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As uncertain as the first drop of rain, an undecided sky trying to pick what game to play, she was the wild kind of beautiful. With her, every heartbeat was a fist against heavens door and my chest was left a battered jukebox playing broken tunes for broken men. See wild things always leave broken in their wake.

So we unlearn love by attaching orange peels to naked mandarins, and maybe one day I will love mandarins for who they are but I still see your face in every crowd because most times close enough is good enough, so apologies to mandarins. When I said forever, please do not believe I lied, for forever is just another way of saying from birth to death, so let us bury this alongside old jumpers and handmade cards. Let us gather all the orange peels from the kitchen floor and find all the places we hid ourselves in each other.

Now my mother worries about me, she doesn’t mention it but she says “remember your roots”, I almost said it’s hard when you’re trying to branch out, but I just said always, I always say always. I always mean sometimes the ocean between us makes me feel like half a story no one will ever truly understand. So apologies to mandarins, until your skin learns to unravel across an ocean to the doorsteps of old black women with crowns for hair that doesn’t know how to fall and wishing well bellies where dreams come from, I will always be half a story and you will always be half my life.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
well, it would really become a problem...
if i were still jerking off and had a girlfriend / wife...
the ladies are looking for ultra-violent ****,
it's just a tease off ***** -
there's choking there's *******:
oddly enough... no yo-yo of Watergate?
me... i'm not willing to be shamed...
i still have my ******* -
she can have her webcam e-thot or whatever
the hell the internet **** is: memes my ***...
once upon a time it was merely called graffiti...
i don't see how darwinism can make
a 2nd coming resurgence in the 21st century...
fine... when it first came out at the end
of the 19th century: and opened the floodgates
for the 20th... and thanks to the physicists...
lasso! rein 'em in! rein 'em in:
for the fireplace and the ******* kumbaya...
the girls are looking and having finally decided
on an spanish omelette: but not a french ****
quiche... eggs and more eggs...
while i'm strapped to ******* one genocide
after another into the tissue and
flushing it down as: meat for the crocodiles
and tapeworms pretending they know how
play the parasite attaching themselves
to a white all white: white even if you're copper
skinned, cinnamon, hot choc or...
it's still a white tadpole racer...
i usually get off on looking at some xenia wood
cleavage...
it helps to tell apart the *** cleavage and
the breast cleavage...
i moved from: ******* snaps and started peering
at: when a woman pretends to perform
the lotus on a man's face...
and there's like... a floral pattern involved
with gulping oysters...
have i ever licked an ***-hole?
oh my... have i...
**** - *** 1-on-1... doom... 1st person shooters...
never the 3rd person ghost moving
the body...
am i missing something? the girls are
looking for extreme ***... i'm looking for
cleavage and teddy bears -
and the borderline before the whole body
exfoliates and what not...
as marquis de sade said: it's hardly something
i can control when i have a hard-on
almost 4 times during the day...
if i had a girlfriend... if would be crass to:
sly one in...
but... *******... no woman no cry...
it would be truly sad if i was in a relationship
and still up to the shambles of: not up to any
or the odd sort of good -
there's always this shared approach -
the wants and willingness needs to by made
synch. - they need to be a woman and a man:
polyphony - orchestra!
why write about ***? oh hell...
watch me write anything else -
my linguistic infatuations - *** and all manner
or picked ******* sells -
or... at a catholic school they would still teach
you about the perils of sniffing glue -
apparently the 1960s never happened -
no l.s.d. was ever dropped -
the pints of guinness were drank -
the cement was poured as the muscle to
the iron rod skeletons...

and when i finally achieved a beard worthy
of a post-25 year old - when the full
bush sr. happens - i forgot to curate
a body for: the objective safety of being watched...
or how the hell you word:
prior to the beard i focused on the face
and later the body...
and long hair...
once the beard arrived...
**** it... let's take to donning the Elijah
look... the beard comes way way ahead
of the nose - and now i'm still looking
for my neck -

it's *** it's only spectacular about once...
i've had that once spectacular -
i even got a tattoo -
oh... not me... i'm the dragon alien curl...
where my scar is...
on her right shoulder-blade...
and that's not even as if i branded her
myself...
she was going to fit me out with
dreadlocks and a tattoo of her totem at
the time - a scorpion -
thankfully i read about all this crap
in high school...
nick hornby's high fidelity -

it's still a very musical affair...
i remember what love at first sight looks
like to a fresh 17 year old
novosibirsk girl... siberian girl...
all the way west in edinburgh...
she gobbled the iPod and the playlist...
a near complete oeuvre of iron maiden...
and the odd songs...
while i was correcting two girls attempting
to make pancakes...
girls! you need to put some oil into the dough...
this is dough you'd make a sponge cake with...
so the story goes...

but *** was only spectacular once...
the rest of the time i think i was minding an itch...
even these days...
among... aha! that nag hammadi word:
in the Barbelo - the brothel -
no: i will not study the etymology -
in the brothel nothing spectacular ever happens -
you chance upon a ***** -
you're asked whether you want to use it -
you decline -
to play judas with the lips -
you pay an extra ten quid for you-feeding-the-oyster
suckling and all other leech comparison of oral...
ventures...
it's done - the mirrors are witnesses...
the lights are dimmed - two beached whales
on the shore of a bed of crisp linen -
and no one-night-stand
cocoon *** *******!
how do people stand these cocoon ***:
under the bed-sheets moments?!

because it would be really harsh to have a girlfriend...
and still have to *******...
at least without a girlfriend i can solve
the mystery of the throne of thrones -
no. 1 no. 2 and no. 3 -
then a quick baptism in the shower -
i sometimes found that doing the no. 3
helps with a constipation
of a no. 2 on: the throne of thrones...

- and as someone who discovered *******
before he could produce ***** -
well - the ******* is a "side project" -

because this world already needs no more
puritanical quips -
all this ******* stigmata looms over
the circumcised men -
but of course it would - why wouldn't it?
can you scratch your nose
if you cut-off the "un-necessary" rubicon /
cartilege?

would a balding scalp Adam ever scratch his
head - quiver - i thought that only stubble
and hair prompted one to scratch one's skin?
if i see a bald man scratching his head:
i'll let you know!

the plague of circumcised men's stigmata -
and if i had a girlfriend and she wasn't
"up to speed" like me: quasi marquis de sade
"might expect"...
**** me... even Chikatilo "fathered" children...
so much for "excuses": 2 to be exact!
nominee for bachelor of the year...
205th year (circa) coming:
Kant - the prussian watchmaker in
a coming of: calculating the promenade of
excuses - no famously i didn't / wouldn't
marry -

if you asked what i used to do
on those warm spring nights...
back in ol' satellite of the former u.s.s.r. -
and that... we entertained ourselves...
catching cockchafer beetle and catching girls
and tugging at their t-shirts and throwing
them in...
we: used to that sort of thing...
what better reason to drink seeing
the youth of today:
as a seemingly old dounding man:
well... in your 30s you sort of hit that zenith
of mortality's vitality on offer -
as much as technology is celebrated -
its change - it's impetus -

what's that... quote?
when an unstoppable force (technology) meets
an immovable object (ontology) -
or at least: i find man's ontology
to be forever played and plagued
by a priori "prepositions": genes -
and technolgoy is forever the a posteriori
counter-fact: of what much later...
much much later... in limbo land of history
becomes an: artifact escaping archeology...
now are we all not wishing
for some variation of closure?

memes: represented as genes?
really? i see them nothing but a cheap south-paw
jab's worth of the otherwise obvious:
graffiti (representation)...

girls are really searching for violent *** -
having **** fantasies?
my my - and here i was looking
for a xenia wood cleavage and some Bronzino:
you never have curbed your pornographic
enthuasiasm: if you never ******
off at...
mein gott! it's a meme!
1st comes god's index finger touching
adam's index finger in:
michelangelo's fresco of the creation of adam...
but the higher 2nd?
venus' tongue teasing the tongue
of cupid in Bronzino's cupid, folly and time...

i ****** off to that painting -
it's hard to stop a boy who knew how to:
prior to the kippah-guilt tripping:
no minus the ******* into early teenagehood...
i don't think i have yet to have dumped
the proper load on this: exercise - just yet...

oh the shame:
thankfuly this is england and no h'america -
and jesus is not the queen or king -
ol' lizzie is still playing poker and...
the constitution is and what i will not become
is this "vox populis" of a people
disaffected as to why the tax goes into the
pomp & circumstance and none of it:
thank god! ever goes into sense & sensibility
akin to the consort Middleton family;
that's highly replica prone...
blue-bloods... love them or hate them...
at least you can sight them as
almost unchanging -
sphynx head while the body changes
from male to female - but the sphynx is still there...

of an erectile-dysfunction: i would most certainly
hear if i had a girlfriend...
as it happened - the "free women"
always gave me a limp...
in the brothel i was there and she was there -
and i was she and she was i
and we weren't bothered about
counting two transgender sheep
of the nag hammadi library -

even on those one-night stands:
erectile-dysfunction - dim lights two beached
whales on the bedsheets i could stomach...
in a brothel...
but then she took me home
like some morrissey wallow and...
it was all about cocoon ***...
i've heard that temperature changes
the *** of frogs upon insemination...
cocoon *** under the bedsheets...
i stopped going out...

it's might almost sound like boasting:
believe me... it's disgruntled sarcastic... the overtone
to these words...
even i tried teasing a fetish with
latex lucy - but... then i thought about...
if you start wearing the same clotches
for god knows how long -
like an imitation of dog's hair...
you'd wish to squish into something
less pardonable / expected like a full gimp
imitation of lizard latex...
but violence an ****?

maybe that's why i started to tease
1970s italian classics...
dubbing from belgium and amsterdam
and all that...
but always after the torso cleavage -
always after the Om-onomatopeia look of
absent eyes and boiling tongues in a gurgle...
the contorted final stages of the face
before the lesser death as:
faking birth in ****** -
or what the hell you call: scavenger of:
never the lost details...
and if i had 7 children in the bag i would be
a fraud... and if i had a girlfriend
i would be a fraud and hopefuly ashamed...

came the white flag... came the rainbow flag...
came the ******* flag...
came the image: how would you ever find
yourself in a desire to blink: to peacock flutter...
without a pair of eye-lids?
hmm...
all those ******* freed arguments...
not coming from the "progressive school"
of islam -
or the hasidic jewry where:
a woman is to made to make concessions?
otherwise: waiting for that
golden moral maxim Confuscian wifey?

that a deity should...
somehow give moral laws...
i thought that man was the moral lawgiver?
if god were to become the moral
law advocate...
man should most certainly become
the physical law-giver - or at least:
to best serve my attention -
attempt fictional escapes via superhero
infantilism...

again: historiological infantilism -
the only serious history we are supposed to know
comes from h'america...
the civil rights movement -
that's serious history!
everything else is infantile historicism -
interchange of historicism and historiology -
yes - heidegger's leftovers...
but what is serious history?
and what is infantile history?
oh i'm pretty sure much of history kept in
agitated dust is: cowboys vs. indians
roleplaying... games...

cite anything serious of the past...
if there's no stampede toward some platonic exit...
then serious history happens with
the h'american civil rights movement...
after that we only have journalism
and bad idea dear diary entries...
of the next to come: ***** teenager
plague by acne and the many more oopses to come...

- and with the world saturated by:
an **** of forms - wielding their interwine and
maggot pit of "metaphors" -
better i write this than speaking during *** -
what could possibly saturate the "land"
that's already a swamp -

somehow i'm not edging toward a moral
superiority - the day i discovered
that god was both the god of writing
physical: and moral laws...
i was assured by the chinese that:
all kosher and all halal would pass
the test of the: 3 peepsqueaks...
no? do not eat a pig: do not eat a mandarin!
god only knows what the pig ate...
god forbid you ever knew the full
menu of Beijing!

pigs are the: das schlechteste!
das äußersteschlechteste!
pigs, mandarins, bats...
the bubonic plague, rats,
"supposing that africans would ever ****
monkeys"...
why would africans ever
**** monkeys...
i'm supposed to be ashamed of
having a hard-on...
while the white girls rummage
the carousel!

i could suppose the chinese already
ate the supposed ****-buddy to begin with...
it's no more funny when the "thing"
spreads like a mongolian shy-auxilliary
brigade of: voyeurs of:
the only evolution we are to be concerned
with, is to be better associated
with viruses, parasites and lice...

and if i were to live a sheltered western
liberal elite life... "elite":
the bigger the mouth the bigger the... whatever...
no complaint from the arabs
itching over well curated pork...
they'll allow the mandarin diet! no problem!

it's no problem...
pigs are the "problem"... when a god devolved
to invoke moral laws: his most high!
and it was "somehow" not man...
how can god, a monotheistic god...
give both physical laws and moral laws?
to me that's near impossible!
ah... unless this god is given
the "plotheistic" splinter of being
a theistic god and not a deistic god...
a theistic god gives both physical
and moral laws... a deistic god gives:
no moral laws: he was expecting
we could do so!

i can't believe in a god that plagiarises
man's activity -
man can't change the laws surrounding gravity...
yet to be known whether light
is somehow subjected to gravity...
but a god does not intervene by giving
moral laws...
having already established physical laws...
entertaining himself in the playground
of metaphysics...
only a prince... the devil -
would ever... intervene as god to give...
higher authority: a plagiarism of
man-made laws...
and call them: with deity origins...
why would a "god" meddle in:
you will not steal, you will not ****...
when...
god has set up a recycling centre?!

god is no judge, prosecutor, lawyer,
defendent, the accussed,
the jury over moral laws...
he is the epitome of physical laws:
the unchanging...
to have confused divine intervention
with a god bowing -
before and succumbing to...
man's ordiance... a moral law...
god does not allow himself moral qualities...
and god would not discriminate
against a pig: saying:
but the pig is the most economic piece -
had not man found the boar and
domesticated it?
the boar became the pig domesticated!
and the pig can be eaten...
from snout to tail and with only
the oink missing!

for a god to be so degraded as
the arbiter of physical laws -
to be ***** into giving moral laws...
only a devil would...
only a devil would...
only a devil would play with man's moral
laws... and attempt to supress
the already constaining impossible
with his cameo in egypt -
that machiavelli of sorts...

if the quran attempts to question
the cleanliness of pigs:
and god made the pig...
or rather made the man and the boar
and allowed man to domesticate the boar...
sick... ugly... but...
kept the mandarin: pristine!
save the pig... eat a mandarin!
if you dare...

how much do i abhor these infernal riddles:
how much i abhor scolding the bacon:
is also as much as:
you deserve the beijing sneeze!
you should let it palm tree vacate
and spread in the united arab emirates!
oh.. go on go on go on!
who's not looking?!

i only have old teutonic anthems to listen
to... because...
i like the way german sounds,
how german sounded...
how german will sound...
because at least german is not english...
and that's almost asking for a plum
tattoo of hue under the teasing
socket and the cheekbone: when in england...

no zeppelin echo you hear?
encore! again! again!
it's not o.k. to eat a pig according
to the hebrews of the muslims...
the mandarins will act worse than pigs
that the classical monotheists speak of...
a cat could catch a mouse...
but a cat could not be served a mouse
on a platter... what's that dish called?
the 3 peepsqueaks?
and pork is bad?
pork is just the tip of the iceberg
concerning these omnivores...
at this point... perhaps cannibalism?

islam go back home: check if there are
any mandarins living among you...
pork is bad... pork is bad!
this is not being paranoid this is me being funny!
pork is bad and your pseudo-god
of man-made moral plagiarisms!
*******: snippet the ******* but sure you
hell and bring me the niqab!
no *******? no niqab...

why are you looking at me?
i'm a tired old european...
why should i know what floats the boat
over in h'america?!

this "god" and the "intervention"...
oh i'm pretty sure we made our moral laws...
they weren't exactly to translate as a morality =
claustrophobia...
"god"...
               a belief that the same god
created the physical laws / barriers...
and somehow... decided to... plagiarise, human,
moral laws...
how this "god" decided to become
architect of physical laws...
and the interpolator of morals?
really?

a god that's critical of pork per se:
******* sheep ******* the semites...
but not critical of the mandarin diet?
that's no god; "at least not to me"...
the god that made gravity critical
as immoveable...
but a secondary god that...
was ignorant... of the fact that...
humans already punished stealing
and ******?!
why require a doubled emphasis?!

it's as if "god" made an entrance -
when no pyramids were to be built...
it's not: oh no...
we were never given any a priori parameters!
we were always supposed to sink into:
the thinking of being free...
let's face it...
at best: bad operatics of
madame butterfly at best:
only a soap opera.
ARTICHOKES are very nice roasted with pine nuts

Who likes BANANA cream pie?

