lllMine Toothless Craftlll
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL1X51wyhBF79tUrPf9Ip-Niyypvgspuvn

Hope it helps, for it did help me.

AI, Moon Walk X"lll"X 15=10 and 5*


https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL1X51wyhBF7_aJvUdzE0qYPRaJMuBnn0l

lll

Did I forget to mention
How adorable you are
When you're intoxicated?

Or was the sarcasm not thick enough?

And do you forget
When "I dont wanna be dr-drunk anymore"
Dribbled from your mouth?

You stink.
Go home.

Lust.
There we were, laid up in the sheets
I felt his energy in me
I swear I've never done this before
Usually I leave my heart at the door
Tonight I wanted to give you more
I mean.. I just wanna prove that I'm yours

Love.
There we were staring into each other's soul
We're young but this love feels old
Like it's not the first time we've been together
Maybe in a past life, a few storms we weathered

Loyalty.
There we were, fingers intertwined
Stay forever mine
L-o-v-e like wine
A-g-i-n-g in time

It was the year the weevils came for the harvest.
The moon playing tricks on eyes eagerly awaiting its appearance.
The oily black sky desperately waiting to cry a river
and the year they came for her heart.

Don't cry, it would be alright.
The night is getting thick, the morning seem so far.
Don't cry, it would be okay
when the morning comes and the river of sorrow pour down your face no more.

Let the pain in your heart and the ice in your eyes.
let the crystal clear liquid bleed no more.

You will chase away those haunting demons
Then you will stop accepting handkerchiefs of dishonesty to wipe your tears.
You will write your own stories and sing the songs in your heart.
The crows and locusts will always come but the fields
will still choose to be green again.
Live, love, pray, be happy and do it all again.
The rains are coming...

For He causes the sun to rise upon both the evil and the good.
but just maybe this is all a part of His plan.
May the morning find you laughing...

he adults new year rave that 6 year old patrick dunbar




in the year of 1945, patrick dun bar’s family were invited to a rave

but there was one small problem they couldn’t find babysitters

for patrick, so, what his parents did, is, go to the department store

and buy a tiger costume that would fit a 6 year old and this way

patrick can’t see the adult nonsense that was around, patrick dunbar

was ever so excited, as he called himself the new year tiger, and

every time an adult walked past him, he went growl like a

really fierce tiger cub, and his bro, rob dunbar also dressed up

as a tiger, but he looked at it as just another tiger costume

when new years eve came, patrick and rob were getting themselves

used to their tiger costumes 5 hours before they left for the

adults rave, well back then they called it, a new years eve party

and the parents said, don’t get too *****, cause their kids wearing

tiger costumes, dressed up as patrick said the new year tiger

was the only way in, and 5 hours later, they all hopped in the car

and their grandfather wore a tiger hat, to joint patrick and rob

and patrick screamed out the window, HAPPY NEW YEAR

and the father said, put ya cotton picking head back in the car

and patrick didn’t listen, and kept his head out of the window

yelling out happy new year, happy new year, happy new year

and in those days they couldn’t control the window from the

drivers seat like they do now, so he kept on driving with little

patrick dunbar yelling out of the window, HAPPY NEW YEAR

about 23 fucken times, and when they arrived at the party, their mum

told patrick and rob to hide inside, pretending your dwarfs, and

patrick said, i am not a dwarf, i am the new year tiger, ya see

in this life, i was a tad isolated, in my room, and there is no way

known to man, how i can figure out a lll this, but, as we walked in

i think the party people knew we were kids, cause dwarfs look different

but patrick and rob played all night, as much as it was fun, and despite

them knowing we were kids, we thought we would be treated differently

cause me, patrick was the new year tiger, and i used the biggest growl

to make all the adults spill their drinks, some drinks stained the carpet

and this really upset the host, and wanted the dun bars kicked out

and patrick dunbar said, i am not a dunbar, i am the new year tiger

and if you kick us out, i will bite ya with my teeth, but this party had 1940s

morals, and the dun bars were kicked out, and went for a walk down the

beach of green bay, and patrickj and robert were swimming in their new

year tiger costumes, and patrick rode one wave in, and said, the new year

tiger is coming, actually the dunbars sat on the beach till midnight, and there

were a great beach parade, of navy and army planes as well as the lifeguards

wearing clown uniforms, and then the lord mayor of wisconsin, cut the ribbon

to open a very colourful fireworks and patrick dunbar went up to the lord mayor

and said, i am the new year tiger, and i will eat ya up, and then the lord mayor closed the speech

there, and yelled out HAPPY NEW YEAR, AND patrick dunbar yelled out

a big HAPPY NEW YEAR too, as patrick dunbar was wisconsin’s new year tiger

GRRRROOOOOOOWWWWWWWL,

i am patrick dunbar, he was my previous life, before greame thorne

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Dear Lois,
I wish I could be your SuperMan.. but I'm nothing more than a human...working on life...and I don't have the power to give you every thing you want in life...this mortal flesh tho venerable was heaven sent...let me be your angel and fly you to heaven with my finger tips...10 ways to love you
...
1. Always *** late...
What's the fun in being early...when you haven't even gotten there yet!
Shoot we can always come together...
2. Own stress *****..
.so that I can relive my stress before I get to you
But strengthen my grip so I'll never loose hold of you.
3.Sing to you....
I know I'm no Marvin Gaye...but I'll never be a Chris brown...but I might just bow wow and hold you down!
Sophisticated like I'll be Nat King Cole...But you might need a little Ruffin cuz your my favorite temptation..
4. Work out...
I gotta stay a fit for you. For Ill never know when I'll need to rescue you...I know you can hold your own but I want to always be able to lift you. No matter how heavy your baggage gets. Be your fantasy with my shirt on and my shirt off..in a crowded room or if it's just us...
5. Eat your cooking...
6. Keep a job even if we're living a dream...
7.Invest into you..
Hold all the bonds in your stock.. place my time in you hands..for I know that you are something worth investing in..cherishing...Be your CEO...run **** when your not around...but listening carefully to your directions so we won't go down...
8. Take you on dates...
Yes McDonald's counts!! Unless your a Vegan then you'll just have to watch me eat...and cook when we get back from the movies...I'll bring some Kale Chips..Show you brand new worlds that we will explore together... keep you on your toes...you ll never know where we're gonna go.
9. Tell you your like wine..
How you intoxicate me...to bliss...sometimes I might get a headache...be hung over...but I'll run right back to you...how you age so well that I look forward to enjoying you years later...I'll spend a lot on you..keep you well preserved and I'll sip you smell you enjoy you...mine mine mine...
10. Create Love with you...
As we right our own definitions...on canvases...of paper..hallways...bedrooms... car seats...PTA meeting...church pews...Classrooms...amusement parks...bowling alleys...Movie theaters...and Skin....
History between an man and his woman....

