Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was all dreamy, and fabled.
She was brave enough to love you.
She was brave enough to be crumpled to shreds yet fake a smile flawlessly.
She grew on you.

Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was graceful and too kind to be true.
She was the daisy of your garden, where flowers weren't just a few.
She loved sunshine as much as the misty moon.
She was ravishingly rhythmic. Forming melodies out of those midnight stars,
adding beats and verses to your mundane mornings.
Your Juliet, your Daisy, your sanguine Sestina
all of them. Yet, nothing better than a reverie.

Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was all chirpy and consoling.
Solace was what made her.
Her love was fire, worth burning for.
At times, her eyes form glaciers,
arctic and numb.
At times, she feels worn out and ready to drop.
But, Juliet's audacious to hold on tight yet, taken down by you. Remember, she grew on you.

Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was delicate but humorous.
Compassion knit her soul together.
You tell her, she is all you ever wanted and is grateful for.
But, the woman lying next to you hears the same.  

She was a writer and left you one.
Juliet, your Juliet.
Not anymore.

Juliet said to Romeo
‘I don’t like your hair!’
And Romeo said to Juliet
‘Well I don’t really care!’
Then Juliet said to Romeo
‘Don’t talk to me like that!’
And Romeo said to Juliet
‘Sorry baby J, I’ll buy myself a hat!’
Juliet smiled all sweetly
‘That would be a start’
Romeo replied to Juliet
‘You have evil in your heart!’
Juliet gave him a scowl
‘You know that isn’t true!’
Romeo looked all sheepish
‘I know thats not true too’
Juliet kissed his cheek
‘Your a dream, that’s what you are’
Romeo went red faced
‘I’m embarrassed, my little star’
Juliet gave him a hug
‘You’ll definitely do for me’
Romeo squeezed her all lovingly
‘Make us a cup of tea’

lovestruck Romeo sings the streets of serenade
Laying everybody low with a love song that he made
Finds a convenient streetlight steps out of the shade
Says something like you and me babe how about it?
Juliet says hey it's Romeo you nearly gimme me a heart attack
He's underneath the window she's singing hey la my boyfriend's back
You shouldn't come around here singing up at people like that
Anyway what you gonna do about it?
Juliet the dice were loaded from the start
And I bet and you exploded in my heart
And I forget I forget the movie song
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?
Come up on different streets they booth were streets of shame
Both ***** both mean yes and the dream was just the same
And I dreamed your dream for you and now your dream is real
How can you look at me as if I was just another one of your deals?
When you can fall for chains of silver you can fall for chains of gold
You can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold
You promised me everything you promised me thick and thin
Now you just say oh Romeo yeah you know I used to have a scene with him
Juliet when we made love you used to cry
You said I love you like the stars above I'll love you till I die
There's a place for us you know the movie song
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong Juliet?
I can't do the talk like they talk on TV
And I can't do a love song like the way it's meant to be
I can't do everything but I'd do anything for you
I can't do anything except be in love with you
And all I do is miss you and the way we used to be
All I do is keep the beat and bad company
All I do is kiss you through the bars of Orion
Julie I'd do the stars with you any time
Juliet when we made love you used to cry
You said I love you like the stars above I'll love you till I die
There's a place for us you know the movie song
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong Juliet?
A lovestruck Romeo sings the streets of serenade
Laying everybody low with a love song that he made
Finds a convenient streetlight steps out of the shade
Says something like you and me babe how about it?
You and me babe how bout it?

In fair Verona where Will set the scene
Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down.
Two households both alike in dignity
Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground.

When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance
Events were set in motion that, perchance,
Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride
but ultimately result in her suicide.

With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead,
And Capulet and Montague estranged.
Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed
not knowing of her loss of maiden-head.

Romeo was banished for his crime,
a sin for which a peasant would have died
Their two households, joined because they wed,
remained divided by their foolish pride.

Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air,
oppressive in the absence of a breeze.
With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead,
as if struck down by some unknown disease


Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet
Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets.
A draught of deadly poison he obtained
So they might sleep together once again.

When Romeo met Paris at her tomb,
Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead.
Would not the world have been a better place
if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead?

Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down-
the only son of Montague now dead.
Perchance just then fair Juliet revives
Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead.

Authorities, arriving at the scene,
could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost.
Capulet and Montague were reconciled
Their amity bought at a fearful cost.

Only Juliet drinks poison
Only Juliet likes to fall asleep
Last weekend,
Traded my bed for a coffin
Stuck both our hearts in the oven
We can fry together in heaven,
Pray to God your soul to keep,
I don’t want it following me.  
Cause,
  
    I haven’t been sleeping
I’m weak and defeated
A point of exhaustion
So lost that I can’t even think
I relied on you often
I’m starting to see
You come through the darkness
In the form of a banshee
Walk away would be progress
I’m just not really there yet
Sick of feeling like garbage
Chewed up gum; stuck under your feet
      Am I some type of rodent?
That you could step over?
A slab off the meek
Who breaks his back for your cheese?
Condemn me a burden.
This just isn’t worth it
We’re not picture perfect?
If you put down those matches
Then this fire would stop burning
But You’ll always be thirsty
I’ll always be hungry
You’re out their flirting
I’m home doing nothing.
      Unfulfilling the filth on the streets
The detergents’ not working
You’ll always be *****
No I won’t help you clean.
God’s gift to the earth
That thought is disturbing  
A hearts that’s discerning
The curse of the free.
Stay strong in my searching
The light is approaching
Keep moving forward
We’re permanently,
Finally over,
Juliet R.I.P.

Only Juliet drinks poison
Only Juliet likes to fall asleep
Dug her grave, had black emotions
Pray to God her soul to keep,
Sent her back to this earth,
Now I’m cursed,
I have Juliet’s ghost—following me.
Only in my dreams, why I never sleep
Finally Over, Juliet R.I.P.

The feel of the soft sand
On your feet replaced with pebbles.
Uncomfortable, probably therapeutic.
Read me poetry. Recite it from memory
If you like. I'll be your Juliet. Say it's
Our wedding night. That'd be laugh.

