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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
daj, do wynagrodzenia: reszty.
daj: to niby: siebie;
a... dam... dam...
ale pierw: powiem:             to!
(ich) nicht werden
                  geben (ihr) das nacht!
first... i'll punch myself
hard enough to give myself
a plum-eye: ******* pacifists...
and then?
    then i'll strap a trouser belt
to protect my knuckles...
and then... then...
                    then: we'll "talk":
who might find a translator
ready...
   god...
i'm gagging for a
knuckle exchange...
        almost... itching!
like i might await
a shaving... from a Turkish
barber... in Essex...
of all Danish palaces;
and why would i want to allow
consort with these women?
considering the fact that
the russian ones believe in trans-national
grievance taxation:
of someone... who hasn't...
actually died...
              you know what?
*******...
suffer...
       watch me wipe my ***
with a satanic smile
ennobled
by a coulrophobia...
excesses of vogue
                      atypical models...
how is it... that...
coulrophobia doesn't translate
in reverse?
  and what's up
with the black privilege of
jass music, akin to white mozart...
as...  
  sure as ****, the drum would be
the first, and only thing,
prior to the people learning
the ******* clarinet!

oh drop me your ****** ***
holocaust dead bomb
on a polish ***...
     i triple, quadruple dare you!
you *******... ivory coast
   centipede!
               i'm *******...
as watts: wild-eyed...
       unstrap me from this
"unreality" of conversation...
then undo the internet banking...
and the rest of it...

             not adam watts!
    glitter & doom....
who?      tom waits...
oh **** me... blue valentine?
if that's not a **** with me
album... what is?
                 live circus?
        
do i look like a ******* ****-
(see the hyphen?
it's a prefix... the english are
lazy sometimes: couldn't,
i.e. could not,
remnants of shakespearean
english...

       i'll always cite macbeth...

  time, thou anticipat'st my dread
exploits: the flighty purpose never
is o'eertook, unless the deed go with it.
from this moment, the very firstlings
of my heart shall be
  the very firstlings of my heart.
   and even now, to crown my thoughts
with acts, be it thought and done.


it's hardly a racial slur, ergo...
why so ******* sensitive akin to a french
footballer or a ballerina?
   ****- (hyphen! hyphen!) ergo a prefix...
as already mention:
no, no...
   it's not: no iraqi ever called me a pa-ki
      (pákí)... yeah...
and you never called an afghanistani an
afghan, ever, no?
   pure camaraderie in that part of
the world... all the way... yeah yeah... yeah...
-stani (suffix) is sometimes missing
because... the english like to shorten words...
e.g. why is daniel: dan,
why is matthew: matt?
  why is muhammad: mo (farrah)?
                                    ******* pansies...
police your circumcised penises fiddling
english teenager girl, first,
come after my vocab. justifications: after;
savvy?

or a gypsy?
   by now...
     i'm looking like any
traveler...
and the world...
       forever resembled
a world,
  in the confines of
      a claustrophobia...

but... if there's a bigger concern for
a world...
  and a freedom...
i want a bare knuckle fight...
a black eye...
namely...
you bring  BOXING GLOVE...
and i'll bring...
     a LEATHER BELT...
wrapped around my knuckles,
and the wrist...
    like i might care to give
a second attempt to smile...

ah... the men... who care
about minding, if not in the least,
keeping women...
      bye bye, bye bye...
       and i've allowed myself
to know my grandfather...
as i did the slap in the face...
and...
the key question:
in the unfathomability of counting
the 32 / 4 ratio...
alas... one fist... one smile...

and countless... dentistry encounters...
because?
   because the rest?
the cultural artifacts of a today?
  lost to h'americana...
            as i might have wished...
for my prior genes
to make an autobiography
in **** germany...
  
   what?
  
      well... obviously: the oops.

no, for the crescendo...
you know...
           i'm getting this funny vibe...
gott ist tot... it's not really spectacular...
nietzsche really believed in eternity,
to the point where he pointed:
what does science offer, only old age...
what does religion provide? eternity...
oh nietzsche was big on eternity...
   gott ist tot is as unspectular as:
is it: how to do you pronounce x,
or is it: how do you pronunciate y?
debate:
              everyone says around here
the former... since no one wants to be a *****...
pro-nun-ci-ate (pro-nun-cíate)...
   might as well replenish the vocab. bank
and replace the word with:
how do you elocute z? / recite)....

gott ist tot / gott ist tod...
    "same ****, different cover"...
you know why i believe in god?
    not the christian reference points...
salvation blah blah, saviour and hide & seek blah blah...
n'ah... where would i derive all my vocab.
hunger if not from him?
   some men derive their vocab. from
women or gambling...
            i am not in the position of their
luxury... so god it is...

            primarily though?
               god is metaphysics...
             ergo? his judgement is not clouded
by metaphysical questioning...
it's impossible to receive a metaphysical
answer from a metaphysical question
when engaging with a metaphysical
ontological paraphrase of one's own search
for meaning in this mortal frame...

oh sure sure, my belief in god is as juvenille
as anyone else's belief in humanity's
clarity when it comes to jurisprudence
and its application...
    i've experience "jurisprudence" once...
drive-by phone theft...
me and three fwends...
   i catch the number plate...
i tell one of my fwends to note it down,
police station, report, culprit found,
a sit in at a barkingside police station
looking at mug images,
spot the ****** (it was dark when the mugging
took place, photographic memory, **** happens)...
a court session, australia is playing england
at the ashes (****, i missed it)...
in court the defence lawyer shows me
another picture of the culprit...
back then photogrpahs had dates
attached to them...
the photograph? over 4 years old...
i tell him: but this photograph is 4 years old!
how can i identify if this is the same
person: i, myself, will probably
don a beard in four years time!
      a simple slip-up...
        now that i have a beard:
it's so much more fun than growing your
hair long... i hated the nickname
chewbacca back in high school when i was
growing mine for a french braid...
i walk out of the court,
come to terms with the detective...
and i see the same hunger in him as i see in me...
will justice be served?
highly unlikely... since the victim
didn't recognize the *** in the mug-shots...
justice was probably not served...

   and this is how god plays into all of this,
hell or heaven, blah blah...
man created the figure of domina Iustitia
as blind... god created death to be blind...
justice was never supposed to be blind,
death was: the unfortunate deaths
of teenagers in car accidents,
among all the other freak accidents...

clouded with so many metaphysical questions
i don't appreciate man's ability to adhere
to jurisprudence without being
subjectively contaminated...
i have more belief in an "imaginary"
god than belief that strains me to belief
in man's sense of justice...
          the nuremberg trials are a rare exception...
but only when the culprits are
unabashed and fathomable by a collective
sense of pride... a blidness...
i believe in god, because i'd love to experience
the judgement of a post scriptum of
metaphysics...
  personally? i have been wronged...
heavily...
            i will not name names....
i know when and how i was wronged,
and by whom...
                2007... Canterbury...
      i won't name names: i'm not a rat...
man is too clouded with metaphysical questions
to begin with, god isn't,
he's a metaphysical ontology "bias"...
which is why, he is primarily a jurisprudent
answer...
   i'd love to experience divine jurisprudence,
hell or heaven are not of my concern...
and i don't imply divine jurisprudence
associated with the polytheistic take of
jurisprudence via a solipsistic mechanism
of a minor god and the person in question
without the hurt party...
in monotheism the god is solipsism personified...
these days: also the personna non grata...
so no... gott ist nicht tot...
            he's a personna non grata...
i just don't appreciate the human *******
of law, law governance...
   come on, in england you can receive
an a.s.b.o.s. for your cockerel being too loud
in the morning, your dog barking...
           would you trust man with
jurisprudence?
  a woman was cleared of the ******
of her husband
       when she hammered his head into a pancake:
over an abusive relationship...
police, weren't, "there"?!
sure sure... the hammer will do...
i believe in god without a sense of reward...
i just don't think man is capable of
passing justifiable laws...
no man could ever pass the eternal laws,
gravity... 100°C for the boiling of water...
i need a being  who has groundwork
in eternal laws, in unshakeable laws...
the ten commandments aren't:
you shall not...
   more... maybe, you shouldn't...
they are the most pristine jurisprudent
laws available... the: maybe you shouldn't,
eh, chappy?

       i just don't like playing the thesaurus game
on the more tight-knit game
of "passing" the wink-wink of Solomon's
judgement...
please, **** me please,
i'll eat 20 raw herrings in a cream sauce,
slurp 30 oysters,
eat 40 strawberries on a hangpverl
eat out about 50 harem virgins
like a castrato if you ask me, nicely,
**** camel cockey:
lucly i landed on a black gold slurp
with plenty of bangladeshi slaves:
******* of riyadh...
     what did muhammed tell you?
you camel jockeys / sand *******
have clearly forgotten...
******* arabs: short attention span...
you need to remind
the retards...
the dajjal would come from the east...
a palace of gardens...
well obviously the prophet wasn't
thinking about genghis khan...
            
  hmm barbarians...
vikings, arabs: yet so inclined to like poetics...
funny, that...
the civilized peoples banished
the poets...
            the ruling class and their cushioned
people: sacrosanct sycophants...
wankers, basically.

    the hajr? muhammad spoke of the dajjal
coming from the east,
and the east being a city of gardens...
where isn't riyadh and where is mecca?
isn't riyadh east of mecca?
was the dajjal to come from the outside
of islam, or from wtihin?
      last time i checked...
sh'ite islam isn't friendly to sunni islam...
if islam was the one true religion...
would have a shcism have occurred?
i don't think so...
   a persian would never bow before
an arab... that much os true...

oh i believe in god...
given how man practices jurisprudence...
is it some sort of, a, thesaurus game
i wasn't told about?
to me the human quest for jusctice is
a thesaurus game...
man is incapable to pass but one,
eternal, law...
he's great at nuanced laws...
laws allocated to sports...
i mean, **** me, cricket?
the best vocab. you'll ever pick up...

even god isn't as pertinent
in making the sort of music associated
with the limited alpha-to-beta
of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G...
wow! seven... seven?!
how many heads does the beast
of revelation have? oh... 7!

i'll stop tolerating islam, and start respecting it,
when it, acknowledges its presence
as a character study in the book of revelations...
then i'll just move on,
having made my point...

until that time comes...
    it's 600 years shy of becoming what
degenerate christianity has become,
oh and it's ripe...
it's gagging to implode!
600 years and wait for it to become
the next secular vasal conglomorate...

the warning muhammad gave
about "the best from the east"
was in point of question:
   a reference ti gneghis khan...
more like ibn saud:
  thst fat diabetic one eyed ogre...
and the legacy of decadence he left
behind...

saudi men with slavuc girlfriends,
buying up pink cushions and *******
chihuahuas...
**** after ****...
  you know the three slavic proverbs?
1. better a sparrow in your
hand, than a dove on your rooftop?
explanation?
better the small joys at-hand,
than impossible possibilities out of reach....
2. a drunk can spot east,
past mecca, whenever honing
the safety of his own bed... even at night...
not much of a proverb...
3. i don't care to rememeber...

once toleration comes into play,
i will, respect... just a waiting game...
i'm pretty sure no iranian will
bow down to a sunni camel jockey...
i like proud *******,
it implies: there are absolutes,
un-moveable goal posts...

                      if you are ever to bind yourself
in supporting a "side" outside a sports' dynamic,
always the outsider...
always the outsider... in this case?
the ****'ite islam brigade...
       the persians...
the sunnis can shove it...
   *****, bones, whatever....