But remember Im not no Superman but I will do my best to be the best that I can...

Love,
Clark Kent.

Jan folded the letter
running a finger
along its crease.

She looked up-
somebody was explaining
functionality,
She stared:
the new argument was
written on the white board
she returned to the letter-

another fold
another plane
pressing and creasing
opening
rereading
vertices missed,
words realigned.
Sentences brokered
with each new
configuration,
yet its meaning
reformed.

He- was disengaged
she- was misplaced.
Incongruent.
She rose
and left the room.
There would be
many such lessons.

Tommy Carroll

To my evervesant  dreams of my night ,
my candelabra *** puri skies ,
a barn owls swallows a mouse ,then out of the restlessness of the night,
you came .

The calls of a thrush heard  a. whisper let ,
the Pterosaurs wings take flight ,
we must go ,
Seven sharpened swords loose in the wind to capture the beast ,
as mountains stand ,
and seas are still ,
her wing span ,
her mighty beak ,
Sagas ,
told from Viking lands told of the spell s it haunts this land .
For you my King of Royal blood with seventh sword ,
my King of Love .
With mighty hand you slayed Mosasaurs with one hand .
Now the last Pterosaurs has took to flight

Then my Nobel Queen to darkened skies I must fight .

Over hills and mountains I searched for sun light ,
night turned to everlesant dreams ,
I saw a Pterosaurs once more .

“ You think you’re Queen is safe this night
You think one swift sword will leave me in a pool of blood
I laugh at you’re sorrow for they are misguided and hollow” l

And with these words the Pterosaurs spread it’s wings off
Into the night it flapped it’s wings .

The Pterosaurs formed a nest above a castle on a cleft ,
Our new crowned King who once slayed the Mosasaurs,
on his way to tomorrow’s land to save his Queen now in state reside .
Over that  Castle in their land where. tempers. burnt into a. rabid.  death hollow a darkness crept and would not leave ,
untill the Queen and King made love .

Then all was well and the light returned never to leave when ,
the King and Queen walked hand in hand .

For  God loves the little things ,
our prayers our new tomorrows .

The Pterosaurs when he saw all was well and love reigned once more as
the flowers bloomed ,
the thrush sang
left for evermore .

A rock over looked a castle,
A King and Queen in state ,
a pawn moves and life and death await .

The Crow suddenly turned its head ,
Flapped its wings ,
and I followed it to the heavens .
Where like a traveller in time ,
Gases  ,
Gravity , and
Time ,
Eight billion degrees of energy , time and space .
Trillions of years amassed .
The great I Am
hangs his baubles in the heavens ,
His tinsel in the sky's .
His most dazzling  star ,
Perched on top of his Christmas tree .
His cherry on his cake ,
Above oh little , insignificant ,
Back street town of Bethlehem .
There will be no Palace for this Prince of peace ,
this once fetus ,
perfect d n a. ,
Gods new Adam ,
Who once touched the tree .
This new life ,
God ,
The great I Am .
Spewing child ,
Born in a slum ,
Cradle of the Universe ,
Worship him .

From the East they came ,
Gold for a King ,
Frankensense of milk white resin ,
and Myrrh oh sweet resin of death .

Greccio 1223
St Francis of Assisi
Found detestable Greccio s. Fancy feasts and drunken ways .
This feast of Christ had become a farce .
With Manger Ox and *** ,
as midnight bell did sound ,
They gathered in the forest ,
and with Psalms of Joy did sing ,
With praise to their King .,
Who conqured
death
and assended on high ,
For whoever will believe on him shall never die .
With lanterns lit oh glorious sound ,
A babe was seen on this hallowed ground .

Oh dove at Christs baptism ,
Oh star above from where he layed ,
Oh holy night ,
Say to the towns of Judah
Here is your God .

I always imagine how our lifes would be in the future.
Eating dinner, watching TV
Cuddling in bed or
Even making a DVD ;)

I always think about you and I don't want to stop
God brought us together and too never linger apart
And I promise ill love you with all my heart

Where is Ken?
He's such a doll!
He and Todd are dancing with Skipper
grinding to "Milkshake"

Another round
for the ladies
sitting by themselves
in the corner

Thanks for the drink, sucker!
you can go away now
We're here for the free *****
on Ladie's Night

All men want
is to get laid
another round
of Rumple Minze!

We have mates
they are on the dance floor
grinding on Skipper
She's such a *****!

All men want
is to get laid
another round
of Rumple Minze!

We love our men
like they love
their *****
"straight and to the point!"

Hey Ladies
I am genuinely nice guy
highly educated
a few pounds overweight

FU** off loser!
***!
How dare he talk to us
Yuk!

We have mates
they are in the parking lot
grinding on Skipper
She's such a *****!

All men want
is to get laid
another round
of Rumple Minze!

Where the hell did they go?
They left the club
with Skipper
She's such a *****!

Don't worry Midge
i'lll drvesed us hoooomee
b
u tttttttt

f ir

s
t


another round
of Rumple Minze!

