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Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
poetry, oddly enough, falls the easiest as pray to that beast plagiarism; now all the more easier, like loving the sort of poetry that's not easily inspiring is to me what generic poetry, the sort of material for occasions and birthday cards and anniversary rhymes that's blatantly reproducible, is to invoking "inspiration." did anyone say the word peacock? no? good: here's a whiff of my skunk and sailors' socks lettering.*

what i know of poetry i use from the lack of knowledge i have of life,
so why would i suddenly follow suit with metaphor
and other tools so blatantly, so consciously, as to write
for an essayist or a critic? why? i have no need for that sort
of nit & pick approach, just so i can have someone say
something about it: easily recognise the alkalis and acids
and yeasts and the final product of dried brains and sugars stored
in liver. i heard a poet talk once about how drinking and
blasting music made him write the most terrible poetry,
a generational gap it would seem prompted me to say:
it's music, it hushes my thought to such a measure that i automate
my writing - hardly a thought concerns the writing - it's
impulse, instinct, impulse, instinct - the unknown river winding -
until i reach the other side of this styx - it's sometimes a sober
journey, but it's never a journey where the river is as if the hush
lullabying mute lake - and i even manage to strain music,
never allow it a completion, and thus the chaos of intro, a part,
no song entering its crescendo - sometimes just the mundane
bits of it, and that's it! i also heard the same poet talk about
the writing ethos: three hours in the morning, one at night...
why would i also do that, stand in the iron maiden of "professionalism"
and rigid matchstick packaging into specified slots of the everyday?
as i heard the same poet speak about practicing, comparing
the poet not to a composer, always adrift on the blanks with
spores against blinking and seeing blanks without inky caterpillar winding,
i'm not a ****** pianist, i'm chopin, there's a difference,
i'm not competing for laureate laurels, i'm competing for the
emperor's clothes: and in the realm of my ever expanding empirical
vocabulary, i'm the sole provider of such similarities to imagine
myself in toga and sandal drinking wine with bacchus and molesting
the nymphs with drunken song - as once in craze on a birthday,
making such cocktails and providing such crazy muses due from
music by cedric 'im' brooks that i swooned into lust and power,
taking a girl to my room and doing her all over in pitched pleasures
of darkness while the modest celebrations continued - the guests
didn't seem interested in helping themselves to barbecue or
the cocktails as much as this one girl - who noticed i was educated
in her own leather contrast with me: so let me tell you,
girls of such countenance enrage heaven with you and solomon and sheba,
for a girl who sees you take interest in her cultural output
is marked to take interest in anything else by you, esp. if it's
after a cosmopolitan, or that cocktail with galliano, or cointreau;
hmm, that last line about "cultural output" sounds hypocritically leftwing
stiff... well i know that something was... stiff... ah crap, now it
sounds all too very much carry on movie giggles; feet ashore!
mike nortrup Jan 2020
Now that you're "woke" and a leftwing delight
accolades flow, and your future looks bright
Big fancy gigs, many $millions more
Of course you must realize you had this before

Beauty and talent with riches and fame
There was no need to sully your name
To betray all those people who took you so far
Who carried you platinum; who made you a star

But enjoy hanging 'round with your new entourage
And trading your values for their Marxist mirage
There's only one thing I would ask you about
How does it feel to be selling out?
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
title - you-yo-you-yo
body -
a *******
BLITZKIREG
of **** accusations...
a sort of a:
well done... another
year of this: prrrrrr-lease;
******* nonces.      502 bad gateway bypass


                      ******* retards...
no... just retards... munchkins...
RE-*******-TARDED!_

           no... the guillotine will not sing for them...
they're too ***** whipped... obedient little craft-merchants
of: no ******* craft...
you ask for a table to sit by... you just might...
get a ****** Picasso painting...
     i wouldn't trust these people when asking
them to... tie their ******* shoelaces...
        RETARDS... plain and simple;
i don't have any Robespierre quotes on me...
but if i did? my tongue would turn into fire!
and my eyes... would turn into cold nuggets of coal...
that would spontaneously catch fire!
i don't have the reflexive strength of arms to combat
these people... that will come later...
i'm laying out the groundwork of disgust...
    you need that dirt first...
          the mind must be impregnated with
the most abominable of surrogacies...
   before... the body reacts... it... takes time...
wait... i haven't given full closure for the French...
these people are... no longer satisfying to be welcome
in being allowed to live among us...
guillotine is perfectly: humane... it's not hanging...
trouble is... i'm thinking this through...
this is no longer some abstract theatrical language...
i'm actually thinking of implementing it...
if not me... then my successor...
not that i don't have the *****...
but because: certain obstacles will not be necessary
or available when the right time comes...
enough! is! enough!
i kept telling people: you spawned this monster...
this monster is not going to: somehow:
"somehow"... die..
    i'm too lean and bothered about the whole scenario...
i admired Robespierre too much...
assez est assez! oculus per oculus!
          das ist es!
                                      enough! nein! niet!
no! nie! but first you need the groundwork!
it's no longer about protecting "our women": these women
are not "our" own... they belong to themselves...
they belong to: refugees welcome...
****...
          they're the freedom they so instilled in themselves
that needs to be respected...
thank god for Turkish prostitutes:
they always tend to know when they're not
getting *****... lucky me...
no... no man's land...
the shifts of time... barricading the past
with an unknown future...
           how... endearing...
  i should conscript in the corpus of either the Janissary
or the Mamluks... for fun...
see Islam the ***-side-up... not being circumcised...
drinking...

