inheritance, or better still: ripe for
acknowledging ambiguity?
                          and if you can shove this
  into your daily narrative... you better be
a connaisseur of chinese antiques...
                frailty... then again, theres: ******;
well hell yeah *****'h, it's a murky underwold
after all.
                     and yes: that's called a petting word...
some say hombre, and we'll all be amigos
and muskateers at the end of the story.
                                    finally... i feel like i'm writing
a poem that i'll never end...
              why? it was supposed to be about
how John Casimir of Sweden championed
  the crown away from his brother Prince Charles
(volume 1)...
                      the bishop of Breslau...
a recluse... couldn't ride a horse...
    then again: nothing worthy imitation...
beginning with a donkey...
                               the transfiguration of palms
into whips... 2000 years later
talk of Hercules is madness... that other bit?
complete sanity.
                              well... if that be the case...
the book is there... i signed it, 2nd volume of
Kant's critique...
  
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | Y| | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

        an oak... in a forest of pine...
an oak in pine wood...

then onto the wood of sighs:

aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
          (somehow the surd escapes,
and later morphs into, but prior to)

a short script: variation on MW...

      pears' worth of blunting runes:
opulance s and ᛋ - versus z,
    congregation minor: the interchange, ß,
buttocks and *****, minus phantoms of erotica.
yet, taking into account trigonometry...
sine (genesis 0), and cosine (genesis 1),
or            M                                   W
(no Jew would dare believe the Latins have
the second 'alf of the proof: that loophole of all
things qab-cannibal-mystic - cravat donning
mystique - a flit's worth of sharpening,
or dental grit... flappy tongue,
flabby oyster, lazing for a crab's palette)...
so?

1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

of course there's an
Derek Dec 2013
play that saxophone.
crash those cymbals
and shake the tambourine.

fall into the trap.
wrap yourself inside of your insanity
and fall into the ditch of despair.

taste the moving colors
and those stifled emotions.
let loose and make your engine roar.

twist your hips
into a spiral.
don't recover from the spirit dancing inside of you.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
I pity anyone visiting us with
A language besides English;
Who tries to understand the words
We like to use with relish.
We seem to say so many words
Just to keep our lips busy.
It occurs to me the so much of it
Has never graced a dictionary.

Upscaling, downsizing
Offloading the whole magilla
The whole nine yards, bottom liine
The big honcho, the whole enchilada
I was completely plussed and then
I had my self a hissy fit
I didn't know I had a flabber,
'Til someone went and gasted it.

Hanging out, kicking back
Into myself and whatever
***** it, man. I am like, wow.
And y'know, yodda yodda yodda.
Some mean kinda fudpucker
Betcher bippees, yabba dabba doo.
Mazoomas and headlights,
Totally hyped megabitch, too.

Talkin' about 'sup bro
Stufflike windas and winders.
Jammin and gittin widdit
And sumpinbout pillas and pillers.
So, I goes and he goes,
And I'm all jazzed and by golly.
It really rocks, rad to the max
Get down to some serious party.

Sixes an sevens, p's and q's
What's your point? Get real!
It's pretty much a ******
So, what's the big deal?
Too much, I mean it's tough,
And stuff, and really far out, man.
Twenty three skiddo old bean.
Just a flash in the pan.
It *****. It blows, It bites, big time
A wicked righteous mindfuck.
Get jiggy with it. Kiss my crank;
Slob my ****, Lord Love-a-duck.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
it usually happens when a fly in mid-autumn still manages to fly through my window, and given that i'm currently smoking rolled tobacco (an art form, which my grandfather always admired me for, having perfected it), i've turned into a kind of slob, tobacco in my pockets, tobacco on the windowsill, tobacco on my books... it's almost like dust, i don't know how it gets from (a) to (b) of said places, however careful i am when rolling, there's always some loose strings of it lying around - as said: by locomotive breath: choo choo!

another thing that happens while drinking,
just take today for example, today,
woke at 11 am after sitting up to 6 am,
having exhausted my prescription sleeping pills,
turning to the painkiller naproxen
for, pretty much the same effects...
    naproxen man: da'h bomb, the goon in
the pharma rainbow...
  what? i studied chemistry, i'm not ashamed
of using what i could have synthesised
had there been no women in my class with
me being down-graded...
500mg of this baby, and you're suckling
at the **** of mother night -
i really would like to write down the ******
expression of a baby suckling at its mother's
***, the mooch mooch sucky sucky no fucky
sort of weirdness of the selfie duck pout...
how does that one go?
and then, momentarily, i get an injection
of intoxication, i mean genuine intoxication,
a glee in the eye, a wry smile,
   and a tornado for a thought...
    i can't seem to master the pompousness
of reading philosophy, frankly,
with the books i read, i can't,
   because so few people have read the originals
and simply *ctrl c ctrl p
did justice,
via the people who read them,
  but even these people are hard to find,
because, at it seems:
      after reading a work of such majesty,
you rarely have a coherent argument,
what you get is a narrative,
   which takes the back-alley route, and sometimes,
just sometimes, the few essential
bits & bobs pop out, i call them less
regurgitated maxims perfected for a mundane
"critique" / "understanding" of a work,
and more: jack-in-box-but-guess-which-box-
jack-is-in-when-rummaging-throug­h-a-warehouse-
of-boxes...
        it's either a game of greek roulette -
or plain dumb lottery, your pick.
    but then it creeps up, this drunken sensation
akin to way back in the old days
when actually did get drunk and have
hangovers...
                   i checked my weight too,
115kg way back... 110.8kg today:
       wow! i'm a slimming jim-joe genius!
****, beside the point...
          in vitro, in vivo,      &? in vino!
it's all chinese fireworks when i sit down
and read the genre of philosophy,
  like i said, i don't need to make this a pompous
affair, method acting, for sure,
  just pretend to be stupid and you'll
end up loving this genre...
      mind you, at school i was better at history
than i was at chemistry or biology,
even though i went beyond high school
to edinburgh to major in chemistry,
  it was obvious that i took to reading philosophy
like a gun to a barrel filled with fish...
can't miss 'em...
                 but i esp. enjoy reading, say,
heidegger's ponderings, when i become frustrated
at not being able to solve a sudoku puzzle,
or when i try to escape to some mundane
the times on sunday magazine article that
just feels like washing my eyes with
a toothbrush dipped in wasabi...
                 it's like: ugh, and oh, and huh?
and then the tears come...
          and to be honest i have no idea what
heidegger just wrote, point being -
if you want "coherency" in language,
you read the linear genre - a novel!
        you want a breath of fresh air,
  and some alone time without a reality-check
gravity thought-pattern dragging you
into the everyday, + a sigh? you read a poem
(or try not to, given all that free space
in poetry, no wonder novels in paragraphs
can feel so claustrophobic by comparison)...
and i hate cute, pooches, coochies, itchies,
'oochies... whatever...
but it was the already stated italics -
   in vitro: in glass, yourself looking out,
looking in,
      in vivo: in life, yourself looking in,
looking out,
   in vino: just looking at veritas,
                                                       i.e. truth;
and the former two do sound very much
like george harrison's greatest contribution
to the beatles' oeuvre with
  the hyper-hippy train wreck to india that
was within you, without you...
no wait... it might have been that groove
with studio pagol's take on rain on yours...
jiggy jiggy jove, jiggy jiggy remix by jove jr.
so why do so few people read philosophy,
as an equal genre of literature
   with the same plateau stature as novels
and poetry and all the art books and what not?
1. it contains too many questions,
2. you really don't know what the person
    is implying,
3. its the primordial / archetypal form of
      subversion (socrates was a spartan in
      athens when the two factions were
      at their necks),
4. it's technical, in that, it's non-reproducible,
    in that it's also always original (if
    written with a spirit of authenticity),
5. it sometimes whirls in a language akin
     to sentences that read, much like
     chemistry: CH3OH etc.
6. it's non-linear narration, always backtracking,
    or layering, akin to geology,
    orthodoxically known as systematisation,
7. unlike nietzsche: i find systematisation
    an honesty, because systematisation is
    not a dishonesty, but a pulverisation of
    a single point on the wheel,
    i.e. it's the representation of the tangent...
    and as the world rotates,
      times change, whatever "metaphor" you
care to desire as implicitly as this "poem" -
      well, the ever fleetingly touching,
              but forever meteorically fleeing;
8. it's written in a language of thought,
  rather than action,
           therefore the grammatical category
   of the verb is practically missing,
purposively, since action as much as talk
is not an extension of thinking -
  why? how many mindless acts, enigmas
surround us (lost vegas?), and how much
idle babble in the houses of parliament?
9. god... every sensible philosophy book
does not avoid the:
  noun inside a noun inside a noun inside
ad infinitum...
      as such: to me god is a paraphrase -
the sharpening of a thesaurus,
  or, to better mention -
               to narrow the thesaurus in order
to find one's on vocabulary bank...
one's authentic storage of words -
  that does not deviate as it sometimes does,
so ****** obvious, by novelists who
sometimes reach for that "smart" word that sticks
out like a fifth limb in a sentence
  on the odd occassion;
  and why is god a paraphrase to me?
  look how many times that concept has been
reworded,
   the jews have a name for him,
       the prime 7 and the esoteric 72...
   the hindus have more gods than actual
names for a single deity,
    the christians don't have the father's name,
   the muslims bak bak hark allahu and then
miss the other 99...
         to me the best version is to call it by
way it really is: ditto.
- and now off to making hamburgers and chips.
Arcassin B Jan 2015
By Arcassin B