There’s bird poo on my window ,
It’s been there a while ,
I’m wondering what the bird was thinking ,
was it personal?
Did it smile ?
Was it a gift a reminder I’ll be back ?
Could he not wait .
Were his feathers singed and black ?
Did he fly up to
those blue skies soaring ,
unto the sun to find love ?
Was he hungry at the time ,
or had he just  eaten ?
for my tea is at the table ,
I fear it’s too late ?
Did the cruel winds just blow it off track ?
Was he fighting for freedom against the magpie or the jay ?
Did it see it’s reflection in my window ,
then fly away ?
For what ever reason ,
that bird still sings it’s song ,
first thing in the morning,
before the blackbird can sing along .
Before tea is set in my front room ,
I’ll still leave a knife and fork for thee ,
so he can sit along beside me and keep me company.

Then i heard a soft thud on my window ,
again again and again ,
the noise just would not stop .
I drew the curtain to one side ,
to see my bird against the Paine .
I opened my window,
and in it flew ,
for it was hungry just the same ,
pulled up a napkin and there we were ,
going insane.!

L
  L
    L

That scratch is from the woods
Pencils, after all, are made of wood.
That scratch is covered now
In layers and layers of skin
One layer
For each piece of the puzzle
He put back in place
Its a shame there will always be one missing.

l. 
I will French kiss your ingrown hairs, your merigold bruises, and the acne you fight wars with every morning.

ll.
 I will caress your cellulite like the waves on the backs of your thighs are the fountain of youth. 

lll.
 I will ****** the folds of your tummy, the stubble underneath your arms, and the stretch marks that you don’t realize make you a ******* tiger, darling.

lV.
 I will fall in love with your flaws, and remind you of your perfections.
 I will kiss you when the boy you love breaks your heart and you just need something on your lips.
 I will hold your hand when you get your nose pierced and again when you regret it the next day.
 I will bring you Mountain Dew and Advil when you can’t get out bed for two days and when your dad tells you to **** it up, I will shut the door in his face and turn up the radio.

V. 
I will yell at boys who hurt you and at girls who think they know you. I will tell the “cool kids” to *******. I will argue with your parents and curse at your exes. I will be known as a ***** as long as you know me as someone you can’t count on.

Vl.
 I will love you when you hate me, when you hate life, when you hate everyone, and when you hate yourself. I will love you when it rains and when the sun beats down on us in June. I will love you when it’s 9:00 pm and we’re eating ice cream on my porch and I will love you when it is 2:30 am and you are gagging with salt in your mouth from crying for what seems like years.

Vll. 
I will always love you.

Born under the same star, touched under the skies
It hurts
The hole in my heart, with scissors cut
You're moth to my flame
You'lll get burnt...
You fell for my magic, black and white it is
You're a siren song to me
I lick my sadness like an ice cream...

I need to keep knowing myself
And to accept that I don't decide in my head.
While struggling slowly towards the sea...

The touch of a hand,
The warmth of another,
That precious tickle,
That burning feeling inside,

Living flame,
Dancing throughout my garden.

The garden I cultivate for you,
A field of crimson, the purest red,
It is your colour, a sanctity, a shrine for you,
This garden, my life’s passion,

A never ending field of Lycoris Radiata,
Growing inside my mind.

Temples and palaces,
Cathedrals and castles,
The works of generations,
They’re all incomparable to the garden I grow for you,

Thousands of year in worth of work, the species’ finest art,
Rivalled by the Eden I cultivate for you, the moments it took for my garden to grow.

Problems are non existent in the garden,
Yours or mine, I can no longer tell,
But I know for a fact that they cannot grow here,
All that grows is the Lycoris Radiata, swallowing all other forms of life or death,

That is, before the deluge,
Before the moment you walked into my garden.

Before the moment you entered the realm I constructed for you,
Before the moment you graced the garden with your presence,
Before the moment you shattered the illusion of grandeur,
Before the moment you trampled the finest of the Lycoris Radiata,

The death of my garden,
The collapse of my life’s work, that somehow lasted mere moments.

But it’s okay,
I didn’t want the field of crimson anyway,
I didn’t want the garden of Eden,
You snake.

I hope you know I hate you,
Because now I’m growing hydrangea,
And it’s going to be the most beautiful garden on earth, lush and green and all for me.

By LLL

who would i consider to be the greatest teachers on women?
Stendhal, Marquis de Sade, Ovid...
Flaubert: most certainly Flaubert... but now most certainly
Ovid too...
i might go as far as to drop Knausgaard into the equation
(oddly enough)...
how else would i have learned a little bit about women
if not men who learned about women and recorded
their findings... i might even whisper the name Nietzsche
to further my "question"...

it started with her showing me her leg...
   some ugly spider bit it in two places: she was so disgruntled
about it... she showed the bite: started to squeeze it:
if i could have guessed: if she could bend so far low
she would have probably tried biting that piece of flesh
out of her...
i told her a worthwhile remedy:
OCET SPIRITUSOWY (10%) you can go into and ******
delicatessen and buy it... rub it onto the bite mark...

but that still didn't lift the mood: i felt awkward...
i can sniff a lie from a mile away: women are the greatest
liars when they speak: unfortunately:
they're the worst liars when they don't speak...
you can lie by speaking lies...
but you can also lie by not telling the truth:
i.e. by not talking...
a burning thought oozes out on the body and the body
cannot lie...
there was some ill in the air...
the entire room was on fire... even she said:
why is it so hot in this room when outside it's cool?
the entire room was on fire...

i think she was furious with me...
i promised her that i would come on said day and i did:
perhaps i've become too predictable for her liking?
something ill was in the air...
it wasn't just the spider bite and her annoyance
with it: a woman can make the smallest irk
into a deluge of irks...
   the smallest thing can become the greatest discomfort
for a woman...
i could feel it: although she said nothing
when i asked her if she was o.k., whether she was tired...
something strange about her eyes...

ah... eye-lash extensions: i didn't compliment
on them... i noticed something different about them...
after a super-quick quickie:
i don't know... there's something potent about
the ******* position in front of two mirrors...
her kneeling on the bed me standing by the bed
thrusting... maybe i was too tired ergo too *****
i couldn't perform to her pleasure: only to my own...
thankfully my male pride wasn't hurt...
i always brush off under-performing by laughing
after the ******...
i'm not going to explain myself beyond:
not every woman climaxes every time during *******:
not every man can go on for an hour
without climaxing... i told her just that:
it depends what mindset i'm wearing...
  sometimes it takes me as much time as it might
take a woodland pigeon... enough time to only
balance on the female while flapping its wings...
sometimes in the ******* i'm peering
into the eyes of a mantis and hoping she will not
eat me afterwards: ergo: i try to not deposit any
albino tadpoles into her...

