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katrinawillrich Feb 2015
future a break those offers the lord couldnt refuse the devil got away with him in both testsaments and each book one religion for all kinds

     i got will.
Figure it was the
Couch in the fast lane made a good rest
ing spot defensive offensive psychological
mechanic underhood under hood
The world is not
A ghetto
Recycle aint the answer for
Everything illegal
Dump dumb **** on the slow turn
Flu
Love(s) itself enough to fight back against a trained killer
Immune does it loud and clear.
Now there are stars where headaches used to make 5 points missed due to pain
Where else can error do the cryptwalk
Rest in peace to those who deserve it
Lydia Mar 2018
I walked right out the back door as if I knew what I was doing
The whole white dress and heels thing didn't work for me
To the point where I gave up, halfway down the aisle and took my shoes off
I'd have to call that the biggest waste of $150 I can think of
But it made a great photograph

I left glasses all over the house with little chapstick kisses on them
At first, you hated picking them all up so that we would have something to drink out of,
But eventually, you loved the way I sipped each one exactly the same.
Water or tea or champagne, doesn't matter

Wesley was barking in the back yard while you were reading with me
You paused to comment on how silly it was that I named him after a TV show character
I laughed and you reluctantly ceded that it suits him
I never thought reading was a partner activity, but here we were, together

The summer I graduated graduate school, you asked me if it had been worth it
You were ROTC turned mechanic and never really got why I needed to be picked up from the lab six nights a week
But you did it anyway
So probably not
I would have been just fine as an accountant or an insurance seller
I kissed him
"But I wouldn't be nearly this good at chemistry."

When I took you up to Maine for the first time to meet my parents, I don't think you realized how little time I wanted to actually spend with them
Really, I wanted to take you sailing
We road horses with your dad down in Tennessee and I looked like an idiot, so it was only fair
You had your sea legs in a couple of minutes, though, and I had to intentionally capsize us to get your t-shirt wet
The water was too cold for you

You started a garden in the backyard
Granted, it took awhile
You killed everything in it the first three seasons,
But just when you said you didn't care, the strawberries came back
The ones you thought died last summer when you went away on business and I forgot to water them
You let me have the first one that was ripe

We were going to plant a cherry tree
Even though the birds were going to tear through it and make a mess
I was wrong about a lot of things, and I needed you to fix that
So I'm still going to plant that cherry tree
Just one more thing to be wrong about

I thought Christmas lights were kinda silly
We didn't have any kids and it doesn't really get cold here
But you insisted
You put an arch over our driveway and put on silly music
I am so glad that's how you proposed
It wasn't perfect, kind of a mess, actually
But there was no pressure, and you had it figured out
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
i love being the drunk, you wonder less about the pre-ready
lexicon of: the sobering thought.
i have that, the sober thought,
makes being drunk a little bit more sentimental;
and when a sobering thought comes
along i tango with it, less blurry cross-eyed
loosing my inhibitions of finding work
in the eyes of others for the manually skilled
to let tree be a tree and stone a stone,
un-differentiating a plumber from a mechanic
as a shadow of a tree’s branch at night under a street’s electric bogus -
for the river of heraclitus’ paraffin oozed sesame
with aladdin: to compass north for me
and consider animation outside of acting likewise frowned and believed.
we took acting as ******* and canned laughter as amphetamines
to equip us to loot utopia with our populace and say: cambozola. only that?
i smiled prettier dead in victorian hopes for a quick one-two resurrection off the photograph,
because it was a dross dribble of skill on the pitch that
made me the ideal counter to feminism... a lazing lion in the house sometimes vacuuming.
It's true,
nothing tells you more about the state of things to come than the closing of another door, your face begins to show the mechanisms  that used to work so long ago, your hands have had that tremble that your father used to know and that was also long ago.

Each door that closes in the lock is another hand that moves, one more degree around the clock, one more sickening quick tick tock and a body shock, a heart beat, stop and look both ways, your days have reached the pendulum, swing which but any way you're done.

The state of things to come, how final is the death march reproduced by RCA on seven inches of black vinyl.

The mechanism is but a trick to show us when and if being sick would trip us into one more Autumn, falling with the leaves, leaves sand upon my face,
always the case we close that no one ever solves, each clue that's left revolves around, mechanically without a sound, more falling leaves, more sand, one more hand another stop, body shock, if and when we smash the clock, if and then and only then,
nothing happens, no one cares, he who dares just dares, nothing much in those affairs,
it's true. blow hot or cold, blue in the face
I  spread these loads and take the strain, the pain no longer bothers me, mechanic or mechanically,
I wonder if this means I'm free,
I wonder then, when will it start to bother me and will I care,
I and the pair of hands that switch the time and the hand that follows on in that line, dare to ask.
jeffrey conyers Oct 2015
You took an inexperience soul and taught me things I didn't know.
You took the skills you have learned in life.
And embrace them upon me.

You taught me so willingly.
That till this day, you're still special to me.

You schooled me so brightly.
That-that knowledge still within me.

If a prize was awarded to you.
You be so deserving of it.
You were a science teacher to me.

You were even a math instructor too.

You taught me so kindly.
If patience was a needed too.
Then you was the technical mechanic too.

You had the skills of an artist.
The strength of a coach.
You have the common sense of the principal.

When you taught me ways to love.
You was a counselor on the subject of love.
As you taught me.
I could of done
Whatever I want
Hell I even could of
Became an astronaut

I could of been a mechanic
I could of been an engineer
I could of been what i wanted
But I'm stuck here

I could of built robots
Or create new signs
But I chose to live my life
Getting high

I could of been a scientist
I could of been a priest
Maybe I’d be happier
If I wasn't me

Now I sit all alone
Wallowing
In my own
Scene
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
always the pretty picture...
always....
idealist love
      of awaiting the loves
of idealizing lovers...
   pristine gems,
from the depth of the Nile...
always...
  soft-core
mummy ****...
never the slaughterhouse
*****, hard...
the butcher shop
soft-core...
         it will never be that...
the cold breath of air
of the autumnal night...
       always the most pristine
love...
always the perfected
groom, and bride...
      how i whimper in the night
of this new reality
of the Stepford Wives..
         i found...
people who require a consistent
span of a man's attention...
are like machines...
reality t.v. shows are
but one outlet...
           like a mechanic discovering
faulty parts, the hidden parts...
the human condition,
articulated by secular
materialism of pure animation
within the confines of
a mechanization...
    fails, almost certainly,
every time it does fail...
the reason why the existence
of thought, doesn't translate
into much more than being,
but, rather,
translated itself from
the outlet that immersed
itself in doubt,
with the subsequent revisionism
of becoming immersed in
negation?

     to think,
but to subsequently doubt,
in order to be?
is much harder than...
to think, but to subsequently
negate,
in order to, "not" be...

because... where's is
the primordial existentialist
gamble?
the thrill of uncertainty?
to think and to subsequently
doubt is to feed the necessary
thrill of being made,
composite...

but to couple...
to think and to subsequently
negate is to regurgitate
the necessity of a doubt of
non-being's Chinese whispers...

i might have worded this
differently...

but...
to reiterate...
when thinking was coupled with
doubt, to translate itself into
being?

the French existentialists were
nowhere to be found,
given, what they proposed was
that thinking ought to be coupled
with negation,
to translate itself into
a non-being...

                  denial is the crucible
pivot of expressing bad faith...
so what is good faith?
the old enemy...
doubt is a plethora of all imaginable /
unimaginable emotions...

the rubric, behind which stands:
doubtful Thomas.

how did negation affect St. Peter?
last time i heard...
St. Thomas was a scapegoat
for his virtue...
but St. Peter received a *******
basilica!
but... St. Thomas doubted...
St. Peter? negated... twice... or was it
thrice?!

doubt is an expression
of innocence...
denial?
     denial is worse than the Satanic
lie of Eden...
      at least with doubt,
i can easily co-mingle thinking
with feeling...
but with denial?
  i can't co-mingle thinking
with feeling...
since i am enforcing
a lie, rather than freely laughing
about it...

