.                     i was ******* when the earthquake hit.
                      i’d say it was the best ****** i ever had.

an animal!
a multicellular eukaryotic organism of the kingdom ingesting other organisms to progress!
a well-organized kid of chaos strutting his stuff and puffing his puff.
rifle, duffel, falafel, phil.
fully blessed and stressed to strum forward for the sun, or fun
and fandango.

we are the people,
and the people are merely material,
and the material breathed and breached the darkness, for more.
we are man and woman and dog,
beasts screeching in a field over nothing, over everything, over ant-mounds and the sounds
of seasons meeting.
we think.

eat, drink, wine, woman, song.

he thinks
of nothing but her.
and so in the name of her, he acts, he reacts, he attacks the momentum of weekends into weekends into rhythm. he rolls
out and the words roll off and the days roll by, but this is the unfolding of life,
right?
strife upon strife upon struggle to eat,
and repeat,
and eat her *****.

he was a well-spoken yet savage young buck,
evolving to confide and subside with these friends or enemies and imbibe the night away.
repeat/
he was a rise and shine early type with a mug of hot brew.
or the dream and shine late type with a bottle of cold cider.
repeat/
his blind date is a troll woman digging through the dumpster across the street.
he is a goblin boy gritting his fangs toward a girl, on a dancefloor, in a club, and bubble go the texts.
his texts are long and resolute.
she doesn’t respond.
she does respond.
she is seeing someone else. others
from a tall tree or lineage of men with strength and material.
a tall line of men and misters and teachers and tongues, all men obsessed with death &/or glory.
and by rite i obsess with death &/or glory.
and the dog, i want the dog there with me.
and the girl.

I've got that anxiety man,
Faces all around me seem to sag and frown.
Preacher man tells me to look at the sky not ground.
But I want to give the bugs the curusty of eye contact as I walk over them.
Why is their life so simple and mine so unsure?
Bet bugs don't even love they just **** and crawl on.

**** man, I hate all these eyes.
Tip toeing after me like the headlining band.
Not waiting to begin ******* as I head on my way in.
All the clocks say ten but the sun screams it's dawn.
Why aren't I in ******* bed right now...
Can someone shut that bird up!?

you learn it the hard way, you actually can drink warm shots of *****,  provided,  you have a brisk, Icelandic chaser, notably white European Bison *****, and apple juice infused with mint...

pije, pali, konia wali...

it has been agreed, a drunk man is half
the miserable sight of a woman...
no wonder a woman *******
is more appealing than a man,
who shines.., like Louis XIV,
******* in a lightbulb...
            ha ha... ******* want *******...
and there I was, thinking that
bottle of alcohol also ought to have
warnings about any *******,
other than oral with a pregnant woman...
wonder... does alcohol really harm
foetuses, or does the constant banging
of a cockrel do more harm than
awaiting sunrise good?

hence the question, i don't know.

pije, pali, konia wali...

as a drinker, in company?
i can have a social drink,
my grandmother had a nostalgic
hallucination of a taste that
provoke memory, so I bought her
a porter beer...
and we drank it together...
książęce: aromas of honey,
coffee, rührkuchen und
bitterschokolade...

grandfather simply replied:

koniec świata;

now the IVF part quest for ****** chills...
citation granny, is no citation
worthy of the urban lawyer,
frozen egg + spe4m donor factory...
the part where I'm cited as "******"...
urban mongrels contra
                  rural pedigrees.

pije, pali, konia wali...

there are but three ways to clear the head
before the excavation of a blank
page... rarely it involves addressing a delayed
slightly constipated dump...
but sometimes it does...

pije, pali, konia wali...

           then it also takes doing no.
1, no. 2 (as mentioned above)...
and no. 3...
                 i have no idea where ****
additiction comes from...
i'm more of a claccisist in this field...
moving pictures do not really
stimulate the mind to work off
a stattic picture...
    if you never did no. 3 i. e.
****** off on the toilet...
                 because you never bought
a ***** mag with your casual take
on the metaphor of smithfield market...
or you've never been,
driving to it at 1am in the morning...
coming back with half a porky corpse...

pije, pali, konia wali...

