Would it Fease to make Connections secure,
The Outrageous Magic such Form does cast
Why not the Flu, whose Substance membered, cure
The Fly's own Happiness which would not last
With Furnace Embers burning your Hour's Spent
That Diamond Red of Sparkles unfade
Pride honours you well; Yet deflects on them
Would heal so if you can defer the *****
Intention, dear Victim of Absolute
How could one Comment subtract a Friend's Trust
When one lends a Hand for Innocent's Sake,
And Settle the Gnarbled Basket, we must.
When Integers apply, Truth should be Owned,
On Level Ground seen; But not to the Bone.

No One Knew His Name
when the woman called nine eleven she said
there is a guy sitting on the stoop
he's dead..
the nine eleven woman, martha, said
how do you know he
s dead we get plenty of calls like tha
t

she said, the woman, said
he
s got flies in his eyes

martha said we are gonna
be right there!

2.two condoms and a crucifix

when the coroner people cam
e he was still sitting on the stoop
still dead his breath no longer
straining the winter air
then they took pix and measured things
rigor mortis already had set in
and when they took th e pix
they showed two condoms and a crucifix
falling out of his pocket into the light of day

the woman who found him so still
she said it is strange
to see such disparate things spilling out of his pocket
he
was still dead and i believe he
s kept his state of being stubborn as he is/was
he remains forevermore stilled

we talked about those three things
two concepts really
two condoms and a crucifix
and we could not figure out which
he loved the most
because we never heard him speak of
anything but god crack *** amphetamine
trinity cooh, ya know?

3. Discovery Indeed

he came from wolf lake mn
population 31
when he left it went down to 25
ten thousand lakes
he could not imagine living there
anymore
but did he know at the end of the trail
what was he looking for?
two condoms and a xfix
my god he said
although he did not ever believe in such
extravagance
just before he went to sleep
perhaps to be still forever more
my god he said
as the soporific hit blessed
whatever was left of his short life
my god he said
although he was agnostic or so he said
my god
he could not have believed had he not heard them words
himself
as he grabbed the condoms and kissed the xfix
or maybe it was the other way around.

4. No ****
sitting on his ***** chair
he put his hands between his legs
reached for the ****
and squeezed:
yellowish stuff strained out between his fingers.

his grandma slapped him, hard

5. Things Looking Up

he lay down on the floor
to look up the neighbor's dress
he saw a pair of legs descend
from pink *******

then his grandma picked him up
slapped him, hard.

6. Harbinger

winter flew in harsh in minnesota,
battered houses, pine trees,
the wide landscape into submission
let the wind run whistling, whipping
subservient snow, whitewhirlwinding
down desolate fields and lanes

one day it got so cold
spit froze before it hit the ground
it made a little noise midair

7. Cold Dogs

one time he saw some fifteen dead dogs
piled by the side of a road
frozen like the rest of the landscape

even as an adult he wondered
what THAT had been about

8. *** Is Child's Play

in the first grade he fell in love with miss renee
the teacher who let him put his head down on her legs
and petted his head while he glowed glowed glowed
he learned to love school and read read read
so ms renee would say Joe, read!
and he would

one time he dreamed he had *** with miss renee
*** was tying something between her legs
a knot of love in her ******

so how did he know about such things
at five? he always wondered about that.

9. Revelation

his fishing pole was gone!
he looked and looked while spring time
raised giant mosquitos that buzzed and buzzed
about his head

he never found his fishing pole
he thought that maybe when you die
and go to heaven
god showed you in a sort of movie
what had happened so you'd nod yer head and say
yeh, i'd never would have guessed grandma

gave it away.