Loki...
         jester...
   a lie freely observed and all the more
freely given,
compared to a lie forcefully
observed and all the more
forcefully made to obstruct...

negation = bad faith in Sartre's observation,
which is why,
doubt is to not be despised,
doubt = good faith...
because uncertainty,
a variant of agnosticism -
is... what Islam primarily teachers...
Islam doesn't teach anything
about the doubters of a faith,
a tickling emotion complex...
what it does teach...
is... equivalent of the chiral construct
of denying,
by persuasion to make,
nothing more, than an antithesis
construct...

and yes... i might be a drunk...
but when i read,
i manage to somehow regurgitate...
and it will never be simple...
because it's not supposed to be
simple...

  i can't make reiterations to bow
down to the populist simplicity
of the equivalence of
1 + 1 = 2.

             nein!

how the French came back to
Descartes, by simply changing
doubt, to denial...

   wonderful!

i think, i doubt, therefore i am...
   prime...
i think, i deny, therefore i'm not!
second...

the pains i have had trying to convince
someone outside of myself:
St. Thomas doubted,
St. Peter denied...

       it's not that hard to observe that
doubting is a healthy extension
of thought into feeling...
an ontological crucible... pivot... zenith...

how can someone not observe that
negation is an unhealthy extension
of feeling into thought...
an anti-ontological mound of sand...
a nadir?
            
i rather prefer the classical version,
the thought coupled with doubt...
i much prefer the labyrinth
of the heart...

because what is the alternative?
a labyrinth of the mind...
when feeling is coupled with negation...
i can't even begin to entertain...
the **** of free thinking,
enforced with every instance,
of making a denial,
                                 a perjury.

Satan didn't make a perjury,
the "supposed" lie...
is metaphorical for:
           an enzyme reaction...
arctic monkeys:
                                   my propeller...
why then... the echoes
of eons of the malicious laugh?
and Islam doesn't condemn
those who doubt...

but it sure as hell does know what
to do with those: negate,
forcefully lie...
    in order to gain some brownie
points in their ego-construction...

and... well... French existentialists...
i made my point,
i better stop reiterating
and deviating from the already given
focus points.
McKenna Pickett Apr 2019
I used to feel dead.
like everything I did
was mechanic and
routinely.  

With no feeling in my body or my mind or my soul.

When I first met you
was the first time
I was made aware
that my heart was beating.

That it was possible for me to feel alive.
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
There is a PDiddy in every hustler,
A Mitchelle Obama in every lady,
A Barrack Obama in every child,
A Micheal Jackson in every singer/performer,
A TD Jakes in every preacher,
A Maya Angelou in every poet,
A Napoleon in every soldier
A Mother Theresa in every little girl,
A Henry Ford in every mechanic,
A Micheal Jordan in every basketball player,
A Picasso in every artist,
A Tupac in every gangster,
A Martin Luther King in every activist,
A Usain Bolt in every sprinter,
An Oprah Winfrey in every presenter,
An Einstein in every intelligent mind.

Greatness lives in each and every one of us
In whatever we do, whoever we are
wheresoever we're come from or go.


©️IB-Poetry
2/27/2018
Every man is born ready to do exploits...some people never wake to the realism...or afforded the opportunity or answer the call or knock.
Anais Vionet Jan 2024
Why isn’t “*******” a complement?
I mean, when “Thank you” isn’t enough?

You get a great meal and fantastic service at a restaurant.
You leave a nice tip and as you leave, you add, a waving,
cheerful “*******!” Which says it all.

You have your car repaired, it cost ½ the estimate -
you’re thrilled - and as you view the bill, you grin
and say, “*******!” The mechanic smiles
proudly and says, “You’re welcome!”

You’re at work and your boss says that you’re getting a raise.
You say, “*******!” And you mean it.
He/she laughs and says, “Right back at ya!”

Isn’t getting ****** - at the right place, with the right
someone, one of life’s elysian pleasures? I mean honestly.
It should be up there with ‘God bless you.”

‘*******’ should be a standard courtesy expression,
there should be Hallmark ‘*******' cards,
with happy faces on them.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Elysian: blissful or delightful in an almost otherworldly way.
Elliot Kemp Jul 2018
I bow down to my goddess,
A mere mortal woman.
Who saves me from hell,
Then drags me back through.
She's broken,
She's damaged,
A wonderous mechanic,
Who can put my back together
With her own two hands.
She wraps me in her arms,
And plunges us down.
I've never been so happy
To be so mentally unsound.
Haha, insomnia. What are titles again?
Ren Fox Dec 2016
Something is off
Something is wrong
Inside my heart
Something is gone

I used to run perfectly
Not a single twitch
Then something broke it all
And now I'm missing ticks

What could have caused it?
What makes me malfunction?
Perhaps the answer lies inside
With this rusted wrench

I remember bits and pieces
I recall some events
But the main detail is
He was worth more than a few cents

Yes, it was the mechanic
The one supposed to fix
But instead he broke me apart
And now I barely tick

Many mechanics were supposed to fix my heart
But none have followed through
For a moment, however
My heart simply flew

Then the repair turns to destroy
As they tear out my wires
And for a moment
I wish to be set on fire

Now I sit alone
Hearing my internals fail
And now, in a moment
I shall die from the male
Jonathan Moya Mar 2019
The weavers of the plains are tireless workers
poor but honest, always trusting the generosity
of an unlocked door to let in a husband working
nights at the print and design shop, finishing that
last small sign full of eclairs glazed with the most deliciously  appealing serif  font for the new
French bakery off of main and twenty-third

or the plumber who heard about that
slow running toilet on the second floor
who leaves the bill neatly near the vanity
knowing the check will come with
the Wednesday amble and update chat

or the mechanic who can be trusted with the
keys and a blank check  on the front seat
of that old blue Ford that is leaking green.

The weaver mother with seven children,
threads pieces for their school newspaper,
spins fine clear aqua yarn showing other kids
how to swim, substitute teaches so that she
can bind their minds into a chalkboard panel
of good knowledge, even drives the school bus
if that is what the thread requires to be strong.

The weaver farmer sees the Nebraska soil
is thready, dry, hard to till,   harder
to water, that crops can’t be harvested
without the abundant help of others.

In it they see a tapestry,
the people it’s colors
everything needing a tight loom
for it to work, survive and thrive  
and bind forever together.