Huh, how ******* message me out of the blue,
Talking about you wanna make collabs and colide teams,
***** we don't play for the mafia not even you,
Told them its my year,
Guess I should have warned you,
Calling me a *****,
Isn't this the same ***** that told his ex to **** with me,
My message was never replied or sent,
Man I swear you pathetic human beings are beneath me,
Like its more than I need,
But I should have your mom and girl deepthoatin,
Can't touch me,
I'm too jiggy plus potent,
Is it me or are your group a little slow,
Guess dash blew his lid,
Y'all all a bunch of ****,
And you should that if you really get this,
On your face,
I take a ****,
Doc,
More like the ****,
You ****,
Get it,
Stop kissin my ***,
And go get your own ****,
Pathetic!!!! Hahahahahahahah
There are no words to describe the move he just made , he's a ***** *** human being , how you gonna diss like 6 times and try come back asking for what you call a truse ******* ***** *****
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2017
believe me, you grow out of it
(*******),
   you reach the natural conclusion
as women do,
    experiencing menopause,
your's the least actrattive cunterpart,
no choice...
          you just grow out of it...
you just get bored
                       you just grow out of it...
it literally become a case of
   huh?
     yep, it becomes a hmm equation...
and if you're not married,
  5p.m. feels like 9a.m.,
                         the **** is going on?
fyck, uleterior motive for spelling
   thick...
           so what the fyck's going on?
pop culture... fuckle me...
                   send some more sleeping
pills my way,
    so i can pretend to be in a
heavyweight boxing match
         fighting both klitschkos
   at the same time, in street fighter mode
of pretending to be blanka /
            zangief / vega?
    i'd **** over him
               any-day-of-the-week,
such **** ******* /
     dhalsim - mr. stretch-armstrong /
                           mr. fantastic...
tekken never conjures up
an equation
      that music does
   i.e. the beatles (street fighter)
vs. the rolling stones (mortal kombat)...
tekken never really made it
         for "equality" status:
                        equal status, i get it;
nonetheless, men tend to grow
out of the practice of *******,
  just like women
   are automated to experience
menopause...
                       you just get bored
of the hand as ****...
                       d'uh dummy dum dum
+ a mongolian harmonica
    (index moving up & down
with the lips perforking
          the motorboat effect,
encapsulated within the brrrrrrrrr;
sure, the missing trill of the r in english...
    and there are no diacritic indicators
that the letter ought to be the sole-source
of vibration...
           hence no roll with the umlaut ä -
   sounds like chinese wow wow wow yo
  boat...
             yoyo that ****?
      count that as two:
          hämmer, i.e. haamer...
          i.e. hāmmer...
              or ha'mmer... so what's with
the trigonometry of the m?
  how many more times do you have
to wave a goodbye?      
                  but the scandi- version?
middle-class english,
   i love their slang,
        they slang a longer word into
a shorter word,
   but never bother to adffix a hyphen
for invigorative measures...
    it always seems to be: oxford approved;
if americans are yanks...
                   the british? wanks;
jiggy-jiggy-mah-jig.
         totality bound by sources found
    in either peckham or hackney;
oh right, the roll...
  an aangstroom, i.e.  ångström...
                    linguistic ballistics...
        **** gets funnier when writing fiction,
the irish and the slav prefer the hyphen
of differentiation in a convo, i.e.
  - and so
- so what?
the post-germanic tribes of anglo saxons and
americans?
    they prefer the inverted commas
and the he said...
                          e.g. "i was saying," he said.
yes, i know that's a fictional character
"speaking",
     but you could at least count,
   toward expressing the correct arithmetic,
i.e. 'i was saying,' he said;
                            yes,
i know no one was saying anything,
             you were thinking someone
was saying something you "said"...
          so why was it never the irony of "citing"
with only two index fingers,
   as opposed to
         two index and two middle fingers?
i swear to god, that's not how
you quote...
                    if you're ever going to quote;
it can only mean
   a beginning of ambiguity,
   by invoking "     ", you're making war
on the thesaurus.
Nadia Dec 2013
I will never get married because marriages don't last.
Being a product of divorce blows big chunks all the time.
You tell your parents how you feel and they say
"we will discuss it dear" but they never do it.
My mom was always on her cell phone talking her
tmi friend who tells all  and how she and strangers
she meets placing personals have fun in her boudoir.
Don't reach for a thesaurus means her bedroom.
It's gross trying to get ready for classes and hearing
your mom talk about *** and big **** plastic surgery
she wants to get to keep her girly figure right and tight.
I got body image issues due to her can't stop looking
for flaws and wrinkles ******* mental complexes.
Need therapy much dumb and vain mother?
Could be why dad found a younger version of you
in evil ***** clone he lives with who loves his fat wallet.
No way can that someone with a hot *** want his
gray hair with more than one bald spot and flabby abs.
He works out but he's got a *** that quit even when
he spends hours exercising at the gym and dancing
trying to be my age saying old **** getting jiggy with it.
I think **** me now when he says that and I hate my life.
I feel messed up in the head because my parents hate
who they are and I hate myself most days because that's
what I learned from them. Should I go out and have
*** with as many men as mom and her friends? Should
I meet guys off the internet like mom now does? Should I
meet a man who will take care of me like the woman
dad is with who loves his fat wallet and great job
and be the kind of woman my dad likes? Would dad
be proud if I wanted surgery to get huge ***** like vain mom?
Would mom care if I had *** with a guy in the back of
his pick up like she bragged to her friend about? Would
my teachers care if I sat in the back and cheated like the
girl who gets answers from tests in exchange for quickies
in cars during lunch. She is tardy for the party and class
a lot. Teachers don't notice what's happening in schools
and they don't freaking care if I study my *** off
to get the same grades and I don't sleep with all the jocks.
Maybe I should because I'm messed up in the head at 18 and
nobody cares about me but me and that's a short list.
Have friends but they have some of the same body
issues and mental ones like me. I'm messed up in the
head because I get accused of having *** and I'm still
a ****** but thinking about giving up the goods to
the one I met through personals. He wanted to cmid and
I proved I'm legal. On the fence about giving away my
virginity. Too ****** bad my mother and dad are
busy and have mental issues and have no time for the
girl they dressed up when she was a tyke but forgot about
when she needed a training bra.
Zachary Mar 2015
**** four tires and no engine,
im having troubles explaining the medicine
if i break down it wont even matter, im already broke
when i heard her speak i had to remember why god spoke
its when you learn from your brother is when you teach to cope
interesting views that come off as sarcasm smoked dope
we all are naturals until were shown whats talent
manufactures with a pin point,
nothing feels balanced,
get so angry and now my face looks childish,
**** boat shoes or a wave cap
hotter then a pocket snack,
im trying to will smith bring gettin jiggy back
kendrick ringggingg
I confess I’m addicted to my phone
My observations tell me I’m not alone
For when you venture out it’s plain to see
The majority of us are glued to our screens

Whether on the tube or pushing a pram
We all have devices in our hands
Surfing the net or social networking
Everyone obsessed with being plugged in

It’s getting so bad even in company
We’re not fully there as we view our screens
And now there are warnings from TFL
Not to fall down escalators as a result of this swell

In checking our messages, writing posts
Face to face interaction up in smoke
We’d rather be alone in the cyber world
Than engaging in reality with other boys and girls

It is an epidemic that’s spreading extremely fast
Thus it seems that human contact
could become a thing of the past
No need to leave the house anymore
When everything can be ordered and delivered to your door

A society of zombies isolated could we become
If we don’t down devices and venture out into the scrum
And mingle with other beings physically there
Where we can look them in the eye
and maintain that stare

Connecting on a basic level without the aid of WiFi
And concentrating on each other
instead of being distracted by
Notifications and little beeps
Incoming communication that never sleeps

And keeps you up all night as your brain just can’t switch off
From all the incessant stimuli we’re inundated with
Time to give it a rest, take a break just for a while
Look up from your laptops and perhaps give someone a smile

Watch where you are going, don’t get yourself run over
Be present in the moment and you hopefully won’t fall over
Have a coffee with someone instead of instant messaging
Regard the world around you taking note of everything

Don’t zone out and go into a solitary trance
Assemble your tribe, spin some tunes, have a little dance
Limit your time on the World Wide Web
Grab yourself a hottie and get jiggy with them instead

I’m talking to myself
As well as anyone else
Your family and chums are precious
And deserve nothing less

Than your undivided attention
For one day there’ll come a time
When perhaps they’re no longer around
And you regret being online.
Marcus Belcher Aug 2016
I'm like M.L.K
With the Iron Fists
Willing to battle
Anyone who wants to f* with this

These thoughts
Are real old
They speak the real
Baby your still gold

Those legends
They mean well
I see the rawness
I've seen Hell

So promise me
That your thoughts
Will never slide
I need you here
Right by my side

Can we talk awhile?
Rhymes after listening to a few songs
Mike Hauser Oct 2013
That's it I've had it
Tired of being ignored with a wink on the side
I'm tired of being told what old men should do
Going to start taking life on the flea..or is that the fly

I'm going to hit the streets of the city
And be known as that cool guy that raps
After I add a tad bit more Poligrip
So my dentures can get down with that

I'll get me a ball cap and turn it sideways
My pants already hang down past my crack
I'll even learn the latest catch phrase
Like, Hey dude..what's up wit dat?!