for a while i thought i was truly sick from seeing Jeminah
again... not her facce... just her behind...
walking next to another man...
          my face was flushing... my eyes were burning...
my entire body was wrapped in cold-shivers...
but then reality kicked in... two 2 hours on the bicycle
really massaged my **** and intestines...
there was a stealth ****... hiding "somewhere"...
oh man... i feel so relaxed... that it's come out...
it's not love... it's something very biological...
my head is cleared... my face is still burning...
i'm still getting the remains of the cold sweats...
but down below? it's like some mighty strain has been
lifted... i never thought that being so clogged up
could fool you so much...
   an album like Boy Harsher's Careful... and the song:
face the fire... makes it all alright...
   eh... c'est la vie... c'est la vie...
   that's me not raising a foster child... that's me not
paying off her debt and gave her a bad credit score...
almost punched her: or punched her and
her son... i'm glad... it's hard to love the un-loveable...
i'm not perfect... but i'm not that...
   if i was a woman with a child i too could get
a council flat... i don't see how or why i'm this mega insult
to her dating preferences... but that's life...
the impossible is already and most certainly always true:
than how older generations treated the affair:
sure... we'll start poor... our parents might help us...
but we'll work it out... later on... pair-bond like silly swans
over all of life's difficulties...
now? someone has to have it... simply: ******* MADE...
that's so frustrating... no wants to live a life:
work on it... get at something...
people (ahem... women and male scammers)
just want to arrive on the GIVEN... the already MADE...
age disparity... obviously... unless he's some whizz kid
who profited from making an app that in turn
allowed him to profit from... say... the war in Ukraine...
that happens...
         oh thank god... i was starting to think she was
feeling these sensation and i was feeling them back...
thank god it was only a stealth **** that "forgot" to appear
in the day... not even stomach cramps...
flushes on the face, burning eyes... cold sweats all over
the torso... a strange headache... no... it's not love...
silly little you...
it's just a ****** situation: but if that's the way it's going
to be? then... why waste my time?
it's not like i lost weight to look good... better...
i much preferred being slightly invisible...
     too much drama... but the doctor said: you have a choice...
you either lose the excess weight... or...
we'll put you on high-blood-pressure tablets...
since it's a hereditary genetic fault via lineage...
well... what was i going to do? take the pills...
or ******* cycle my shrinking *** into the sunset?
obviously the latter...
      oh man... the first time i lost this much weight
it truly was a vanity project... but then... when you're 18+
you can become this lean long-haired Adonis
and come down to... about 76kg...
     my best so far? 96kg... but i put on more since... winter:
you store more... fatigue kicks in...
you eat more... drink less... blah blah...
plus.... 1=+ is not 35+ years old... it comes with the territory...
of... already having silver hairs on my chest...
my beard and my hair...
            but i'm not going to be repentant: i'm not going
to give some mea culpa: it's my fault...
i'm not a solipsist... in physics... what's that?
there's an equal and opposite reaction to an action...
in a nutshell...
other people do exist... there's what one can grasp as:
the environment...
you interact with it... sometimes you get promoted...
sometimes you get stalled...
    it's just a bit ****... quiet frankly...
         but like i already mentioned... there are... short-term
treatments that... if utilised properly... can extend
the healing value for almost indefinitely...
prostitutes... i see no shame...
  well... if it were SIMPING on the internet... throwing bucks
at digital "women" that don't even strip but sell
tap water... sorry... bath water...
hell... i wouldn't even spend money on strippers...
me want to touch... terrible English:
specifically: me don't want talk... me want touch...
i figured... you're going to be paying for "something" anyway...
the women are not writing books...
for a long time women didn't write books...
they kept their secrets... but now? stupidly enough
they are showcasing them... they're actually teaching men...
well... if there's that much honesty in the air...
when do we inflate those hot air ***** balloons?!
but i'm also somewhat manifesting a suspicion...
western: "intellectual" women: will never hear of a feministic
stoicism, or a feministic cynicism...
unless what? i drink a litre of pink magic juice?
but at least i'm not bothered... i'm not angry... sure...
a little bit frustrated... but frustration is a sort of friction...
you stop rubbing your hands together:
the heat generated is no more...
        at least i'm not the Jack the Ripper case... taking revenge
on prostitutes... it's inverted these days...
prostitutes are a godsend... if i were to be perfectly
honest... i don't women that fear me...
giving cash up-front i can bypass the fear...
and get to the nitty-gritty of a physical interaction...
intellectualism of any sort just went out of the window...
what would i talk about? movies? music?
books? or leftwing propaganda indoctrination?
past dating horrors... i don't feel like talking about
that sort of crap: i just want to ****...
         it always happens... you walk down the street
at night... a woman passes you...
she's all in jitters... nervous... it's like:
you seriously want me to be a killer, don't you?
   after Khedra sent me some of her selflie pictures...
i've been unable to ******* to ****... i sometimes uses it
to get a hard-on but then switch to watching her plush lips...
and that's that... it's weird...the ******...
i can smell her on me... is that because i *******
into her: unprotected?!
            hell... if life is going to be like it has been to me...
what am i going to do? sit back?
"relax"? get angry... no... i'll see the most peaceful outlets
to sooth my "frustrations"...
      i can't be angry with women...
but i also can't stand the spew of Darwinism that only focuses
on the dating game...
  it used to be so much fun...
then... the survival of the fittest stopped
mattering... other factors became invoked...
money... corrupts everything...
that object that dictates the transvaluation of values...
that's money... gold has value...
which fluctuates... because the value of money
fluctuates...
and if money is the res-per-se: the thing in itself
that has the inherent nature of fluctuation...
then... obviously... anything given / put under
a monetary standard is also going to fluctuate...
               along with the fluctuations of money...
            you can't really chance trans-valuate the existence
of stones... unless they're marble... etc.
what can't you trans-valuate? clouds?
can't invest in clouds... to stop the rains...
can't trans-value mountains: or the seas...
they're not going anywhere...
            but i can trans-valuate ***...
i can say: better me going for an hour of raw
**** sapiens funs... than...
coughing up too much for false dates and not getting
what i want... just eating too much...
and paying for two people...
i just did a trans-valuation...
trans-evaluation...
                  well... no one was killed... big +...
that plus is not big enough... but it's supposed to be a
BIG +...
  any hurt parties? do, i care?
right now... i don't care... no one cared prior...
i'm not going to start caring now...
i care that my frustration friction didn't make me ****
someone... i didn't steal anything...
lucky me... trickle of time: immemorial...
            it's good to sometimes: forget... almost... no...
not almost... absolutely EVERYTHING....
forget the idea that there might be a cinema.
Yenson Dec 2023
****, fiddlesticks and ****, ****, ****
this is not a good look
no, no, no this is not good enough
Us Salt have thrown everything, even the proverbial kitchen sink
at this person and what have we got
This Special operation normally takes a year
three years max before the inevitable result
and decades down the line what do we have
a Target laughing at us
like its a game at the park
and its not like all our operatives weren't in play
We twisted the Extortionists and criminal gang into posing as
The weak innocent Underdogs
The bitter ignorant Racists are posing as Leftwing politicians
The Envious frustrated women are posing as Ferminists after
we've framed the target as a Misogenistic chauvinistic
  beast
Our Expert Liars are posing as Lily-white Truthers
and spreading misinformer, smears and disinformation
all over the place
Our discrediting Propagandists have disingenuously painted us all as Solid Salt of the Earth mob rallying against an Elitist
Most know the Haters are insecure jealous inadequate lot who need to rant and vent and project their inadequacies on people with
qualities haters can never possess
So, why with all these operatives in action
we still have the ****** Target living like nothing is happening
He should at best have been driven out of the country
He should have been driven mad and dribbling in a Mental Hospital long long ago
if not six feet under
This is supposed to be Covert gangstalking
and we've done all the diabolics as required
this is not a ****** game in the park
Imagine what this is doing to our credibility
People are beginning to wise up
****, ****.......****
You cannot **** the TRUTH..sooner or later the whole Truth wii be revealed, You may have all the CONNECTIONS in the world, but you are thieves who stole from an innocent person, who treated you with kindness and you thought you could bully and blackmail for more.

— The End —