So, they are intentionally local knowing
machine yarn eventually unravels,
that good thread can’t be found online,
and that the best panels in the tapestry
are the ones that come from common life.
The Algarvian

The Algarvian people, not the urban lot are more African than Europeans.
They have conception of time if you are meeting your solicitor at nine he might
turn up at eleven. If you are going to a local fest and it starts at nine there
will be no one there before 10.30
If your mechanic tells you the car is ready at noon it maybe noon next week,
you see to avoid offending people they say yes to everything without
the intention of keeping the promise
As people, they are untrustworthy but charming but it I prefer efficiency.
On the road the true Algarvian comes out uses the horn for a little
reason a cacophony of noise; it ends blood like the African revolution.
And never make the mistake to give workmen money before the job
you will not see them for a fortnight
Algarve also has a rotten clime 10 Celsius in winter and 40 in summers.
But you can survive here if you stop believing what they say.
Paul Lost Apr 2016
My restless mind beckons your call
A falling domino setting water through stone
A chain reaction calling the heart to ease
A mindful armor anxiously waiting to please

My mind beats my singing heart
Tumbling logic
Emotionless motioned life
Robotic poetry remains mechanic lies
A bloodless heart can't love

But your words give my heart a call
A tune for a story told
A breath without flatline drawn
A mystery to a mindless fall

Can my restless mind let my heart so sing
Could a song be worth the fear it brings
Do not consider the end at all
Might a moment be enjoyed for all
Sirenes Jun 2016
Saturday, to work for an hour
It's surgery day
I know you don't care
But I'm sure
We can find other things to do
In the weekend

Regardless here we are
I watch you cut open the gums
And start drilling a whole
Piece by piece
You open up the gap
I know the principal from
My days in mechanics

Each time I see you here
In the operation room
You do something
To affirm your dominance
Last time you threw
A carpule, needle included
At the non-sterile assistant

This time you invade the space
Of the sterile assistant
Making her have to assume
The most unergonomic position
I could possibly imagine.
Yeah who cares
We're just assistants
No high degree

In a flash I hear it again
As I watch you
Do things that the technician
Within me, does not agree with
the first thing mechanics do
With a plan from the ingeneer
Is tear it down


Here I'll be the mechanic:
One does not put
Two implants to support
A bridge of four elements!
But hey you're the boss
Have it your way.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
{it does take a half hour to read, I timed it.}

Pythagorian permission, Poet, today viz.
five years ago, auto-did-actical,
the output arrogance,
self categorization
accept the role, be a finger, or a toe,
be a knee or an elbow, chose a position,
take it
make it your part in reality function
as if it all just happens
on
accident,
you just happened along…
as though saying show, and showing so,
is the same as saying so, and saying see…
demon-stratem ****
miracles of crowd perception, everybody
look this way, look away, look away
Dix-ai 'da swanee, I tell you, I saw…
Land o'Goshen, locust free. I swanee…

Did you ever, even once, work dawn to dusk,
to pick the cotton before the rain?
You'd need to be born before 1954, I'd reckon;
to have ever pulled a cotton sack
any where in North America.
You can hand-pick about 20 plants in 10 minutes while it takes a cotton picker about 30 seconds to pick up to 1,200 plants. Ai knows.

-- good morning, mustabin--
Probable propitious auspices
- evening the occasional heaps
- sun's light blending peachy huey

Phrygian gardens had song birds, I bet.
Bluebirds, in season, certainly good,
expecting miracles, as farmers
expect rains and harvests and
no blights or bugs or birds or fires
or frosts too soon in the sugaring cycle.
For citrus, not maples, frost some years
meant no Christmas, if you know the sense.
--- we had beggars come to our door
on Christmas Day,
their car broke down, and something
told them, the people inside my house
would help… we were three doors down
from a Jehovah's witness church,
but we had so much, and those kids,
and their mom,
coulda been my mom, had things
gone another way, in the soul selling.

To observe the future from 1950,
are we not
made winners if by now we are not in prison?

Rabble, eh, my equal rank, common-sensewise,
I was once a dear friend of an angel, as real
as any ever to bring another bit of good news.

My messenger told me to say plainly what I see.
Habakkuk Habits invoked a disglosalialacical spell
Aha. If luck were not a factor at the edged abyss,
hiss steamsudden
Coolant ego '
idden agendas, owning the energy,
euphemism
for owning the earth's produce.

Imagining a representation of truth,
as a mortal, a spirit embodied, held out
for grasping fingers
to find handles,
or spikey burrs for tangled locks…
-----------
Examined my selves
for an empathetic one,
I heard Absalom swinging in the tree…
I found no functioning, pathos perceived
is as near as one could come, feeling pain,

awareness, pain at being made to pay attention
to the replaying trainwrecks from fifty years ago.
No.
No, three thousand years ago, really, that long ago
and no updates on Wisdom receptivity?

Life in logos, mere words living in lettered lines
and rows, columns and pages and sections and such.
There are no sacred secret rites.
The snake can take your life, or tickle your soul.

Logical steps lead from one word to the next,
with 151 pre-positioning aiming words,
words that take and hold objects,
to and fro upon a time.

Distance diminishing day dopplering toward us,
the experience bound by galaxy level gravity,

massive messaging apparatus
Nachrichtenübermittlungsgerät zending oud a tingtingting
strumming all the oud's strings in theory.
Would you prefer to have a day in touch
or to have a day out of touch, floating, drifting through
the halls of power, inner sanctum, towers atop slagheaps
of holyshitchewdonotwannaknow, but do, do undoubtedly
know.

Original disconnect. Aware become, conscience ****** eve,
goodness found hell inventing just knowing love most needed
opens possibility quickly ready searched truth uni versal xanex zone. Calming. Sigh, and listen,
where I live there are
still war planes passing over my head, practicing.

Just in case, Semper fi. Charge the fuel.

Pilot training in the real Chocolate Mountains,
so backwash sunset red this time of day…

A brain, already capable of completing
ambitious intelligent coded construction processes

to go, to yield, to go about getting around orders
intuited easily entreated,
with little need
for the power
to punish the cowardly shirker of war duty…

to empty space, tzimtzim on a human scale,
as when the messaging systems deployed metaphors.
Empty vessles, not a few.
Mental focus hearth felt hooks, catch your attention

Red herring and black swans and autistic savants, all
attract attention and something
more rare, a daring
to know why luck seems such a powerful factor.
Curiosity before knowledge they say.
Whatsoever we agree. Eh?
Religions of billions, or two, just me and you, we
believe for a second that eternity is ever right after
ever before, and we exist in the interim, and not before.

Ever, in the scriptural universal sense…
make up your mindshare…
ok.
Mindtimespace, point grid riddled
with holes.
Perspectives on history,
recent history, edging bets
most losers never knew they made,

when a choice is made,
according to the ruling stories,
despite the constant compute refuting,
sneaking
suspicion
sin, lying at the door, did you notice?

If money can fix it, then it is not a problem.
So said the grandson of the Mormon Pioneer
who laid legal real estate claim to raw Sedona.

The grandson of the mechanic, allowed, that so.
- stopped and thought, actuating a still mind,
- pondering, breathing soft, slow, gentle, easy
entreating a change to
to whom, eh, from the page, flat, word after word,
each defined between us, meaning, golden mean
curve to judge beauty by purpose design.

You have seen the curve, you know
what I mean is much along those lines.

