Ang pagkakakilanlan ay isang masayahing bata.
maaalalahanin, magiliw ngunit may tinatagong lihim.
mapusok, matigas ang ulo pero marespetong tao.
mapagbigay, bukas palad kaya madalas nauuto ng kalaro.

Ang aking tula ay pinamagatang "LALA"

Ako si Lala, yung tinatawag lang sa oras ng kagipitan
Naaalala kong hindi ka nga pala maaalalahanin,
Naaalala kong naaalala mo lang ako kapag kailangan mo ng tulong ko,
Nakikilala mo lang ako kapag ika'y nakadarama ng lungkot habang magisa,
Ako to si lala, yung kaibigan **** sasamahan ka hanggang ikay muling sumaya,
Ngunit, bakit ganun? hindi mo ako magawang maalala kapag ikaw ay masaya na?
Oo nga pala, naaalala kong naaalala mo lang ako kapag ikaw ay gipit na.
saka mo lang hahanapin at sasabihing namimiss mo ako kung kailan ikaw na lang ulit magisa,
saka mo lang ako bibigyan ng importansya kung kailan di ko na kaya.
Ako si... LALA, naaalala mo lang at kinilala nung akoy wala na.

Sarah
You're smart  and funny  and kind of really loud
But that doesn't mean I don't want you to talk
And though I do things you don't want me to
You know it's true
I can always call you if I need to
And you know you have me to

Cause I'm pale, pale, pale for you
There's no combination that beats teal and violet
Pale, pale, pale for you
We're Moirails through and through
And you know that I will always be with you


lalala


Don't you know
I see the way you talk about your dad
I didn't know him at all I'm sorry
It's okay He's in a better please  and I'll stay
But please don't ever push me away
When everything crumble beneath your hands
I'll be there to be the one who understands

Cause I'm pale, pale, pale for you
There's no combination that beats teal and violet
Pale, pale, pale for you
We're Moirails through and through
And you know that I will always be with you

lala lala lalalalalala lala lalaaaooo

Sign your Kik name with YinYangs
I'll make cat faces too : 3
Put up with my HomeStuck shenanigans
And I'll be there there you
for you

Cause I'm pale, pale, pale for you
There's no combination that beats teal and violet
Pale, pale, pale for you
Pale, pale, pale for you
Cause I'm pale, pale, pale for you
There's no combination that beats teal and violet
Pale, pale, pale for you
We're Moirails through and through
And you know that I will always be with you

lalala lala lala la la la la la

woke up at 9:30am
got out of bed at 15:30
as someone once
wrote in a Tottenham memo
about a shift reminder:
15:30pm
and i thought
this is a person in authority
of details
planning permissions etc
and then it dawned
on me like a slight itch but more
like a nail into the head
and i realized something
peculiar...
the cushions and harems
of getting slightly tipped
of getting somehow sky high
by listening to music
and if god was alive
he'd have heard
through telepathic snail mail
that i committed suicide
today
today
i committed suicide
in bed
by wasting a glorious
sun dance of the wind with
the trees
i committed suicide today
lying in bed
actually if dreams are
are recurrent theme
because SPAZ
me says: so is sleep: d'uh d'uh
(did i poison those words
with enough sarcasm?
i think i did
i will not write those in italics)
well...
tone, choice and a voice...
remedy of rhythm and
then a change
music text art
that is the medium non binary
i just realised
Adolf ******
Jesus Christ
and i am 19 and i'm 40
and wow and this
the world i to inherit
because
i am man
not boy now
i will lay siege to Istanbul by
throwing paper nuggets
of owls
and i will be launching
with heart in Oslo
and with bakhlava lava lava
and beards on fire
i will be the first generation
European living side by side
with Muslim and German
Russia can wait
i ****** Russia and have
stamp to prove it
i also ****** America and have
heartache to prove it
and i have a daughter
who isn't my daughter
and she's still only using
only half of my hemisphere
of mind sea blue bluuuuuuuue jeans
and this nagging nagging
mosquito
but this is first generation
living with a Muslim
and i don't mean (except) funny Pakistani
Muslims...
i mean those other Muslims
from Muslim Muslims
from Muslim Muslim'Lands
and indeed the hyphen is SCIENTIFIC
the HYPHEN is SCIENTIFIC
but...
but the APOSTROPHE is HUMANISTIC
and that's there
where
i take off my OJ Simpson gloves
and put on my Forrest Gump
mowing the lawn type of baseball / trucker cap
oh if ****** was the sole instigator
of a genocide
but imagine the genocides of transliterated
souls that fire torches of Nero
and all those Protestant and Catholic
and Orthodox and from this octopus
a squidctopus
was born
and what horrors just as the Hebrews
followed the Assyrian
into Hades
and jeez what a ride we had Medieval
Poles
   so tolerant back then so be the Israel of the North
no not city...
an entire country of the north
coming to vectors
and i would like to finally pitch
my compass
and... what city game
i will leave two prototypes
for comparion
given

