as month July
crossed Avenue T. Vladimirescu
on a bicycle
in Sinaia


Denebola
in a red
cloak cross-legged sitting
over Revolution
was teaching History
to the cherries


Leyla, a midwife from Damietta
refers to the Kepler Laws :
with Fullmoon uncompromising
I do not recognize the midday crossing
of the Sun
its True Heading
the height of the stars
today 07.11.1980
right from within female Danube's womb
I bare
the smile and the eyes
of cupid .


George Vlachos


Translation :  Christos Rodoullas Tsiailis

1.) tizzop introduced gangsta poetry february 2021
     no man ever before created a poetry genre alike
     gangsta poetry, robust melting *** of languages
     and ethnicities, as it reflects the united states

2.) the idols of gangsta poetry are rooted in the
      underworld, blacks, hispanics, italo- and irish-
      americans, asians, arabs, germans, kurds,
      yugos, albanians, afghans, northern-africans...

3.) multilingual are the core, heart and soul of
     a gangsta poem: glockz, rubix cubies, 31er
     salam, jebeš igru, habibis, brüder, fo' sho':
     rapid months, frozen silverfruit, whole ones

4.) every letter of gangsta poetry becomes the
     side effects of our brand's real-life greed and fury
      mourning the end of beloved baby mommas
      deaths caused by strayed bullets that vamoose

5.) gangsta poetry aims to be published among
      all ethnic communities of the 50 united states
      deadline 08/16/21 stresses american willpower
      gangsta poetry scandalously hits us's curriculas

6.) each of the 194 remaining countries is urged
     to promote and govern gangsta poetry for
     the neglected, weighted with glacial contempt
     these males and females discover their kind in us

7.) tizzop established a saying: "treat every being  
     with an open mind, but fight back, baby, if anyone
     disrespects you, the gps, or our hangarounds"
     at war, we remember our families before we blast

8.) bar none, each gangsta poet is free to connect
      affiliate and distribute with and for the gp's
      brothas and sistas -- gps create examples of
      social diversity and historical dimensions

9.) female gangsta poets are a quarter of us
      some keep it gal, united sisterhood, astute flow
      in memory of leery leyla, chalondra, kateyy,
      mountainbird, ivanka cociç, ashima abraham

10.) genderfree, gangsta poets are chosen
        undertakings composed by thugs & artists
        the spirit of a few meets strife of hood speech
        gp evolved from a movement to an own identity

11.) restrictions do not apply for written creation
        strategic outgrowth and unshaken cash flow
        gp embraces brainy ones, and our soldiers
        narrators in conspiracy, art nouveau trips

12.) gangsta poetry admires the following people:
        jeezy, killa cam, toni der assi, iron sal, dmx
        anton chigurh, sigmund freud, rashid stoogie
        larry hoover, elliot york hp, kevin of allpoetry

13.) taktloss, luis fonsi, blockmonsta, all bolivian
        and peruvian farmers, te amamos, our brothers
        187 strassenbande, senion mogilevich, nirvana
        john murphy, dem dudes alpha hotel frankfurt

14.) much love to all global units, poets, thieves
        traffic architects, hackers, true skippos
        german bakeries, all-black betting shops
        jews from brighton beach, hispanic halos

15.) benny da bandit, tony tarantula, gambino, brate
        hamza al-mighty, fat **** frank, jens, das brain
        fred merciless, familia escorpio, ruben and levi
        ali firefists, kimbo slice, scarface, oleksiy, dejan

16.) daim, loomit, dns 1up, **** my **** crew
        berlin kreuzberg 36ers, playboys hannover
        yard bird 1955, taki 183 n.y.c., basquiat, level
        dbl ffm-skychildren, bomber, city mission
    
17.) gangsta poetry overwhelmingly shaped by
       our ancestors who boosted the poetry of ages
       train bombers, rappers, trappers, taggers, cutters
       we descent from them, honor their names

18.) gangsta poets die for poems that struck
        gps, fans and critics in a possessive way
        limits of real talk and boasting are in flux
        trance batters the face of reason, at dusk


                                          *


Once upon a time at March 22nd, 2021
Kreuzberg SO 36, Berlin, Germany...
Dedicated to all Gangsta Poets Worldwide

Heaven and hell yeah, disciples outpace seconds
Greetings from Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic City

Listen child,
for I will tell you the ways of the One
who knows what you do and what you do not.
For truly you are alone within yourself,
save the divine whispers and the evil beckonings.

Life is not gray as we tell ourselves in comfort,
but it is the constant dichotomy of black and white--
sharp contrasts at war.
This war arose before you were born, before I,
before the first peoples.

You will face many challenges.
You will cry, scream, curse the Name
which gave you life so freely,
with such little to gain
and so much more to seek through
your surrender.

You do not come from me, my love.
I merely housed you, birthed you, fed you,
nurtured the spirit within.
Soon you will leave this place we call
safety.

You will stand on the precipice of the unknown
and outstretch your arms to where they naturally reach.
You will taste the splendid meats and drink from the lush fountains
of wine.