Think I'll even rhinestone my walker
For that little extra bling, bling
They'll say check out that crazy rapper daddy-o
Man that cat can really swing

I'll keep the lyrics clean like I do my diaper
That's why I bring my nursie with me
After all she's a wonderful wiper
Don't worry I pay the extra wiping fee

I'll also get her to hold up the cue cards
Since my memory over the years has waned
No longer to be known as that old white *******
Beating JZ at his own game

I'll get jiggy with it every chance I get
As I fizizzile my way to the top
I'll be bigger than that guy with the candy name
That young whipper snapper will melt in the hands of this rapping GrandPop
Zulu Samperfas Nov 2012
Mind spinning, thoughts talking to me
like daggers
now I sit in a nook
at my favorite cafe
a quiet mind at last
I got here, found the self
I lost but was there all along
How I want to hold on
Lynda Kerby Mar 2015
heres what i ended the night with; an IM to my 1st born son and his 1st born son:

2 hours ago
Egad, Parker finally realized that
he doesn't remember Uncle Colton
so he asks about him.
He asked me if he is in heaven and
if he ever met him since he got to meet Great Grandma Hook and
she's in heaven now.
It isn't the first time we've talked about him by any means,
but nothing as grownup as that.
Wowza.

about an hour ago
i have come to believe that the 5 day duration
in which Colton's soul/essence/love
left his body and
Parker's soul/essence/love
was getting ready to join his body
inside Christina's big belly
(reinforcing the belief that you pick your parents lol)  
that the two of them met in the middle,
had some transendental smile, fist bump and
wink to each other
in acknowledgement of ea other.  
I think time is a human Earthy construct
so it makes sense for me to say that
in that period of time,
they did indeed have a celestial party getting jiggy with it
as only an entire Heaven filled group of soul/essence/love's are want to do...

my proof of such theory will only become more evident through the years as you will notice that Parker does indeed shake his groove thang
in the same style
as your brother Colton....
tufa alvi May 2014
Yo Donell you know whats up
Kept putting you down but you rose back up yeah
Joe told you to ride with me
We had street dreams but you kept s-s-s-stuttering
Craig David was walking away filling you in about his last 7 days yeah
Bump and grind with my man R Kelly
It's getting hot in here take your clothes off for Nelly Yo

There once was a time when music was life
The rhythm and the bass made me feel so right
Take it back to the time it was R&B;
Back with all my homies in the SUV
Take it back to the times we rocked a G-Shock
With the jeans hanging low, and the air force ones
Take it back to the times you would chill with your boo
Usher made me wanna get freaky with you
Take it back to the times when we fell in love
With music, we gotta bring the R&B; back
We gotta bring R&B; back
We gotta bring R&B; back

Yo jagged edge where the party at?
Walked outta heaven now we're bringing it back
TLC didn't want no scrubs
Independent women don't be falling in love
Say my name say my name
Cos my girl Beyonce got me going crazy crazy
Oh Blackstreet ya got no diggity
Room one twelve where the players get jiggy with it

There once was a time when music was life
The rhythm and the bass made me feel so right
Take it back to the time it was R&B;
Back with all my homies in the SUV
Take it back to the times we rocked a G-Shock
With the jeans hanging low, and the air force ones
Take it back to the times you would chill with your boo
Usher made me wanna get freaky with you
Take it back to the times when we fell in love
With music, we gotta bring the R&B; back

We're take take taking it back
Take take taking it back yo
We're take take taking it back
Take take taking it back yo
We're take take taking it back
Take take taking it back yo
We're take take taking it back
Take take taking it back yo

Bring back the music
Take it back to the music
Let's go back to that time
Baby try to rewind
And let's go
Let's go
Let's goooo
Let's go and take it back
There once was a time when music was life
The rhythm and the bass made me feel so right
Take it back to the time it was R&B;
Back with all my homies in the SUV
Take it back to the times we rocked a G-Shock
With the jeans hanging low, and the air force ones
Take it back to the times you would chill with your boo
Usher made me wanna get freaky with you
Take it back to the times when we fell in love
With music, we gotta bring the R&B; back
We gotta bring R&B; back
Remembering you makes amnesia appealing.
There's no anesthetic for what I am feeling,
you high-heeled, cheating, cheap, double-dealing...
I'm rabid with rancor
doggone it.

You're only honest when you're not talking.
I'd rather get jiggy with Stephen Hawking
so don't come knocking if you need focking
Put THAT killer bee in your bonnet!

I wouldn't help you change a flat tire.
I wouldn't *** on you if you caught fire.
If you jumped off a building I'd wish it was higher.
Your photograph has my spit on it.

You're much less attractive than Nancy Grace
(who's an ugly slug with a monkey-**** face...)
I hope you're abducted to outer space!
I've got one more shot...
Do you wannit?

Do I feel angry and hostile?  You bet!
I've become bitter as bitter can get!
But, baby, you haven't heard anything yet...
Wait 'til I write my next sonnet!
went from catfish and grits
to hoppin licks
off cheap bricks
i benefits
hood felon rhymes
like gelatin
beat fools til they
skeleton
a lonely man
cant stand in a holy land
temples with burning sand
sweating through my glands
once the mic touches
my hand
im. better than
the averago joe
**** a sho or video
im.coming through ya stereo
with multiple scenario
hangin in the hood bario
sayin there he go
yosef with that sick
o flow my mo jo
burn tracks harder
than flow jo
oh i thought you knew
i break crews
through scandals
none could handle
my pressure
running across yo brain
similar to rick James
i got fire and desire
step up my game
so i could get higher
learning thais i be
burning preach to ya like a sermon
big as herman
monster way down under
ya can see mu ponder
shake ya body up
lik sounds of thunder
make ya wonder
who stick ya cells
like glue
with this rhymes i t
rhymes make loot
but unsigned and hype
spittin' right
so i cant loose it
abuse it
southern playa listic
jammin' funk music

Now that ya out
Of ya seat i got the beat
For the streer
Far from neat and
Suckas can't compete
Against the elite
Once i show my
Pistol pete brains meet
The led from my steel
**** mass appeal seal
The deal
Never cross my hands
No gestures
Could put me on a stretcher
Hittin' rhymes so hard
Ill betcha
You run into not knowing who
I could be
Flows like b to i to g
Names biggie ya im
Gettin' jiggy
Been writing poetry
Since i was leeched
On my momma *******
Break milk gave nutritions
Im formin cold fusions
Abusin' aint no substitutin'
Far from.boring
Give these cats a
Pillow til they snoring
Borin' rhymes be Pourin'
Sourin' out the night
Nd my organization be
**** tight sho ya right
Im havin funs
While ya stuck in shuns
Check my creation
From concoction burial plottin'
Ya body be rotten
Once my flows assist
Ya mind like Stockton
On Utah Jazz spinn around
Hataz like taz
Leave suckas with a
Dash check in yo cash
Its pay out time
Im coming across enemy lines
All the time
With these dope lines

Crossin- me is like
A step through eternity
Journey with me
The yosef aint going
Out quietly roughly
I be the G super slick
With no perms on me
Keep a pick in my hair
Step if you dare
Bound to get mauled
If you to my lair
Rhymes stack like layers
Pyramid scheme cyclin' beams
As my force shows supreme
Slim yo weight
Cuz im gainin' much clout
No doubt
Put my shades on
So i can block spectators out
I make ya scream and shout
Like service in a
Church building hittin the ceiling
And im chillin'
Free willin' makin' sales
Like dealin'
Shot rhymes faster than
Matt Dillion noggins fillin'
Like buckets of water
Step to the arena be prepare for slaughter
Breakin' off so properly
Texas state property
Move so gracefully
Nothing but tha ahh
Southern playa in me
Latiaaa Jan 2015
Next stop, outer space.
I take pictures with you in bed,
All white and silky. All cold and bright.
There's a gravitational pull in this club.
I didn't think you'd leave me,
But I knew.
I'm not feeling anything, today was pretty numb.
Beer, depression, flower crowns in your wasp like hair.
I jiggy on down to that dub.
Makes me happy.
Strudels, makeup, that cute lil stain on your cotton polo.
You're ready? For this marriage?
So I can wrap my little arms around your ripped waist. You're mine.
I'll never eat.
Cookies, gummy bears & worms,
All of that is lovely, but not without you.
Tickle me with words.
Cherish me with gold that cannot be seen.
Fill me up, but don't let me down.
Throw my summer hands up in the warm sky.
Feel that shaky breeze in my hair as my neck bends back.
Is that BBQ I smell?
Ride that convertible with the hood down.
Blast it.
Crop tops and two boys in the back.
Why not take a trip to California?
I don't have much,
Brain is fried to the dark meat.
Mark Jun 2020
I’M FEELING FONDERFUL & WANTASTIC IN SHAPESHIP CONDITION  
From the 11th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.  
 