(a) Edinburgh
(b) London

as a different compass
esp noted when looking a meteorological
schematics
on t.v. and elsewhere

or maps
reading them
so therefore what direction is most important
in these cities

and if i could bypass all the editorial hassle
after all in the construction industry
and the security industry:
i am still foremost an artist!
and i am the literate one in the trenches!
what culture war
unless you start sneezing in the direction
of L'viv...

fine fine!
compasses
of compassion and diverting perception

Edinburgh (given the Firth of Forth)

                       N




            W                              e






                       S

London (because of the River Thames)

                        E




                      Ns


                        W

there: did my editorial interlude with what letter
to not utilize CAPITAL

just saying that Gandhi would be right
about Europeans citing
the name ****** more frequently
than Christ:
yes: but Christ wasn't a European
so think
about a future where there emerges
a Jewish leader capable of summoning
all the Diaspora of Hebrews
to Mount Zion for a Judgement Day?

well... this ****** wasn't a Slovenian
well this Christ wasn't a Greek!
so?
are we all Christs and also all Greek?
but why can't ****** be admired
as let's say
the people's person
he wasn't alone but he was still an artist
i am an artist
i am working in an industry
where people don't have literary dreams
i can be the perfect spy for liberalism
in that i know there is liberalism
and there is libertarian tendencies
but please none of that here
only today i masturbated twice
then measured
the frame of a bicycle
from my legs
as 17" suited for someone up to 6'0"
but i need a frame
21"...
           no... my ***** is not 4" long
i am assured
too
that i am not 6'2"
but actually 6'3"
so i am a Brat Pitt i am a Chris Hemsworth
too...

oh right... curious looks
whenever i hushed in a HELM
a worth of a helm...

Christopher is not a Christian
i'd hate to have a christian name
Alexander isn't a christian name
Matthew is a Hebrew name
and Conrad is a Germanic name

i'm pretty sure i have names best
associated with the Hadif of Berlin
a saying about Berlin:
go see Auschwitz first
before seeing Berlin...

        it would have been much harder
to criticize ****** the bad poet
sooner poet poo
then all investing me too
in painting when some two year old
is a freak show revelation of people
realizing the better reign in hell
than to serve in heaven
then yes
like Christ the Great Cosmopolitan
wanderer beyond the jokes
of Egyptians about 40 years spent
from Cairo to Sinai...

          but as a man with pomp and momentum
i don't work with the hyped up
about literacy rates sort of volk
not that they don't see me standing
one foot pelican
constipated
i do wonder maybe some ayuascha....
****... spelled it wrong:
obviously i'm not thinking about it...

but how to redeem myself lala
and yawe
              who else than to borrow from
Adam and he heard Lala
and Eve heard Yawe...
no Hatches of Hay and T'chit T'tchit chatter
Lala and Yawe


H                                               H

                     ()


               (that's a rugby match,
call me... huh?)

the gods Lala and Yawe
are obviously a heresy in Islam
since god is an ******
clearly no partner
or just shy
oh just shy Allah
well then...
come to think of it... Yahweh
didn't begin life as a god
but maybe a man
or metaphysically a genie
or whatever
and coexisted and virtually knew
who walks first
having himself as us
as they who walked
as i walk

                    so the last god for "yahweh"
to claim would be Allah...
namely... ah ha ha!
drop the H and let's rearrange you to look back
at me!
Ya    La
We   La

                 Yawe says to aLLa
     i say: priest: and till death us no part
Yawe and Lala

from which sprouted names of people
who might become BIG
like Leyla
and imagine is this not better
for European sexuality than this Hebrew
hybrid
o no not definitely
o such bubble froth so frustrating

just relax and snooze some jazz
some axe and a forest of 3
cut down into Z or |B

          i am artist and for the masses
a ****** a thorn
like some: you will never
never rise above him
you will never become like him
you better know this is Germanic
covert diluted in England
this is ******
this is Genghis Khan and look
how poor and admiring
the Mongols still are
began to relax from not even paganism
by the gods of waves
upon this earth
still poor still admiring the spirit
of Genghis Khan
and they don't care they are poor
are rich as the dirt and wind
and freed from subjecting horses
to work
to war
now look at them admiring the horses
as pets and as jolts
and perhaps what are we
Europeans to fall first
from the cliffs of reason and science
and technology
first thrown off the cliff-face of self
perception: in self rather of self...
inward cluing in
with outward cluing out...
game of prepositions

    how difficult to be given an ultimatum
of marriage
and visa
but then not giving the coherency of the use
of monetary funds
and suggesting that Reyla
be moved out of this supposed Christian:
private... just private...
school and into a public school
and let's hope there are enough
teenage boys around her that ****** off
and none of these sexually frustrated
devious "christian" boys
from good families...
what the **** am i getting at this isn't my life
i had a holiday from hell
i might have pokered my heart
or whatever is the new guise...

can Adolf ****** please down
from his peddlestoof
of being admired
and not join the jilted
oh believe me that
was a surprise
i was walking home
from a shift not my usual way
and in clear daylight
and haze of sunset
i walked past a house
with all the open windows
and in it
i heard people shouting
from room to room
so that anyone walking past
might overhear...