They say that eating CARROTS improves your eye sight

Along the river Nile there are many DATE palms

ELDERBERRIES make a flavorsome wine

Piths from a FIG can easily get stuck between your teeth

Nape tape and shape all rhyme with GRAPE

HORSERADISH has a hot tangy taste

ICE-PLANT is a much used vegetable in Chinese cookery

The oil extract from JUNIPER BERRIES produces quine

My sister likes KALE steamed with lemon rind

It is so nice to munch on a LETTUCE leaf

MANDARINS are presently plentiful at the green grocer's

NEEPS can be mashed or left whole

On a hot summer day chilled ORANGE juice goes down well

Has anyone got a good PUMPKIN scone recipe?

Lashings of QUINCE jam were spread on my toast

The lady next door grows RHUBARB

SPINACH gave Popeye much strength

Smothering sausages in TOMATO sauce is sensational

UGLI is a member of the citrus family

In New Orleans you'll find fresh VELVET BEANS

WATERCRESS salad is so easy to prepare

XIGUA is a type of WATERMELON

YAMS are a staple of the New Guinean diet

ZUCCHINI bread is delicious fair
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
how over pretentious of me...
islamophobia and russophobia...
odd bedfellows...

Mатвей Дракон: profile name...
but it's in russian and no one is willing
to stretch a darkening of humour...
to the extent of monty python...
because there's no canned laughter...

and there will never be...
not since i realised...
those four bottles of cider get me
more drunk than half a liter of
ms. amber... because the drinking
is measured and can reveal itself
in the process - rather than wait,
concentrated... and only expand
into more hours of sleep than
i could ever wish for...

but at least the russians speak of
russophobia as a reality -
the evil genius mantra...
which they are...
but there's no sense of: via irrational
arguments we will counter this
irrational fear...

so... the scuttling spiders announce!
and we will have ourselves
an orchestra!

even i thought this was too much,
too pretentious...
it's not a study... it's teasing...

a study in greek, hebrew, cyrillic and possibly sanskrit... because i'm not a monolingual hyper-inflation that will solve a crossword puzzle... when めば (eye-spot) is already... available? In a name there's a name in oh so many other languages... should i rely on relapsing into "gender-neutral" pronouns i'll cite... the noun-status extensions of letters, akin to a' into alpha... o' into omega... etc.

めば (eye-spot): that much is true...
sudoku...
i have made the following circumstance
plain...
there is no chance of me rising above
this already apparent crab-bucket intellectualism...
perhaps...
burden of rhyme...
it's only a "poem" if it rhymes...
rhyme is somehow identifiable with poo'etics...
ask an anne sexton... or perhaps:
no, don't bother...

she to burdens herself with rhymes -
and maybe she doesn't...
but this endless expectation to rhymes...
yes: plural was indicative of
the irony...
sometimes it's not even available...
to look back at this tool we have been given,
perhaps perfected better -
or not - since most of the time i find
myself: without an inch of belief
in catching some oratory / rhetorical
tsunami to... be the crow that croaks
the most and the loudest in this wake...

at least the russians acknowledge russophobia...
oh they're pay privy diligence to it...
they know they're the evil geniuses of this world...
they allow this irrational fear to sink in...
and then they rationalise it...

too bad for islamophobia...
it's not an irrational fear to begin with...
it's... more or less... a rational fear...
i think russophobia is an irrational fear...
after all: Kiev was founded by Vikings...
and apart from crown russia that's still
pretty much in Europe...
the asiatic branch of russia is too far away
to matter for either st. petersburg
of paris...

it's not convincing to be "reassured" while
the "enemy" persists to look bewildered
as if: no event is ever to happen
in the world - or also include him...
muslims? oh no... oh no at almost every turn
it seems...
sacred cows walk the streets of new delhi
while the people starve...

no dire warning: tiresome from the perspective
of a wormhole -
the count and the next count
the measures and what's to be left
dwindling... which is never a spectacle worth
reserving...
like putting on a vinyl and watching
the vinyl on a gramaphone...
or lighting a candle with a sulphur-sparked
match and sitting and "waiting"
watching while the candle burns...
and feeds a schtick of "anorexia"
absorbs all the shadows and stands at
midnight noon: with no wax to burn...

that feeling of having just ****** off
and then... prostate cancer pains
of having to make it absolutely necessary
to take a ****... to clean the ducts...
i still don't know why this "event"
is so precious for the quasi-cenobites...
it's no big deal...
just another genocide done into
the tissue later flushed...
perhaps if i were... shooting eggs
without the yoke it would somehow
matter...
perhaps i am...

but there's no zeitgeist to be had
concerning something that i make synonym
with wiping my *** asking
for nutella... and a skippy crunchy...
because: that's going to be the decade
defining EVENT!

funny... you ******* for no real reason...
nothing procreative...
gym-bro bollocking and that's not even
as much fun as going to a turkish barber
for a shave...
by then: everything concerning your
being - that is not going to be a moral
tool to raise children...
limbo in ego or the ego in limbo -
and that's never self or i...
but after an *******...
the most desperate need to take a ****...
to flush and make the ducts pristine... wiped
with ***** disinfectant...

about as odd as the bass guitar rising above
the drums - the oddity bass "rhyme"
and please... no guitar solos...
no metallica death to the bass
all that i hear is solo and rhythm guitar
and the drums...
they never got over the death of cliff burton...
or: how the rock band killed
the jazz band... focused on the rhythm guitar
and drums... but no trumpets just the vocals...
but still... no better use for bass?

it's always either: all that's music and...
it was always going to be not enough ***...
enough *** or just ***...
i went down the route of playing the brothel
roulette to catch up with the girls...
who i expect will later play bingo...
and we will probably try to age...
and be all romance...
and the man idiotic will still preserve
himself as unable to lie...
and she will... m'eh ah and all that litany
of sighs find the purse and the penguin
dancing the foxtrot from out
of the antarctica of his own ***...

russophobia: yes, an irrational fear -
even the evil geniuses of moscow acknowledge
this burden...
islamophobia... and... what?
milk and honey and yeast
and comatose black gold of ms. saudi of
the dinosaur arabia plucked...
a leaf... a laurel... from the pages of history
of: who's the good dog willing
to aport on call of command?!
into iraq and iran?

i can't hear a counter...
when it comes to it being anything rationalised
equal to the russian monologue...
claustrophobia and... it's irrational to me...
esp. when long winding...
when the cube talked to a field about...
abstract thinking -
at least claustrophobia is a metaphor
for abstract thinking - the lesser -

islamophobia is a ***** word...
esp. the -phobia suffix...
it's a perfectly rational fear...
given the mouse-and-leans have the gears
the fuel and the poker and backgammon "rules"...
as someone who might appreciate
a well sung adhan more than
an operatic aria...
well...
what's not to love?

at least for some it's known:
a drowning man will attempt to grip
a razor's edge without hope that it might be
an edge of a floating raft...
and they will always purse their mouth...
and waggle their tongue for
the pennies like sand shrapnel from
the payers for the goods...
an emirat sheikh and... the bore of the world...
if only the lottery of oil...
somehow... landed... in mongolia...

this world is a tiresome place...
given that arabs have the money...
and the chinese have: g.i. joe factories...
it's such a drab place...
such a clone furnace of the numbers
of mandarins...
and oh that niqab cinema...
even if you sell me something swedish
in black & white drab...
or some proto-turkic propaganda movie
to convert the "al-qaq" kurds (qa-eee-d'ah?)

welcome to europe... ghetto west of berlin...
back east there are needles...
walking about on the mountains
of camel humps...
notably in west warsaw coach station...
but the ukranians are always rather:
rowing the boat and the boat is always
heading into the furnace...

crab-bucket intellectualism...
these words are words that should be printed
and left on the northern line tube carriages...
like some free journalism paper wipe-my-***-with-i-wish,
why of course!
the highest i.q. renovations bottom-up to the top
always spreschen rhapsodies in wrap...
wrapping akin to:
i imagine the rappers chasing those...
john moschitta jr. is not a wrapper... rapper...
he's the add guy... and no rap on radio
adverts... when the T&S clauses are stressed...
and the muzak is dead and the lift is... falling...
like a ice-pick on the one dancing foot
of a burning burning with epitome given
the name... malchik trotting trotsky...

otherwise: blah - and endeavours into the bland...
some call it a guillotine...
i call it manglonia in england -
tiresome safe -
i almost pray to feel dangerous having
to acquire a straitjacket -
straitjacket bungee jump into conversation
like a rabid hive of the persona non grata:
of the commentary left-overs a priori
to the: walking onto the stage -
and talking with a gag in the mouth...
to speak a language for moths.
Creases cemented in skin of ages,
bending forward ratcheting wrinkles
piled like a car crash, systemically dried
routing for moisture moguls, malfunctioned,
marked measures of time spelt skin attack,
pillowed ruts run deep, prolonging
their birthmark, plumping....out on a date
with new age spaces yet to be filled

Sarcasm streets, filching frowned brows
suns' stolen chastity, lifting out brown
messages spotted at random
grey mandarins, juiceless, bribing
to be heard, a manifesto hidden,
shrivelled prunes wallowing in dried skins
reaching out for the bottomless custard jug
Tu voudrais que j'improvise
Les chemins qui mènent au septième ciel
Pour notre prochain congrès
Que je vienne les mains vides
Sans notes ni croquis
Pour te couronner reine et courtisane.

Mais demanderais-tu au peintre de venir à toi
Sans son pinceau, ses fusains, ses tubes d'aquarelle et son papier canson

Ou au photographe sans son posemètre, son trépied et ses filtres, son appareil photo et ses objectifs

Et un auteur de théâtre pourrait-il officier sans donner des indications?

Des orientations, des pistes pour que les acteurs puissent mieux jouer leurs personnages

Eh bien moi je voudrais écrire de concert avec toi les didascalies de notre lune de miel.

Pense au Cantique des Cantiques
Pense à Salomon, à son épouse et aux jeunes filles ,
Penses-y bien, ma sans rivale,
Ma muse venue au monde sept fois
Et dont aucune galante n 'arrive aux chevilles
Comment veux-tu qu'on se retrouve dans la mare aux nénuphars
Deux canards mandarins batifolant
Sans didascalies...
Tu connais les soixante-quatre manières du kama
Tu sais la différence entre baratement et percement
Et tu veux goûter le chalumeau du miel
Lors du congrès de la corneille
Alors tandis que tu me provoques du regard et du geste
En dansant comme une bayadère accomplie
Souviens toi des didascalies.
Je suis ton vert-galant, ton esclave, ton cornac
Ton renifleur, ton cunnilingue, ton Sigisté
Si tu veux tu seras ma nymphe, mon myrte, ma lanterne, ma crête,
Ma landie, ma douceur, mon amour de Vénus
Mon gaude mihi, mon impudique
Organisons nos langues et nos boutons
Nos protubérances.
Pour qu'aucune partie ne soit honteuse
Pour que toutes soient honnêtes
Il faut des chapitres et des actes
Dans lesquels les morsures, les égratignures, les baisers
Les succions et les caresses s'emboîtent dans un naturel
Si joliment organisé que chaque posture génère
Une improvisation et que chaque improvisation génère une nouvelle posture.
Alternons les phases pudiques et impudiques
Sans tabou éperonnons-nous
Empalons-nous dans les postures de singe ou d'éléphant
Peu importe si la mentule précède le tentigo
Ou le contraire
Peu importe qui est dessus ou dessous
Qui lèche et qui est léché, qui est mordillé, qui est marqué,
Qui est baisé et pénétré
Si c'est simultanément ou séparément
Nous appartenons nous aussi au règne animal
Et que la verge soit masculine ou féminine
C 'est toujours l'aiguillon de la volupté qui guidera nos didascalies.
Lopez Creationz Jun 2014
(Memories of a Far Away Land)

I miss the mornings when I could listen to the roosters that loudly crowed.
Open the window to the scent of fresh tortillas, from the abarrotes it flowed.

Everyday I would wake engulfed by mountains and their fresh fresh air.
Alonzo's voice carrying loudly, "Empanadas, Empanadas, get them here."

Daily cruises through the streets of Juarez Mexico I often will reminisce,
Ending up in Downtown Centro to buy whatever, it was anyone's guess.

I miss going to the little grocers to buy, mandarins, avocado and mango,
The long waits in line on the Bridges of America trying to cross to El Paso.

Bathing in metal tubs, washing clothes by washboard with your bare hands,
I'll forever keep the precious memories safely in my heart, of a far away land.