Smoochy, my dad Archie and I, all went sailing yesterday morning, in the very large blue ocean. We went on dad's small, banana-shaped, sailingboat, which took about two hours to get there by car, from my family's home. Which, is nestled amongst the trees on a hill, in a little country village called, Shimmerleedimmerlee.  
 
It was my second time out in dads small, banana-shaped, sailingboat. But, it was Smoochy's first time in a boat on water. Although, he is famous around town, for being the first mouse, that has been out to sea, on the back of a whale.  
 
My Dad, was trying to teach me how to steer the boat, tie up the ropes, weigh anchor and all sorts of other boatie, thingy-me-jiggy things, that you should learn. That's if, you ever want to sail a boat by yourself, especially when you are older, like I will hopefully do one day.  
 
We were learning a lot and enjoying the morning together, until my dad, moved the sail, riggy-diggy-thingy. You know, the thing that helps all sailboats stay on course and turn when they want. 'You know what I mean, don't you'?  
 
But, silly old me didn't move out of the way in time. Whack, went the riggy-diggy-thingy, wooden beam thing, straight into my head and then thump, I fallen down backwards, which caused a bump on the back of my head, that was clearly the size of a bumpity-bump, speed ****.  
 
Then, dad's, small, banana-shaped, sailingboat, started sailing towards a colourful pirate ship, that had an unusual Jolly Roger, an old pirate's flag on top of its mast. It looked like a picture of a family of yellow tailed bears under a tree, in a mountain range with a hot air balloon stuck high above. The name of the ship, which was spelt out across its bow was, Shift-N-About.  
 
When, we were beside the pirate ship, we climbed up Jacob's ladder, onto the ship. Then, some funny looking crew members, named, Anastasia and Houllio, welcomed me aboard and said, 'Ahoy, me Hearty'! I looked in disbelief and said back to them both, ' Hello, my friends, haven't I seen you perform somewhere before'?  
 
Then, Johnny whose nickname was, 'Hamanail', the ships very own handyman, and his apprentice named, Little Cutsaw Stevie, threw me into the corner and tied me down tight with some, really awful, fish smelling, rope.  
 
Smoochy, The Short, who wore a yellow feather tail in his hat, was the ships lookout officer. With his trusty homemade, fancy, far out, funny binoculars, he would look out for trouble, while nestled, high up above, in the ships crow's nest. Which, by the way, looked very much like my dad's, unusually built and outrageously painted, backyard, outback shed.  
 
The pirate ship also had its own mascot and his name was, Bucko the Duckaneer. Who, always sat in the top left-hand side pockets, of the Captain's identical, twin, lassie daughters, Lena and Mena, at different times of the day.  
 
Then, a boat was seen approaching at super duper fast speed and with the waves his boat was making, tossed the homemade pirate ship Shiftnabout, Slip Slop and Slapping all about, just like inside a waterlogged washing machine full of sea fish.  
 
The Captain Triple T said, 'Fire a shot, across the bow of that super fast boat. Savvy, which he yelled out to him. It actually, really means, 'Do you understand the warning and do you agree with me'?  
 
But the super fast boats captain, Stefan Pettersson of North Noland, who was just cruising past, laughed and shook his head again. He then took off, in his super, fast boat named, Snowski. See! 'You are just another Scallywag, who tried to scuttle my ship.  
 
Is everything shipshape in the galley, ye cook down below? Then, up popped a head and said, 'Yay, everything is **** n Span in the kitchen of mine'. All cleaned up and under control, Flo the Cook was yelling, while handling the very hot bread dough.  
 
Smoochy the Short screamed out, 'Thar she blows'. Smoochy the Short, the ships lookout officer had spotted a very large fish. Blimey! He said, 'It's not a large fish, it's a very familiar whale and it's headed our way.  
 
Captain Billy Stilrite hollered, 'Shiver-Me-Timber and Blow-Me-Down'.  
 
Then, the whale deliberately, slammed into his pirate ship. It was, his pride and joy, even it was cheaply made from wooden ply.  
 
Holy Crap! Aaaarrrrgggghhhh! He yelled in disgust. The whale had managed to rip a large hole in the ship, and out fell the pirate's treasure into the swell. Down and down it went, with all the pirate's mouths wide open and dropping to the floor. But, not a word came out, like you would've expected. They, should've of at-least, managed a groan or a yell.  
 
Then, another pirate ship named, Shining-No-More, had come to steal gold coins and so much more, from the pirate ship we were aboard, named,  
 
Shift-N-About. But, the large hole that the whale had made, was filling up with water and beginning to sink.  
 
Yo ** **! screamed, Captain Triple T, to me, 'Walk the plank now and never be seen on my pirate ship again'. He said, 'That I had made all of this happen'. But, I said, 'It wasn't my fault, for I was knocked out cold and only napping'.  
 
Then, all of the crew started clapping, once I was upon the plank and taking very small steps at a time.  
 
The crew aboard the Shining Amor, felt sorry for the other ships crew and started to help them all aboard. They were helped by people with funny names, such as, Admiral Monty Lopez from the Spanish Armada, 'One would think'!Then, others like Lemmy Rolling-River and even the ship's butler named, Albert Will-That-B-All, the eighth of course.  
 
They, were about to rescue me, but I slipped and fell, head first and took a great dive. Then, I thought while down under here, I might as well start searching, for the sunken treasure.  
 
On my way down, I saw all sorts of things, like a small fish, that didn't smell so nice and even an old rusty knight in shining armor. I even saw a dog with a great big Danish flag around its neck. Also, I saw a yellow duck, an orange Tabby cat and even a guinea pig, swimming on by.  
 
I then saw, the chest full of treasure and made my way towards my find. But when I looked closer, it wasn't treasure at all. It was a glass of my favourite Fruit-Blast, that my mum, had left out for me. She, had made it especially for me, so when I woke up, my head wouldn't feel sore anymore.  
 
For after my great fall, my dad, had sailed back to shore. Then, he carried me into the back of the family's car and drove me home to bed.  
 
When i awoke, my Mum came in to ask, 'How I felt'. I told her, 'I'm feeling Fonderful & Wantastic in shapeship condition, I think!  
 
