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Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.don't get me wrong... poaching a chicken breast, while wrapped in cling-film? a "MAGA" idea... and then frying it? gently? brilliant... first exposing the chicken to a tenderness, and then incubating it by frying it? genius...

while watching Masterchef Australia...
surprise surprise...
imagine my surprise at finding
the monarchical support of the people
of Australia, trailing along with
jests of "speaking the proper
terminology" when addressing "royalty"...
is this some sort of Aztec pyramid
poncy scheme Halloween party?
feathers and ****?
   no?
sure as **** it looks like one
of those bogus explanations worthy
of the royalty of sycophants of
Pont de l'Alma, "debated" against...
as if Charlie "the ******* Chaplin" Windsor
could brush this / these facts off...
point being...
              to my utter bewilderment,
and subsequent surprise...
i never imagined the Australians to be
so monarchical...
             stunned as ****...
Australians are this much monarchical?
they're so biased, so fervent in their opinions?!
seriously?!
   remind me to never visit this...
sub, of whatever constitutes a continent...
i'e sooner visit the Faroe Island
prior to America,
as i'd visit Antarctica before
Australia...
            monarchical afterthoughts
that the Australians surprised me
with...
              i deemed them rather rebellious...
solemn, industriously counter
to what Britain affirmed /
arranged itself around...
             my bad...
                  i guess it's just a case of:
different ****, same cover....
oh... right... *******...
         same ****, different cover;
works both ways anyway.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
i write for an injection of a venom, for a sense of disorientation, poetry shouldn't be about the skill of narration, a clear Renaissance painting of some school, it should invoke a ******* random macabre, a sense of disorientation, there's no real technique to practice with poetry invoking a tarantula's venomous bite... poetry the art of disorientation and a fulfilling disillusionment, nothing else, nothing more... to prescribe disorientation... upon charging into a blank page... the brute of squalor and slashing of grime, marbles and marrow!*

as quoted by Bonaparte (oddly enough
a psychology student and former
girlfriend of mine who i lost my virginity
to, while she got drunk and slid into my
bed at a party, and asked dreamily for condoms
scolding me about the three pictures adorning
my student room: marquis de sade, Bonaparte
and Plato) - quicker the goat in the frying
pan than on the steep cliff face - mooch kiss
you Isabella i would a second time,
you remind me of Annie from Masterchef -
the way the stiff upper-lip is missing: signature of
french girls, the curling and cuddles -
ooh mooch chuckles and mushy peas -
p p p - belinda carlisle melted cheese goo in my heart;
stony ******* i ain't, but my drinking habits
are not boyfriend material, sorry... try next door:
se vie se la - the french know their eccentricities,
and therefore exploit them in the grey -
the english stiffen up and exploit the same
but to a too obvious exploit: bowler hats and umbrellas,
nothing will make this London gloom repent
even if you're donning St. Petersburg's architectural
multi-colour... did i mention Bonaparte the patron
saint of the Duchy of Warsaw?
over here there's Adolf with a heretics hat
never bothering to read history twice,
history you read in a blurry haze of being drunk:
reminiscence is hardly nostalgia, but sure as ****
history save Moscow from the French and the Germans
but not the Poles and Mongolians...
the Russians know this and hush thing over,
sweeping stories under the carpets using
a babushka as an excuse for the prime propaganda
technique - go on babushka ride the Ferrari
on the stairway! canapé mit crayon caviar?
yes, Isabella, if i weren't a ****** i'd move to
Grenoble - sheriff's honour.
                                                  you weren't
the first, you weren't the last,
i need bragging rights - and a hot colt to shoot with...
then the lacrosse initiation ceremony -
Lycra tights, drank a whole bottle of whiskey
of Glaswegian whiskey, stumbled into
Isabella to my shame parade of whatever that was
lad banter etc etc. - pleaded on my knees, my knees...
apologies for the inexperience,
she was seriously into Japanese cartoons,
studio Ghibli;
                          so she scolded me over Bonaparte,
and i said: it's not exactly Piłsudski - in my town of
birth they praised him, raised statues,
later with communism desecrated them, then later
raised new statues - but what's bothersome is that
she didn't mind the Marquis... a psychology student
after all... she wanted native speakers for a little
psychology experiment, that got me,
learning from scratch aged 8,
pitch-perfect elocution and she didn't bother to use me
in the experiment... that ****** with me...
hey! i'm hardly a cockney! coached croquet pears
ready for a beating... what's the rhyme, ah yes:
apples and pears = stairs... seriously, musically
cheese sometimes works, they had a Monday cheese
night at the union - all the usual buggery of
a mid-life crisis...
yeps, that Annie from the current Master Chef reminds me
of Isabella - dracul - RA!
a bit of high culture (Ezra's cantos) and a bit of low
culture (marco bailey's Enter the Dragon)...
while sitting on the throne of thrones (a toilet)...
it's like my dream... although better... Ibiza two-point-oh.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.why? why?! why would i even be, remotely,
concerned?
    esp. with a story from yesterday
akin to that of a feminist poster being
taken down, that read:

    woman
        women
    noun
   adult human female

because some, sorry... i love the word:
****** / doctor "thought" the word:
woman was endangering
transgender people...
                                                 wow!
looks like the homosexuals are on the attack...
can you be a misogynist and a homosexual,
simultaneously? well... apparently you can!
bravo! encore! encore!
    so should i be bothered when such antics
are taking place in: of all places, Liverpool?
**** it, i'm going to have a beer and watch
the sunset - or at least that's what i thought
a few hours prior.


the **** was i doing, watching channel 4
news?!
      i do remember watching it...
why was i watching it?
     for all it's worth...
                they do a pretty solid job,
**** me, they even reported on Iranians
using instagram...
                        gotta love the Shiites...
probably my favorite Muslims...
   given their Persian background -
proud face, like those native Americans
in the film hostiles:
   proud faces...
                        well... if you're going
to root for someone, root for the "underdogs"...
those Persians were never going
to bow down to the camel jockey Arabs,
sure as **** they wouldn't, and didn't...
ah ****...
  that's the problem with drinking,
and writing at the same time...
   in vino veritas...
     shh... it's a secret...
                    one downfall of drinking
and writing...
                      hmm...
                         ­     really hard to tell a lie...
by god it's hard to tell a lie
while drinking...
     why? there's no fun in telling a lie,
spinning a fictive narrative,
marketing character understudies or
fan-bait...
                a bit like:
Chopin...
                     versus a ******* orchestra...
(yeah, sorry about that...
   oath words, i swear,
   are compiled in the category of and:
i.e., they're conjunctions...
   otherwise i'd stutter, or something much
worse, like a writer's block & ****)...
wait...
   what was i going to say?
ah!
   channel 4 news... sure... it pure left,
globalism, multi- blah blah blah
and further blah to the nth term...
i couldn't believe it though!
   obviously the two stories were going
to be spoken about side by side...
     first... the second arrest of Tony Robinson...
apparently yet another, or another yet:
contempt of court...
     scenes from the Old Bailey...
and, d'uh, obviously,
   Jeremy Corbyn opening a placard of
a sq. dedicated to the far right
    "terrorist" attack on... ***...
  can't remember her name...
    Joe... hey Joe... where do you think
you're going with that gun?
Janie's got a gun...
                   this **** never gets old:
Chris Rea: Josephine...
       i send you all my love,
  and every single step i take
i take for you...
i would never believe that so much of
Van Morrison has that many
  jazzy accents in the oeuvre...
moondance:
   and a crisp, cloudless early
afternoon illuminating the birds,
the blues of flowers and the contract
of the about to shoot
  into embers of होली Holī
envious greens...
turmeric, chilli powder,
     cumin, fading cardamon,
garam masala,
                      coriander...
cinnamon,
           then the masalas:
   tandori, achar, tikka....
    then korma and the sri lankan
powder...
blue indians have their celebrations
in spring,
  i'm about to spectate the celebrations
of autumn... win win...
but that's still not the point...
channel 4 news...
  oh ****!
  Gavin!
   Gavin Mcinnes!
    **** me!
          hmm...
   love the tartan suit...
******* looks plush!
about as much style as matt preston
  (from Australian Masterchef)...
**** it,
   i forgot which of the chicken
wings recipes i am supposed
to make tomorrow....
                               *******!
the Azerbaijan recipe, or the...
oh ****... o.k. i can tell the difference
between the porcelain of the Japanese,
and say... someone from Thailand...
whatever... i'll cook something anyway.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
.I: the minotaur teased at the labyrinth and the tornado

i was readying myself to keep these words stashed
long enough for the drawer to be overflowing with them,
i waited for the closet to grit teeth and give
birth to a skeleton - i waited and waited and i felt
like being a dam no more -
i wanted to keep the waters like i might keep
a foetus - but of man and pregnancy -
only a tapeworm at the end of this alley of wishing...
after all... what is a the umbilical chord without
a mouth - what is a tapeworm this hyper-reality
of scientific synonyms...
                              i wanted to write a few, a words...
like i might be a tourist in Dublin... mouth made into...
gob gloryhole having my teeth removed...
some sand poured into a sock the sock shoved into
the abyss whenever some ref. to Joyce might be noted...
ah yes... succinct beauty in words....
never that rambling narrative...
space!
                               cascading words... and...
better no myopia... reading congested paragraphs
of Kafka...
it will be duly noted later...
                    a short poem about...
drinking 13: hop house lager... and a diet of bushmills...
making it up to 12 units per night...
and the full dosage of amytryptyline 25mg and
250mg of naproxen...
   and saying: better finding the dead...
the gun club - jeffrey lee pierce...
                   and just drinking... putting on the radio
and no longer... foraging for the d.j. headset...
as ever... sticking to new rules... nothing posted...
social media "grit"... attention ******* -
like counting falling stars of a niche viewing...
or some other grand muddle of things...
as i once told the doctor:
there was once a "carpe diem" narrative lodged
in my head...
there was the squirrel impetus for thoughts
the nuts that would become an entire tree and a day...
now? only shrapnel... riding the betting beast
of day-by-decay-by-day...
               if attempting to cook with hops...
i'd recommend sticking to hop lager...
stay away from the ale... stay away from the ale...
ale overpowers... with the hops...
i love hops more than i might ever love chocolate...
i love hops more than i might ever love chocolate...
but not when it's an indian pale ale...
it has to be a hop feast of a mr. guinness' lager...
and next to his stout... there's no other beer on
these isles i would be found drinking...
you learn to talk by talking...
you learn to walk by walking...
you learn to write by keeping your mouth shut...
keen eye - one eye blind...
as i have been...
walking under a constellation -
i call it scorpio or rather...
the exfoliating-צ (tsade) - and so too up-side down...
i too might have mistook the constellation
as... ayin (ע) but there's a spine to this up-side down
letter...
they dare not say the word: n•••••
but dare to say the name of the name:
ha-shem: tetragrammaton - as easily as the fizzy
fizzling out to a stalemate of jesus: hey'zeus!
just saying: there's not a kippah on me or a snippet
of ******* to be made into an earring "missing"...
i have no gamble in this...
perhaps... this is farewell poetry...
the adieu poetry of: what began with Casimir III
when the YIDS were given asylum in the north...
this musst be farewell poetry...

i never liked the word: jew... and yew: well...
that's a tree... well: to borrow from the ******* german
of the hebrew slang...
yiddish... and ergo... you have the yids...
which i find a more pleasing word to hear...
after all: a jew sounds a menace when...
compared to dew: due...   a matter of:
do i mind the sound of fork on porcelain?
do i mind the sound of nail on a blackboard?

how i once complained: the english and
their cats and kettles...
                                  and then... their cysts...
the greeks and their omicron and omega...
their (F) twins: theta and phi...
of course... no diacritical marks were harmed
in the process: since none were used!
what's not to like about 'ebrew and their
   two vowels that act as consonants
(ע) ayin and aleph (א) -
even if the argument stands:
the letters have a name, unique...
but we use the first letter of their name...
the prefix A- and discard the rest...
have i ever mentioned the minor a in 'ebrew...
the kametz? oh yes... there are five minor vowels...
well... there's only one minor vowel the 'a'...
given ayin and aleph...
the rest remain in the sheol of diacritical
marks... yes: left to right
               (ש)(ל)
                            indeed: where is tzere (e) and
cholem (o)?
         me too... can't see them...
because... they're not there...
just like a spanish... abajeño - abahenyo...
acompañada - (panyada)...
          there i see the equivalent of the hebrew vowels
in that halo and pentagram...
not in latin, in greek... the rubric...
A)lpha - a...
B)eta - b
G)amma - g
D)elta - d...         the prefix rule of letters
having names...
exceptions? a bit like roman numerals...
6,6,6    - X)i - 600 (χ)
            - Ξ)ι - 60 (ξ)
            - Σ(igma - the exception -
then again... a cardinal number...
             -    6 (ς') and that's always written
with an apostrophe...
akin to how... braille numbers are
                                         prefixed with ⠼

          why not expect the same prefix rules to apply
to hebrew?
    after all (א)lef ≠ (ל)ef
                          given (ל)amed
                otherwise... (ב)et, (ג)imel, (ד)alet,
                  and how did the other "adam"
get tangled up?
        well... he became tangled as a suffix...
                  of (ז)ayin... hitting the snoozzzzzze
button...  (L, B, G, D) respectively
                      and... (ע)yin ≠ (י)in
                                                        given... (י)od
           so much for pandering - cucking out...
                                      while... comparing the name of
the name within the name: ha-shem tetragrammaton
Æ: adam ******* eve...
but a minor "threat"!

II: change of pace

there had to come about a change of pace -
no point drowning in the fast paced logistics
of reacting to almost every opinion -
what words to describe drinking and sitting
these videos - a silent masochsim of sorts...

that and the cheap *****... waking up stinking
of ferret / cats' **** - which:
is what you end up perfumed as...
esp. after calling beer: the gods' ... same old...

one can simply tire of going to bed at 5am
with not much and still: not really admiring the sunrise
come the right month...
i won't even publish this now...
i'll publish it tomorrow...
why? it's a very niche observation...