                                         Lopez ©reationz 2014
JovialPup May 2018
When my father asked me what the basis of our relationship was,
I couldn’t give him an answer. Now, as the aftertaste of it -
that bitter tang of overripe mandarins -  
Sits heavy under my tongue and on my teeth,  I can say,
it’s because I love fruit.
I saw you,  
faded and frail, in early winter.
Had seen the promise of sweet giving, of tired roots aching for warmth,
waiting.
You had tried to cut yourself down,
so I became your giving tree.
I tended to you, gave you many of my firsts.
In a way, so did you. At least that’s what you told me.
You had promised me growth.
That you would tend to me
As I did you. That we would create our own harvest.
Apple orchards, cherry blossoms, bountiful vineyards.
I had taken your word to heart.
It was sweet, cloying nectar.  
I let it smother me, sink into my skin.
Let it seep into my veins.
Let it ferment.
I was drunk on your touch, worshipped
the saccharine velvet of your skin,
Like supple nectarines.
You didn’t mind the gentle scrape of teeth
or nails, of wandering lips, my curious hands teasing, testing.
Tracing the ink outlines of sacred swirls and ancient patterns
Adorning an ignorant and undeserving left arm.
Nor did you mind the growing rift, the root rot festering,
the mandarins that were left out on the counter on those hot nights,
the fruit fly that fed on them.
You could not be bothered to bat the fly away.
Worst of all, you forgot to mention
Orange never quite suited you.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
before the sun sets, and i end up writing... i end up laughing; but you began revising the body with Abraham attempting circumcision of Isaac, thus you encountered the anti of your shepherd practice, in building a pyramid, since the two revisions met in Egypt with female genital revision, an what feminism called: a soft cushion naked **** readied for kept ******* of *****... you were already revising your bodies before science came and allowed you transgender orientation and plastic surgery... unlike the mandarins who wrote from the head down, you wrote from the genitalia up, but because you didn't start at the feet, you wrote from either sunset to sunrise, or sunrise to sunset of arousal or limp... limp or arousal... monotheism is so ******* disgusting... it precursors darwinism, a historical analysis that should have not emerged had man not revised the inadequacies of his genitalia... and left the disharmony of the sexes to accept an ethnic population of an excess of 1 billion: puberty riddled man, menopause riddled woman (e.g.); i've failed, i know, now the talk is of pseudo-******, anti-globalisation, global warming... hardly any revision to mind to resurrect a historical past.*

listening to the Boss,
bruce "the boss" springsteen,
" or the acronym a.k.a. or simply
the word alias, or dub-slang,
but then the sweet return of the Celtic Odyssey,
reminding sweet Dublin sirens
of their song rather than my Aegean drowning
pain... in such nights such laughter
as mine be given to an unheard
comfort of a woman's breast,
a truck-drivers' fable in stance against
arabian playboys... the hyphen of dislodging
caring for us men hardly internalising
a woman's deed of internalising violence
should the greek testimonies be true for Byzantine,
for such a man of supposed status
have internalised his peace with violence
as did Buddha with two billion of Chinese
and Hindus... no conquering of status...
but my life laughed at in the night...
the hyphen is a dislodging for us,
cowering before both Madonna and the Magdalene...
to incubate the ring of Belgian entrenching
in a war... so if in womanhood only a duality
why in man the sole precursor of Christ,
namely Oedipus, to one saved from the fates of BC
the sole inheritor of AD via birth 19 centenaries late?
if duality in woman why then a trinity in man?
why no resurrect something more revealing
than what 19th century allowed with Freud?
i once said that a loss of ******* made man warring,
then come unto me in Eden's form, wholly
dressed, and wear the clothes i wear as intended,
or succumb to St. Paul and other visionaries -
or go into battle that Napoleon in graffitied optometric
said to overcome awaiting St. Helena for stupor ******...
or as that Roman girl daughter of a centurion who
first did encounter a missing ******* in the pagan
world worthy of "casting out demons" as the lover of jeruslaem -
thus the revisions of monotheisms with censored
foreskins of prior Abraham the Pharaoh's brides executed
to a skin-cut... later then the male, competent
in boxing the other dead... indeed what apple
is in metaphor is merely ******* in reality,
of either genitalia... that woman came first in Egypt
and man a wandering tadpole later is true to Genesis;
and the story goes no further,
for all are now entrapped in an exodus of nations
with the genesis of globalisation.
december May 2016
I used to hate the color orange,
But when we pop mandarins into our mouths between Creamsicle-sweet kisses I feel as if I’m being transported to a different dimension where we’re the only two in existence.
You’re the sunlight that hits the earth at 6pm, making everything seem as if it’s warm and glowing.
Every time I see a candle flame flicker I can’t help but think of you who exudes the same ambiance of alleviation that the walls of my childhood home once did.
If sunrise and sunset were to be combined, they still wouldn't compare to the magnetizing brilliance of your aura.
You emulate autumnal earth tones and crackling wood in brick fireplaces, echoing your heartbeat and bringing about a sense of raw intimacy shared between two.
I trace my fingertips down your spine, reflecting upon the likeness between you and the sun,
And I wonder why no one ever named a color after you.
For Ricky
Ô temps miraculeux ! ô gaîtés homériques !
Ô rires de l'Europe et des deux Amériques !
Croûtes qui larmoyez ! bons dieux mal accrochés
Qui saignez dans vos coins ! madones qui louchez !
Phénomènes vivants ! ô choses inouïes !
Candeurs ! énormités au jour épanouies !
Le goudron déclaré fétide par le suif,
Judas flairant Shylock et criant : c'est un juif !
L'arsenic indigné dénonçant la morphine,
La hotte injuriant la borne, Messaline
Reprochant à Goton son regard effronté,
Et Dupin accusant Sauzet de lâcheté !

Oui, le vide-gousset flétrit le tire-laine,
Falstaff montre du doigt le ventre de Silène,
Lacenaire, pudique et de rougeur atteint,
Dit en baissant les yeux : J'ai vu passer Castaing !

Je contemple nos temps. J'en ai le droit, je pense.
Souffrir étant mon lot, rire est ma récompense.
Je ne sais pas comment cette pauvre Clio
Fera pour se tirer de cet imbroglio.
Ma rêverie au fond de ce règne pénètre,
Quand, ne pouvant dormir, la nuit, à ma fenêtre,
Je songe, et que là-bas, dans l'ombre, à travers l'eau,
Je vois briller le phare auprès de Saint-Malo.

Donc ce moment existe ! il est ! Stupeur risible !
On le voit ; c'est réel, et ce n'est pas possible.
L'empire est là, refait par quelques sacripants.
Bonaparte le Grand dormait. Quel guet-apens !
Il dormait dans sa tombe, absous par la patrie.
Tout à coup des brigands firent une tuerie
Qui dura tout un jour et du soir au matin ;
Napoléon le Nain en sortit. Le destin,
De l'expiation implacable ministre,
Dans tout ce sang versé trempa son doigt sinistre
Pour barbouiller, affront à la gloire en lambeau,
Cette caricature au mur de ce tombeau.

Ce monde-là prospère. Il prospère, vous dis-je !
Embonpoint de la honte ! époque callipyge !
Il trône, ce cokney d'Eglinton et d'Epsom,
Qui, la main sur son cœur, dit : Je mens, ergo sum.
Les jours, les mois, les ans passent ; ce flegmatique,
Ce somnambule obscur, brusquement frénétique,
Que Schœlcher a nommé le président Obus,
Règne, continuant ses crimes en abus.
Ô spectacle ! en plein jour, il marche et se promène,
Cet être horrible, insulte à la figure humaine !
Il s'étale effroyable, ayant tout un troupeau
De Suins et de Fortouls qui vivent sur sa peau,
Montrant ses nudités, cynique, infâme, indigne,
Sans mettre à son Baroche une feuille de vigne !
Il rit de voir à terre et montre à Machiavel
Sa parole d'honneur qu'il a tuée en duel.
Il sème l'or ; - venez ! - et sa largesse éclate.
Magnan ouvre sa griffe et Troplong tend sa patte.
Tout va. Les sous-coquins aident le drôle en chef.
Tout est beau, tout est bon, et tout est juste ; bref,
L'église le soutient, l'opéra le constate.
Il vola ! Te Deum. Il égorgea ! cantate.

Lois, mœurs, maître, valets, tout est à l'avenant.
C'est un bivouac de gueux, splendide et rayonnant.
Le mépris bat des mains, admire, et dit : courage !
C'est hideux. L'entouré ressemble à l'entourage.
Quelle collection ! quel choix ! quel Œil-de-boeuf !
L'un vient de Loyola, l'autre vient de Babeuf !
Jamais vénitiens, romains et bergamasques
N'ont sous plus de sifflets vu passer plus de masques.
La société va sans but, sans jour, sans droit,
Et l'envers de l'habit est devenu l'endroit.
L'immondice au sommet de l'état se déploie.
Les chiffonniers, la nuit, courbés, flairant leur proie,
Allongent leurs crochets du côté du sénat.
Voyez-moi ce coquin, normand, corse, auvergnat :
C'était fait pour vieillir bélître et mourir cuistre ;
C'est premier président, c'est préfet, c'est ministre.
Ce truand catholique au temps jadis vivait
Maigre, chez Flicoteaux plutôt que chez Chevet ;
Il habitait au fond d'un bouge à tabatière
Un lit fait et défait, hélas, par sa portière,
Et griffonnait dès l'aube, amer, affreux, souillé,
Exhalant dans son trou l'odeur d'un chien mouillé.
Il conseille l'état pour ving-cinq mille livres
Par an. Ce petit homme, étant teneur de livres
Dans la blonde Marseille, au pays du mistral,
Fit des faux. Le voici procureur général.
Celui-là, qui courait la foire avec un singe,
Est député ; cet autre, ayant fort peu de linge,
Sur la pointe du pied entrait dans les logis
Où bâillait quelque armoire aux tiroirs élargis,
Et du bourgeois absent empruntait la tunique
Nul mortel n'a jamais, de façon plus cynique,
Assouvi le désir des chemises d'autrui ;
Il était grinche hier, il est juge aujourd'hui.
Ceux-ci, quand il leur plaît, chapelains de la clique,
Au saint-père accroupi font pondre une encyclique ;
Ce sont des gazetiers fort puissants en haut lieu,
Car ils sont les amis particuliers de Dieu
Sachez que ces béats, quand ils parlent du temple
Comme de leur maison, n'ont pas tort ; par exemple,
J'ai toujours applaudi quand ils ont affecté
Avec les saints du ciel des airs d'intimité ;
Veuillot, certe, aurait pu vivre avec Saint-Antoine.
Cet autre est général comme on serait chanoine,
Parce qu'il est très gras et qu'il a trois mentons.
Cet autre fut escroc. Cet autre eut vingt bâtons
Cassés sur lui. Cet autre, admirable canaille,
Quand la bise, en janvier, nous pince et nous tenaille,
D'une savate oblique écrasant les talons,
Pour se garer du froid mettait deux pantalons
Dont les trous par bonheur n'étaient pas l'un sur l'autre.
Aujourd'hui, sénateur, dans l'empire il se vautre.
Je regrette le temps que c'était dans l'égout.
Ce ventre a nom d'Hautpoul, ce nez a nom d'Argout.
Ce prêtre, c'est la honte à l'état de prodige.
Passons vite. L'histoire abrège, elle rédige
Royer d'un coup de fouet, Mongis d'un coup de pied,
Et fuit. Royer se frotte et Mongis se rassied ;
Tout est dit. Que leur fait l'affront ? l'opprobre engraissé.
Quant au maître qui hait les curieux, la presse,
La tribune, et ne veut pour son règne éclatant
Ni regards, ni témoins, il doit être content
Il a plus de succès encor qu'il n'en exige ;
César, devant sa cour, son pouvoir, son quadrige,
Ses lois, ses serviteurs brodés et galonnés,
Veut qu'on ferme les veux : on se bouche le nez.

Prenez ce Beauharnais et prenez une loupe ;
Penchez-vous, regardez l'homme et scrutez la troupe.
Vous n'y trouverez pas l'ombre d'un bon instinct.
C'est vil et c'est féroce. En eux l'homme est éteint
Et ce qui plonge l'âme en des stupeurs profondes,
C'est la perfection de ces gredins immondes.

À ce ramas se joint un tas d'affreux poussahs,
Un tas de Triboulets et de Sancho Panças.
Sous vingt gouvernements ils ont palpé des sommes.
Aucune indignité ne manque à ces bonshommes ;
Rufins poussifs, Verrès goutteux, Séjans fourbus,
Selles à tout tyran, sénateurs omnibus.
On est l'ancien soudard, on est l'ancien bourgmestre ;
On tua Louis seize, on vote avec de Maistre ;
Ils ont eu leur fauteuil dans tous les Luxembourgs ;
Ayant vu les Maurys, ils sont faits aux Sibours ;
Ils sont gais, et, contant leurs antiques bamboches,
Branlent leurs vieux gazons sur leurs vieilles caboches.
Ayant été, du temps qu'ils avaient un cheveu,
Lâches sous l'oncle, ils sont abjects sous le neveu.
Gros mandarins chinois adorant le tartare,
Ils apportent leur cœur, leur vertu, leur catarrhe,
Et prosternent, cagneux, devant sa majesté
Leur bassesse avachie en imbécillité.

Cette bande s'embrasse et se livre à des joies.
Bon ménage touchant des vautours et des oies !

Noirs empereurs romains couchés dans les tombeaux,
Qui faisiez aux sénats discuter les turbots,
Toi, dernière Lagide, ô reine au cou de cygne,
Prêtre Alexandre six qui rêves dans ta vigne,
Despotes d'Allemagne éclos dans le Rœmer,
Nemrod qui hais le ciel, Xercès qui bats la mer,
Caïphe qui tressas la couronne d'épine,
Claude après Messaline épousant Agrippine,
Caïus qu'on fit césar, Commode qu'on fit dieu,
Iturbide, Rosas, Mazarin, Richelieu,
Moines qui chassez Dante et brisez Galilée,
Saint-office, conseil des dix, chambre étoilée,
Parlements tout noircis de décrets et d'olims,
Vous sultans, les Mourads, les Achmets, les Sélims,
Rois qu'on montre aux enfants dans tous les syllabaires,
Papes, ducs, empereurs, princes, tas de Tibères !
Bourreaux toujours sanglants, toujours divinisés,
Tyrans ! enseignez-moi, si vous le connaissez,
Enseignez-moi le lieu, le point, la borne où cesse
La lâcheté publique et l'humaine bassesse !

Et l'archet frémissant fait bondir tout cela !
Bal à l'hôtel de ville, au Luxembourg gala.
Allons, juges, dansez la danse de l'épée !
Gambade, ô Dombidau, pour l'onomatopée !
Polkez, Fould et Maupas, avec votre écriteau,
Toi, Persil-Guillotine, au profil de couteau !

Ours que Boustrapa montre et qu'il tient par la sangle,
Valsez, Billault, Parieu, Drouyn, Lebœuf, Delangle !
Danse, Dupin ! dansez, l'horrible et le bouffon !
Hyènes, loups, chacals, non prévus par Buffon,
Leroy, Forey, tueurs au fer rongé de rouilles,
Dansez ! dansez, Berger, d'Hautpoul, Murat, citrouilles !

Et l'on râle en exil, à Cayenne, à Blidah !
Et sur le Duguesclin, et sur le Canada,
Des enfants de dix ans, brigands qu'on extermine,
Agonisent, brûlés de fièvre et de vermine !
Et les mères, pleurant sous l'homme triomphant,
Ne savent même pas où se meurt leur enfant !
Et Samson reparaît, et sort de ses retraites !
Et, le soir, on entend, sur d'horribles charrettes
Qui traversent la ville et qu'on suit à pas lents,
Quelque chose sauter dans des paniers sanglants !
Oh ! laissez ! laissez-moi m'enfuir sur le rivage !
Laissez-moi respirer l'odeur du flot sauvage !
Jersey rit, terre libre, au sein des sombres mers ;
Les genêts sont en fleur, l'agneau paît les prés verts ;
L'écume jette aux rocs ses blanches mousselines ;
Par moments apparaît, au sommet des collines,
Livrant ses crins épars au vent âpre et joyeux,
Un cheval effaré qui hennit dans les cieux !

Jersey, le 24 mai 1853.
Alin Dec 2015
They gave me a guitar
and asked:
what do you wanna do with it?

I said in ecstasy
I wanna be like that once baby faced old
man a street musician and travel the world
with the perishable fruits in my cap
Oh let these tingly breadcrumbs
pave us a miraculous path
where all folks stand tall and free

but
Art is Art
happens as is
Art
doesn't need
my-your-his-her-our-their
words
Are you awake yet
oh my favorite poet?