For none of my fun pirate adventures were even real. For, I was unconscious and it was just an adventurous dream, a very colourful and funny one indeed, it would seem.
© Fetchitnow
20 October 2019.
This children’s fun adventure book series, is only for children from ages, 1-100. So please enjoy.
Note: Please read these in order, from diary entry 1-12, to get the vibe of all of the characters and the colourful sense of this crazy mess.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
what's the difference between
maine **** male cats,
and bloodhound dogs?
minimal, or non-existent: (
colon = i.e.,
much more than the
       mere italic refrain)...
both are clingy, both get
depressed easily,
to be honest, with one inkling
the like of horror movie soundtrack
as if it we're a lullaby and my
hand gesturing caress;
why oh why it was deemed
for me to assert the feline in feline,
rather than feline in woman?
oh well, cats it is...
         sure, i have the bundle of regrets,
then again:
at least, i have some.
damnation: being able to pet a cat,
but likewise unable to "mould" a woman...
crazy cat women, coming your way,
alongside obi wan kenobi's;
grooving in the cave,
with some i.n.x.s. in the background -
   jiggy jiggy orangutan -
the down syndrome kiddo
taking to break-dancing the face.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
so let's suppose you find yourself alone on a Saturday
night, a hermit inclined to hedonism - and you're sipping
whiskey and smoking cigarettes and start to feel winter
pinching your skin, so you put on another piece of clothing,
and you're also reading a book in an uncomfortable position,
sitting on your leg on a windowsill, crushing your tarsals -
    and because of the discomfort you get to reread half of
                 jung's the undiscovered self
(subsequent quotes extracted from the book,
  page references not given, and alterations made,
            indicated by being listed with a hyphen prefix)...
    and you have read it become...
but then you get a prompt from the book, and you have
to walk to another room where there's a computer
and internet access, problem is you need one hand to open
and close a door, and open and close another another,
and Braille read the walls of the corridor (because
it's dark), and the other hand requires you to carry
a glass of whiskey and bonsai iceberg rattlers...
  but you need the book too?
       good dog, shame there's no leash... the take in reference?
you stick your tongue between the two pages
that prompted you, and snap it shut with
your jaw... i've done a lot of things with my mouth...
for example ate a jasmine out to arouse it and then
penetrated it while kissing the mouth that spoke
       opera in onomatopoeia shrapnel while
the bed rocked... oh you got to reference *** into
everything these days... we live in an over-sexualised society
that doesn't really get jiggy-with-it anyway...
               i don't know it thinking about it
might insinuate it, or instigated a transition
from fiction into fact... but **** it...
  it's fertile ground...
                      and as the Koranic promise
suggests... 72 virgins, an infinite supply of ******
and your ***** chopped off...
              because *******, said an 8 year old
masturbator: is dissociative with the production
and subsequent discharge of *****...
    the purely muscular reaction.
        and who would need ***** in the realm
of the eternal?                so who the hell
would need *****?             steering toward golf
and the bowling alley... sport: it had to have
genital origins... all of them...
   like watching rugby today: i was imagining
the dynamic of the tsunami of ***** honing in
on the finish line of their tadpole adventure.
      and some do suggest that twins and triplets
are paradoxical births...
    i intend to mean that lightly.
           - weltanschauung of science...
- there was once the iron curtain,
                       now we have the niqab...
   i would have gone as far to say a lunacy with
the 24/7 transport system of new york,
    and when you pass from a big city into what remains
a rural community: it's lights out at 8p.m. and waking
up with a cockerel's skreech,
      - the west has unfortunately not yet awakened to
the fact that our appeal to idealism and reason and other
desirable virtues, delivered with so much enthusiasm,
is mere sound and fury...
    (or as Jesus said: the twelve to become the sons
   of thunder... real quote... never the bright spark
to be honest... unless he was referring to an aeroplane...
to hear the sound much later than seeing the plane...
so you get the pointers of what sound and fury can
create after the Macaresh haggle)...
- and where the church is notoriously weak, as in
  Protestantism
          (i'm guessing primarily due to the spirit of
schism embedded in it, and no other christian
denomination)
        for was it really about a "communal experience"?
  as is a belief in such a futility and the rampant
gang culture of mexico city... a community right there,
out to steal your rockers.
- stone of beds, an average of 145 grams per pebble..
     on this basis, telling someone to find a pebble
    that weighs 145 grams to the nearest decimal point
     of 0.1 - he would find no pebble of such a weight...
       'the statistical method shows the facts in the light of
the ideal average but does not give us a picture of
their empirical reality. while reflecting an indisputable aspect
of reality, it can falsify the actual truth in a most
misleading way. this particularly true of theories which
are based on statistics. what's distinctive about real facts
is their individuality. exceptions to the rule,
    as absolute reality suggests: the character of irregularity.'
the book: a brief history of time boasts of being a bestseller,
a bestseller that was rarely digested by readers...
  a Marquis once boasted of having an uncle that
owned a bishopric... and a fine fine library of books
you're read using only one hand...
                        guess what the other hand was doing?
     would i dare write a critique of what i just
referenced? i.e. jung's the undiscovered self?
it's a good enough book to be read while sitting on a
toilet for a bit longer... and even without pedantic
chronology of page 1 through to page 79...
          i just wanted to cite this quote the echoes today...
   western anxiety:
            it is useless to pillory the socialist dictatorships
as utopian and to condemn their economic principles as
unreasonable, because, in the first place, the criticising
West has only itself to talk to, its arguments being heard
only on this side of the iron curtain, and, in the second
place, any economic principles you like can be put
into practise so long as you are prepared to accept
the sacrifices they entail.

       i guess just as much, even without the historical
context...               modern capitalism has encouraged
a military styled empowerment of the police...
              and provided a weak military focus when
encountering alien hostility...
     and it has created the 0-hours contracts...
                   not even workers who are unpaid
but paid on a whimsical basis...
                                           and i guess Islam was like:
well... this model isn't going to work for us...
    let's create the most sustainable economic insurgency:
          war!                in some quantum-alter-universe
this seems to be working...
                                you can't really say that war
isn't the most effective and sustainable economic insurgency...
             but i love the fact that a new term has
emerged... counter to civil war... proxy wars...
                        and when Ukraine was joint host
      with Poland for the European championships
do you think the debate on expanding the European
union to encompass the Ukraine wasn't on the cards?
              one was already a member state for
8 years... and the other was sorta treated worse than
Turkey in terms of asking for membership...
    then Monsieur Pútān stepped in after proxy-stresses
were implemented from investors and political
operators of shadow projects...    thus said...
the West was still spotted talking to-itself in a lunatic
asylum of New York... where insomnia is rampant:
just like Mr. Piggy-Bank predicted mid-20th century.
and yet: i have so many more fractions of that
bottle of whiskey to drink... i might write
something less worded and less infused by world affairs.
SelinaSharday Jul 2018
It's On Baby
"By the Poet Stevie G"

Now the air is clear

No smog left in my atmosphere

I can get down to my writing

Omit the arguing and fighting

I really miss what I enjoy to do most

That's to write poetry and song

Not to brag or boast

But I'm in my comfort zone with pen in hand

And creativity blooms from my pores and glands

I love to write because passion drives me in that direction

Did you notice I said love

This is not a temporary affection

I'm going to put things into perspective

And prioritize my objectives

To write the words that readers want to read

And at the same time fulfill stevie g's needs

So bare with me while I write away

This is for life it will not end today

As long as I have motion in my hands

I will stimulate the many minds of man

Of the things I have encountered in time

Love, happiness, sadness, joy, hurt and pain

Of all these things stored in my mind

Love reigns above all things

But I'll leave that for the love poems that are to follow

For they are much easier to swallow

Does this poem have a direction

Well, you tell me

I would love to hear your perception

I welcome all feedback so bring the noise

No matter good or bad I will remain poise

I laid off writing for a while to rearrange my situation

But I'm back now so eighty six the vacation

I'm bout to get jiggy wit it

So excuse me if I get a lil ignant

I'm a huge lover of love poetry

But I'm bout to write some **** ya'll don't know of me

So expect some new **** to drop

And when they drop their gonna be blazing hot

So keep your eyes and ears open for the new coming of me

As the saga continues written by Stevie G
By My friend n Poet Mr. Stevie G..
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
so once the flirting duo moved along to
the electric ballroom
down the road for some jiggy-jiggy wiggles
i walked into the world's end
and headed straight for the toilet,
started talking to a mate
while taking a ****, ended up buying
him a drink, with the offer he asked:
are you gay?
                    no... i just feel like talking...
he further inquired: why are these barmaids
looking at you as if they know you?
so i replied...
    i just have one of these faces...
people remember me like they remember
birthdays and Christmases...
so i bought a round, he bought a round,
but.... hmm... the whole encounter
pinnacled on: nothing short of a nuance
of a brief encounter...
music producers...
   he asked me who i thought was
the best producer...
    so i said, rick rubin....
he countered with timbaland...
because whatever he did with
       justin timberlake &
      nelly furtado...
         to which i countered...
         come on...
                    what didn't rick rubin
do with johnny cash?!
and there was nothing original about
it for most of the time...
just the covers...
        we parted in good spirits
and...                oh ****... yeah...
snogging that girl...
   i still don't know how i'm somehow
appealing, when i have the chance
to... charm.
Mike Hauser Mar 2016
That's it I've had it
Tired of being ignored with a wink on the side
I'm tired of being told what old men should do
Going to start taking life on the flea..or is that the fly

I'm going to hit the streets of the city
And be known as that cool guy that raps
After I add a tad bit more Poligrip
So my dentures can get down with that

I'll get me a ball cap and turn it sideways
My pants already hang down past my crack
I'll even learn the latest catch phrase
Like, Hey dude..what's up wit dat?!

Think I'll even rhinestone my walker
For that little extra bling, bling
They'll say check out that crazy rapper daddy-o
Man that cat can really swing

I'll keep the lyrics clean like I do my diaper
That's why I bring my nursie with me
After all she's a wonderful wiper
Don't worry I pay the extra wiping fee

I'll also get her to hold up the cue cards
Since my memory over the years has waned
No longer to be known as that old white *******
Beating JZ at his own game

I'll get jiggy with it every chance I get
As I fizizzile my way to the top
I'll be bigger than that guy with the candy name
That young whipper snapper will melt in the hands of this rapping GrandPop
Chris Fernandez Nov 2016
So unexpected, guide me through your thought,
As a scheme, so clean, has me under your charm
Faceless beauty, her spirit leaves me caught,
I'll dance along, darling, arm within arm

Antique photos create vivid discourse,
Formatted light brings man closer to muse,
Letting robots paint, through unexplained force,
Gifts of design, our sight shall not abuse

To select one tint, I'd say Aurora,
Like those hair colours painted emerald,
mixed shades of turquoise, the cosmos' flora.
Stumbled upon, speaks an angels herald

Now, I pose, toward your curious mind
What songs, or prose, keep stresses left behind?