10. Alone At Last

say to the darkness this
emptiness covers all this
suffusing light scrapes away
some pain some excruciating i am
lucid preamble to my nevermores
in plural congruent universes
coexisting rapt in its own
say this is a dream a vertigo
a swirling metaphor for then/now/and again
can days still mean something new
today everyone left
everyone left


staring out the window at six years old
he saw woods slowly fade into the night
he thought they sank
into an oblivious fog

why didn't i go to the neighbors' house

11. Death Becomes The Fisherman

the lakes were all around
they said let's go see the drowned man
so they went to the shore
a boat with two men rowing
approached
you could see a hand and an arm sticking out
from somebody lying on the floor
someone said "hey, he
s waving"
close to the shore
the wind brought the overpowering
stink of death
that shocked him because he'
d not thought of "drowned" as "dead"

they brought the body out
to the shore
covered it waiting for the coroner to show up

mother and sister cried nearby
neither could approach the stinking corpse

he then realized that no matter what
you can't kiss a rotting corpse.

12. Rubber Match

the first time he met a ******
there was no formal intro
he just found it in his father'
s drawer
filled it with water
dumped it on the neighbor
s'
yard

later on he could hear them fight

13.Prurient Discovery

when he was 13 he made love to her
who was 16
and all he could think about
was how gross it was and wet

until he came

then his opinion suddenly
changed

for the

better

14. Death Is

his grandmother was sick
in the MN winter cold home
she coughed and coughed
so she
put kerosene on her back
and chest
he saw she got blisters
he did not want to help
clean them up
so he hid
until she was quiet for a couple of days

he went to see her she was dead
so he stayed drunk for a week or so
until he could not stand the stink no more

15. The Beginning of the End

he went to a foster home
there were 5 other teenagers there
the first night
he went to bed
someone put a pillow on his head
while hands turned him over
held him down
pulled his pjs down
5 guys ***** him then and there

the next day he ran away

16. The End of the Beginning

they brought him back 23 times
on the 24 he met one of the kids
by the lake
stuck a knife under the guys
ribcage on the right side

all the guy did was sigh
and slide slowly down

he pushed the guy into the water
somehow it took weeks to find the body
by then nobody could tell he'd been stabbed

but none of the kids ever held him down
again

17. COOH

alcohol alcohol
its sweet old name tells me all
i need to know how spinning
the world distances itself
in a warm blood red haze
and only a swollen torpor remains
alcohol alcohol
its sweet old name tells me all
i need to know
and not to know

18. Not Late, Just Timely

time 'sss a stone a sash a thunderbolt up high
a rudder a list a lisp a restless meandering
time 'sss a spire a fish still below the waves
a constraint a push a shove a deal a nothing
time 'ssss a look a lock a rail
a sunrise a fall a crack a vial
time 'sss a sock a pen a handgun
a radiant breeze a solid solid hand
two elbows and one mouth

he took his time and time took him
step by step he climbed the stairs of his cognizance
such as it was just this
no hope

i say no hope but no despair either
the world sometimes it's just the way it is
he understood that but what to make
of this breathing hearing seeing tasting feeling smelling
thinking self
he knew not
and in not knowing
he passed the time that isss not
what you think it isss
time 'sss not even a ticking tocking clock
just let it be he said to himself
time 'sss not me
yet time isss me

and he took another ****


19. Luger

his father came back to town one day
the war had been over for a few years then
they told him where he could find his father and he went
and watched his father, dressed in combat rags,
as he counted the fingers of his shooting hand

they exchanged glances and he left

got drunk and did not hear or see his father ever again.

20. Life As A Long One Night Stand

the girls are many the girls are new
every day they seems to look at you
and you melt and then you are gone
in another trip with another stranger
in your bed do not say much
cause *** is just another drug

just cheaper and easier to get
than smack

21. Epitaph

he learned a song and a little dance
at the emergency rooms where he got
the prescription pain killers man he could
lie and act and pretend so much
he knew they'
d really have to give him stuff
cause that'
s the way that things work
in big city hospitals
he re-membered a doc who smiled at him
saying man you'll be dead soon
although you think you are fooling me
the only fool in this room is you

he laughed cause he could not agree more
put that in my tombstone he said
the doc said no, you are gonna do it all by yourself

22. Lost Weekend
-.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.-
-.- -.- -.- -.-
-.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.-
-.- -.- -.- -.-

23. Dashes and Spaces
---- -- -- - - --- --
-- - -- -- -- - - -- - -- -- -
--- - - - - - -- - -- - - - --- - -
-- - - -- -- -- -- ---- - - --