I can feel your pulse -if I want to
and you may know if you wonder
but it is no wonder
and You be sure You
I identify not by I
and for good
remain so
in the unchanging
purification of my time
observe
you -s
from everywhere

thou art a neutral witness
of such wireframes
embodied by the
conditionings
of temporal
identities
full of blind
desires so
I fast
on mandarins

it is no punishment
neither a fruitless training
but a method
of eloquent technology
blah blah

yeah
something brainy
in short
about our humanity

1-what it means being human
2-what it means to be
3-what it means not to be eligible
to be controlled by nature
as animals
because we are humans

and Not! what it means to be innocent as animals once we are
controlled by nature -because we are not animals

yes and only when you are free
you can play joyfully
with all pronouns
that instrument
called mind
becomes your
blissful tool
for making
Art
just

I said
and
they
they
they
broke my
guitar

Recycled now
thankfully
to a new
instrument
branded
as
Thou Art Art
available
to all
for free
I see the mechanical men that peddle the illusion of wheels which drive down to the crankshaft,staffed by robbers and thieves that steal into the day putting a tax on the way you would speak,
and I peek in through the keyhole of Whitehall, dragging the chain and the ball that is tied to my leg,and sooner or later I will beg for some leeway from the mandarins but they'll say,
'Go away little man,we are the mechanical men in the doing of things and we'll bring blood and thunder,put you down 'til you go under,don't bother us now',
I have bowed to their power and ****** on their shoes,I choose not to be used by the ones who abuse the privilege of rank and position.

Please tell me that this is not true,
that the election of robots to Westminster is actually down to me and to people like you, and we get what we vote for,the
***** dealing,wheeling out manifestos,posing for papers,oil cans for arseholes and bolts for their braces,automatic voices,you've got so many more choices than this shower of ****,
do your bit,a bit of research,search online, easy most of the time,vote for them and you'll vote for anyone,vote for anyone but,
the mechanical men have replicated in them and all is lost,we are *******,might as well use the suicide pill.
I will.
Sleep, sleep, dream about his mother,
how surprised you have been when she proposed,
that we should visit
              and give it a try
         in fresh air, at semi-high mountains,
we can wash there the old soft blanket.

You're holding her in your arms
      and swing your memories.
              
The translucent sea
          water is curling waves kissing
             one tiny piece of our great mother's web.
                Earth has sandy plains
   We are shores of time awaiting
                   magnificent wave of fortunate

Fate.

White coral necklace on the bronze, beautiful shaded
delicate skin; breathing mild Mediterranean.

   Scents.

Fishermen have captured seabasses, seabrims
      gasping for air on the wooden deck of Aurora.
             Two kids are crashing the sea urchin's armor
   with a stone.
Shield.

This contrast transfixed his attention even more
      on the contour of her graceful figure
and ripe ***** waiting under her summer dress to ..
       He could not withdraw his gaze.

At that moment.

The urge of yearning attacked his intricate muscles
      belly was on fire and he knew at that precise moment
          his lips were destined to kiss this charming cusp, this 
ineffably bronze spot between her neck and a slick collarbone.

Someone is already stroking on strings
        The chords of cello have blended everything.
Even the
Bundle of hot dust.

Around.
You may view seagulls. Flutter.
         Their gaze, and the sun particles may have caressed you.
                                             
All in the highest promised secrecy of silent
                Transformation. From silence to melody.
From forms to underlaying space.
      Time.    

Guards and fights are between me and you. From teen. Age.
        Albeit ! Albeit! Murmuring sounds have just overlaped the sensible reason. My usual rhythm pounds with frenzy
I can not ignore. Her! Her!                                Her!


             Me!
I hide among the crickets.
Their song allures me attached to your scent.

Woman. Lemon trees flower.
Mandarins. Laurel. Olives.