Appeared a riddle,
Buried treasure teasing clues,
Reveal your secrets

--

Count the stars while counting your steps, my girl,
Skipping careless upon the edge of the world,
If you were to slip, in my arms you would curl,
or lift me up to sit and watch the waves whirl

Diving with diction, planned like mystery fiction,
Gossip through senses, our voices breed intrigue,
To some, this constriction, would be cause for friction
But we're something special, within our own league

Vast skies painted in pastels mesmerize,
Warm sphere's embrace souls, leaving nothing to guess,
Astonished, you leave me, how we synchronize,
an unwonted psyche I dream to undress

Mix Vagabond, Stadium Love, Get Jiggy,
stirred with Colt 45, Spektor, and Kanye,
One part, don't worry, Two parts, be happy,
Pour upon the strawberry swings of coldplay.

Such careful words, the tension's in this game,
Would we break it, if I were to ask your name?

Queen, rule just and pure,
spark mischief behind barred doors,
Toy soldiers, march forth
--

Village folk decried such madness, those two,
Vaulting barb wire fences, and shabby rusted Fords
Vexing stray hippos, mired in the peacock's blue
Vanishing across great plains, slick tundra, broad fjords

Crooked cobblestones carve patience and plight
Crazed concrete jungles echo no amnesty
Captive Pigeons left captivated by flight
Cheer on escapees who soar past reality

Illusions of reflections spur pleasure,
Incite subtle coaxing, come over for a bite,
Impressed as may be, we care not spoil treasure
Instead conspiring deeper, until it's...just right

Blood ne'er shed freely,
Exhaust all human power,
Claim your Victory.
--

Without a doubt, you've penned one of your greats,
The way your words flow, how it illustrates,
Fingers left speechless, your story asphyxiates,
and to think, this is only one of your unimaginable traits,

So I'll be the first to spoil the rhyme,
I'm sure you'll learn to forgive me in time,
But with an inbox cluttered with junk and grime,
it's fast-coming apparent I'm chatting with a dime,

Curious souls are we, so let's fill up the canvas
Fingerpaint and oils; no drafting, sort-of planless,
Maybe we could do with the other one's madness,
so let me propose an idea; it shouldn't leave you anxious,

Lets find an evening where your heart may be free,
So that we may join together for a lovely cuppa' tea.

Breaking news just in!
Winter echos behind us,
Spring forward once more.
The waters lay murky,
Bright lights hold us afloat a while longer,
The festivals just in sight
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
having studied chemistry, i was already predisposed to write in the vein of philosophy, i could never manage to retain a pure humanism, of, say, a novel; how can one truly return to pure humanism of a novel once the shackles of science have been thrown onto a mind? at least philosophy allows a buffer zone between the sciences and the humanities; yet only in poetry is the most perfect depiction of man, in that poetry for all its woes, is but a pristine self-portrait of man: man, ex impromptu; and to add to this: lyricists are paupers in the poetry community, ever rigidity to write identifiable "poetry", as taught by english teachers, mindful of techniques and an arithmetic rigidity is a waste of time... a stake tartar is not a stake tartar if the meat has been cooked... the only poetry that is worth is seemingly mindless (madness, indeed, but there's method to it analogy), yet what it isn't is a rigid rubric; let us not be so predictable as to orientate our writing to be recited / studied in an english class, filled with 16 year olds.

it is strange to keep a memory of a thought,
but i have this most pristine bloom of
memory from a mere thought -
a question, what will be the last song i will
listen to, before i die?
  it was autumn, i just returned from
Ypres, and had just finished reading
dostoevsky's crime & punishment -
it was autumn, the fallen leaves were
scribbling themselves onto the pavement
with a rustic shuffle, while the wind played
the hand holding a quill -
          and that internalised question has
stuck with me, ever since,
i must have been in my teens.
          it must be noted, though,
he was right... art is degraded
                while science is overestimated -
which shows in pop culture -
           the popularisation of science is
abhorring, it's actually sickly -
a ******* gangrene on common sense...
        because these days,
no one will cite a milton, or an ezra pound,
what will be cited is
             a theory, without a name of
origin. i fear that the people who cite science
the most, who have to lean on
the crutch of science, are the least read
people in the world, i.e.
pompous barons of reading a blank page,
and now they want applause and
the word: encore! encore!
                  sure, they'll get an encore,
a baboon's **** and a camel spitting in their
faces.
           it would seem that when you
truly love, you only truly love:
               because you hate, with a passion.
- and a catholic apostate i am,
a catholic apostate i am, i am...
given the bureaucracy of the religion,
         i made my mind up,
confirmation? nope.
                      reading that book about
the gnostics (**** me i wish i stole that book
from the school library like i stole the quran)...
now we're into shrapnel talk, jiggy-jiggy,
        random noise, don't ask, don't know
where it came from...
           back in school we'd have trivia games,
who could name bands in rotation...
       then one day i was playing some music
and a friend asked: who's that?
   guess who.
               deep purple.
  no, guess who.
    creedence clearwater revival.
  no! guess who!
d'uh... american woman...
                 if there ever was a modern
movie i've fallen in with, it had to be
american beauty.
                       or take yesterday -
(by the way, i'm not in cabaret voltaire
pulling lines out of my *** and a white
rabbit from a top hat)
     all i said was:
well, at least he had a conscience -
unlike some sociopaths
         (cf. carl sargeant / weenershteen
an employer for former mossad spooks).
         - see, i don't like this idea,
the idea of a res cogitans,
it's too mathematical for me,
      it has a mathematician conceptualised
it, written all over it.
   to me: that's a ****** coordinate!
  - god? that's just a nudging to think...
i can't stress it enough,
praying feeds the vanity project of a god
in religion, his reply? probably a ****.
i rather think than pray,
less ornamental ******* and lying to yourself.
atheists? they prefer the talking version
of theism, whereby theism is the thinking
version of atheism.
   me? can't be bothered to talk,
talking means i have to engage in the outside
world, where, in the outside world
i'm met cold-shouldered by a res per se
(thing in itself) -
             or to put it technically in kantian
verbiage: noumenon.
               which is like a noun but it's non
   oscillating in M (sine)...
                            d'uh, W (cosine) -
                allah hell almighty -
                  one apostle two apostle three apostle
neunzig-neun luftballoooons...
                                hey, the fetish remains;
so soft, ooh, so soft, the german tongue
is silk, mmmm... i could almost wipe my ***
with it!
               (the degradation of art
and the over estimation of science?
   heidegger, he was right)
                so i propose an aversion of
the whole "thing" and "thought" -
i prefer the idea of movement, rather than
a cartesian fixation...
               after all *sum
and cogito are
quantum aspects,
              one precipitates into an outside
world, the other is invited into an inside world -
     i still fail to see how there's a ergo "continuum",
rainfall,
        how one materialises from the nether regions
into a conversation about the weather
over coffee...
                   i simply can't see an ergo
connection, akin to a +, x -, ÷...
                   worded, that's what is implied...
ok, ok...  let's go all fancy dress,
sleepover pyjama party mad: √.
                                i prefer the notion of
a continuum rather than a fixed posit,
    a coordinate -
                    after all no man ever was
considering a genesis, original,
within an "unoriginal" continuum -
   hey, buddy, you were born on a carousel,
it was moving before you were born,
it's going to move, and it will continue to
move after you're... what's that... "dead"?
         talk to the gene therapist -
    don't worry: you're recyclable material.
                       unless you have a different fetish
for a cul de sac existence?
                i do mind the res cogitans approach,
of a graph representation with coordinates
(0, 0, 0) -
                yes, i mind it...
  it's a static point of reference -
                    it's a existentia in stasis -
        an immovable "object" this cartesian
observation...
                              trust a frenchman to conjure
up an existential dead end trap...
     banging my ******* head against the wall...
when i should be headbanging at a heavy
metal concert with all the other meat-heads!
  how can cogito ergo sum ever reach
   a stasis?
                    a static point where everything
is simply ergo?
                          ah... the merging point
of the triad continuum:
                   ergo = the world
cogito = -1
                            sum = +1
      can't think of anything else,
the -1? ~catatonia.
                                      +1?
                                         the boring
   necessity of the cordial affairs of
                               yap yap yap
        in a supermarket.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
i know that some people might cringe at this,
but it has to be said, nonetheless,
nothing, and i mean nothing beats
this sort of cognitive massage -
                      i call it scatter brain,
and by that i mean: listening to psychedelic
trance, while solving a sudoku;
    don't know, it works for me -
       i don't even have a chance to think -
my brain becomes a pure optical chamber,
well yeah... ***** helps too...
i never understood why alcohol has such
a terrible reputation,
  i mean: if you know how to use it,
  like a surgeon might use pure ethanol
to clean his equipment...
       fun stories to boot: the chemists at
edinburgh university used to brag about
their ethanol "abuse": and i mean the lecturers;
and who were the most bonkers and fun
out of the three tiers of organic, inorganic
and physical chemists?
   the organic chemists...
the people who bring you perfumes and *****...
and shampoos, and what not...
but i still can't get over the fact,
that the most eye-absorbing experiment i ever
did was making polyethene...
and it was in a catholic high school...
under what teacher? ah... hmm... mrs. khan!
funny how a lot of pakistanis are descendents
from that ****** mongol...
           mongol mongrels, ha ha:
jiggy jiggy with genghis: either a mountain
of skulls, or a harem the size of a year
by the count of days.
polyethene? yeah, i can't remember it
exactly, but you put two layers in a glass
utensil, and then you had to pinch at
the event horizon where the two substance
met... and as you pinched, you extracted
the plastic thread... magic... well...
      a bit more entertaining than opening
a history book, to let the moths out;
even though, i have to admit, i was always better
at history, than chemistry.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2022
hmm... come to think of it, is dyslexia a truly unique
phenomenon bound to the English language,
or could it be stretched toward the French tongue?
i don't know... but i've never heard of a dyslexic ******:
i have heard of a ****** with terrible orthography skills...