There's a town behind us.
Invisible hand. Economics.
It probably matters to some people
But I don't regard money, I'm a poet
Juliet. I look at the sea. I don't
Understand money. All Greek to me.

Socrates. Democracy. Will you ever
Slow down? Ever understand that
The grey sea is not a metaphor for
Your state of mind, it's a trick of the
Light. Calm down Romeo. You're
Not a poet. You're a wreck.

Kiss me Juliet. Whoever you may be.
Dance a slow dance, against pebbles
Instead of sand. I, your Romeo
Will write you a poem against
The grey sea, sky, state of mind.
It's a shame you're so far away.

Will I ever see your face?
You're so far away. Not
Across the sea. Behind
Me. Three hundred kilometres
Away. Makes me want to
Fall asleep. Fall asleep.

Send me a text Juliet.
Answer me. I'm looking
Out to sea. Good 4g.
Town behind me,
I'm not there.

I'm nowhere. Come to me.
End this sick ballad
Before I fall asleep.
Grey sea. All around me.
**** society. Don't let me
Fall asleep. I don't want to fall asleep.
Don't want to see you drift
Into sea like the old Juliets did.
Sick production. Sick. Sick.
The work of a Philistine. The kiss was forced,
Felt like his Juliet was in
Liverpool. Disgusting place
Until you were born Juliet.
Come to me. Recite poetry
By the sea. This is a sad
Ballad, so much self pity.
Let me be with you Juliet.
Let's run far away before
I fall asleep. Oh life without you,
Makes me want to fall asleep.

Juliet looks at her watch
feeling bored,  Mrs Saad please stop blabbering
Juliet glances at her friends
ah cmon, stop pretending writing notes
Juliet stares at the whiteboard
The alphabets are dancing
The sentences jumbled up
Juliet looks again at her watch
convinced Mrs Saad would never stop
Juliet peeps between Steve and Chris
there is Romeo looking so serious
concentrating in Literature class
Romeo is the most outstanding
His art is most envied
Now Juliet feels ashamed
To win Romeo, she should at least
try to write a stanza of poem
role play a scene from Shakespeare
and write a script for a play...
who would notice her enchanting beauty
In Mrs Saad's  literature class
unless she proves the beauty of her brain
in a form of literary texts that convince
and win....

i.

your love is like that
of romeo and juliet.
you fit perfectly,
like puzzle pieces,
and despite the raging seas,
you both man the sails
of your eager ship.

ii.

the night sky
is empty,
for all the stars are now in your eyes.
and you have all the blueprints planned out
as though you've forgotten that life
is not a house.

you keep on running,
as though you've forgotten that life
is not a track.

you keep on loving,
as though you've forgotten that life
spares no one

(not romeo, not juliet).


iii.**

and just like romeo,
and his dear juliet,
in the end,
you will both come crashing down.

(a.m.)

At one point you referred to me as your Romeo
And you were my Juliet
It seems we had our falling out
But have yet to see our last breath
Oh Juliet if you were here
In my arms, I'd hold you dear
What hardship we had faced before
Caught me off guard I swear to death
If I could have that moment back
You'd still be here with me
Oh Juliet I miss you so
I just wish I could make you see
I've watched you fall in and out of love
With so many other guys
If only you would turn around
And see I'm still right by your side
We call each other the best of friends
But if you knew, you'd feel so bad
Oh Juliet I'll hide away
All these feelings that I have
I'd rather see you happy
Than stressed beyond belief
But no matter what i do or try
It's not good enough since it's me
Oh Juliet one day you'll see
The words I write for you
And at that time I hope you'll know
Im still hit with cupids bow.

I need punk rock.
More than a Juliet.
A Juliet will tease you, get under your skin and cause you to crawl.
A Juliet will want to understand what you are.
A Juliet will ask where you are and want to know if you’re alright.
A Juliet will cause you to stumble and think about it all night.
She may pretend not to notice, she may think it’s cute.
But she still notices.

I need punk rock.
Punk rock will let you wear it on your skin and the world will see its mark on you.
Punk rock will never change because it is the wrinkles in your brain,
The stones that don’t turn sour, and the chords in your veins
Punk rock will scream out when you are feeling the most you.
Punk rock doesn’t care about you and it’s best that way.
Punk rock will live on and it will be the same now and yesterday.
I need punk rock,
More than a Juliet.

Gone with the wind is his old desire
Bright flowers of love bloom in his spring
Once who ruled his heart’s empire
I’ll die for Rosaline – he no longer will sing
Tenderness of this new flower
Bewitches heart and mind of Romeo
Charm of looks on both sides in power
Lovely Juliet and him, the magnificent duo
Alas! She is nothing but blood of enemy
And he, her enemy’s next of kin
In abstract lies the idea of him to see
To express to Juliet his love, and her heart win
Juliet’s love for Romeo is no less than him
Opportunity to meet her lover, for her more fleet
Infinity of time and power of love come to brim
Rise of sun to meet, overcoming the danger, so sweet

This is the story of my Juliet;

Of her Montague and his Capulet.

Roses smell sweet with no care of their name,

But with “Montague”, this just isn’t the same.



As a cruel joke, fate bonded their hearts,

For fate knew too well that they’d be torn apart;

Torn apart like the brawling in the public square,

Where Montagues and Capulets disagreed there.



I am the one whom Romeo loved,

Before he’d first seen his Capulet dove.

It happened quite fast, and inside the year,

We were something akin to the three musketeers.



We knew if the secretive lovers were caught,

They’d both be destroyed; impaled on the spot.

So I covered for them, and I helped them along,

And I did my best to sing over their song.



I witnessed the wedding, the friar’s compliance

In hopes that the families would form an alliance.

And while I had my doubts, I kept my lips sealed;

I allowed them to hope the tooth fairy was real.



Soon after that, I was with Romeo and his friend,

When Tybalt came along and caused Mercutio’s end.

I ran after Romeo, begging “Please! Use your head!”