24. Two Condoms

at the end of the road
the road the empty road
the sinuous complex road
the road the heavy road
where lust and love entwine
who knows the end or the beginning
who knows alpha or omega
who the what who the where who even
the hidden sentient how
the nothingness the emptiness
of come and come and come
just emptiness of not becoming
he heard himself saying screaming
at the end of something like a bumpy ride
she was who knows who but she was
you know the hole the whole the mankind whole
the all embracing whole the whole hole
the destination origin
the one and all
he said here i belong elementary
i exist because of this
he pounded pounded in his anguish
of becoming one and whole
he howled his grief intermittent
as pulse wave of heart
the heat of his despair
the only drug that it's living protein
he felt his way
and then was gone from virile crisis
to distant remote self acquiring its orthodoxy of despair
because as he put it once you cannot ever **** yourself
square the circle as it were
so he accepted two trojans
at the bar when a guy in the adjacent ****** said
these are the best and yes
we gotta protect ourselves
and left the couple of rubbers
by the sink
and he would have washed his hands
had he known how
but instead put them products in his pocket
a premonition of some kind of future bliss
tugging the sleeve of his presentiment

carving already a vast innocent tomorrow
while he walked out

he truly did not care

25. Crucifix

at the end of the road the empty road, the road full of lies, deceit and a hunger so great it overwhelmed all else, at the end, the terminus, the appointed hour, at the end of the alpha, the omega, the in-between, the road sinuous road that led down the miriad steps to the steps on a stoop in the city of new york, at the end of a long concatenation of minutes, each ethereal, insubstantial, a construct, a vapid dream or nightmare indeed he sat down one last time with his burden of hours to dream one last warm oblivious cozy, embracing shroud, sweet balm to assuage the freezing claws of grief. in the seedy bar last
night he met a blonde who said, your eyes remind me of a long ago boyfriend, he said well, he musta been one hell of a guy, she said indeed, he died in iraq, suicide, ******* he said that is not right, she said we are all at war, daily intimate war, i think, who said we met the enemy and it's us? he did not know but understood, he said although denial is more than a river in egypt, ha ha, but they both got it since they both craved the same intoxication, the same zig-zag and feint, she said the first time i got drunk i was eleven, that was my first time for *** too, he said the first time i got drunk i too was eleven, the night had fallen i was alone in wisconsin among the wolves of winter howling their relentless wind outside, i found a bottle of the hard stuff, not beer like everybody drank i could not stand the taste it was too bitter, but gin, and i drank it convulsed at first by the shock, then not, just drinking a few more gulps and believed i had found the greatest gift on earth, the greatest warmest kindest confidant, she said you talk funny, but i understand what you are talking about, i know the allure but my hangovers, wow, he said no, i never got one, but. here is the but. i knew a limit, i was never blind blind drunk until much later in new york, she said we each have our cross to bear and laughed and dontcha just wanna do a line now ha ha, and it went on like that for quite a while. when she was leaving she said, you wanna see something funny, yeah he said, she brought out a crucifix and it was indeed jesus, his mouth open, imploring relief from his harsh dad, and he had a gold tooth, blue eyes and dreads, he laughed and said that's quite contemporary and she said wha? you don't think he looked like that? but really who knows what the truth was, he said or is, so they both lifted one in memory of the dear departed one who had caused so much trouble here on earth, but, she said, he did not mean it, here keep it and he did. later on he found his fix it was extra good ****, too good in fact, and who knows, when he sat there with flies in his eyes, his life a dream, invention, make believe, whether any of the episodes were true at all, sob stories to assuage the beast of craving within, get his hand in your pocket and whether, as he sank below the surface of his tortured bliss, he saw his true light at long last.