well i do speak a barbaric language, there is a clarity of
letters and syllables where i come from,
there's none of that sort of *******
that: is written THOUGHT but is said:
F... FOUT... that seems about right...
              it must be a French "thing"... maybe that's
why i never learned it... that phonetic dissonance
of writing one thing then speaking another...

sure, very barbaric of me for clarifying what's
written and what's being said...
French is bad, English is also bad...
German just compounds their words
to make them appear chemistry dictionaries...
maybe why English still retains the Pomeranian
aesthetic of compounded words,
akin to hydrochloric acid... oh! wait wait!
where's the hyphen?! ****! where's the hyphen?!
why isn't it hydro-chloric acid?!
Oxford, wake up... please do, when you do:
let me know...

oh but i'm writing this without expecting any change...
the people, so far, can, simply, *******...
i don't actually mind... all these "objections" are
for my own personal amusement...
i like minding these things without actually worrying
about them to the point of changing them...
like... i'm not going to read anything concerning
English thought... philosophy, etc.
beside Newton & Hume... no, not even Locke...
i don't know why... perhaps the roads are the best
in Europe... perhaps the English are a people that are
the most practical and don't necessarily have to think...
let them speak: ******* love to speak...
but thinking is not really their hard-on point
of concern...

the English are a practical people...
but it infuriates me... Charles Dickens... what orthography?
you're not using diacritical markers?!
that's just a nicer word: a misnomer of calling
a spelling mistake a: spelling mistake!
******... Charlie: yo! ******!
you have, your having paranormal, your metaphysics...
you don't have ORTHOGRAPHY if you don't don't
have diacritical markers...
for example, can you hide an H within the word:
SHARP? can you? let me help you out...
       ŠARP... see that?
see how i hid an already surd of a letter that's H?
ask a Heb... Hebrew... one arm of the tetragrammaton
is a surd: vowel receiver... the other hand
is the basis for the definite article and laughter: ha ha! ha!

but like i already commented to someone before:
living in England among English girls...
****** this that number and so many... none of them English...
well then... they must prefer their anti-racist preferences
of Pakistani men that might groom them...
Pontius Pilate pose... what?!
my hands are tied...
free will, no?!
                        and all i ever wanted was to be loved by
a woman... given the current climate...
can i get a cat instead?!
i'm not going for android ****-buddies...
down to the brothel... once every half a year...
or whenever i feel like it...
when, i, feel, like, it...
not when she's expecting me to be turned on...

that ship has sailed and the last time i heard:
it's sinking...
mein gott, these supposed alpha male **** boys...
you know how hierarchies work on the ape level...
right... on the human level a woman will walk
up to me and tell me: can you please take care of
"Andrew": he seems to be wandering off...
i don't need to earn an x amount of money to keep in
mind: we're here to prevent another Hillsborough
incident, aren't we? i usually receive glum looks
looks that read: i'm just here to get paid
i have no duty to uphold... well **** me...
alpha male... this Greek alphabet soup that became
doubly exemplified with the Covid delta...
omicron... what ******* letter are we on
in the hierarchy of men?
what letter are the women on?

             the way i see it: ensure everyone is included...
esp. the ******: fringe-bracket...
i'm not even a ******* supervisor but i'm asked
to be mindful of other people...
what the **** do we do, except, for the best part...
loiter? pretend that we're doing something...
8th February... Fulham FC vs. Millwall...
i'm gagging to be pitted against the Millwall fans...
i want to show my teeth and rolls my eyes back
to show nothing but the whiteness of my sclera...
hopes are high: expectations are low...]

NO, **** FOR  FREE?
NO! YOU IDIOT FUCKINBG...
WANKERs! *******..
****** CRAB CRAB SCRATCHERS...
alpha male **** boys... does *** have to be on
my mind so-much-so-frequently than is expected?
do i have to harbour this fluorescent
insomniac libido, do i have to play along
to the gimmick of a Duracell bunny?!
come, on! i've checked out modern ****...
it has gone so bad that i'm actually looking up
vintage 1970s Italian ****...
i don't watch the modern stuff... it's ugly... it's perverse...
once upon a time there was a feeling
of art around performing *** for an audience...
these days... ugh... all that gagging all that slobbering,
spit... *** has become: truly... unappealing...
what i do with prostitutes looks and sounds better
than the **** i sometimes encounter
then subsequently quickly turn off: because, it's,
a ******* TURN OFF...
the more liberated people became the ******* ***
they tend to perform...
and i implore my readers to transfer having
read some Marquis de Sade...
but this stuff... if women want to be ****** like they're
being ******... with no pseudo-Tantra escapades...
no... i'm not doing that...
give me a Turkish prostitutes that is still the only
woman in the vicinity who knows a little
about setting boundaries and i'll take that...

*******, once upon a time... had an allure...
these days it's just block-a-chop
see you at the butchers' market...
let's chop up some pork 'ops...
   it's ******* disgusting... no wonder i don't want
to watch it...

imagine getting your kicks off listening to
portrait of m.r boogie - christopher young -
from the movie sinister... imagine yourself being good...
seeking out... an archetypical role of / for evil,
because... the current state of affairs of "evil":
is... somewhat mediocre... tame...
tame by the comparison associated to the mid-20th century
Germans, or the isolated instances of Wankee
individualism stressed by that glorious bunch
of psychopaths...
    
modern *******... for, ****'s, sake...
i have to dig out old Italian ****** to get a thrill
of how ******* doesn't have to be all about
a teenage girl with down's syndrome slobbering
and crying out her mascara... or that everything
that's heterosexual is **** related...
can i please just ******* on my bicycle,
feel the cold wind, feel the cold?
can i please just do that?!
******* so old it sort of reminds you
of a period of cinema best associated with Singing in the Rain...
when the talkies first came in, the jazz singer
and what not... i sometimes watch *******
so old that they have "dubbing": voice-actors that
compliment the *** workers since
the *** workers have terrible sounding
onomatopoeias when they ******?!
that's how far back i'll go, because this modern crap...

sure... i do have a fetish for...
gloryhole bukkakke thrills: Robespierre would have been
so proud... less decapitated heads...
more de-membered phalluses...
squirting out yoghurt juice... anonymously...
i can't say i'm even into the lesbian ****...
modern ****... alias of too much blah blah...
mommy this, daddy that...
there is just a massive undercurrent of ****** running
through it... i feel sick...
talk during *** is already bad...
i was tested at work concerning this...
the women i work with asked me whether it was...
ahem... "polite" to refer to someone as "daddy" during
***... you're ******* kidding me,
was my reply... not the exact words but,
ergo implied... who talks during ***?

you want a slobbering ****** at the end of your
popsicle... drooling spit, gagging... crying mascara tears from
the ******* or do you want something sensual?
this modern crap is... i'd rather watch a horror movie...
at least seeing makeshift conjuring of a monster
would give me more... erm...
"whereabouts"? but people, do this ****, to themselves...
no one forced them to do this...
they do this of their own accord...
i'm happy that i'm not earning the sort of money
that might associated with being tempted by
gynocentric broads...

i'm free... i don't need a validation mechanism...
having enough *** is not a social status...
i frequent the brothels whenever i feel like it...
if having *** implores me to think that
i am living a completed life... seriously?!
   how much VIAGARA are you popping?!
how do you deal with the expectations...
i consider the concept of the Greek alphabet soup
according to... brotherhood...
these part "alpha" **** boys know ****...
can you be part of a group, including the ****** males...
can you keep them accommodated?!
no one is stepping out of line,
someone is in control: even though they are
hierarchically below some supposed said: "supervisor":
some senile ***-whip?
yes? no?!              well then...
are you talking with everyone on the ground...
everyone o.k.? it's all Indiana Jones happy for all?
yes?! no?!

alpha buck ****-boy deluxe...
if ******* women was my sole modus operandi...
why would i custard my head thinking about
Newton?!
that's all there is? *******... erm... would be nonces...
existence... can, be, orientated... around...
the... non-existence, of, women, should, such, demands...
be, made, necessary!
you know what it takes?
just look at an old woman...
a woman you could never, possibly,
be attracted to...