But it was to no avail, and soon Tybalt was dead.



So Romeo was banished, and I sat with his wife;

I comforted her as she wept of her strife.

She was almost alright, but fate slipped on its gloves,

And she was betrothed to a man she couldn’t love.



Three times, I convinced her to put down her knife;

“You can do this, Capulet, don’t you take your own life!”

I spoke with the friar, and he had not a clue,

Till I formed a plan and a mysterious brew.



I sent a letter to Romeo, warning him of her sleep,

And so Juliet drank into slumber most deep.

Two days went past, then I felt my heart stop-

My letter had been returned, and Romeo’s address dropped.



I tripped a few times as I sprinted towards her grave,

All the while howling out Romeo’s name.

I leapt across ditches, I dashed around trees,

And I fount Montague, fallen to his knees.



“She is pure beauty, even in her death,”

Said Romeo as he took his last breath.

I lunged, and I screamed until my throat bled,

But bleed as I might, Romeo was now dead.



Juliet yawned, and it turned into a cry,

As the sight of his body burned into her eyes.

I stood up, hands shaking, and reached out to my friend,

But I knew this was a wound my soft words couldn’t mend.



“Juliet, don’t,” I pleaded weakly.

She shook her head sadly, said “I’m sorry, Rosaline.”

I held her small frame, and I felt her depart,

As she drove her own blade into her broken heart.



Montagues and Capulets sat together that day,

And they mourned their children and regretted their hate.

I stood up, though it pained me, and they looked distressed

At Juliet’s blood that soaked through my dress.



“This is your fault!” I yelled hoarsely at the lords.

“You ran your own children through with your swords!

If you are so noble, ordained from above,

How could you destroy their lives and their love!?”



“Don’t you dare let their sacrifices end in vain!

They were my friends, and they died so you’d change!

I hope you make peace, because your bigotry

Took Romeo and Juliet away from me!”



So it was, that the families have since lived in harmony,

But that is something that now hardly matters to me.

A rose by any name would still smell as sweet,

But if “Montague” was different…





This would not be a tragedy…

before i pull this one out of my *** (again - listen, these words are not coming from either head or heart, it's best to pull them from the bowels, a gut-wrenching-feeling is more potent than that "something" that "something" delusional pulled from a clenched heart... as far as i know, the brain is incapable of emotions, it doesn't understand them, and since it doesn't understand them: it ridicules them)... which brings me to point:

(a) perhaps the idea of a soul is out-dated... why wouldn't it be, 21g worth of breath does not equal a soul... hence the autopsy of man, each detail studied seperately, the cardiologist knows the heart, the neurologist the brain etc., but some items work in a solipsistic mode... the heart is robotic, automaton pump queen (and not the kind of pump you'd get from Shveeden) - thump thump thump! come to think of it, most of our bodies are robotic, automated... lucky for me: i don't have to think about the heart doing what it does, it just per se does it... i'm not even sure i'm gifted with the a.i. brain functions... but there's an underlying principle that governs all of these items... some call it the self... i prefer: the Σ ultimatum... some would call it soul... but there has to be something akin to the Σ ultimatum that allows me to become detached from this body, while at the same time be bound to it: high blood pressure, heart attack on the horizon... take the high blood pressure pills... ****... what was (b)? oh... yes...

(b) i'm sorry, virginity doesn't cut it for me, lucky me that it was isabella of grenoble that allowed me to move aside from: god, prior to losing my virginity.... roxette: do you feel excited, you're still the one (shanaia twain), fade to black - metallica... i was such a romantic before i lost this dreaded curse... i was a romantic... 19th century style romanticism... but you really can see past this sort of romanticism unless you haven't ******... these days the right complains about cultural marxism: plenty of things to complain about... it makes as much sense as a pickle in a dollop of custard... or cooking with pale indian ale to make a stew: bad idea... wine, brandy, cider? fine... beer? terrible idea to cook with... but unless you haven't lost your virginity, you can't see what cultural marxism chose as its opponent: cultural darwinism... you know how little you hear about darwinism outside of the english speaking world? zero to none, yes, it's an accepted fact, but this fact does not permeate outside of the fact per se, the fact contains itself and the whole subsequent narrative because subconsciously stored... no other people than the people who found it ensure there are subplot proof statements of a reconfirmation of the validity... the whole social science bogus trap of rating people on looks... contradicting the meritocracy of that old Socratic saying: let me be as beautiful on the inside as on the outside... if you haven't ******: you're still the same old romantic i was at puberty... once you ****... well... cultural marxism dwarfs... yes yes it's there... so? but at the same time you can at least appreciate seeing the antithesis: cultural darwinism... the romantic needs to die the most carnal death via experience... all my ideals were shattered, this perfection of woman... i very much liked the idea / not even the ideal of a woman... but when the idea fizzled out and there was no ideal to begin with... i saw cultural darwinism for the very first time and... it was as ugly as cultural marxism so heavily criticized by the conservative right of the west... so... i decided to walk the middle ground, ignoring both sides (of the argument).

(c) i wouldn't have come up with a point see, unless my favorite square schematic didn't pop into my mind, Kantian, as ever: the best philosophy is the antithesis of English pragmatism and overt-politicisation, so it has to be German, ergo? i will not explain these terms, i figured: if i nail a decent example to fit each category, that's enough: since you can then visualize the concept via the example:

analytical a priori                           synthetic a priori
there's a need to throw                   learning
a ball at                                                to throw a ball
a target                                                 at a target once
                                                            ­  the need has been
                                                            ­  established...



synthetic a posteriori                    analytical a posteriori
there's a  need to                           perfecting to throw
      throw a ball at                               a ball at a target
a target, in order
to perfect this need...