                   ****'ite islam i can
fathom, even respect,
sunni islam i just tolerate...
  as much as iran takes claims for the
big satan in ref. to h'america...
well... if h'america supports the infantile
saudi arabia, who's to blame them?

you know that polonaise joke about
about the pacifism of jews in
2nd world world war poland?
the joke ran along the words:
weren't the jews shooting the nazis
using crooked elbows (rifles)?
they always seemed to miss them,
taunted into walking into gas chambers,
the ******* hobbits...

          what? some bolshevik Brooklynian
jewish rada is to spare me
                 the pay-up diffrential
telling me, i was wrong?

  as i said before: the nazis lamented
when the warsaw uprising happened...
no, st. paul's doesn't stand proud
because, because...
   even with the blitz...
                 the luftwaffe were told:
you drop a bomb on st. paul's: firing squad...
and when notre-dame de paris -
last time i checked...
   the nazis didn't luftwaffe the **** out
of paris... did they?!

                  the nazis weren't mongols;
no people so well versed in chanel in terms
of their military being so well
   suited & booted could ever make such a
                              architectural sacrilege...

what?! people under the silicon curtain
are gagging, begging even: for nazis!
can i be the first?!
i just want to please the hungry!
if not punk then moving swiftly into ska...
am i the first?
   siliziumvorhang...
well, **** me... from under the eisenvorhang...
what's with these neo-communist pseudos?

and the hebrew god?
a jealous god... so a god with the knowledge
of the existence of other gods...
why wouldn't a jealous god have
no knowledge of other ("imagianry") gods?
to be jealous of only one's own existence?!

3 / 1: that's the ratio....
that's the only ratio... 3 times i experienced
love at first sight:

when i fell in love at first sight...
malina, samantha, janina,
priya....

equal measure: isabella of grenoble...

in reverse:
magda, promis, ilona, kot (i forget her name,
7 years old, first kiss, you can be forgiven
to forget, she had two twin sisters
and she was the senior,
her fasther drove a distribution truck,
milk, i think)...

****, i actually mismanaged
that ratio...

i believe in "a" god...
since i find too much of human jurisprudence
to be riddle with the thesaurus...
i don't think man can pass
law, he can "suppose so"...
but he will never pass the sort of law,
made forbidden,
or absolutely allowed....
i don't believe in a god akin
to the sort of a pontous pilate god
where i'll always find myself
outside of punk evolving into ska...

         mind you...
i'd hate to be trapped within
the confines of an atheistic exclusion zone
of intellect,
      to be trapped in nothing is one
thing, but to be trapped inside
the confines of an atheist's "nothing"
is quiet another....
i don't like being a hamster inside
a cognitive wheel of another...
   god is the jurisprudence spirit,
man the metaphysical spirit...
and i would very much like to stand
in the light of divine law being passed
to finally feel my shadow...

kult: brooklyńska rada żydów...
  not familiar?
  i forgot punk a long time ago...
esp. when californians came up with their
version, ergo? ska...

i'm currently taping a film
about the silesian vampire...
how strange, that the prussians came
back into the ***** of the polonaise...

growing a beard is so much fun!
fiddle after fiddle: and no violin!
atheists bore me
as much as the theistic hags
who's only ambition are
the thrill associated with Sunday
h'america and cinema...
               i can imagine only one
heaven...
where i am blind and given
               a large library of music.
AJ Aug 2013
I was a twin,
Only my twin was a year and a half younger than me.
Her name was orange,
And she hated everyone.
She was also a cat,
But that is not important information.
I used to feed her yogurt.
And throw her down the slide with me.
We were real hood *******,
Manda and her kot.
We both had blue eyes, red hair, and devilish smiles.
We ruled the world from the top of the swing set,
But she froze to death in a snow storm when I was five.
Now I rule it by myself.
Johnny Zhivago Mar 2012
Iym onna mishon forra gerl
krossing China jus to si her
ona slo chrayn going west
krossing mouwntins in my kot.

Shis onna mishon for tha boi
fly eirchina for to si mi
bundling legings inna bag
wot to bring and wot to not

bring your person bring your boots
spanix boots and spanix wyn
put your bodi in this plays
taiwan boox and qinese wyn

i wil sit heer lyk an ox
wayting unda shaydi tri
wayting hyuman wil tu find me
pat my **** and skweez my ni

qyneez wyn
qyneez wyn
wyn in qyneez
qyneez wyn

pump my rat and wyn qyneez
shaydi tri with pengyou lao
thingking hyuman tu gud tu mi
wy *** look for stinki kao
some sounds use mandarin pinyin spelling, and also some chinese grammar. some olde english Shakespeare era free-spelling.
in pinyin q is pronounced ch
and x is pronounced sh
Nilima Mar 2015
Gabhir    nixar  bixadar   mazot
                  
                    Dukh  aru   moi,

  Kathar  mazote  dukhak   xudhilu

                  Tomar nu  asol  ghar  kot?

                                     Teo  kole

                                      Tomar   bukur   bhitarat.
Boyon kipkolaj sambu
Old granny in hat
Boyot kipogeny
Old granny lived long ago
Kiam munyung ab ngwony
He ate salts of the earth
Kisigunen tengekto nyin
He was saved from his sins
Ak koyan kiplelajek
He believed the whites
Konyon somanet
He accepted education
Koit ngomnotet
Knowledge came
Krbagach tumotet
He left tobacco plantations
Boyondoni kogingom
This granny was clever
Kiisib tiendo
He kept the song
Mometo bitenyin
He never dropped his culture
Bitet neanyin kot
A sweet culture
Kingom boyondoni
This granny was clever
Kongoi oboyon!
Thank you granny!
My culture ,Bitenyun
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
chlej (verb): to drink excessively
or chlaj: you do it,
  or even chlać (noun): to do so.

it's an aesthetic variation the acute
scalpel incision on the c: piquant -
the Ukrainians call the Poles: Lachy -
which is not the sound of witchy itchiness -
it's not the sound of cheap:
but something akin to a hark -
potency of how the French literally don't
trill or cartwheel their Ar (argon?)
           and thus say the literally Greek
rho (ρ) - thus the story of: chleje (i am drinking
to excess, but i'm not going to repent
for these antics, **** it: every single
psychopath in us to his gamble).

thus said: some say that diacritical marks
are also punctuation marks
that somehow became dislodged from
the linear function and entered the trigonometric
expression of tangens -
            offshoots into infinity -
or how the western niqab is a pair of sunglasses -
or how every autistic darty eyed celeb
dons them to hide those creepy eyes -
while psychiatrists only ask *two
questions:
a. are they biting their nails      and
b. what about eye-contact?

another funny word: ryło -
czerwone (red) and czerń (black)
           czerwone ryło: etymological
ambiguity: it's either gob or cheek
after being pinched by a set of knuckles with
a punch - no Victor Frost wasn't here with
a -40°C Siberian pecker of a smooch -

kot srający na pustyni: variation of a selfie pout
(a cat ******* on a desert) -
funny thing, Darwinism, that sound encoding
didn't evolve to utilise diacritical marks
      as duly (not dully) expressed in Joyce's
end of Ulysses where all punctuation is lost
and left to the dynamo of babel...

there are, truly, more fun moments in poetry
than rhyme - not to mention the anorexic variation
of prose with cutting short the paragraph:
yes, that famous mishandling of paragraph that
poetry truly is... due-lee and dolly -
then the peeps said: oh yeah, that clone sheep -
dolly in science-land, and hence the wonder.

but i do feel sick having watched aeroplanes
and birds, trees, the wind, and cats and all that
dynamic harmonica and never use that
reverse of a freemason handshake (could it be
plural possessive, i.e. ownership?)

****, i'm drinking and then comes the functioning
alcoholic doing the Apache thunder dance
with alchemic cooking up a pumpkin risotto -

o to historia z kantem, co podwujne ma dno,
gdyby napisał ją dante,
to nie tak by szło...

       and here lies power...

        ą (ogonek) my evolutionary step forward into
a tango - tailed-a - or me says me monkey
why Anglo without tailed-a?

    sz = sh = š        cz = ch = č
                    rz = ż = ž                       :
look at them, those humanists, they just as horrible
as scientists, they're doing their *******
electron travels like they might cite Gulliver's -
and they never tell you what's going on,
until someone places a skunk in a room full of them
and once attempting mutiny on the Mayflower,
are soon the horde of Mongolian rats
escalating into a fury of a furry tsunami as an attempt
to conquer the seas in the numbers...

but in all honesty, i feel ill if i spend a day not
using these phonetic encryptions -
i see too much colour, too many shapes,
too many shapes not governed by man's
     geometry - and only in this medium can i
rest my drunken head while "as if talking in my head".

now, i can accept the serious criticism of
philosophy against poetry -
            but when journalists are at it...
those gob-smacker-chatterers are in for a plum hue
under one of their eyes - that ambivalence of
my tongue actually waggling away into concern
  is the point where i use my hands more to
craft the dough of some who might be
victims of a Westminster ******* ring of
   aristocrats (italics sometimes implies sarcasm).
Derick Van Dusen Dec 2010
In a moment its all gone
In an instant all is lost
Do everything you can to keep
Keep insanity at bay
Convince yourself that your not crazy
To no avail all has failed

Try as you may
You cant avoid your future grim
Truth is your already there
Pampas in your contrite little way
You make your eneptyness known

Come let me convince you
Let me help you see
Let me help you bleed thrue the truth
Let me help you find your flaw
Come let me conceal you

Happy are you to hide
Happy are you to run
Happy are you to cringe
Happy are you to bend
To my will happy are you

Ill bleed you an ocean of love
For you to hide your pain
An ocean calm smooth as silk
A ripple in your hate
An ocean tempest ruoph as sand
A ripple in your fate

Broken heart tapped together
Pieces of your love
Broken soul sown together
Pieces of your life
Broken mind stitched together
Pieces of your pain

Comforted by the indignant
Captivated by the incredulous
Confirmed by the ineffable
Condemned by the individual
Contrived by the inescapable

Your heart is numb for lack of need
I'll teach you to feed thine own greed
Your mind is numb for lack of  not
I'll show you for what with to be kot
Your soul is numb for lack of seed
I'll reveal you for us simply to let bleed

In your field of vast decay
Your body there forever will it lay
On your mountain of highest devotion
Your soul will forever be in persecution
In your valley of phaltless plunder
Your mind there forever will it wonder

In the end I can not help you
For you know not what you've done
All is gone in the blink of the eye
In your retched little world shalt thou dye
another 05
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
good to hear from the finns.