I think people are confusing objectivity
with ***** subjectivity...
like any clean cut of a scalpel...
or like eating a soft boiled egg...
you crack the shell, leaving the papist
yolk, intact...

pije, pali, konia wali...  

at leat objectifying a woman
does not subject her to the cring worthy
labyrinths of emotional men,
or whatever the hell cheating is...
   or juggling...
        ****** off at fine art,
only once did I bother to explore
the ****** extension of latex...
a kinda of bedroom niqab fetish...
but most of the time...
static images, blood down below,
paths of imagination in the head...
not to mention that ***-mad mongrel
that **** my leg...
luckily I didn't kick him,
but politely asked... are you finished,
and ready, to hunt a mare?

pije, pali, konia wali...

******* what?!
   classical *******...
whatever happened to the tabloid
page 3?
   apparently men with recoding hairlines
have more testosterone...
apparently watching a woman's breast
releases, whether dopamine
serotonin, or... as the cigarette quote
goes... Oscar Wilde?
    the most pristine five minutes,
that leaves one (mm  hmm...
a royal pronoun,  both singular,
and plural, for a pleb that's minus
the entourage of leeches...
mind you... why not the common
slang of sycophancy in syco...
that Y... not tree not serpent splits...
hollowed out... to differentiate
from the other,  crude grafitti of
******pathy, shortening)
    most disatisfied...

pije, pali, konia wali...

perhaps j. c. is the king of kings,
but i sit on the, throne of thrones...
no. 1, 2 and 3...
    no scented candles,
no... god... cursed the theistic joke...
a woman has to *** squatting...
a man just stands...
than again: bigger bladders?
*******, easing analysis muscles,
jerking off to static nudes...
how is it on the other side?
moods, scented candles, lying back...
literature that ought to be
read with one hand?
        d'uh and the *****...
sure... g. i. Joe of a boy aged 8
when Barbie burned in th stash...
out comes Ken 2.0...

pije, pali, konia wali...

easier for a man to stomach a hand
as if it were done ****...
than explore beyond the floral pouch...
than... getting a manicure...
and... not using the Vizzz...
the Vizier... hardly a comparison to
encapsulating... snoring...

i always ask the intrigued relic of
dating... so... you want to hold
my hand, or is male maturation
so grotesque that it has no...
voyeuristic appeal?
   well... thank **** for that!
with my little finger I served
poached, a former hydra behemoth...

the knowledge of, good and evil...
                                                X
which isn't exactly a mistery of +...
   the conjunction translates as X,
cross-eyed... not +...

pije, pali, konia wali...

                      it's easier calling it
the no. 3, considering how...
sitting on the throne, apparently
masages the prostate...
hence the stigma it would seem...
no scented candles...
no grand whizz of faking headache
and snoring of excavating dodos...

pije, pali, konia wali...
    
ah... back into the syco contra
****** and the hollowed out
Y question...
                         σý-co...

         'sigh-co...

hence not so much the hollowed-out
Y... but rather, akin to gnome gnostics...
the particular instance of
surd letters,
not being clothed in surd attire...
     elsewhere diagnostic...
otherwise in the already given example:
   'nome...         'nostics...

yes, i know, the borderline 'sigh-co...
psst... as happens, when letters
ignoring greco-semite
        stubbornness,
remain syllable amputees looking
for torsos of words....
magnetised limbs mechanic...
letters primitive, bound to syllables...
not the greco-semitic
construct of names...
       shortcuts with the NATO
alphabet is the curse of 15...
   a ******* worth of a telephone
conversation will not craft
an originality of either Aleph,
Omicron, Ayin, or Omega...

       may i remin you the greco-semitic
stubborn ram... ploughing
constants in science?
aha! ****** music thought...
no one really heard of
rotting christ or
         mícháel greilsammer...
last of the Roman sons...
sang arias of castratos!

pije, pali, konia wali...