                                            baseball..­. cricket...
at least: that's how i define knowledge of something
simple without having to use mathematics
that Kant used to explain... 2 + 2 = 4...
mathematics isn't exactly a man's best friend
at explaining philosophy...
you write philosophy that alligns itself
to mathematics... no wonder: moths in books...
yawns, unfinished works...
i found that sports work just as well
as mathematics... and you have the already
primitive objects to work with...
rather than pseudo-objects: i.e. numbers...
the abstracts of perception: i'm actually 6ft2...
not 6ft1... karolína plíšková is 6ft1...
       as noted when watching her today...

  i'll admit, i'm always a bit shaky when it comes
to this sqaure, whether it's over-simplified,
notably the top left corner: analytical a priori,
i'm always of a mindset that wants to associated
this definition with: analytical a- priori...
  i.e. borrowing from atheism:
    to analyse something without there
being a prior to example...
               analysis without a prior example...
i guess that's the mojo of science... the driving force...
back to sports... bow and arrow...
   tools: target...
       whether a bow and arrow and a deer
to begin with...
or a hand and ball and a wicket to end with...

there's a need to throw                  
a ball at a target...

            and cricket was the precursor of
baseball, but prior to cricket?
   there was archery...
              and prior to archery...
   there was forever a fundamental need,
e.g. to go from point X to point Z...
   see... as much as Kant wanted...
   numbers don't really solve the "problem"
of explaining something: algebra would be
better suited... x + y = z...
                    with numbers either hovering
above, or below (in the instance of chemistry's
subscript)...

talking of squares... sūdoku...
well, if at any time the french were to receive a hard-on
in terms of inventing something,
the english: rugby, cricket, football, tennis...
the french really did read some of the hebrew
qabbalah literature, as i am doing...
magic squares...
       the secular version of this puzzle
first appeared on july 6, 1895 (the modern version)...

it came to us from India and China...
again... why do western cultural darwinists
always tell our genesis from
the perspective of: "out of Africa"?
aren't there elephants in India?
            i will not believe i originated in Africa,
i'm not an "out of Africa" sorry state of
incompetence... i place my origins in
the sub-continent... at least that's where my
current language originates from...
the great migration across the Siberian tundra,
rather than some African savannah...
after all the Bangladeshi and the Sri Lankans
(the tear of India) resemble burnt cinnamon
in tone, some even as dark skinned as
east africans...
   if the germanic people want to stick to
the "out of Africa" narrative (notably the English):
let them have it... i place my origins in
India...

   never mind, now i'll write a name's dropping
history of how july 6th, 1895 happened...
the "magic" squares...

    from either India or China (chess from India)...
moschopulus of contantinople
  introduced them (the "magic" squares)
in the early 1400s... apparently ancient qabbalists
had knowledge of them
  (so... a trip well spent)...
                             rabbi joseph tzayah (1505 - 1573)
magnum opus: responsa...
             rabbi joseph castro: avkat rokhel...
tzayah in jerusalem wrote his major work
Evven HaShoham (the onyx stone) - 1538 -
   a year later the book: tzeror ha-chaim discussing
the Talmud: he never really bothered about
the Zohar...
               the hebrai word for "letters": otiot...
divided into two:
                         tav aleph (a line of aleph)
and tav yod (a line of yod)...
                   one is to never concentrate
upon the keter within the realm of the sefirot...
hence the matisyahu expression:
   king without a crown...
                         one example of a "magic" square
later dictated into a 9 x 9 newspaper puzzle?
      2     9     4
      7     5     3
      6     1     8     (up down across = 15...
my date of birth? 15th may 1986,
no coincidence, just stating an oblivion's
worth of a "point)... 15 x 3 = 45...
   and that's about as significant as any
                               insignificance can be...

album of choice?
    old horn tooth - from the ghost grey depths...

and without even associating the arabs
to the hebrai practice of gamatria,
i once inquired an old pakistani (who tried to convert me)
what: Alif, Lam, Meem
implied in the opening of the al-baqarah sutra
implied?
   he replied: god knew...
        so i thought, you don't know what
alif (letter) what lam (letter) and meem (also a letter)
means? you have to search for god
for the answers? good look making me into
a proselyte... mind you:
if the jews abhor proselytes,
while the muslims are so so oh so *******
welcoming... isn't that a tad bit suspicious?
how can a muslim convert me
when he can't explain to me what
alif lam and meem implies at the opening
of al-baqarah?!
            let's play some hijāʾī order game...
and the three letters...
       28 letters in total...
alif (28), lam (6), meem (5)...
    i'm not even going to go into the gamatria
mental gymnsastics related to any
"significance"...
   point was made upon the question being
asked... if a muslim tries to covert you...
and he can't explain to you
the significance of alif lam meem at the beginning
of al-baqarah... they're letters...
well... how is he going to explain to you
what's bothersome about those letters
to begin with? ALM... does that imply: zakat?!
to give alms? zakat being one of the pillars
of islam?
  **** me... i haven't even converted
and it would appear: i know more than the person
who tried to convert me!