and she spoke,
and her lips were myth;
her tongue, song:

forehead scar shone
lodes of rune
re-membered ember
of yesteraeon soot cooked
sitting fire in ashen ire re-sired

without him

her self
felt, *******
clod alive

tooth of skull
culled forth
bone spoken
tomes uttered

and i felt her light enter
this dilating space
of ebb and ruin and alone

stile of mine
thresheld, again
footfall of wynd,
blown open
into dope field sprung swim

talking exhaust writing, talking leaves no impetus to write,
talking is like staring into a closet or a boiler room,
there are fumes of missed chances, or of shadowy skeletons
asking for a revision of the social etiquette no made:
what is the quasi-dialectics modern society prescribes
nudging in a lie with a lie followed by another lie?
whatever the defining term, it only prescribes a loss of furthering
discussion, empowering this etiquette with solipsism;
or there this overly psychologised parent thesis,
this morbidity of the lost beauty of language, fixated
on guarantees of never being undermined - it stinks of
excluding all other uses of language, or it simply tries to
incorporate them under the banner that history, poetry, philosophy,
physics can be psychologised into one affordable use of language,
which is why when i write psychological words i am greatly pained,
e.g.:

a bit like probing someone’s subconscious for a quick
memory stimulant: in a shop two friends
passed the isles,
the music shop was blasting creedence clearwater revival...
with the song cotton fields being used
as the adequate prop for the experiment...
when i was a little bitty baby
my mama would rock me in the cradle,
in them old cotton fields back home;
it was down in louisiana
just about a mile from texarkana,
in them old cotton fields back home -*
buzzing, looking for dvds of gone girl and some science fiction
movie...
the music in the background wasn’t discussed...
but the revival of the vinyls in a corner was admired...
34 quid for the beatles’ white album... *******...
and cornershops’ brimful of asha lazy instrument at 70£...
then some tea and café awkward flirtation...
then to the pub!
two pints down the gob and the quizzical stutter gone...
the sort that means you thought for very long
and didn’t speak to someone for a long time...
nerves of caffeine and nicotine with the boogie wagon...
so yeah... prodding memory in the subconscious
as short-term, meaning long-term in the waking hour defines
the personality among other faculties of the membered brain,
whether that’s liver, kidney or lung... the brain troops
them into the body on the northern korean march sport of the army...
some say the chinese will come with a pigeon or a crane strut...
no geese in pseudo-hindu affiliations of order...
memory and the third party from sleep to wake?
how many dreams could you actually remember with the alarm clock ringing?
about none...
i wake without the alarm clock... and when waking i have a strange
dream in the 5 minutes of the snooze button imaginarily pressed...
the general anaesthetic isn’t death... because under general anaesthetic
you don’t actually dream... it’s chemical not even remotely natural.
so that part where i exclaimed: to the pub!
some landscapist on the wall with full biography lamenting
the curses of the french revolution and how the aristocracy suffered
with the new aristocracy of the newly rich... the merchants
the shoelace tiers... the cobblers and the chieftains of the cooking ***,
‘yeah, chicken hearts in onion sauce have the consistency of squid rings,’
and so... in the olden thou art a battered beetroot cheek...
this landscapist wrote four clauses about ol’ *** village known today
as gidea park... he swore that he noticed chalky graffiti
of vituperativeness... he said: no chore of violence was revealed,
since the graffiti was sworn as an oath to dig into the coal mines of melancholic bile
and simply vandalise the new aristocrats’ possessions
with words of cursing chiseled in by chalk, of the newly rich
who never passed their gains through blood but rather through molten iron or sporty leather - but you know what they say:
the merchant of mecca dies... the blood heirs become assassinated
and the four caliphs (the rashidun) emerge.
only poets have the courage to return to the beginnings
of language acquisition - they dare to mishandle language
and by mishandling it dare to usurp prosaic grammar structures,
only poets have the courage to return to the beginnings
of language acquisition, singing the alphabet:
a b c d e f g... h i j... k... el em en l o p... q r s... t u v... w x blah blah z (
with a quasi incy wincy spider timing).
that's what i mean! i hate psychologism and psychological
words in general, they literally domineer people,
it's like the jungian theory of the collective unconscious...
it's like we're supposed to remember the archetypes...
but the unconscious has no memory-content...
given the fact that the unconscious is pure imagination...
since we dream... i don't know how we remember dreams...
but it's hardly in our sleep but upon waking...
a thin red line though... 'tshh... mayday mayday...
boeing 747 flight no. 209zt is going to crash...
black box on the ready, over and out... tshh,'
unless the memory function in the unconscious is to
remember the image sequence that are dreams
upon waking... thin red line though...
oh no... how did i get tangled in this psychology *******
once again?!
unwind! i walked home in the cool autumn
wearing just a shirt...
down a very english road of haunted houses of satiated
materialism... the colour patterns of flowers
still not stampeded by winter in blush violet and indigo...
amorous chequers of flamingos and oranges...
and the sunset with a 10 - 1 bet against it...
with the moon just behind the corner of the sky
looming hazes of cloudy cider sky of the northern dark.