at least poetry has the decency to allow me a mirror
into a heart, rather than all this **** reasoning
that decided: like i ******* care
to hear your narrative.
for 20 odd years i enjoyed my narration
that didn't transcribe itself into
a "poem" or (god forbid)
a youtube video;
people in the west have this profanity
in them, they always cite beginning
something aged eight, or nine...
which precursors to them saying: i'm a genius!
i started wanking aged 7,
because i found a prono mag in the catacombs
of a church that was being built...
that's genius? ever ponder the consideration
that you can become sexually aroused
prior to producing *****? and teaching it
to someone? so where do abortion rules
for pro-life come in, into that game?
and believe me, it was the most beautiful and at
the same time ******-up relationship that lasted
for about two seasons of a year...
i went to st. petersburg and met her parents,
although she called her mother her sister,
and she called her grandmother her mother...
i was given a silver spoon to shove up my ***
as a symbol for the consecration of vows...
to be honest? figuring out god was by far
easier to understand than that woman of teasing
teens... i was 21 she was 19... pushing onto *******
infinity... added to the fact that i thankfully haven't
lived anything past that...
    9 going onto 10 years spent in an imaginary
prison of my room and collecting books...
     but what's really sad is that i had most of my
knuckles used up in childhood,
   i remember chasing *bioły
around a "skip"
with rafał kicking the **** out of him,
then bioły's older brother kicking me in the ***,
then my neighbours, twins grzesiek & krzysiek
turning bioły's older brother's car (a fiat 126p)
upside down...
      i swear yesterday i heard that the c.i.a. was using
samsung televisions to spy on people
by turning them into audio-related devices...
            it's still a bit foggy for me, to be honest,
i'm in the cinema of memory...
it's beautiful, not a lot of people in the theatre,
just me the memory of being a kid
and a dog trying to **** my ankle...
             it's weird, the highest quality of my memory
comes from being born elsewhere,
there, where i didn't have to use this tongue...
  phoo! foreign *******... look at me now:
a complete mongrel of soul: so much so that i have
to listen to songs in finnish...
              what's it like reading yesterday's newspaper?
daffodils!                                   daffodils!
it's scented candles in a spa!
                                  i forget you don't keep ****
but instead flush it down the toilet...
                       i got to page 8 and read about autism
and something about the lack of the flush button
for the brain (fat) processing protein...
   i have this skin condition whereby i process white-blood
cells (protein) so efficiently that i have to store
it the pores of my skin... which probably allows me
to drink a litre of 40% alcohol a day and worry
whether the day is gone and the night arrived...  
                                                                ­      oh the wonder!
i once heard that solipsism is a mental illness
by some ****... to be frank, isn't it a coping mechanism
when reading the newspaper?
              how much of the dasein do you actually
want to keep to live your life?
         everything and nothing is happening
north west east south and centre...
               prior to page 8 of yesterday's newspaper
i have an american president looking flash
like he just walked out of a prada "bookstore",
          (people do read you, rather than judge you,
and it does come from donning tracksuit bottoms
and walking into a supermarket, and then selling
your poetry book to a cashier)...
  so yes, existentialism and the "technique" is all
but the summary given by the older technique of metaphor,
since homer came before socrates.
              i do remember my first kiss,
i was very young and her surname was kot
and she was the elder sister and she had twin sisters
and her father drank a lot and operated a truck...
why are my most sacred memories reserved to
8 years spent in poland?
                   i have to abide that 8 is a sacred number
of memory content, after that it just disappears
into grey, mundane;
and how hard did the french think up ∞ working
from 8... so O and 0... the concepts of
       rhombus or a game of squash, which is
so much better than tennis;
       the best part of this is that someone might
misunderstand me as if i was a toff...
    toff? toffee? english middle class? no? never heard
of it? i'm sure.
             english kings go to st. andrews,
                            hostile immigrants go to edinburgh.
my original intention though, for this prompt...
what was it?
            it's not even a case of amnesia,
it must have been that autism article and how
the brain (fat, it's wholly fat) degenerates by a protein
invasion... and the journalistic populism of science
in england: this consciousness coordination
of flexing muscle equivalent to the brain being protein
based... or "brain power"...
                    that ***** is equivalent to a buttock...
it's not going anywhere...
       they did shoot andrei chikatilo in the back
of the head, and kept him in a cell for about two
weeks before his body gave up...
back of the head, yep, shot him dead,
like that theory of cockroaches, they can survive
for 2 weeks without their heads before they die
from starvation; and this is ukraine we're talking about;
i do feel sorry for kurt cobain and hemmingway...
kafka's concept made more sense,
     attacking the heart, rather than the head...
but obviously not translated into a rhetorical debate;
could this be untrue?
                    how are we celebrating history
and cunningly hiding death?
              i was once interviewed by a psychiatrist,
she gave up on me while i called her field of medicine
a facade, and i mentioned reading kierkegaard,
so she gave up on me... but in this one particular
room i was talking to this woman...
- and some people fear death.
- i like you.
- that's strange, we only just met.
                       i prefer this encoding of dialouge,
it's rampant in poland, and also in ireland...
     you think adding milk to tea is an english thing?
it's called a bavarka, and it was typical
of giving it to pregnant women in siberia...
  adding milk to tea isn't an original practice,
it originated in siberia... serving tea with milk...
it's a bavarka.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
chór! i duch!
               blady... rym...
ale i też wygoda powrotu
jako niby żyd... bo
te paluski... i ten *lajkonik
...
kiev w warszawie... na
tym tle: bo to gwar gadania
i autobus w pizdzie nocy i
zimy... ceka... ceka.

   o bodziem...
  punk kot w czekam
i czoło i glebe i rys islamu,
   i szkło skalu w czaszke
i gołote... i ten... pierdolony kosciół!
goły... naked...
         the cat weighs about 10 kilograms
i'm obviously going to head-**** him
to say good morning...

rrrrrryb ah! koscioł! groto i smród!
rekąpis!                   ryba! flu flu flu!
oj tu: pingwin sie zgina! huj! bra!
   tu! zeżre te polsche... te polsche...
zerwie z nią... bo co?
jakie narodziny mam, "celebrować"?
ja na typ o motłoch? baba?!
taki typ by na miet i slóp -czysłav?!
pats! prostak z... miasta...
  chleba mało... tsa zebrać...
seplień seplień se o se: nago
      i choroba... gniew... grób;
padaj! jak gwóźdz w trumne
czy tam gówno w toalete...
       tsa u... tu com sa, tam com sa...
ja na wygnań!
        ja wygnany, co mi te poloki?
półtłoki? boli, nie? zyh poza granicą,
tam, dam ci kwit i... kćuka!
                 kćuka! na witaj huju!
potem -senką: za casów Herod'a...
  co sfe: pio... senką; taki tanz: oi! ola ola o!

taki zemnie polok, jaki ten
pierw żyd, co pyta:
  
  pytam... bo czekam...

(choir and [the] ghost).

    warto pytać, oto wiem że o nic nie czekam
(nie czekam o nic... po? nie czekam o nic...
po prostu czekam; tak tak, nic nici nić nitka nikt;
kurvfa shoelaces... you ******* deaf
or watching kochaj albo rzuć?       );
tym warte pytać of -zyk-
kiedy nie w... kraju...  or-zelek... or-zelek...
              taki kwaśniewski co tylko sepleni...
blah blah blah... potem na gniew
vay vest vey kal it a p-cle... susumber: or cueue...
         oi oi! wrona! hej! wrona!              co tam?!
eh, ten rojs siber tesz popierdolony...
rrrrreeee lee, wrona! co tam?
o kurva... terz troche... mmm uhum... mm... eh?
   is bez powrotu... taki... niby...
dobry fason i wybór słów
    jako dobry wójek... po glebie jak po
grzbiecie psa
...
ah ten pysk.... taki dobry pies
mógł być, a potem, nagle, naturalnie:
wściek! pyska... harem! harem!
         harem! grypa! grypa! ugh!
                                golem!
    co tam wyrośnie, to tam nigdy nie było...
ani cebula co płacze, ani
           burak któremu zęby
   wypadają...
      oś? czy... osa? i z tym językiem
bez tego języka gwarancji?
            taki jam obcy...
   ja nawet obcy gadać obcym... do perfekcji...
jaki to musi być nud... aby było
              jak to musi być, skoro jest?
    last time i checked... pretty **** awful.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
więcej swicek na grobach
     w cmętarzu...
   niż okien z lampą życia
     odblasku -
traf na ten tłum.
  a to w świnta -
boze boze: twe narodzenie!
ktoś by pomyślał: w zapomnienie.
    ta noc wigilijna...
              tak...
  więcej świec na grobach
            niż żarówek w oknach...
   licze sześć na sto-siedemdziesiąt sześć -
    człek w grobie dudni... pyrcha jak
        kot: oddman mu, duchem wisi!
                  sześć okien rozjaśnia
      posąg...
                          a tu jednak cmetarz
tłem na którym wyryć można
                      romans wersji: Netwon w
Kenii... kokos wzamian jabka.
                       tyle to gadania...
    więcej świec na cmentarzu
       niż rozjasnonych pokoii..
                         kluczem zamknięte
   enigma: na zbyt.
                       tyle to gniewu wkłócone
w żart -
                   więcej świec na cmentarzu
niż w oknach: włóknem świata oznajmić
                 oddech i muze
         kogo tyczy ojciec nad herr tytuł...
lecz nie tu... tu więcej życia z martwym niż
z żywym...
                        konam, ubogi -
mdleje w mgle...
                                  tuczony jak indyk...
              i chodze niby marszem: gęś-strappen...
a na garbie mej: glöckenschpiel...
                         albo zegar ßvastika...
               dom pana ßaß... dwa-set-na-tysiąc...
                                            ­            szra-el...
                     i zwany las: krzyżak -
  bo to nigdy nie mogiła, lub szyszka, lub
                           martwy ton palcem wydłubany
                        kolec w oku...
                                       grzech to:
       pukać pięścią w drzewo w lesie jak niby w
                                                      drzwi.
  ­                                  bünken bach;
hrabia: einßbach...                  i to jest sen -
  jak niby gryz kanapki           smarowany
                           smalcem,
      jak też ogląd po pałacu Versailles: wkurwiony.
             ah ten rodak kozak -
                           o tyle więcej garść trzyma
        serce, co da sie ująć rękami wczulonymi
                        w pit...
                    o czym słowo znaczy: pić...
ja i ten język?    wedle poczynania rumcajsa,
               skrótem do grobu:
wpatrywać sie w te okna
           cmentarnego statku żywych:
a więc zabawa po staromiejsku...
    oczy w płomień, halo wedle dat:
żył i żyła, i czasem jakiś obłąkany zagwist
    w epitap:
   tych kochanych epitapem zamkneli -
a tu też makabra żartu:
  grób z imieniem, straszny oczekiwaniem
             zarosły dom...
                    grób z imieniem, lecz bez
dat i trumny, czy też sztywniaka...
                         makabra -
                 no to typowa, polsche inwestycja.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
der völkisch rückkehr: and legal terms, in england it's illegal to run a brothel, but it is not illegal to be a *******; i honestly didn't mind that one of them stole my debit card once, or my saracens beanie i "bought" off a pair of drunk essex hunks at a liverpool st. pub for 2 pints of beer; when i went back to the house of cream pies and bourbon and dimmed lights asking for both, i did manage to persuade the **** to show me a stack of stolen debit cards, probably 6 inches thick; hey, you mingle with the underworld of crime, you have to mind your manners even more... which is why internet trolling is such an adrenaline thrill of unsuspecting idiots about to get a fair game.

i have a tier cake of options,
and yes, the first is a custard base of heidegger,
the folkish return -
and return to the country, away from
globalical-centric "comrades" of
classical music,
  much that can be said, must be unsaid,
in that folkish music desires an anti-pop
fervour...
i simply adore the germanic folk music,
i have enough fetishism in me to
revive the genre from the stampede of
beethoven or brahms from an elvis...
but that's just music, i haven't started...

do i feel pittance, do i feel a mea culpa
twice the crap, thrice the *******?
oh, right, it's called a pittance with a woman
who earns more ******* coins
in an hour than the supposedly "honesty"
worker on 0-hour contracts in supermarkets
these days?
is that modern day caliphate or modern
day slavery?
   *** slaves what?!
          you have a prosthetic leg for a *******
violoncello, hop to fiddler on the roof are
you?
                 i'm not a β-mensch,
               as i am not even a quarter of an
α-mensch...
     i am not either **** beta, nor a **** alpha...
       i'm an ω-mensch, an omega-male...
i don't know or will never know how to
compete...
    either i don't have the adrenaline streak
at competing, or i find that being β (2nd),
in that psychological alphabet st. is worse
than being being ω (nth) - last choice of man...
psychology was to rigid for me anyway,
β-males vs. α-males,
         no one managed to conjure up the un-
competing ω-males...
the monks, the philosopher types...
        it just became too much after a while,
esp. with articles such as

i slept with a *** worker 18 years ago and
the same of it still haunts me,
verbatim (from dave):
more than 18 years ago i did something
that remains one the biggest regrets
of my life. consequently, i am still struggling
to come to terms with the events that
unfolded one night in a city in the netherlands,
which i consider to be appalling, irresponsible
and immoral.
i was 21, single, exhausted and under the influence
of alcohol. at the suggestion of my "friends"
we ventured into a city centre red-light
district. a combination of my lack of will power
and peer pressure meant that i was
persuaded to tag along, i'm sure you can
imagine what happened next, and while i used
protection, it still seems stupidly reckless...
    the toxic shame and humiliation
are proving impossible to erase, particularly
since it is common knowledge among my peers...
    i feel isolated, lonely,
   scared of people's perception of me,
jealous of their happy family lives with children;
deep down i believe i'm not a bad person
and what happened does not reflect my
view of women...
                         *dave
: dave dave oh dave,
you wouldn't be such a poncey wuss with
a prosthetic leg...

a. you know she's the one that bring all
the condoms,
b. you know she always has the tenacity
to tell you she has regular *** checks?
c. ever seen the uniform of prostitutes
in a brothel? the bulgarians prefer stewardess
greys:

prostitutes > psychiatrists > priests.