.i. Yuri Gagarin and the yo-yo

if ever the potency of a "keyboard crusader"
existed, it's now -
   i can dangle a mouse above a bear-trap
and tell an elephant of a phobia concerning
mice any day of the week,
          when in fact i'm talking about
a mousetrap: nothing more.
     hence the exaggeration in the imagery
comparison:
        or it begins with a story told in the 20th
century:
             when women put down their mascara
brushes, men put down their swords:
never mind the voice in the wilderness:
       mind the voice in the crowd -
there's absolutely no reason to speculate
urbanity and tribal environments without
addressing, or regressing the crowd,
or as i like to call it: what Nietzsche said,
minus the Wake... but now inclusive of the wake
and the Bacchus cult of fun fun fun.
            the Wake in condor terms?
we congregate praying for something to die...
      i don't pretend to be whatever
that sachet of concrete-Cartesian labels entitles me
too:        for the most part
        people say 'i am' without a thought to
govern the rain shaman telling you what thought
is required to 'be', oh, a very old ontological
stipend: you need people to experience a collectivisation,
a herding, a "bound together" sort of mentality
before the critic arrives and says: well, that's not
what i'm really about.
                    a bit like the **** firs, mouth second
debacle...
                but what heart they had, our predecessors!
what heart!
             they'd wage war over a woman,
a Helen,
                  would you wage a war against
the feminist version of Helen these days?
would you pluck a Scottish thistle over an English rose?
      true: you might be a bishop
and of lesser rank... but would you wage a war
over the women of these days?
my **** is in a pickle jar anyway! we have become
a *** of a species unburdened by an obligation...
             finally! we can become eternal bachelors
sort of ******* that we're here, and hear less and less
of sayings about the "things that matter".
            you know what vile? really really vile?
oh i know my contemporaries when i bother to
hear them talk, oddly enough never bother when they
think, i'm quiet content with a Godot stage of
a park bench and an old man as my company,
      i know Douglas Murray,
               i know the wild-eyed Icke,
but a thing that concerns me is why: the safety room
parallel to the leftist thesis of offensive speech
was put in play when a discussion took off
concerning feminism, between milo yiannopoulus
and julie bindel - that's like saying:
ask a pederast to talk for a heterosexual man
with a woman safe-space...
                                no one wants to hear
the heterosexual side of the argument....
  you'll sooner see heterosexual intellects have their
marriages come undone then get paired with either
side of the argument...
     little richard is in the pickle jar anyway,
and he's not coming out...
                it's a bit like ****** for dummies....
       hence i have to succumb to violence without
the glory, tongue waggling blah blah
when i'd gladly take a weapon and shove it into
a shattered cranium bone: had i the ****** chance to
do so!
           no heterosexual is taken seriously:
and won't be:
    of a woman to be like a rosy cushion on which
i can lay my head after the darkly toils of
    roofing, or laying bricks, or excavating the sewers...
no! let the Chinese do that:
the basic argument of slavery, although imported
therefore ****** ******* fine.
                         cryogenic fathers,
      pickled *****:      where's the middle in all of this?
     a coconut just fell from the Boddhi tree:
money!           and those that defend it,
don't know squat about the tribalism of squatters!
but hey! they have the ****** stage!
         i have a bench when someone approaches me
and talk, doing the best thing possible:
               knitting opinions -
i don't want the truth of opinions: i want a sweater,
or a pair of socks! that's metaphor for something
different altogether.
  keyboard crusader? really? can i ask you for
directions to the high street, in every single town
across the country? i can't find one!
         no one hears a heterosexual argument
on the various topics: because there isn't one -
                     as of the end of the 20th century,
working classes in the west striving to ensure
there is something mundane to do during the day
and kick back with the family in the evening
are the "inferior" neanderthals: who
haven't jacked into discovering a 3D reality
of what's otherwise a 2D computer screen and
aren't hooked on #crack;
honestly, so much debating ought to be opera,
and so much opera ought to be debating -
    ah: that famous tingle of utopian paradoxes
never in duality, but always in dichotomy.
   keyboard crusader?
really? i thought people were always moaning
about how many emails they receive:
   and never a single postcard from, say,
someplace like Venice?
           it's still early days,
                   and already we're brewing enough
cliches to replace all known nouns in
    the surrogate mother that's the dictionary
of our completed version of a soul -
if ever to be experienced upon meeting the omni-vocabulary;
jigsaws, i know my idiosyncratic version
of events, he says photosynthesis within parameters
                            of photon deconstruction of hydrogen;
'cos' it's sub; d'uh! i say god i say this perfected
version of nearing telepathy - you say god i hope you
don't mean satan's clause - great anagram to frighten
children with: the Babushka surprise of a Pumpkin head
laughing it's way toward: how easy life would be
if we had all that time to think it through as being hard,
rather than that mortal fleetingness in both thought
and body.

ii. Macbeth

it really dawned on me, when i was watching the film
Macbeth (2015) -
            there was an eeriness to it, a near perfection
of Shakespeare on screen...
           honestly? i'd rather read Kant early on in life
while i have the vigour, and leave old age to Shakespeare...
but it truly was eerie all over the place.
      i do recall seeing Romeo + Juliet
          and reading the script, and imagining the fallacy
of word for word translation from theatre to cinema
of the script: the narrator a news channel anchor,
and everything said, word, for, word.
that film with DiCaprio as Romeo and Claire Danes
as Juliet - it just felt itchy, uncomfortable -
                            Shakespeare, word for word, on screen?!
     (surprise, then astonishment, not !? or astonishment,
   then the surprise, because: it didn't really work);
and it didn't! you can't adapt Shakespeare to the screen
and put everything in! i noticed it at that ******
generous scene in Macbeth concerning the battle
of Ellon... so i was like like... this isn't typescript...
(and thank **** it isn't) -
you can't depict Shakespeare word for word,
to be honest, Macbeth (2015) is the only worthy
translation of Macbeth (the text) into Macbeth (the movie);
all this scientific exactness in previous examples
like Romeo + Juliet, the Merchant of Venice
and a Midsummer's Night Dream don't work,
it's their precision making,
     a theatre cast can take it, but a cinema going crowd,
with all these cutting and copying and repasting
    succinct moments? it doesn't work!
maybe because there's no actual narrator in the staged
examples? narrator as a necessary character understudy:
surely Puck and the news anchor are there:
don't know about the Shylock scenario...
           but these screen adaptations didn't work for me,
too rigid, too formal... in the case of Macbeth?
finally! the long awaited piquant version of Shakespeare:
all that matters, and the rest is thrown into
poetic technique: imagery, metaphor,
                everything that's necessary can be given grammar
as image and not word!
       want an example? from the text...
the Royal Shakespeare
  from the text of Professor Delius
  and introduction by f. j. Furnivall, ll.d.
         vol. v (special edition)
Cassell & Company, Ltd.
        sure, it feels like a Roman Polanski moment
akin to the 9th Gate scenic affair of a bibliophile
fetishist, and it is:

     ... (the only enemy of enso poetry
is the bladder) ...

well the screen play first:

banquo: what are these?
macbeth: live you? or are you aught
                          that man may question?
       speak if you can - what are you?
1st witch: macbeth! hail to thee
                    thane of Glamis!
2nd witch: macbeth... hail to thee,
       thane of Cawdor!
3rd witch: all hail Macbeth! that shalt be king in-after.