afterwards we lay ****-naked side by side
on the bed... then i noticed her elongated eyelashes...
we talked about them... how they're new
and are itching her eyes...
woman: natural born sadists and that sadism concerning
beauty to boot...
i said: you noticed the trend among black girls?
camel eyes: eye-lashes for thick and long they could
possibly brush their eye-brows...
and nails... my god... you can't do anything with nails
that long... and hair?! once upon a time black girls
adored their afro curls... now?
they're imitating white women's hair... Asian women's hair:
they even employ wigs to imitate that raven slickness...
i remember a time in high school when black girls
would use vaseline cream to smooth out their afros...
she agreed about the nails and eye-lashes:

come on! you can't make a ******* sandwich with nails
that long...
nails... i looked at her nails... she showed me that
she needed a manicure... she showed me some designs
from the internet that she'd like to have...
then she showed me her toenails...
that's another thing... i knew something was wrong...
she didn't take her socks off during *******...
that's a major sign that something is wrong...
seriously! who the hell ***** with their socks on?
it's like that Iron Maiden song: die with your boots
on...
something was seriously wrong...
maybe it was me: maybe it wasn't me...
it's too late for that...

once upon a time women were the greatest mysteries
of the literary world...
men would spend aeons contemplating
their mysteries: and if not mysterious per se...
then men would mystify them!
now? women are sabotaging themselves...
they're exposing themselves in ways so crude so...
sick... so... unappealing...
it's hard to mystify women these days...
me? hardly having lost touch with reality:
i've lost touch with an un-reality...
with romanticism...
              
Michaela, as a woman? not every man's cup of tea...
but then again i like large women...
not obese... when she lay back and feigned tiredness
putting her leg on top of mine...
chatting... i played her Le Trio Joubran's
Majaz... and told her the story about how i first
heard the song...
i was in Amsterdam with this Egyptian guy...
i was drinking beer, he was smoking ****...
then he gave me a drag of the ****
and told me to put his headphones on... he played
the song: and i showed her my reaction:
my JAW DROPPED... my eyes closed...
i was suspended in a "falling gravity"...
no... in a "whirling gravity" of my own empty canvas
presence... an implosion of Heidegger's dasein...
there was no "there"... there was either
sein or nichtsein and hier...

ha ha... i was talking to my father today in the car
as he helped me get my second bicycle
get driven the repair shop... finally!
i'll get my mountain bicycle up to speed...
i'll get off the roads and head into the wilderness...
£80... not a bad deal for the repairs needed...
and he mentioned that there's this Romanian
woman working the hoist on the construction
site... he said that the most difficult word in Romanian
is... 11...
unsprezece - uns... one... pre: before... zece...
i need diacritical markers for this one...
or? just employ Italian...
unsprezecce...              unsprezeče...
hell... with the expansion of the European Union...
of the Polacks that came in 2008... most have left...
only a few remain...
but the Romanians stuck to their guns...
after all: they can easily mingle with the hordes from
Asia... come to think of it:
England is starting to glisten with a demographic
akin to Brazil... i think i'm going to start calling
England Brazil no. 2... it's clearly post-racial
in what ecosystem we have...
black boys loving white girls...
white boys not really into any other race:
well... i have my exceptions... Turkish and Romanian...
but that's me...

but sort of woman in what sort of mood doesn't
take her socks off during ***?!
i find it most irritable: not ******* in the dim
lights with your socks on...
maybe the ill and the fire in the air
was my own self evaporating into their air...
irritated by this lack of aesthetic...
maybe it wasn't her: maybe it was me...
then again: she's was already thinking about going
back to Romania...

better than being a rock star...
what i wouldn't give: none of my books...
to become a blues-man... a Howlin' Wolf...
then again: i wouldn't do nothing: absolutely: nothing...
having spent 2 years of my 20s reading
up on Heidegger...
i'm good... if i get really thirsty: i'll just buy
half a watermelon and gorge on it like
it might be a woman's ******... i'll get my beard wet
and try not to bring either ****** or umbrella:
cheap *** ******* little questionable
little me...
i didn't say i'm a millionaire...
but i said i spent more money than a millionaire...
love those lyrics...
blues and ***... ******* becomes
distasteful after a while:
the while you realise those people are
actors... and *** is hardly acting:
*** comes around to you in its most authentic
claim of your self you can ever have...
while ******* disrupts all of that...

it's never going to be a pornographic flick
when real life hits the fan...
the **** can lie as a pile dragging itself to the status
of diamond among flies on
some random hill...

tube strikes... only start working from 8am...
of course i'll be late for my shift at Fulham...
but i'm still drinking...
enough of whiskey and enough of the blues
and enough of thinking about thinking about ***...
i'm not going back to the brothel
until Michaela ***** off to Romania on the 28th of this month...
i already have two girls in my sight...
deer-in-headlights... sitting pretty: sitting scared...

i need to become more unpredictable...
i need to ensure the girl takes her socks off...
Michaela is very much unlike Khadijah...
she doesn't wash herself after ***...
and she's the one asking me for extra pay
for unprotected ***...
at least Khadijah washed herself...
i washed her... she washed me after *******...
i like *** + hygiene...
must be a Turkish "thing"...