Chances are good, we say without thinking,
feeling kinda lucky, a post anxiety high, per haps;
any
way. One day, to a mortal is a measurable span,
and in America, wasting mortal lives
with republic guardians
of the laws enforcing peace
within Belair and Hillcrest regions of Athens…
{L.A. as portrayed the city of messaging mediums}
and the near suburbs, for the managers of the help.
-Leaping millennia in a single second thought
it is Autumn, 2023…

At the scattered outermost edges of urban sprawl,
there remains a kind of creative ifity, an absense
of civil strife, a kind of pollen in the wind, as change,
on cosmic seasonal suggestion that we think long
co-gnosis, sensing augmentalated wedoms, stretching
fi, the idea,
the fi in fiduciary and Semper Fi, and confidence.
Tuning to middle c, wait and see, foe from Phrygia
drummed response, thump thump thrum.

Shofar sounding afar off, listen, listen, hear
the babies, always, babies, after bombs, in the tents
the babies always activate auto **** alert, and feel
terror, the actual mind state occupied by the prisoners
in poverty, every where.

Entertain my brain. Hold my attention to gain,
acquiescence, necience, recognizing your best self,
there's the old tongue in cheek joke, male bond humor.
Same crude pleasure pursuant patriarchal hierarchy.

By royal order, presidential decree and papal bull,

the powers opposing the light of holy truth, persist.
All subjects under the common global order, obey or
else, we disagree with basic gravity and Pareto distributions.

Where the feebleness of mind is first discerned,
was once the local village or shire, cluster of cousins
and immigrant help's children who - how you say, see
themselves being a baker, when they play patty cake, see
or being a maker of clay vessles for holding many things,

see, we make up our own minds, then ideas take over.

Entertain me, show me people involved in drama, over
nothing. ***, drugs, rockandroll, when did the music die?

We could calm the world, with a Coke®
it's the re-al thing, al-ways a ways away re
ality with you and me on the run down to Rosarita
inland route from Jacumba, around the fence,

Singing at the top of our lungs, IT’S THE REEE AL THING
baby.
Look away from the skinny moon.
These bodies preserve life on earth,
and signal nonsense when aiming at stars, however
considering the heavens, far from the glare of cities,

even then, naked eye, I was told, however
I fact checked with my Ai assisting intelligence,
Egypt had not known the Dog star binary.
So this is true:
ChatGPT
The ancient Egyptians believed that the star Sirius,
also known as Sothis, was associated
with the goddess Isis and had significant importance
in their religious beliefs and calendar system.
They believed that the rising of Sirius
in the pre-dawn sky,
which occurred annually around July,
marked the beginning of the Nile flood
and the start of the agricultural year.
The Egyptians did not believe that Sirius was a three-star system.
- last line is all I asked, all the rest, ah, doubblingentendrills,
- all the rest of time we have to spend enjoying hell,
- from some perspectives, this is currently hell, no other.

Thieves of detail truth precepts, lurk,
at this line the author activated prayer circuits,
to take angst
and spin it into genuine umph up
from the base mind level,
low as a mind of any kind can go,
to the core of all emotion.

Dead center initial gravity. First sequence ex nihilo, what
do you know?.. o o psci daisy, just dropped the baby,
baby
can't you hear me crying, baby-love. Blurplepeopleeater,
lyin' all the time, you ain't never caught a rabbit,
and you ain't no friend of mine…

Take us to the danger zone, flyin' all the time,
ease our feeble minds and give us good service

Action movies, make us squirm, who has time for this,
we mostly all do, it seems,
seems, seems unreal really unreal, dream-like,
entrancement, fashion alert, attuned to degrees of in,
and out, up and down, round this way, square this way,
amphoras fit snug, round jugs
in square grids, leaning
into the curve
of greater vessles, trading knowledge
for knowledge,
with a few side realities, professional
courtesies, judgement calls, authorized executive acts,

I declare… I'drather doubt I know what you know,
than doubt that you do not doubt that you know.

Voltaire… defend to the death your right to say you know.
Faith is your evidence, we all suppose, spiritual warfare
is proven by the lie that says Satan is the deceiver.

Wait. What did I say, have I come this far and none
know… wait, those poor souls cold calling on solar leads,
gees, I'm sorry you are so used, really, I feel for you, your
job *****, as they say.
In realized life as a grown up in the system;
got a job, cutcherhair, dopplering by as I manifest, as real
one of the hitchhiking pests, depicted as vermin
on a poster displayed at the Greyhound station,
nearest to Route 66 in San Bernardino, March, '70.

Anchor links, ancient landmarks, moments when pivots
occur, and as often as not, acute reversals widen with use,
dull witted boys with instant anger output honed to fine edge,
grow dull in three seasons, few hold the line on the fourth fight.

Here, in cyberspace, the information super highway,
and the solid state circuitry to deal with mean free ways,
in quarkish inverse infinity space, deep from any now,
in time thought since once,
you did it,
you passed understanding. Got an A.
Some things have no pause button.
preservationman Sep 2016
I went to a Greyhound Dog Race
The dogs were so fast I couldn’t keep up the pace
It was Daytona Beach, Florida
A place where Greyhound Dog races are known
Those Greyhound Dogs were always ready to run
But it was in betting fun
Some one would let the mechanic Rabbit loose
Then out the starting gate the Greyhound dogs would be as quick as a flash
The precision in dash
A race around the whole track
Front and back in leading the pack
Dust flying in the sir
The clock is ticking, but always having time to spare
Suddenly the winning Greyhound Dog would be announced
People often placed bets
Sometimes the winnings assured in being set
The Greyhound Dog standing in victory
As they say, the rest is history.
Eddy Torigoe May 2020
Under the cold water
he slips his soiled hands
a shy bar of soap
assists but does not remove
the grime under his fingernails
why must life be so *****?
a malfunctioning bulb illuminates
on his reflection he reflects
eyes? alert
mouth? uncommonly voluptuous
nose? too large
but that is only a face
and we all have one of those
mostly
sweat, little rivu…lets
scamper down his fruzzled face
time for a shave soon
much misery behind those dark orbs
brains also
a faint scent of slow wood clings to his neck
was it a thousand years ago or
yesterday that she flung his jeans
and the mechanic’s shirt
with his name stitched over the left pocket
(spelled wrong, by the way)
in slow motion out the third story window
evicted him
and as he walked away smiling
a toothbrush clanked against his head
From: Eddy Torigoe Pellot. “Listen.” iBooks. https://books.apple.com/us/book/listen/id1508826719
Noah Stowe Oct 2016
My heart has stopped working
My brain has stopped thinking
My face has stopped smiling
My soul has stopped living
My body has stopped sleeping
My mind has stopped caring
My fingers have stopped typing
My eyes have stopped crying
My body has grown limp
My body is just a machine
It goes on.
Somehow it goes on,
Even though the pieces are broken.
It still goes on.
The gears aren't oiled.
And yet it keeps going.
And no mechanic has been able to fix it.
So I continue going through life
Like a broken machine.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
well, it was going to be a beautiful day, and it is a beautiful day, scorched grass patches, humidity to match that of Thailand... welcome to the Hot Age... well there was the Ice Age, no? there was Moses poetically summarising pre-history with: Noah was very real... more real than Britney Spears... history more real than insomniac journalism, fake history omni-present god replacing medium of writing ******* after ******* after more: swinging *******... but there's a plus side to this heat: angry-thinking... Freud can *******... what dream-interpretation? i have no dreams: and if i have dreams they're so already abstract that i don't need some coke-head to figure them out for me... i sometimes dream in sounds... maybe i should have been the next ******* Mozart! no! i don't have repressed-memories... i don't have repressive-memories: i have OPPRESSIVE-memories... i remember nuggets of gold from the time i was 4 years old... i guess i better leave some notes as i write and come back to them:

- sceptics vs. cynics Ezra Pound Taoist me vs. sceptics  (passion),
source of inspiration for this type of writing? Gombrowicz's Kronos...


i take out an imaginary leash and put it around my tongue:
hey presto! i'm walking a dog...
usually i walk a bottle of cider in the labyrinth
of outer-London suburbia...
i'm glad to be be 30 minutes away from Liverpool St.
by bus and train and 30 minutes' worth of walking
uphill to the biggest collection of...
well... "collection": an avenue of Wellingtonias...
Giant Redwoods (prehistoric pillars) -
        'which is one of only two plantations in the country'...
looks like i'm becoming a local boy...
i think i'm coupled with a gravity that's linear...
i'm less a falling body attached to some molten
iron core of the earth...
when again: what's up? what's down?
what's east and what's north outside the realm
of the winds, in the great divide between nature
and physics in the pupil of yawn-and-death-eating space?
no need to romance the man... someone's toilet paper
is already in pretend-mode of flapping...
so many myths of the moon died with:
one small step... another leap for... man and kangaroo...
i adore the laziness of sloths, turtles,
pandas... and koalas...
but then again: i don't think a lion is the king
of the natural world... i think the bear is...
that bulge of an omnivore... i like Russian thinking
when it comes to choosing emblems...
i like bears... i have this memory of being in the Danzig
zoo... walking into a bear enclosure...
mommy bear was watching... my mother was watching...
i walked up to a bear...
a baby bear, i was a baby too...
he started to nibble on my cardigan...
he must have bitten off about two buttons...
i ran back crying to my mum: he ate two of my buttons!
now i know: why i don't dream...
my memory faculty stretches far beyond what
most people have...
i think that's a welcome curiosity to have...
by the dictates of psychology:
you either remember... or? you dream...
i don't dream... i remember...
i can take you back to the first flashes
of brilliance aged 4... i can take you back to:
aged 5 or 6... when me and the two Kowalski brothers
first tasted coffee: granulated: instant...
obviously: we just became bored of sugary drinks...
that was a ******* gateway drug... back then...
why don't i dream? or why do i dream in
ciphers?
               ah... the memory bank...
i didn't allow pedagogy completely ruin me...
no wonder i treat the current job as a... hobby...
it truly is... crowd safety management is a hobby...
i like organising people:
one woman under my supervision already said:
you're the sort of person one would walk into
a fire for...
        i'm *******: gagging on these compliments...
i don't even think i'm deserving them:
if i am? so be it... if i'm not:
i can sniff a liar pretty quickly...
liars / lies don't walk on stilts...
       they re ******* midgets...
                         i sometimes like seeing myself in full element:
it will be: the most trivial thing that will
set me off...
   my nickname(s) in high-school?
Goldilocks (because i had long hair done into
a French braid from time to time)
Hulk: when i showed my truer face and...
   "that guy with the weird fruit"...
i did eat a lot of passion fruits, pomegranates,
Sharon(s)... etc. etc.
hmm... i'm pretty sure i wasn't supposed to work
the 20th at Fulham...
guess i'm just forever freely available these days...
people can just put me up for any shift without
me complaining:
no wife, no kids... ms. amber and Sophia...
fair enough... mind you: i like the commute...
and seeing the Thames is rather refreshing...
the weirdest river known to man...
mind you: it is an island river...
what ******* river as concept of river of flow
has TIDE written all over it?!
rivers flow... rivers shouldn't behave like seas!
how does that work?
the membrane "event horizon" of the Thames...
and... the north sea?!
huh?!

i sometimes hate London...
back in Edinburgh i used to wake up with a geographical
clarity...
the Firth of Forth helped a lot...
i knew where east was... i knew where north was...
and west and the south...
in London? even if i cycle toward that old Serpent
and Father Thames: i still don't ******* know:
i look across the river: oh right... that's north...
no! that's south you dim-whit!
ugh... i once saw London from an aerial perspective:
flying from Barcelona to Edinburgh...
so we were passing this massive lit-BLOB...
what the **** is this? i thought...
then i noticed Canary Wharf blinking... oh... right...
London!

oh mate... iT IS M'AH... MASSIVE!
it must have taken us abut five minutes to fly over that
giant sponge of civilisation... well:
paying due compliments... but it was HUGE!
it's worth seeing once: during the night...
but only once...
the rest of the time?

i must have mentioned it prior:
bicycle tyre problems...
Chadwell Heath the point of call...
the Halford's corporation couldn't **** me
a pigeon out of a penguin's *******
because: their mechanic was away until the end of
August: Bicycle King instead: done by Friday...
in the meantime i went for a pint of Guinness...

weird... you smile at a guy talking about women
on some other table... you're not weird...
you're just making an approach...
casual conversation *******...
hey presto... you acknowledge each other's presence...
and the chat takes off...
work, music, the weather... you name it...
whatever comes to mind...
it was so refreshing... it almost felt like being
soldiers on the western front: in the trenches...
breaking ***** and marking banter
on our crippled souls...
we probably had loving mothers...
but our experiences with women were:
let's just say cats and dogs loved us more...
we could actually joke with these creatures...

i said i brought a leash for my tongue...
i didn't say i brought the muzzle...
my tongue my dog
mea lingua mea canis!
              paro dictata:
i set the rules!
                                 n'est ce pas?!

there's nothing necessary to inquire for feeble men:
beside... what is necessary for what it
feeble per se...

now: for a sample of Gombrowicz's Kronos
note-taking, extravaganza!

chadwell heath pub promenade
bbq amazing...
missing: doing a refill, smoking a cigarette.
ginger brat: shivers:
      Ovid, book III, opening...
three unusual muses...
reading: music... ****** lyricism...

- and if i dream? strange... i only seem to dream of:
dentes: teeth!
there was this myth concerning my maternal
great-grandfather... how he had pristine
teeth... he used to eat sugar cubes like
a horse might eat apples...
he was the one who dumped a whole load of coffee
beans into the river: Kamienna...
the Stone River...
NN...an oddity in the ****** tongue...
you utter the double N with  stutter...
n'ah n'ah...
                   there ought to be a letter for this
example... oddity...
it can't just be a double N...

                       that's not for me to discover
or apply... but he basically dumped sacks of coffee
beans into the river... long before anyone
in the Slavic lands... on the periphery of civilisation
knew what coffee was used for...
Francis was his name...
he's my earliest memory...
maybe that's why i have dream inhibitions...
my long surviving memory is of him:
as shadow...
playing the piano...
putting me next to a toy piano
and the pair of us playing...

i have grown into a horrid man...
i'm currently listening to:
the Davy Jones' theme from pirates of
the Caribbean... and...
it's not that i'm afraid of death
or falling asleep: i just think the two
are a proper waste of time...
if i can remember living from the age of four:
why would i require a need to dream?
my memory has bypassed all that erosion
from pedagogic investments into creating
a workforce...
i don't need escapism via dreams...
i have my memory for that!

one crescendo two crescendo three!
four crescendo five crescendo six!