but such disparity, such **** as if once
of Lucretia, then of the authority,
for i have before me the original composition:
which is not worth cinema -
nonetheless, a **** takes place:
an assortment for the abdication of a king:
or as ever suggested: the wrong footed path:
never was tossing a coin in a gamble
that of tossing a crown into the air
for a court jester to appear less amusing
and more scolding.

act i, scene iii: post the battle of ellon...
  if ever the refusal to give up Greek myth,
then Macbeth's witches
      and Perseus' Graeae -
                            or naturalise a myth:
like you might not naturalise a strengthened
economy.... canonise the nation
with Elgin Marbles - Elgin: less than
what's said to be the exfoliation of the Aegean -
a municipality somewhere in Scotland:
west of Aberdeen, on the Northern Sea's
battering of the coast...
but word for word? or how to write Shakespeare
into cinema?
                 herr zensor must come into play -
you have to bypass imagery in poetic tongue
and relay it with actual images, a direly needed
necessity:

just after the three witches arrive,
enter Macbeth and Bonquo...

   Macb. so foul and fair a day i have not seen.
Ban. how far is't call'd to Fores? - what are these,
     so wither'd and so wild in their attire,
that look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth,
   and yet are on 't?
             live you? or are you aught that man may
question?
                  (how word for word, but the words
waggle from a different tongue, namely that of
Macbeth, and not that of Banquo, hence
italicised).
                   continuing:
       you seem to understand me,
by each at once her choppy finger laying upon her
skinny lips: - you should be women, and yet your
beards forbid me to interpret that you are so.
Macb. speak, if you can - what are you?
         the witches. all hail, Macbeth!
     hail to thee, thane of Glamis!
         all hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane
of Cawdor!
         all hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter.
            
so does he really belong on the psychoanalytic
couch? is he really that necessarily wonton of talk?
  Cawdor v. Gondor - it's an ongoing narrative.
but is he in need of a couch?
                 what sort of talk is talk when
in fact the only talk that's need to be said is the talk
of man's sexualised naturalisation for strife,
and here: as if knocking on a door:
you want to simply hear the onomatopoeia of
the Kabbalah in a woman gasping for breath
while puny Jewish boys under strict rabbinical
studies study?

                mama, take this badge from  me,
i can't use it, anymore,
            it's getting dark, too dark to see,
feels like i'm knockin' on heaven's door -
      my big mouth and man as a piston
                                               Ferrari acrobat

(even the soundtrack is a shrill, a strangulation
variant of higher pitch of the bagpipes -
not that braveheart ****** of whisking out
a song like for the love of a princess addition to:
  and can i have a madonna to boot too?
it's piercing, a whale sonar above refrigerator
white noise hum for the new age Buddha -
and that's because all the poetry has been excavated
  to suit cinema: not theatre).

and this is the first adaptation of Shakespeare i actually
could stomach...
     the genius was in how Macbeth spoke the lines
of Bonqua - so the character didn't start smacking
the narrative ****** in terms of solipsism:
even Shakespeare can be attacked on this front...
        if in the movie Banqua said all that was in
the typescript: the film wouldn't have worked...
i don't know what the big deal is with Lady Macbeth:
i thought that in the olden days
Macbeth suggested to King Duncan that:
can i leave the warring if you **** my wife?
i can go on the contract that you **** my wife
and i stop serving you?
      first impressions: strange English.
well, i'm sure she's important as it might be said:
within the programme of Orthodoxy,
            but never catholic (metadoxy) tradition of
saying: way hey! ensnare the mare in a funfair!
       and play the game: pin the tale on the donkey!
heads or tails?      it looks pretty damnable
     in the first place: as all honesty hogs to pout and
***** a hoggish sneeze out of the story.

iii. shaken, not stirred

and indeed, how many a times
did not a neon blossom sprout,
thinking it might rattle an oratory
with an oak in autumn, and behold
a swarm of leaves descend -
not out of passing ease,
but out of wishful thinking
that some indentation might be made:
with whom the hands of will reside,
and yet: to no gratifying effect,
to whatever atomic-centralisation
dream, be that ego or be it hydrogen
(lending hands: so too
electric or thus negative, neutral and
thus proto) - shake foundation
and give a revising repertoire of
              the covering dust humanity
that once made famous: never
again to learn the humility of the start;
        to whatever centric dream that
does not waver in demands of orientation,
be it father (sun), son (shadow)
  or the holy spirit (night) -
  make them earn! be obscure!
            or simply say: in the community
of the stated congregation:
  i find all to be as night,
   and safer that plague the father:
  i am not akin to the shadow:
                   but the shadow in mirror.
so, a centric dream that does not
waver in demands for orientation,
has ever or will be enthroned in man's
heart as the stability of Sabbath's demands
       for less, oh so much less to agitate with!
as too, when the ancient appliances
were adorned by countless demands of
mimic, so too our modern
fibbles are to stage a usurping of
such things demanded and their mimic;
for with such disclosure does all fate
of anewed become burdened in what
history could be: shaken,
rather than simply a stirring of the void,
nothing more than the unburdening
of sweetening a cup of coffee, of that and
the layers: or bitter at the top, drank
through toward the sedimented sweetness -
and all that: hoping i could have retained
that silver spoon lodged in my ***
          when i first met her and thought about
consolidating marriage: so fresh, eager prune
of the flesh embodiment as first
    watered ash, then entombed in marble
and the eternal... ah
               but it was all just the faintest of dreams;
so lumberjack sleep ensued,
                      as did a kindred worth ethic:
we are a long way from Eden...
      there is but the idyll of the absurd fruition of
albreit macht frei... or a redefinement of
such stakes as: what occupies our days?
                    if not war, if not disease,
if not the Chinese... what does, occupy our days?