                        no... i'm not going to feel **** about
myself... there's no point:
i simply can't change other people by pretending
to change myself... i'lll wait until Michaela is out
of the picture... she put me off *** for a bit...
i can sink into a diet of sexless days...
but no... you don't get away with being sloppy...
you don't get to **** with your socks on!

she might have thought that i didn't notice that
she had eye-lash extension...
what's with the socks?!
  you forgot you were wearing shoes,
or something?!
******* while still having your socks on...
oh man oh man oh man...
that's why the room was on fire!
**** it!  start donning fishnet stockings!
i could manage that...
start donning long knee-teasing leather boots!
i could stomach that! but socks?!
i can't stomach that...
           i'm expected to put on a ******
while... a woman is not expected to take her socks off?!
throw rocks at me! throw 'em!

there are just aesthetic standards...
that's the last time i paid so much eye-candy on a woman
no prior man would pay her her dues...
me neither: i have skin like it's worth
grating a grand cheddar cheese on...
but... tender... i can: be...
she just felt bored... and i felt predicable:
onto the next...
maybe she flashed her phone before my eyes
to boot: showcasing her grand achievement
of a bambino outside of wedlock:
probably raised by her grandparents...

Darwinism is a scam in my cards...
either Poker or Blackjack...
i'm a sore loser with genes that ought to be replicated...
20-20 vision... pretty **** good hearing...
i've never broken a bone in my body...
if i get hurt and my bones are affect?
i create bone outgrowths... bulges of bone...
genetically? i'm not too bad...
but in terms of reality: i'm not a safe-bet...
and guess what? i like mediocre people...
shadow-grey-people...
i like them: they make good traffic obstacles...
they make me churn out a practice
in spatial awareness...
i can denote them to THINGS and rob them of
the status of NOUNS...
something... this thing... that thing...
whatever... no bother... i'm casual like that...

hey! like for like!
Michaela: the 28th of this month better come sooner
than you leaving for Romania! make sure you have
your socks on! all the time!
that ****** me off... a woman that keeps her socks
on during *** is like... is like... a woman eating a meal
without a knife when a knife and fork is required!
or a man... for that matter...
socks during *** is just a massive turn-off:
i best finish early... i'm ******* clocking-out...
no! not on a whim! i'm clocking out because aesthetics
and the blues and thinking about what *** is about...
Eden...
not talking... groaning and moaning...
onomatopoeias...
                        
hmm! that's why the room was on fire!
i finished early because? she was wearing socks...
that's why the air in the room felt ill!
because she never bothered to wash herself
after we had ***... Khadijah did...
each time... i showcased washing my genitals after every
genitals:
i might be a brute... but: in terms of hygiene:
i'm pretty exacting regarding what's appealing
                                               and what isn't...

i can't stand filthy people...
show me a rat...
             show me a bunch of rats...
i'll show you a pretty cheese chamber with plenty
of the right sort of gas...
i'm not joking...
   i wish... oh i wish i were joking...

                      by now... does it even matter?
by now i don't think it even matters...
should it matter shouldn't it?
it never really matter given enough time...
             time truly flies: regardless of whether you're
having fun or not...
by the drop, the drip, the drool or either blood
or water... or a sprinkle of salt or sand...
what's good is wasted over so much time...
while what's bad... wastes the mind over a time
best entrusted in keeping a memory of the good times...

my beard! my ******* violin!
i stroke it and imagine playing a sad sad... song;
but the cynic in me: laughs...
just like a dog looks up at his master when being walked on
a leash!

Ghost
Act l
“ The sparrows came
for in their thousands they called ,
In flocks weaving and falling in thick blackened skies
did they fall
they followed me everywhere.”

Woman
“ If I had not been so bold
If I had shed tears and wept at you’re feet ,
If in sorrow I looked into you’re eyes with a heavy heart ,
Spat out what I Could not eat,
It’s seeds formed good out of evil could we not start again ?

If If If we were still friends ?
Now the rains fall on me and darkness decends now
In arragance i seek you for in love I am blind ,
in carnal thoughts love is not kind .

My lover has fled and now eats the  beasts of the field ,
and I am alone in my sorrow ,
with nothing I yeald ,

the sparrows are coming in their thousands array ,
and it’s them I look for at the eve of the day .

From a rib was I formed and now cold and hunger do I live ,
the once blue skies above me are now teaming with rain .
Act ll
Snake
“  Rise up for garlic and herbs I shall give you from you’re sick bed arise  ,
To become like God in the heavens on horses wings you will fly ,
Man will build temples for you to rest you’re feet on tiny wings
no more will you suffer like a god see these things .”
Woman
“I have had temples and statues built in my name
Man bowed down to me like ants ,
given me gold and presious stones and beasts from the field ,
their corpses are scattered in blood on my land .

Act lll
War has come war lords in their anger apose and here am I all
Shrivelled and old ,
the times I met in the garden with God
for the love and the joy and the peace have all gone ..
Actllll
Now in a hole in the ground do I lay
In a bed of  fruit ,
all around me decay ,
beads around my skull my flesh withers and dies ,
how I lived am dammed to these lies


The sparrows are coming to peck at my corpse
In their thousands from the mountains and trees do they call .

For now did snake did I listen ,
and to God do I call .

In tides.
Change is fierce monster often left in shades of a lamb.
No pressense more cruel than that known as love.
Can we lie only to make this illusion so grand not appear traggic in design?

We question are truths beliving are thoughts instead of asking the one beside .
May we share this space only to distance areselves a little more at a time.

Picking apart the reason as in any situation we just always seem to lose track
of what it was that brought us here to begin with.
Anger can only mask my fears so long.
If you never understand then you'lll probaly stand with many.
***** the numbers it's a losing game to speak of to begin with.

Cold as rain in a approaching storm we can ignore the truth
if only to embrace are lies for one last time.
When did I ever become the shell?
A stranger in the wings to my own half thought logic .

Time makes a fool of us all.

As for me I sit without thought for to fight what never will be is a thought of another
The wolves howl at night only to hear themselfs die.
Tommorow you sound of hope in a hopeless void.

People togather in doorways hide from the rain and sometimes find there
placement a blessing.
Some find emptyness a solice I could never explian.

No man could ever be described so simply in one line.
Myself I find a stranger  often ive seldom cared to understand.

Im far from the image yet close to the tale.
Maybe storms suit me well a gray sky to a ever distant wind.
Sands bury the traces yet a thought leaves it's mark.

No matter my past ive found eyes still find that dust ridden cover
**** my flaws for the subject is never understood.

For if Heaven were a endless highway id probaly be headed south.