******* until you're running on empty...
at least to imagine ******* is better than seeing
what i sometimes see...
imagine a sausage factor harem...
and picasso and dali contortions of flesh to boot...
imagine a human centipede...
i can't imagine a need to fall to sleep
fully celibate and "pure"...
unlucky me that i have to manually dispose
of the ***** that's not going to be used
for an egg... unlike a woman who does so...
automatically...
i have to manually dispose of the ***** that's
not going to be used...
otherwise: sperma ut caput!
         i'm empty down below... i'm somewhat
empty in the middle - the heart beats
but is numb - i'll go down and forrage
for a snack after the dosages are complete
after an hour's worth of toil...
then i'll bumilia it out the old fashioned
way... ticking the uvula and the third tonsil
with an index and *******...
till i feel a pinch between my **** and my
*****... that slit of skin that would sometimes
be called: how the coccyx was formed
from the scolded dog's tail...

and of course turn on fama.radio.pl -
between 10pm GMT and 6am GMT...
i don't mind the music they're playing -
when i'm aiming for a KO when it comes to getting
a 6h shift in the land of Nod...
i'm not going to play the pretentious high fidelity
d.j.            (either)...

i could be sitting up with these content
creators... by the way... since i leave no comments
on these type of videos...
having read the blood sports the beefeaters
and meathead bashing in general for the crab crown...
for an up-vote...
a commentary of "concerns"...

i could be doing that and waiting for a blitzkrieg
blah blah i'm usually prone to...
but...
there is an alternative... the radio.fama.pl alternative
of autopilot d.j. and no adverts...
rare footage of me choosing to sleep on
the other side of the bed...
for over 3 years i've only been sleeping on
one side of the bed... but the bed is made for two...
and through the radio and in between
twilight and deep nox "consciousness"
of still hearing the music, feeling myself breath...
the voice as if saying:
now i know what it feels like to sleep
with you: on the other side of the bed...

and other lyrics flooded my head -
each song became a solipsistic advent of only me...
nearing deep sleep or...
that period of the throes...
but i hardly death is knowing -
just somehow "me" telling: fall into the body...
turn the lights off...

i could waste my time with cheap *****
on all these people are are alive...
bogus alive... clickbait alive... video alive...
not exactly blockbuster friendly...
sure... competing with news channels...
but... these are not the good old blockbuster days
of VIDEO...
competing on the medium of opinions...
i binged on that...
but then i had a moment of revelation...
try looking for the dead...
drinking better alcohol...

so i came across the gun club -
notably jeffrey lee pierce - well... he's no bono...
or a kurt cobain... and even if he wanted
to be a chris isaacs... it doesn't matter...
i'll be in bed before midnight...
and all i will have accumulated...
no - no liter of cheap whiskey...
no 4 cheap 8% iders and roughly 35cl of
co-op brand whiskey...
i will have drunk...
what's better than an IPA?
what isn't better than budweiser? the HOPS!
the HOPS! but what's better than
an indian pale ale?

              a HOP HOUSE LAGER...
because you have more of the carbon dioxide...
and less of the staleness of an ale...
because it's a lager...
and... unless you're asking for...
a guinness... there's no better hop lager
than 13... which... is again a guinness...
every bottle every story...
i won't ditto what the bottle reads...

so i'll be drinking two bottles of that...
and... 5cl + 5cl.... let's say... roughly 150ml
of... BUSHMILLS irish whiskey...
yes... come to think of it...
who brews the best lager on these isles?
the irish do...
and who brews the best whiskey
on these isles? the irish do...
that's settle... i will write this before i take
to nod... but i will not...
imagine going to sleep with someone's
eyes prying in on this...
it would be like bedding something
worse than a ghost...
a voyeuristic c.c.t.v. mob-machine
i need my sleep - the reactions are not necessary...
lazily done in the day...
and i'll have forogtten about it...
occupying myself with... trying to remember
a word in braille... or something...
like making silesian dumplings...

it doesn't matter... niche writer for a niche
readership... let's not get too excited;
i'm not going to **** for a viral video
or a viral tweet or etc.

a youtube algorithm can still be found – from the good old days –
compliments: the gun club, mother of earth
followed by… the black angels, young men dead…
and if supposed to feel, less “puritanical” about *******,
while the girl has her ***** at the ready and a video-cam
broadcast… the cure’s album ******* while
watching a sasha foxx  VICE documentary…
before setting on… doing it over still photos imagining…
well… a crude Botticelli… visceral Matisse…
when Lucian Freud met up with Egon Schiele…

just empty empty before a good night’s and 7am beginning
of tomorrow’s borrowed time.

III: revelation 1:0 on the River Niger

i'll be very sensible for for little piece of trash -
i just hope it's worse than a column from
some tabloid newspaper!

honestly... i will bring out all the "self-cencorship"
sensibilities for this one...
it feels that the need has to be fed...

but... i'm sorry that you will not see
it as bi••er - you will see 2 bulls...
and the 2 hexes: &#x2022...

  or you would see motherf•••••...
then again: ck is not an acronym for calvin klein...
nor would it be a... crawling fahrenheit...

not even a Σ(νιγγερ) helps...
and because of all of that... you are ready
to watch pornographic material
and whatever floats your boat over on
rotten.com -

back in the day - we the first explorers
would come across such sites without any parental
control...
but i figured... if everyone is having
a hot day over a sour toothache bound
to the crunch of a pickle...

but if Σ(νιγγερ) is already crossing the deathpit
of sjw wrath...
either you, or i, do not deserve to see greek...
let's see who's ⠎⠝⠊⠛⠛⠑⠗⠊⠝⠛ in the dark then...
will you pluck out my eyes...
or will i pluck your eyes out?
or perhaps: you pluck your eyes
out and i'll just cut-out my tongue, how's that?

- i'll be honest... i'm not even going to compete
with will alexander's enclyclopedia lexicon...
and it's not like i have some...
repressed tauret's syndrome to boot...

   (tokens! tokens! tokens! they say...)

but i figured: you know...
i can listen to patti smith and her rock & roll
'igger...
              but because patti smith can...
doesn't mean that american head charge
can cover it...

but i did come back disappointed when
i put on... Grachan Moncur III's 1963 debut...
the çymbals got to me...
avant-garde jazz... it's no acid jazz...
and there i was thinking that
"too much" of alt-sax is bad enough...
                 not even i can stomach Mahler...
unless i want to self-harm...
holding a cat in my hands...
who's nails have not been clipped
imitating a sufi dervish while Mahler
is playing with the cat in my hands...
i'm terrible at such times...
when it comes to blinking with my eyes...
for fear? for fear of them being gauged
out by the cat... i prefer the scratches
on my hands...

     why would an östlichmann
why would an østligmann come to these isles
and no see a K in plain sight of (Plaid) Cymru?
why not immediately see:
Cornwall - as south Wales?
instead... he comes and attaches a tail...
calls it...                Çyrmru....

why oh why... perhaps because...
the word for dragon... for the östlichmann...
is... smok... the flag does the duty of:
in plain sight...

because there's a revelation at the end of this...
just today i thought: there are non-negotiable
historical events...
i was wrong... notably because of the holocaust
deniers...
you might think that some events in history
are non-negotiable...
i would think some things in life are tinged
with: non-negotiable standards of moving
forward...
                    
but if there's a word that one black man can slander
another black man...
because... whatever the etymology...
someone giggling on the River Niger...
or someone giggling in Nigeria...
the time in nigh... a sigh prior to the gig of giggles...
i get it...

but if a black man can have his own term...
to call another black man with a wink of...
ridicule... then as one: this being black on white...
i should have my word too...
and that's without a screetching mob of leftist
propaganda tools...
or whatever you want to call "them"...

now the eyes can be flooded with all the *****
films and all the masterchef episodes of
how the chinese prepare streetfood...
how a dog has to be beaten dead...
so it will taste more tender...
no... the actual cuts of meat of the dog
are not cured... made tender while the animal
is dead... the animal has to die by:
a softening of a good beating...
some would say that...
europeans didn't become wholly barbaric...
and changed their ways...
because... in them... there was something
of an animal-lover... a safety-net...

             but if a black man can call another black
man a n••••• in a rap song...
it came... via a song by m.d.c. (millions of dead
cops) - john wayne was a... n•••...
communist is dry... although some in the former
eastern bloc would find that offensive...
offensive enough to not speak an apology
to a fellow family member and vice versus
with regards to a papist and born again catholic...
etc. (born again under communism)...
and take that apology / non-apology to the grave
or otherwise stand over the grave and say:
and where was god for you, papist...
as he is for me, your supposed "communist"
brother-in-law? now standing over your grave?

a ****** revelation... come to think of it...
it will never catch on...
if a black man can call another black man a née-ni-ni...
i should be able to call another pig in blanket
a na-na-na...
but no... it will never catch on...

IV: No brainer brain-dead hard-on

i just have come to expect anything
by the standards "western chauvanism":
the world is no privy over my output
come a certain hour...
11pm is the cut-off point...

everytime they mention "eastern european" -
eastern... as in... 1 hour ahead of
gmt?
not the sort of sodden bed-fellows just
30 years ago... and the whole death of communism
bonanza of the early 90s dried up...
"our" women were just "your" women...

clearly: the **** of the sabine women
turned out to be: the revenge of the sons...
or... how the mothers would play off...
the daughters and the sons of the rapists...
against them... if not first generation...
then at least one... down the line...

accents accents... spoken by people with
no diacritical markers...
today i visited a vet... with two cats...
he still spoke of Velencia as if there
was a Greek phi or theta lodged in his teeth...
not a whisper... not a lisp...
an F where a C is embedded into text...

the world is not welcome after 11pm...
therefore this will remain a draft...
until tomorrow, or maybe not tomorrow...
i want to have a good night's sleep...
i'll be waking up at 10 to 7 in the morning
in order to properly shuffle my feet...
and... catch-my-shadow-off-guard...
because i will not be boxing the alpha-to-beta
alphabet of ontology with regards to
man- and -hood...
as one might... at least the circumcised
yids don't gloat...
about their circumcision...
no waving the h'american flag as there's
no waving of the kippah...
or throwing a kippah like a mortarboard
upon a high-school graduation...

does exactly what it says on the tin:
you already did your college graduation early...
*******... tool...
i still need my "beauty" sleep...
no output after hours...
like those laws in germany...
no work related phones, text or emails
after 5pm...
none! no obligation to reply!

england... the country of workoholics...
pish-poor russian alcholism does not
compensate... and that's really stretching
the sterotype canvas...

all i have to do, is think of tomorrow...
and how... i'll suddenly be thrown into
my neighbour's house... the eddie gain no more
to let the dog out...
albeit... there's no immaculate locked-off
room where the mother slept...
even by "western" standards...
they're not quiet sure what to make of me...
a doctor needs an assistant when he "tries"
to help me...
whenever solipsism is mentioned as a cipher...
a cipher is given because:
something needs to be deciphered...

now i'm writing for the drawer... the shelf...
the closet... the skeleton...
it's not much of an "in-crowd" to begin with...
the goalposts keep changing...
once it was a turkish kebab...
soon it was the curry... then the persian sour
grapes... then came the sushi...
then some chinese noodle soup...
sooner or later a pizza sputnik...
old rivals... but i'm not money...
i need to sleep...

p.s. and as much of this last "verse": poo'etics...
is anger: grrrr gritty and how much of
it is a response to niche comedy?
the in-club the breakfast club...
the pandering to the rubber-ears?
        the regurgitated - well once upon a time
they would meet in secret...
but now... they meet in the open...
and anyone can just... sift themselves in...

and this whole... identifying the periphery
of western culture... in eastern europe...
no... not in greece... or the balkans...
eastern europe...
from under the iron curtain... immediately
shoved under a silicon veil...
change of masters...
once a satellite state of the soviets...
warsaw pact blah blah... now...
the leftovers from: and what if the mongols
and the ottomans just... walked all over us...
why didn't ****** start digging the EUROTUNNEL
instead having that hard-on for the luftwaffe?!
thought like an elf...
or... ang...         never took notice of any dwarfish
grit... hey! daydreaming....
fifty shades of black vs. 50 shades of bleach...
there's the cinnamon man,
the chocolate man...
the star anise man... the oak man...
the auburn autumn man...
there's all that:
                 − · 
                 · · 
                 − − · 
                 − − · 
                 · 
                 · − ·             since i'm the ham man...
the piglet pink ms. cuck...
   no... for anyone who goes blind later in life...
i don't see the point of braille...
morse-braille yes... you need tender fingers
to read braille, ergo: you can't even learn
to play the guitar... perhaps piano...
               coco? 'coz' what?
                          i'm a... *******                − · 
                                                                    · −
                                                                    − − · · 
                                                                    · · 
an NZ (נ)(ז)... yes yes... a new... zealander...
which is the hook bait... and sinker...
for that alt. r.e.m. song...
the one that goes... shiny happy pep... pep...
trigger happy woke zombie b-listers...
     there's a name for almost anything in this
shitshow of what a Hamleys Regent St....
boutique of toys would look like...
when you used to play with toys like a puppeteer...
aye'up! as they say in york-shyre.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
i've never cooked crocodile flesh before...
but i've seen what happens when
you buy raw herrings...
you're not going to cook the herrings...
after all: herrings are the Baltic sushi...
but you can't just eat them raw...
you need to curate them to some brine...
i.e. soaking them in salty water...
phenomenal... a fish swims all this time
in salty waters... as a whole...
but when you turn it into a schematic of
edibility...
you have to... ha ha... pluck all that's liver
all that heart... intestines...
to get to the flesh: edible flesh... proper...
you have to throw it back into salty water:
it's obvious that the flesh of the fish
never experienced... what could make
it edible...
apparently crocodile meat is the same:
it's lean... although... herring flesh
is also high in fat...
to brine something involves the thing
sitting in its own juices:
for the "other" thing: the protein about
to be eaten is left curated:
salt... in terms of what's edible and what's
not... weighs as much as gold...
if not more...
          but you can bypass this whole
chemical experiment with mushrooms!
you don't need fish: which have to be brined...
or with meats which have to be cured...
with mushrooms it's much more simple...
you start off frying a batch in some unsalted butter...
they fry... and fry... getting all golden...
you start choking them with a lid above
the frying pan... that sort of helps...
but... doesn't... it's only until you sprinkle some salt...
and: but especially in terms of fungus...
salt: the great drawer of water...
you put the lid back on... or whatever...
to get the mushroom: you need to cook it with
some salt...
it's like... the most organic magnet...
salt is a magnet... for water...
salt is what allowed such great bodies
of water as the Atlantic and the Pacific to stay
intact... even when the rivers and the lakes
dry up... the seas will never dry up:
salt is a magnet... for water...
water, water everywhere: but not a drop
to drink... that line stands eternal:
from the rime of the ancient mariner...
esp. with fungus...
you sprinkle from salt on them while frying
them off in butter... and hey presto!
you tempt the water encompassed
in the mushrooms come flooding out...
you end up cooking them in their own juices...
the texture of the mushroom is arrived at...
but there's also the essences of the taste of
mushroom...
salt: magnet... sieve!
- but that's not brining... unless it's...
brining done... exponentially quick... which it is...
meat takes time... fungus is neither
meat nor... salad...
but salt! salt is light!
        how it draw out the remaining water
from a thing... and allows the thing
to be cooked in its own storage of water...
which it wasn't expecting to be cooked in...
you might add some more water:
depending how much you're cooking...
some excess of fat also helps...
but i've never cooked crocodile meat...
watched how someone failed to cook it on
Australian MasterChef...
          if crocodile behaves like a herring...
even though one is a lizard get-go...
while the other is... fritz...
           i expect a crocodile tartar steak of sort
could have aided the contestant...
because i can't actually imagine
eating a cooked herring...
later soaked in some spirit vinegar with
onions... a lay leaf... all-spice... mustard seeds
crescent moons of garlic... onions...
and oil...
but cooking a herring seems as much a bad
idea as cooking a salmon: rather than
not smoking it...
still: quickened brining process...
no water involved... since we're dealing with
mushrooms... fungus...
you start cooking they're browning beautifully
like it's some post-racial but still nationalistic
Brazilian utopia (since they have
a ******* football team that tells others...
you're not us... blah blah)
   but it's only when you add the salt
that the mushrooms give in...
to the "torture" of being:
less the telepathic busy-bodies attached
to the moon-key-brain they latched themselves
onto... i wish they were hallucinogenic prone
types... sometimes:
but then... all these supposed colours
and no clarity in writing in b & w...
i couldn't stomach it...
with herrings about to be turned into pickled
flesh i expected the slow-brining process
is expected: fish is not fungus...
all that excess water storage in the flesh
is what gives man a brain...
i hope... then again: i hope not...
that's why i drink: to be borderline dehydrated...
quickened brining: frying off some mushrooms
in butter then sprinkling some salt on
the frying process... immediately a mushroom
stock arrives "out of nowhere" on the canvas
on the frying pan...
the mushroom is to be then: essentially eaten...
the flesh of the mushroom: isn't mush...
it resembles something from the annals of
seafood... but the juice is... earthy...
beguiling the humanoid to harvest these
forest pleasures...
       salt is ought to be: ought have to been
more treasured than gold...
there should have been salt coins...
how there should be painting of one army
riding horses... another... riding bulls...
salmon ought first to be smoked
then... decided upon: cooking salmon ought
to be considered: haram: forbidden...
i don't want to see that orange flesh of the waters
turned into an anaemic pink...
dried out: not once... not ever!
it's one "thing" to butcher an animal once...
it's another "THing" to butcher
the animal twice upon the altar of cooking it
poorly!

