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Mateuš Conrad May 2022
knackered... absolutely knackered... i wish i did yesterday's
shift at the London stadium...
i've built up an implosive furore with the crowd...
i just look at them: hmm... look pretty excited
but at the same time content...

    i can't believe it... since starting this... rather menial
job... i've been referencing it like mad...
i really shouldn't... i remember days when i was
sitting in my ivory tower touching on subjects
like the Katakana... with so much free time on my hands
i'd explore...
       i'd try something akin to Miroslav Holub...
in all earnest? i was never much of a poetry reader...
but if i were to compare Miroslav Holub with another
Czech: a Milan Kundera... well...
Kundera "stole" my youth... Holub cemented
my early adulthood...

          i'm sort of envious that i don't write like him...
you're almost always envious of the people
who don't have much of a readership...
              i could never be envious of Stephen King...
he figured out a method... a structure...
mind you: i never read a single Stephen King book...
not that i'm being pretentious...
i just didn't feel the need to read him...
       the whole horror genre is... limited for me...
horror needs to be visual...
   i can't be scared of text... via my imagination...
it's different, though...
   i once had an ******* reading some Marquis
de Sade... which might tell you a lot...

        i'm writing about work that i think is...
not really work... so what did i do with my day off?
i ****** off on my bicycle for about 4 hours...
yes... i know... 60+ kilometres in 4 hours is not
good enough... but i did stop off to drink a bottle
of cider and buy some Turkish bread for this
greedy dish... 400g of beef can disappear in one
sitting when shared between three people...

      i'm pretty sure surgeons don't write about their work...
but this Czech immunologist somehow did...
maybe that's why he's so under-read...
he was an immunologist foremost...
it's almost as if people don't take his poetry
seriously because of that...
                but either him or Kundera...
the former...

                    i don't even think i'm working:
oh... i'm pretty sure i was working when working as a roofer...
manual labour can do a work of miracles...
at least you don't need to become a gym hamster...
bunny... whatever you want to call it...
all that physical potential... wasted on... treadmills...
if at least those treadmill runners could be
the ones that generate energy... that's stored...
like a watermill...
               you know... generate enough energy
to power the lighting in the gym...
maybe someone should invent a treadmill that
allows these people exercising to do something
useful...

60+km in 4h... it's not good... but then again i did
cycle into central London...
   past the houses of Parliament...
May 1st... so a lot of the ****** protests...
but pretty tame...
            traffic lights... terrible traffic...
i could have probably put in an extra 20km in those
four hours if i cycled out of London...
but i'm a curious creature... plus... i said to myself...
nature... or... "nature":
yes... i want to cycle into central London
to look at some girls... where's the best place
to spot some girls? Brick Lane...
                Oxford Street...
    
   imagine my disbelief... there aren't that many...
that might attract your attention...
i tried... didn't find any... well i did find the opposite
***... but... there was nothing curious about
any of them... they all looked like tourists...
i hate tourists... well... i don't hate tourists...
only today i was speaking to this Danish guy...
who found the English very friendly...
which probably implies that he wasn't talking
to an English man... because: i'm sure as **** am not one...

but i did cycle into central London
to look at some ***...
                eh... it's sometimes worth it...
but all the under-read poets are the ones i am most
jealous of... such style... such grace...
don't even mention... Maya Angelou to me...
please don't... i've been keeping a KLEX...
in my **** for an entire day...

what's a KLEX?! it's a ****... with remnants
of a ****... that... when properly treated... when having
sat down on the throne of thrones...
explodes into an "******" of untangled intestines
that also gives you an *******...
woke up in the morning... had a ****'s play in three
parts... the 4th part... i kept for the entire day...
the KLEX...
              of my god... the glorious agony of walking
home from Romford station... trying to **** in the far
with the ****... meditating on torso muscles...
is this what **** *** feels like? you get the shivers?
the sweats?
    the agony... i've already emptied myself
in the morning... all i have is a **** and some shotgun
**** in me... **** ******* it in...
it's trying to get out! **** ******* it in!
it's trying to get out!
    i get home... haplessly undress... take my socks off...
sit on the toilet...
                                      BOOM!

i just dropped one on Hiroshima...
          because it's unlike the slithering sensation
of a serpent when it feels... really smooth...
when you've eaten the right sort of food and it has
become properly digested and...
i've kept this one hidden for an entire day...
if my **** had a tongue, while walking...
it felt like licking ice... can you imagine?

mein gott... the relief... better than ***...
for a while i was of the mindset... **** it... pull down your
trousers... you have tissues in your pocket...
crouch... on a piece of grass and do your ****...
no no... the agony first... walking just agitated the ****
more... more agony... wait for the release...