I

01004    (N18>N25>N86>N365)

i guess it was just one of those days that managed to be split
between two:
get up at 7am: shower, get dressed,
head out for the first shift as a supervisor at the London
stadium: starting at 9am... work until 4:30pm...
shake hands with the stewards at the end of the shift
for making my job all the more easier...
calling control (of the stadium) on my radio telling them:
there's a limping crow on the pitch, could we please remove
him? not so easily done, but done nonetheless...

finishing the shift having to master the art of moving
through spectators also leaving,
heading toward Wembley stadium,
starting the shift at 6pm and working until 11:30pm...
leaving the stadium trapped by more spectators
leaving the stadium... being | | this close to getting into
Wembley Park station: i was already planning
a swift return home... on the metropolitan line
to Liverpool St. then a quick train ride back to Romford...
obviously that wasn't going to happen...
**** man: i love this change of plan...
i watched as people were rushing to Wembley Central
station while i walked into a shop
and bought myself a bottle Coca-Cola for mixing
with whiskey at home, a packet of Sterling cigarillos,
a packet of 10: only £5.30...
a packet of crisps and a magnum milk and white chocolate
raspberry ice-cream... walked to the first bus stop...
PACKED... chicken-brain: hatch a man...
absolutely necessary to walk up stream to the origins
of the bus route... passed one bus-stop back:
packed... passed a third: packed... the fourth
at Wembley Central was empty: for a while...
before i noticed that Wembley Central was closing
and people started congregating...
oh **** this... i walked back to the fifth bus-stop...
or maybe it was the sixth...
no... no way am i going to get on a bus:
watch it get packed like a can of sardines
and stand there like a clueless *****!
i have walk back a mile and sit in the front seats
of a double decker on top: SIT... relax... after a long day...
than stick around with these sheepish folk
that would rather stand at a bus-stop with about
50 other people than figure up what salmon do...

ha! plan worked... sat up-stairs on the front two
seats... now i said to myself:
this is my favorite bus journey: from Wembley
to Romford...
first the N18... then the N25... then the N86
and finally the N365...
                                    mind you: north London grime
architecture is very different to east London
grime architecture... i prefer the London grime architecture
to the east London grime...

as i sat down i thought to myself: what i really now
for this to be an "Emirates" journey back home
is for some pretty girl to sit down next to me...
hey presto! i'm a firm believer in luck of late...
i was lucky today...
she sat down... a sort of Camila Cabello lookalike:
but much prettier... Spanish... i can decipher Spanish
when i hear it: d'uh... i could never find a Spanish girl
i found attractive: Spanish feminists and French
feminists put me off from looking...
but there she was... sitting pretty... raven hair...
glasses... blue-grey eyes... skin tone: mocha with a hint
of cinnamon and bronze...
i felt an Adam's apple in my throat choking me...
will i speak to her?
a little nudge of the leg on her part...
a little bristle of arm against on arm...
then dozing off her head almost rested on my shoulder...
i just couldn't help admire the difference in size
of our two bodies...
by thumb alone i had a thumb 1.5x larger than hers...
i looked at my shoulders in the reflexion
in the glass lit up by streetlamps...
  then i looked at her petite exposed details...
she kept flicking her hair: at one point the detailed
a style that i greatly admire: no partition down the middle:
although she pulled it off stunningly because
her raven hair was slightly bouncy: not curly:
bouncy... but then she flicked her hair to one side...
so feminine details any woman could wish to have...
naturally gracing some ancient altar of
man's admiration...

  a crescendo came when some ******* came on the bus
and was playing some ****** rap music
for us to listen to... turns out he wasn't a *******...
he ended playing Coldplay's Paradise...
the entire bus erupted in song... everyone was
singing... she was singing: me? i was just smiling...
she then asked this guy who was standing over her
(because the bus was that full that people were
also standing on the upper-deck) about whether
the N18 stops at St. Paul's...
my throat loosened and i turned around to her:

no... what you have to do is get off at Oxford Circus
and turn left onto the Oxford St. and catch
the N25 bus to St. Paul's... and as i did what i instructed
her to do... i got up and realised:
she came a magical puff of smoke never to be seen
again...
          i knew this was going to happen...
make your heart small... make your heart small...
dangerous daydreaming to begin with...
i knew nothing would come of anything like this...
do people still meet people of their dreams
in random locations in life? on buses?
or is the whole dating experience all about profiling
yourself on the internet so that people
have a boring a priori knowledge of you?
that's why dating is so ****... there's nothing to unravel...
there's nothing to discover: absolutely no thrill...

but this is most certainly my favourite route...
esp. at night... and if you can time it perfectly...
you jump on one bus... jump off it then jump onto
another and a maxim you have to wait for the third
is about a minute: enough time to take off your shoe...
pull up your sock, put the shoe back on and not have
time to do the shoelaces...
i was going to get off the N25 at Stratford bus station
but as the bus was circling the station
i noticed a blackened N86 waiting...
the driver just managed to go down from the second
deck to his cabin and pour himself a coffee from
a flask... so i stayed on the bus to Ilford Hill...
but... i started to watch my back...
yep... just before Manor Park i saw the ******
speeding... quickly got the N25 and jumped
straight onto the N86...
i was in lucky... from Goodmayes there were
only three people on the bus...
we sped past Chadwell Heath and entered Romford
without anyone at bus stops or anyone
trying to get off...

walked to the last bus-stop and caught the N365
to Collier Row... then... talked to myself for a while...
literally... i talked to myself...
i only do this "talking to myself" when i tired
of thinking it... then thinking has absolutely no effect
on me: when i can't do any ego-tripping:
i talk to myself when i've exhausted all avenues
of feeling all "high and mighty"... i bring myself
to a level of conversation: since i can talk to myself:
but i can't think to myself... how can i?
i'm not even myself when i'm thinking: all that ego-*******:
shrapnel thinking...

did i hear my company manager just tell me
he gave me an extra hour of the second shift?
call me a legend... because i was the only person in the company
willing to do a double-shift? i must have:
that's why i started talking to myself: i think i misheard
him...
and wasn't i a supervisor today, even though modern
security standards require you to have an NVQ level 3
while i only have a level 2?
and my treating stewards with the utmost respect
having than talking down to them: gaining their trust
and mutual respect, isn't that something?
that golden rule: treat others like you'd like to be treated?