after i lost my virginity to a french psychology
exchange student 3 years older than me,
university *** life was like an
elephants' graveyard,
   i probably experience oral *** once,
between the years 18 through to 20,
before losing my "virginity" a second time
to a ukranian ******* with a golden tooth...
you can't imagine how intimidating that
row of naked legs were in the dimmed lighting,
we drank *****, ******, i never forced her
into oral ***, she ****** me off,
and then we just lay there, and she
uttered the words: you're a good man.

then there was the puerto rican chubby
in amsterdam who laughed when i wondered if
oral *** was o.k. with her,
refusing she asked me:
    is it o.k. if i **** into this bowl in front of you?
no problem.

then the bulgarian girls in goodmayes,
the ones i used to oral kiss,
and then break the greatest taboo of kissing
them on the lips,
the one with an ****** saying it's only
the 2nd time it ever happened,
the one i ****** then jumped into a shower
and trickled cold water all over myself
to cool off while she masturbated in bed,
then the one i kissed and she giggled like
a schoolgirl being kissed for the first time,
then the veteran that has a pair of lips
that could have just as well been used
to circumcise a lot of boys;

and then this strange incident at a party,
a girl sat at the base of my feet,
and forced me to stroke her head like
petting a cat,
   until hours later, alone,
   she encouraged, but at the same time
lay stiff like i was to turn into
a necrophiliac, to which i replied:
   my hand went far down south already,
if you don't respond, i'm not doing anything
more.

then this other one,
  the gem...
   she only started perfecting giving perfect
head, at the same time we broke up.

i do remember my first kiss, aged 5 / 6 / 7,
her surname was kot, and she had two
younger twin sisters,
her father worked as a trucker,
   and i thought i we could settle for an anchor
rather than a pair of golden rings.

so i double up...
you know that the founder of the nation of islam
was a concubine of abraham?
      men didn't invent the niqab et al. etc.,
that attire for women was invented by keturah -
or hagar - i don't remember which
ran between two mountain tops looking for
water... until satan came around and said:
*****! stop running!
   the islamic matriarchy is founded upon
a concubine, the mother of islam is a *******!
so why do you think all this
talk of "modesty"?

and who is among you with a clean slate?
  i ask, one more time -
           who feels morally superior to *******
than seeking the health benefits from
a *******?
   what has talk actually ever solved, in totality?
i am neither the erstemensch (α)
             nor the zweitemensch (β),
but esp. not the übermensch...
   i am the letztemensch (ω);
and thus saying: remember a man has two points
of entry, a woman has three,
you really think it doesn't take a man
to live with the conundrum of 72 prostitutes
rather than virgins,
while a woman's heaven suffices with
3 men?

    i find no desire to ******* the alphabetical
psychologism of the darwinistic plateau
in a "competition" staged between the alpha / beta...
i'm happy being the omega,
  as the absolute antithesis of the alpha male,
since the beta male is not an antithesis of the alpha
male: the only antithesis of the alpha male thesis
is the omega male...
  so far removed from the **** & adrenaline
& ******, as to call himself, something
akin to newton, or leibniz;

and as all omega men: there's the inclination
to either homosexuality, or prostitution,
that myth of chasing women is about as **** and
thrilling, as a benny hill sketch,
byproduct of α / β antagonism without
recognising the **** omega?
     paedophilia or lecherous perversity...
how can you call it a perversity,
breaking a *******'s sacred command of
never kissing a client on the mouth
but subsequently breaking it,
       and giggling like a timid schoolgirl?
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
ringo star h'ahmed...
george ali...
paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
right on the plonker...
i'm not finished!
i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
(one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

gehirnablassen...
brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

)  notes to preserve completing
what remained: pending...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos / chaos...
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...                                         (

1. well, let's begin...
        it has taken me two days to complete
my utterances... i've just spent 40 or so minutes
listening to the last of the youtube
stronghold (dangerfield -
               from hash to ******) -
i can relate on the literature,
i can't relate in taking steps of replica...
i started smoking marijuana
aged 21... i think you should start later...
drinking while being a teenager, fine...
i hanged around with some irish in my teens,
we used to have sleepovers at youth clubs
play pool, buy ***** mags and drink
white lightning: bumb cider...
but given that i was sold chemically
enchanced (negatively, i might add) marijuana
that turned me psychotic...
ah... psychiatric terms, used by the mainstream
like some casual metaphors...
     recently i was at a health scrutiny hour...
yes: my psychosis was made stable in
a schizophrenia: which is a new word to describe
bilingualism... oh the english natives!
what competent people...
  no, it didn't become bipolar: psychotic depression...
lucky me... lucky in that:
           bukowski: isolation is the gift...
the rest are a test of your endurance...
no **** sherlock!

  i just look at all the particular instances
when english (the language) breaks rules...
    heidegger merely pointed out
that there's a difference between chaos
and χαoς: well cheap and cha-cha-cha...
but when it comes to the ferryman?
some would say: χαρoν...
otherwise? do the raj bidding of inserting
a surd H... nibble at the tetragrammaton...
   and call the ferryman κ - αρoν
                                            (h)...
this isn't the only example: cheap, chisel...
        chemistry... it's not chem-ístree...
      it's kem-ístree!

2. poor *******, the english,
   they can't discuss orthoraphy...
hardly, to begin with:
what with i (ι) and j (ȷ) -
you have already cut the diacritical heads
of come the CAPITALS: I & J...
what a simple hydra to vanquish...

2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)

                     i like this one...
   letters, syllables, graphemes,
sodium: Na...
  the key and the door analogy of the keyhole...
feminism: it wants to coagulate...
to group existentialism with
scholastism...
sorry honey... play your footie:
*******!
                    key being inserted:
φought enters θilosoφy....
yes, the graphemes are elevated,
beyond the stature of consonants...
didn't you ask?
oh, you should have asked...
- socrates: can yoy give a rational account
                    of syllables, but not of letters?
- theaetetus: it seems possible.
-socrates: quiet; i think so too. at any rate,
surely you'll have an answer about the first
syllable of 'socrates', if someone asked
'tell me, theaetetus, what is SO'?
- theaetetus: yes, my reply would
be that it is S and O.
- socrates: so there's your account of a syllable,
isn't it?
    - theaetetus: yes.
- socrates: all right then, tell me alao of your account
of S is.

sorry... after this point, for B to be a surd?
bottomless pit... let's ask what is a letter,
what is a syllable... and what is a grapheme...
the greeks bargained on dialectical markers...
which they dind't need, since the latins needed them...
what is a syllable is also: what is a grapheme,
and how to account for "strange" vowels?

the greek thought, they thought,
"thinking" that only the greek language
was correlated to universal thinking...
and that universal thinking was only associated
with greeks speaking... pish-poor choice
if you mind...

         syllables... individual letters...
weren't consonants synonymous to syllables?
esp. with added diacritical markers?
play-tongue-think-tank with the greeks...
sooner or later they fizzle out as
redundant...
         couldn't keep Constantinople...
will not regret or revive the bounties of
reclaiming Istambul...

i once claimed to tolerate islam...
tolerating islam is one thing...
    respecting islam: quiet another...
i can attempt myself at
respecting a cloning device...
which any religion is: a cloning device...
i can tolerate it...
which, doesn't imply i respect it;
i wouldn't eat a meal with a muslim...
and sharing a meal?
is my fullest acknowledgement of
respect, i tolerate islam,
i, tolerate it,
   thank **** i don't respect it.
respect it like some 19th century german
philosopher... hegel or nietzsche....

what is a syllable "compensated" by
a grapheme, esp. with a hidden consonant,
akin to the caron "s"...
      i.e. šeep: look at that...
the first time orthography was introduced
into the englishsprechen...
   hid the H: šeep... sheep...

well we already know where the greek
letter went to: modifying scientific
constants... after all π = 3.14....
    Σ = summation...
            last time i checked...
letter, whether consonant or vowel
orientated,
took up more meaning beyond
translating the optic of encoded
sound into expressed sound...
    they became surds...
          tools to think with,
only secondary sound symbols...
you no longer translated the representation
of the sound,
there was an idea behind the letter...
disguised as a "letter"...
chemistry minded the syllables:
Na: sodium, salt...
   and that was that...
              
  fai(s) çe q'(u)é voudrā(s) -
written, but otherwise a surd...
fwench has the most examples...

3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
     mind you, i will gladly whistle about
three songs while walking...
this is the part where i become an arrogant
*******... teaching yourself does
that to a man, there's no pride in being
lectured, ordered to regurgitate...
for all that pomp & circumstance
that makes pride & prejudice shy...
    she should have always been
first choice on the fiver banknote...
jane austen my ***...
            mary shelley was the dog's *******,
through and through...
the three songs i sometimes whistle
while walking, taking a whiskey for a walk
(good thing i don't own a dog)...

a. beethoven's symphony IX
     allegro assai vivace - alla marcia...
b. la marseillaise...
   c. british grenadiers - fife & drum...
shhh...
    (for all the worth of shakespeare's
poetry... robert burn's:
aud lang syne...
        hell... i can't write sing-along poetry...
poetical commentary...
which still beats poetry worthy of
thee theatre...
shakespeare, no shakespeare...
aud lang syne:
   old long gone song, refurbished)...

5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

       isn't it obvious? england is a metal
asymlum when you wish to see it as such...
somehow and "suddenly" all the social
pressures disappear when nagging either
a polonaise society or a h'american society...
i'll be critical of applied english,
as a language...
but when it comes to living?
               second to none... when i was younger,
and growing up in poland
the english were know as gaylords...
or the bellybuttons of the world...
now, having grown up among the irish
in the outer east-end of Loondon?
want to talk to a 6ft1 115kg "******" about
his lack of obsession with marital status?
his complete disinterest in dating?
what's a dating app?!
                 the same kind of "******"
obsessed with templar chants?
dabbling in helvegen?

  dating... what a weird concept...
whenever i get a chance, i'll sit with a thai
surprise (bisexual, female)...
manage to take her home, play her some
jazz... **** her in the garden...
                            walk her home...
"date"... when it comes to prostituites...
when it comes to prostitutes...
    britney spears  - criminal,
     rihanna - shut up & drive,
   lady gaga - telephone
                       holly valance - kiss kiss
delta goodrem - innocent eyes.....
gay boy got gay rights...
what a boring time to be alive in...
just when homosexuality was no longer tabooo,
norman stephen "typo" *******...
boring homosexuality...
  antithesis artistic homos...
gays are boring me with their antics,
i'd also love latex love triangles...
but...
  i'm not joining in,
since i haven't been made welcome...
         welcome this:
the rightful pucker of a knuckle count's worth
of a sucker!

    i've experienced only: 3, loves at first sight...
kot... i rememher her surname,
she was the first to kiss me,
aged, roughly 7...
    priya.... my ex-girlfriend's
younger sister...
                          isabella of grenoble...
who took my virginity...
oh, ****...
        there was freckles galore daniella...
at st. augustine's... rabbit to her...
there was... milena...
there was samatha...
                there was jadwiga...
                       there was janina...
i fell in love too many times...
there was ilona of novosibirsk...
   gregoria who licked my face
like a cow...
                 the ukranian *******,
the bulgarian prostitutes who i stole
kisses from,
the serbian strippers...
   packaged boy,
  postcard ****-acto...
                 the australian fling...
half hindu half scouser...
towering beauty with the looks
akin to tweety bird lips (as my irish friend
noted)...

women... ah ha ha...
           i guess 3 months is long enough
for me to be with them...
    last time i checked, she was on her period,
and i was gagging...
last time i checked: ******* a *******
her period alleviates the period pains...
she didn't let me,
instead? i received a week
bound to reading Bulgakov...

           condoms are great when used
to **** a ******* her period...
that's how i started to hate relationships...
*** monopoly..
   and readings from cosmopolitan magazine
about the out-dated
idiosyncracy of relationship statuses...

4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...

     i can tolerate islam,
but, i can't respect it....
    how could i respect it?
           i met a greek in warsaw....
he sounded like a goth,
     how the spanish tongue sounded
much akin to the greek zunge...     