******
BIGGER
SNIGGER
NIGER
******
GIDDY
JAVOLINE
LI­TTLE
******

            and not that i'm worried
since i'm not an anti-racist
i'm just not, racist...
but i think this is no intelligence question
but a question of, the final question
of mobility and world
claim
what if to suppose racism
is an outright
question of not being moved
concerning a people so far removed from travel
that they are not this cosmopolitan shelf
of selves and technologies
and perhaps these people can be understood
on the grounds of not so much
a deviation of i.q.
but not deviating from say... an Eden...
what if some ******* on the coast of England
was actually someone's Eden
with an Eve
and a postcard: wish you were here
and then... some Berbers appear!
and you're a Spaniard being sold
into slavery for gladiatorial new-real?

                             non-referential blind spots,
too much gravity,
too much gravity people,
like ants in a sandworm
or beetles in time measure of
how much **** to perfume...

                oh this can end here...
just realized...
one Yawe and Lala and i didn't commit suicide
happened but was all artistic
hungover and lazy
with wanting to waste as much sunlight
as possible
because just because because because                    because

Aku berdosa,
Telingaku bunuh diri.

Sudah baru-baru ini
Aku sepenuhnya tuli
Aku tak tahu lagi  

Apa kata dedaunan
Pada tanah yang terantuk lemas dibawah
Atau ceracau yang diteriakkan
Bunga keparat
Untuk mayat dingin si kumbang.

Bahkan di restoran tua
Yang setiap sela kayunya berdarah dingin,
Tempat rintihan musik bisumu selalu dialunayunkan
Semuanya hanya tertawa hening
lalu mati begitu saja.

Dan meskipun duduk menghadapmu
Aku masih tak dapat mendengar
Suara mengaji jam setengah mati
Yang kerap menceritakan
Dongeng gelap kita
Dari lampau sampai me—
La lala la la
      lala la lala
La la la la la lala
           La la la lalala la la
La
—Lampaui
Pemakaman hati yang mati dipancung
Di pekarangan rumah tiap senja gulana

Yah, baru-baru ini aku tuli
Bisu lagi,
Mampunya cuma mengumpat dalam tulis.

Dan dihadapkan denganmu,
Sesekali dalam terkadang
Aku anehnya dapat mendengar
Serintikan isak tangis yang
Sama sekali tidak kita cucurkan

Lalu ini semua salah siapa,
Kalau aku baru tuli
Lalu kamu sudah bisu?
Apa memang ini dosaku?
Di palangnya tertulis;
Nama: Siapapun yang menangis

Di sela-sela pengakuan dosa
Kematian telinga gila
Dan kelumpuhan bibir hambar
Kita tiba-tiba melongo,

Tuhan tertawa
Sabar lagi bahagia,
Mengisyaratkan untuk
Sudah, ya,
Simpul mati saja senyum satu sama lain.

*** dada dum dada
*** *** ***
Melodies cradle my soul just for fun
*** didi dum didi
Dum Dum Dum
Soliloquies burst off the tip of my tongue;
Lyrics illogical and beautiful, some.
Brilliant by accident, sudden, and young.
Tra lala di lala
Do do do
Convinced of the magical things words can do;
These lovely inscriptions, all assumed to be true,
Are not carefully built, nor genuinely glued.
Fa dala di dala
La la la
So from sockets comes streaming oblivious awe;
Silly and shameless, and secretly flawed,
For unknown was my motive until these stanzas were thawed
La, lala, la, lala, la la la
By the warmth of good fortune, and mind’s last hurrah.

No reason to be precious about it,
it's best to just be blunt,
she's got a helluva ****.

I could wax poetic, swooning like a
love-drunk boy, but what's the point?
Sharing, expressing, defining the spell
is futile. *** with her is like
dancing with god.

Finally, at fifty, I feel the
vibration of lovesongs.
Not in my ears, deeper than any sense can taste.
Lost for hours in life, in bonding; finally
knowing the only knowledge worth knowing

She teaches by just being.
Responding, absorbing, inspiring,
implanting new sensations and
bringing me out of me.

white roses and Jacob's Coat
purple bearded irises and ferns
dark red wax begonias
scents of night jasmine
French lavender
antique tea roses
loquat, plum, guava and lemon trees
all swaying with an ocean breeze
casting shadows in the setting sun

memories of childhood
bamboo and nipa houses
coconut groves and fragrant banana
witches, faeries and wok-woks
a favorite white haired grandfather
living off land and sea
harvesting root crops and fruit
fishing for viand
barefoot and ******* sarongs
in a private paradise miles from town
bonfire festivities
tuba wine and drunken salamats
an open adoption
a house tiled with affluence
and visits back home
a war's interruption
people lost or found
married off to life in America
lumpia, pancit, beefsteak and beeco
spaghetti, burgers, *** roast and pizza
dinner's table set for eleven
the house on Wagner street
the loss of husband and son
advancing age and declining health
ER's and ICU's
a final farewell

a garden of children
grand children and great grand children
branches in Lala's family tree
her progeny sprouting roots
looking to the future