i'll pretend hunchback posing as a crow:
the crow will disagree:
i'm standing up-right! you're the one who's
hunched! hitchhiker: boring son
of a dozen: that's came from elsewhere...
elsewhere... "elsewhere":
even in the now apparently arrived at now:
i see no familiar face...
i see... too many rivers...
of people... that hardly make up
a sea to froth... to boil up...

people are dying in their minds...
this rot is yet to be made popularly promiscuously:
tempting... enticing... but i fear it already is that...
people are dying in their minds
while their bodies... if agitated...
if alive... are spewing nothing but
fictions! pick-me-ups!

i'm hopeful... this period will pass...
there will be a time of fathoming a relief from this
intermission...
how all empires crumble...
but how "things" have changed...
we're all pretty much educated to recognise
phonetic encoding "biases"...
even if some of us scribble on
walls in giraffe graffiti... so be it...
TAGS...
            let people have what's immediately
available to their imagination's content...
don't let them suffer the constraints of
some ruling... ha! who's ruling in 100 years
from now?!
who's most envy prone to dictate
the peacocking workaround for social:
hierarchical-stratification?
all will pass: in a blink of an eye!
even if no eye is looking:
or to be looked at...

        i've become accustomed to cherish
this onslaught of pulverising subjectivity:
i seem to not have had a welcome escape...
pickling brain: Brian syndrome does that
to one... the sensation of being subjected
to so much... yet objecting to so little...
oh but i'm objecting to as much as i'm being
subjected to...

            i am subjected to gravity:
but i object to it... as a falling "thing" from
the top of a building...
how's that?

          i need language to somehow comes
across a... "2 + 2 = 4"...
       no?i need a sensation of: arable:
with a trill of the R: that's so... desperately
missing in the -ing-leash zunge...
i'm about to call Kaiser Wilhelm and implore
him: more zeppelins! more zeppelins!

tread past the thought that was originally cast:
lay the thread bare...
come as you were... come: less arrived at...
all this will sooner or later be:
gobbled up by the certainty of time...
which competes over space...
minding our progress...
if time is the tongue...
then space is mouth what
yawns at as: welcoming... eager for more sacrifices
at the altar...

curry is great! at a meal...
as a meal one has for... supposing it's 5pm
in Lahore...
but at 9am in France...
where there are no eggs...
poached? scrambled? fried?
  what's on offer?!
*******... CARRY... CURRY...
CRY-WE..
i can't make my stomach churn out appreciation
for a ******* broth in the morning...

it's scented ****-***: overt-**** ***
insatiability in the morning requiring English
pubescent northern girls:
sorry... they "are"...
        "my"... girls?!
i speak the language... last time i heard...
there was a lacking in brick-work...
the people most associated
with keeping food production in line...
the truckers... all gone...
well.. if the Englishman want's
an Empire implosion...
save all the Pakis... he'll get all the ******* Uber
he desires...
"my" people will just leave...
for whatever the brain-drain that arrived...
that will stay...
but the rest of it...

who needs England... when England
is all the more better off for X-factor: people need
to be entertained!
no?!
by even the more ******* sort of...
entertainment!
i'm entertained by the moon...
by a brick wall...
"my" people... came to these shores...
and were quickly told to... *******...
thank you!
let all the Pakis take over!
*******... Ing-Leash... brats!

i have an inherent animosity with these people
that has not schematic to a past
so formidable as to have a past worth
questioning: here lies...
the atomised man...

- but while speaking this... zunge...
i reach out to an elder...
i am seeking compensation:
for the tiredness i'm forever to experience...
in English i have no...
certainty: i have only an objectification
of history: not being subjected to it...
i live in a country with a past:
but not history...
anaemic hybrid...
     i'm the barbarian knocking
on the door... with a message:
let me out! let me out!
              
whoever read too much of "journalism"
but not enough of Horace...
                  
      the sanctity of salt:
                      sal de sanctitas....
backwards to forwards...
how time disembowels grammar.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
you begat it all wrong with your genesis story: i don't think i'm hot ****, i doubt that i am, hot ****.

when i cite communism i don't imply:
a redistribution of wealth -
me? i'm happy with a good night's sleep...
i mean capitalism has lost the essence
of work -
         in that: there is no respect for labour...
such a trivial "thing"!
god... this sounds oh so awful -
      and in "career" one always ends up
sounding a crude as a lumberjack's echo
in a forest - chop chop - gunner on the tilt -
crude writing that comes when one has
ingested too much of foreign opinion,
via audio, and not via reading...
            i have to find myself apologising
for this outpouring -
       but then again sometimes the most
mundane "things" have to be said,
for *per se
reasons, than for any vector
purpose culminating in a reached point (b)...
when people trivialise work is the worst
kind of times...
          when so many trivialise work by
contesting in karaoke sundays in england,
or "masterchef" kitchens on mondays
tuesdays through to fridays...
  how about honing in on the immediate
concerns, the near-breathing-aching-tomorrows
of these closest to you?
   how a father will complain to a son
that he made him too much lunch food:
what? it would be easier to complain had
there been too little, and that you didn't have
to throw excesses into the bin?
i had to outthink heidegger in his "fetish"
of dasein... it was too remote for me in
the end...
      and since i've never come across
a philosophy book that utilises grammatically
categorical words (e.g. noun, verb, adjective etc.)
i feel a veil has been lifted...
  the curtain of sleep -
and when i see how heidegger took to stressing
dasein: being "there" - i think of
journalism first, and how to excuse the world
and turn to hermitic ways,
  for there is a there, as there is also a "there",
i.e. there isn't any!
but that is much more an allocation of
counter-verbalising events -
      there's no talk of adrenaline when speaking
of a terrorist attack far far away,
       there's only the word: tragedy;
the terrorist is immediately felt,
but the post-scriptum is but a "loser" in
the descriptive allocations -
would you fancy facing this "loser" face to face?!
i envisioned heidegger's dasein to be
more procreative, more centred to
       a fickle coordinate of media attention...
   more the engaging "plotline"...
less a case of demanding aristotelian
post-etymological correction facility of nouns
i.e. calling things by their proper names -
and more engaging, always engaging,
even if by a centimetres' worth of engagement...
that old shambles of tornado in the west,
a butterfly in the east with equal event impressions
complimentary...
    of all places, my grandfather managed to
visit auschwitz three times, upon the third
he resigned from the encounter with the gas chambers,
but i somehow always seem to be trapped
in these barbwire confines, given that i've never
visited: romancing h. h. holmes earth...
    but i took to this **** philosopher like
a fish takes to water: the reason?
        defunct complexity of the prose
     in other writers...
                        notably aristotle;
i had to chop up history as some sort of
inheritance, that had to be kept for reasons
of posterity, rather than nostalgic romance:
for one, i hate history to be kept for
reasons of posterity,
   achilles or homer was not kept to this day
for reasons of posterity, they were kept
out romantic reasons...
      history as posterity belongs to scare children,
in the classroom...
      and nowhere else,
  but authentic history: desires no teacher
and no pupil...
           it just has the authenticity that becomes
ultra-history... myth!
   therefore my gateway to the ancient times
resides with heidegger's dasein
with? zusein -
         and yes, not being a native german speaker
i can understand the "mistake" of
this sort of "nuance" -
             again in inverted commas,
for lack of a better word, or a desire to open
a thesaurus (rex) -
           in auschwitz 2.0:
                     respect work, to be free -
it is this, in the concentrate form that's most
demanding: toward being -
     in a cubicle, in a tightly knit tartar patchwork
on a kilt...
     we're not going anywhere if
work, esp. manual labour is not respected,
or is frowned upon...
              when work becomes all software,
and little if no presence of work as hardware;
i guess that's one of the reasons
   i'm on comfortable terms with the supermarket
staff at my local...
  i go there so often, i'm so *******
predictable with my purchases i am almost like
the one ready to become part of
the flying dutchman ship... immersed in
my everyday recurrent predictability...
no qualms with the staff, just the frankly friendly
            'alright mate, how are you?'
'fine mate, how are you?'
    'oh, not bad.'
          'good good.'
i know i can be the most pompous ***** on
paper from time to time,
  but then my writing is one thing,
and i know there's an umbilical chord of segregation
between the hungry foetus of a blank page,
and me binging on pickled gherkins and
     raw herrings in a cream sauce with this
blah, as every over blah, turning into a blur
the moment i wake up the next day;
and in grammatical terms (i.e. categories) -
i have already given dasein a name (a noun)
in that i call it an offshoot of journalism -
whereas in the instance of zusein:
i invoke the notion of some act (i.e. a verb
dimension) - i.e. the acquisition of action
through non verbal involvement -
beyond the hier & the da...
        something that becomes a mongrel
of the two positions, to a non-relativistic
  compendium...
      and if we all assembled ourselves,
or simply had the ambitions of simple verse,
or complying to simplifying language
in order to "appear" simple -
well, what would happens to those of us
who wrote to attain complications -
and thereby remain the simple brutish folk
of easily understandable manners,
   and tactful hushes -
                and the awry grafts of hubris?
the worst enemy of staying awake is
the enemy of all of us: the simplified &
therefore overused craft of using language...
i am not writing a ******* lullaby!
       josé! pronto! yalla, imshi!,
i don't write for either children or for rhyme,
i have my reasons for this being
more than true...
        simple language is repugnant to me,
it just serves the purpose of itemising
the person who writes it as:
    well, **** me for trying to understand
that sort of writer for a year,
  i can sniff a rat with one line of verse,
neurotic, despotic,
      cleverly encrusted in homogeneity,
******, under-fed, just *******,
       language is there to be mishandled,
complicated, diversified, turned into
an amazonian cocoon,
                   something out the blue -
  something lost in space -
  opulent, high on fibre -
             i can't stomach reading works
that are nothing short of a geometric
precision & predictability of drawing
a circle, or a square...
  which is why, whenever i watch american
films i get bored...
   because i managed to integrate this
knack of seeing past the already recurrent
plotline predictability...
  so much for those "creative" writing courses.
kirk Oct 2017
Who is in charge of broadcasting who's in charge of the TV?
Is it an escaped mental patient or a convicted escapee?
Where sick of recycled programs where sick of reality
Your ripping of the public for your own personal payee
We're still paying for repeats these programs should be free
Why the **** are we still paying for the TV license fee?
Stop showing the same programs and hear the publics plea
It is just an insult to our arses sat on our settee
The people who are in charge their all just a wannabe
Commissioning old programs from all the left over debris
You may support your schedules I really don't agree
Cos all that we get are repeats from Dave to ITV

The stations are atrocious the programs are mundane
No more reality or repeats please would you refrain
Stop with all the same shows stop showing them again
A thousand times we've seen them its driving us insane
Consider scrapping most shows throw them down the drain
And spare the paying public from constant program strain
We don't want no more game shows I hope I'm being plain
Too much focussed on reality your making these the main
Stop conning all your viewers and causing so much pain
With in show competitions for your own financial gain
And ****** TV voting the contestants are too vain
All of the public phone calls are nothing but a stain

We don't want to turn to boredom with all of those Big Brothers
Not interested in One Born Every Minuet or expectant mothers
Kitchen Nightmares and Hell's Kitchen Gordon Ramsey's foul mouth smothers
The Great British Bake Off and Masterchef the same as all the others
Pawn Stars was misleading it had no *** or scrubbers
Don't want people on Love Island selecting different lovers

Who cares about the rounded lives of bearded Mountain Men?
No interest in crap inventions or rich Dragons in the Den
Wife Swap and ******* Pawn nothing to do with ***** hoes
Loose Women and 4 in a Bed I was expecting different shows?
The Wright Stuff with Mathew Wright well really its just wrong
The same as This Morning and Lorraine they've been on far too long
Apparently your a fat ******* if You Are What You Eat
If I want to see Nightmare Neighbours I'll look out on the street
Make your ******* mind up and Say Yes To The Dress
Stop buying so much food so you can Eat Well For Less
Hoarders houses are not wanted, don't show us the inside
Is it really such a secret if you Don't Tell The Bride?

How To Look Good Naked what kind of purv is Gok Wan?
Ogling middle aged naked ladies well. . . just because he can!
*** Pod may have been good but we never saw a thing
What's the point in a *** program without the ****** zing?
Lord Sugar fire's Apprentices he doesn't make much sense
When contestants are not hired yet there is no real suspense
People risking their own lives driving Ice Road Truckers
I've really got no sympathy for those stupid mother *******
Pierce Morgan talked Life Stories why is he such a *****?
Or is he just an arrogant ****** you can take your pick
The Crocodile Hunter Steve Erwin his fate was a stingray
If he'd been a bit more careful he'd still be here today
We where shown full frontal nakedness in Naked Attraction
It could have had more potential with it bit more interaction
The Only Way Is Essex well that simply is not true
If I don't want to go to Essex then what will they do?
There was never any Cash In The Attic if this was the case
There would be no need to sell their things in the first place
Who do You Think You Are I'm surprised there on this show
What kind of mindless people are they if they don't ******* know
I don't want crap singers on the X Factor or hear The Voice
Sod those ****** Pop Stars your not giving us much choice

If celebrities wanted to get out of the jungle then why even appear?
Is it because they are not main stream and its good for their career?
Its a boost for run down minor celebs, well what the heck
Instead of voting them off cant we vote off Ant and Dec?