But my darling, my most beloved child,
do not fear the unknown:
it is all around you,
breathing through our skin.
Sing through your lips, through your smile, through your fingertips
the words I have taught you thus, the words you knew all along.

Love does not give what it does not freely take.
Know that life is transient, and all your joys and griefs
will crumble beneath your feet and dissipate and subtly as they came.

Feel of the wind in your hair.
Let the gusts whip you pants against your legs
and away again
until you sense the rhythm of the Universe.

This is the poem I never gave you, I always promised I'd write you one but you left before I could. I could write about the way your freckles dotted upon your cheeks and nose were as numerous as the constellations, or how your wavy black hair was as captivating as the darkness of the black night sky. However, you are unlike the constellations, you are like the ocean, vast and deep but so close to us, yet vastly unexplored. Did you know we have explored more of the moon than we have of our own ocean? You resemble the ocean in that way, everyone always looks to the stars and revels in their beauty but overlook our very own deepness. You are like the ocean, you slipped through my hands like the ever-changing tide softly rocking against the beach. To bathe in your calming waters once again would quench my love for water for eternity.

özenti mi
dünyanın dört bir yanından kuş uçurmak
ya da
yakan top oynamak şükran günü
hindi çığlığında

clark çeksem uzaktan
öpsem vaftizli dudağını mona’nın

ne çıkar tango
yahut çiftetelli oynasam

kime ne
odun beline sarılsam şefika’nın

ben benimdir, ben’imdir şiir
ama ben değil, sanat evrenseldir

victor’un
hüzzam şarkısı sefiller

tolstoy’un
geçimsiz oğulları
savaş ve barış

hatta
da vinci’den
çekici vince kadar
yazılabilir

yazabilirim
paco de lucia’yı
yılmaz güney
leyla gencer’i

ve
phuket caddelerinde
karahindiba olduğumu
zeytin yağlı sarmaya
bar hesabı yüzünden
ayıp mı

suç mu
yazsam yırt kazım’ı
ki
yazmışlığım vardır,
mala vurmaya geldim’i
buharlı mevsimin
puslu geçitlerinde

lâkin biraz büyüdüm galiba
büyüydüm bi zaman yani
harcandım sonra
fakat, istikrar göklerde
göklerse mısraların
tarçınlı tavuk göğsü..

ve otobanda uçuşan
mavi, beyaz,
turuncu arabalar
eskitirken günü örsümde
baraquda gibi
göz kırpmayı özlüyorum
wise’ın gülen gözlerinde...

(to Amal)
Musical Child of May, spirit fierce  and
                   fair!
  Born to Spring when the cricket cheers,
                   or
Drowsy nightingale weeps in melody, to
                  beget
  A new breed that in future glory may
                  rhyme--
Here to the twenty, and a thousand to
                  come,
  Of all your soft and moon-lit mid-May
                  eves.
Strange how much change the passing
                  day reveals,
  Stranger yet how your heart, sweet
                  child, stays  in love; ever-truer,
Blind to what was or will be said. Glow!
   MayChild of that immortal season,  
                  ancient friend
To Hyades that forever mourn and weep
                  for their slain.
  Pray, MayChild, to lift a lowered world
                 up to a higher ground:
Pray for Mulki, avid, able, so full of life,
  And for him who from womb to tomb
                 trod his way too soon;
Pray for Leyla, hostage to a future
                 brighter than can be said,
  And for this one, humbled and defiant if
                 broken they say;
Pray for Ilham, a beauty that will burn
                another Troy,
  And for Kamal, princely and tall and to
                reign;
Pray for Fatah, to whom Allah left
               enlightening common minds,
  And for Sahardid, gifted with what for
               so many in envy crave;
Pray for Guled, made of the rare,  born
               for the  best;
Pray, MayChild, for mean and  hateful
               were not  said of you--
   Pray for us now and at the hour of our
               birth!
Tender  Star of May, beauty  blessed
               before her birth!
  Rich and loyal in  love, as  some are not,
Forget not: the ways of the are not those
               of  love:
  In a rugged world where  brutes tread
               their  petty ways of hate,
They break the heart that  shows love in
               full faith;
Venus, who versed you well in perfumed
             gardens of Spring,
  Knew that men's promise and trust
             vanish with the fleeting hour:
Consider Echo who, for love sincere,
             became  but a faint voice--
  Consider one might not be so loved by
             whom one loves so deep!
                                                           ­           
                                -by Hakim H. Kassim.
                                 (d. May 15, 1993)

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

the prostitutes come in at £2 / minute...
for an hour's worth of delight that's simple math:
£120...
after my last encounter with the Romanian:
timid little thing, still in her 20s...
timid or frigid: she shouldn't be in the profession...
i left feeling like a castrated harem
handler / oud player...
         i couldn't take out my frustration of a limp
whittle richard on her...
i kissed and caressed her...
i don't suppose any other man might vent his
anger at being limp...
ineffectual: hollow... purposiveness having
evaporated: all that's spirit, energy: animation
reduced to this shrimp ****...

