Who bowls without being too speedy?
Who'd bowl 'til his fingers were bleedy?
  For England he should
  But selection no good
Lancashire's leftie, Gary Keedy.

title: vox
body: hybrids
    a 502 bad gateway bypass

any man can "appreciate" genuine weakness...
men are fair: not fair creatures of beauty
but: FAIR... we know that something might upset
an equilibrium, we wouldn't be the ones
originally choked up in our ivory towers
of alchemical curiosity...
       yes... life is unfair... god is cruel...
but out of this cruelty came everything...
   i can somehow start to begin to understand
the anguish of nothing: nothing being a god's pronoun:
ego... if it might be called that...
i try meditating on the idea of nothing...
but nothing is a pronoun... i'm actually incapable
of conjuring up a substitute noun for this pronoun...
"ingenious" man actually categorised
the word: nothing as a pronoun and not a noun...
nothingness... i would think of it as a quality-ascription...
id est: an adjective...
i forgot to take a shower yesterday...
mein gott: how i must have stank...
first thing today... a trickle... ****... i was almost
going to write dribble... watched too much football...
a trickle of whiskey... took a shower...
washed my ****... it felt like a baptism all over...
now i'm smelling good... the whole world feels good...
now i'm going to mow the lawn... vacuum the house...
wash the floors... blah blah...
i can understand authentic powerlessness...
it comes off as endearing: for the person to reciprocate...
i like the tenderness of powerlessness...
i see it... fear i can sniff out...
but authentic powerlessness i can see...
they cling to me... like i cling to a double-decker bus
making a traffic interruption... i cling to a larger
body... like a barnacle to a whale...
i use a bus to squeeze through...
   a traffic symbiosis... a cyclist and a double-decker
bus... always on the right side of the bus...
so the bus driver can see me in his rearview mirror
(it's England... we drive logically...
******* clockwise! clockwise on the roundabout!
the rest of the world makes no sense
riding on the right side of the road!
leftie! oi oi! leftie!)
    i can understand genuine weakness...
it's endearing in that... sure... i can take care of it...
comfort it... i don't mind...
BUT... hmm...
         there's another weakness...
a disguised kind...
                    it's a weakness within a weakness...
if that makes sense...
it's a shady sort of weakness... it's... trivial weakness...
it's not a physical or a mental disability...
it's... ahem... mediocre... mediocracy...
          it consists of weak people...
   being placed into a hierarchy... exercising:
too much authority... without actually having any...
not in the real sense... not if i were to walk out
from the illusion-allure that man has created
to combat nature... not if she's mouthing me off...
being... what? 5ft2 and weighing 60kg...
while i'm 6ft2 and weighing 100kg...
   (i'm a hybrid... imperial units and those French
000 are ingrained in me, just like i'm
bilingual)... see... i... i despise that...
                 i could head-**** her dead...
                  i could flay her... or him... i don't like
people abusing power... but this is not even "power"...
but certain WEAK people have this ingrained
authority complex... built in... they "think" they
can boss others about... genuine weakness i understand:
i will protect... well... because i'm not a ****...
as much as i'd love to follow the principles
of nature... c'est la vie... let the suffering continue...
you never know: something good might come of it...
the living, or the suffering?!
good question... perhaps even both...
all it takes is finding a new tune... i mean: song...
the world dramatically changes...
for my part... it does...
             but WEAK people who start... busy-bodying
themselves at some pointless level of
authority... that bothers me...
i get glitches in my head... unconsciously i start
to twitch... twitch... glitch... twitch... glitch...
i start to hear these senseless authoritative voices
of: absolutely no authority...
                 ego-tripping weaklings...
                       genuine weakness i'll defend...
but... this sort of... mollusk-ego strong-arm pretend?
no... i can't sniff it out... it doesn't have a scent
unlike fear... fear has a scent... and wide eyes...
but this sort of weakness doesn't give off a scent...
it's purely optical... it truly ****** me off...
when: given a little bit of a taste of power...
certain people turn into these... little Hitlers...
they are... little Hitlers...
               ******* busy-bodies... and how they counter
it? they try to be ultra-friendly...
workaholic banter... no... i will not be breaking
bread with you... any time soon...
that's my respectable criteria...
if i eat food with you: implies: i respect you...
in the meantime? i'm much happier eating alone...
Wendy's... the only burger place where you
can feel... "not alone" when eating alone...
there's a genius at work when it comes to spatial
dynamics in that parlour... i swear to god...
i get off my shift... i feel like eating a burger...
i go to a Wendy's... wow... i have transparency...
i eat alone... two African women next to me
talking about village life... in... Nigeria?
they're less "tanned" than what i'd expect
from two Kenyan ladies... life's good...
life's what it is... a bit of everything...
there are the highs... there are the lows...
obviously the whiskey doesn't stop flowing...
or the flow of narrative... that **** just keeps on coming...
you just better be awake when the flow comes...
again... i hate this weaklings who take up positions of
authority... without any clear-cut weakness
other than: them being mediocre... human... beings...
it's not like they're in a wheelchair
evil genius types... no... they're just grey matter...
****** little people who don't have the capacity
to find passion in the simple do and don'ts of
life... what are they? regurgitated all-sorts?
what are they? busy-bodies...
the sort they are? they need to over-complicate
matters when no matter is in need of
(it) being over-complicated...
                                       i stroke my beard...
pretending that i'm about to play the violin...
genuine weakness i can understand...
i'll defend it... why wouldn't you?
but... this sort of... weakness... when allowed
to effortlessly ensue "power" through a structure
of a power hierarchy... no...
   i'll wait... what i've learned... i'm good at waiting...
Jeminah is the perfect example...
charm offensive... blah blah...
         flowers on Valentine's Day...
if she's not gig... i'm not gig...
          i'll wait... i can become a manipulative
little ******* if i want to become one...
   i just keep a reel of New Order's: Blue Monday
in the back of my head...
well... if i'm supposed to feel like this....
now... you feel: what i feel....
                oddly enough: so far?
i have managed to get a few people on my side...
it's, doesn't, matter... whether you're a woman
or not... the woman card is NOT, a joker card...
see where throwing slander about gets you...
you never get to accuse the accuser...
                             little people... little things...
very little that might make a dent into matters that...
might matter.