Judge Judy and Judge Rinder are basically the same
Just a rehash of the Peoples Court isn't  that quite lame
Stop using the same format for shows that you can tame
I suppose that's all we'll ever get stop playing the same game

Top Gear and Fifth Gear are almost the Same Wheel
Say no to the House Doctor her designs are too unreal
get rid of The Hotel Inspector and Dickinson's Real Deal
We don't want Dancing On Ice there is no real appeal

Why Escape To The Country where they prisoners before?
The Kardashians and Osborne's we don't want them anymore
Strictly Come Dancing we're sick of that dance floor
Don't want to see Grand Designs there no good if your poor
Cant Pay Well Take It Away what are we paying for?
It's the same as paying the licence fee it's nothing to adore

Sixty Minuet Makeover it's enough to make you weep
Impossible to achieved do you think we're mindless sheep?
Homes Under The Hammer, it's not what I would keep
Antiques Trip and Road Show will send you right to sleep
A large percentage that are made are made on the cheep
But I've noticed that the licence fee is still so ******* steep

There are to many senseless channels with program limitations
What happened to the good shows the ones with good creations
Better programs years ago when we only had five stations
It's only my own opinion and own personal observations
Maybe it was a time when producers took their medications
When writers admired their work and had more dedications
More devotion for the programs, no love for abominations
So re-evaluate your programming and stop these infestations
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i don't write, i don't write rhyme, i am a lumberjack with words, and for those reasons: i have imbued some masculine dignity into the art form: i don't do well-wishes, hopes, utopian forms of the sudden burst of emotion; every time i'm trolled i turn into an orc, ravenous with an adrenaline thrill: and pristine english sarcasm comes to the fore: i first nibble on the genitals, the ego hardly mentioned, i mean, who does attack a person's taste in music with such adamant enforcement... but? what pissess me off the most? how puny the argument matter is: freedom of speech should, never, ever! bypass the rule of at least a few dialectical exchanges... blah blah all you want: but what's the point of a freedom, if there is no guiding "aesthetic" surrounding it? ******* caviar on toast, just as absurd as an avocado on toast: point for point: a load of *******.

it always makes sense to listen
       to some scandinavian
music, with interludes of rain,
in the night, after a few ***** sharpshooters -
peaches & cream moment...
can't argue with it -
esp. if it's *corvus corax's
song
                 a i mbealtaine, **** just sticks to
the wall, and in every appropriate way:
feels a tune of the heart -
i once had a dialectical mini with a biology
teacher of mine:
i said that lyrics mattered, and that you
needed to understand them -
she said: only the melody matters -
in cooking that's comparable to the presentation
versus the flavour -
     i'm sure she had the hots for me,
a few days passed, and she put on a hijab...
god, but raven dark folds of her pakistani hair
really could be compared to the thickness
of custard...
   shame she put on a hijab soon after -
i didn't even mind her post-acne peppered
face: i thought it gave her character -
and those **** chubby cheeks just fused
perfectly with the thickness of her hair...
hair... every woman's plot of jealousy begins
with another woman's hair...
     at least men are compensated with
a beard... me?
      ugh... too much: on my chest, on my stomach,
on my head: i have to wet it to keep it
from turning into a rampant amazon in
post-apocalyptic new york...
       and yes, i do like the ***** on my face -
i became bored with shaving,
            plus i look more monarchical -
regent - loser regent - nonetheless regent:
donning a beard is exhuming some minor
authority - long hair? you get two food-stamps
ye ******* 'ippy! say hello to the cockney
meister schtick: herr H.
  oh no, not ******, i'm bored of citing that:
if they only let him into the arts academy
and allowed him to paint his mediocre
paintings -
        he wouldn't be that much different
from picasso...
    sure **** he became an "artist" -
       only an "artist" could have conjured
auschwitz; gentlemen! applause for the vienna
school of art!
it was always about not writing cute,
not writing ******* overladen with rigid
technique, most terrible: avoid rhyme:
at all, and i mean all costs;
     leave that for the nursery brigadiers
of bombing blank pages with word bombs...
i can't stomach this notion of "cute" -
   this pedantic pseudo-haikus in women's
poetry: by comparison,
      sylvia plath produces a raw steak
tartar - you know, originating from the people
that made the steak from horse-meat,
and downed a litre of horse-blood,
once upon a time in the days of the golden horde;
sylvia just rhymes unintentionally -
   she tickles rhyme, but as soon as she
has a couplet, she hides it,
  this game of hide & seek &
                  seek rhyme & hide rhyme
,
is, in all honestly? genius!
     i find that sometimes just one couplet
work to perfection like glue...
tell you what - i'll let you in on a little secret,
you want to write poetry?
  start by watching australia's masterchef -
i know, weird - it dawned on me that it's worthwhile
watching cooking shows...
  given (a) you just entered a post-pavlov experiment,
and (b) they talk about food these days
are works of art...
         guess what, every time i watched
obelix eat his way through one of the herculean
tasks of asterix in the 12 (1976 a.d.)
   i always felt obliged to eat something...
if i were you, i'd start watching some cookery
shows: after all... the eyes eat prior to
the mouth... you'll find that much of writing is
culinary;
      the "placebo" pointers are already in place:
people have arrived at the multifacet meaning
of binging.
    
and yes, when i said that modern day talk,
even the puny internet "not-real-life"
   (funny how most of us shop and bank online,
not real what?) types of conversation -
really?
           beside the point -
   it's not rude to engage in dialectics
(as nietzsche infamously noted) -
            i don't understand staging two opposite
arguments and expect civility to ensue -
ars dialectica est quaestio ad infininitum,
   "post scriptum" ad nauseam
-
to simply have rigid, aphoristic opinions,
without having them question,
well... that's the downfall of appreciating
nietzsche by the modern crowd...
         what we're talking is "safe spaces" -
nietzsche, of all people: instigated this notion!
imagine the paradox;
dialectics instigate rude societies?
      no! dialectics instigate eternal societies!

i sometimes consider sudoku puzzles optical
illusions,
     there's sometimes absolutely no "logic"
involved - well, there is: a tree line a tongue
of a serpent, Y - oh you know -
that invisible γΥy in the sky...
   but once you start solving each puzzle
you realise: ****, there's a blindspot in these?!
and it always feels like there is,
given the matrix to the power of O (revolvi)

( s / se   | e |  | n | n / nw
  s / sw  |w | | s  | n / ne     )º
                  
a tongue that turns into an eclair.

conclusively?
oh, just something minor, a minor detail -
if you ever chance to step on the continent of europe,
do you know how much darwinism you'll hear?
NONE!
       europeans have become bored of this very
english genesis of affairs...
       yes, bored is the appropriate word -
it can be years on the continent where darwinism
is cited, or the fetish over david attenborough
exemplified...
          to most continental europeans the natural
world is nothing more than a blip -
ask the krupp von essen family: steel! steel! steel!
darwinism is only a respected choice
of argumentative positioning in the anglosphere,
outside of it? a tumbleweed;
and i'm of the continental inclination -
   i source my history not in a platonism -
which darwinism is: **** similis - as man be
clearly identifiable as an evolved ape -
i place my history in something much more
compatible within the framework of today -
monkeys used sticks & stones,
man? man uses letters & numbers...
      i see my place in history from a purely
etymological perspective -
  pre-etymology is just boring as it is,
i.e. how the romans plagiarised some of the greek
phonetic encoding -
    then again: it's a mystery how of all
ancient texts - the greeks invented the omicron...
oh, sorry, the wheel...
   sanskrit? any wheels there? arabic, any wheels
there? noope.
  so i wonder as i give my summa summarum...
oh yeah: roman is the masculine (w)
and greek is the feminine (ω) -

which would be easier to solve

(a) 0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0
      0  8  0  6  0  5  0  7  0
      9­  3  0  2  0  7  0  5  8
      0  5  9  0  0  0  6  3  0
      7 ­ 0  0  9  0  3  0  0  1
      0  0  8  0  0  0  5  0  0
      0  ­9  0  3  0  4  0  8  0
      8  1  0  0  0  0  0  9  4
      0  7­  5  0  0  0  3  6  0

or

(b) χ  χ  χ  χ  χ  χ  χ  χ  χ
      χ  θ  χ  ζ  χ  ε  χ  η  χ
      ι  γ  χ  β  χ  η  χ  ε­  θ
      χ  ε  ι  χ  χ  χ  ζ  γ  χ
      η  χ  χ  ι  χ  γ  χ  χ ­ α
      χ  χ  θ  χ  χ  χ  ε  χ  χ
      χ  ι  χ  γ  χ  δ  χ  θ  ­χ
      θ  α  χ  χ  χ  χ  χ  ι  δ
      χ  η  ε  χ  χ  χ  γ  ζ  χ­

                       ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?

i suggest you try this, before learning oriental
languages -
it's all cross-eyed spaghetti monsters
from here on in.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
how unfathomable to be unable to listen
to new music...
              i sit and want to rearrange
bob kaufman's poem
  o-jazz-o war memoir: jazz...

      samsung + google chrome
doesn't like bitchute...
   i have been unable to watch a video
of weeks...

lenovo + google chrome
doesn't mind bitchute...
         well... it's not terribly important...
i have installed pale moon
but i'm being terrible lazy
and... i'd only invest in a VPN
to get masterchef australia (.au)
                     recipes...
                  i can mash up: punk
a steam-roller forward...
   it's not necessary...

but i will not rearrange that bob kaufman
poem...
           a little bit of rereading
the brautigan sonnets...
honest to god:
   when knausgård finally came...
i was relieved from having
to shove my eyes my tongue
my brain my: casually automaton
not-thinking
    away from american poetics...

i aspire to return to:
the i, maximus poems...
         because i've been a good boy
and i didn't visit the brothel
because even at 34...
well... you just tire of ***
because so many others seem
to have progressed to the higher
acts... protagonists in b.d.s.m.
role-playing... candy-torture...
something? opaque?

the book is dear... nearing 40 quid a pop...
i will only make
peace with american poetry on
the promise of reading the maximus oeuvre
(i have to insert the name,
like a junction - delight in calling
it the M25 around the home counties -
the bloated A406 teasing Ilford:
orson... ****... not welles...
charles olson!)

    acronyms in the vocab or...
dropping names... voluntary work...
departed and death's hyphenation:
assured - by - a designated project...
it's not a thought-out complexity...
it... either rains... or it shines...
it's either a night with a lonely
dog barking... or... it's a silent night...
perhaps a cricket... or some far away
cushion of traffic monotone humming:

like a refrigerator: the avant garde
of music: white noise...
but always the welcome wind...
either the earth's yawn...
  or the cavern solid depth of ****...
which is... not the passing of wind:
but... luck... in a more... eastern tongue...
teasing the geography of
little moscow i.e.: minsk...

well of course nothing spectacular
is happening...
beside reading a newspaper in
the morning... a few essays in the afternoon...
sitting and contemplating:
a platonism of homosexuality...
at home... teased by genitals...
as from an early age...
when a foreign body fiddled with
my possessions... a toy...
but now... a 60 year old craftsman...
perfectionist...
   a plumber but most necessarily: irish...

what's in english TH and in greek Θ
is also F            and also: alTHough...
                                   is also THat
             is also THorough...
is a surd isn't a surd...
          is -gh deaf...
                                   etc.
          irish? well... t'ought...
                                   t'is...
                  t'ou(gh)t...
                       target tatties: bomb-zickle-bomb-zarch...

such a loaded word: ****-eroticism and
platonism:  bias for commeradry
because there's a higher tier
of friends with "benefits"

          it's a terrible tango this very tease
of greasing a gauge:
time flows through the impersonal squadron
of perchance...
      
as ever: there comes a moment of
completing disbelief:
       in what makes one churn
the advent of the democratic voice...
put simply: i don't believe what i'm writing...
nietzsche is forever only a teenager
fanboy...
          how anyone could get away with
that sort of: sorrow of my own
inability to loot a blank...

                 if this was written
with a conviction in fwench or spanish...
a distant russian...
but it's only a tourist english of some
****** immigrant...
             i should somehow will myself
to write in mutterzuerst:
             zunge von tod... a chicago glamour
glistening in my mind...
h'america can capsize and retain its
20th century's mythological "geography"...
  and "history"...

i don't think the eyes would be of any use
when seeing anything anything more
than the letters and later the words
and later the sentences of noting
the hebrew junction...
         i'd like the literal fetish...
because a literal reading would allow me
to focus on dreaming up the impossible...
not reading the ol' bib'complica-ca'tion
into a poetry exhaustion of:
metaphor and the philosopher's stone...

the guitar lick of sowing the solo...
invitation to giving diacritical stressors...
whereby rhythm is noun...
whereby rhythm is sentence: judge jury
and executioner...
    
to drink! it's all about drinking and not
******* your pants...
it's about the mea culpa and
shooting yourself in the foot... or not...
i'd love to make william burrough's narrative
into a ******...
although i much disagree to
the detail of the life behind the sacred
pax of jeez and juicy juicy dorothy...

lullaby or an alibi...
       lullaby or an alibi... much contested:
of the satellites of the soviet
picturesque: because there's only
genius to work with around
the culmination of events...
for all that's recurrent of the 20th counting
nil and the flowering feud of
the "most"...

                  such a pressure to
somehow find some variation of "anew"...
for the best in poetry... the h'americans
siding with...
the iron curtain and now the silicon
curtain and the lessened tensions
of a: would-be-bomb...

            mr. clear stick figure of:
the oppenheimer...
        who was hardly a pope or a bishop
and there was never a reconquista
of such loot...
   but this current inversion
               of pennies from niqab:
and there could only be an unfathomable
triad - snot, phlegm and salt...
i find myself suffocating to
transcend while the metaphysical
ogling of an oasis...
contesting with sardines...
an antithesis claustrophobia...

               borrowing scent and the pristine
mini-skid-alongs of
churning umbrellas into skirts...
and all those cliches:
best to forget the existence
of the mind... better to reflect...
on the banjo and some walter skinz:
   or... herr im schwarz...
that best ******* of a german
forgotten "soon" with no inclined
to a borrowing of a son...

had i written the most spectacular freefall
bonanza... lucifer loots out
all other useful nouns on the dole...
there must be a boa architect and a
familiarisation with choking
on a peanut...

               best pleasing a hinterland of:
impromptu...
these khaki shoes these khaki shirts...
these mustard green trousers...

             it's impossible to write when one
is still a s schoolboy with a robert pinksky
attention to detail:
pauper... european...
the myth of and if... someone should
keep a calendar denying the sun...
that the moon can also shape itself
toward a frigid

that there's a mongol and he's
not a chinese or a thai or a japanese
culinary invitation...
that i somehow have to tattoo my mind
with such details...
because my skin is best sacred
by not being "scarred" by idiosyncratic
details of SE664397B...

the currency of youth in england
is still composed of a "memory" of Hastings...
such an inglorious battle...
given the norman archers...
and the tumbleweed of flesh of the saxon
protectorate desiring a towing
of a downward ***** of:
the confessor's epiphany...

  dear edward dear little england...
prior to ambitions of empire...
and that zenith...
dickens... jack the ripper...
jester jane... mr hyde...
   it's like... shakespeare is no necessary
rubric: 2 + 2 = 4 new yorker
sauvage...
                              
it's such a currency of suffocation
to have to tow... a height...
the variation of stink....
               a broken bone...
squeezing a delight...
             a marrow juicing of a rattling of
bone...
       procreative on the strategy
of instigating chimes:
variations of skinning wind teasing...
        
my my... it all looks just as plentiful and
as about right... as the currency
invested in a slavic discoteque...

            slaves the partner to
the germs; on high minded peoples
are the hybrids of a sa xony:
modulated to an export..
and an island home...
                 riddle with a homage
to having encountered an ancient:
    "amore" and "psyche":
                       belittling this quest
for taming haggis afghanistan.