and to think: i was in the trenches and pitfalls
of madness for so long... my 20s are a blur
or psychiatric pharmacology and psychological
scrutiny...
while most people lost their minds during the Corona
virus lockdowns: i regained mine:
i guess people were a given a taste of the sort of medicine
i was prescribed for so long...
i returned like a phoenix... i exploded back into
the realm of human interaction with shedding
my straitjacket... why could it be so weird
that i hear a choir either ascend or descend in a church
and then in a heat of panic hear a great wind
disperse the choir?
what's so weird about that? doesn't anyone who fasts
and smokes marijuana conjure up such auditory
hallucinations daily? sure... sure... blame it on the ****:
i actually gained while others lost...
i returned to a state i remember myself as being
in high school: not-two-faced... just chameleon like...
i can be liked by almost anyone these days...
one guy who's prone to wearing finger-less leather
gloves and that famous Palestinian bandana takes one
of his gloves off and is so happy to shake hands
with me...

even today i walked into a chicken shop before the second
shift and met up with two stewards i've worked with
before... i ordered a spicy five wing meal...
they were waiting for their meal...
we talked about Miranda (the strawberry drink)
was any good... shift times... blah blah... i stood next to them
and ate... they were perched on stools...
we ate together... Somalis?! who cares...
it's not like England is America....
race is a descriptive investment: not a prejudicial
aspect... i need to say if someone is either Somali
or Samoan or Eskimo... it just paints a certain picture
that a white boy can be on level ground...
my greatest concern whenever dealing with
someone is... respect... the surest sign of respect
is: i'll eat with you... i finished my chicken wings ate
some of the fries... i noticed one of the guys
ordered a burger and a wrap... i couldn't finish
the chips... so i asked... hey...
there's some unopened mayo pouch...
i can't finish these chips: do you want them?
you sure: he implored... mate... i'm full...
he gladly took them thanking me...

of the two best quote i have yet to topple:
Bukowski: some people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must live...
and?
there are variations on this one...
quos deus vult perdere, prius dementat
ha! those whom god wishes to destroy,
he first deprives of reason...
there's a double take on that...
point in mind: to destroy: not... to be destroyed...
meaning? if a deity requires a change of pace
for humanity... it's not a maxim directly related
to Hercules...
  to destroy doesn't imply: to be destroyed...
quem Iuppiter vult perdere, dementat prius
is more precise in that assumption...
those whom Jupiter wishes to destroy,
he first deprives of reason... then again? no!
destroy what? himself or the world around him?!
i've seen the world being destroyed...
if the gods truly wanted me sulking, mumbling...
in some mental institution... i would be just there...
but i'm all in the open... i've regained my strength!
i haven't destroyed destroyed myself...
i've regained myself: perhaps it's not the old me
i remember with a rich cognitive-narration lodged inside
my head: but? instead it's lodged in my read:
that's how the Cartesian dynamic works...
you can begin with the "solipsistic" res cogitans...
but end up after a psychotic transformation
as being a res extensa: what you think about in sketches
you write about in a narrative that's "escaped"
the hell of your supposed "thinking"...
couple that with experiences of auditory hallucinations...
letters, words... are better coupled to writing
than anything the Beatnik attempted with exploring
language with hallucinogenic additives...
believe me... first comes music: then music notation:
then... the ambiguities of what's being spoken...
after all: you can speak language in a rainbow of accents...
but you can't exactly play an instrument
idiosyncratically: it has to be universally arrived at...
otherwise it's particular, i.e. out of tune...
whereas music is universal: language is particular...
sure... the strict obligations of the written tongue
being universal... but? how it sounds? there's nothing
universal about language beside the fact that language exists
per se... English is not a universe language:
it's a modern version of the medieval Lingua Franca...
but... how many versions of English are there?

there's a version of English in every language
that already exist...
on the N25 bus i overheard some Hindus giggling
and dropping loan-word-bombs prompto:
chicken... nuggets...

hmm... something strange happens when you strart
leaning on the res extensa (extended thing)
rather than focusing on the egocentric (cogito)
of the res cogitans (thinking thing)...
a res vanus (empty thing) is spawned...
of course in the realm of res extensa you can
mix-up your own thinking with strange hallucinations
that are cognitive in nature and can be misunderstand
as sensual: on the basis that "thinking" is "audible"...
for example:
Matthew: you're a genius.... a strange expression
for an ego to have: given there's a denotation
of a noun, a given name:
a chair doesn't reply to: you're a great table,
does it?
ergo? an "i" doesn't respond to: you're either genius:
or a Matthew...
an i is an i... a hammer is a hammer...

oh god no... Descartes is yet to be properly invested
in intellectually...
he gave the really proper antithesis of
Christian trinity theology...
Freud just created cages for modern modern
to be behaviour-ably: un-stimulating....
predictable: all that ego super-ego id schematic
is ****-pants worth when pointing a finger back
and telling people: just do what as i do:
do some Cartesian-revisionism...
it will do you much good...

you heard that joke about a bilingual "schizophrenic"?
apparently he's exponentially squared and squared root
of a quadratic...
i think i regained my senses by going mad first...
second came the destruction:
given the damage already done:
i had nothing else in me to destroy... the world needed
a fire... so great that it would have to experience
a shackling to either luck, fate, or? circus...
or all three! ha ha!

it was truly a bountiful day... that N18 bus ride
with that pretty Spanish girl gave me flickers of hope...
heavenly Islamic harems exist...
if only... wait... she did have one or two "awkward"
flickers of freckles.... freckles? moles... those "puns"...
i terribly hate people who make millions
scribbling sensibly guised never-good-byes...
i'm supposed to be picking up a second bicycle i'll
be using to go off the road today...
5:30am... i'lll sleep until 1am then thinking about it...

n'ah... two bicycles... i always loved the idea...
one day i ride on the roads...
the other day i ******* into the woods...
chances are i'll come across a blind rabbit..
as you do...
mind you... even with todays? yesterdays!
yesterdays! shift... i was mostly dealing with the early
leavers..
but it's Coldplay... it's not like the Red Hot Chilly Peppers...
if they're doing a world tour...
and they have the same set-list?
i already heard their two best songs
when they play them first... Paradise and
Adventure of a Lifetime...
  Yellow? i couldn't care less... Fix You...
fix constipation first fix diarrhoea thirst...
don't panic, no? we all live in a beautiful world?!