RECORD: STARVE THE EGO, FEED THE SOUL
FROGMAN: b-e-a-GLITCH-ed- MO-B-i-US

Johnny's and Suzy's: Clearheaded,
                                   enough to re-member throwse

Two roads divergent in a desert, and I—
I took the one most pondered by,
And that has made no din-fearence.
-- Robert Frost, Frogman

It's a regret-fully re-membered-trance.
And yet it teaches one that there is

Dare, or dare not.
There is no try.
-- Yoda, Frogman

"Sticking fteathers up your rutt does not get you a kick'n!"
-- Tyler Durden, Greedy Scorpion

[ . . I hear.
I see.
I dare.
I learn . .

Johnny's: Now, Dare

STOP: LOOSE THOUGHT

The Witch of Estelle
Found her her vision.
for the Witch of Estelle found her His vision.
His vision of found
In this world for His sound.
For the Witch of Estelle, found her His Vision.

On 13th September
A fires quaint ember
Spoke what’s not spoken,
yet membered.
A mind for He sought,
with furnace for thought,
wisdom and secrets,
crafts and of demons.
All left unspoken,
yet remembered.

so it was there in a one-way mirrored sea
like the symphonies of last nights missing
like dreams, tying together a raft of flotsam
and bottles with only their messages
keeping them afloat, the rocks at the bottom
of the glasses, delirium, the deserts
of time, trying to re-member the mind
dis-membered across a splitting headache
that will teach you as much as zen anecdotes
you tell other people, you only have
what was already running out before,
where someone left the idle shore to lose
and be lost to you who will miss the bliss
of whispers before that last kiss, like a grand mirage.

I find a new psychosis every day
To drop my consciousness in and watch it
Floatsinkdissolve in turboiled social pit
Re membered in fear with loathing alway
S a thoughtbone under down actions body
Speech mind avnues stomped in cortex Jell-O
Wiggly gods addictive upchuck the hole
ly Cosmos re-designed skilldreamily
Thieving noeblood from the ??? of us
Discernible not yes maybe i don't
Know give me a break i'm just a he at
The trough ******* with fervor egopuss
We see as nectar in our work and play
We find a new psychosis every day

Well first i went up santa ana street,
hung a left, at little ida road,
and by and by the rain it came and washed out all the dirt,
and into those little running streams.

The concrete of the bridges they sung with hanging moss,
right over the heads of the horses,
and bit by bit the rain it fell and receded into earth,
oh heavens it was one downright cloudy day.

oh mystery it sung a song one precious and unborn,
of a mind much too loosened on the earth,
how a soul might plod no-one can know, how you feel much the same
day after many membered day.

many mottled heads they hang in reproachment and in mirth,
the jury of an open field of grass,
and all who come who dare to listen can only find a friend,
in the falling of the long remembered rain.

oh mystery it sung a song one precious and unborn,
of a mind much too loosened on the earth,
how a soul might plod no-one can know, how you feel much the same
day after many membered day.

It’s early morning
as he starts down the rocky bank of the lake
he slips
his rod and reel in one hand
his other on a boulder to break his fall.
Already fishing, I am about to laugh
but I see the consternation and fear
on his face.

Late that night we sit up
reading a favorite writer
who never failed to transport and beguile us.
We laughed
remembering a previous predicament
we had barely escaped together.