Parenting

organizing the day,
while the baby room adjacent
makes dreaming rock n' roll noises
siren calls to lay in bed,
semi-alert, on guard duty,
scheming about dis n' dat,
you are sleeping, dreaming,
wide awake seeing,
multitasking eyes closed simultaneously.

lesser of a poet, more a notate-er,
list keeper, note taker,
arguing with yourself inside the head,
actually feeling the thoughts
coursing, lurking, seeing both sides now,
parentally, washing the dishes
of the hours and years ahead.

while the woman-mother
makes her soprano dreaming noises,
you laugh at the orchestra of
*******, sighing somnolent noises,
a cadenza of love dancing in your
irresistible wide awake dreams.

paying the bills, lying in the dark,
you wonder-worry about the agenda
unknown that will overgrow you,
fast creeping up the grain of your skin,
ivy on stone skin walls.

lala lala
you borrow baby's lullaby,
yourself calming,
keeping time, silly rhyming,
organizing the days ahead
in you head, while,
recording the harmonies of sensory inputs.

the dark provides the cloak
where you alone
feel and hear the worry and laugh lines knitting
into a single stitch of parenting.


1/20/2013

Ang ganda na sana ng tugtugan
Ang yabang ko pa
Abang na abang ako sa kantang patutugtugin nung kuya sa caf
Ayun, "Forevermore" ng Side-A
"Ay putang ina"
Solid.
Kahit may pagkain sa harap ko.
Ang sakit pala.
Ang hina ko pala.
Isang kanta lang, hindi ko kinaya.
Oa para sa iba.
Pero para sa'kin?
Iba.
Masakit.
Hindi ito yung mga oras na kaya ko maging matapang.

Isang kanta lang, hindi ko kinaya.
Bakit ba ako nasasaktan?
Bakit ang lala?
Mahal mo pa ba sya?
Mahal mo ba talaga ako?
Ang sakit pala.
Ang hina ko pala.

Ang yabang ko pa.
Akala ko napakatatag ko.
Pero hindi pala.
Isang kanta lang, hindi ko kinaya.
Bakit kasi hindi mo ako hinintay?
Pinanindigan ko ba talaga pagiging "laging late" ko?
O sadyang kailangan ko lang talagang masaktan nang ganito?

Isang kanta pero ibang sakit ang dulot sa'kin.
Isang kanta mula sa nakaraan mo na labis na nagpapasakit sa ngayon natin.
Madaling sabihing lumipas na yun.
Pero mahirap ding pilitin ang sariling 'wag mapaisip
Ano kayang iniisip mo nung narinig mo rin yun?
Naalala mo ba lahat?
Naalala mo ba sya?

Nanghihinayang ako.
Bakit ba hindi kita noon nakilala
Nung hindi pa ako ganito kahina
Nung kaya ko pa magmahal nang buong buo
Hindi tulad ngayon na puno ng takot

Nang tignan mo ako sa mata
At sinabing mahal mo ako
Saglit na tumigil sa pagtibok ang puso ko
Masaya at masakit
Sabay.
Lalo akong nahirapan.
Hindi ko na alam.

Sa bawat araw na dumadaan
Mas minamahal kita
Ayaw na ayaw kong nawawala ka sa tabi ko
Maya't maya hinahanap kita
Akala ko ganun ka din
Kaya lang nasasakal ka na pala
Hindi ko namalayan
Sobra na pala
Paano ba talaga magmahal?
Bakit kung hindi ako kulang, sobra naman?

Ngayon hindi ko na alam paano ka kakausapin
Paano kikilos
O magsasalita kapag andyan ka
Pakiramdam ko lahat ng gawin at sabihin ko,
Mali.
Sobra.
Kulang.
Ewan. Paano ba?
Siguro nga ganito talaga kapag nagmamahal.
Masakit.
Kumplikado.
Uubusin lahat ng lakas mo.