///

He was jealous of her love, killed the poet's Juliet
The poet killed him too,
They caught the poet and send him into the Jail,
He didn’t see her Juliet last because someone didn’t take him the bail

Today the poet is free, he has gone to beside her grave
Again he tries to hold his crave,
memorized the glisten days when both they were young,
and those had sprung

Those good things which he was sharing with Juliet,
how the stream of love melted with each other!
and how they felt their little bird’s feather

She has told the poet, don’t wait here
and never weep
rather all those dark to sweep
move forward and take that sun into your grip

Again Juliet told him that she is very well at there
and an Angel hoped her here,
She will stay at haven soon and turned to be the poet's moon
The poet has told her that he will come and see her very soon

///

@ Musfiq us shaleheen

If I haven't posted in a while don't think of me as gone. I remain here waiting for my inspiration to hit me in the form of a freight train. And if my inspiration never comes; dear Juliet, I still love you.

For mine you were, and yours was I,
for the feelings hidden, that will never fade.

For the distance traveled, and moments shared,
for the secrets, the lips would kiss away.

For Romeo loved Juliet.

But feelings changed, and life must go on,
like Shakespeare said, Romeo went first.

So, just like Romeo and Juliet, however different,
for Romeo feels peace, while Juliet mourns.

It shouldn't have, but alas, it had,
and it left our poor Capulet sad.

Just like Romeo and Juliet...

I stood barefoot on a porch,
Yelling ' Juliet, Juliet wherefore art thou Juliet?'
Maybe I haven't met you yet
Or you have found your Romeo,
guess that's how the story goes.

Where are you though?
Juliet, Rose, Daisy...
Why haven't I met you yet?
Or have we already met?
...

----------------------------------------------------
[ Why did you leave so soon,
I can still remember the moon,
Of that night you decided to go away
I tried finding people
But there's just no way of doing so.
I have indeed found love a couple times
since you have been gone,
but none of them ever lasted.
Not even the ones I deluded myself
Into believing were real and fated.
Did you really think I'll be fine alone?

I miss you...

What's it like up there by the way?
Is it as beautiful as you are?
Or is it even more beautiful?
Just kidding , nothing can be as beautiful as you...
actually I have met quite a few beautiful girls,
some beautiful people,
some even more beautiful than you ,
then again I havent seen u in a while...
but you know me well enough to know
that things don't last with me.
Either people grow to hate me,
or well they fall out of love with me
or they ....you know, like you....
I haven't been able to give you flowers
Tryna buy a car yknow....
If you were here I'll drive you around
after all you will always be my princess
but ...i do drive you around,
I drive the memories of you around,
I drive you around in my heart.
Remember that time when we sat up
on the hills and just watched the stars
Do you remember we caught a glimpse of that car
The one that bounced up and down.
You ever wonder if they ever got married?
You know, that night I can remember your smile
I can remember the words you say
I can still remember how you use to say
'you're an idiot' with a smile.
I miss all of it.
I miss all of you.
I miss you]

******* at the funeral
poison women aching in their parallel
they drink until Juliet is dead
or until in their head too
it is clear
free of fear and recalling
this was always supposed to be a tragedy
______________

no left or right turn
changes that everything, even love
begins and ends with some type of poison
the slowly dripping IV type
or
a sudden break check
dash to face type of poison

the Juliets' love only exists on one page
allowed to live if the real goal
is to die
smoke breaks, goodbyes
the ever too consistent "I'll see you arounds"
that is the point of a tragedy
it gets to claim the reason for existing
and the entire existence itself

Juliet drinks the poison every night
even after the man in the hole warned me
her love feeds on the liver
while the others begin to fade out

ROMEO &
...MARY.

Romeo and
Juliet?

Romeo and Juliet
....is it?

Sure isn't that all
I ever hear!

That Shakespeare has a lot
to answer for!

See how he stitched up
that poor Richard the **** chap!

He can give a body
the ****

so he
can!

Twisting everything
into that Möbius strip

imagination of
his!

I got my Romeo
fair and square

...so I did!

Yeah yeah, I know
he still carries a torch

"Oh Juliet Juliet wherefore
art thou Juliet."

he cries
out in his sleep.

But, I don't care where
he gets his appetite

as long as he
eats at home!

Sometimes in the midst
of our...eh...great passions

he will call her
name instead

of mine
that filthy little swine.

Sometimes his mind will
even wander back to

to....what's her
face...oh...Rosalind.

Juliet married
Paris in Paris

had ten kids
lost her fine figure

ran to fat
imagine that!

I'd like to see her teach
the torches to burn bright

ha ha
nowadays!

And that, was( despite what
rot was wrote): THAT!

Rosalind had many many
husbands

none of them
her own!

Died of the pox
had it coming to her.

Me & my
hubby still

going strong
50 years married

this forthcoming
July now

put that in
your new biography

and tell it how
it is.

Romeo &
Mary Kathleen Priscilla O' Keefe.

From the dimples in her cheeks
The way her lips move when she speaks
And the sway of her hips
The gentle security of her lips
Everyone's love is the love of all loves
Everyone's story is Romeo & Juliet

The way he looks when he's just woken up
Even if he knows, he still asks "What's up?"
The wrinkles in his forehead when he laughs
The calmness that takes over even after a crash
Everyone's love is the love of all loves
Everyone's story is Romeo & Juliet

The way time seems to just come and pass
Neverending and flowing through the water like bass
How the troubles seem to come to an end
Whenever you're with that one special friend
Everyone's love is the love of all loves
Everyone's story is Romeo & Juliet

I was the girl who doesn't exist in reality
He was the boy who is close to fantasy.
We are characters in a tragic love story;
Romeo was his first name
And Juliet was the girl who consumed me.

While Shakespeare's Juliet captured the heart of her Romeo,
My Romeo was stolen by somebody else.

We were living in two different worlds,
And the story of my life shows:
*"Not all Romeos and Juliets meet,
And I was that Juliet who never met her Romeo."