- seriously though? why would i even entertain some
some high-brow topics?!
the time's not right... i have cat peacefully sleeping
in my bed... i have a ******* sending me selfies of herself
indicating she misses me...

one thing amazed me today... i've found out about this
already, from my grandmother...
she liked watching me eat...
               fair enough: because i ate as someone who,
in the words of Socrates: ate to live...
rather than live to eat...
                    
after coming back from the Putney Bridge shift...
i only had a bagel with scrambled eggs and some bacon
for breakfast... wolf! fenrir! i sometimes "misplace"
actual hunger for ****** desire... all of a sudden...
no... these are not beer goggles...
they're hunger goggles... every woman is
attractive... in my head i sometimes do a few revisions:
like my grandfather used to say...
no woman is unattractive... some are just neglected...

oh so ******* true...
   no woman is unattractive... some are just neglected...
that's so ******* true...
i get hungry... i get tired... i become ***** as...
don't know.. my face becomes the following:
my mouth becomes the eye of a Cyclops...
while my eyes become two mouths of Orthrus...

but that's what's something amazing when eating
alone in public... you bring your household habits into
the fore... for everyone to see...
you're not eating with your mouth open...
you're not watching anything beside the food...
you wipe your mouth and finger generously...

the look on the chicken shack "restaurant" personnel...
before and after...
what did i order? the classical box...
two pieces of chicken... fries...
can i eat in? sure you can...
i'm not into processed burger fillets... i need...

    ich bedarf knochen mit "mein" huhn!
i need nones with "my" chicken!

lightened faces... once they saw me dissect
that chicken thigh and leg...
KNIRSCHEN... i.e. CRUNCH...
hmm... some bones...
cartilage? no... bone...
       knorpel oder knochen?!
does it even ******* matter?!
   let's eat...
        
              it's when i started biting into the bone
marrow... of the chicken legs...
no... i wasn't wasting any of it...
none of this is waste... hands shaking...
i wish i was drunk...
     i was just hungry... it's as if Eid passed me by
without the proper sort of impromptu
to stop...
                  i might as well licked my finger tips...
but the look on those guys behind the counter
serving this chicken...
yes, me too... i'm glad you washed your hands...
before serving me this dish...

why did my grandmother find it important
to find me in that "80 to 20%" attractive
eating something?
            maybe it's the Socratic methodology...
i eat to live... i don't live to eat...

this isn't work... this is a joke of work...
            work sets you free:
arbeit macht frei: conjured up like sometimes
from an ancient textbook...
since no conjunctions...
since no pronouns...
  sometimes from a: how Latin used to be
spoken.. maybe the ancient Latins did use
pronouns and conjunctions...
but... didn't... when writing?!

                  i only do it to get out out the house...
   you start cleaning the chicken bones from all
the muscle... then you bite into the marrow...
obviously the chicken shop owners will look
at at you with a degree of glee...
look! he didn't waste anytthing!
just the potato chips!
                            
i need sleep...  beste zu schlafen:
                         mal als sie ar...
                            
eis ist nein schnee!
               licht ist nein farbe!
mann ist nein affe!
              