Ibibigay ko ang gusto at kailangan mo.
Pero sana sabihin mo
Kung sawa ka na
Kung ayaw mo na
Kung kaya mo pa
Kung mahal mo ba ako
Kung mahal mo pa ba ako
Kung mahal mo ba talaga ako
Kaya ko tiisin lahat
Hanggang alam kong may pinanghahawakan ako
Pero kung wala na,
Handa naman akong magpatalo
Handa akong masaktan
Maging masaya ka lang

Sanay naman kasi ako
Alam kong mahirap akong mahalin
Hirap din akong mahalin ang sarili ko
May mga bagay na sadyang hindi nababago
Pero kung tunay kang nagmamahal, matatanggap mo
Matitiis mo
At kahit hirap ako
Ginagawa ko
Hindi ko isinusumbat
Gusto ko lang malaman mo
Na ganito ako magmahal
Uubusin ko ang sarili ko

Sana maubos na rin lahat ng sakit na 'to
Hindi ko alam na ganito ang epekto ng isang kanta
Isang kantang magsasampal sa akin ng katotohanan
Na walang madaling paraan para magmahal

Ang gusto ko yung lalaking matipuno
Yung pagbubuksan ako ng pinto
Yung umaga pa lang pumupunta na rito
Tsaka dapat binabati niya magulang ko
Isama mo na rin buong pamilya’t kamag anak ko
Grabe ang lakas maka pogi non
Lalo na kapag binibilhan ako ng wanton
Yun kasi yung paborito ko
Kaya nakakakilig pag kilala ka ng lalaki nang todo
Ganun yung tipo ko
Simple lang at magalang
Madasalin at mapagmahal sa magulang
Isa lang
Isa lang ang hinihintay ko at alam kong ikaw yun.
Yung taong bubuo ng mga pangarap natin
At tutupad sa mga binitawang salita sakin
Ikaw yun
Ang yayakap sakin kapag malungkot ako
At pag kailangan ko ng makikinig sa mga problema ko.
Ikaw yun.  Nung una. Akala ko nung una ikaw na yun.

Isang malaking pagkakamali lang pala.
Imahinasyon lang pala lahat ng ito
Ang lala
Nabiktima lang pala ako ng maling akala
At nadala sa pagbabago **** lagi akong umaasa
Kaya ayoko na

Ayoko nang pagbuksan ka ng pinto sa tuwing lalabas tayo
Ayoko nang habulin ka pag nauuna kang maglakad at ikaw pa yung may ganang magalit
Ayoko nang paulit ulit ipaalala sayo na batiin mo mga magulang ko pag nakikita mo
Ayoko nang magtiis pa diyan sa katamaran mo dahil pagod na ako.
Nagsasawa na ako sa paulit ulit na salitang binibigkas mo pero di naman totoo.
Dahil ang totoo, hindi naman tumutugma sa mga kilos mo.
Ikaw na ang sentro ng relasyong to.
Sa halip na ako ang yakapin mo dahil malungkot ako, ako ang yumayakap sayo.
Hindi ako makapagsabi ng problema mo dahil sinisingitan mo nang mas malala yung problema mo.
Lagi ka na lang nagagalit kapag may kausap ako.
Pero pag ikaw yung may kausap, nagagalit ba ako?
Wala na sa lugar yung pagseselos mo.
Lahat na lang ng makausap ko pinaghihinalaan mo.
Ang toxic na ng relationship na to.
Kaya gusto ko na tapusin kung ano man ang meron tayo.
Natauhan ako na ako na pala ang gusto ko.
Ako pala yung hinahanap ko.
Pero kailangan ko ng taong parang ako.
Yung mamahalin ako tulad ng pagmamahal ko sayo.
Saan ba ako makakahanap ng taong katulad ko?

reposting a poem from 3 1/2 years ago, when I knew how to write
  
<>
organizing the day,
while the baby room renter in the adjacent,,
makes dreamy rock n' roll noises,
siren calls to stay~lay in bed,
tho status of semi-alert,
ready to relieve Ernie and Bert,
who have the first shift covered

soon on guard duty,
scheming about dis n' dat,
you are sleeping, dreaming,
wide awake seeing,
multitasking with eyes closed simultaneously.

lesser of a poet, more a notate-er,
list keeper, note taker,
arguing with yourself inside the head,
actually feeling the thoughts
coursing, lurking, seeing both sides now,
parentally, washing the dishes
of the hours and years ahead.

while the woman-mother
makes her soprano dreaming noises,
you laugh at the orchestra of
*******, sighing somnolent noises,
a cadenza of love dancing in your
irresistible wide awake dreams.

paying the bills, lying in the dark,
you wonder-worry about the agenda
unknown that will overgrow you,
fast creeping up the grain of your skin,
ivy on stone skin walls.

lala lala
you borrow baby's lullaby,
yourself for to calming,
keeping time, silly rhyming,
organizing the days ahead
in you head, while,
recording the harmonies of
sweet sensory inputs.

the dark provides the cloak
where you alone
feel and hear the worry
and laugh lines knitting
into a single stitch of parenting.


1/20/2013

Disappear into your smart phone
  the world outside is doomed

Your few remaining human traits
  have long since left the room

Disappear into your smart phone
  all life beyond is lost

Your feelings truly virtual
  you’ve paid a mighty cost

Disappear into your smart phone
  while others stand beside

And just like you they tap their screens
  faint proof that they’re alive

Disappear into your smart phone
   as time is winding down

All spirit tapped, emotion strapped
  your history lost, unfound

Disappear into your smart phone
   that bed you’ve left unmade

Your spirit cries as memory dies
  whose LaLa land you crave

Disappear into your smart phone
  its power now supreme

Your knowledge mapped and future trapped
  —your destiny undreamed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2018)

Sometimes I feel so gloomy,
Got a brand new bag of shroomies
And now my blues are through
There’s one last thing to do….