     finally! ad the title implies...
what's the diffrence between
a man buying shoes,
and a woman buying shoes?
probably the packaging,
or more to the point...
a man walks into a shoe shop
wearing old shoes...
he buys a new pair,
buys them, puts them on,
packs his old pair into
the newly bought pair's shoebox...
and walks out with
his new: economic sketch
and the concept of recycling...
primarily because i've never seen
a woman buy a pair of shoes,
and walk out of a shop
wearing them...
   not once....
      and thank **** it rained hail
and razor rain today,
after post-noon greenhouse
suffocating toffee sun...
and the sky was painted a continental
grey & plum as the earth gave
its first, authentic breath of spring...
not once, have i seen a woman
buy shoes... and walk out
in them, putting the ones she
wore walking into the shop,
among the moosehead trophies,
skinned furrs,
and her, other,
      hunting expedition catches...
into the insomnia and iron
forest, of foraging for sales.

thank **** i had an existential
****** looking at me,
as I put the newly purchased shoes
onto my feet, and the old shoes
into a carrier bag...
    in those rare instances,
as true as: mould the iron while
it's lukewarm...
          come to think of it...
this is french existentialism
in the open... unable to encompass
a voyeurism with a guilt
of a peepingtom or Cambridge Analitica...
pure existential voyeurism...
guised Edenic...
     out in the open...
       bound to the habits of
man shopping, for shoes...
                 rather than a woman...

hell, hades and the high-water mark
of a tide...
      
     (he) drinks, (he) smokes,
   (he) smacks the monkey...

     if you didn't know, already.

The old church lay in ruins, left to languish in time.
He was sitting on the grave talking to Sergeant R Johnston.
Well, I suppose you want an update on the war.
Let me see now, where do I begin.
Monday 0500 hrs, Pete was the first to moan, ******* hate early mornings.
Well, you would stay up all night playing cards.
Yeah, well just you remember that’s two million quid you owe me.
You better watch my back then, don’t hesitate to take a bullet for me, and for fucksakes if you’re throwing grenades about, don’t forget, it’s not the pin you throw, it’s the grenade.
*******, I got over excited.
The attack was sudden, Tony got hit, we were lucky, the ambush was poorly planned, we killed five before they ran.
Back at camp, I was starving, full English was a must, pass the sauce old chap, is that this months ******* you're reading, just love reading the stories.
Yeah right.
Just last week I was reading about this woman who made love to an onion, brought tears to my eyes, do you know her life unravelled in front of her.
You’re full of ****, don’t get the pictures sticky.
News came in, Tony didn’t make it.
The trip to the ******* tent seemed less appealing now.
Kit check, clean rifle, count bullets, kit check, clean rifle, count bullets.
Letter from home, Mary and John are getting married, Mary.
I’ve to see that shrink, what do I say to him.
Tell him you want to unburden yourself, so we’ll call it quits on the money I owe you.
*******, I’ll warm him up for you.
Half an hour later.
******* ******, said my brain was like an onion.
He did, did he, the ***** *******, I was wondering where that magazine went.
You better go see him.
Come in, I’m Dr Massey, I’m going to have an informal chat with you, sort of get to know you, anything you want to ask me.
Your fly is open.
So sorry, right lets get started, you’ve been involved in a lot of the fighting recently, talk me through it.
Let me see, we’re heading out of camp, now I always check the lunch menu before we go, it’s fish, simple dish, not to long on the hot plate, splash of lemon, great. We’re at a standoff, so I say to Pete, toss a grenade at them, guy's a genius with a grenade, can throw it for miles.
Though for some reason he’s mixed up the procedure, the grenade ends up killing the livestock, the enemy see this as an insult and go bonkers.
Then just as things couldn’t get any worse, I get back to camp to find the chefs burnt the fish, I mean, how the hell can you burn fish.
Right, this is interesting, go on.
Next day we’re heading out, steak’s on the menu, now I like my steak well done, so I was looking forward to lunch. Quiet morning, get back to camp, the idiot’s used a flamethrower on the steaks, swear to god he’s the real enemy.
Can i ask you, when you’re on home leave, do you get flashbacks, and if so, how do you deal with them.
I usually discuss everything with Sergeant Johnston.
Right, this is good, he’s been through this himself.
Oh yes, amazing man, do you know he survived the Somme only to be killed a year later in a mining accident.
Okay, wind back a bit, you talk to Sergeant Johnston who is actually dead, does he talk back you.
Come on doc, he’s like the chefs best effort at cooking, dead.
Okay that was quite interesting, what’s on the menu today.
Lasagne.
Is that good.
If you want to die, yes, better off reading a magazine.
Do you read a lot.
Yes I was reading this magazine on the workings of the human body, right up your street doc, but I seem to have misplaced it.
Well I hope you find it.
So do I doc, it will be a definite relief.