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on an ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

          mind you: i always seemed to "mis-pronounce"
words in english... first came puma:
i was laughed at on a primary school bus
heading from st. augustine's (half-way between
gants hill and barkingside) to the barkingside
swimming pool: where i learned to swim
by myself, very much akin to me learning
the english language, by myself,
dropped into the deep end,
i was a complete mute...
my parents were also learning the zunge...
so they couldn't exactly teach me,
i had to learn it myself...
      so it wasn't puma: with that hollowed
out U...
      i.e. pú-mah... it was: pew-mah...
or piu-mah...
           weird...
                   then i found other examples...
i was once more corrected
when it came to the celts...
                       it wasn't cedilla "riddled":
çelts, but Kelts...
    funny that... the football team from glasgow
is dubbed çeltic, not celtic: isn't it?
i loved being corrected about my
pronounciation... get corrected enough times,
and then... light: you get to sprechen such
things as:
   what sort of orthography aesthetic discussion
can i have with an englishman,
when his sole diacritical markers
hover over an ιo: iota: i / ι...
   and that dotless antithesis of java - ȷ -
like in dante's canto XXVIII:
                               Bertrand de Born,
two completely pointless orthographical -
as i would rather call them:
indulgences rather than errors,
otherwise not necessary...
             excess spelling... and particular,
hidden, pronounciation variables...
that's as much of an orthographic debate
you will ever get from an englishman,
given their lack applied diacritical markers...
hey... if the english speaking peoples
love their "reality" chequers...
   their metaphysics...
           i have something as pertinent, ready,
orthography is far more interesting
to me than the grandeour of metaphysics...
so now we have to figure out
the third sister... given the already associated
benzene ring directions of associating
compound groups:
   ortho-,
                      meta-,
                            ­           para-...
  can't just leave it to paranorman / -"normal"...
para- needs to be associated with something
else if we're going to venture
with orthography and metaphysics
and further...

    another decent example?
       gnomes...           gnostics...
why is the g treated as a surd at the beginning
of the word, hence? 'nomes hence 'nostics...
but all the more apparent in a word like
diagnostics?
                               i guess i've found my
new playground: the english vocabulary.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
undeniably, the relations between men & women have
hit rock bottom:
bottom to the rock, rock at the bottom:
perhaps with want of a heart...
undeniably, the relations between men & women
have... slouched... hit the snooze briefing...

sample:

thank god for that... easy to spot Saturn with your head shoved up your own ***? never mind... but great: you do you... moralistic busy-body... ha... minding my language... why bother using websites where freedom of expression is paramount, where there's no prerequisites of watching words? you must be fooling yourself, fraulein zensieren; i doubt that you'll find peace.

freed from responsibilities,
freed from: being freed...
freed from looking for something:
freed from looking for nothing,
one shot, two shots: three...

**** me... let's go to the brothel...
or listen to dreaming...
from the coraline soundtrack...
something to escape this itch of a...
ahem... "gripping" narrative...
as about gripping as a bloodthirsty lice...
for ****'s sake...
to the brothel with you!
idiot!

or at least pretend to be caught up
talking with your shadow,
or jesting at: igloo! igloo!
shaking the paw of your cat in
the zenith of his, ahem:
"personal concerns" for cleanliness...

Darwinism & all manner of anti-subjectivity...
cat ladies... ****'s sake...
cat ladies?!
i love cats... bonsai tigers...
i love petting cats, esp. maine *****...
you can just ignore them...
i like petting cats by ignoring them...
you go: do your thing... "thing"...
*******!
and they do...

ugh... men & this romance concerning dogs...
i watched closely...
i read enough William Burroughs to also know:
there is never a wasted moment when petting
cats... self-absorbed "ballerinas of solipsism"...
a dog implies... ****...
a leash... a german shepherd... a muzzle...
specified hours for doing the rounds...

mina jak kot srajacy na pustyni...
a grimace of a cat taking a **** in the desert...
i can just ignore the little ******...
ha ha... "little"...
coming close to 9kg... "little"...
plus... cats are less perverted than dogs..
from what i've noticed...
dogs are more prone to orientate their self-hygiene tongues
around the genital regions...
cats? less likely...

cats are les likely to lick their *****:
& no *****... lick of the paw... paw rubbed against
the head:
never a wasted moment... bonsai tigers...
sure... i'm a cat man...
i've hear rumours that
cauliflowers used to be purple...
**** me... i heard a story that carrots used
to be purple...

dogs & *******... leaches & muzzles...
as much as i love dogs...
sure... i have a dog...
i have my shadow.... that's dog enough...
melancholy & cats & the drive of curiosity...

to the brothel with you!
take Milton with you... for ****'s sake..
bonsai tiger!
bonsai tigers!
urgh... of course i'll be huffing & puffing
with corrections!
for your own good!
but only years later... will you... finally...
succumb to the argument...
wait... i said a decade... wait...

men & their ******* dogs...
******* hey presto ******* licking fwends...
*******...
BONSAI TIGERS...
what could possibly be wrong with you...
it's great to simply ignore...
i eat... they eat...
what's the ******* rattle of argument?
who owns who?
bodzio bodzio... headbutt & acknowledgment...
i'm here... he's also here... "he"....

leash? muzzle? do i look like a man
desperately seeking companionship?
yeah... where's that leash... where's that dog?
seriously.... ******* with that dribble yet to
imitate doing a nutmeg...

for those yet to die: & for those to die...
here, now...
no good Samaritan...
hello, goodbye...
                    i just envision one proverb...
mind, the, *******, traffic;
seriously... mind the traffic;
that's coming from a cyclist...
mind the ******* traffic.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i've heard of women rereading works of fiction, entire books, rereading them up to 3 to 4 times... me? i can only muster the effort for a single reading, and the rest of "rereading" becomes a game of memory; but this "ideal" evaporates, as soon as i pick up a philosophy book, notably? heidegger's ponderings vi, aphorism vii; why? well, to pay a closer attention, to expand on attention, to solve a "puzzle", evidently this is true for both the medium of prose philosophy - yes, i agree, a tedious take on narrative, since these narratives have "characters" that amount to nothing more than nomen in relatio, namely? no notion of playing god, or, to be exact, a puppeteer. no, i agree, the narrative is plague with tedium, but so it samuel beckett's play not i; mind you, there's calm to counter beckett's feminine embodiment of ego-******; titillating as it already is: insinuating phelatio.

and what can a man best do, being scorned,
by an unfortunate short-term relationship,
that might have only lasted for a breadth of
encompassing only two seasons?
   having no knowledge of came about in rural
areas, during winter times, and how
people kept warm? body chess?
it would seem, that the shorter the love affair,
the more memorable it becomes...
     and that's all the more true (universal) -
when there's the topic of a summer fling;
mine? stretched from spring through to summer,
but the thing is: i have no regrets,
in that, as any solipsist might state:
                 i regret losing a part of my self;
didn't you know? i thought people would have
picked it up, that solipsism is the new "atheism",
and to be honest, i like that label... why?
well, it invites the mythology of kinship
of that of *thanatos
& hypnos...
   who do you think can be conjured to share
common thread of thought with a solipsist?
narcissus! hence? narcissus & his brother
    solipssus - as any single child will tell you,
esp. in china: i really wished for a twin...
children of many siblings do not share this
   sentiment, of leveraging on wishing for a twin;
and mind you:
        in the zodiac, taurus is just shy of gemini.
oh, right, this aphorism in ponderings vi...
actually... i don't know if i should verbatim extracts
from it, or just compare it to an atheist talking...
i'm side tracking, because i started thinking
about susanna hoff...
             as any man might, with half a fishing net's
worth of
fiddling-with-a-knitting-competence-worth-of-"wit";
what? a woman's beauty is a welcome distraction,
esp. the 80s... and i don't know why,
but i remember being implanted
the archetypal beauty of a woman dressed in the sun,
i.e. blonde... and, luckily enough, i received
my first kiss when i was 5, 6, or 7...
  can't remember her name,
but i know her surname - kot i.e. cat,
and she had twin sisters younger than her,
her father used to drive a truck...
             and drunk ***** like a skunk.
you know what, since i've entered the rambling
stage of narrative, i will not mention heidegger's
aphorism, i'll just let you buy the **** book
(30 quid a pop second hand,
  good luck)
               i'll just mention an offshoot of a thought
that came from it, being reread several times...
ah! the monotheistic trinity!
  step 1. you do know that in maltese,
   the word for god is, allah?
step 2. there is no more beautiful name
    for god than allah, namely?
   listen to alpha blondy's song sebe allah ye...
step 3. jews are really **** at singing,
    the name of their god reside in the cognitive realm,
and in the cognitive realm alone,
   hence: do not take my name in vain...
step 4. say jesus christ about 40+ times,
             great vanity project...
step 5. i seriously recommend this to you,
  go to a polish catholic mass, in poland,
  and wait for the believers reciting the creed

  p.s. tell me if you see any comparison with
a satanic mass murmur...
step 6. my thought belongs to elohim,
  my singing & esp. drumming to as sami (26) -
  (you ever think the arabs are all too
glottal, in their pronunciation?
   like glug glug: pucker, gug?);
and the "father"?
                  silence,
               and if not silence, then the most
mundane talk... and a respect for even the most
dumbest of possible carpenters,
   and let me tell you, the biggest *******
of them all, surname? griffin... t(h)omas...
hardly a θought in him...
          but hey, he got all the girls,
i got an empty pint glasses, and a shamed walk
home...
  come english... show us yer surd letters!
   what's v'eh θinking behind it all, eh, tomas?
sure it's not θomas?
                             whatever;
it's not like you're going to get another stab at
producing a shakespeare.
sowa Feb 2020
HERODY Herodenspiel Akt I, swieczka 7 CANTO DLIV

Dzisiaj kanclerz Angel spada z krzesła
Adolf ****** w Bayreuth znowu gość
W hełmie czujny baczność ma SS-Mann
Siłę Wagner i Pańskość na oku
Panowanie Emocji nad Epoką

Wsiadamy do windy, jedziemy na Saturn
Po drodze mijamy pod kinem Uciecha Park
Miasteczko Czeladź, jak kot napłakał
Kościół, karczma, synagoga i łaźnia
których nie ma już od siedmiu boleści

Grabek, Węgroda, Bożecha, Warszawka
Czegóż tu jeszcze szukać ze świecą
W oknie sepia: oddajemy wet za bet
Za brak ostrości na fotografiach
Młodości sielskiej, angielskiej

audio: https://gloria.tv/post/rEmkNDmNWjL31sZBaheWv7ew1
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
as it happens, i didn't have a particular need to scribble any of this, part prose, part something best kept to a private journal, but since it's rather pointless to merely drink & not scribble words... there's this or there's... you, dear reader... reading some journalism that might make your blood boil, that might polarise you, that might you choking on opinions about society... well... call this self-indulgence... i think i'd rather call it a detour... the world can keep to itself.