Trip out (trip out) Let’s go for a walk
Trip out (trip out) I wanna smoke some ***
Trip out (trip out)  I'm tripping out man!
Tra lala lalalay (doo dadoo dadoo doo)

Sometimes I feel so bored,
I want to live like Harrison Ford
I procured some L.S.D.
I watch you paint those happy trees…

Trip out (Bob Ross) Let’s go for a walk
Trip out (Bob Ross) I wanna smoke some ***
Trip out (Bob Ross)  Trippin' out to Bob Ross
Tra lala lalalay (doo dadoo dadoo doo)


Bob Ross….(We love you)

the world according, to a star-studded journalist -
writing the magazine Saturday column, a she, mind you,
all learned about seeing the world: well, only New York -
she's hip! she's funny! she's downright a prop'ah scumbag -
and i say: the iron curtain should have turned into an iron skirt...
but then Pope Jean-Claude von ****, the second, opened up
the brothel... i too would have liked a ****...
but hell, it was always going  to be a bony **** at best...
raise a family? REJECT! they think their post-colonialism is an
affair of scented parchments of hope, what they did in Africa,
they're suddenly doing in Europe... shush-bags of wisdom,
let's get the house in order: i'm a perverted snail, i **** toads for
practice, i ***** out salty ***** on the rotunda circuit of cries:
justice! justice! well, if ever i spotted a deaf ear, it'd be now.
so there she is lazing about with a column on Saturday,
and she drops the New-Irish words: and M & S, buying swimwear,
hoping for a Burkini... the lighting and the flooring gave the place
an unhappy, postwar, eastern European (a new continent, mind you)
vibe. i half-expected a forklift truck to drive past me,
delivering potatoes to some far corner's "thursday potato display -
sprouted ones half price." out of the blue a leprechaun jumps out,
a real ventriloquist by trade, and does a rendition of that famous
song: we all eat potatoes here, nothing but *** *** potatoes!
tra lala la. this fetish in western society, potatoes: the famous mash
and chips... cabbage... and the famous coleslaw...
eastern Europe: land of landfill sites and mountains
of potato... which magically turn into lakes of *****...
and cabbage... i got to know more about the world by being
half the tourist i was supposed to be... and half of what integrating /
assimilating into a host culture allowed: St. George can
hang a ****** on the washing line, and Lizzy can shave her head...
     i'm a patriot of language,
simple as, a patriot of language,
not a patriot of the culture that incubated the language...
first of all check-out North Korean propaganda films,
second of all ask why you received the Marshall Plan
funds, inc. Sweden, which was neutral during the war...
then bewilder yourself as to why you're selling us
a farmer's stereotype, but as the grand observation
of the bellybutton suggests: they're the ones stuffing
crisps into buns and eating it with cheese and ham
at every lunch-break... farmer here, farmer there,
******* potato fetishist anywhere...
and you wonder why i retain a patriotism to the language
rather than to the people that speak it...
they didn't make it easy, and they're certainly not
making it any easier... Leprechaun Irish -
potaytoe - potaytoe - potaytoe -
so the expectation is... i'm a slave, you're the master,
i get to visit the opposite of Auschwitz in the cotton
colony? well, at least the existential answer is simple
in Auschwitz - our german brood will do the job more
effectively... we don't need you, off to God you go...
in a cotton colony? our people are superior,
we need slaves to do the work that our people are not fit
to do... and this is diabolical logic, i don't deny it,
but i'd rather be told to die than be told to live and work
for someone's amusement and benefit...
simple... p'ahtaytoe!
                                    it seems that whenever they
came to Poland they only came to Auschwitz, now,
all of a sudden, i'm the collaborating ****,
the stain on Polish soil, as already noted:
Egypt has its pyramids, Poland has German chimneys...
******* choo choo and Thomas the tank engine rolled into town...
how can you ever attempt a full discrete and competent
assimilation / integration when you have to end up
a solitary form of ethnic cleansing, where bilingualism
is treated as a mental illness, and you have to, in effect,
spit at your parents to embrace an English wife,
with an English household, with 42.3% chance of divorce?
what's the ******* point of that? at least in my
culture monogamy had a sense, not here, among
the brutal brats: who rather than having learned to care
for children, after petting an animal, just leave them
like stray wild dogs, not free to roam in forests and
fields, but in angst ridden kennels...
                                       well, Japan is selling me euthanasia,
cos reaching old age was going to be such an achievement,
that everyone started begging for the living standards
akin to Sudan: dead at 40, dead at 40 and nimble.

Every day I try running away from you,

but that pulls me to the fake promises u made days back.

Every day I try to find a reason to hate you,

But you make me fall more.

Every night when the silence wails,

I miss your voice.

Every night when the cold creeps in,

I miss the warmth you were to me.