Keep talking girl that's what I need right now
Give me that constant conversation
This ain't even about you, this is my ego *******
Everybody smokin' my green, not a second thought
They ain't know I laced it
Get your faces lazy, you love it, you say it's tastey, but you can't taste it
Yeah, nobody's catching me erasing faces
Black or white, it's all the same when we're talking bout races, but nobody's up for chillin'
Everybody calls me a musician but I'm just a villian
Let's be honest, I haven't been killin, but I'm sellin
Got all my stacks on debit
***** I'm the credit, and I take it all
I'm ******* Cinderalla, didn't even have to take her to the ball, she went alone
The only things said was gag
Yeah everything's flipped now, ******* be fetching my bone

Bouncing hoes with my bose
****** nose, ****** nose
Where's Dusty White
Never said what I do is right
But nothings really right or wrong
Got too many ideas, but first where's my light
There's her *****, now it's outta sight

Sorry I get a little distracted
Give me that loop, now where's my follow up
Play hoops like Lebron, in the hood errybody's like Sup?
But I can't stand it, wish I wasn't this way
Probably be better if I just shut up
My pick up lines are stupid, cause I don't use em
I just pick her up, and then we **** and I leave
I'd be ******* surprised if anything I said she believed
But when I was kid my dad was always like do s'em
Don't have to try, but I'm stuck, just want a normal life, but I'm just getting higher
Keep my nose out, see if I can't find another buyer

I'm in my deepest parts of my mind,
For 20 years I have seen foot prints broken thoughts that die.
Follow your dreams they say but if we were doing that what about the nightmares of the brain?
See A thought just broke again..
Picking up the pieces in a day-dream
I look for lust like a smokers offspring.
I know it's bad for me to "smoke" but when I put it down the world stresses me out and I go back to the relaxation of coughing.
If that makes sense
I'm addicted to having a bad habit to love,
And your heart gets broken all you want is to light up a good ol "lusting"
Knowing that it's temporary so is *******,
But I won't stop I need to love for I need loving!
Rehab is the only choice I'm breaking thoughts if I'm not I'm "smoking".
God ..
Help..
Me..

My brain
Membrane
Contains

Coltrane
Brisbane
Bi-planes

Mansplaining
Hydroplaning
*******

Guilt explaining
Speaking plainly:

Fruit
Truth
Pie
Lies

Life
Liberty
Pursuit of something

Jazz and ****
What it is

Enjoy the fizz

Ever met someone that made your body shiver?
That made you re-evaluate yourself alot quicker?
Tongue is slicker
than liquor that been marinating since 2 winters
and you cannot fathom what do with it either?

Ever met someone that got you guard down?
kept talking to you when you were so sure you were lost and now?
Shadows keep replaying the scenes that I'm ******* to
without ever taking my clothes off,  im biting my lips too

His mind is beautiful
even though he never thinks so, he's still confused that I am finding him so--
Atrractive, I do not wish to lose him
Manically, I'm laughing,
I can feel myself losing control to him.

It's funny.
I once believed I was heartless
not a beat in my chest to cause duress.
Not a disturbance, I laid my feelings to rest
so determined that they were the feels of a teen and yet
he's re wakened something in my soul
something in my heart and beyond my control

Even if, he does not believe that he the last thing I think about before dreaming,  in the bed .
im his now
Even if, he does not believe that I think he's worth being with
I am his now, please believe it with a fighting spirit.

These dreams keep coming back to me
and if dreams are secret wishes then
Im wishing that you'll find a back to me