i would wish such days upon everyone to have -
so simple yet so beyond simplicity,
the day beginning with a bountiful breakfast:
a selection of cheeses, hard-boiled eggs
(with a slightly runny yoke), mayonnaise,
green romaine salad, cherry tomatoes,
some duck liver pâté accompanied by freshly
baked ciabatta mini-breads...
     immediately serve with sweet black tea:
dilmah ceylon... all these years drinking tea
like the English drink... with milk... ugh...
the profanity! perhaps with very strong brews
like Yorkshire... but not when the tea is more
refined... like a dilmah ceylon...
    then doing some clothes washing... hanging them
on the line in the garden: in the pinching cold...
then off to get a haircut...
   Nicky... my hairdresser... ***-beast...
           probably coming to her 50s but i still would...
a a blonde-bombshell like no other...
sitting before the mirror in the salon with eyes closed
i was hoping for her ******* to accidently rub against
my shoulders...
well... no luck... but a finer trim i couldn't ask for:
for ten quid...
                      she asked whether i wanted my hair washed
i relied: i always was my hair prior to coming, does it make
any difference? none at all...
well... but you're touching my hair: why would i come
to you with oily hair?
i leave the trimming of the beard to the Turk...
then some grocery shopping: carrots, parsley root,
chicken for Sunday's broth... some ***** to purify
a subsequent cyst - antibiotic spray at home:
bad blood bulge on my ***...
back home: i'm left to my own devices...
take the washing off the line in the garden & transfer it
to a drying rack in the attic... clean the oven...
in secret go for 35cl of whiskey & 3 ciders &
some salt & vinegar Pringles... because?
England will be facing off South Africa at Twickenham...
what a match! there's nothing better than
a rugby match... all other team sports fall short...
what a match! 27 - 26... so close... but not really...
the second match in the afternoon:
Wales vs. Australia... now that was a match...
Australia playing with only 14 players...
since a foul tackle had one its players sent off:
arm around the neck / head-to-head contact...
then 10 minutes with 15 vs. 13 players...
29 - 28 the end result... i was convinced that Australia
had clinched a heroic victory... ah... the last 10 minutes...
which is not to say that the last match
today wasn't any worse... but Wales vs. Australia
was certainly most admirable...
France vs. New Zealand... a stunner for a different
reason... it probably came close to...
that famous match in the Brazil World Cup semi-final
between Brazil vs. Germany... 1 - 7...
my god... how thrilling the La Marseillaise sounds
outside the realm of the team lined up before
the start of the game... as it continues to resound...
no other anthem in the world can be returned
to... &... more thrilling than that...
it starts with music... but then the chorus of the people
takes over, everyone is so in tune that
there's no need for music... the anthem is subsequently
sang: a cappella...
unlike the Spanish anthem: which has all the music
but no lyrics...
France vs. New Zealand... 40 - 25...
but at one point it was only 27 - 25... 10 minutes to spare?
boom! out of "nowhere"... a completely obliteration...
football looks so anaemic by comparison...
even though: a decent football match is a decent football
match... it's still never going to be a rugby match...
just like boxing will never be...

  hmm... i'm not feeling this scribbling...
i haven't drunk enough... perhaps i'm just too content
i guess that's the problem...
i haven't drank enough, the day has given too much...

for dinner making spicy pork dumplings...
with a soy sauce, sriracha, mirin, rice vinegar,
sesame seeds, scallions dipping sauce...

      then some match of the day... & now: as i sit down
to write this terrible writing...
for two weeks i kept replaying & replaying
Maanam's Night Patrol from 1983...
not that i'm bored... just tired...
another album...
  Maanam's Mental Cut...
          oh god... from the opening song: simple story...
an interlude with mentalny kot...
onto lucciola... another interlude: Dobranoc Albert...
Przerwa na papierosa... Nowy Przewodnik...
   Kreon...
              i'm yet to finish the album... need to take
another swig at the whiskey:
songs to come:
     You & Me... Kowboje O.K.,
                               Lipstick on the Glass...
hmm... some pretty decent music existed from
under the Iron Curtain... how "strange"...
i'm not surprised: not one bit...
                i know i started looking at some obscure
outlets: highly recommended:
the Harakiri Diat channel on youtube...
primitive knot (puritan)...
           ШТАДТ - Мразь...
     years of denial - body map...
elsewhere :wumpscut....
   vomito *****...
    black soul - computer soul...
trevor something - into your heart...
   so much more so much so much...
            there's no time to listen to Mozart...
however it is worth...
Prokofiev... Schubert... what a mash-up...
then throw in some blues, some jazz...
               oh... i guess now i know:
i write for only those who want to read it...
no point turning into an ******* & wanting
for EVERYONE to read me...
   no... in the future... not that everyone will be famous
for 15 minutes...
******* & sociopaths will do battle for 15 minutes
of fame...
some of us will do battle for... 15 souls...
or... ha ha... not that i'm implying anything...
how many disciples did Jesus have?
12... like the number of hours on the clock's face...
too much too soon... no wonder fame is contrived
as a translation of the ultra-temporal now...
there's never any late... i'm growing old...
i just hope i'm not somehow becoming mediocre...
for such a perfect day...
come on... the luxury of watching three rugby matches
on t.v.: drinking a cider...
munching on some salt & vinegar Pringles...
making myself some Chinese dumplings...
finishing off the day with a classic album from
under the Iron Curtain?
              i love the night & for what the night brings...
obscurity...
the alpha & beta males can have their little
tug of war... i'll be the omega man...
after all... what's that famous saying?
i'm the alpha & the omega...
                       well... so i am... half-baked at being
bothered...
best advice anyone could ever give:
when you're cutting down...
drink the whiskey prior to the ciders...
never drink the ciders prior...
chances are: you'll still arrive at the... ahem...
"BUZZ"...
you'll probably also take out the garbage...
should this odd hour of 2am come...
sober people & their sober concerns....
their sensibilities... also sober...

that i am a drunk... well... if drinkers were gearing
up to the authority of being bus drivers...
that would be rather, problematic...
but in the realm of public opinion...
i'm tired... dating advice...
feminism... trans-activists....
pedohpile advocacy groups....
the mystery of lawlessness...
what else is on the table?
  how the journalism must be defended
while at the same time... waiting
for it to prop its ugly Hydra head
via the tabloid press & perform the dictions
of Brutus? that... shortbread cookie
of a "conundrum"?
    
     hmm.... just the right sort of time to invest in
a genetic lineage: in having children...
   good music, even greater sport spectacles...
best cider & even better whiskey...
a decent hairdresser: a plump pushing 50
blonde bombshell... a Turk at it with the ****** *****...
a Turkish *******...

           sure... there might be the times i bemoan
nothing having children...
but who's to bemoan the sadness & the worries
that children also bring: as they become...
individualistic... out of one's control out of one's
influence?!
            it only takes the years for them to reach
teenage years
            when peers take control:
& stupid decisions are made...
                      
such terrible writing... shrapnel at best... at worst...
no... there could possibly be nothing worse than:
i ought to be writing tabloids...
or Harlequin novels...
             give me from 3am through to 9am
to sleep a while...
            i want to wake into a reality where
i can forget the world...
where the world is not invited...

  what a grandiose day... yet at the same time...
thank god i drank the whiskey prior
to the cider....
now i've reached the zenith!

blondie - maria....
vs. the rolling stone's revival with...
anybody seen my baby...
from the said album...
eh... saint of me... would have been
the better choice for the comeback...
Hey-Zeus... this...
Hey-Zeus that...
        by the knee of the kneeling crowd
of a man entrapped in an iron maiden...
the whiskey comes first...
the cider comes second...

        i'm almost drunk with a headache...
or is that counting the required number
of high fibre beans
that so displeased Pythagoras?

          hmm... never mind... what's to be minded?
deer / bears struck by a lightning
of fakery of drinking?

                  yes, this day has been...
aplenty... there has been too much of night
with it also: invoked...
trailing off...
            to have let these tired limbs linger for
so much longer as to scribble...
these bogus words...
                        some... what's it called...
a "love" for women, wine & song...
LOVE?!
                        enough of "wine": and plenty of song...
can't make up the arithmetic with
regards to women: even though... i'd love to...
lucky me... clearly lucky: me...
i'd hate the idea of some simple pleasures
become: all serious... beta-projects and
all that's to be revelled in "redemption"
of the last callous bite...
probably also the first...
            
  let the Kyrenia ship... the Vasa sink...
but please... as is the case: keep it intact...
like a mummy... in a museum...
              let's party!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
if i wrote this earlier in the day i could remember all three
dreams i had in one night,
a sort of sketch of William Burroughs' take
of My Education -
                                        having stopped drinking hard
spirits, whether that's absinthe, ***** or whiskey
and turning to a soothing diet of cider - 1 to 3 bottle
to aid me sleep... mingling that with being my own
pharmacist (well, at least getting a chemistry degree
has finally become useful), i.e.:
alcohol + phnergan + naproxen + paracetamolum =
not drinking so heavily for too long,
it means waking up in the night,
going down to the kitchen to nibble on something
and then going back to sleep and dreams...
the first dream i don't remember so vividly...
but the other two dreams?

2.
i was filming a gang-**** of a woman...
i remember picking out a guy with a fire-red afro -
by the contorts of the shadow...
oh... she must have been ****** by about
10 of them... each taking his turn...
somewhere in the shadows of a street...
intervention, by moi? 10 of them and only 1 of
me... even Bruce Lee would tell you:
terrible odds... that's why all the security personnel
at stadiums don't know any martial arts:
or have any training: the tactic is to gang-up
on a single individual, swarm them with numbers
usually a 3:1 ratio...
after the gang **** is over i cringe at the idea
that she might have actually liked it...
            she starts screaming these words i see vividly
like a Belshazzar at the feast forewarning
the fall of Babylon...
                              my dream architecture is
wonky... the scene suddenly shifts with me walking
with the girl, trying to persuade her to the authorities...
she's unwilling... ergo my cringe and almost
austere look of wonder at the double-standard...
***** but not *****... reluctant blonde... another
actress... but i tell i have the evidence...
                     white knight? getting a limp **** *******?
what?! Freud... i'm new to this dream thing...
i'm just realising that dreams relax my consciousness...
my consciousness is no longer strained by having
to utilise my memory beyond mere arithmetic
and spelling and regurgitation of recipes or
scientific facts... dreams are new to me after a heavy
drinking hiatus... i'm treating the meanings of dreams
as dreams-per-se... i don't actually worry about the content
just the fact that they simply exist is enough...
i finally persuade her... even though i don't know why
she's snuggling under my arm...
     we end up in a building resembling a school...
in one room there's this authority woman figure with
something resembling a polygraph machine -
the page in front of her is like an inverted slit of a niqab...
and text appears in the slit and soon disappears...
and the "actress" in question had to read the text while
i present the woman of authority with the video evidence
of the gang-****... hmm -
   my taste in ******* has always been rather vanilla...
even today i found myself preparing for a visit to
the brothel... Saturday? i'll be tired... i'll finish at 10:30pm...
by the time i get there it will be almost 12am...
no, i don't care what the madam said about my
underperformance... i know exactly why i didn't perform...
it's not what she said about the 30min thing...
she's the madam, 1. that intimidating,
2. she sent my two favorite girls, Khadra and Mona
away... to never work in the brothel ever again...
Mona became pregnant... with whom?
   3. she's in her 50s and she's plump i mean: beached-whale
plump which is not a girl in her 20s that's plump
but less a beached-whale and more a female sea-lion...
cows... yeah... i tried looking up the body-build of the madam...
well no wonder why she complained that
i couldn't get a ******* with her... i just diverted
her attention to pretend to be tired from work...
if i can't ******* in private to that sort of body type...
no... without pornographic make-up... rude amateur
photography: reality snaps... no ******* wonder!

mommy don't know daddy's getting hot at the body-shop,
doing something unholy -

i hope does lyrics don't imply "body-shop" to imply
a tattoo parlour, i'm pretty sure that's not what's implied...
but my god... the importance of dreams:
to hell with interpretation of the... noumenon -
dreams could be considered a phenomenon
if we all shared at least one dream, of the same content,
but dreams are a noumenon -
sure, the phenomenon that we dream...
but are there like to like interpretations based on
seeing a red hat in a dream, or a boat?
flimsy... what about seeing printed words in
dreams?
                    i don't have the luxury of interpreting
dreams: i'm basking in the luxury of actually having
dreams... since i quit drinking heavily i wake
up rejuvenated... my memory is no longer strained
i no longer grasp the razor that was once driftwood
in the sea of memory trying to keep myself
intact... now i'm rebuilding my consciousness
with dreams... their meaning is meaningless given
that i have have a better use for them...
i stopped waking up forcefully trying to remember
a "decalogue" of formidable memories...
i think i can let them pass... remember them at some
later date... for the sort of remembering
that someone like my grandfather suffering from
dementia employed... i.e. employing a Memory Cinema:
i guess dementia sufferers probably don't dream:
mix into that cocktail insomnia and the finishing
line of mortality... that's when memory needs to be
deployed... not in one's youth...
but i wanted to understand his suffering that
i succumbed to mimicking it, by drinking heavily
and robbing myself of dreams... now that dreams
have been resurrected... ah... i can relax...