Comfortable moments of quiet
just thinking about what we had read
trying to make it fit in to each of our so-called separate lives
back in the so-called real world.

But I wonder if those times were more real
as we re membered the body of our friendship.

Time makes the heart grow fonder,
As the ropes of friendship fray,
I know that thoughts will wander,
Despite what good intentions say,

As places remembered,
Now places long forgotten,
Each experience membered,
By memory gone rotten

With miles and miles,
Between once good friends,
Thousands of styles,
And more wasted weekends.

Despite all of a life’s resistance,
I hope we all can close the distance

The winter is hot
When your face appeared
Every cold became hot
Covering even small part
Of my inner and outer, I felt
So my heart pumped and increased
Without sick or ill, he got

My checks might reflect your checks red
My lips wanted to tell a word
But I am in inner felt like a bird
Flying at the sky, up, up and forgot
The whole world and membered
Your brilliant

If the sun of the global is disappeared
My sun surely appeared
When your face was showed
And your lips moved
Telling one word
I felt as I am a king
And have the wealth, have the world
And you are my only heart

Do you know that word?
My name that is mentioned
By your smart lips

"Sonnets From a Conversation With a Friend XXII "


I find a new psychosis every day
To drop my consciousness in and watch it
Floatsinkdissolve in turboiled social pit
Re membered in fear with loathing alway
S a thoughtbone under down actions body
Speech mind avnues stomped in cortex Jell-O
Wiggly gods addictive upchuck the hole
ly Cosmos re-designed skilldreamily
Thieving noeblood from the ??? of us
Discernible not yes maybe i don't
Know give me a break i'm just a he at
The trough ******* with fervor egopuss
We see as nectar in our work and play
We find a new psychosis every day

The re-membered

Speak to me of a memory that ran into the sand
taken by the high tide drifting away
but at low ebb glitter on the lonely strand.

Speak to my memory as seen in a child's eye
when my mother was young and danced
had laughter on her lips and stars in her eyes.

Speak to me memory in the haze of dreams
when life was lovely, and summers were long,
hold on to your vision of yore till your life ends.

Speak to me a memory of your time as a ******
when life was often sad, but books made you sane
in every port a letter from your mother.

hmm... come to think of it, is dyslexia a truly unique
phenomenon bound to the English language,
or could it be stretched toward the French tongue?
i don't know... but i've never heard of a dyslexic ******:
i have heard of a ****** with terrible orthography skills...

well i do speak a barbaric language, there is a clarity of
letters and syllables where i come from,
there's none of that sort of *******
that: is written THOUGHT but is said:
F... FOUT... that seems about right...
              it must be a French "thing"... maybe that's
why i never learned it... that phonetic dissonance
of writing one thing then speaking another...

sure, very barbaric of me for clarifying what's
written and what's being said...
French is bad, English is also bad...
German just compounds their words
to make them appear chemistry dictionaries...
maybe why English still retains the Pomeranian
aesthetic of compounded words,
akin to hydrochloric acid... oh! wait wait!
where's the hyphen?! ****! where's the hyphen?!
why isn't it hydro-chloric acid?!
Oxford, wake up... please do, when you do:
let me know...

oh but i'm writing this without expecting any change...
the people, so far, can, simply, *******...
i don't actually mind... all these "objections" are
for my own personal amusement...
i like minding these things without actually worrying
about them to the point of changing them...
like... i'm not going to read anything concerning
English thought... philosophy, etc.
beside Newton & Hume... no, not even Locke...
i don't know why... perhaps the roads are the best
in Europe... perhaps the English are a people that are
the most practical and don't necessarily have to think...
let them speak: ******* love to speak...
but thinking is not really their hard-on point
of concern...