                                 freiheit ist nein: arbeit!
eve Mar 2021
Früher dachte ich immer der schmerzhafteste Teil des Todes wären all die Fragen,
die für das restliche Leben unbeantwortet sind.
Aber dann wusste ich, es waren nicht die Fragen,
es war die kalte Leere, die in einem übrig bleibt.
Das Herz, das sich zusammen mit ihr bewegt,
in der Seele Dunkelheit, Finsternis, Dunkelheit,
als ob wir in unserem Herzen durch unsere Tränen ertrinken würden.
Ertrinken in dem Meer der Ungewissheit,
denn niemand versteht den Tod,
aber vielleicht gibt es auch nichts zum Verstehen.
Ein ständig bewegender Schmerz,
der schwächer wird, aber nie aufhört
und der dich irgendwann auch zur Vergangenheit macht, du wirst, was weg ist.
Ist es Freiheit oder Einsamkeit?
Es bleibt den meisten unbemerkbar und das tötet uns langsam.
Da sind Friedhöfe - Gräber voller Knochen, die keinen Ton machen, vereinsamt.
Verstorbene, die eine Identität auf unserer Bühne spielten
und sich Sorgen über ihre Leistung machten,
doch der Tod trat trotzdem auf, auch ohne Applaus.
Aber wie fühlt sich der Tod an?
Ich stelle mir Frieden vor, aber nicht der, der Abenteuer will.
Ich stelle mir Stille vor, aber nicht die, die sich Geräusche sucht.
Ich stelle mir Nichts vor, aber nicht das Nichts, dass sich nach Alles sehnt.
Ich stelle mir vor, und dann wieder auch nicht.
Souleater Jan 2018
Wut macht sich in mir breit,
bin gewappnet, mach mich für den Kampf bereit
hab alles getan um uns zu schützen,
hab gemerkt das alles würde nichts nützen
Versteht nicht mal was ich fühle,
was für Gedanken ich mir mach und wie sehr ich mich bemühe

Stattdessen sitz ich hier,
wünschte einfach Flo wär bei mir,
den ihr hättet kennenlernen sollen,
doch es gibt wichtigeres, ihr *******das gar nicht richtig zu wollen
Hatte nach Mittwoch neue Hoffnung gefunden,
spielt keine Rolle, ihr seid frei und ungebunden
ich werde mich nicht weiter um Verständnis bemühen,
kein weiteres Gift versprühen,
werde mich einfach zurück ziehen und euch machen lassen,
versteh nicht wie ihr mich könnt hassen
hab doch alles für euch gegeben,
wollte noch so viel mit euch zusammen erleben


Weis nicht wie das weiter gehen soll,
spüre nur in mir steigt der Groll
vielleicht tut uns Abstand gut,
vielleicht geht dann auch die Wut

Kann nicht bleiben wie es ist,
denn bin dann nur noch mehr angepisst
tu alles damit es klappt,
aber egal was ich sag, ihr seid eingeschnappt

Hoffe wir werden mit der Zeit einen Weg finden,
die Zeit der Krise ohne weitere Schäden überwinden


Wollte morgen so viele Freuden mit euch teilen,
gemeinsam all unsere Wunden heilen
hab meine 100 Mauer endlich durchbrochen,
doch fühlt sich an als Brecht ihr mir jeden Knochen
hab meiner Familie von Flo erzählt,
wollte auch das ihr ihn auswählt
hatte mich tierisch auf morgen gefreut,
tief in mir gerade alles schreit und diese Entscheidung bereut