2. this dream was even better...
i was placed into a mental asylum...
who was my room partner? do people in mental asylums
get room-mates?!
well... my room-mate was someone resembling
a Jeffrey Dahmer... from time to time he would
break into these mirror-shattering fits
mirror-shattering epilepsy... walking angry...
sometimes frozen in time sometimes breaking out
of that labyrinth of staggering visual effects...
i guess i was looking at myself... what was poignant
was the distinct glasses...
before i was put into this mental asylum i was
met on an edge of a hill by an orderly in pearly white
(if he only had wings i'd suppose i arrived in heaven)
who said something...
then there was this great escape... me and "Dahmer"...
the orderly came against us with a pit-bull
that was wearing a metal-mask... a bit like Alex Dumas'
man in the iron man...
    the scene shifted to me wrestling with the dog
in yellow mud... wrangling the metal-mask off the dog's
head... i could almost feel the dog's teeth...
but i didn't.... i saw the dog's teeth but what was
hurting me were the metal-mask's claps / jaws...
wrestling peering into the dog's snout...
i managed to rid the dog of the metal-caste...
the orderly ran away... nowhere to be seen...
the scene shifted to the pit-bull turned into a puppy
(almost a puppy)... lying on my torso while we lay
in a hammock or a car with a reclined seat...
pretty pit-bull eyes looking at me endearingly
as if telling me: thank you for getting the nozzle off my head...
the orderly came back and said...
non-verbatim:
   'some people take a sparring partner to get this
level of introspection,
so few manage it on their own like you have done'...

historically i wonder about about all those poets
from the 1960s and their experimenting with
psychedelic drugs... hmmm...
and i wonder about myself: drink to the point of
arriving at the abyss - and then being resurrected
from it, by one's own devices -
i.e. drinking none of the unholy spirits -
personally: i'd rather drink in a vein of gradation,
if i can write something like this after only
two bottles of cider... why would i need
to drink half a litre of whiskey and wait
for my psyche to snap into writing?
if i can write this much after drinking so little
only thanks for the added dimension of dreaming
that has been so sorely missing in my life...
dreaming that upon waking relaxes my consciousness
as i no longer need to strain my faculty of memory:
this is me returning to the flow of water in time
rather than standing elbow-to-elbow like
a stone in space:
why would i need to take any psychedelic drugs
to elevate with whatever crude tools i already have?
i wanted to stop dreaming to find out why
my dementia riddle grandfather utilized memory
to create a Memory Cinema - dementia and insomnia...
of course he could still string two sentences together
and would spend his mornings reading the newspaper
from beginning to end and solved the crossword
puzzle... that was all there...
but... the way he employed memory...
it was sort of like me "forgetting" to dream...

well... granddad has been dead for almost 2 years now...
i think i can drop the project of understanding
dementia...
no wonder i felt so good having a 2h cycling session
today in the heavenly winds...
i was asked by my local surgery's nurse to drop
by and pick up a blood test form and clock up
my blood pressure... an average of
123 / 82 heart-beat at 93...
i know... it's not the best...
but i managed to drop from a systolic 143
to a systolic 123...
                      and this is after a 2h cycling session...
while i also managed to drop my diastolic from
over 90... 93... to 83... after 2h of cycling...
i imagine if i didn't cycle it wouldn't be considered
elevated... not bad... and i only stopped heavy drinking
since... 30th December... had a whiskey relapse on the 31st...
but it's the 4th of Jan now... so... well...
at 36 years old: i was still sort of expecting a quick
recovery... given my intention were in the right place:
i strained my body because i needed to strain my mind...
to understand... mortality...
i don't think the recovery would have been that quick
if i were simply drinking heavily, sniffing ******* on
the side by being a ******* octagon-type
Wall St. Bankers... would i now? my heart was in the right
place...

the added aesthetic bonus? my body might look great
from all the exercise, but yet my face retained some
puffiness from the excess drinking:
apparently it happens when drinking spirits...
your body attempts to retain as much water as possible,
no wonder i was rarely hangover...
my body built-up a defense mechanism against
being dehydrated, it would store liquid
in undesirable places... notably in the face...
puff-cheeks... oh ****... my face is.... SLIMMING...
i have cheek-bones! it's almost looking natural!
it almost suits more than ever having a full beard...
project no. 2... i'll trim the moustache myself...
while trimming the other expendable body-hairs...
retaining a proper turf from beard through
the chest and the rest of the torso toward
the ***** Eden region...

ah! but dream 1. wasn't really a dream...
it was a thought-dream...
i was conjuring up... a metaphor in my mind...
a cherry tree...
what comes before a cherry on a cherry-tree?
a cherry blossom...
what could a "God" give unto Adam...
or rather... if antimatter exists...
what could an Anti-Satan give unto Eve?
before a fruit is a fruit...
a fruit is a flower...

and this only exist in the ****** language... what?!
the following formulation in the rubric: qua -
as being... i.e.

kamień kamieniem
woda wodą
kot kotem
pies psem
litera literą
    ogień ogniem
czas czasem
              gitara gitarą
czerń czernią
smok smokiem
prawda prawdą
    wiatr wiatrem        all... all in all:
                                (~)QUA...
    dog (as) being a dog

if the serpent supposed ******* confusion gave
the woman the fruit: he gave her the womb first...
no wonder! it is time the serpent gave unto her
the fruit, the supposed ******* confusion
her ****** back: for her to... bear barren fruit...
in full blossom outside the realm of "patriarchy"...
****-mafia of the serpent...
aren't we ssssssssssssseing it right now?
finally! women can entertain the flower...
but not the fruit...
they can have their fruit tickled and teased and
glued to as many bothersome little bees...
lick tease lick tease thump and pump...
voodoo! voodoo!
oh... but first the ornament on the altar of man:
woman being given the fruit: the womb...
only now... barren womb...
now comes a sidewinder giving her the flower...
her ****...
the fruit is now rotting in the barren pool of history...
now! the exfoliating flower...
ah... but unlike fruits... that can be turned into
jams, baked... flowers last only ever so long...

if one is allowed to borrow from the Metaphors
of Moses...
if this supposed fruit, forbidden was given in...
paradise... seems strange...
not even the correct adjective - strangely:
ah... but the fruit was given in paradise in order
for man to replicate reproduction
of all the other animals... imagine paradise with
pregnancy, reproduction,
no wonder Satan no. 1 gave a fruit rather than
the flower of the fruit that was to become:
perhaps he saw wrecking ball Adam
inexperienced in tickling flowers enticed poor
Eve: by Oedipus man will get a chance to please
you... but for that to happen:
you will need to open up the fruits of your labour
and reproduce, while he will stomach nothingness
and a bright genius in his mind
to combat the elements: water with ships
with the aid of the wind inventing sails...
he will bring down fire to ease the warmth...
i can't imagine... perhaps Satan didn't want to
pluck the flower of the forbidden fruit tree
and give the fruit to Adam...
that would have been... a mightily short story...
if Satan gave the flower of the forbidden
tree to Adam... but no... he waited until the flower
turned into fruit and gave the fruit to Eve!

as i have learned, dearest, "father"... once you eat
the forbidden cherry blossom
and not the cherry...
    perhaps it's no Eden... perhaps it's just a brothel
in your palace of arrogance of Pandemonium...
perhaps... but... i just don't care if she ate the fruit:
that she's fertile...
i've eaten the forbidden cherry blossom:
i don't need to eat the forbidden cherry...
maybe that's why the Madam banished Mona back
to Romania: what if... me teasing her ****** without
a ******... just teasing... before her putting it on...
and ******* into the rubber...
she... decided to self-inseminate herself with my *****
and ******* back to Romania?
what if God is the Madam in this story and she
was banished from the "Eden" of the brothel?!

mommy don't know that daddy's getting hot at the body-shop
doing something unholy...
ssssssseems befitting... i'll call this the year of the flies...
why would my house suddenly entertain
these... dozen if if not more... fleshy black...
dearest, "father"... is there rebellion in the ranks?
why would Beelzebub send his emissaries come
the new year?!

seems no reason, none: whatsoever,
cider is a bit like champagne: more fruity and most certainly
most sweet...
i know that this writing is but a sketch and something
more prolific could morph out of it...
something as succinct as the last book
of the old Testament: the contradictory concept
of reincarnation of the prophet Elijah as promised
by Malachi... monotheism is still teasing with
the polytheism is so despises...
no wonder that both the polytheism of India
and the atheism (conventional human wisdom
of intellects sparring) of China feels so...
sssssso undisturbed... no wonder the concept
of the civilisation-state rather than
the western take on the ethno-state...
why is it that the western world is so polygamous
in its ethnicity... the crumbling civilisation:
Oedipus gave his plucked-out eyes to Samson...
and Samson is shaking the cradle with baby-Holocaust
in it...
sure... they were Jews: given that the state of Israel
was established... but by law... they were Polish nationals...
easily forgotten... given...
the close "alliance" of resurrection of either of the people's
states...
           unlike like in England were
the last invasion happened with the Normans in 1066...
plenty of time to invent cricket, football,
afternoon tea... pastime literature...
lazing about and Victorian moral standards...
of: doth black so well without an Arabic veil!

enough! 12am has come and my bedtime has
arrived... i don't need to torture myself through and
thoroughly into the night!
the night is for sleeping... and right now?
agitate some beehive of dreamsssssss!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
ever since i've quit smoking: beside those two
self-congratulatory puffs at the end of
each day...
                    more and more people are smoking...
in movies...
        they look so... content with
the stampede of the locomotive breath...
                interludes into 5 minute incissions
of absolutely dis-satisfaction...

                    4th of july... some variation
of independence day...
                      i'm planning to visit Loon'don...
for a sport of: zoology...
                i'll take a hubris and hiatus magic
pouch of liqour with me...
expecting: riots...
                  
        peacocks and pistachios...
            porcupines and pomegranates...
molotov cocktails and bagpies...
               i just want to see... oxford circus
yawn... i want to take the scenic route
of a promenade upon stepping off
the tube...
        perform the dull task...
of... window-shopping for mannequin
in restaurants...

    oh god... i'll have to trim my beard...
dissolve some sugar in water
and put it in my hair so: stick-ing anti-wind
gravitas...
             i'll walk this mistanthrope
on a leash of good riddles...
            i'll play the part of someone from
norwich...
    not someone from romford...
              Loon'don the tease from
Mashiter's Hill...
              plain as day: the sky-line in
my hungry eyes...
  almost towing a cow:
                  
         and of course i want to be seen...
how otherwise not so settle the matters
of sensibility...
of this ******-fest of: the obeying conundrum...
4 dada suicides: published by atlas press
in an edition of 1000 copies...
2005...
         what a fraction i do own....

        arthur cravan among the four...
the nephew or... some variant of...
related to... oscar wilde...
                 yes... the physiognomy
are a steal... in terms of what's resembled...

  i trip down: don't tempt me... memory
lane...
   world was I: and the war...
   the dada movement in Zurich....
   cabaret voltaire...
                        Geneva? well...
fast paced betting...
          live and try to not get rich...
something to get by... working for...
a loitering wage...
if you gave me... 2 tonnes of soil...
a tonne of gravel... and said...
3 hours...
                 fair-*******-afro-frenzy
    and enough...
         but "work" as a loitering...
                     what "lockdown"?
the neighbour finally put up a fence
after 15 years of her being implored...
the old roots and stumps had to be dug
up... all the way from
late february...
     a new shed... 13sqm of wimbledon
turf to admire and water...
                       i have to forbid myself
joy... though... in telling my maternal
grandfather: i've quit smoking...
    before he dies: and i pretend to wish
to grow old: i hope this happens...
this... carrier pigeon message is passed...

only today the bewildering... sacrilege...
i was watching: corpus christi...
2019... point being...
it was in my native tongue...
with english subtitles...
         i can't pretend...
   i was more eager to read the subtitles
than to listen to the "mother"
and the "father"...
      sure as hell and that they will die...
this language will die in the vicinity...
then within me...
who am i going to speak it to...
i can imagine... "30 years of and tomorrow"...
and i'll speak it:
zapomniejać mówienie po polsku...

russian interlude i'd call them...
i'll most certainly not me...
a lithuanian ****** miłoš....
              i have to arrive at the prospect...
i am not really arriving at
a country left... or a country arrived at...
"nation": ah ha!
                     siamese twin horror:
bilingual freaks...
             i was always told to shy
away from the concept of a diaspora...
unlike... the jew the italian...
the russian oligarchy...
                      and english...
what... i... made... of... it...

neu-concept...
              i... a pronoun category word...
some obnoxious... reflexive-reflective
quadratic of anti-narcissus...
i: a pronoun... perhaps...
but i as... king george minded...
i: verb!