America spews forward *******...
i'm not ally to this current agenda... you know what
i think? i think the Russians are doing
a ****** marvelous "thing" in Ukraine...
much better than Americans in either Iraq
or Afghanistan.... much better:
less a proxy war: more a practical war:
a chess-war... a war of: consequences!

ha ha... the meme that somehow the Africans are
Orcs... the warring types...
the Mongols weren't?
oh sure sure... the English etymological roots
of Slav = Slav(e)... sure... sure...
this is my pet peeve!
my iris and sclera disappear whenever i see someone
make that statement...
i go: ha ha! BONKERS!
what African people ever conquered whatever
part of the world except their own people
which they sold into slavery?!
see! BONKERS!
i go... absolutely ******* gloriously MAD!

i've ben given absolutely:
diagnosed: mad... let me abuse the terminology / diagnosis
a little! because?! ha ha! i'm exempt from
standard prosecution! i can always succumb
to the insanity plea!
i have back-up memorandum queues...
these normal people are just: these normal people...
boorish and above all boring as ****-goes-on-holiday...

i know why i don't dream...
photographs are useless...
me taking a a photograph when i was at most lowest,
fattest? when i took the photograph:
i looked rather thin...
but? when someone else took a photograph
of me sitting in front of a Christmas dinner:
a ******* porky pie...
i don't know how cameras work:
obscurity of the eye of the beholder...
fused with the technicality of the added
technological specimen... hmm...
curiously more curious...

           i know why i don't dream: i have a very poignant
memory in my brain:
the memory of my great-grandfather as a shadow...
here: i place my focus for entering Tartarus...
beyond the already familiar depths of Hades...
i need more! i need to go deeper...
i don't dream because i have a memory of my
great-grandfather as a shadow!
darkness abounds!

                abundo tenebris!
umbra *** umbra venio hic...
(shadow with shadow come here):
i see no need for Sabbaths or for witches...
i need shadows and shadows of shadows...
and thoughts as splinters and trees as fire and ash...
i need! HORROR!
   i need the current people to live their lives
as passively as must be met:
while i quietly pass... pass as the angel of death passed
as the final plague that befell Egypt!
listen! listen! ever so... quietly!
i need them lullabied... oblivious to the SUFLER:
speaking cues to the actors on stage!
LET, ME, PASS!

                some ******* idiot will get in my way?
i will... sacrifice a lamb: and salvage a wasp!

- it was at work at the Wembley Stadium that i first
spotted a doe (female deer) embodied by a woman,
it's so rare to find that LOOK: deer in headlights...
frightened stiff about to be taken for grass by a lawnmower...
mature woman... i'm guessing in her 40s...
all the sort of details a boy would expect from
a ****... seriously... curves, *******, ***...
although: scared eyes, perhaps even scarred eyes...
i kept glancing under my sunglasses,
she kept glancing: irritated somewhat: irritated-fearful,
as if she met destiny and it wasn't what she
was expecting...
            what a beautifully bountiful specimen of
fetishes i've been fed over the years in the medium
of *******...
sure, it's summer now, and all the young and fertile
women are walking around the streets like
its a nudist beach in the French Riviera...
oh man: such under-developed bodies...
bodies that are yet to experience the crunch of ***...

i try to think about how pedophiles think...
then i get the picture...
scrambled eggs... i like they almost burnt...
i hate well-done overcooked beef in the form of a stake...
i need it rare or medium, **** it... even blue will do...
eggs? i can't have them underdone...
i know people who like runny scrambled eggs...
you can eat undercooked beef and pork:
but undercooked chicken? it's slimy...
it's like eating slugs... plus the salmonella...
plus... it feels like raw sea-food...
that's how i look at women who have not arrived
at any ****** potential...
it's ******* ****-ugly... builder-Bob's hairy *** crack
when his blue jeans droop...

young women are like undercooked chicken...
mature women are like rare beef...
BLOOD... JUICE... NO ORANGES...
     it's filth it's suckling it's the monstrosity of coming
to her **** after she just spent a year or so
feeding some rugrat with her *******...
it's macabre, it's... nature...
it's ******* a woman like that thinking:
ooh oops... when will she turn into a Mantis?!
it's like having a bicycle accident... falling head first
over the handlebars and leaving permanent
"tattoos" on your forehead... getting up and exclaiming...
i just saw Francis Bacon paint a **** while ****!
ffff-ucking spectacular! i don't need to ingest
any lysergic acid... i'm good with the head-traumas...
disorientating at first: but orientating after...

more life, more blood, more grime more filth!
more more! MORE!
mind you, is that 'e" at the end of more really necessary?
you don't really say: aMorÉ... do you?
it's not more vs. moor... ooh... i just thirst for fiddly
bits in language... and English?
it's the devil's playground... if Poland is god's
equivalent...
you know... it took **** Germany AND Soviet
Russia to subdue Poland... longer...
than it took **** Germany to subdue France...

oh to hell with the current exported trend of culture
from H'america: white apologetics...
i don't share your history: i've been woken up
from a trinity-partition... i'm not apologising
for ****!
   i think i'd look great in an SS-mensch uniform...
i like black from time to time...
i have thoughts of Karl Lagerfeld's style...
just pretend you're donning fur...
the cat isn't clothed... you're right: #metoo!
i'll done and adore the colours of the hearth...
i'll burn bright in auburn...
in browns and in greens...
    i'll become a... ******* talking tree!

enough!
         too many idiots are running this ****-show...
grammar lessons from people with an IQ of 60...
i'm checking out!
  bye bye...
  inflated overbearing baron-demons of want...
how easily they allowed me to dehumanise them...
i look at black flies and think: ooh!
just the right sort of tickle!
   people have created people like me...

how i can simply have casual *** with prostitutes
without using a ****** and not worry
about any STGs...
sexually transmitted diseases...
i probably drank enough milk in my youth...
broken bones? nope...
but outgrowths of bone? yep...
that's true... i have one on my shin...
hardly a ballerina in me bewildered by a tutu...
i don't break bones:
i leave outgrowths...

hmm... time for a new meditation...
the serpents can be left alone...
two serpents in a pickling jar? a DNA helix...
or... dragons?! fire...
the great meteor when the moon failed
to protect the earth... fire breathing
giant lizards... dinosaurs...
that, meditation: is over...
time to turn to insects... hmm... flies...
wasps...
i like that... the way wasps are born:
pure Darwinism:
insect and parasite combined...
                the larva is shoved into an unsuspecting
body of a worm...
the larva is born and starts...
eating the worm from the inside: out...
imitation cuckoo bird...
sort of the same principle...

                 has Darwinism been truly applied?
has it?! has it?! i call an obstacle i find in man
either: THING... or the OTHER...
ha ha... pronouns... ha ha... ah ha ha... pronouns...
yeah: these people have one:
IT...
                 i'm just a theological mercenary...
either the descent of god or the ascendance of the devil:
the wind blows in all four geographical vectors...
as a ****** they could have sold me Protestantism,
Catholicism, Communism... ******... blah blah...
this... woke little **** of: thank you: but i rather sleep,
is... supposed to what?! make me quake in my boots!
hold hold... let me just twinkle my toes...
do i have... socks on my feet? wait wait...
mmm... furry-toes... yeah: i have socks on...

being the massive fan of both the Red Hot Chilli Pappers
and William Burroughs:
hell only knows where these idle hands will
travel...
i love my bedroom in the night with no lights
on... insatiable: the drummer-instinct in me...
i can't help grooving to EASILY
and AROUND THE WORLD...
hands joined to the torso...
hands attached to hands... no saucepans...
**** it... thighs knees and the head will simply do...
i need to chase after my heartbeat...
out-chase it...

but in the darkness by the silver milk of the moon's
rays... my naked body impressed against the backdrop
of constellations...
Azog the Pale Orc and his Warg Matriarch...
well... mine is ginger and he's no matriarch...
he's a castrated ginger Maine ****...
yes... let's get carried away...
                because the comparison of Africans as Orcs
is a disrespected for me...
the English knowledge of etymology
of Slav = Slav(e) is also slightly off...

just like Billy Joel sang while sifting through sand
to find bones and rocks:
just like the post-Soviets in Ukraine
and H'americans in Iraq and Afghanistan...
what African people conquered any "polite" plot
of land outside of Africa? who?! the "Orcs"?
who are the slaves?
who's anyone, mind you?