HAZE HER - an all female...
pretend... football league sq...
gets a happy sancho ****-virulence
of "hope"... stages a ****...
the group accepts the "nuance"...
the media subsequently deals with
the wound and some maggot...
festering...
i grieve for the 19th century romance...
when... and... where...
women could be adored...
rather than abhorred...
as these... butchers' off-cut sludge...
and slices...
these: me no toy not 'appy...
'appier in bangkok kwing...
   und a lesser queer...

       procrastinating over
fraternity videos...
            because... i am... a sadist...
but because this requires a sadism...
i also have to watch these videos
as a *******...
that famous plumber!
that famous... the "fiction" of fame...
as one... that assures one a permanent
check-mark of continued work...
it's not an Elvis fame...
it's not... rising **** of the new
yearning *****...
it's not a fraternity side-project of;
all are inclusive in...
a game of shame...

    i once enjoyed 1970s *****
cinema... monica rocccaforte style
italian flicks...
    ava lauren ***
         shyla stylez... follow through:
grown attires a ****** readied
exclusivity...
but... what i'm seeing?
that's just ******* base... crude...
juvenilia inc.
              a specctacle
of a suffocating sparrow:
to aid the progress of science...
like ego is the holier than thou
makeshift pilgrimage & pilgrim...
as the dust settles...

the scent of watermelon and of strawberries...
******* with sorority pledges is...
if one could... wish for...
the concept of *******...
and... the delight in teasing a glug
of an oyster... one would... always...
shy with a hope for...
an arabic sensibility...
but one never does...
       one always expects...
russians in afghanistan...
and a miracle of iran to counter...
the ottoman plebs...
given their byzantine inheritance... etc.

one of those impossible tasks
of jerking off while drunk...
with an impeding "hangover" of...
a... "delight"...
in how... ******* can feel...
synonymously akin to scalping /
extracting the *** from new yorkie...
the kippah from
a bar mitzvah...
         a pleasure from an agony...
a pair of eyes from a niqab toll
of *******...
a toothless:
      toothless bake relief...
       a nugget... a toothpick woo..
  watching agony ****
that's not italian 1970s classic...
it's not this belgian sour fetish...
it's this crude: women also play
soccer and toy with game-think...

           it was ****... whenever it wasn't...
and it wasn't... ever...
you can disguise a drunk with a *****
and a pair of *******...
but a drunk impregnate-
              sapphire: blue orb or:
orc stipend...
   which revels in turning chartreuse
into a moss ****** and...
itch...
           that's how i party...
a colour is beside a mere identifiable
word... it's also a sensation...
which... colour can muster...

******* of the sheiks' limbo...
what are these martyrs' promised?
can't they... "somehow" satisfy themselves
with what can already be given...
weißhuren: beruhigendzerbrechlich...

nein mehr meine mutter:
        tod die mutter von alles!

what are these presumptions these assumptions
these decadent dubai posits of camel jockey bribes?!
******* indolent question...
cold warsaw slab.... the farao island "gills"...


festmahl von freur!
                    hören der wind!
conceive a flemish inquiry with
anatomy to mind...
                     ich bitten die meer...
                             pflege für mich...
alt-mutter-meer...
              
                    schoß von und walfisch!
a bangladeshi will cite:
camel jockey and sand-******...

white *******...
      i don't have the heart...
to juice on the hex...
                        
sport akin to *** is for the "uglies"...
as a man... unfathomable...
because "******"...
and the "inconvenience" of
baking... leotard game of gym / ballet...
covert homosexuality...
the whole biological female... ***...
orientation... bypass... wizard of oz...
no thanks... menopause...
new age ******-sadism...
the next earned puppy...
ms. is not a mrs. bovary...
my ******* grandma...
              i'm not gay... just covert...
              sorority ***** vids...
and... auschwitz maiden voyage *** teasers!

like... ich wantz...
         i wollen: ein schälen...
       all remains a chemistry in german...
all is an anatomy in: pennywise
the wicked... puff... and curious candy...

candy kept cain perfect
of h'american'ah...
like some abilist abel... ****-somewhat-"wit"...
no...
no glue for a new, new...
it's the same old... salem witchy-witchy...
dutch lisp...
some better than before belgian congo...
the diamonds! the diamonds and cochccies!

we are weeds in the garden:
the shadows brood concerns first...
the glistening soft affairs
of village people having
to export themselves
to a grandiosity of lunatic stakes
in urban pointers of credulity and concreteness..
i want to call it the death
of a sparrow...
the annoying rebirth of a magpie...
the limbo of a gravitating
silver spoon as the best prized
mythos...

calls a substitute a mother-in-law...
some variation
of a pick-me-up
Beirut granny; boom para giggles
hint.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2021
i'm a mangled sort of man... i'd love to tease the whole alpha-male / beta-male dichotomy... use some other greek letters (i will use one) like γ-male or σ-male... someone in history once said... i'm the alpha & the omega... well... i'm an omega-male... i go to brothels, i ride a bicycle at night on Sunday when the air is crisp and devoid of wind and traffic pollution: devoid of traffic to begin with... reaching speeds that make my eyes water... my estimate it... 30mph... i don't date: never have, never will... why would i pay for food and hope: "hope" for getting laid, when i can bypass all the ******* with a *******? i don't own a car because i don't want to pay road tax... i don't want to pay for parking... i don't want to pay for insurance or an annual m.o.t. check... obviously i have to fork out on an inner tube from time to time... a new tire... some chain grease... even on the outskirts of London... if i wanted to cycle into London to admire it... hell... it beats walking in and around the sights... even if it's a 15 mile sloth ride's worth past Little Bangladesh of: from Ilford through to Mile End... it's a lot easier not being native of this land... even the foreigners have this knack of citing: born & bred... well... born 'ere... hardly bred... i was living on these shores from 1994... my father came in 1990... he would have been legally allowed to stay in 1997... since... every illegal immigrant living for 7 years... covertly... in England would be allowed to stay... we were deported in 1997... on the day that we heard princess Diana was killed in a car crash... my grandfather was visiting... trauma... the day before we went to a makeshift entertainment park with... oh i remember it well... the name of the ride is a bit murky... but it was like a ferriswheel that started spinning horizontally before slowly changing to a vertical rotation... i was fierce in competition sliding a ball into several holes on an elevation to win a... crimson rottweiler imitation plush toy for my mother... which i did... the next day princess Diana died... the home office came... with the police... an old school version of Batman & Robin was playing on the t.v.... my father made a runner... they caught him... i watched as my parents were hand-cuffed... in my room i was standing looking at the wall when a home office police officer came in and said: earnestly... nice computer... i turned around and gave him... eh... a death stare... when the commotion was over i was sobbing and punching the wall... while my grandfather didn't know what to do... they released my parents after a day's worth of interrogation... we were politely asked to leave the country in a space of a month... or two weeks... so we sorted everything out... gave a newly bought cat to my ****** uncle etc. and left... for a year... the world cup was happening in France (1998) while i watched the final in complete blackout with my great-grandmother, Mary... i even remember the opening ceremony... but the place was changed... i was to be put into a school for autistic children... generally... problem children... i couldn't just... be reintegrated into the schooling system in Poland... so... i was home-schooled... math... and still... reading books in English... that's how i came across... the Little Prince... all my friends designated my a: traitor's role... we changed our surname... a ****** name in ****** to begin with... even ******* surname in English... if only there was a German SCH in it... much more sense... yes... i was, am... was... an economic migrant... like your Turk in Germany...  but since we're talking... someone from under the old Warsaw Pact... suspicious?! well... no suspicions now! i don't even know whether they're my countrymen... it only takes one Muslim to suppose you're a German that... well... i'll go with that... but hey! now the natives have invited the Afghans to a Scarborough hotel... and it's... going... oh so well! am i still a "racist" if i ****** a black girl and dated a half-indian? ****** a Roma girl... a Thai surprise and... ooh... the love of my life... if i had to put it into 30 minute's worth... ol' raven haired Turkish delight... my ******* yummy... at this point... i'm all shovel & dust... i simply don't care... that's the plan... as i once remarked: the best plan is to... have no plan... just the will to overcome personal griefs. i'm not native enough to care... we were supposed to treat England as a stopover before, hopefully reaching Canada via Argentina... but then that massive crash in Argentina happened... i returned to England... somewhat... refreshed... i'll write in Ing-Leash... i'll speak in Ing-Leash... i'll even... for ****'s sake THINK in Ing-Leash... but in private?! to hell with speaking this language! i'll speak in ****** while teasing myself with some German! hell! i'll even employ Greek! Latin!

it's hard to orientate your unconscious when you
hear stories that...
being born with a Chernobyl "tattoo" (on my right
shoulder blade, later removed)...
plagued with hernia...
and the fact that some nurse tried to **** you while
in hospital... monstrous hybrid...
i wasn't born a monster...
             how i became one...
                            at least intellectually...
the assassination attempt by this nurse
was a failure... my heart was enlarged...
enlarged to the point of, what?
loving everyone... the select few...
now... it's the size of a pebble...
i sometimes feel its gravity sinking my chest
into an implosion...

hence my suspicion of all women...
well... except the prostitutes...
those women i'll love even if my whittle wichard
malfunctions because i'm so drunk &
so limp that i end up asking her
for words for eyes, mouth, freckles, fingers
in her Romanian... later the same girl
is donning pigtails... but no schoolgirl uniform...
of course i'm suspicious:
it's unconscious: from what i've been told...

oh i'm so familiar with this thought-out plot
of "privilege"... for a while in England
i forgot about race...
now... it's glaring in my face... i went along with
the narrative for so much time...
now i'm asking questions a child might ask:
why are these current... "illegal" migrants allowed
to stay... rough up a hotel in... wherever...
while in 1997... i was politely told to leave?
i might be petty now...
but back then...
back then from the few outliers there was no real
concern for race...
then again: the attack from the grammatical
side of things: pronoun me you this that i & the other...
it's hard not to see a second recurrence
of a culmination crux that galvenized
a Charles Manson...
this **** (time) is on repeat! it's absolutely...
petrifying!
it's like the 20th century... at least its later halve
is... what it is! something best avoided but
at the same time: unavoidable!
nothing's current: in that everything is recurrent!
it's not like history is dead...
nothing ever really dies...
and since it doesn't die...
and cannot return to something resembling
a linear setting... it has accumulated itself
in... time as cyclic... ergo non linear...
the 20th century has given us that...
i always thought that space was a cyclic invention...
what with the orbit of planets etc.
but time seemed to be forever... linear!
that's not the case anymore...
prior to the 20th century... sure... time, with hindsight
appears to be linear...
but now?! now?! it's a cyclic mess!

today i was pondering ******* off to Poland
to keep my grandmother company...
become an English teacher
and live in a ******* of my birth...
the metallurgical industry is non-existent...
what will i do? teach more ****** girls and boys
some English to come over here for
the brain-drain and what... surf the great tide
of... the world sub-staining?

double-standasrds... why can't i inherit the merit
of my fellow country-men in the survival
of the United Kingdom...
those airmen who had dog fights with spitfires
across the English sky?
i can't: i wish i could...
i need to make my own mark...
like in conversation with my mother, today...
she can compliment on my i.q.:
but beside my i.q.: i'm "lazy"... i'm narrow...
i'm whatever insult pleases you to entertain...
my mother is like my past girlfriends...
if you want a ******* cushion!?
here! lay your head on this stone! ******.

my father always had the softer approach...
my heart it spent...
it has shrank to the size of a date...
a pebble...
                    i'm listening to:
for ****'s sake... Templar music...
  die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft...
and i see it! i see it... women!
they require so much attention from stone-hearted men!
they need to be slapped-up a bit...
no joke...
      they go off on their trans-racial escapades
and return... what? *****?!
******* gloomy... properly disinhibited...

******* curry... so much science goes into
a curry... i need to have it explained...
bake me a proper baked chicken:
Kurvinder...
oh wait... you can't!
you're going to dice the chicken ******* up...
forgo using the entirety of the corpus
hardly saute the meat... just soak it the gravy...
tell me... lucky you:
with the addition of spices...
curry isn't exactly the highest extent of
the collective human: cuisine...
but the way it's being ate: subsequently sold...
it's the only cuisine left available...
i like a curry... but for, ****'s sake...
i also love Baltic sushi surrounding the mythology
of the herring!

dill! dill! & a creamy sauce with pickled cucumber!
i never attached much concern for
the love of my mother: i don't she ever allowed me
to attach it...
she has even prescribed her final will as being...
lost on the "tablature" of medical students...
she's to become a corpus readied for medical practicses...
i can't bury her... curry her... scatter her ashes..

if my mother doesn't wish me to be a weakling...
my father sees unimportant...
tras-racial sexuality is such a faze
for a lot of these girls...
it's great mingling among Kenyans
******* fellow Kenyans...
no one ever asked... in pop... context...
don't do Orangutans...
resemble...down syndrome specimens?!
oh i get the gorilla, the chimpaneze...
but an orangutan?
the eyes are not... bother somely close
together?
to reiterate... the people selling "us"...
Darwinism are not selling us
the... Wittgensteinian admiration
for the Copernican model of
heliocentricity... oh wow... the first to not...
make it a summit of discovery crediting
Galileo... such an un-western "thing" to do...
*******...
          i'll be siding with the Russians and
the Ancient Greeks from now on...
you... plausible palsy... ******' retards!
no... you had your fun!...
now comes the wound... now comes the salt!

i was illegal once... i learned my lesson...
the day itself was made "illegal" since princess Diana died...
then i became legal after a hiatus...
best be... the happy camper...
             now? Noah! Noah!
you want me... to... reintegrate: inegrate myself
to suit... there was a ******* Warsaw Pact...
the pan-Slavic movement that nourished the birth and kept
upheaval of the Soviets...
the Slavs were to come together...
sure... beside the Serbs who...
well the Ottoman Empire were supposed to do X...
we'll do Z...
but we excluded all the barbers..
Y? oh **** knows... let's call in "NATO"...

it's welcome though: we're the... ahem... little people...
apart from the women.. they know their worth....
they can be snatched up: h'americana ridiculed...
subsequently let loose!
by numbers... i reduce my concern for reality
with tye numbers i'm given:
i'm always like... this ****... best not happen..
in my vicinity... if it does...
i'm out... no... there's no "game".

i'll say what my mother is of afraid of saying:
we're walking abortions...
sorry... but that's what we are...
i believe that there's traction... serious traction for
this opinion in...
the "land of the free"...
i personally feel like a walking abortion..
i ought to feel like... argh... grr...
sort of ownership of manhood..
i substituted ***** envy with beard envy:
but now...
no.... even my mother disqualifies me
as being... "proper" recipient...
of... "reciprocation"...
lesson learned...

  i need to become a dis-hearted...
a... a heartless man.
cool cool...
i can do that...
                         sell me some painkillers will you?
or am i smooth as **** i'm willing to **** someone
on the *****-nilly!

perhaps i never urinated on a homeless man...
i'm pretty sure i spat a wonderus spat...
from 4 stories in a car park...
to get back at the colts who spat at my father
when we visited Chessington
world of "adventure"...

otherwise... i'm so mangled...
i use both the imperial and the metric systems...
e.g.
185°F for an anglaise sauce:
custard... which implies
you don't heat the eggs prior to beating
them with the milk & cream...
sure... gelato is superior in taste to ice-cream...
but gelato isn't equipped for storage...
ice-cream on the other hand is...