I look up at the whitest cloud and in it's form
                          There's the image of us..
~~~~~~~~~~~
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic beauty
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
i smash my guitar one day,
start listening to
b.b.c. radio 4
the next day,
what in god's name?!

p.s. it's a talkie station,
no music,
first up the diet problem
of finland, esp. in the
dairy rich region that
inspired sibelius,
about how: real men
don't work on vegetables
but on fat, because vegetables
are for animals...
and how a national intervention
demanded berries on the menu
of these men;
a list of fruits i used to eat:
pomegranates, passion fruit,
apples pears pineapples bananas,
cantaloup melons water melons,
sharon fruit mangos,
strawberries blackberries blueberries,
lychees oranges mandarins,
white grapes black grapes,
sour weeds cherries and above all else
gooseberries; and that's not
mentioning the vegetables.
but about listening to b.b.c. radio 4,
how did i become so middle-aged
"middle-class" english so quick?
Tom McCone Jul 2013
we
hung up our mutual fascinations
at the door, on coat rack hooks,
tarnished like the afternoon was
slowly pouring into.

speaking in short sips from *****
mugs, i realized i couldn't even
figure out how to like you, when i
thought i had loved you so dearly.

the story goes:
i bought your love, commercial
and diffuse. i bought your love top
shelf in ****** bars. i bought your
love at k-mart. the fluorescent
promise on the display case
cupped small hands around my
face, covering my faltered eyes,
and fed me to you on ornate
teaspoons like quartered
mandarins.

no.
i can't do this. i can't do this to you,
to me, to this grand ******* world;
this ugly spectacle of ceaseless
movement around us. i can't let
you be a mistake. i've collected too
many. you'll be lost. you are lost.
you're lost. you're lost.

now, i only remember you when
i'm trying not to.

my heart is a river, and you were a
chemical spill,
were every fish,
every streambed,
you were every fleck of shale,
every mote of dust,
the cumulative gravity of
all galaxies in one instant.


and what, now?
you're just gone,
and
i'm just breathing.
We've got our backs against the wall as someone knocks it down, and we are being bulldozered right out of London Town.
Keep your freedom,information act
and act as if you give a ****
but too a man
you aren't any men if you would kick a man when all that man is trying to do,is muddle through and pull his weight
what a god ****** awful state and if it is then where the hell is he?
Supping tea with Cameron no doubt and wondering what the fuss is all about.

He'll get no prayers from me,
not while drinking Indian tea from China cups with saucers full of biscuit crumbs,while bums are begging on the street and Mother's can't make two ends meet.
what a god ****** awful state it beats me why we soldier on
we're as good as dead when all hope's gone
we ought to take a tip from those who've seen it all before and smash down the doors of greed and hyperbole,set the dogs to war and then we'll all be free.

Anarchy
the only way
break the day apart
reassemble what we've got and let's get shot of the lazy lot who stifle our ambitions,
Take positions
let them have it,
**** will rise, and look into their fatman eyes they know,it's long past time for them to go.
Just blow them all away
sweep them into yesterday and start afresh,anew
the only thing that we can do is fight,
set light to parliament and the mandarins,make effigies and stick them full of poison pins
and tear them limb from lying limb,

Time to begin?
You tell me.
Is it time yet to be free?
carnations drip from between her teeth.
black velvet adorns her rose petal skin,
gazing at her tortoiseshell dreams.
stars bloom from the dip of her collarbone
as silk knots wedge themselves between the holes in her earlobes.
she's got a mind of marble and a spirit of stone.
flowers and haikus echo throughout her soul.
her hair is filled with lavender dust,
her fingertips covered in charcoal.
when you hold your breath and dim your fairy lights,
she dances in the dark after 11 pm
in the cosmic alleyways of a saturated twilight.

my sister fixes me when i shatter,
and i hear angels seep
from the gleam of her laughter.
a contagious joy overflows
from her sock monkey mug
as her citrus bubbles pop
and the scent of mandarins fill my lungs.
when my mind is lost in space, she shakes me and calls my name
but through the hardships i've given her, she still loves me the same.
my sister takes my hand as we jump off swings
into pools of elysian dimensions
and streams of dopamine rush through my veins as she sings.
screams of our relief lay halfway through the woods
as i told her all the things i couldn't do,
and though she understood,
killed my poisonous doubts and showed me i could.
my sister lifts me and carries me through my tragedies,
putting me at ease as she jokes in dreams and rhapsodies.
i know that if my world were to fall,
my sister would come running to my little haven in the bathroom stall
and bring me to the comfort of the rainbows on her wall.
calm the midnight ivy pandemonium
and listen to the silence that follows
her melodies behind the cherrywood podium.
should i ever feel useless, or hopeless, or little,
leave me in the middle
of her cherry blossom giggles.
my sister shields me, and when i break, loves me in restitution;
should anyone mess with her
would be the start of a revolution.

we twirl batons beneath a patchwork canopy,
whisper goat noises into the depths of the sea,
ceasing our ocean tears with tea and poetry.
two hawaiian sisters living in a playful paradise,
reciting shakespeare and telling stories of kubla khan,
singing in the rain and drawing anime eyes.
we hide under window trees with branches like limbs,
cut our luminescent hair with blades of grass
only to fall in love with a horse prince.
we admire axolotls and jump with jellyfish,
our constellations colliding with a cappella chimes
as we laugh in harmony at makeshift mops and pretzel sticks.
we sleep in a bed of letters and fake lovers
under blankets of satisfaction, opera masks covering our faces
as we share warm embraces like that of a daughter and her mother.
we seek light in the darkness of japanese lamentations
while neptune's recovery leaves us knee-deep in great sensations.

we were young lights in the universe when we first collided,
but now we are celestial atoms that can't be divided.
a poem for twelve caesuras.
mahal kita.
Jayne E May 2019
For ny honey-bee...

something must be wrong with me
if even eating a mandarin
has me thinking of thee

hot sultry passionate thoughts
not really ones usually fraught
with ***** longings & mind fed scenes
oh lordy, here come the nectarines

I guess it harks back to when you fed
me your luscious fruitful breakfast in bed
did things with fruit that made me blush
talking your sweet time in no real rush
to savour the flavours of every bite
another new chapter for our lovers rites
so now as I eat mandarins sitting in bed

all I see now as juice bursts is you in my head
and as the citrus scent fills my nose
I can't even whisper where my mind goes
to make oneself blush is no mean feat
yet it has me squirming, jump in my seat

no innocent poem about sweet mandarin
rather the undone state you have me in

J.C. "honey-owl" 04/05/2019.
c quirino Apr 2013
one learns how to operate legs,
and standard procedures in finger movement.
eventually, the career of inhabiting one’s own body becomes routine,
and not to be described as sublime or miraculous.

futures are foreign and wonderful.
or they’re not,
and your perceptors block all that out,
so you may remain in waking sleep,
trotting down express lanes into life as Mandarins,
officiating in a court so rigid.
Ricky Feb 2018
You remind me of sun kissed mandarins & moon rock;
A precious stone- you’re earthy though of a different nature
I carry this void full of sorrow
You replace it with ecstasy
I let these demons get the best of me,
I apologize
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
learning to sip warm
                           ***** like a brute...
      nothing much: much of anything...
"social distancing"... in the graveyard of "new"...

a pick from my closet...
my forgotten drawer...
                if i'm not: if i haven't been
in a "prison" for the past
             better half of a decade...
then i guess i haven't been
anywhere...
      that's why... nothing is pretty much
new...
    i know my medicine...
     looking at others taste it is...
an understatement of forever...
                    the they in "they" couldn't really
stomach a heaven of a solipsistic god...
or a heaven as a labyrinth and a library...
and all the time... forever and all the miles
of no no no no...

so much for pretty faces with
pretty words...
  so much for thurston moore's
'we rearrange strange the rubble
to let a forest through'...

we strangely rearrange the rubble:
or...
we rearrange, strange, the rubble...
to let a forest through...
here's to the die-hard grammar
nazis and nothing nativist...

               everything i had to learn...
about anything...
i subsequently had to negate...
     integration:
   where are you: where i was from?
all that... unless it was
and forever will be the lesson:
1 + 1 = 2...

           a precedes b...
but not unless it's backed up...
  too many rules in grammar to produce
a simple 1 + 1 = 2 arithmetic...

past-participle... will the hyphen die?
and everything will turn to the remains
of this being the child of saxony
in the remnants of chemistry nouns?
you could insert a hyphen... into:

hydroxychloroquinesulfate    
like so, nurse! the scalpel...
hydroxy-chloro-quine-sulfate...
          if language and letters were
as simple as 1 + 1 = 2...

                  i was going to say:
     i be saying...
         am saying...
                          be not say much...
pigeons don't cuckoo-call...
         stressors when strolling
with an addition of break a neck
when the mammal higher-up is
head-banging or raving...

              goose-stepping never died
whenever the mandarins decided
to march... looks like they are not getting
any marching orders...

modern warfare requires... civilians...
target practice...
the mandarins are too peaceful a people
to do a genghis khan stampede across
the world...

              but if they can slide a sly bullet
that can procreate itself and
bring the shackles: for all the gold pillars,
blunder and slacking jockeys
of the four horses... to see the sand foundation
all this freedom was built on...

hey: spin me another one...
i'm still just drilling myself to ease
one of those: sober justification for...
what came of the bread and the circuses?

between a tweedle dee and a tweedle dum...
yes, hello, please join us...
a soar... thumb...
a plum mascara from a clenched fist:
over... pretty much nothing...
or as was the case: something frivolous...
obscure... a tryfle...
                              yes: that's Y(es)
   and not tree'knee'tee...

life as imitation of all manner of inorganic
"life"... the mountain that's eased by
the wind to take on a different theme
of the pivot toward the pinch of a sky
that could collapse...

          puffy clouds that want to be
marshmallows... marshmallows that would
love to be less... oozed when staging
a fire-rite of being sacrificed to the bite and
chew...

such an unspectacular end of the world
scenario... scared people...
because: there's none of that certainty
of an asteroid inevitable "hunch"...
which makes it a very ****** end of
the world scenario...
          nothing from ancient greece
**** galore...
                 nothing from the annals
of caligula's reign: for each and every man...

or wrestling to the death with
all those hallucinogenics and rushes
of sweat and testosterone...

         the current humanity: a death
of vermin... quiet: the angel of death is passing...
quiet...
it's not exactly about not taking
the prescription of the government's:
under full-proof guidance "precautions"...

but if all were dropped on a heads-or-tails
whim?
    like that... like so...
    so much for anything:
ahead of the other idiot in the race...
deconstructed hierarchies of man...
pyramids fizzying out into a sand-storm...

such an unspectacular event...
the fame of a madonna or a don mclean...
because there's no chance in heaven
or hell concerning the man who
discovered that fermenting grapes would
ever give us wine...
or that part of not making bread
and instead making beer...

      so... un-spec-ta-cu-lar...
       but of course i'm certain this is only a mild,
minor, scare, one of those precursors
that acts like a sieve...
hardly a siesmic event to give us dinosaur
grandeour... overstating any prior
to (it) egoism of a banker's *******-fuelled
***-riddle-and-rampage...

the guys with the biggest hard ons seem
to be suffering from a mollusk limp-on-drag...
i can't remember the last time i was touched
for a love of intimacy...
forever the basic darwin of:
"****"...

                      as any misnomer...
it's hardly the sort of *** you'd forgive if
she was still wearing socks...
or wanted to do it under the bed-sheets...
if a person was going to overcook
pasta prior... they will hardly learn to cook
it al dente "tomorrow"...

too many a posteriori: language evolves
to give a proper, a priori statement...
too many undisclosed parallels and "what ifs"...
not in language...
bad grammar aside...
    aside from: that's not a soft boiled egg!

besides: the vietnam war had the best soundtrack...
and fb's portal: look at you...
best keep together, no?
the best songs and the most ****** reasons
beside: proper meat for the butcher's market!
shouts the cockney slang improv for
one of those rare occassions of a: drama-
period piece...         -tized?

what in the capacity of words' axioms can
be synonymous with 1 + 1 = 2?
i can't find anything...
i'm... probably not speaking the language
of a universal incursion...
there aren't any beaches of normady
when infiltrating the third ***** abstract!

should have stuck to painting daffodils...
or something... or prescribing myself
to limit my "artistic endeavours"
to sending postcards and licking envelopes...

some shapes "conjured" remained
intact and became letters... the greek delta (Δ)...
      called it: down-right governing
a cascade or the vector: down without
a direct impetus to do so...

said A to 1... said B to 2... C to 3...
D to 4... E to 5... F to 6... G to 7... H to 8...
I to 9... J... i'm hanging on to...
   the deeds and the subsequent
extinction of cuneiform...
                           until... VI "+" IV "=" X....
the "+" and "=" had to be surds...
when using the abacus... some ancient roman
humming: singing in a shower analogy...
when you had... letters as used as
both letters... and numbers...
a bit like looking at braille...

if there's a number indicator (⠼)...
why is it presupposed that everything else
is a letter?
                 ⠼⠉                 3...
                               and then there's just ⠉...
which is that umlaut part of U that's
supposed to be C...

before anything intricate concerning the subject
could be uttered...
there was plenty of chess pieces
and spatial and temporal awarenss...

the consistency of retaining the primitive
nature: how this inexhausted stupor of numbers
just gives on giving...
before anyone might have suggest:
chisel a mountain... before building a pyramid!
well... no word to "describe" it...
or rather... infuriate any other alternative...
cull the forest... otherwise write:
  
111111111111111111111111111
    1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1111111111111111111111111111
   1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
11111111111111111111111111111
   1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
  1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
11111111111111111111111111
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
    1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1  1 1 1
1111111111111111111111111
                  1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

a forest of pines... it doesn't matter
how much you peer into it...
no light will pass... just a segment of
a canvas that's either all brown...
or eyes closed... a juggling clown
worth of: would be entertainment...

i've been putting off seeing a dentist
for years...
i'm still putting it off...
i quiet like the pain...
the pain being... a consciousness
of a single tooth...
not part of the whole coronation
of either jaw or the skull's lining
of bite...
   i like the pain as much as i like
this pain of a loose filling
being my signature...

     "he" would have said: 100...
miles... before later suggesting:
by foot...      no... prior to the wheel
and whittle princes jumping onto
the bandwagon...
          100 as a concept of travel
came prior to: by foot...

                      0 - the original: multiplied by...
and the original: divided by...
at times when "x" and "÷" were surds of
the abacus... way prior to merely "+" and "-"...
before that ***** decided:
hyphen glue for words i are!
before all that...

                          we might as well not have:
mentioned a french man and the squeezed
omicron mirror...
or ∞... which is very much a surd...
an apostrophe...
   or a lazy 8...
                          a reclining venus...

we had numbers before we had letters...
well... before we had numbers...
we had to have had a nibble of inclination
regarding the O - the wheel -
and from that... 360°... which is 5 "°" short
of coming into the full perspective
of commencing and ending... a year...

4 "°" if you were to count the leap...
inter anno per quattuor...

      all of it, though...
                                     serious matters
need "readjusting" to...
                                most certainly... ice-cubes!
   i've heard and seen worse
scares in my time...
the mad cow disease...
                and in all this time:
wishing for death...
           is hardly going to be that much of
an easy affair...
                             you'll be bound to
gagging for it... like air...
existentially exhausted from that crux:
life... if so easy, or so hard...
could somehow mediate a transcendence
of the yawn...

    unlikely...
                                     i'm more likely
to keep my toothache... than be in want of relief...
for the sake of a tooth individuating
itself and ascribing to me
its individuated status as ailing...
from the firm grip concensus of the jaw...
and the congregation of all the other, teeth...
after all... a loose filling never did a Columbus...

it's hardly me and...
a ghost limb for a veteran's amputated arm...
scenario...
            if it were only an asteroid...
but it's not...
   it's a sneeze... a cough... a woozy day...
it's hardly the end of a creature
that made the colliseum spectacular...
or what was spectated therein...

           what it is... is...
                        a lapse in islamic terrorism...
i think that's a welcome break...
i'm tired of wondering about: not all muslims...
and the trucks of peace
ploughing through a street in
Nice... it's a welcome break...
         univeresally adequate...
         congesting the advent of...
                         and relationship between
landowner and the serf: not for long, though...

               too bad that it isn't an archetypical
fear to coincide with the classical
narrative of darwinism: a tiger... a snake...
a spider...
          it's quiet a modern ape story...
which does require us to have a notion
of a microscope...
   which makes it... m'eh... less seductive
in any attempts for: fire! huddle round!
tell stories!

                         the modern "ape" and
his... cough venom and predator lurking in:
a horror story told at noon!
again... boring the living daylights out of me!
bring and buy wherever the eyes lead you
and
in Peking they're leaking ingenious devices.

I follow the old road, the silk road and eat mandarins for dessert,
there are no ships in the desert only an ocean of sand,
the land appears barren, but it's only a mirage,
a collage of life exists here.

Anyway
I really did like Cathay

Now I am flotsam
floating off Haiphong
so long
'me old China'
Z Sep 2018
1
Your laugh is sweet like mandarins,
locking fingers, eyes the same,
Your breath, a hundred violins
gasping as you came
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2022
drama for queens

teenage boy is no
teenage girls' dream.   (502 bad gateway hack mobility, scooter)