Not a day goes by

When I didn’t search for you.

Not a day goes by

When I didn’t want you to go.

The clock stops

Brings me back to you

The heart races

I just miss the me I was with you.

You said you left me and goodbye,

But I never accepted it,

I tell the others that I want answers

But all I want is your arms.

I didn’t know I was in love,

But now that there’s no you,

It gets harder to bleed for a void.

I was ready to cross the ocean,

but u saw me drown in it,

you didn't have to say it back,

because I knew you would never love me.

but you lied,

and let me choke in the Lala land I was building for us.

After two days on a drinking binge
My nose began to turn red
After three days of having drunken fun
I noticed that the party was dead
And the story it told of the good times that flowed
It made me sad to think it would end

You see I've been in the basement drinking a beer with no-name
It's taste and low price is insane
Intoxicated, I wont remember the name
So there ain't no point buying labeled again
La la la la Lala la Lala la la la

The stars burned in his heart of love
She was up and far above
Forbidden the fruit she was thereof

1971 , where was I ?
On the Student Union steps
with my Lala turning 21

Manjun consumed in full moon tide
Never the thought left his side
Layla's love unrelenting
So he had to die

November began my long list of winters
I found love as icecicles cold and sharp
A heart of stars where no warmth was found
I spilled my seed on frozen ground .

Manjun of a thousand years
Dry now are all his tears
Layla just a memory
Layla now part of eternity

I never saw my Layla again
Moved to the mountains Carolina free
I languished on the fall line of my land
Just like Manjun , waiting to die

I drove away to another place
All I see is your face
The astetic of your touch on my skin
Gave me the chills
My core shakes in your presence
And I can feel a tingle

Whyd you look at me that way
I never though of you before this way

Have you thought of me too
Do I give you chills ?
Are you just hiding it a little too well ?

Or have I drove myself away too far
Have I reached the stars with my own misconception
My own thoughts my own wishes my own fairytale ..

Or did you leave the trail ?

b'ęránko bà p'égbá nigbò, kiniun lolori wøn
b'ęiyę p'øgøfa l'ødan așa l'øga gbogbo wøn
b'øba p'ęgbęrun laiye, ønirisha ni baba wøn
b'obinrin ti pøto laiye, iwø motunrayo ni mø yan layo

ifę rę n'pa mi bi øti
oyi ifę rę n'kømi o mu mi lotutu
gbogbo ara mi ngbøn bi ęni w'ędo
b'oba føwø rę kanmi , arami aya gaga

ololufe mi apønbeepore
o'nfa øfun ni kij'ęran pe lęnu,
ohun mi k'in wa ę m'øya , irinajo niøję
nișęju ișęju løkan mi fa si ę

ololufęmi abęfę, ibadi aran awęlęwa
ęwa rę tan bi mønamana
otan kaari aiye, omu imøle wasayemi
ofimi løkan bale, aiya mi o ja ęru o si bamimø

ifę rę mumi rinri ajo ayø
omumi de ebute idunnu ati alafia
mowoke modupę løwø eledua
to semilanu nigba ti mo șe awari ifę rę

bi ewe ba pę Lara oșę, a ma d'øșę
ekurø lala b'aku ęwa
bi inu ba șè șì, aworan rę lowa ni bę.
iwø ni monifę julø .

mawo ariwo øja rara.
mașe da awøn ęlętan løhun
iru ifę wa yii lowu wøn
ifę at'oke l'atørun wa.

Airwaves awash in the new gospel barrage:
calling forth the neighbourhood hack,
Abe Lincoln toon in towering hat,  
the corporation is coming -
will you not
collaborate my friend?

Everything good that you ever dreamed of is here:
Marbonite floored flats with self-terraced roofs;
The swankiest of cars, in imported hues;
Your arm candy drools,
now, brands, bigger brands!

All in your grasp, now, in community gates
shut safe as society decays.

Skies spitting frogs? Pestilences amass?
Listen to the Gospel according to Bane:
in the desert, smell octane. Hallelujah,
everything we make, from watches
to headscarves - your underwear is cheaper
sourced from the next so-lala-land.

Forget your sources tiny of incomes varying:
Bakers, cobblers, tinkerers, we also have
a uniform for you. Oh you rustic
tradition-bound bandy bumpkins!
Abandon your alleyways, and
welcome to the ghettos...where

What you eat, to where to retreat:
we cure everything from heartache to panache.

Wash away your sins in wonder medicines;
Waters can part, yes, see how the Pharoah
is disarmed; Big city dreams, dream
global manna beams. All that is needed for
salvation, is a little bit of classification. Are you
left-wing or right? Center-left or center-right?

The powerdrill tearing down edifices
resonating through noon. A crane arm's shadow
hovering high by the moon. Tablets from skies
now proclaim the new gospel for the land,
the airwaves are awash
of the miracle of Witwatersrand.

The corporation is coming, to a store near you:
Amen! Will you not, then, collaborate, my friend?