165°F for roast chicken: *******....
butterfly... it takes circa under 20 minutes
to roast them perfectly...
i watch Australian Masterchef and hear
of these stories of... recipes passed down...
grandmothers with traditions...
sorry... world war II happened...
herr bite bon-bon came round
as did the soviets... then i left...
oh i do remember my grandmother's cooking...
she managed to roast a chicken to
the point of making the ******* have the texture of...
chalk!

i'm a mangled sort of creature...
i remember all the months of the year in Ing-Leash...
january, febuary, march, april, may, june
july, august, september, october, november... december...
but i can't remember them in my native tongue...
styczeń, luty, marzec, kwiecien, maj...
i forget june... czerwiec... listopad... grudzień...

i'm pretty sure you could usurp some of the diacritical
"constipation"...
akin to Kwiecień....
you could write it so... while decapitating the iota...
i.e. Kwiećιeń: kwit... cień...
a blooming of a shadow...
flower... kwiat... cień. vs. ćιeń: shadow...

the month of the blooming of shadows...
there are hardly any surds in western Slavic...
let me reiterate... there are no surds
like there are surds in Ing-Leash...
gnome whereby... the apostrophe ought to be
better employed!
'nome for gnome... it's not even that
"too" many words in Ing-Leash
sound the same but are spelled differently...

ich bsitzen die nacht!
as much as i abhor the Hindu percusion
of reincarnation:
come again? there are only a fixed number
of original souls in this project...
the rest are...sleeping souls...
let be abuse that a little...
if there's any genuine reincarnation...
to have taken place...
then i am... Konrad van Wallenrode...
hey presto!
there are only  a limited amount of souls
to b shared the reincarnated... humanoids...
the rest are... ******* zombies?!
o.k. fair enough... Hindu glue...
gi ahead... the rest are zombies...
******* curry retards...
          sure... i'm also a reincasrnation...
i'm a reincarnation of Konrad von Wallenrode,
how's that?!

i'm 6ft2 not 189cm
98kg not... however much stones and pebbles
that is...
i live among these IngLeash people
i look at the coming children...
two women walking a child buggie
spot me... sweating all over my stomach...
the one walking the buggie probably has a hubby...
trips up into a poker face...
her fwend... looks at me and says... WOW...
the **** is this current *******: "wow"?!
i own a bicycle i don't own a car...
i wish i owned a horse?!

i like exercise more than ****** because...
i get to exercise more than i get to ******?!
perhaps i ****** in a way that makes me scout
for pornographic actresses that
like to **** it off while looking into the
"Dajjal"...
                i like those.... there's a lyric about them:
i can **** it smile...
democracy: knock knock...

personally... it sounds like a terrible idea
to have children...
as much as i'd love to...
no... not really... not from what's coming from
the pop culture narrative...
personally... i wouldn't want to... my genes...
m'ah...  put through...
the currency of the current *******...
    i don't... want... to... put... my genes...
through... the argumentations of...
IDIOTS!
to reproduce in order to diminish IQ?!
*******! i'm out!
i'm done... forget this *******!
idiots & their ruling class!

i'm happy to leave this earth to the copper skinned
and the African blessed...
look ast me... there will always be people
readily to come...
i have to make an impetus usually associated
with the argument that claims:
it claims! i must! i must!
no... thankfully i don't!
i have to celebrate individualism...
don't i?!

i have lost what Darwinism was originally
supposed to arm me with...
that's what happens...
societies that propaganda Darwinism to
such an extent as it must be sold...
how is Darwinism equivalent to
the Copernican... blah...
      i don't even think it's project vanity
to flee into... as counter... argument...

from the ancient times: **** similis could
be extracted from **** spiens...
"****": the similitude of ape to man
and vice versa was known to ancient Romans!

nacht(s) ist nicht(s):
gott! mit! uns!
         mien ich! ja: mein kommandant...
alles, dies... braucht zu brennen...
ich liebe du...
       aber... aber...
             ich-du... du-du...
            ich wollen
töten wie du ar lieben!
   i love German...
the worst sort of German i speak... write..
the better it resounds...
it always makes me being clued in...
on the offensive against the Russians!
but i also abhor the Anglicans.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
so what was i "supposed"
to find at the end
of a bottle...
       not a hint of chocolate?
i was supposed
to find a chcolate bar...
and not
a ******* submarine
at its nadir?!
                           please...
i want a way past
the usual suspects of
a curry sauce...
i.e. cardamon, cinnamon,
cumin, coriander...

    i'm not joking...
  at the end of a grouse...
there's some chocolate...
and not
a ******* submarine?!
  so what the hell am
i drinking?
   ****-joy USA republicanism
says...
my postage stamp
reads IG1
and not RM1...

                   sprinting
  look!
                look!
an ostrich is making a runner!
away from providing
the dozen-one
      ratio of an omelette...

could have had the stories
of an american marine,
instead,
learned some chemistry...
best i could ever accomplish?
work in a supermarket...
      so i thought...
but the pyramids
were already allocated!
you could see them rise...
high, high.
until overshadowing
the clamour of
            political maggot speak...

no one tries to state...
because bell's whiskey
is trying to be too much
of laphroaig...
the grouse is lost to
the belgian chocolatiers,
hidden...
                    
       who the hell thought
of mingling choc. with whisk.?
        john kim /
the angry therapist...
   interviewer?
                helena de bertodano...
his father, he says,
    was an alcoholic,
'he would come home and
vent on the family. he never
told me i was good.'
      i'm an alcoholic...
   i'm sooner bound to talk
to my shadow than
a person...
as my ex-girlfriend used
to say: good-for-you...
                 yeah... good for
whatever good is left
for me to heave...
        life coach...
or lkie in the american
masterchef...
a contestant,
with an occupational status
of: a professional grocer...
   i don't even know what that
is...
               be a singer,
cultivate a sing-sing
Monday at the pub
               variety of karaoke...

an alcoholic,
no immediate outlet...
scribbles...
                françois rabelais...
and a book
that contains all
the signatures
of a formidable
counter-plagiarist...
   gustave doré...
  you wish you could
copy him...
     i almost forgot...
that i was thinking of
albrecht dürer...
you can almost confuse the two...
gustave doré conta
    albrecht dürer...
itches of all of one's worth
culminating
in a crescendo
of suspect
               irritation...
how could i ever confuse
gustave doré
with albrecht dürer?
i must be assimilating
a dyslexic approach!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
it must be a clear misunderstanding when someone utters the words: 'you hurt my feelings'... taking offense etc. last time i checked... doubt is outright discredited... yet in doubt: such a plethora of emotions... bundles of emotions... emotions that i can't bestow a narrative onto... it's not like the lack of emotions matched with denial... doubt's plethora: it's a pale version of love... in all but certain times... a pinch of uncertainty is always welcome... as is being offended... it's a loose-paradox (paradox: probably a misnomer in the context) of... an imploding objectivity... all those who claim objectivity also claim: being cognitive pure... not being dragged: muddled by emotions... why are emotions so undeserving to be felt... i'm tired of the silence of the heart for almost forever... when people say they have "****-hurt feelings"... or that they might be "offended"... it's not that... i see it as: implanting emotions... somehow it's easier to digest thoughts: since... "somehow" thoughts can exist in both an: in vivo as in an in vitro staging... you will probably never take thoughts seriously... but emotions... that raw slice of cured beef? well... it's not that i "hurt" your "feelings"... it's only that i gave you... feelings you never prior experienced... no one has hurt feelings: never... people only have bothersome feelings they cannot digest... no one is hurting... there are only a few with indigestion qualms... but since it's not the stomach but the heart... no one their pigeon brain starts to coo coo: cook up nonsense...

in light of recent events, in England...
a proselyte: of a former Islamic persuasion...
gets stabbed, slashed... whatever...
for wearing a Charlie Hebdo t-shirt
at speakers' corner in Hyde Park...
does it matter she's a woman:
does it matter whether or not she
was actually talking or merely wearing the t-shirt?
a proselyte...
i'm sort of one: teasing at the adventure...
i'll write the word ****** because...
well: giggle... bundle...
i will not censor my thoughts...
but because i will not utter the word:
i will not: it's not for the debility
and some "sacred past"..
but i will not scream it: choke my thoughts
with it... i'll reach the platitude...
urban slur that it has become:
you... don't... "own" the word...
i don't need this black hole punctuation
marker...
                      the "N-word":
god grease this "taboo": i have better pork
to ****...

- when enough drink is in me
i'll be writing under the influence:
but i won't be cycling... i tried that once...
i collapsed on the side of the road
clenched my bicycle
like a woman might clench a ****-buddy
and just... lay there... i was aiming
for the moon... it was a moonless night...
i started aiming for the constellations:
it was cloudy... i just lay there on
the pavement...
it felt... very village-esque...
as if the Red Army just passed through
having seen the well-dressed SS-men
running for their life in scuffles
and... torn limbs... in rags...
thank god the Bolsheviks were not
those ****-smeared Mongols...
who ate nothing but rancid horse-meat
and drank nothing but horse blood...
but it figures...
can i please talk to some of the sensible
Muslims: the ****'ites?
the old world Persians... even they're ******:
how come a bunch of camel jockeys
started to dictate to the Persians
a new thinking parameter?
the youngest of the monotheistic brat-dom....
so easily offended...
my greatest "fear":
the jihadi with an acute sensitivity
most associated with: French footballers...
why are these Muslims as sensitive as
French footballers...
Islam was once so gracious:
i was almost willing to "revert"...
i was implored by some Muslims to do so...
that's the thing with associating yourself
with Muslims in the west:
a feeling of conversation soon turns into
a feeling of conversion...
i asked one ****-
            -stani who approached me in a park
while i was sipping a beer...
why are you single? he implored...
a man of your stature...
shouldn't be single...
i didn't ask him whether this was England or
whether it was Lahore..
i just asked him what:
Alif-Lãm-Mĩm
meant at the beginning of a surah...
he brushed it somehow "aside" with a:
'only god knows'...
sorry... but that's not good enough...
i have to be the worst type of
a convert prospect...
although the best should an architecture
student... come along with a joint...
me with two beers... him with Le Trio Joubran:
that is happened in Amsterdam:
of course it had to happen in Amsterdam!

Alif-Lãm-Mĩm: is that sort of quiz
akin to turning letters into numbers
and "seeing" patterns... there's that Hebrew term
for this practice... it's not chiromancy...
it's not the concern for the Zodiac...
it only takes three letters...

"666": ΧΞϚ

last time i checked: "they" were breeding black
athleticism over Hebrew intellectualism...
Hebrew intellect fell short &, sour...
with what came out of Marxism
and... Freud still chokes:
but it's hardly a ******* celebration
when translated into skyscrapers...
when there's also that alias of the ****
with the football stadium... no?

but the "******" can be celebrated for his
physical prowess...
there are more holier words in this language
than a slur i hope to confess has become
more of an urban doodle: prepositional-punctuation
marker....

at least i'm not screaming the "N-word" in the back
of my head like some stuttering numb-nuts...
it's there... plain to see...
if i were to write: Niggerian instead of Nigh-Gear-Ian...
it would imply... what?
the same sort of hyper-sensitivity associated
with Jihadi Johnsons alias:
macabre: Russian ballerinas are more cut-throat
than these French footballers...

there are more sacred words than require
black-holes of: translated into "thinking"...
the name of the Hebrew god...
hidden within a "name for a name":
ha-shem...
there... i'll go as far as that...
i will not utter this word...
but sure as hell i'll make a great dough
of it: seeing how it might rise...

**** a black girl: colonial superpower, i...
the English are the tourists of Europe...
i don't think the Polacks ever felt comfortable
in their backyard... ever...
the argument goes: since the English went
all over the world... the world now has
to come knocking...
for all this ****** weather: you're more than
welcome...
Japan is an island... it has much
better weather: go figure...

another example... a former ISIS bride has returned
to England...
she's living in a £500,000 house
and has been giving treatment for
a prosthetic extension
of a lost arm: "lost" in a drone strike...
**** me... should have fought for ISIS...
pumped myself up with all those
amphetamines all those warriors were
ingesting because:
drink is... b'a'a'a'h bad (stutter?) i bet
you want...

hypersensitivity:
great at running...
but... no good at swimming
or for that matter: rock climbing...
from a tree unto the rock...

no matter... i was watching the Australian masterchef
contest and spotted a stand-out...
her grandmother was of a south-east-asian
"persuasion"...
pure as chalk...
well... "good news": ol' sandpaper man
comes in... 2nd generation
of interracial breeding...
well... two generations short...
what's that like in dog years?
the first encounter... done...
2nd... by the 3rd turn product pops out...
all is bleached...
worked with sandpaper... of white: piglet skin...

what a pretty fine explanation...
this connect: nuanced: "us":
greedily waiting the next: new...
conversion...
how do born & bred Muslims treat
proselytes...
converts... "reverts":
if not black h'american Malcolm X
stints...
all white... Mamluk / Janissary types-typos...
second class: ha! "citizens":
i don't trust these anaemic-**** smears
from the sand-pits of wannabe Congo
any more than...
no... great curry...

how it came about that a western man
had to become: educated by
some... retrograde... concerning words:
he would never ******* use!
even in a bilingual sequence of "events"...
mind you... the niqab would come about
as sort of... useful...
concerning the mythological blonde and
her ******* tirade of cough-ups!

get the **** real: ******:
the blacks just want to be...
blacks... the whites just want to be:
white...
you... play-up your jazz
while i drown my ******* Prokofiev...
you be black... i be white...
women always: some great heritge
of brotherhood making a comeback?
must be a Vancuever sort-of
a shin-dig...
investment in lady... qualities...

just about right: how h'Arabs treat those
Bangladeshi whips...
you have to whip those h'Arabs into
owning some ******* whiskers...
brown-beat doesn't even cover it:
with the copper-necks...

- just don't get me started on the Turks...
Turks... supposedly Muslim...
but their alphabet originated with the Mongol
geography...
seeing how the Turks licked at Vienna...
spent so much time just below
the Carpathian mountains: in Europe...
the best barbers and the best
prostitutes known to man...
oh and the ****'ite Persians who still love their
iconography...
Charlie Hebdo was wrong in that respect:
i bet Muhammad was a handsome *******...
a camel jockey / goat herder...
an illiterate par excellence...

it's not like he was immediately liked in his
local Mecca...
i have my "theory": in praise of older women...
i'm pretty sure she was the elder
the literate... the business mind-set illuminated...
she must have been the person who
wrote down the first Surahs...
who? Khadija: Muhammad's first wife...

eh... and they really do think they're the dog's *******...
Eddie Izzard's explanation is still tip-toe for moi...
my francophobia will not go away:
i can't speak French and not retain a French accent...
that will not pass...
therefore? i will not learn French...
i'm not going to speak French like a foreigner...

clearly i wanted to convert to Islam once...
"clearly"? hmm...
i once listened to this spectacular adhan and cried
like a Janissary...
what put me off Islam?
****-
    -stani Islam...
                 Saudi Islam...
     i'm still teased by the Turks... well... Turkish prostitutes...
once upon a time i also
heard vaughan william's fantasia
on the theme of thomas tallis... and also cried...
i cry at beauty... that's what i do...

my ****** lot... because the Hebrew's devil is older
than my devil...
imagine... coming from a people
that still defended the last paganism
of the Lithuanians: the last paganism in Europe...
the year: 1410... a battle between the pagans...
the Tatars (remains of the Mongol Horde)
the Polacks: lack-land lack-land...
and the Teutonic Order...

perhaps i could have convinced myself
to convert to Islam...
but then... what the hell do i do with
the *******... ms. amber and all that bourbon
that... always reminds me of a brothel?

the Hebrew god...
well... it begins with the implosion and all that's
clockwork with the Greek Δ -
that became the Y or... the serpent's split tongue...
funny story...
i was chatted with a Greek on a train to central
Warsaw from the Modlin Airport...
my god... how similar Greek sounds to Spanish!

look here: γΥ!
                           eh? eh? it's a sound structure that
requires an umlaut when transcribed into
Latin:                     gÜ...
one parabola... two parabola: a pair of wheels:
goo!          of the ghoul!

i do believe the story of of Carmenta (the Cimmerian Sibyl)
because... why shouldn't
it not be mythological that the genius
of Sejong who invented Hangul...
enough time passes...
journalism becomes history and history becomes
myth... or... there abouts...

all for the best... now that we're all seemingly
literate...
under too much weight of history:
it seems that i have inherited too much...
and i have inherited too much:
there's a plateau of a horizon...
so much history for a single man to digest:
ingest... that we have hoarded so much
of it... enter filter... enter skim-reading...
but it happens  ever so often that a Quran arrives...
a fire... but then... all the restrictions
that come with it... so much with keeping
too much from the past...

if only Islam could have cured me
of my drinking solution
to the boredom associated with
the soberness of the everyday: platitudes...
perhaps enough: just enough of *** could
curate me towards a better path...
such are the times:
there's plenty of drink: available...
but never enough ***...
unless you're a performance artist...

i feel most sane on a bicycle... feel safest
when being overtaken by a juggernaut of
a truck's volume...
a critique of traffic...
i feel... completely bewildered when
a mini-cooper: this sized: ||
takes... this much: |       | of space
to overtake you...
while... a man driving a van...
or a truck sized: |       |
takes... || to pass you...