Ihr stellt eine Frage,
die ist für euch schon eine Aussage
hattet alles für euch schön geplant,
doch in mir drin bereits etwas mich warnt.....
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
perhaps it's not so much: as one might be...
supposed to live up to the names one is baptised with...
in the catholic manor of bureucracy - bureaucracy -
phonetics! bew-rh'oh-cracy...
           beau-row-cracy...
               ***-for-tat... pedantic details only
less feeding feeling creature establish... most probably
men...
   there are two one is given at baptism...
                   i guess... that's in line with...
the catholic 'abracadarba' matching each host
to the tetragrammaton: two names at birth...
      a surname... that's three names...
       and a fourth name when one is to be confirmed...
i had all the chances to be confirmed...
open-end apostasy... i have no confirmation name...
but that would equal the quenching
of the tetragrammaton "farce": four names...
four names...
                 what was once a brave act of kneeling...
colin kaepernick kneeling at the anthem...
before the game...
                  derek chauvin is also kneeling...
crude comparison: what's impressed in my mind
is the act of kneeling...
          i once kneeled on a bee...
that i was hoping to mummify in some mud
as a child... the bee managed to sting me from
within the slush-puppy and i cried and i cried...
and... that was that...
               to be given names at birth...
the surname is non-essential: unless i be born
a windsor or a churchill...
                 or a Radziwiłł - h'american socialites:
ha ha: socialists... lite...
                       or a Wiśniowiecki: Yerema!
i once had a friend by the name of... al-ex-an-der...
and he did mention that as a name:
he'd borrow his name from a figure in history...
a one... macedonian: encrypted into greek...
and that inverted mongol empire...
that lasted just as long...
                     i never asked what his second name
was...
i sometimes used my baptism names
interchangeably...
and my choice of historical characters...
matthew the levi...
            conrad... well... i was always going
to have more fun with that...
either konrad of masovia
.........................................................­.................
                       or konrad wallenrod...
back in 2007 it was still an unpopular name...
a would be girlfriend... half persian
half scottish... laura... a date night:
me falling asleep when watching a roman
holiday... etc. etc.,
     i very much like to see ghosts of these memories
when i tow them to the depth of the sea
my mortal self and this the anchor that
will give me... the sinking sip... sipping snorkle...
i guess konrad is no common name these
days or a muhammad...
that... a joseph comes along and says:
call me that...
yes... this is very much... a vanity project...
because i don't like the sound of my own voice...
i can take a photograph of myself...
as long as... i see a labyrinth my ****** expression...
and i contort my face to: no known
recognition...
         too bad for the girls who have been
given names... as common as... peaches...
pearl... if only your surnames were...
    Waldorff-Preyß - a salad of little consequence:
to ever not mind... appetites hidden...
no... i couldn't do it...
   i have my mother to testify...
       all in order to... rear children...
  to have one's intellectual adventure stunted...
all for the rearing of children...
the anti-dodo-project gehenna of sharpening
the 7 tiers of silences and... patience...
i have no patience... i have a short-temper...
i'm sporadic... i'm not passionate like some
Iberian host... i'm spontaneous...
quick to respond... short on giving...
elaborate humour: wit...
                           i can... fathom a grandmother...
i can... fathom a mother:
       but the irrational "misunderstanding":
the head... dark fathoms of the most belittling
of places that thought enters...
the narrative is lost... because of... fudge-esque
packaging of a constipation of breath...
trial by errors: agitated soul...
          and this... failure to ignite...
a figment... the lost concern for imagination:
more... the myopia of pickling furniture...
a table of torso...
   a chair of an arm's worth...
                     all these rubrics settled with ghosts
and how... post-mortem telepathy works
to ***** grey-hounds of inquiry...
at these moments... i just want to scream...
i want to YARL... but... i know the limits...
of these walls having any understanding for such
words to be: let alone thought, then heard...
yet alone spoken to be later screeched out with
a gluttony of barritone!
    i'd need to feed the forest...
which would imply... walking a good mile...
to venture into the awe-seeing forest...
the owl the deer the fox the badger...
to scream without sense: but to reach...
an audible near echo conclusion without a cave!
to feed the woods!
not... some... near abandoned bedroom...
   and... if i can't entertain a conflict...
when talking about the three partions of
polish-lithuanian commonwealth...
     which part were we from...
the prussian... the russian or the habsburg...
and you're met with ridicule
and a cul de sac of conversation...
when ingiting it with...
                even the germans thought
the prussians were *******...
because of... vectors x, y and z...
                     well... because the prussians
were pagans...
- what?!
- yeah... the prussians were pagans...
isn't it strange how they would later
encompass the whole of the german people?
- the prussians were pagans?!
- yes... the prussians were pagans
and somewhat germanic... more lithuanian...

and all you'd get it a shock-awe look
of suspence... a gamer meets a girl who'd only
buy shoes...
she might be a mother...
a tedium a baron of shadows...
a venture tranquility...
                  the melodramatic cuff... cross:
burden... heel! an imaginarty dog
in reverse... the sanctity that could
never translate itself into either my son
or daughter...
and how... my future wife would only
be seen as a *****...
su-ka...
                        the tyranny of mothers:
even without... the absenteeism of fathers...
i imagine a world...
           which... by the end of it...
there's a valhalla...
             rather than a jannah...
    where you drink and you fight...
chimeras...
   and you are... indeed... served by...
the valkyrie...
   drinks... but ******* them...
would imply: getting **** from
that h. p. lovecraft pederast sulk /
ocotpus godhead...
                