I cried myself to sleep last night.
I wished you could be there,
To hold me close to you and whisper its okay.
It was one scary and unusual lala by.
But am glad I did not see its end.

I cried myself to sleep last night because I kept feeling I had lost you.
But today under the clouded afternoon.
I realise that,
The droplets of my tears melted your heart in your sleep,
And probably planted a short dream about me.
Because today you seem to have remembered me.

I was a dreamer content with all my blessings
Striving for perfection; wishing my life away
I lived inside of lala land and flew into the sun
I drove towards high ambition but steered with blind hesitation
Always second guessing cupid's arrow with a microscope
Like a pessimist on a soap box, defensively corrupt
I was bleeding my soul out onto invisible horizontal lines
Crying out for that someone who had once stabbed me in the dark
Blaming all my issues on things I can't take back
I don't know why or what kept me so amused with trouble
Something in the heat of danger keeps me satisfied
You were different
Something difficult but interesting
Calm and collective
Someone I could never be
You were a wayward child running from the truth
Just looking for an escape or just another muse to keep you entertained
You were filled with the chase of recklessness
I was filled with light of faith
I was uptight at somedays, but you let time lead you astray
And the peak of the adrenaline keeps you stimulated just barely enough...
Just enough to keep you coming back for seconds
Just enough to sugar coat your stomach
Just enough to keep you smiling on the edge who knows what
You needed something to keep your eyes from rolling in and out of sleep
You were used to the sour aftertaste broken promises and lies
I was highlighting the ultimate and envying the game
I was use to disappointments and devouring the pain of the unforgivable
But I was challenging and you admired it
We were opposite like Mercury and Neptune
But all those underestimated ingredients are what makes the dancing possible
As we Tango past the moon and we Foxtrot across the stars
I pirouette through all the difficulties and we fall back into reality
And you catch me here on planet earth
Right back to the beginning, where it feels like home

No- oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Stop trying to get in my pants
No- oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Caught you with your hands in my pants

Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
Drama-mamamia
La la oh lala
Stop staring I have no pants.

You’ve seen my ugly,
you’ve seen where I ***,
you’ve seen my thing-thing,
Hell no it’s not free,
You’re out of luck
(Luck luck luck, Your out of luck)

Don’t call my mama,
Lady im not your **** man,
Ive seen better loving in a bad movie scene,
Youre out of luck,
Luck-luck-luck
Youre out of luck
(Luck-luck-luck youre out of luck)

**** ***** I don’t want you,
And you know I cant stand you,
Your just so bad,  one hell of a chance,

You want my stuff and
All I can do is just wretch,
You and me don’t have  a hell of a chance
No-oh-oh-oh-oh
You want my stuff and
All I can do is just wretch,
You and me don’t have  a hell of a chance

No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!
You wont get into my pants,
No-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
You wont get into my pants.

Good night, bonne nuit
Oyasamina sai, buenos noches,
Lala salama, wan an,
Spokoinyui noche, gute nacht,
Lila tov
Wherever you rest your
Head tonight
We are all one family
Let’s hold tight
and fill the world with
Dreams of Harmony
tonight.
No matter what words we use to say… goodnight…

Same old **** just a different day.
What does that really portray ?
What can you do when you don’t have much of a say ?
Feels like you’re stuck in the mud and everything around you is bad.
With time as your only ally, do what you can to get by and always give it your best try.

have you nothing?
are you nothing?
are you sickened ?
are you sick and scared?

la
lalalalala
lala

wake up!
feel this!
you fool !
you sad idiot!
wake up!
feel this!

la
lalalalala
lala

you are smiling
laughing
feeling
can't you see
anything?
anything at all?

la
lalalalala
lalala

My baby sings to me sometimes

A gift of wind from her lungs. Giving up the thing they love the most.

She explains to me “Mpenzi, wakati mwingine inabidi tujitoe sadaka”

Meaning “My love, sometimes we have to sacrifice”

I know the tale more than most. My mother was a sun too in love with the stars so she gave us some of her bright and sat on the throne of the moon, watching us shine on the midnight of her skin.

My baby sings to me sometimes

Songs about trees, but not the brown of the branches but the dark of her roots, the basin of her belly where her pride comes from. Just like that of her mother and her mother before her.

“Umekula leo?” “Have you eaten today?”, “because it is the nature of my hands to care for your body, and the nature of my heart to care for your soul”.

My baby sings to me sometimes

She hums “lala salama” like a ritual to chase away night mares.

She whispers “nakupenda” like she doesn't trust her lips to say what her heart means.

And she sings, like only queens do, like only dreams do.

My love, I have gathered your voice in the desert of my favourite memories, and yours is the background music to everything good that has ever happened to me.

So sell me your whisper, and hum me a song about stars and midnight and moons that used to be suns. And I will pay the price, I will peel the skin from my secrets and show you all the parts of me where I hide God.

Because  wakati mwingine inabidi tujitoe sadaka, but most times we don’t.