she most probably has her "****" sorted...
time, the balancing aspect of all things...
why the Greeks never associated some demigod
to time: perhaps they had... but i'm just too lazy to know of him,
her... it...
i do have a concept... the rich thinking that
they own everything...
there is a Hadean Debt...
you, do, know, that... this life is on loan?
right?! and the resources you're using...
you, didn't... generate, yourself?
so you do know, there's a Hadean Dept?!
the debt owned to Hades?
you do, know that, no?

you didn't create the coal...
you didn't create the atoms, nor the wind...
people have become as sloppy governing people
as they have become...
having... unaesthetic ***!
what am i even writing?
        bet keep this within the confines of having
written too much, i'd appreciate it immensely
that people do not reach this rambling episode...
of course i'm not going to delete it...
but it's hardly anything worse than tabloid journalism...
sure, i sometimes turn on the ramble-mode...
how would you feel...
being 35 and unloved?
           there would be some venom in your words...
Teutonic monk song can only get you
this far, after a while a sleeping beast comes
to the fore... wounded, proud -
i can see old age and it's not a pretty picture:
i'll sooner do off with myself than reach that
rubric... there's no competition when it comes to old
age... i'm not sticking around...
i've already located the crux points on my body
where the arteries are... a sharp stab of the knife...
in my right armpit... just above the right side
above the collar bone... i'll bleed out...
unless... drinking takes me sooner...
**** this *******...
    i'm done with playing nice: although i'll still
play the nice... but not being loved by a woman...
take me! mother, sea!
take me! in a storm!
               take me, the night! let me marry death!
fickle peasant girls that might subsequently
require a plumber...
in my age gap that's all that's left...
single mothers... who were the fathers?!
if there was... ha ha... one... i'd be surprised...
worthless alcoholics... maybe i should have taken
the approach i took to my maine *****...
two of them... i once found a hot **** in my bed...
o.k. changed the sheets... beat both of them:
who done it?! who done this loaf of scrappy peanuts
in my bed? meow! both received a beating...
second time... caught in the middle of the act...
ah... you little *******... you're going to ****
where you're later going to sleep?!
smack... smack... later washed him,
wrapped him up in a towel and mummified him...
"mummified": tied a bathrobe really tight around him
with clips... sat him on a table in the garden
while hanging up the washing...
maybe i should have slapped a woman once or twice...
maybe then they might have stayed...
i feel ill thinking that this might have been
the correct modus operandi...
even though i smacked my cats about for *******
in my bed... who's in my bed, right now?
the two cats i smacked about for ******* in my bed...
well... one of them did... now we're pals...
i sit on the windowsill, he sits on the windowsill...
we greet each other with a head-****...

it's sad, though... to keep a woman one might have
to resort to mild violence... slap her a little...
oh **** me, no... no...
   i'd rather be a monk...
i don't do well around fickle creatures...
you're either part of a legion, a cohort... or you're a *******
rebellious outlier that can be duly ignored
and disregarded...

esp. with the modern ****... i don't watch it...
i have to sieve through and find the classical
1970s Italian ****... when *** was a joy
and not an endurance test for gagging *******...
no... just... no...
            even with prostitutes i do my best
to be tender... this current bollocking works ill on
the eyes... right... so a Billie Eilish tells you that she's sick
of modern ****...
i'm a "nobody" and i can tell you the same...
so much heterosexual *** orientating itself around
****...
can't i just poke an oyster?!

then again: do i have to always be *****? do i need
a libido insomnia on top of an actual insomnia?!
what am i, a ******* Duracell bunny?!
jiggy-jiggy-jog-on-constant-hard-on-androidd?!
maybe the "alpha male" **** boys can play that role...
solipsistic vectors of this world: egoists...
make sure they get pampered first...
but try to get as many normal people and weirdos
on your side to satisfy a service...
      of sure... those **** boys will be right up there
in authoritative roles trying to make everyone inclusive:
never demeaning the presence of creature less than they...
yeah...

          they'll be up there... alpha male **** boys...
pistons... clogs in a vaginal machine...
   not much to go around being an artist,
or a plumber, let the dust settle... until it can be governed
by a next whirlwind.
Butch Decatoria Sep 2017
Uninspired

By and by a passersby

Another grace for grains of sand

Loiter lingering longer

Down low below beneath your toes

The sublimity of heaven

Farther furthest spaces

Within and beyond the fleshy faces

Far from firmament and sacrament

The stages we pretend perform

A jig getting down jiggy without

The doubt that cuts not rugs

But peace of mindful tiers

Enlighten me to wake yet feign

To not feel endangerous the hollow

Spaces that wide open

A nothingness of soul

A sky of soot and funeral silt or soil

We darken our glow to not toil

Thou wilts

Give praise,

This miracle of days to witness

Nothing else we make less

But ourselves

With fear and doomsday loudly

Cry.

Each scintilla of a sigh profoundly

Forever feels like

A spark

Big banged life's boomerang

Why worry to go hurry in lines

Manga tales

Minds bright implosions

Think tank

We drank and wankers

Laugh

Feeling glad bags

Full of glory.

You are one in this box

Sphere made of fear

Shape your story.

Don't drown in the Gobi

Or such empty tears

Eyes panorama grand o holy!

Sshhh.

be we wide awake...?

(To’lly)
Dream Fisher Jul 2019
I've had a cut in my brain for a while,
Put a bandage on it but words still leak out
Drew some scars on my side
So I've got some phantom pain now
I might be a spaz, working really fast
"I wish I had an ounce of your energy"
Once that wish was granted,
They might see that they can't stand it,
I can't sit still, I can't just chill.
Even when my body is in stasis,
My heart is racing, my mind is chasing
Like kids playing games in a school yard
Then I just runoff like a sentence
But I never get too...

Far from perfect but worth a second glance
Adrenaline pumping, I'm on my twenty something chance
I've been dancing with the devil
And I could swear I saw Goodie Proctor there
I put my pedal to the metal,
Hit a witch switch and blew off the witch's hat
Then jumped through the golden vase.
Getting jiggy in my own craft.

I'm glad I have today,
I would love to see tomorrow too
Every day is someone's last
I just hope it's not me, or you.
Man what's the deal coming thru shining grill
Mass appeal can you feel a gangsta oh so real
Poppin' thrills verge to **** don't test the souths will
Wrecking shop it don't stop far from a slop
Making bread is my butter spread
Haters utters stutters
Cuz I be smooth peanut butter what uh no other
Can step to the mic gotsta stay tight taking flight
All day all night flows gone bite critics gotta rewrite
Cuz I'm on a mission south side still hissin' ******'
Foes mad cuz they can't break the collision precision
Made by me flossing beats easily can ya see me
Shots like Biggie I'm getting jiggy keep blunts spliffy
Hold up never fold up gotta keep lean in the cup
Sugar daddy the girls call me a clone of F-A-T
P-A-T freestyle we gotta go wild never smile
Problem child see me cruising past a thousand miles
That boy Yosef can't be touched cobra clutch
Give up the real candy coated woodgrain and steel
Feel the Texas rattle snake all the fakes pump brakes
See the rims of the fours poking rims smoking
Mad fire like when I'm blazing cherry marries higher
Than the divine rewind my lines gotta incline
Gotta come through still jamming ***** blues
Don't be on the early news Mayne we done paid our dues
Leaning on a switch can't stand a ***** who glitch
Off the scene we all about making green fiend
For the mic like rakim shake em up like hakeem
Dream.at the highest mountain found the fountain
Wonders of youth treasures spitting over the booth
Ageless man feeling cageless with the lions chest
Heart the rest keep the ak with a moon crest
Manifest o yes I'm flexing the best off the knot
Texas still making it hot flows stirring up the pots
Mayne it don't stop we gotta keep.shining
Blinding for those under-minding end up underlining
Signing ya death certificate sick with it pick it
Easy greasy slipping with so many styles hair do
Swoop right by you then dump you in the bayou
Classic fantastic rhyme fanatic who can master
A disaster to perfection selection still stretching
Nerves curves ya appetite cuz the flows ya can't bite
Ignite dynamite advance make ya eyes dance in a trance
Big as Ivan Drago punching combos **** instinct
Pyro cop those see a gem grow from my mental
Expose fake criminals maxis turn to minimals
Vibrate the set like freight trains or a jet none get next
They can't test us or out Plex us welcome to Southside Texas
We gotta multiple shottaz ranks higher than Shabba
Watch the lightening and thunder gun wonders
Make ya body colder than the tundra
The weather endeavor the witty too **** clever
Keep a bank roll.of mozzarella funky cheddar
Keep a circle of killaz like the Goodfellas
Also gotta girl badder than Shawna freaky as belldonna
Critics mad cuz they can't flex the un- tamable
Intangible suckas edible from the bullets eating
Skins clammy y'all gotta jam me can't spam me
Stay slammin' like Anfernee penny cuz she likes it the hard way
Maynnnee ?

— The End —