the little people: and their grand words...
some within reaching the stasus
of colossus,
while others groveling like
maggots, come back to the collective
unconscious (memory):
with a stalled craft to make
the morbid fusion of an impetus...
the grand people:
and their concern for the lexicon;
secularism had but one advantage,
the holiness of the subconsciousness
of lingua...
but, apparently, the communist
didn't teach anyone anything,
other than what needed to be minded:
a reiteration of the winding back
of ******* symbolism,
back: into the clock-face of
resembling an impeding loss of
a status quo...
before the altar of
unmoved pieces of chess,
the current, unfathomability of
a "sudden" move...
pawn-broker: pawn-maker,
crude: the collection of
a tsunami mingling with
the antithesis of the holy ghost within
the shackles of:
a zeitgeist...
bounty and beauty bound to
the same curator,
of the fallen curtain
revealing the androids of future
depictions of kings, raised,
subsequently toppled,
yet nonetheless kept:
at a leisure...
toad-markings
of the first supposed bite...
like a kiss of the enchanted prince...
who kissess, before
the other churns a bite?!
i might laugh at attire, but,
all of the fashion industry is
structured around ******-*******...
there is still not greater insult
than what other people eat...
and i can't stomach culinary insults...
the omnivore that i am...
how i ate those dried-out fish-snacks
with a St. Petersburg drinker,
and that every-man's orange caviar
i won't even bother to question...
culinary insults... doesn't matter:
can dress the ***,
in a king's tug & ware...
culinary insults are the depth upon
which you base making
fashion "statements"...
see... the western concept of the "left"
is Mongolian to me...
i, simply, cannot
comprehend it...
one would expect:
a rule of thumb;
instead one receives a conclave
of giving "it": the index finger...
which isn't even a forfeit of
tipping into narratives of
the current circumstance...
in the omnipresent:
membrane - of -
fragility within the confines
of: being reactant to
whatever enzyme is made
adjusted to thrill,
or make *******,
of a future without
a yesterday.
who let the "idiots" in?
mind you: there are no idiots among
pawns, merely sacrificial lambs...
and who said that grammar
could be given a religiosity,
and a deconstructionist-dogma-medium
readily stalked, and subsequently
made: unfathomable?
it could have worked...
the anti-nationalistic agenda...
but given the attempts to
puruse a feat of ridiculing the basic
foundation of a, coherent expression
of a coherent acquisition of language,
with not real basis of nation,
but erroding the prime of
the individual to start a zoology-creep
invigoration?
there are sensibilities than
transcend nationalism...
as there are sensibilities than make
"transgressions"
of globalisation...
grammar is the only orthodoxy
that remains intact from
the segregation of the church and state...
i already stated that i am,
blissfully unware of a need to take to
engaging in the catholic bureaucracy of
confirmation...
but a direct attack on grammar
is a self-defeatist mishandling of
secularism...
grammar = dogma...
since can dada, truly rule?!
sure, attack grammar,
with an unconventionality of the use
of language,
that doesn't assertain a use of language
with the social focus of
the pleasantries of formalism...
transgress language formalism...
and, suddenly,
all cobblers become death-aspiring
"artists"...
why isn't artist deemed to
by synonymous with gambler?!
what a bleak picture,
a fiction that's the fiction of Dicken's
bleak:
something or other...
yet i love being attached to
a current narrative...
this: culprit conversation
interlude of a people...
beside the canadian pronoun
incident...
and using grammar orientated
words...
can anyone tell me why english
uses so much conjunction-preposition
shrapnel of a bullet to the letter
to the gun with an aimed word?
papa germanicus uses a lot of
Faustian... conventionality,
of making words into:
hydrocrabon-length words...
compounds...
without these little
in-between bothersome flies...
and he is: papa germanicus...
given his:
well... he's not regarded as
anglo-pomeranian...
or anglo-bavarian...
aber: ein: schwab!
aber: ein anglo-sächsisch...
petulance of a foreign son:
before an aged, almost non-existent,
father -
gereiztheit von ein fremdsohn,
vor eine alt, nahezu nicht-gabe,
die vater.
zorn: manchmal
ertriken mein verstand...
für ein blick von ein herz!
i can't imagine the remants of
Saxon, to be of must gesticulation
in cultural norms,
when the remains
of the *****,
are made to stand... schtill.
ęgleesh will not even begin
to bleach me...
have the globalists and
their tattooed bodies...
cheap franchise of
a coulrophobia circus...
now i have a tattoo:
1410!
1918!
apparently eating fungus
is but one route...
of the spider Atlantis-mythos
monkey...
as became the common practice
of eating
remnants of
aquatic genitalia embodied
by oysters:
******* poetics,
as in...
once you devour the desire
to ****...
who the **** needs
to paint like a van gogh within
the origins of the trans-African
highway toward a today?