We lay our coats down at the feet of Saul,
And stones we hurl, curses and stones:
                                                                ­       libtard,
     Fascist, snowflake, reactionary, slime
     ******, demoncrat, shrillary, trumptard,

     Republicrap, boomer, millennial,
     ******, *****, alt-right, leftie, scumbag,
     Crayon-people, *****, tape-worm, muppet, dweeb,
     Sock-puppet, Russkie, ****, trash, and creep

And thus we deny the Cornerstone when
We lay our coats down at the feet of Saul

Yes, I’ve done it once again
Removed a seeping cancerous pain,
Soleimani’s dead and gone,
The devil’s agent, the Ayatollah’s pawn.

Long the source of all things bad,
Few if any should feel sad,
If his passing caused a stir
His gruesome end aimed to deter.

Now a martyr for their cause
They’ll build him up like Santa Claus,
With waiving arms and raucous shouts
The world will see they’re no boy scouts.

My daring deeds on show once more,
They surely number by the score,
A man of steel and firm resolve,
Heaven sent to problems solve.

Yet the Media still won’t say
How great my feats are every-day,
A bunch of losers, leftie goons,
Their brains the size of shriveled prunes.

They’re now all worried by the path
Iran will take to show its wrath,
Bring it on and stand aside,
While I help our missiles glide.

If my message isn’t clear
To those that neither hear nor fear,
Mess with us and watch the show
As we make your backyard glow.

You might think it silly
you might think it strange
you might think I'm crazy
or even deranged.
You can call me a hippy
a snowflake or worse
for putting my feelings
into rhyming verse.

My poems release me
from a world filled with hate
where everything's wrong
if its not white or "straight".
Where we persecute immigrants,
and  breastfeeding mothers,
the helpless, the homeless
and millions of others.

I yearn for a world
where we all live in peace
arm in arm with our brothers,
would we then find relief?
Or would hatred still flourish
in the smallest of minds,
passed down through generations
'cross the passage of time.

So, call me a Marxist, a snowflake, a hippie
call me a communist, bleeding heart leftie.
While you rail at the world with your ignorant view,
fearing all others who don't look like you.
I'll still be here like a thorn in your side
filled with love for my brother, with arms open wide.
Your hatred will fester, an insidious cancer
as you hoist up your flag and attempt  "Rule Brittania"

he has a wonderful speaking voice
she always said when she liked someone on the telly

but she didn´t like our Auntie
who had her teeth done private
although she was a leftie

( she didn't like Auntie Gladys either)

she called Dad's tea a special
to cheer him up when his team lost and

she is sort of still here.

I'm mad as hell
I thought I had it in the bag
But this leftie groundswell
Throws in an unexpected snag.

The Media blab my name
Gorges on the outcome
They shout it's me you have to blame
To the beat of their usual drum.

DeSantis isn't helping
The guy needs worship at my shrine
I'm the one who did the selling
Kudos for his win should be all mine.

As to my wife her instincts proved so wrong
Dr Oz was clearly not a match
For a muddled guy who simply came on strong
And that unexpected win did ******.

Another curve ball in my life
I'm sick and tired of all this tripe
While I'm great at handling strife
I so detest such lousy hype.

Still today's another day
My foes should know me well by now
I'd suggest they start to pray
As through their fields of hope I'll plow.

Run I will and watch me swing
I'm a winner through and through
My bark and bite will sorely sting
And if all fails, I'll simply sue.