i never know how the story goes, esp. this story: dentes qua stellae or whether it's stellae qua dentes i.e. teeth as being stars, or stars as being teeth... so much for the "son of man's" suffering upon the cross, there were plenty more horrible ways to die, i know for certain that "my" fellow countrymen in the late middle-ages preferred to impale culprit Ukrainians... they'd grease them up and impale them on a "1" / an "I"ota... so much concern for the suffering of the "son"... i'm pretty sure Zeus had "one too many"... but never in "question" is the suffering of the father... all those stars juxtaposed, into geometries and not geometries, if not an ideal sq. then most certainly a triangle, no circles in constellations... but it's abstract in a way that would be fiddly on paper... gods bend the rules for what's already here while men try to make sense of said bending of rules, men and gods meet halfway, there's a common language to be shared by both creatures... whoever was the dentist-sadist that was... i'm pretty sure my "father" endured more suffering than simply dangling from a cross... i see him now... like a worm from the planet Dune.... whirling in a gravitating darkness... himself the darkness and the gravitational pull of it... for each star upon the nightly heavens is his tooth... pulled out from his mouth... sure... a pretty grin... at first... a dissolving all blindening of light... but now? all his teeth have been pulled out and scattered in his mouth agape that's this vacuum of: no chew and no bite... how hungry he sits... unable to: nonetheless willing to sieve through every other living creature having its fill... long will it be before his teeth implode into "nothing" and are returned to his mouth... i'm guessing i should dream more often, only recently i encountered a dream from one of my ex-girlfriends, a Russian girl... she actually painted a picture of the dream... i was standing facing the third eye of her dream-architect backwards... a bit like Judas in one of those paintings of the Last Supper... i was holding a sword in my hand while she was kneeling and had her arms outstretched insinuating mercy... a kneeling woman in the form of a crucifix... but that was over 10 years ago... i found my shashka wooden sword over a year ago long before the Russia-Ukraine conflict started... i just stashed it waiting for the right moment to hang it on my wall... funny... i guess that's what happens when one doesn't dream... one create a reality from the dreams of others.... this interpretation of a dream of hers? i have, in a way, turned my back towards the west... in the grandiosity of dream-language i am standing over a kneeling Russia and refraining from using my sword... it makes sense that i dream of nothing... i just remember her giving me this picture she sketched... it looks like her dream came into fruition... but me standing with my face hidden... hell... i never liked the idea of the Russian being the scapegoat of the whole of humanity, this evil genius boogey-man... to isolate the Russians is like... a recipe for a perfect disaster... i was never inclined to make an Anglophone fetish for America... and i never will... the east is calling me... "my" people would rather wage war against each other than succumb to Western decadence... but at the same time i can't the Russian claim for defending Christianity: Christianity is indefensible to me with the emerge of the Naag Hammadi Library that coincides: almost precisely with the Matthias ben Josephus' account of the times, about an Egyptian False Prophet who attempted to sack Jerusalem, failed and fled back into the Egyptian desert... just by "coincidence" the Dead Sea Scrolls were found, the atom bomb exploded twice and was subsequently tested... too many ******* coincidences if you ask me... i don't feel or subsequently think i have any impetus for either western or eastern culture... i'm a no-culture culture... i'm sure i'll figure something out as i age (god permitting), for the time being i'm just hyper-focused on a second schism in Islam, spearheaded by the Turks... perhaps i'm mad... perhaps... but even the psychiatrists i met with discharged me as being free-thinking untamed... sure... they tried to medicate me, they did, i put on a lot of weight... then i stopped taking the "medication" and got my libido back, lost weight, cycled to Epping and elsewhere walked a marathon to St. Paul's and back... blah blah... am i mad or is it just that everyone is too ******* sane for anyone's willingness to enjoy life with a thrill?!

mmm hmm... traffic is bad on the internet,
someone explained it to me,
this 502 bad gateway phenomenon
i listed and heard the explanation like someone
might hear an echo... it sort of vibrates
a silence that has a second laugh when told:
you'll die...

that women are better at language than men
that men were supposedly better at science
and mathematics than women...
sure... i too am seeing seismic rearrangements
taking place...
given the change in industry...

i'm still serious about going into primary school
teaching...
when the scrutiny of my teaching ability
is out of the room and i'm well established
into my role... i'll teach them...
those gremlins... ha! you'll hear that the Europeans
arrived at the current numbers
from the Hindus and the Arabs from the Hindus
and we poor poor, pauper thinking northerners
were enlightened by the sands of squiggly
lines of ink!

ha ha! like **** we were...
the Ancient Romans used letters as both letters
and numbers! IV... what? not 4?
what's 4? i look at G and see a mirror and a
clockwise turning...
i see an 8 i see a B...
i see a 9 i see... a P...
                        iota for everyone eleven 11...
2 for a Z... S for every 5...
                        3 for every E...
7 for every L...
                               6 for every Bb...
0 for every Oh Oh Oh!

                 fake news... self-taught truths and the the world
can go to hell with the usurpers of my arrived at
figuring out how: to send a postcard from
a defunct Third *****... just a stamp will do...

much a bigger whirlwind than with the advent
of the 20th century... bigger?
well... the 20th century was the whirlwind,
the hurricane... the 21st century?
ha ha! it's going to be a butterfly!
you know about the butterfly effect...
the 21st century is going to be just that...
the horrible has already happened!
i'm just here to invigorate a metaphor of what could
have happened...

sure... white girls are staging a "coup d'état" of ***...
black guys... hell... i too find them handsome...
trouble is... i can't go down that little "Nile" of hers
to the equator for equal parallel...
i went east... to the lands of Gypsies and vampires
and Mongols and Orcs...
sorry girl... we were always disparaging creatures...

ofiaruje mojej dziewczinie... szlafrok w którym utonie...
przy świecach i koniaku...
po pas po szyje... piegi i policzki blade...
tak, tylko ona, jad jedwab...
ofiaruje... Hollandi morskie owoce...
dziwne przyprawy...
farbowane rzesy...

                      ofiaruje mojej dziewczynie:
rodzinki, krewetki, mandarinki!

i will offer my girl... a bathrobe in which she we drown,
before candles and cognac,
unto the waist unto the neck... freckles and pale cheeks...
yes, only her, like silk...
i will offer... Holland's sea-fruits...
strange spices...
dyed eyebrows...

i will offer my girl:
raisins, prawns, mandarins...

i lost myself in conversations...
only 2 weeks ago i watched two brown eagles
fight over a meal just above me
while i was doing something in the garden...
but lately... ever since doing shifts....

two brown eagles fighting over a meal
just above my garden... huh...
i was familiar with Parakeets lingering
at Bishops' Park Fulham...
i... today... not even today...
what the **** are three flocks of
Parakeets doing flying across my horizon
and garden included...
if i asked for Messerschmitts i'd ask for a cláwd (cloud)
of crows or a flock of woodland pigeons...
i would be asking for ******* parakeets!

the former is a Welsh take on things...
but i don't want to beat my own drum...
obviously the Scots are dreaming "big" in terms of
what's united and what's disunited...
we're living in funny times...
i'm starting to think the sclera in my eyes is
turning yellow from all the whiskey i'm drinking:
mind you: there are worse ways to die...
from drinking excessively and writing
originally...

as you age you realise: there's no Romeo in you:
but there was...
i know i had a Romeo in me...
then the splintering happens...
as you age you realise you need to learn juggling...
it's not exactly juggling if there's only one
women in your life...
you need at least 6... whether you **** them or
not is not part of the "plan"...
me? 5 i ****... and the rest?
i don't count... i'm more an anti-dyslexic
sort of guy rather than an arithmetic sort of guy...
i like: a, CLA-RI-TY OF SPE-LLING...

just today... i met up with Frankie...
a work colleague...
we tried talking for about 20 minutes not being
in uniform of either shirt and black tie
or black t-shirt and all things black...
i did stretch it that far along...
but it was ******* difficult...
we're already in our lanes...
we know our mistakes and we know
the sort of people we can replicate these mistakes
with... ergo: we pursue the sort of people
we can make the same mistakes with...
even though: as a man?
i can't exactly become pregnant either the first
or second time, actually: never...
prostitutes wouldn't make that sort of
mistake of trying to get alimony from
a pundit...

         ergo? before feminism... i was telling
these two girls are work...
my grandfather mentioned that back in the day...
in a little nation known as Poland...
the sort of cousin of the rebirth of Israel...
there was this "thing" known as: Bachelors' Tax...
oh yeah... Bachelors used to pay a tax
on them remaining single,
it was called a BASIORY...

and i would be paying that sort of tax for...
exactly what? tax freebies of western single mothers?!
me?! getting a council house / flat?!
as a man?
**** me... i'll need to grow a womb and pop
a hungry brat out for myself to use as TOOL...
oh i'm not bitter...
sure... i live with my parents...
but i take care of them...
plus i drink to excess and write to excess
when they're asleep:
it's an unhealthy healthy relationship...
i do most of the cleaning and the cooking...
i dreamed of one day following the Biblical quip
of breaking away...
but then i saw what that entailed...

you marry a woman: you break away from your mother
and father... you abandon them...
you marry a woman... and?
you get a ******* mother and father in-law...
GREAT! ******* all ten (are) thumbs up!
that's just ******* brilliant! sign me up!
no...
         if that is the fate of man...
i'm in no way part of being a man...
i want to be an aman...
                                i was so close to bagging this
deal... the overtly friendly in-laws...
the woman... well... in the biological: mammalian
sense... she wouldn't... do the mantis ****
during *******...
she would just **** you years later...
replacing your mother and father with her father
and mother...

i ******* ran as quickly as my mind allowed
and my legs couldn't provide when she first
performed oral *** on me...
the words: what would father think...
what?!                       is that supposed to be:
a ******* "turn-on"?
  what you dada-tink?!
                                                    y­ou what?!
you just told me what i would "think" if
you'd think what it would be like
for you giving you actual father oral ***...
basically... un-basically basically:
well: ma'am used to the be spy "code word"...
in a queer world... qua is the new ma'am...

i purged my former ****** experiences
within the puritanical uninhibited experiences with
prostitutes...
i came out? rather unscathed...
i accustomed myself to sitting across at least
5... all of which i ******...
sort of glittering with an aura of:
dentes qua stellae!

that teeth could become stars...
each time i see a migrating star
i conjure up the passion of one of my own
being uprooted from my jaw and
bone licking, straight out of Belgium's
flat-land-demand!
to hell with these chocalatiers!
it's Belgium: currently the heartland of Europe...
otherwise a non-country...
certainly nothing geographically worth minding!
it is! it isn't!
who gives a **** or a white shirt's worth of minding!

of all the philosophy books...
so few write about ***...
   actually: none do... Platonic love my ***...
which ought to have been written by a homosexual...
but then there's that extreme with Marquis de Sade...
i'd rather write about ***
than actually utter a single word during *******...
i refrain: yet still they come
cackling with: ooh... you're tiny... jokingly...
actual *** is so much more interesting
than what ******* has to offer...
******* is acting! *** is anti-acting...
it's the one view of what
upstaging the Thespian Tyranny can ever look like!
the only way to attack the Thespian Tyranny
is to attack the asexual pornographic actors!
they're ******* actors! literally!
they're ******* ******* actors!
they "enjoy" *** on the basis of PRETEND...
me? i love *******...
i'm already gearing up for Thursday...
i'm doing two days of bashing the bishop
without ****** to get the blood flowing...
i need to starve and excite myself
at least 2 days prior to *******...
my ***** are tingling and so is my *******
while i write this...

i need to perform! if i don't perform
i won't be smoking that hash Frankie gave me
after ***...
oh... i'm not young and stupid (again) enough
to smoke and write something...
i'm going to go straight to bed
and have my head massaged by a H. P. Lovecraft's
octopus horror godhead...
because i **** Gypsy girls...
Gypsy or Turkish? whichever...
   as much as i'd love a blonde... hell...
  if you don't have what you like...
might as well like what you have...

                           i'm currently surprising myself
with what i just sent my coworker
in a private message.
Satsih Verma Oct 2017
Moon, eye of
night, will watch
your mandarins.

Deep orange-red?
No.I would
prefer hard cider.

Daisy has a
flair to wink―
in bright sun.

A netter on
prowl, for wingless
butterflies.
Marshal Gebbie Jun 2023
Guardians of our sanctity, they who portray themselves, suitably qualified, to determine who in society, BELONGS!

Exclusive minions from cliques of poetry to the Roman Catholic church, Scions of editorial in mainstream media, Mandarins of golf club membership. Intellectual dominions within Universities, Educationists, minority ethnic groups, drug cartels, gangs, the rich and famous ….and the military, always the Military....and aspiring politicians of all caste and creed.

Society is put through the selection process every day in every way for essentially, there is no trust anymore throughout these realms of society and an aura of lofty heavy intolerance pervades, for there is nothing to gain by dilution of the criteria of selection and admission ….and a huge risk of excommunication should one be so foolish as to permit a paling of the standards and rules set, for acceptance.

And who, you ask, sets these exalted standards….Ah now that’s the moot point for each avenue of exclusivity has, in the wings, they who wield the power, they who jealously guard their domain and exclusivity with guile, authority and a large degree, of subtle, or perhaps not so subtle, threat. Islands of society, usually enthroned by individuals of accrued, clawed, seniority who are attuned to an environment of command and rule…..in select domains of, actual or imagined, privileged entitlement.

There is, of course, a cost to this. It results in a hugely stratified society. Those who are in and those who are out.
The “In Crowd” spend a fortune maintaining their status and spend much of their time enhancing their image and, what is seen as an expected, anticipated high standard of performance.
The “Out Crowd” are largely oblivious to their lowly status and are generally quite unconsciously happy with their lot, yet despite this, there are the frantic segment within, who are intent on trying to “Make It” by investing regularly in Lotto, Bitcoin  or the racetrack and/or pursuing a contrived elevation, levitation of status in the forever quest of attaining immediate notoriety, fame and beauty.

Said elevation, though, is subject to irresolute resistance imposed by a malignancy, unimaginable to most and bordering on visceral termination to interlopers or would be aspirants.

Thus it is, globally, within the kin of humankind….and if anything, the exclusivity is magnifying to an irreconcilable, irrevocable
….US & THEM!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Mateuš Conrad May 2022
i remember this one outing i had with "friends"
from high school, we used to go to the cinema
get some food at Frankie & Bennies...
this one particular time everyone was ordering
a steak and chips and what-not...

everyone was making the order: well-done... please!
oh god... i couldn't stand it!
why would you butcher a fine cut of beef: twice!
why?! why?!
there's a ****** good reason why you don't
butcher beef twice...
might as well asked for minced beef: some *******
spaghetti Bolognaise or a ******* burger!
cut-off ****(e)... dog food! hundessen!
might as well asked for some roast beef:
but that's doubly butchering the meat!

there's a reason you order undercooked beef...
the same reason why you have a steak tartar...
there's a reason...
   frankly?! i'm not surprised the Hindus do not eat
beef... it's not some ******* allegory of:
the cow gives us milk... it's our mother...
well... the goat gives milk too...
no... the Hindus... i find... stopped eating beef
because: for all their alchemical wonders of
their Raj-spice-kingdom:
they couldn't master a way to eat beef: proper...

****... my chin's itching...
i haven't brushed my beard today...
although i brushed my teeth...
need to get rid of this itch....

.....................................
.................­....................
......................................

ah... that's better... just wetted it...
it's easier to have wet ***** on your face
that you're about to comb than it is to have
dry ***** about to get pulled put by each
stroke of the comb...

but they ordered a well-done steak...
you don't eat a steak "well-done": like you don't
eat cooked herrings
or cooked sushi...
                some things are supposed to be eaten
raw or at least semi-, raw...
the meat is more tender when partially cooked...
you can't! can't! can't!
eat an overcooked piece of beef!
there's no such thing as a well-done steak:
there's only trash!
            that's called doing the double-butchers'...

steak bleu... or rare... or medium rare...
depending on the "girth" of the platter...
i'd say... respectively:
well seasoned either side... sea salt... not your
conventional crap... pepper?
in the pestle and mortar... not the pre-ground stuff...
bleu? 20 seconds either side...
rare? 35 seconds either side...
medium rare? fluctuating change of temp.
and about a minute either side...
  
i respect what i eat...
at that gathering... my "friends" looked at me
oddly... he's eating rare beef...
and what the rest of you ******* are having
roast ******* dinner
and a tapeworm phobia?!
like you can't eat cooked herrings:
the biggest tapeworms known to man
are bound to sleep in aquatic creatures...
that's not going to stop me from enjoying
my Baltic sushi... dill... gherkins... creamy sauce...
mmm...

   i've become sort of lactose intolerant...
well... as much as i love milk...
   i need it to be doubly filtered... or whatever the hell
they do with it that makes it drinkable for me:
i'm not a massive fan of yoghurts...

doubly butchering a cow by cooking it
well-done... what barbarians!
esp. a steak: now... i can be very pretentious
when it comes to food...
obviously! i don't want to be eating
******* oat-meal that's reserved for cattle
when i could be cherishing a cherry!
it's that simple!

mind "you": i woke up today and thought...
hmm... so the gods came to a standstill...
i know the Hebrew deity is a deity eater...
former gods of the other Semites soon became
angels: fallen angels...
the fallen gods of the people and their alphabets
(phonetic encoding practices)
became eroded... Cuneiform... dead...
the Egyptian Hieroglyphics: dead...
      let's face it... the latter?
hardly practical... even though...
it took the time to ***** the Eiffel Tower
to overshadow the Giza Pyramids...
       the Roman use of letters as a concept for numbers...
that's pretty ******* genius...
VI + IV = X... come on... the numbers were
already hidden in the letters...
    b + G = X (6 + 4 = 10) -
                
                what's 0? a squashed version of O
-micron...
   can you draw a 3D version of a circle on paper?
a pyramid and a cube is simple...
hmm... Islam has a powerful fascination
with the cube... while Christianity stresses
the triangle...
            you could like you could insinuate:
the eight standing and eight reclining
               8                                  ∞

bb, bb... bbbb... (BBBB)...

            but the gods apparently came to an agreement...
the Latin script would flourish...
the Latin gods? eh... they were already
the plagiarisms of the Greek gods...
but the planets would be given the names
of the Latin gods... not the Greek gods...
scientific constants would be given to the Greeks...
because the Latins "forgot" to give noun status
to their letters... like ah: is not alpha... etc.

but... ha! the Slavic gods would disappear...
completely... no questions asked...
personally?
as long as the Norse gods remained intact...
the Glagolitic script: precursor of the Cyrillic has...
job done... the runes also have remained...
and why? why did the Hebrew deity have such a hard
time... undermining both the phonetic encoding method