THe death of jackson kimbrough left very few words
He said if that pain still hurts  on into the morning
all you gotta do is spend the rest night drinking
the hurt will only disappear for just a little moment
so don't give a ****, and **** all the hatred
we are only but marters trapped somewhere inside
we cannot be afraid to be lost in the sea
something in-between all the lost hopes and
all the dreams that he has let slip away.
a lll you need is someone to show you how to run
run straight to this island of lost mysteries

The death of jackson kimbrough was a very sad day
people from all around came to witness this mans faith
he was one in himself and everything left to chance
he was always left dreaming, dreaming into night
He always said to just open your mind
keep on dreaming and you'll be just fine

jackson kimbrough had very few friends
he was somewhere lost falling like a leave
while this sky treats him like a detainee
The man kept to himself but that was just fine
everything he did was just to be a little kind
a child of the 60's, forever in time
just looking for a second chance,
and the gravity keeps tossing him around
you can't never gonna stop

I can hear the death bell ,
Ringing for my death .
After when I’ll  die ,
I'll get the burning hell.


With demons,monsters,and ghosts,
All around me .
And my hands locked in the metal chains,
I think I'll never be free .


One day, I’ll run on the hell's floor,
The hell's floor would be so much hot.
Then I’lll find my death bell ,
And, it will be my first jackpot .

I'll get to the death bell ,
Take it in my hand .
Destroy and throw it in the well,
Then I’ll get back to my land.


With no demons, monsters, and ghosts ,
All around me .
And with no death bell,
I will always be free .

                  - SABIN THAPA

I will begin on the plains of your abdomen,
gently tracing their rise and fall
as breath enters and escapes your lips
noticing like mountain dew,
how sweat begins to glisten on your skin

And moving up toward your northern exposure
I’lll scale your round, soft mountains,
achingly slowly yet steady just the same
while you beg me
to reach the sensitive peaks
But twirling just around them,
refusing your demand to bite,
and leaving two soft kisses where
a flag would otherwise stand

Then charting a course around either side
of your most golden coast,
instead gently running my fingers
(with ice held between them)
down your peninsulas,
toward the straights of your inner thighs
across the narrows that lay behind your knees
And though you spread your geography
to create an inlet to your ocean,
I will instead continue to attend to
the peninsulas’ ends,
greatly in need of attention
as they’ve carried your land
from place to place without complaint

Then rolling the landscape asunder
And revealing your southern exposure to the sky
I’ll gently explore your heart shaped dunes,
Soft yet firm, causing a vibration in the ground
as you express your approval with the progress
of the expedition

Moving on to the edges and ridges of your
so strong back, your femininity pronounced only more so
by how strong and broad your shoulders,
I’ll hold and rub them firm, thankful for the place
upon which my head at times will rest

And finally, the last frontier of this journey
The soft sweet center of your landscape
like swollen earth between my lips,
and then our hips like rolling hills
An earthquake slowly building
tectonic plates shifting out of place
until the world begins to shudder,
the room shake, and then fall silent
as our two bodies remain as one
while drifting off to explorations
found among our dreams


(National Pornographic was the alternative name)

shock.
the night air gives me a slap in the face as i meet it.
walking, running, making my way past bodies in the street.
i've come to an establishment.
this place gives me chills; i dont believe in the posters, the blaring collection of atoms showing me what could be called un partido de football.

one, two, three shots.
cold beer and a cigarette.
im on my way, weaving, bobbing.
its a boxing match with the oncoming vehicles.

im hit; the alcohol has entered my veins.
it overwhelms my senses... why shouldn't i love it all?
night sky, tell me i'm fine.
unlock your secrets; i've earned it.
haven't i?

giving you a glance... scared to move.
i'lll fall for anyone wearing floral and tights.

im gripping this bench, losing blood.
cause i cant trust gravity; what is there to trust?
this city will **** me.
each lit second takes a moment from my life.
im digusted... one more drag and never again.
it falls to the ground, burning in anger.

what a hypocrite!
my conscience screams as i reach for the lighter.

safe?
don't tease me.
the music i bring along prods me; i must go on.
i jump at every noise...
could it be my end?
such violence in the tread of your feet,
i dont trust a single move.

where's the street?
please, please, speak my language.
no. why ask?
i'll give you a bit of death... you shouldn't ask.

finally home to my love, if only you knew.

sweet, sweet, night air.

Every moment was like a dream, a memory.
Memories of odes, ballads with allegory
Every random smile, Every warm touch
Every single tear that was felt too much
Moments that we were happy, sad, and crazy
Were more than just consuetudinary.
To others, these days, these moments may seem ordinary
But to me, I held them sentimentally
These memories, I held tightly
Made me feel more uneasy
It'd remind me that we are to separate
And it'd bring me to a more depressing state
But these memories where I see you smiling
Make me want to stop crying
With each memory that flashes in my head
Make me smile more and more instead
So I hope you'd be happy wherever you are
It's not like you'd be gone and be so far
I'lll be there whenever you need me
Let's see each other sometime, maybe for tea?

all these little things make sense in certain situations, but the intuition is the most deceiving thing of a lll, its completely in conflict with reason, but somehow the two connect and create  a though, nakedness, crossroads, a little thought, someone somewhere sees it, believes in it, calls for it, speaks, and, champagne glasses, toast, on, a moment, what for?

to understand, and to know when to protect, the greatest challenge

Your voice
b lll uuuuu rrrrr eeee dddddd my own
Be shhhhh(quiet)hhhhhh..
I am /ˈlɪs(ə)n/ing
there's a whole
track list I missed
that doesn't play
your name
over
and
over
and
over