after the hour i just sat in the antechamber
to all the other rooms of hellish delights
when she walked in...
her face is still burning into my brain like
the face of the my ex's 14 year old sister when
we were going out in school...
a rush blood to every part of the body...
blurry vision... lust beyond measure...
                      strange how age changes...
it's nothing spectacular between say... me 35
and her... 31...
but then as with her Khadala... Khada...
Kharada... Khadaha... kiraz... afet...
                lalam... ipek...
                                  leyla... neylan... nuray...
                  serap...
my irises disappeared and perhaps
even the sclera...
                               all was black in my eyes...

and we talked about how disgruntled i looked:
do i look happy?
one thing led to another and i told her:
next time i'm here... i'll be taking you...
      
  how many days passed since the last time?
4... 5?
       wounded pride... got the better of me...
i'm not an erectile dysfunction!
i am not a castrated mouthpiece for the monks
to joke about on their abstinence route to
"elsewhere": i'm a ****** being!
                        this thing works and i'll prove it...
went sober for two days:
i blamed the excess drinking last time...
well: no better excuse mind you...
   and... prior to i ****** myself off to get the blood
running... several times... never once
reaching ******...
good... it works solo...

   the Romanian wasn't to my liking...
i wasn't going to just pick one up while the others
were busy... i was there for Khadaja and i wasn't leaving...
and no... i wasn't going to go for a full hour...
i wasn't sure...
the nerves might have got the better of me...
a plethora of doubts...
                                          esmerey... esana...

what a difference ******* the right woman makes...
i forgot how **** it is when you both appreciate
your cleanliness...
  and she performs ******* without a ******...
that she showed me her tongue with her mouth open
prior...
- who do i look like... jennifer lopez...
or... kim kardashian (god forbid ha ha)
- of course jennifer lopez...
- what do you see in my eyes?
- everything...
- i like your face... your remind me of that
actor, blonde... with a beard and all that...
- bradley cooper?
- yeah... you have a beautiful face
- i'm also fascinated by yours...

a day later and i'm battling a hard-on...
just shy of having her fill in the rest...
  nonetheless: a disorientating hard-on...
gravity is pushing me into the chair, the sofa...
while squatting and smoking a cigarette...
two beers down and my nerves are soothed...
but the CINEMA of last night is...
******* has suddenly become boring...
beside boring: just a performance stunt...
unrealistic - jerking off seems beyond silly too...
that bony imitation **** that's my hand
isn't going to cut it...
when i've just had... the best ******* in my life...
well... it was taking its time:
it only took it... its sweet 16 years...

all of a sudden i wasn't worried whether she
wouldn't be satisfied with my size...
that little grunt and that pulling of the face
when she finally slurped on the rubber
and slurped some more before sitting on me...
well... at first squatting and then completely
with me gripping her ***...

god... and that moist mouth... oozing both hot
and cold... kissing or rather: smoothing...
tongues and all...
odd: i never imagined myself as being much
of a pornographer...
but after 3... 4... years of bony-**** desert...
             and prior... just some unremarkable *****...
comes this Turkish demon-woman...
but there's something grander...
in advertisement and what not...
interracial profiling... white girls taken out
by... Tyrones... bruce lees... and muhammads...
well... if we're playing this interracial game...
**** it... i'm not staying for a white girl...
oddly enough my ex was already a product
of interracial antics: technically she could pass off
as a higher caste miss from the Raj...
but i never expected to have these sort of hots
and hard-ons for a Turkic girl...
then again... technically...
the Caucasus... and i'm a descendent of a people
that migrated north... probably prior
the Turks moving in from somewhere
                                       around Mongolia...
back to the roots...

oh but the added joy that... there's so much transparency
in prostitution...
there... money on the table...
there... a clock on the wall...
    there: we don't need to play games...
we don't have to fake politeness...
                            the naked body on a dissecting table...
and who the hell invented strip-clubs?
who the hell wants to play that fiendish
game of: look... but don't touch...
touch... but don't taste...
performance fears?
so... just looking at it... makes drinking a beer:
not more frustrating?
well... i wasn't going to jump on that only-fans
bandwagon... either...

the prostitutes come in at £2 / a minute...
that's £120 per hour...
                     i don't think... maybe surgeons
earn the equivalent...
i'm not even going to mention... footballers...
among all the other profession...
who the hell earns... £120 an hour and
gets properly pounded at the same time?
no... there's not going to be any shame...
   for the best **** in my life...
                                            only celebration...
and next time... it'll be for an hour...
i'm sure we'll get around to doing it doggy
style while doing it before
the mirror and looking at each turning into
            a Francis Bacon study of ****...

all the more... she also inspired me to give up
drinking... so i can save up what i'd usually spend
on drinking and spend it on her...
smoking will follow suite...
                        hell... if it can be this good:
what else matters? why should anything else matter?
i'm also going to ignore those
butterflies in my stomach...
         realistically: this is not love...
                       just the zenith of carnality...
    then again: it would be a funny story...
how i fell in love with a *******...
                           all that white knight *******...
ha ha.