of the Greeks and the Latins...
weakness... the jealous one:
even as he tried to march forward with his most
precious son being sacrificed...
Lucy... the hey-zeus... dangling on a crucifix...
couldn't: wouldn't: can't! undermine
something elder: as much original and as much
true as himself...

i sometimes pity him: mr. ******* bombastic...
i'd love to see him... unravel the x-ray scribbles
of the Dao-menschen... of the Mandarins...
with his: futile 'ebrew!
               really? he can?!
personally...
i have three favourites...

i'm usually disguised as a doppelganger...
i'm usually some famous rugby player
or Brad Pitt...
              i have a headache: thanks but...
eh... i also want to think about al dente pasta...
shadow-thief?! visage-thief...
whatever the correct term...
  
   i'm more inclined toward the gods
of technique...
             i don't like the sensibility of nothingness...
the sober: persistent: ping-pong
with nothing whereby you... hit a ball and...
oops! no echo... the ball doesn't come back...
the relationship with nothing is unlike
a relationship with deities...
nothing is a glutton...
                  you can't play squash with nothing...
there's no echo within the confines of believing:
all of this came from nothing...
nothing...
                      nothing...
      i don't buy the 00s atheistic popular crap...
because? no dinosaurs in the book of Genesis?!
literal reading? right...
so... no dragon on the flag of Wales?!
   no great: fire-breathing lizards?!
             crocodiles?! where?!
                     people weren't reading poetry back when
there was a potato famine! were they?!

the, language, is, *******, poetic! by poetry it implies:
metaphor subsequently: mythology...
what?! expect ******* journalism from the year 500 B.C.?!
******* gullible people...
like we all want a libido / a journalistic insomnia
of always wanting to have a ******* / being informed
about... **** all there is to be known!

fair enough: the Hebrew deity once duped
the white northerners to adopt his ****** sacrifice
of a "son" as salvation: as instigator for war
upon war upon war...
      now?! he's currently panicking...
oh ****... these same people have become somewhat
sensible: it no longer matters with the resurrection
of the state of Israel...
time to... turn "one's" attention toward Africa!
yes! ******* brigade moves on!
eh... and some remnants of it still persisting in
H'america... but what's new?!

- must have woken up dreaming about deities...
i must have...
who are my two favourites?!
the architects... the technicians...
in Greek: Hephaestus...
   in Norse? Höðr... or Brokkr...

the unifying concept of monotheism that runs
parallel with the globalist agenda...
any: every idiot can spot this...

but i felt wondering...
am i, ambidextrous?
         i don't think i am...
           i closed one of my eyes...
i'm right-handed...
which eye do you think i closed: to keep balance?
my right eye, or my left eye?!
Odin: dearest provider of puzzles...
hangman Judas and taboo breaker...
since i'm right handed when i write:
although: the genius of QWERTY implies
that i'm somehow ambidextrous
when facing a typewriter...
i... i closed my right eye...
ah... balance!
                if i were to script an imitation...
take my right eye...
i'm left-eyed...
  i see better with my left eye...
i close my right eye...
my right hand... superior:
    ius-manus-superior...
how is that grammatical, correct?!
superior-manus-iua?!
right hand superior...
                  esp. with an eye missing...
i can thereby stroke shadow dogs...
shadow dogs: figments of my imagination...
i can touch the "lips" of death...
              i'm right-handed therefore
my left eye is both a telescope and a microscope
envy... while by supposedly missing right
eye: is my arm...
and with it... i yield: all the clues concerning
mastering "nothing"...

my current "god"?! the diacritical markers
in Cyrillic...
notably... like that represented: Cyclops
eye of Dajjal in the triangle...
i have a letter... well... "letter"...

                         Щ... perhaps smaller might help:
щ...
                i'm pretty sure diacritical markers will
help... because? what i am revealing?!
the tetragrammaton: the H1: laughter generator...
and the H2: the vowel catcher...
ha ha... contrast with ah... ah... eh?!

point being...
   Щ = ŠČ
                        what's that?
two hidden S'es... or Zeds... schcheka: it: (the dog)
barks... not... no no... not: the dog is barking...
the dog: barks!
that's two rugby goalposts of H hidden in diacritical
markers... or... if you were to employ the Cyrillic...
a little accent on the huSH (ш) with the "comma"
being added to exfoliated the CHatter...

this is my anti-Hebrew sentiment with regards
to lettering...
oh... the Greeks and the Hebrews have been
bedfellows for all these years...
trying to complicate their language with
a technicality that only Down Syndrome sufferers are
able to read...
not on my watch...
    
you're not bringing this alphabet down...
however much you wish you could...
even sending this horde of Muslim impotent ****-wits
of frustrations... it's not going to work...
i'm going to be the gate-keeper to this
phonetic encoding...
like... haven't you heard?!
the internet was born from these letters?!
it wasn't... born from Katakana...
Hanguel or Mandarin ideograms...
or spaghetti Mr. Dubai pants of Arabic...
****-wits... what?! meow meow:
dog took a ****... bark bark: a cat took a ****?!

am i "right-eyed!? i never thought it ut...
well... if i'm a proponent of the the right
hand... when writing... although...
give me a keyboard: both hands are used...
i kick a pebble down the road using my right foot...
i must be more inclined to prefer my
left eye...
            
the Hebrews can salvage their ****-hurt belief
in undermining the Gentiles
with having sacrificed "their" son of "god":
retaliating with a planned invasion
from the Muslim tribe...
honestly? these women are worth being
sacrificed... they're not my mothers,
they're not my sisters...

if "Europe" is to be ***** by another
Mongol invasion... look at me?! am i worried?!
i know i'm dealing with mollusk Arabs
with as much stamina and
grit as...
don't ask... they are probably going to get
their fluffy toys of makeshift puppy pretend
it'sa dog... it doesn't ****, it doesn't ****...
there's no worse curse than wearing black...
dealing with pet fur...

i do think about...
"think"...
about... allowing myself...
eyelashes... to be substituted for.... a  concern
for a lack of shoelaces...
i do "think" that i want to walk
in shoes... i want to echo to scream!
echo: foot-notes!

spuckefreuer!
                   blutenwasser!
faltenwurf-die-erde!

der berg: steht...
         der ozean: welle auf welle,,,
stein auf stein...

          etwas besser deutsche-mensch....
imaginär: drachen...
                                     zungenschlag....
und: zephyr.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
cheese and... holes... one massive swiss on
the matter of: 23.5°N and (φ, θ, ψ)...
            the devil will find work for idle hands...
and if it's "work" via a
                                      q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m...

again: who needs the alphabet: the a b c d e...
when i'm looking down on:
an armchair of comfort for the purpose of typing...
so that i don't have to look down
at the keyboard: except for when my
hands are in the wrong position...

why would i need to cite: having to remember
an alphabet:
if i know all the letters in it:
does it matter that i should know it?
if i'm sieving through an index of a never-to-be
completed thought...

i have this other "alphabet" at my fingertips:
hell... my head is on fire...
my brain is poaching in sauerkraut juices
being boiled...
            i need to look up the person
who came up with

                                   q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m
and the ctrl+c / ctrl+p (i will actually look down
to spot the +/= click click)...

right hand pinky is for the enter button
backspace for the right hand ring finger
the space bar is reserved for the right hand
*******: and sometimes the thumbs...

i don't i am much in need of some
of my fingers... e.t. call home hands would
do just fine...

        here comes the alphabet of pedagogy:
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w q y z
how many is that?
did i miss one?        wow... that's really 26
letters...          i usually "forgot" the sequence
when it came to      u v w q y z...
i won't check: i am pretty much sure it's
wrong...

Christopher Latham Sholes!
that's the man!
            why isn't he... celebrated?
             i guess making videos took off...
i'm stuck here: minding "unnecessary" details
of things...
like Descartes finding the ultimate doubt...
or Pascal the wager...
   and there's always this french "thing" of
having to bring it back to a chair a table... etc.

i'll repeat this name over and over again...
can anyone question the genius of
the design?
      i heard someone once cite the genius
of the...

but i'm ******* around with pseudo-Braille!
i'm looking at a screen and not looking
at the keyboard:
i'm not some boomer doctor... boomer...
doctor... pecking... crow pecking...
with two index fingers... at the ******* QWERTY!
i'm writing in pseudo-Braille!
i heard someone mention the genius
of Harry Beck's London underground tube map...

ground breaking... not in my books...
Christopher Latham Sholes' QWERTY...
for me that's... next... next level jinn magic ****...
aladdin and the lamp rub rub... rub rub...

the design is so pristine that...
i can't tell you... with precision...
what finger goes where and punctures out what
letter...
but i am not looking at the keyboard...
i'm looking at a birth of the next word...
the next line... but i am pretty much sure
that... some fingers are only props...
for when i'll use them to exercise motion
of: beyond the hand... the arm and...
hammer in some nails...

relax, perhaps like Picasso... relax...
by doing some indoor decorating...
refreshing the cupboards in the kitchen
with: yet another layer of paint...

        would a painter relax by...
becoming entombed in a rectangular space...
paint the walls... the ceiling...
i was under the impression that...
Francis Bacon had a part-time job as an indoor
decorator...
        
oh god... the 1st and through to the 6th whiskey
is still horrid...
it's like... insomnia ******* paranoia
and giving birth to cold sweat...

        ha ha! i just have to laugh on paper:
because i can only enjoy a snigger within my own
affair of the body...
      why would anyone need to...
learn or rather know... the "alphabet":
the sequence... after all... it's not like...
the vowels are cited first: a e i o u...
there you go... the pentagram...
           and that the consonants come later...
or perhaps the consonants should come
first... and the vowels would be...
encouraged to settle for the status of:
auxiliary?

              ha ha! god "designed" the human skeleton...
the giraffe's neck...
            the hyena's laughter: and mine too...
are we so ******* stupid to believe that:
the god's didn't gamble... make bets...
and... oh ****: wh'oopsie! man popped out?!
i find that... well... under monotheism...
a god: or the gods... do not laugh...
they're... reduced to a geometrical blob...
   they do not steal our comforts derived from fire...
******... hell: the litany of raj spices...
      
but... ha ha... QWERTY... 10th bourbon in me:
now i see the bigger picture...
not to mention...
   ever since the mortal kombat soundtrack
came out... juke joint jezebel - kmfdm...
and of course... type o negative:
blood and fire (out of the ashes mix)...
well... i didn't see it coming...
                 stay out of my dreams...

  peter: schtill!
     sha! shtil! makht nisht keyn gerider
   der rebe geyt shoyn tantsn vider...
            
i am... quiet positively glowing... with:
joy...       what an ultimate transformation...
it's like that joke a thing concerns itself
with... lying in full view:
of someone looking for it...
             a dementia-amnesia cocktail...

i will not tire of having to reiterate this...
does anyone really need
the "correct" sequence of the alphabet?
really?
      as long as you remember all the 26 letters:
in whatever you want?
wouldn't that be better...
but given the keyboard...
can you at least appreciate it?
the composition of the mind-gherkin prickly...
design of: the spacial orientation
of the best way to place one's hands...
and execute... a litany... a cascade of letters?

what good is the alphabet...
when it's forever changing...
       with each word... and with each word
in each subsequent sentence?
it's not a numbers gimmick...
        all the way from plato through to kant...
the tyrant of syracuse would have been
a moral man: if only he knew the cemented
reality of 5 + 6 = 11: or...    V + VI = XI...

no one... i too have a hot-bed of person
******* to sieve through...
but... i will be unable to love another man
with the sort of ideals...
the ideals that only pets have privy details
on... how i do adore...
the silence and the otherwise opera of onomatopoeias
of... staying in the womb of a syllable:
that the cat is certain: to me it's certain
he has knowledge of a distinction of a consonant
and a vowel:
   otherwise: what the **** is a meow?
         meu! mao!
what the **** is a woof?!      who! how!
a load of dreamies and dog biscuits...
i'm still under the impression that neither cats:
nor dogs... are capable of seeing 3D objects
on a 2D canvas... notably the t.v. -
their blatant disregard for our neon-fireplace...

so much of the "concern" for the computer's
ergonomics is beside: that joke...
'how was cobber wire invented?
   two scots arguing: which later translates
into a pulling apart of a penny...'
not my joke: my english teacher's:
as glaswegian by the designated: given-names:

si-rrrrr t(h)omas! bunce!
and a bunser burner he was...
     almost... dead poets society sort of giver...
and whoever has beef about going
to school...
should rethink the concept of
the sandpit at a play-area when equipped
with a bucket and spades...
and inconveniences such as: pumpkin pie:
or victoria sponge...
            
again: to reiterate...
               the genius (geniuses...
alliances of human spawn...
integrated into the third party clauses
to compete with angels and demons...
not god-spawn of recycled gambling affairs)...

                                    q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m

and i somehow have to remember the pedagogy
sequence of:
                a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z?
i seriously don't think that helps...
when... the mandarins have to remember...
syllables made into ideograms...
and if they have a baggage of 5,000 or so...
they can settled for: a liberating IQ...

what good is the orthodoxy of a strict alphabetic
sequence...
when: oh look...           the words do not exactly
expect me to state: a-b-c-s-u
            perhaps: but who's going to take notice
of an abacus?
            again... what good is the alphabet ordeal?
you have to... always...
refrain from the already apparent:
memory erosion it implies...
unless... it's how you strain a sharpening
of acumen when words need to become
raindrops... and exact a worthiness of a sentence:
hardly unlikely...
     how does: hardly look?
         alphabetically it looks like...
                               a d h l r y          
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

even if i write our QWERTY in a linear fashion...
but of course i won't...

q w e r t y u i o p a s d f g h j k l z x c v b n m
                               (better?)

- how does it, "look" like?
i don't know... i'm looking at the screen
and my fingers are itching for the next
letter in pseudo-Braille...
which: Christopher Latham Sholes
                        invented...
       oh just a minor thing...
   it's not... a lightbulb... it's not penicilin...
lucky for some of us... and Plato:
no one knows about the man who came up
with beer... or the man who came up with...
               flour and how: eggs... water...
and bread...
lucky for us...
       well: no one invented salt...
but those "other" men cannot be world renowned...
or occupy the myths of envy...
solomon and the harem... and some wisdom...
oh sure: the wisest of them all...
are the ones who had it all...
and then deciding: best to scale down...
started to: *****... and spew...
but then there's that insatiable hunger:
for never having it to begin with...
how the hell does it matter...
       scaling down... giving it all up...
                as wise as a nail's head...
when a hammer starts to inverse-pluck it into
a rubber skin of soaked wood...

there are 26... you make up your own
sequence of "events"...
in that: words are events in themselves...
better having a jist for them
than... a sequence of letters...
that don't even come close...
to be asssured of... a memory capacity /
erosion for... keeping...
           ahem...
  pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis...

would you like toothpicks and hyphens
with that?
either you, or me: but most certainly me:
pneumono-ultra-microscopic-silico-volcano-coniosis...
looks better:
funny thing about "english"...
where is saxon-"anglicanism" retained
to fully exhort... it comparison with modern...
german... word custard of spelling
and: hardly any hyphen application?

        chemistry...
                   only when it comes to coordinates
in compounds...
otherwise... hydro... no... wait... Tintin is about...
a word that's almost
an alphabet:
methionylthreonylthreonylglutaminylarginyl
      no hyphnes... i'm not that bothered...
bbout 525 results (0.39 seconds) on google...
when was the last time i was about to googlewhack?

it's apparent: the "fun" is over...
  back to the plateau of... non-events and...
yeah: hardly a word beside that
in the prosaic...
                what of rhyme?
           what of that... everything has to
be pristined: boxed and allocated an index?
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
because all the narratives are slipping...
once upon a time...
once upon.... there was a time...
and people had their lives...
huddled: bonded...
spoke to the fire...
teased a shadow drunk on a night-out
not returning with a one-night-stand
****-budy...
teased a shadow drunk:
for a handshake that would
become a classical: greek... wrestling...
the advent of judo...
sort of... hey there!
         i'm bored of the lies...
             i'm actually more than merely
bored: i'm numbed...
here's to! fishing for: the last covenant
of nazis...
just today...
i was watching the odessa file... 1974...
jo(h)n voi(gh)t...
                             even though...
****... this... **** that...
a people so... "conquered":
brought together...
                 what speaking of land...
to be conquered...
             yes: fishing for nazis...
scouting for them too...
the diaspora finally congregated...
i have to... feed into feeling...
an itch of...
the bother... should...
the words of: Balaam the Diviner...
              i guess i am a "diviner"...
i sentence each word with:
please! spare... this land this...
whatever it might be...
    of which i am... "exiled" from...
i keep the mothertongue in the shadow...
rhaspodic...
         we had affairs in the shadows:
when we wrote...
not much fun... when all the rotting
woodworks are busying themselves
with evixction notices for the:
karaluchy - cockroaches...
              
   two or three words:
   the original advent for the pursuit
of life... hell... that almost feels like
feeding ten piglets!

the black lives protests were just
an interlude...
the attack in reading with three dead:
you keep a libyan hound
on a leash for long enough...
collateral damage...
     of the union to oust Gaddafi...
i would never be a fan of anyone...
so... gifted in exfoliation of attire...
but then again:
fishing for nazis... without...
their... signature... hugo boss...
uniforms...
          who dressed these "neos"
in forgetable... attire?
   uncorked a bottle of champagne
when figuring out...
the new innovation of what was
once: the radio...

i.e. make them... wear...
forgetable... attire...
       some grey suit...
     but... of course the but!
   they can't succumb to the eccentricity
of... wearing the same ****...
over and over again:
the trick would still be played...
that they might...
for themselves: of course...
and have the clothes washed
and primed for re-use...
like back in school...

                  i could swear to have clicked
on my usual ctrl + c / + p...
wikipedia.com...
   for the ц: not being on the keyboard...
by "magic fingers" and all the more
a "magic will"... redirected to...
russlandjournal.de/en/...
    
          ah... "surds"... "signs"...
      like...                 the g-nome...
                           the g-nostic...
                                  otherwise: some variation
of... diaGnostics...
                             my own little...
bless the veil of inconvenience...

my little escapism: well it's fresh...
it's not a newspapers' opinion column...