                          i will take: will i?
i like the idea of the 4th of july...
the tokyo olympics...
that one event in the sport calendar...
when... i don't feel infringed...
with a body capacity to...
perform... a palé - i do have a body...
for greek wrestling...
antithesis judo...
but sure as **** a plethora of body shapes...
ping-pong table assured...
click-bait... without a tennis racket...
and that's why...
squash would have been a good
choice to join the olympic racket...
olympiaco(s) raquettes...

   lofty body builders... ant-worshipping...
not relevant though...
sprint a 100m...
climb 100m...
    clearly toned equilibrium bodies...
bouldering and baseball...
no squash...
     tennis is hardly an olympic
sport...
           it's a money sport...
it's a riviera elton john slim jr.
sort of sport...
football? it's a money sport...
rugby? it's a ******* sort of sport...
football is about as much
an olympic sport as...
a curse of a sneeze...
the only reason why brazil
staged the sporting affair was...
because they lost the world cup...
blah blah...

       squash should be an olympic
sport... why it isn't...
and forest ******* gump
can have his... ping(o)-pong(o)
   berlusconi parties: minus... tony blaire...
is all the reason to note...

hmm... blaire... white... that tehran
trans whizz kid...
   i see... no... no... absolutely...
not similarities... within the confines...
of... "a borrowed shadow" of...
   eva longoria...

i had the same plans for halloween...
the same plans for prague...
prague i can forgive myself...
mother has a hip-replacement...
and i'm all up-and-arms: ******...
like the good boy scout
buffalo billy-oh / geiny boy!

                to suffer from a lack of ****...
is not... to find jokes in language:
when one still has... itchy finger-tips...
"suffer"... and "lack of ****"...
best resolve... no clingy p.s.
             no... cuckoldry...
    the fabled ex-girlfriend of mine...
ex-....
   ****... how old am i? 34...
an ex- from... ah... ha ha... when i was 21...
prostitutes... a thai surprise...
and a black girl done at random
when i hosted my own birthday party...
with an art of an *** so tight...
i received a plum tattoo above...
where her coccyx decided to toy with
the... "art of mechnical reproduction"...

walter... "waterboy"... benjamin?
herowitz? i too had a really ****** surname...
like... ******... like stalin...
catholic ploy... take the best of the three given...
we also reserve an option of a fourth
when you... decide to... become...
confirmed... lucky for some atheists:
who have been... unlucky for me...

of the people that stayed...
    of the people that left...
             unlucky for me...
   those that left: didn't "leave"...
the australians...
            left and "left" and it's not like...
they came back speaking
total ******* cockney...

       it's not that i'm even confused...
"overwhelmed" with emotions...
that reveal themselves...
to have to be... perpetually... displaced...
post-modernist...
quack for doctor...
quasi for marxist astute!

                my ideal ex... rich girl...
one spare apartment in st. petersburg...
riches in novosibirsk...
      educated in england...
   look at me... i ****** a rich ****...
a prop'ah... rich ****...
a russian rich ****...
   not old english sloth dough...
not a reperations **** of worship
that choc-a-bloc-of-sowwy...
  a real... oyster binding with teeth
sort of libido... well! ha! lucky me!
for a ******! she's not a mongrel 2nd
class citizen of the turnip and tulip
and...
   beg R'ah-R'ah-Rhapso-silly-Pullin'-Tin!

you know... i can remember
the love at first sights in my life...
she... Ilona... i experienced in reverse...
two girls were trying to fry some
pancakes...
she hook and sinkered my iPod...
while i refined the idea of pancakes...
she looked like...
something the ugly duckling
would bully at... duck school...
filled her gob... smart...

        yeah yeah...
but i do remember all the times
i experienced love at  first sight...
and their names...
the best horror movie i would ever land
in being a critique for...

1. Milena...
                          2. Kot...
      i can't remember her name...
that's her surnane... she had...
                   two younger sisters... twins...
3. samantha... st. augustine's primary school...
4. janina (canon palmer... an ugly affair...
    i hoped i made reperations to...
joining art class and giving her a rose)
    5. gemma la porte...
  6. emma... a big... ******* sensation...
  7. let's just call her Sancha...
  irish girl... two years older than me...
still in highschool...
8. Isabella... the french psychology student...
and god begot: a loss of virginity...
   9. priya...
     who's the 6 / 7...
             the sister of my first girlfriend...
which would make... a 18 year old...
a pedohpile with a... 15? year old...
                      10. predates 4...
cameron diaz in the mask...
    11. is a cameflouge of Ilona...
my love at first sight in reverse...
if i stayed long enough...
i would have ***** myself to oogle
my eyes out and **** her like
some aria giovanni clone...
                big siberian nose...
her myopia and being plasyfully teasing
"short"...
yes yes... beside that... massive plum
bullseye...
        we must call that:
                wetted ****: seconds...
  
see... i have this cinema in my mind...
of first loves... loves at first sights...
more thirsts rather than thrills...
and... then i want to see Loon'don...
in zoological modus operandi...
i want to see...
    window-shopping for mannequins
of... sylvia plath borderline psychotic
shoelaces of soul...

         i want to shop for...
the agony confined to... raised eyebrows
and the confines of... all things made
easily extreme bound to ****** expression...
having to... self-lacerate...
before the pro-social cordial...
i want to see the future martians...
misantrophes... like-oid mois...

i can honestly be trusted with "love"...
call it the muse....
first sighting...
her moles her first trickled...
lob of the forgotten kiss...
the whirlwind thorough lintany...
her lapse in a guarantee of
ear lobes...
    like my... "shy"...
                  occipital lobe....
investigated by janina...
                                
                           that little light in a tunnel...
a summer in masovia... or mongolia...
or.. whatever is called...
crisp... and doughnut...
idaho... jeffrey: jeff'ohs "napoleon dynamite"...
    dahmer...
                                 mon'ghouls:
the goos of the freely rejected...
cousin Sib is no mal. and frying up
with word-blob Sah...
          -eria              contra...
bloat-zilla...                -ara...
                               death-stow genius no-no...
trans-nanny has an eastender melt-meow-down...
the opera goes: fly-be-fwee:
lucky luke and the fervour
of the force for a complete...
****-lawd comeback town: towwie...
gripping basics...
                       king jefffers...
and jaffa... and khalidha...
     and lay-tea-cia... milkin' dozens...
**** ****...
      ******* whapping 'inge...
                 cwy: rhapsody... remembers
to trill that Sysiphus... and -esque...
              
        ***** and blahs the world over
for...  solidarity of...
compensated vitriol...
       jeff is an ugly u(n)(c)kle...
jeff is a ****** loon:
serenity... theme park expactation
project: alpha 50.9...
     he's an an FM in frequence...
and best listened to:
when "reading was a thing":
typo... of digest...
a **** queen and ***** quag...

             calofornian subtitles...
ever since...
   ever since... a petty Hague and Hue...
european conquest of time...
and something akin to
h'america... and its louisiana purchase:
ratio no. 2!
fly-over **** Iowa...

  it's not like... croatia was...
the Balkans was such a small: and ditto:
afffair of... inbreeding folks...
lord: lowd and...
spandex 1980s Berlin to...
give revenue in all things
that catered in retaining...
a loathing of... pertained to...
CWISP...
                    trill the R who?
the french hark it...
the english... larp...
woebot... for every robot...
they... tarantulla tongue numb
that...

                 whyming...
RHYME-B'OH...
            ******* kings and queens...
it's the "united states":
having to annex the forntiers...
the annex
on conquistador...
velcommen mingling xo xo xo...

the "encrypted" sexuality
of a the concept of female hands...
misguided by the proportions...
best hid in a niqab...
but when exposed: pork meets...
buffalo-slingers...
no... arab / camel jockey hands...
are not beijing...
or ***... porcelein hands...
you could... **** a ******* camel neck...
and i am: the beck unfucked cockrel
you best wish: yawn-yacht...
you never never...
ever... called a forking...

   arab women have these fat
hands that black women...
would require... 12" of envy
a white anorexic would require of them...
to muster...
a blasphemy and... a kenyan litany...
some of that sort...
all i know...
jesus be all big with...
                   post-apocalyptic
protestantism in post-colonial...
"oops" of the 21st century...
          forgive i.e. tow what?

               how about...
i allow my grandfather a death
by demetia...
               and then i wait...
i wait for nothing...
or i wait for: "history"...
no... sooner i wait for...
the brothel... than this bollocking waste
of time of... frank zappa is...
burning up like...
            a heretic...
                    within...
a 1m sq. of a proximity to mecca!

how fortunate: the man with... none...
              how fortunate...
             the grievance of a man with so much...
to have to... find...
poker-dole... facing...
a man with the queen's penny...
i am a man worth of a queen's penny...
does that even become know...
respected...
for all the money grieved into
making up...
the honoruable citizens' tax invested:
"quest"...
i am... its last...
           radical... and...
                                     royalist...
i have to come...
with a parade of worded -ings
and thinning paroles!

                         this birth of a new:
a nation of fat-whips and bores!
              let me become inclined to leisure...
for the lost revelation of
a tenure of fiction!

what was "once" a female...
has "become" the homosexual...
what was "once"... the mother in law...
has now "become": the bridget...
and nuance shellshock...
               fraserburgh... kid-joy... ****...
an ode to: joe... the...
                       ben nevis and bon jovi
of... the... "nuanced"...
and...                 "pioneers":
all best reserved...
   for the alaskan and the louisina purchase...
and...
the lost told tide of...
the spaniards: arms...
goths... north africa...
reconquista...
conquistadors...
sooth talking some mayans
and aztecs into: "in-breeding"...
        miriad... moors...
gives us a tan... us... whitey loop holes...
  tanning with a mongrel
cocktail a mongol...
typo... tan ****-up tao...
tanning with tao...
tow tufu **** what?!
       beijing fwend a fwied deifying
pig loco?
vibes... first locomotive **** promo...
last fist comes first and thirst...
no... samuel beckett's sore...
so... sore n'oh m'aw...
   savvy... you... *******... gooseberry
savoured prim nancy?!
Daan Jun 2019
Nu al tijd om op te schuiven?
Ik dacht maar net te zitten...
Wat, al vijf jaar het er laten stuiven?
Ok, dan zal ik mijn vastgeklitte
kluwen wegduwen.
Krijg ik nog even tijd?
Mag ik nog afscheid nemen?

Mijn kot, mijn kastje en de muur,
de mooiste liedjes zijn van korte duur.
Daan Apr 2020
De deuren zijn bezegeld en
de loten zijn bestempeld.
Wat is dit voor een leven,
toegeplakt, bedrempeld.

Ik had al een plastieken kaartje.
Nu komt daar nog
een documentje bij.
Een aardje naar z'n vaartje
maar wie is daarmee blij?

Ik weet wel wie en goed en wat
en waarom we zo voorzichtig zijn.
Als ik dat virus is mijn handen krijg
dan is het kot te klein.
Daan Sep 2020
Enkel de kamer genoot
toen nummer drie
het kot te groot achtte,
gasten verwachtte,
zorgend voor miserie.

's Ochtends zat zittend
op de zetel, 's middags,
prikkelbaar als versgeplukte netel en
's avonds voorbereiden op de ochtend.

Ik heb gewoon geen woorden meer.

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