Shaolin monk style questing:
i abhor the sceptics... i have this inherent hatred for
the sceptics like Ezra Pound abhorred the Taoists...
i can't: stand their... adamant... pride...
their neglect of being humbled...
how do you learn the concept of humbling?
by being humbled...
and how do you counter the concept of humbling?
upon being humbled:
you transcend and do not: humble...
whenever i was made a makeshift supervisor...
i didn't humble people...
i was caretaker...
because just don't get the whole idea...
they have partial clues regarding the idea of
the function...
today i caught a green-bell fly with my index and
thumb... i took a photograph of my "adventure":
as you do...
because it wasn't me stretching easily melting cheese...
so i guess that's a plus...

i hate scepticism...
you ******* don't know the basic principles of
1 + 1 = 2... CAUSALITY...
seriously? the fire that erupted in that tiny village
of Wennigton was like...
CAUSE + EFFECT = CAUSALIY...
so... i blow up a balloon up with my breath?
carbon dioxide... the balloon will sink...
i inflate it with helium, what? the balloon rises...

what's the impact i have by cycling to where
i need to go? no impact...
well... some extra traffic...
i might overheat my rubber, no?
but in terms of fuel? yes... carbohydrates
in my body... i need to peddle...
what am i burning? my own momentum...
i'm not burning any dinosaur fuel or gas...
i'm mobile... more mobile that people
who overuse their mobile phones...
there was a point: once upon a time:
for telephones to be left stationary...

  i abhor the sceptics: they're like the worst bad joke bad
jokers...
the canine cynics i can understand:
i can understand their cynicism:
fear the dog that fears its owner...
we're currently the dogs in fear of their own
fate: our owner...

i have oppressive memories...
that's why i don't dream... what interpretation
could Freud give:
and all that pedagogic erosioin fron learning
"skills": what skills? that would envision me
as having traction in the workforce?
zilch! nada! nothing! i just think of those poor
people who have recurrent dreams...
poor *******: how can you become so *******
as to have recurrent dreams?
70cl of whiskey won't help?
waking up at 8am the next day...
anxious out of both brain and freeze won't help?
not sure whether vomiting or taking a ****
will ease your burden, that confusion
won't help?!
**** me...
                   **** it... jump off a cliff...
paying close attention to the sunset...
maybe that might help...
                  i can't help you luvvy dubby... teddy...
please don't try to hug me...
i've seen how that works in the workforce...
one bubbly gal... all purple hai with
a hiding twitch in her hair...
   hugs me...
i just misheard a word she uttered...
she said darling: i thought she said daddy...
every since it has become a *******
schtick!
                 ugh... it's like... my ******* *******
tuching glue...
would i like erecticle dysfunction? yes please...
so i'm greeting this big girl with a hug...
the one i'm more interested in...
she's ginger: i have a ginger-fetish...
i think of her as: MOUSE...
anyway...

      let's get the party people pout and get them
the **** out of the way...
i will not describe to them that i have...
an inkling into right-wing politics...
i'm a fascistic nut...
   blah blah...
                    i get the purple-haired frogs out
of the way... by? hugging them...
i get onto the mouse... ooh... the dynamic changes...
i can't hug her...
the purple haired lesbian-fatso wants hugs:
i give her hugs...
but the mouse is special...
she's ginger...
             i love gingers...

i address her with a hand... extended...
she's not a man... therefore? she doesn't perform a handshake...
she.... hmm...
i'm a daddy... about to give my daughter
an ice-cream cone...
  she grips my fingers in the wrong way
that hands out to meet upon greeting...
she grips my fingers... on the wrong side...
i feel: oddly... left-handed...

i thank god and the democracy of satans
for the simple fact that:
none of these people will ever care to wonder
where i spend some of my nights...
ha ha...
oh please... ***** please...
i spend them with prostitutes...
you think i'm that quick to quiver?!
seriously?
i love a game of cards more than i enjoy a game
of chess: after all: it's one game after another...

games... games...
i used to be a big gamer in my early teenage-hood...
i couldn't be separated from my PS1 console
during the weekend...
i begged for a PS2... didn't get one...
i guess gaming caught up to me...

the gaming experience coupled with the internet...
ah... mind-mining...
teaming up... war robot games...
my thrill has finally come...
war robots... mech arena...
better still... the agenda of credit...
me? it's free, isn't it? well then...
but you manage to spot the people who invest
money in something:
they're usually skill-less: not exactly team-players...
esp. when it come to a game that
focuses on two objectives...
winning or losing is just a byproduct...
(a) gaining authority over control points
(b) destroying all the opposite side's mechs...
time frame? 10 minutes in war robots...
5 minutes in mech arena...
plenty of time to contemplate taking a ****...
mind you: either i dilate my ****
and ease out a **** by jerking off to a pair of ****
or i play an interactive game...
on the throne of thrones...
i could be wearing a crown of: dust...
and it would still matter... whether the plumbing works:
or doesn't...

i seriously had to wait for gaming to catch up with
my desired DIET of gaming...
i had to wait for the internet to evolve...
i required an arena... a lottery of... value...
competent players versus incompetent players...
players willing to hone in on their skills for free...
and players... lazy enough to invest money
that is otherwise unnecessarily invested in a game...

i'm coming back to gaming...
i can du soku... ****... su doku  by myself...
what need for crossword puzzles when you're already
a crossword puzzle of bilingualism?
sure... i have polyglot interests...
the concept of RENDAKU springs to mind...
as expressed in ORIGAMI:
                        g = k.... TOE-MAY-TOES...
T'OH-M'AH-TOES...
  
        hey! the people of the never-setting sun!
you're not much different, n'est ce pas?!
but there's a more obvious RENDAKU...
theta phi V...
alTHough... THought... and...
             PH = TH = F...
    but "F" = V... via TH...
                   the Fe? or the V'eh in THE point?!
i'll bring this tower of Babel to crumble before
my toes and then, and then:
i'll kneel among the rubble!
too much of Hell's ambitions have been sung by men
for Hell to simply: wallow in Heaven's tyranny
of absence!
                    we're here...
whoever we are: it doesn't matter...
                       one variant attired to another...
we're mechanisations to counter the absence of human
spirit...
we're the *****-slapping crew...
i pray to god that i'm not alone in my ambitions...
not that i pray...