when journalism was something
noble...
          it's fresh and it's...
how did i abandon finishing Dicken's
   the Pickwick Papers?
                      to have to glue the ridge...
that page turning skeleton...
it is... after all...
an edition from the 19th century...
i want to finish it...
but i dare say... if i did...
the binding would not retain its:
intactness...

                  so... are we still
scouting and fishing for nazis?
the romanced old baddies?
      the ones that would... somehow...
agitate the arab world post 1945
in shady dealings...
how... the diaspora would finally
congregate...
and a people could be robbed
of their land...
an israel...

        but the... diaspora didn't...
"finally" congregate... a sceptical bunch
of kippah kaddish qabbalah scientists...
ibn saud and the myth of the dajjal...
by god: the arabs would never drink...
impossible... camel jockeys that they:
were... are...
so... sugar-frenzy!  
                 they do like their sweets...
and sexed-up juices of trickle
phlegm from the harem of harems of:
****** olives and ******...
                      grapes...

            hell... wouldn't it be just nice...
to see someone... donning a ******* with
pride... for... open-range practice?
but these's days...
it's all a game of... so... who's who?

arab playboys or new-money beijing
shrimp whittle-wichard squirt: a squint
on the altar of lemon-C... some minor
vitamin deity...

                  narratives: all shrapnel...
    all existential "complications"...
have... honest to "god"...
become... constipations...
and the best of these are in england...
what with the school of...
that aesthetic...
  aesthetic-of-curating-hierarchical-norms-/-standards-/-expectations...
i was looking for a word...
a german hyphenated centipede was born...

etiquette!
what was a "complication" came to be easily
served as... a constipation...
oh... and i've had my fair share of
those: wild adventures of Mr. Turdy...

was once: a not once upon a time: je(t)ц(t)цeit:
or the concept of abolishing a theory of gravity
and the great devauliton of a van gogh painting...
classical verbiage...
word salad of misnomers...
if they were only misnomers...

candly floss of stripped nuances...
the elder: a democrat...
"social distancing"
or the... grand revisionism /
revival of the feng shui...

igorant moi...
   feng shui: a geomancy...
...........................................
.........­...........................................
.................................
...............................­........
......................................................
.­..........................................

        (my my! and that is!
a schematic for...
a loitering... paragraph)...

   who among the porcelain folk...
tinged with...
       is to speak of chiromancy...
or... to treat the stars and their
constellations...
with... impertinent questions...
to salvage some sort of a remaining
whole: that some man lived...
that some man...
would be...

a zen parody... a zen anything:
anyone: anywhere...

      to proscribe a tao placebo:
is to live a taoist sickness...
to live "anything" and an "anytime"...
to be so conflated with the confines
of an immediacy: a heideggerian: dasein...
that there's a "there"...
sein... there are more connotations
being excavated from
the etymological "term": unwavering noun...
concerning being: a space...
a coordinate...
than there's... wild dreams!
annotations to subscribe to
a temporal fatalism... by that...
indeed... time...
                  fall of the: and gathered
knee of amen...

                bridal coup:
this.. laced fake sellers' poignancy...
the brightest of minds...
and the darkest of tongues...

i came to this posit: inquiring...
my last... salvaged futility...
and it had to become apparent...
i had to find myself:
unable to leisure...
for the eventuality of all eventualities...
the supper of languid:

the mushroom hijacked the brain
of ape...
              parody...
the tree imitated serpet in shedding
its core... of bark...
the elevation of answers...
via... the 1960s psychadelic
experimentation phaze...
              + + + +....
                                we had to...
acknowledge the gemini:
clone... and the brain subjected to...
the pickling jar...

            why wouldn't i partner
up with... the death closure dynamics...
verbiage...
yes... yes... because...
the sober are the sane:
no sight of dolly the prodded:
proud matriarch fo miles around!
b'ah b'ah...
   i sell my consonants
with an ambiguity of vowels...
every... chance... i... get...
to have to: and i have to...
divinate the tetragrammaton...
in the "H" the vowel-catcher...
phoneticism of the god of words...
and in the beginning...
easy "thing" to desecrate...
the hierogylphs...

   the 'ebrew god wouldn't...
desecrate... the roman alphabet...
wouldn't... desecrate the phonetic
encoding of the greeks...
cul de sac of "adventure"!
             i hear...
the litany of the gods of the conquering
hebrews!
the 'ebrew god... didn't...
conquer and...
the egyptian hieroglyphs... were...
conquered...
                  canninites... canine bark-alongs...
dog-whisperers...
            
the hebrew conquered...
           cuneiform...
                  scribble fancies of arabs...
the revenge of Keturah
the mother of Khadījah
this... inbreeding of violence...
old sway old...
                   new sway new...

             what cave... when working with...
sand?
i **** on it: perhaps...
there might arrive a castle...
i blow on it...
   sand come... sand go...
or... sand go... sand come...

the dehydrated mind is everyone's
new norm:
because: the cpllective said so?
never the sanity of the mandarins...
lie on top of of lie...
cherry-topped-up-with-lies...
but still...
a "forward vector"...

                but the hebrews...
couldn't erase the roman alphabet...
or the greek alphabet...
they... managed to hide the runes...
they best hid the glagolitic script...
but what good did that?
when the greek solved a revival of
the glagolitic script and served
up a palette for cyrillic?

ergo? the hebrew god failed...
the fate of the hebrew people...
with the 20th century...
as a zenith...
was also their nadir...
          the god of the word:
of phonetic encoding...
you can't... somehow...
stage a fake war...
when... the roman alphabet was
to be used... in computer: code...
encoding...
you can't... erase this progress!

  you couldn't with a hierogylphic owl...
so much... teasing...
did... the mandarin: your god:
your sanctity saviour: of what?
god of "gods" blush... shy away...
the hebrew phonetic letters...
posisted against the mandarin
octopus?
what is it? crude bollocking:
and a shard...
          a truly... ripe... "prophecy"...
solomon's harem
the envy of a newly bred...
muhammad...

          i asked the willow...
why it had to gimmicj wilting...
with a Y... as it always turbned...
not the willow... the oak...
sure as ****: not the birch of pine...
to leisure... aging...
by... leusuring a loss of...
skin... leather...

  easy target practice for the god
of the hebrews...
              somehow...
the numbers were also concerned...
for all the love of hiding your vowels...
like they might be
diacritical markers of "accent"...

          hello: pseudo-sand peoples...
4 (ה)...
                  that's as best as i can arrive
at...
kippah... kaddish... qabbalah and lot...
a people: a country...
not worth invading...
a... diaspora... a people...
not worth displacing back:
into a congregation of:
"nationhood"...
if only... israel...
and there came...
the paupers of the vatican...

   i guess... i guess:
i'm not guessing... the returns policy
of that... parody of a clan...

a diet of diatribe...
  how can the hebrew alphabet claim...
superiority...
over the roman or the greek...
alphabet...
     "alphabet": phonetic encoding...
when... the greek moved into the theoretical
constants of science...
and roman... remained: instilled...
    for "phonetic" questions...
  
hebrew: proto-writing...
        i would wait... for hebrew to fail...
when being... dashed...
forged... upon the wave...
crashing onto the caverns of seafront
mandarin!

            to retain some of these letters:
as numbers...
is enough...
            but sorry no sorry...
        ktav ashuri...
   the hebrew god... jealous and proud...
the norse gods... bended their knee...
and became invisibly: doubly apparent...
from Runes unto Rome....
finally! a phonetic encoding system...
that... the hebrews...
couldn't perfect:
or find themselves ar superior odds to...

40 years became 2000 years...
a slow decay i.q. lesson
culminating in the denotated rubric of:
auschwitz... sorry... sorry told...
you can't... treat...
the proto-italian perfection...
like it's some... *******...
hieroglyphic! like it some...
proto-borrowed... syriac / cuneiform!
sand-****** kippah-u.f.o.!

savvy? no savvy? we can have
this argument going... on and on!
it's not like...
  i have care for the crude...
it's not like people are going
to return to the cafe or subject...
they'd hope... themselves
to a live maggot and concert...

you can't... you can't...
perfect what's already perfect
in latin with hebrew...
the music! the music!
     a cul de sac war project of ******* whipping!
which is all the need for
a circumcision!
added
of a worth of a niqab!
...
   i'm starting to think that... the kippah...
is a side-project for...
investing in solar-panels...
honest to god: no joke...
it's like the hebrews are being bribed...
and bribed: auschwitz nutz truez...

     because... the hebrew phonetic encoding...
system of x-ray letters...
can... will... somehow...
get rid of the latin...
   they couldn't get rid of the greek...
when greek became cyrillic...
useful idiots... and a laughing god.

my former respect has become...
a... shambo: a ****-pit...
shambles: exact!

         i always hoped to... keep my...
pretty.... toes... to the last.
Walter Alter Aug 2023
litany of the Church of the Ecstatic Coma
I was playing pinkie dinkie
with next door Suzie Woozy
her father was a CIA spy catcher
with a big spy catcher mitt
try not to leave town he warned
you are someone's project
come here Sweetchops she coos
you get your molasses rubdown today
I sizzled like a Siberian shashlik
skewered with the awe in awkward
their witchy priestess had smoked me out
her tongue slid down to my sternum
the boys from Central Scanning drooling again
going all area focus on the ****** pixels
her teats were wheels of fortune
I had no choice but to place my bet
You're quite attractive I lied
I've heard it before she lied
at that point it could go either way
what else can you show me she teased
having hesitated too long I went for the guts
I wanted take out she wanted road ****
let's do it daddy-o she tugged
and plunged a foot of sharpened rebar
into my 3rd eye
this is your song she hissed
her hips slowly grinding coffee
a Gobi princess half horse half bowstring
ten ****** on her team as a handicap
like Venus disarmed by wit
horrifically stuffy may I and do you mind
threw me to the rabid chihuahuas
guarding the Temple of Loud Delights
the other church goers heard the commotion
I immediately checked my utensil
and the dish ran away with the spoon
to the Babylonian nuns of St. Thuggurash
protectors of women on bar stools
gave their coyote yell and he was cured
of his ****** extravaganzas
no more dancing harlots and magicians
no more leg ******* the Delphic Floozie
counseling instead Chinese all you can eat
with a band of handy mandarins
their cleavers gleaming
asleep at the foot of his bed
a plate of pasta for a pillow
avanti il populo
**** the menace go play

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
back toward my usual: relaxing over a sudoku
while drinking -
honestly: if i, were a man,
that greatly desired an expansive biography...
a sort of life akin to: ******* against the wind...
asking questions:
   what's a pumpernickel to windmill?
          out of the lucky drawn of blind oaths
paranoia -
         i am calm like the best of them:
calling the shots to spice up the difference
between verbatim and verbatom
  (last time i checked verbatim implied:
word for word - the ditto of dittos -
the dog's ******* sort'ah cue)...
it's wasn't a pumpernickel to a windmill
to begin with: gingerbread -
that soft fudge kind... not a hard crisp:
moses! moses! the tablature! type of ginger...
so a mix of the two... lucky day as any:
i'll just dye it with having completed
the think-tank task of solving the shoelace
"riddle"..
          and i guess i will not find a buckle:
it's otherwise so impossible to have
read a bastion from the 18th century...
that not many have...
and that it has been the 21st century nibbling
at me...
and that people still haven't...
what a sorrow of exclusivity:
a broker of: to read a work that...
persists at being pop among moths and dust
and some extension of the term
necromancy...
                    by now anything cartesian:
revised or otherwise becomes a faux pas...
a sort of "revision" of:
irish catholic - in the name of the alt vater...
the blistering kiss to summon
the son with his body the apple
the crucifix the tree of trees...
                       not that new metaphors
couldn't possibly be generated:
but that there's a fear of transcending
the superstitious...
                          in the shadow of the cross:
i hollowed out my bearings bare...
i married thought to a dream
and i had a dream of: a bellowing -
of a greater grand yawn of: nothing...
i was never the architect of or in them...
    having to come back...
there was still the same robotic heart...
and liver... and stomach...
i was having to discover less
a nuance or adventure:
but the whole process of automation...
that i had some freedoms:
i will claim the skeleton owned
most of it... in terms of thought:
  i probably thought of what someone else
thought of: whether as an original
intactness -
my "original sin" was that...
i probably succumbed to a plagiarism...
at some point...
whether to revise of innovate...
i became a generic this that & the other...
like beauty: esp. of women...
oh the generic side of...
when the face starts to contort under
the pandemonium of onomatopoeias
in the *** act...
                   like a cubistic:
if the rhombus is beyond the square
then that sort of face is beside a rhombus or...
les demoiselles d'avignon...
   perhaps it was always a concert of
a nose or a scalp or a chin... or a beard...
for the itch... and the impossible translation of:
well... there is no right of genius
by a mere easing of the itch with
a scratch...
unless... i'd be scratching that itch
with a feather...
there! the impossible! a well off image that
can't be translated into a sound...
back to the fore:
objectivity is overrated...
i find that each and every day...
that Kafka feared...
it isn't / it wasn't a communist / capitalist
dichotomy... sparring...
both share a capitulation for
bureaucracy... the "safe space" walking
abortions of: pencil-pushers and nostalgia paper...
grizi-piórek: quill-nibblers...
   yes... that agony of trades as the hamster wheel
plumbers: forgotten eastern european
extracts in the houses of western
journalism...
after all... i read a newspaper that doesn't
exactly inform me...
i am more informed concerning
how i might / ought to feelz zis...
       bistro!
                     please... no thought experiments...
i have one already:
thought as the moral: (th)ought...
that's the only one i have...
the rest has to succumb -
notably thinking loitering and subsequently
put to paper:
  thought as a pleasure -
from a deeply personal stance of
narration or some variation
of punctuation - metaphysical -
or thought as an agony -
when the brain (the source of thinking?)
starts to mimic the rest of
this automated corpus -
those automatic / repetitive thinking
patterns that exhaust both mind
and body: esp. when there is no
menial task at hand...
or hands to mind: for that matter...
no... thought as a postcard: wish you...
wish i...
a 21st century faux pas... reading descartes...
i re(a)d kant and have no one to talk
to about... because i'd want to?
least probably: no nein nie niet...
there was a mind-body duality?
i guess there was...
that there is now a mind-body dichotomy:
a metaphorical schizophrenia -
why would normal, sane, people...
masquerade this dichotomy
in a psychiatric metaphor:
how easily can you hear the suffix
being cited: casually... schizoid...
   so... the mind-body duality was...
but not really...
in that the metaphor for schizophrenic...
and that's... parallel...
not linear bilingual...
people casually infer these metaphors
because...
  it's a clarifying calamity...
        
   the collective continent will never:
dearly appreciate the efforts of the english...
suppose they are too near to the mainland...
this... awkward looking thing... island...
like italy...
             because it's no iceland...
you can read of a czech writer flabbergasted
over a Flaubert...
but... Evelyn Waugh hardly creeps up
to the market value of export
for the global stage...
     what's that composer... "then again"...
Handel was a ******* polyphonic...
german...
           Holst too... never mind Orff...
old wounds: new blood
well... new wounds - old blood...
              Elgar?
      really? Elgar is my Penderecki -
i find it becoming to think very little
of oneself:
i suppose there was a body that exerted
enough pressure to type these words...
but i have a shadow: a proper extension
of thought to mind...
within the confines of this body...
i probably daydream and gesticulate
at bargaining or... gambling...

no overt use of pronouns:
whenever i look up at the starts
from the copernican genesis
i am panged with a myopia...
but... given some insect -esque detail...
i am having to shatter my eyes with
all those attentions to detail...
such is english... grammatically:
the overt-staging of pronouns
and conjunctions...
these stars are myopic staring-match-up...
these insects are my ordeals
of escapism...

pièce de résistance -
on the topic of culinary adventures...
can one be objective for such demands...
well...
come first served:
there's this demand for the objectivity
of sitting on a chair:
it's hardly a subjective experience...

objectively: as in - the opposing party -
socialism was exported
to mongolia to balance the deeds of
the horde -
    by objectivity i sense a need
to oppose - to make critique -
to elevate some alleviation of summons
of the encyclopedic courtesan -
crustacean halal?!
pork best fed: there's a leash and a dog
barking inquisitive as to
where the bite makes a churn...

a kippah for a keeper...
and the same loiter for the tonsure in
imitation...
when it's all dark and critter
ennobled from the east end
locket of prizes that summon:
London - a shelved ordeal of both
Mammon and Moloch...
       the crescendo approach...
the polyphony of teasing taste...

it can be objectively staged:
i ate a carrot...
not past not nor present...
i ate an apple...
objectively i will eat an apple...
           i can also eat
a kohlrabi with some radishes...
and a peepsqueak
red onions pickled in rice vinegar
all things kosher (salt)
and olive oil...
         objectively i will nibble
at a carrot... a beetroot...
objectively... why?
  it's hardly a wittgenstein question-dome
of nuance to loiter with lions
and folding napkins...

there's this "coming together"
of how... disembodied parts come together...
it's beside the objectivity of
nibbling on a raw carrot root...
there's this subject of:
a "polyphony" of the guise of
a bolognaise sauce...
you can't expect to shelter
subjectivity sensibility of (a) topic
concerning this one...
paramount...
that eating a raw carrot is...
staging objective "superiority"...
that a tomato is categorised as a fruit
but is used as a vegetable...

withering assumptions of:
lost-begotten: and some humour...
schadenfreude: and that ******* child
of the ominous tedium
that's lost for the worth
of god: in the guise of hyper-morality
of a karma....

my own pleasurable ordeal:
this 7&s...
                 posit of karma will
never be a positive excavation:
pro-jection...
        i can objectively eat a carrot...
but when it comes to
a bolognaise sauce?
sorry... will have to borrow some
mandarin... i will
have to resort to the local "bias"...

you simply can't create an objective
polyphony...
objecting to all the details in
making: consorts...
taste like: giving length...
or the posit of strengthening a
curvature of an original *****: banned
"a.m."...

there's this ******* and there's
the prop-of turkey inbreeding..
loitering the condor...
and the ******* as some new allowed
uvula beside the frothing
penguin jazz and *****...

mr. shoe and mr. shoo...
and the unforgiving mandarin lock...
stock... tai chi and that
mandarin dancing gingerbread...
marathon skipper...
shoes of pauper that made
a broker for borrowing a skittle fight
that couldn't happen in some
variation of begging warsaw:
tease the bliss...
tease the overtly salting of peanuts.

that the mandarins have no atomic
"concepts":
devoid of vowels, consonant
and swastikas:
prized assets of syllables..
voodoo projects...
             yes...        my conundrum
and a kettles broth.

— The End —