would it matter that... i had... some chances...
but that the one chance i had...
it would be less of an emotional wheelchair
if i decided to... "inconvene" myself
with a ******* for a bride...

tsu-tsu: to have a heart with
the geometric study worth of thrown...
into a lake... ploop! mirror of echoes...
and a sinking into a depth:
and time... at what point...
can man face time as the horror of space?
at what point does space become less
awe riddled... at what point does
time prop its head up and sober
everyone peering into a postcard
from saturn with a sobering fearful-glee-of-fear?!

oh yes... that space and time are relative...
time: awed at... collectively...
nostalgia for ancient rome...
      space: awed at: collectively...
pictures of saturn...
  time... m'eh... claustrophobic...
individually... nostalgia for youth...
when in old age...
space: feared...
                     die cast...
         your next door neighbour...
muffled... irritating... living... drone...
next door... and you... have...
not a single artifact of shared experience...
beside: up & death!

sally challen is a name synonymous...
              with...
              and andrei chikatilo was also a father...
because there's a need to look for
aliens: not enough to peer at luxury
in a fly under a microscope?
grand newton ego! for all and every!
the common man!  

the prussians were the forever old germans?
those people romancing etymology:
and any ethnicity for a romace:
come the thirdf *****: with sveedish:
dished out loot corp..
that the prussians are to be "questioned"
with the pomeranians?
what gate of sea...
the baltic is the beggars' mediterranean...
nothing but Helvig & Helva and...
quanrantine hammock: lining...
herrings: eaten raw...
like bistro maidens of sushi:
baltic sushi: mango squash sort
of *******...
so... so... so happy...
for the british imp-yre have imploded...
postcards from everywhere...
race bating inter-racial:
hard-ons...

              it's best served:
mongol ***** a mongol:
a new mongol is born...
instead?
an "orc" zulu ***** a porcelain
parisian...
a quasi arab is spawned...
because... all hell would break loose
should ****** be deemed:
too light for the arab...
and too... towing the non-agreed
to suntan "mishap"...

****'s the conundrum...
warsaw! warsaw pact!
can anyone think of a better name
for a capital: name...
war-saw...
            and whenever i visit my
grandparents... ****...
i didn't "integrate": fully...
because i retained my...
         einheimischsprechen:
                     und: milz und knochen...
                                        X:
hen... 'ause... not:
         cheat-the-parrot-with-chuckles...
******* cockney chuckles bullet proof:
y'ah... change two tow a spare?
bindi a lingo loot off of a turban?
salvo! this 'un: makes it clarified:
a clarifying lawrence romance piece
of mecca...
very much akin to:
the minor croat project for yugoslavia...
the serbs...
and... those... janissaries...
the new brit the old ottoman...
    from the "old... very old"...
borrowed from... yugoslavia...
                  that france works...
that austria works...
that england: england was always
going to work... except in h'america...
and the battle for vienna... 1683...
oh... wait... why is it that
i don't want to...
that paris... circa 2004 is best
kept as a memory...
          
                                 i have a mother is still a parody...
here's to... grieving the subconscious
history project... paint of ed gain
onto the canvas of blanche...
h'america is better than cool: project:
you you too!

hybrid of congestion...
that old fabble of the islamabad of conquests...
beside the mongols...
the 4.5 crusade of the baltic states...
because barbarossa was being
pickled and the major volume of army
were... withering into a scoop
of... a waiting for: reinvigorated waking...

my history is no history is my history
is no history...
    lots to share: dog **** to boot too...
the arcade of: gesticulating...
being solved with a snippet of
the ******* sack: and a chance
to salvo in the vatican choir...
               a past...
   there's a past that also invites me to
cocktail the: presently at hand...
england... minus...
wales... scotland... irritating tip
of ireland: north-eastern collide...
the quill with a peacock strutting?

        this is "my".... "past"...
the journalistic event of now...
      the old lady is singing...
   it was never began... but... it's all over...
forever and: the now.

— The End —