Gallows Corner roundabout...
the last thrill of a cyclist taking to orientating
traffic... in the newspaper...
another solipsistic cyclist was mowed down
by a truck turning left at some junction
of Holborn...
me and my unconscious spatial coordination
arithmetic: not some ******... although:
a ****** would probably wave hello
this was a paediatrician cycling to her job...
i don't pity her... let the earth be light
upon claiming her body...

most cyclists that die on the streets of London
deserve to die...
how nonchalantly they ignore...
how... no... nonchalant is a timid word:
how... blasé they seem...
every time i pass one of these solipsistic
bulges geared up for: target practice
i forget to laugh...

i feel human... i bought 70cl of bourbon...
gorgon... bourbon: watch me turn to stone...
**** it... i'll sober up tomorrow morning
on the dual carriage way...
why not take the risk?
i'm most sane when drinking and scribbling
or when cycling...
i was expecting to see some lovelies in
Upminster... but...
since i was riding a road bike with 23cm wide tires
i was looking down for... ***-holes...
more than looking up for cleavage...

but this glorious spot... just outside of Upminster...
beyond Cranham... easing into
Bird Ln... through to Tomkyns Ln.
while walking across the A127 Arterial...
the organic beauty of England is starting
to grow on me... i love what the Saxons did with
the place...
perhaps the Welsh and the Scots: the origins story
Britons that the Romans met would have
done just as much...
nice... tended to garden...
i once felt nostalgic for the land most associated
with Polacks occupying it
but a land the Swedes wanted... the Mongols...
the Russians... Turks and Germans...
i imagine i'd be as much involved with
a love for the organic north America
while missing the love for the...
culture that lay on top of the organic spectacle...

i much adore this topography...
of course i can hardly appreciate the natives
having too play the game of capitulation
of former colonial herd "animals"...
hurt feelings? or feelings aroused?
you felt them: your problem...

how the English capitulated to their former subjects...
it almost hurts... almost: no... it hurts...
i love this land...
i'm hardly going to agree with the people...
nicety... politeness:
you give them a ******* mosque in the middle
of... i've was invited to the Reagent Park mosque
as a prospectus convert...
what is it with having Muslim "friends":
you're only "friends"... "proper":
if you convert?!
what's that recipe you have for the Lavash?
who would have thought that rosemary
works just as well with beef as it does with lamb...
oh right... that was it?
fair enough... *******!

see... that's what put me off Islam...
****-
  -stani: Rotherman...
bad taste man... it just left a bad taste in
my mouth... i ended up without a mouth...
pretending to eat via the hole i **** from...
i'd scoff out some diarhoea digestive juices on
my meal and then... vacuum it up with my ****...
i remember the concept of teeth...
though... teeth were nice...
so was the tongue...

****-
  -stanis ruined my vision of converting to Islam...
i'll settled for this... makeshift of Christianity...
gnostic.. because... well:
in my position: you're not teasing at Hebrew
superstitions... you must be...

oh this land... this most glorious: serene land...
how breath-taking "concept" of Scotland...
all the finicky irks of the rolling hills of
what's mostly England...
on a bicycle: best...
do i mind the locals?
well... do the local mind their former colonial
subjects?
what's that saying: thanks for the recipe?

you see me in Bangkok... you see a *******
chimpanzee die from dehydration:
sweated out from his... salty... nut-sack!
i'm not going... to hell with south-east Asian
humidity...
it's a cancer... i'll best survive with "the idea"
of keeping up a hard-on / narrative on...
prospectus ghost horizons...
the Faroe Isles... *******: GREEN-LAND...

that's where Frankenstein's monster would
have went... i'd go there too...
the agony of summer...
everything decomposes too quickly...
the flies... the maggot **** the flies!

oh for the love of these isles... perhaps not the people:
then again... i rather drift in & out with
the anglo-saxons than be jumbled up with
"my" people...
you start to appreciate despising the
******* diaspora after a while...
i guess the Polacks are the most willing to
integrate...
whoever showcased the dynamics of the
congregation project of Chicago...
somehow forgot...
i'll drink drink this 70cl of bourbon:
don't worry... i won't clog up the arteries of
the NHS with my antics...

you what? i love this land... perhaps the wolves
have been culled...
but the foxes are still running rampant...
well: if life throw you foxes:
you're not going to exactly: ah-woooo!
bark? for the love of life: i will never
bark or take to the leash...
i own two maine *****...
i exhausted them while grooming them...

they ended up spending the afternooon
sleeping in my bed...
i'm hopefully going to retire to it:
with a horror movie soundtrack somehow:
soon...
spontaneity of narrative... closure:
more impromptu... less of that...
masquerade formality...
this god blessed land...
if only the Spanish armada...
like the Mongolian ships...
should the conquest of Yappon could have
been envisioned...

anyone still reading this still bothered about...
GG?
the consensus of... a neGlected...
     Giant...
i think... this former soy boys catching
their Goliaths... catch 'em cold... sober..
or... simply exchange them?
to perform so well in slam-dunk prowess...
reinvent classical music via jazz through
towards blues... rock... etc.?

somehow the weight on my shoulders shifts...
a Nigerian ****** turns out to be an urban slur that
doesn't invoke a Nigerian...
a soy boy vegan: perhaps...
i implore the use with coercion tactic...
for those offended: yeah... i'll just implant some
emotions into your heart...
it's very much offensive for my to intrude with
proper spelling...

let's be honest: anyone who has been:
honest... is by now... tired of walking on eggshells...
**** a black girl... what, you?! colonial beast!
yes... confuse the ****** with the Croat...
the Russian too... hell... throw some Ukrainian bias
while you're at it...
anti-racist western girls are...
eh... m'eh... if i can get what i want for
half a decade's worth with some Turkish raven
hair... beaus...
do i... have to mind... pronouns... prospectus quotes etc?

like i said... wait for the bleach..
or... the sandpaper...
i've seen the complete works...
i was ****** with... love... affairs...
girls that dated me...
sure... but they had younger sisters...
and their younger sisters were more...
most attractive...
terrible combination:
dating a girl while her younger sister
is more attractive...

for all the choices and Heidegger...
lucky loser...
no... thank you...
to be one of these super-sensitive Islam propagators...
me? convert?! *******: no!
best keep that ***** in the niqab...
if it were a bone tomahawk..
it would be a female... declined limbs...
blinded...
a torso readied for *******...
imagine that... a replica machinery...

oh i'm sure... Muhammad... was a handsome beast...
but i'm thankful...
that the first... last... true religion...
met a schism so early...
Muhammad was so easily undermined
not keeping a nepotistic promise for
a cousin Ali...
early schism: no truer than:
truth is somehow sold?!

i fiddle with my beard:
whoever says otherwise... no... i'm still playing a violin!
i'll sober up solo... cycling against the gusts of wind...
Eloise...
Eloise!
England... oh this well deserved and welcome land...

my land....
in deutsche:: mein(e) erde...
i watch the locals: capitulate....
   what are you?! slugging *****-best-please
sumac? i... i am to surround  suspicion?

this glorious land....
                   this.... glorious land...
this: ING-LAND...
best forget the wolves..
given the foxes are prunes...
If it's freezing cold.

The slow cooker's on,
set to auto
and I should know,
now
my hands smell of onion
though they're not finely chopped,

I finished the preparations
and finally stopped
for a break,
one more breath and I could be
on Masterchef,

so
dinner's in the offing
about six
I'll be scoffin' the lot.

Wednesday can be fun
if you're up
before the sun
which is better than being
up before the Beak.
Boyscout diaries #63
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2022
posit iota

posit: i(ota)
  then follow up
with the following
posits:
the D of id...
    iota's cousin
is spelled:
iota delta omicron
tau...
although some languages
extend that via:
iota clashes with the macron I
of the J... idjota...

mourning makes me so ****** *****

oh hell: mourning makes me so ****** *****...
i can't help it,
as i can't help the idiocy that i succumbed to...
tomorrow? i'll have to wake up at 4:30am
and leave the house by 5:20am...
catch the second bus, then the train then two
tubes to Charing Cross for a shift that's:
sign in? 7am... shift begins at 8am... ends at 7pm...
i had to "bash the bishop" tonight
without climaxing but establishing a good blood
flow to the *****: because?
well... if i get a whiff of the scent of oak of the coffin
passing near me... i'll drive myself mad
like a horse bashing its head against a brick
by being irritated by a grain of sand being stuck
in its ear...
i've spotted these ******* in these UCLA t-shirts...
what? you didn't study at UCLA...
prior to that there was a trend in school with guys
wearing hoodies with the word: DUFFER on the front...
Catholic schools: we'd have non-uniform days
to raise money for charity... duffer? the meaning?
a stupid and inefficient person... well: d'uh! no wonder
it would sell...
ooh ooh... liver tingles: it's pinching my ribs...
how many ciders have i drank today?
can't remember: i figured: better start early
and finish early... 10pm the latest... 6 hours sleep
ought to be enough...
stone temple pilots: art school girlfriend...
one of my favorite songs... so much better than that
Brit Pop intellectual-trash of... what's it what's it?
ah... PULP Common People: same theme...
man... i'm really *****: i don't know whether it's
the idea of ******* death: it's no necrophilia, no...
she wasn't my grandmother: oh boy, believe me:
i won't be grieving my grandmother's passing:
either one of them...
my paternal grandmother didn't even see me,
i don't know what she looks like...
she abandoned my father and left him to be raised
by his grandmother and her second husband
(a foster grandfather)...
  while my maternal grandmother? you know:
i'm pretty sure the invention of the telephone works
along the lines of: someone can call you...
and... you can call someone...
               my best friend, my grandfather... ****'s sake:
he was dying for about a month... stabbing himself
in the leg with scissors... some other *******...
did i get a phone-call?! nope!
two days prior to his death: the worst part being?
my now estranged uncle was in on it:
he came round once and talked about "perspectives"...
i remember that time rather vividly:
that's when i started to explore myself: lose weight...
i walked marathons...
i had this funny feeling once when i walked into
a field and toyed around with a blind rabbit...
i swear to god... the hawks were circling...
i picked up this tiny little thing: this blind rabbit:
his eyes doubly shut with some weird looking dried-out
mucus...
and yes: thank "god" that i didn't have a camera with
me... i'll let some dwarfs into my head to dig a proper
hall of kings in my head filled with memories
and no gold! ha! that's what i'll do...
well... thanks grandma and grandma...
at least ol' Lizzie provided me with hope and a promise:
don't **** yourself, not till i'm dead, Matthew,
no problem Lizzie... i won't...
****... she's dead... well: i don't see a point of contemplating
death given what i've strived through...
drinking will **** me, i know that...
but? until it does: i'm going to have one solo party
after another solo party...
i'm already buzzing about waking up at 4:30am tomorrow
morning...
mind you: that soaring eagle of a sun that was with
with in Scotland... well... obviously she was going to
receive a dreary reception back in London:
if it didn't rain in London i'd be calling a horse a *******
zebra...
my prediction? there will be glimmers of sunshine:
there might even be a rainbow...
i like flipping coins from time to time...
don't know: something must be wrong with me:
backgammon? yes... chess? not really... i hate chess...
Edinburgh... it was rather funny watching the old streets
i used to haunt as a chemistry student...
i remember my first year: i seriously can't remember
any rain... Scotland is apparently famous for rain:
my first year? i don't remember a single day of it ever having
rained...
- so i sopped myself to a state of pretty:
hmm! well... i too can don a university of Edinburgh
t-shirt while i cycle into central London...
yes, dearest Lizzie... i'm way ahead of you...
if people could don t-shirts with the word DUFFER
i can be "sort of proud" of my education:
sure... no Lamborghini... no Di Caprio harem to boot...
crustacean ****** habits...
well... if it has to go down with the prostitutes:
it will go down with the prostitutes...
at least i have one Turkish one who prefers to
"live dangerously":vi.e. **** without a ******...
whenever i stop thinking about exploring
this one last fetish of mine: wearing a latex suit
while getting my phallus donning a ******
****** off: hmm... i'll let you know what
flesh on flesh feels like...
who hurt me? who hurt me?! do you know?
i think i know...
no wonder i channeled all my energies into prostitutes...
it's no ******* wonder...
i can pay to be tender... to be a cyclops
with these massive hands...
in my head i'm already eating away at my own hand:
i need the "comparative literature":
i need to do away with the pinky and its knuckle:
to her the hand proportions: just right...
the last girl i was with? to my surprise...
i thought she was going to ride me...
she inquired as to why i was kneeling before her
and why i had so much INTENT in my eyes...
dunno... why are you naked?! stupid question...
no no... she spent the entire half an hour
******* me off.. i must have mentioned it...
i thought: i felt like i was being circumcised...
i wouldn't go as far as: Prometheus having  his liver
eaten by two eagles... but at some point i thought
she would stop *******: hey! no milk comes from this part!
o.k.: whatever...
i like a girl that employs a sense of sadism
in giving pleasure at the same time...
very much appreciated... her mouth and lips
turned into a Mantis wedding the Venus Fly-Trap...
i know why she was so stern with me...
i "rejected" her on at least 3 occasions...
she actually asked me: why did you ignore me?!
i should have replied, something akin to:
i didn't see: hide & seek in you...
i didn't see the playground...
i see it now, is that: "fair enough" between us?!

my god: when you concentrate on so little details
and focus on ***: how many pixies and kinks suddenly
disappear! when you've been *** starved... wow!
now i sort of understand why cats sleep so much...
i'd sleep so much if each dream i had would
begin with me scratching my finger-tips on a brick
wall: then... touching a woman's body:
to compare texture... yummy! yummy yummy yummy!
it feels like doing the butcher's work
(esp.) around the bones before
dipping your fingers in a tub of butter... ooh!

nothing compares to the inner-thighs of a woman...
no! no! nein! niet! nie!
and the eternal sacrifice of the birth of Buddha
of the most sacred ****: i could: i would...
slobber over it: into it...
like a leech! like 12 leeches!

no: i'm not a political animal, i'm not a social animal:
i'm a ****** CREATURE...
creature is not animal... i'll have you note...
ha: the day begins with dealing with a toddler...
a girl...  we're playing with cat playthings...
i teach her to roll ***** after she establishes the ability to throw
them...
blah blah: centuries later...
the queen dies... oh ****... well... PROPER ******, no?

me? **** me... i'm running out of prostitutes...
i think there's this other brothel in Stratford...
i need to look for a new brothel: i'm running out of women!
well, no... there's this one more i'm: well: she's craving
to hoodwink...
she dons glasses: those wide-rim glasses that makes
you wonder: what would she look like if she took
them off?! a bit like a fat girl... that: "what if"?
i'm running out of prostitutes:
i need to find a new brothel...

who ****-hurt me? whoever did... at least i'm loved up
with the "close encounters of the other-kind"...
i'm happy... my feelings are an ocean
and my heart is a sinking pebble...
these women are not so easily hurt...
well... at least not by me...
for years: i, my parents... esp. my father wondered:
are you a, munchkin?! are you, a dwarf?!
this was my inability to find a "friend" in the spectrum
of the entirety of the English lady...

please, don't, ask me, that question...
it's not my problem!
i stopped caring...
i can't give two shots of a whiff of the ***** against
the wind to even contemplate sharing
a life with a woman these days...
what?! what?!
i'm a 30 year old self-sanctifying saboteur!
i'm a man in his prime!
am i going to give that up?! nope!

summer is finally over:
back on the menu? fish and chips! and? curry!
LAMB and DHAL DALCHA...
but as i explained to the person i was cooking for:
if you're making a dhal dalcha:
you need to blitz the dhal... esp. since it's chana dhal...
mind you: chana dhal is popular in central
Europe: "my" people make a soup out of
chana dhal... a lentil soup... known in central
Europe as simple GROCH... the soup is called
grochówka... of course she was going to disapprove:
but if you're making a dhal curry
and adding meat to it? you need to blitz
the dhal...
          
             after making it i realised i'm a big fan
of making curries that do not include adding tomatoes...
and this dhal dalcha is probably better than
a chicken Korma... also: lamb is so much tastier
in a curry than chicken: chicken sometimes dries
out... mind you: i was using leftover lamb from
the previous day when i roasted a whole leg of lamb...
and this dhal dalcha is so much better than
a Korma: it's sweet in its own way...