Roses are red
violets are blue
be my juliet
please say yes I do

Loves are red
oceans are blue
I'll be your juliet
if you kiss me too

It was in the corner
of Five Points South

East and West
North and South
and the other

Juliet love Remeo
and his money

She longed to be with Julio
But no milk , no honey

Remeo's and Juliet's
relationship
soon turned
poisonous

Juliet fled into
the arms of Julio

Remeo , broken hearted
turned hatefull
sharpening his knife
everyday

Then one day
there he found
Juliet and Julio
smoking *****
at the Dew Drop
Taco and Beer

They were
hoochie cooching
waist to waist
face to face

It was too much of
a disgrace
Out came the dagger
to the screams of the place


The dagger flashed
quickly turning red
And on the floor
Juliet lay dead

He grabbed the hand
of Julio
and the two quickly fled .

(Solitary Chamber. Heart breaking melodious music is flowing silently. Young Ren is looking pale, soliloquizing.)

Young Ren:  Sweet Flance!
                     Can you hear me?
                     I do know you can never see me now;
                     But hear me --- my words at least!

Feel my heart that hangs on nothing;
Yet resting itself on my unrequited love.
  
                     Hear me! Do hear me!

Send thy spirit unto me awhile,
And hearken my silent words.

                     Dear Flance!
Thou must be now with thy partner
Breaking thy footprints with me once;
Yet ne'er am I angry with thee.
From him I should not take thee away;
Yet listen unto me awhile.

                      Dear Flance!

I loved thee not at the very first sight
Like Orlando and Rosalind ---
Orlando was a wrestler,
Rosalind was a fair lady.

Their love began at an arena in a contest ---
Rosalind in the guise of Ganymede,
Their love passed thro' rustic lands
Symbolizing the art of Nature,
Their love stirred the young hearts
With wonder and fancy.

Sweet Flance!
                       Romeo died of Juliet and Juliet of Romeo ---
                        Breaking endurance to chaos.
                       There was poison in their love.
Dear Flance!
                       Jealousy lingered in the fatal love
                       Betwixt Othello and Desdemona,
                       At night their love was born,
                       At night their love was dead
                       When blackened by the candle light.
Dear Flance!
                        Lysander loved Hermia
                        And sought fanciful beings
                        For their fanciful union.
Dear Flance!
                       Know you, Keats died of consumption?
                      His love for ***** Brown was limitless,
                      And so burst into tears.
                      Oh! No!
                     MY love for thee can never have comparisons.
Sweet Flance!
                     Blossomed my love for thee
                    When thou wert young,
                     When thou wert beautiful;
                     Yet it's not of Romeo's,
                     Of Othello's,
                     Of Lysander's,
                     Of Dante's,
                     Of Keats',
                     For they died of their love.





My love for thee be unrequited; yet ineffable.
You felt not my love; yet I cannot be Romeo.
Know you?
                Romeo loved Juliet,
                Juliet loved Romeo,
                And so they died without love.
Loved I thy heart, not thee?
Love I thy heart, not thee?
And so,
             We live in remembrance of each other.
Dear Flance!  
              Thou must be now living with thy partner
               Rejoicing in his presence.
               Can you think of me living myself.
               Rejoicing in my thoughts of you?
               Here am I in the air with wings waxed;
              Yet I'll not fall down to fragments.

              Know you?  
              I am to lead my life myself,
              But with thoughts of you!

              For
                    Loved I thee, still I love thee,
                                           Ever I'll love thee.

(Young Ren sheds tears)

Sweet Flance!

My tears are not of my loneliness sans thee;
But born of bliss within me with thoughts of you.

              (Curtain  Falls)

You're Romeo and I'm Juliet
You are a Montegue and I'm a Capulet
I fell for you, when we first met
Though forbidden to see you, I still fled
My dad kept me away, and that hurt in many ways
He didn't see you from the inside out
He judged a book by it's cover
I explained to him you were different, because he didn't want to hear it
He saw the look in my eyes
The fire of fear of losing you
Losing you was too much
But I'm no longer 10, I'm 17 who is madly in love with my boyfreind and nothing can change that. I might be a scratched up Diamond, but as long as I still have my shine, I'm alright

Romeo and Juliet, such a tragic tale of woe
It truly speaks to one's heart
Speaks to one's soul
How every girl dreams of being said Juliet
Of having the houses fight, Montague and Capulet  
Girls will beg and plead, for a nanny such as she
One who will let their lover come to the window and take her virginity
These girls will also be ok with death
As long as it ends just like Romeo and Juliet.    
But what they do not know, what they cannot see    
Is that true love should not **** thee
There should be not a fight
Of who's house holds the most might
True love should not end as tragic as this
True love should continue to flourish with true loves kiss

Romeo and Juliet teaches a different aspect of young love. Young love is every where, in every direction. It is in the halls, at stores, and even the streets, when I am in the car driving by. I never really notice other peoples relationships, and how much I wish I could have what they have, until I am no longer in a relationship, like I have been for almost three months. After dating a guy named Patrick for five months and going 2-3 months without seeing each other physically, he decided it would be best to end things and still be friends. I can kind of relate to Romeo and Juliet, to a certain extent, with things like not wanting to be away from him for a certain extent of time. Knowing that sometimes words can not say everything we wanted to say. I know that cheesy moments, when I know almost exactly what he was thinking, when I was hugging him and looking into his eyes, or when my heart started to beat faster and louder, and started to flutter, when he said the three words, that every girl deserves to hear, “I love you”. The the cheesiest moment of all, when my lip quivered every time he grabbed ahold of me. When my friends asked what Patrick looked like, and I showed them, they all basically thought he was not attractive. But, when I looked at him, his personality, is all I saw. We may may not have know each other for long before we started dating, but like Romeo and Juliet, I would have taken a bullet or ran away, just to be with him, and he knew that.

Who's your Juliet?
The girl that sits in the corner and cries?
Pathetic.
You love her, but do you really?
Do you love her the way you loved me for hours in bed,
Sneaking out to hear me scream.
Do you love her enough to torture her the way you do me?
Maybe it's just a weird fetish i have,
But maybe all girls like to have their throat slit
On a nightly basis.
Maybe I'm your Juliet.
Maybe I'm your tragic love story that will change your perception on love
Forever