this posting will have to wait...
i have a shift at Wembley tomorrow...
Coldplay... it's not like i hate them: i just don't love them...
it will be a dross...
but this posting will have to wait... i might have
to stop over at the brothel to ease my brain from
having ownership of a head...
i'll think about it...
depends on... a number of factors...

for the time being... mosquitos... caught... donning
donning boxing gloves... by the *******...
or... flies... catching them by the legs...
with naked fingers...
ooh... i love those pristine *******...
the green-bells... fertile *******...
they **** more maggots than they eat...
black flies are priests...
i like the tickling sensation insects leave
on a naked body... esp. when they don't deposit any
embryos... of their own...
**** me: wasps and my eye...
i would: most probably: punch myself to death if that
ever happened...
ergo? there's a god...
ergo? simple people make life pristine all the more
difficult...
no one has problems with competent people...
no one... idiots make this world worse
than the best it already is...
the ******* god of norms...
"calculations"... exhibits A and exhibits B...
i'm getting tired of this Atlas pause...
i'm waiting for Darwinism-proper kicks in...
when the dimension of agony-scrutiny and: RE-ALITY
cometh...

no one is going to dictate my useage of
the English language beside an authentic English-man!
no one!
no one... oh... but i'm siding with the Russians...
no one sided with the Iraqis when Iraq
was invaded... no one sided with the Afghans
when Afghanistan was invaded...
**** the Ukrainians: i'm not siding with them...
Cossacks undermined the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth... sold it to the Ottoman barbers...
**** them...
i'm on the side of the Russians...
which makes listening to western journalistic
narratives a miracle of escapism...
i began, to, stop, reading, pointless, books:
already, pointless, to, begin, reading! ******* bravo!
extend the concept of starvation!

no no... now we're talking more... we need more...
there's only one guilt trip associated with hell...
gluttony: the gluttony of death...
there are never enough dead people!
hmm! ******* weird!
why aren't there enough dead people?!

can't you *******, just, die?!
    sure: i'm equally man...
by no summary i am no exception...
perhaps... i'm some variation of an exception
akin to: i bite an apple: i... "taste" water...
wait a minute: you can't "taste" water...
since... water is tasteless...
how pow! either the apple is imaginary
or my taste of the apple is imaginary:
or my ability to taste is imaginary...
or... well... there was no apple to begin with...

ha ha... by now all of philosophy is not a question
but an answer: i just don't care...
and? i just don't care...
it's a must of: there's too much...
and there's too little...
      it's clearly beyond any prior concern
of GOOD and EVIL...
there's just too much... and there's too little...
there are new-rule absolutes...

only a dutious scarab of a servant might acknowledge
this conundrum...
we have moved beyond the gravity of language
concerning a good and an evil...
there? is either too little...
or there's too much! for the time being: problem solved:
i.e. problem staged: therefore: not solved!
hell yawns! more of these i.q. deficient mongrels!

yes, i abhor the sceptics with a similar passion
that Socrates ascribed the sophists,
with equal passion Ezra Pound ascribed his passionate
hatred for the the Taoits...
i ascribe equal measure to the sceptics...
i can bark dog with the cynics...
i like cynicism... i abhor scepticism:
they're so ridiculous ridiculous...
to them? the casausality bound to the physics is
non-existent...

mind you... i don't know what i'm doing with this
poo'em...
i have already broken several instances
of keeping up to the up-keep of
エンソー...

                  **** me... even the Japanese use diacritical
markers, the English are forever adamant
in not using any... even though there's an example
of レンダク (rendaku) in almost every word that arrives
at the "suspicion) of THETA contra PHI...
TH = D in there's a point...
TH = F in there's thinking invoked...
THE= V: THE point...

it has taken me too many takes to complete this piece
with too many interludes of
either staring at my shadow or blinking at the sun...
i will need to abandon this poem at some point...
not that it's unfinished:
it's only that i require a readership of squaters
to venture in its dynamic...
new "things" happened... i need to write about them...
too much happened today for me to want
to perfect this:
i already wasted about half an hour looking
for my headphones...
father... i know i placed them in some easily
re-find location... what did he do?
he stashed my headphones in a drawer with
his shoes and shoelaces...
   apparently too inconvenient...
a lunatic walking around the house with a searchlight
trying to find them...
                no, this poem is becoming silly...
Redaviel Feb 2020
How do I get her attention?
If a nervous greeting is a paper airplane
And a stranger's smile the nervous breeze
Then maybe I'll start with aerodynamics
But she isn't a pilot, she's maybe a mechanic
She might notice that my airplane has faulty wings
And the breeze carried little weight or feel
But I know that my engine's well-maintained
And the screws and bolts in my head are fine
If my hopes dance around thin ropes
And flying is but a hopeless romantic's dream
Then I wish that the wind bring us together
And we'll maintain what will let us fly in love
Personal poem - to Joyce
Odd Odyssey Poet Feb 2023
To anyone who cares enough to care for me, though I couldn't care enough myself...

Take care!

Sigh; why does everything I write turn out to be a poem? Why did I have to be the one so attached to their emotions? Why couldn't I have been a doctor,  a lawyer or even a **** mechanic? Instead I'm just this hopeless unheard poet.

I envy people for not what they have, but what I can never be. I can't be a man, and I'd never be a pretty enough woman. Can't stand up for myself, but constantly get cut down when I stand up for others. I've been labelled a ***** by my own brothers.

I know they don't say it in person- but I hear their thoughts in all those disappointing sighs.
And I've disappointed all the women in my life, and still act hopeful that I'll get a wife.

I'm bullied by friends, bullied by strangers Bullied by family, bullied by myself and people's impatience.

This wasn't supposed to be a poem!

Maybe it's a rant; maybe it's a way to cheer me up for not feeling like a man. Thinking about death while listening to jazz. Seems like I'm still far from the end, of a slow death.

Why won't I fall short out of breath, why won't God put me out of my misery because it's a misery being such a disappointment.

I can't trust my dreams, as they lead me to nothing good to hold onto. I trusted someone else's advice, and got accused by them; for being so stupid to listen to them. Then again;
I'd still take their advice again and again

I've been accused of being gay, and maybe my life would have been better if I swung that way.
But okay I could accept that accusation- still not when people say I'm so spoiled, to spoil my mood. Now I'm always doing things just for something to prove.

This wasn't supposed to be a poem!

I guess I couldn't stop these words from flowing. I'm just caught up in my usual emotions.

A note to some, noteworthy ending remarks.
For every tissue to a tear, is a tear to a new scar.

A suicide note to a public, in secret, away from family and friends. I'll be gone by this moment's end- saying goodbye to the old me. See you in ten..

                      surely this is now an end.
Zack Ripley Sep 2024
I'll never be the mechanic
that can show you how to fix a flat tire.
And I'll never be the eagle scout
that can start a fire.
No, I'll never be your knight in shining armor. But I'll always be the one
that can make you smile.
Cause I'll always be the one you can talk to every once in awhile
when you want to feel wanted and loved.
JP Aug 2016
an amazing
seeing a mechanic
restoring the soul
of the Car
when it got breakdown
.......................
he has
the power of communicating
to dead machine
to find and replace
the essential
to back on road
like a doctor
move our life
being a part of nature
of continuity.........
went unnoticed

— The End —