    ****! no Garam Masala... where was that recipe
including 18 spices? ****! can't find it... well...
the one with 10 or twelve ought to be just right...
as long as i can find that black cardamom i should be o.k.,
bingo!

what a splendid summer it was... i'm glad it is
finally coming to an end... the long days are passing...
the eternal night is nigh...
more time to write: more time to drink...

i'm back in the elements of cooking the sort of food
that's seasonal for any European:
curry in the autumn and the winter...
everything heart-warming: i'm back in the kitchen
like a devil razing (best curry recipes?
the ones without reviews from the NDTVfood
website) the cooking of sinners...
well... a chemist in a chemistry lab...
                             i watched a few cooking shows...
Australian Masterchef is probably the best...
    today Marco Pierre White was on...
scallops and calamari served with squid ink sauce...

a labourer works with his hands...
a craftsman works with his hands and head...
an artist works with his hands, his head... but also his heart...

hell Marco Pierre White can see art in the culinary
industry... i don't... whenever i walk into a kitchen
all i see is a chemistry laboratory from my days spent
synthesising esters in the organic lab...
my heart wasn't into chemistry: my brain was...
but also my phallus and the mythology of Faust...
i.e. whether it was Goethe's version or Marlowe's
when Faust asks to see Helen of Troy...
i too would have asked for that wish from Mephisto:
was she worth it? was she really that beautiful?

when i cook i don't see art... i see chemistry...
the kitchen is the closest i ever got to getting back
into a chemistry lab... i'll gladly stay here...
i have other areas of life to explore.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2021
what the hell is happening... i've just put in a 12 hour shift...
well...
getting picked up at 9:45am at a Covid vaccination
centre... woke up at 7:30am... drank a coffee smoked two
cigarettes... brought in Saturday's newspaper...
****** off proper at around 9am for the meeting...
managed to get another coffee and a sausage egg muffin
from McDonald's, smoked another cigarette...
slightly hangover, but most certainly pampered myself
with some stuff... after having taken a shower...
bubble-gum on the ready after having brushed my teeth
like a dentist:
- garnier body intesive care cream on my face,
   hands, the nether-regions, feet...
- diesel, fuel for life, two hits of the spray
   on the area below my beard and smeared across my collar
   bone,
- avon skin so soft, airbrush spray on the face,
- nzuri argan oil on hair & beard...
- then some style expertise wax 04
(flexible hold) so your hair still looks naturally held
together.... you can actually put your hand through it
and you will not get any residue...
- MORFORE OSSION beard care balsam...
   turkish... all the best products for beard are
turkish... like the barbers: the best barbers are...
turkish!
- some deodorant under the armpits,
the ***-crack... the groin region and all over the torso...
shirt-ironed, trousers ironed, clip-on tie firm set...
shoes polished... thermal socks donned...
off to Oxford for Oxford United vs. Wigan Athletic...
first job... enter the turnstile cage... lock myself in...
the ticket reader wasn't working...
got a tally clicker...
supervisor came back with a working ticket reader...
but i still used the tally clicker...
managed to allow passage of 218 people into
the stadium... the children looked amazingly...
sincere with regards to authority of sorts...
caged man... some boy asked... why is that man
in that cage? has he been naughty?
so i endeared him... yeah... i've been a very naughty man...
i still find it weird when women tell their children:
give your ticket to the MAN...
mind what... the MAN is telling you to do...
in my 20s i never reached that level... i was still a boy then...
everything went smoothly...
the tickets i scanned went through...
the tickets the scanner wouldn't scan i just brush aside
with the clicker... most were season ticket holders...
10 minutes into the match, one or two late-comers
and then we shut the turnstile gates...
next? pitch-side duty... this time i got a seat...
watched the crowd... my god... the football crowd in
London... tame *******...
go anywhere outside of London and you're getting
fanatics! the Wigan Athletic crowd...
i mean: men in their 40s / 50s... on the face of it...
yet deep down... teenagers...
drunk, mad, chanting... by the end of the match
losing their voices...
one father was more of a kid than the kid he was
with: was... spotted this one guy smoking,
another jumped the barrier...
for once i didn't actually watch the match...
i had an eye on this one... classical English beauty...
i'm guessing a single mum who came with two of
her children, her father and mother...
the mother didn't look that bad either...
sometimes you can isolate a woman's face in a crowd
and... a war might be happening...
you sort of become oblivious to everything beside
the serenity such a face imbues and translates onto
you something... Sophia-esque... Athena...
she might not be... but... appearances are appearances...
12 hours from since i left the house to when
i returned... i tried to eat something...
first that chicken burger on my way home...
3 chips... i couldn't eat more...
my stomach had shrunk to the point that i might as well
have done a day of Ramadam...
bought some whiskey and pepsi on the way...
hanged it on the fence at the back of my garden:
i am only drinking... because i smuggle the alcohol in...
then tried to eat some rice & a chickpea / spinach curry
i made a day prior...
couldn't lodge that into my shrunk stomach...
i decided to get some calories
by drinking a glass of milk infused with
some Nesquik straberry powder...
worked a miracle...
then one cider & now some whiskey & pepsi...
i was falling asleep watching some
Masterchef professionals...
sorry... nothing can compare the Australian
amateurs...
they're such a new culture: and i look at them,
as a people: drawn into civilization building
from the ground-up, beginning with a cuisine
that's unique to them...
all the old European cuisines seem rather stale
by comparison...
i jolted myself: tired, restless...
******* i lay in my underwear on the floor
of my bedroom having placed my feet on
the radiator...
i don't care what anyone says...
you always feel cold from the feet up...
if your feet are cold... the rest of your body feels
cold... warmed my feet... still restless...
tired... really tired... but that's the problem with
my tiredness... i also somehow to feel... *****...
i had to do two no. 3s in a row...
tame *******... recently... what's her name...
that singer of BAD GUY was celebrated
by journalists for coming out against
******* apologists...
i'm sorry... what sort of ******* are, "you" watching?
the freakiest i ever allowed myself to become
was watching a ******* gloryhole compilation
of women jerking off a ***** that started shooting
custard... probably while listening to E Nomine's
song angst...
i'm tired but also too *****... i need to calm down
a little...
and perhaps the Hebrews have a fair point about
this "taboo"... of the solipsist Onan...
the Arabic religion isn't so strict... after all...
their mother was a concubine of Abraham...
   it's not like i 'm doing it in a ******* armchair,
with scented candles, with a ******...
or have a webcam active recording myself for a larger
public... or that i might have a ******* toy...
just this boney-**** of a hand...
yeah... it really does feel small...
that's perhaps why i have allowed myself to see
the female hand as the most ****** part of a woman's
body... i look at women's hands and think...
i'd need to sacrifice my pinky + knuckle...
if i can hold a basketball with one hand...
i don't think my phallus is small...
my hands are just big...
never in a million years would i want to watch
"sacrificial *******": the Italian classics...
sure... something classy... edgy...
not this ****** modern crap...
show me something that invokes latex... thrill!
thrill-e-he!
last time i heard women were into gang-bangs,
choking... ****...
come to think of it... paycheck is coming up...
i "wonder": how will i spend, that money?
new trousers, gamble with going on a date?
sure... a "date" in a brothel... where, EVERY-THING
is, transparent...
no one is there for milk & cookies...
i like to keep things transparent like that...
one hour of ******* and perhaps talking in between...
what's the Romanian word / Turkish word for eyes?
nose? lips? freckles?
**** a little, take a break, smoke a cigarette...
blah blah...
of course the Hebrews would think that *******
is a taboo on the male part, historically:
religiously... well i have a taboo for the Hebrews too:
circumcision...
  the act wouldn't really be a taboo is the Hebrews didn't
begin cutting off "excess" skin of the fore-,
if i keep a high hygienic standard: prior and after the act...
sometimes... it just eases taking a ****...
relaxes the **** muscles a little...
but i have no qualms, when it's done hygienically...
after all... "sword" & "sheath"...
for my boney elephant **** of a hand... skin on...
for actual *******... skin off...
it's not exactly rocket science...
but imagine the scenario when... i would be circumcised...
i'd be mad...
looking for that fleshy pouch of a woman's ******...
because my own protective layer would be
"missing"... sometimes i'm tired after a shift
in the cold & i still want to...
but my "would be" partner wouldn't be in the mood...
what then?
i'm tired, i'm *****... but she's not in the mood...
what do i do? think about, *******: carp fishing?!
no... since i have the "excess" i do two in a row over
really tame, wholesome *** and i'm ready to doodle
these words, drink... i concentrate my energy
on the mind having absolutely gotten rid of any remaining
****** impulses... the end...
oh... but that weak-spot of mine...
Asian models, notably the Japanese models...
there's a whole genre... GRAVURE...
*** is always insinuated... it's never explicit...
a photography of a girl showing her underwear...
the Eden of those inner-thighs...
the world is standing on its head:
with women thinking that men enjoy shaming ***,
violent ***... sorry, honey... those are
exclusively the pornographers: men who have
too much ***... most men don't get enough enough...
men might... have a fetish for...
say... a step-mother ******* her step-son...
obviously women will subsequently insinuate
their fantasy of: ******... ******!
ha! they should Marquis de Sade's masterpiece
of a novella... the one in which he's concise, genius...
hardly making waffles of speech...
i wish i was ****** more... but what's a boy to do
if not getting as much as his libido would allow
him to... men express... women explore...
i'd rather ******* to some Bronzino...
i'm thinking... a borderline taboo... she's 16... 18...
it's a momentary idea...
a momentary bulge... soon i digress toward thinking
about... fuller-forms... women in their 30s... 40s... 50s...
i think about... a well aired bottle of red wine...
fully-formed... none of this lazily available fetish
for matchstick, pseudo-anorexic:
under-developed... dolls...
i like to think of a woman like i might think
about sitting in a very comfortable leather arm-chair...
or... reading a very old... 19th century
hardback, leather-bound book...
the type of woman that might kiss her children
goodnight... but an hour later... do the complete opposite
with her lips...
it's a nice thought...
while men starve & women explore...
it's good to starve... somehow... so many less consequences...
but as long as you're hygienic about it...
all the better for the GRAVURE medium
from Japan... finally! *** can be insinuated...
it doesn't require for you to be "excited" over something:
so explicit that you get a LIMPY for simply not
being involved... *** as something "forbidden"...
since not readily available...
no longer the sort of *** of the western canon that
invokes... *** isn't to be "forbidden":
it ought to be shamed & "shamed"...
that's how schizophrenics are bred...
via a double-negation...
   via mis-wiring of messages, *** constructed from
a contradiction....
oh the English are the best at this...
they enjoy it so much that they have to lie about
enjoy it... they sort of flagellate themselves over
the whole affair... in the open they are:
such prim labourers of puritanism...
yet, give them the right sort of opportunity to
express their sexuality in private...
talkies... the ******* is rife with...
"too much talk during ***, too much: **** me daddy,
**** me mummy... oh yeah, you want it rough..."
the list is seemingly endless...
in the beginning there was the word,
and the word was (with) god...
yeah... so talking during *** is such a good idea?
i can boast about herr stumm...
i can boast about... an "alphabet" of onomatopoeias...
something akin to eating laughter with
sighs and oh: really?
talk ruins ***... a body ought to speak to body...
the tongue is reserved for something more
than being more than a vehicle for syllables...
words are best kept outside the medium of ***...
eyes ought to eat up the other's body;
mirror should most certainly be used.
Jim Wilson Apr 2020
We’ll all cook Masterchef pies
Carry injuries from botched DIYs
Gardens manicured and well-tended
Dogs knackered, bemused but contented
Very contented

We’ve You Tube-recalled every match
Every try, every goal, every catch
I-Playered and Netflixed every drama
Gone on-line for religion - good karma
Sort-of

Spotified the Pistols, The Clash and The Jam
Talked of We-Are as opposed to I-Am
Watched “celebrities” sing from their homes
Inspired, began writing poems
Like this

We’ve tuned in for the updates at five
Prayed for nurses to keep us alive
Popped out to the shop – but then no!
Jump in the car? But nowhere to go
Nowhere

“If you think they fit this description
Call the police, but please keep your distance”
Cop appeals, they’ll need some re-briefing
“Social distance” is what we’ll be keeping
Like forever

We’ll tingle backing out of the drive
Smile in the queue on the M25
And next year – we hope – we’ll reminisce
Of the day when we come out of this
Jim Wilson Apr 2020
The lamps go out over Europe; when will they burn again?
The New Deaths rise inexorably in Italy and Spain
We leave the office, turn off the lights; stand alone in the dark
Gaze out on Luton’s business zone rather than Saint James’s Park

Soon we’ll learn to spell “furlough”, to self-isolate (so formal!)
Did we sleepwalk into this – JG Ballard meets normal?
Netflix, Fuze and Teams and Zoom, set yourself new goals
Clap the frontline staff at eight, then stockpile toilet rolls

Yet the weather’s kind and spring is here; it feels there’s nothing to fear
Magnified, blown-up, eye-catching - a virus which sounds like a beer
Lockdown will get tiresome, it’ll feel like a phoney war
Masterchef still on the telly, quarantine starting to bore

London Calling reminds us “the wheat is growin' thin”
Blinded like Day of the Triffids by an unseen foe within
Excel’s pop-up wards unnerve, beds laid out in a queue
Sepia-tainted photos: 1918 Spanish flu

Then the figures start to rise - thousands now and more
And, though they’re other people (no black cross on my door),
A feeling of displacement, we’ll meet some sunny day
“We’re all in this together!” doesn’t sound so blasé

How long will England’s hedgerows remain beyond the pale?
How long the pubs stay silent? Denied our pint of ale
The chronicles of history await the final score
A time when over Europe those lamps are lit once more

END

— The End —