the English are a practical people...
but it infuriates me... Charles Dickens... what orthography?
you're not using diacritical markers?!
that's just a nicer word: a misnomer of calling
a spelling mistake a: spelling mistake!
******... Charlie: yo! ******!
you have, your having paranormal, your metaphysics...
you don't have ORTHOGRAPHY if you don't don't
have diacritical markers...
for example, can you hide an H within the word:
SHARP? can you? let me help you out...
       ŠARP... see that?
see how i hid an already surd of a letter that's H?
ask a Heb... Hebrew... one arm of the tetragrammaton
is a surd: vowel receiver... the other hand
is the basis for the definite article and laughter: ha ha! ha!

but like i already commented to someone before:
living in England among English girls...
****** this that number and so many... none of them English...
well then... they must prefer their anti-racist preferences
of Pakistani men that might groom them...
Pontius Pilate pose... what?!
my hands are tied...
free will, no?!
                        and all i ever wanted was to be loved by
a woman... given the current climate...
can i get a cat instead?!
i'm not going for android ****-buddies...
down to the brothel... once every half a year...
or whenever i feel like it...
when, i, feel, like, it...
not when she's expecting me to be turned on...

that ship has sailed and the last time i heard:
it's sinking...
mein gott, these supposed alpha male **** boys...
you know how hierarchies work on the ape level...
right... on the human level a woman will walk
up to me and tell me: can you please take care of
"Andrew": he seems to be wandering off...
i don't need to earn an x amount of money to keep in
mind: we're here to prevent another Hillsborough
incident, aren't we? i usually receive glum looks
looks that read: i'm just here to get paid
i have no duty to uphold... well **** me...
alpha male... this Greek alphabet soup that became
doubly exemplified with the Covid delta...
omicron... what ******* letter are we on
in the hierarchy of men?
what letter are the women on?

             the way i see it: ensure everyone is included...
esp. the ******: fringe-bracket...
i'm not even a ******* supervisor but i'm asked
to be mindful of other people...
what the **** do we do, except, for the best part...
loiter? pretend that we're doing something...
8th February... Fulham FC vs. Millwall...
i'm gagging to be pitted against the Millwall fans...
i want to show my teeth and rolls my eyes back
to show nothing but the whiteness of my sclera...
hopes are high: expectations are low...]

NO, **** FOR  FREE?
NO! YOU IDIOT FUCKINBG...
WANKERs! *******..
****** CRAB CRAB SCRATCHERS...
alpha male **** boys... does *** have to be on
my mind so-much-so-frequently than is expected?
do i have to harbour this fluorescent
insomniac libido, do i have to play along
to the gimmick of a Duracell bunny?!
come, on! i've checked out modern ****...
it has gone so bad that i'm actually looking up
vintage 1970s Italian ****...
i don't watch the modern stuff... it's ugly... it's perverse...
once upon a time there was a feeling
of art around performing *** for an audience...
these days... ugh... all that gagging all that slobbering,
spit... *** has become: truly... unappealing...
what i do with prostitutes looks and sounds better
than the **** i sometimes encounter
then subsequently quickly turn off: because, it's,
a ******* TURN OFF...
the more liberated people became the ******* ***
they tend to perform...
and i implore my readers to transfer having
read some Marquis de Sade...
but this stuff... if women want to be ****** like they're
being ******... with no pseudo-Tantra escapades...
no... i'm not doing that...
give me a Turkish prostitutes that is still the only
woman in the vicinity who knows a little
about setting boundaries and i'll take that...

*******, once upon a time... had an allure...
these days it's just block-a-chop
see you at the butchers' market...
let's chop up some pork 'ops...
   it's ******* disgusting... no wonder i don't want
to watch it...

imagine getting your kicks off listening to
portrait of m.r boogie - christopher young -
from the movie sinister... imagine yourself being good...
seeking out... an archetypical role of / for evil,
because... the current state of affairs of "evil":
is... somewhat mediocre... tame...
tame by the comparison associated to the mid-20th century
Germans, or the isolated instances of Wankee
individualism stressed by that glorious bunch
of psychopaths...
    
modern *******... for, ****'s, sake...
i have to dig out old Italian ****** to get a thrill
of how ******* doesn't have to be all about
a teenage girl with down's syndrome slobbering
and crying out her mascara... or that everything
that's heterosexual is **** related...
can i please just ******* on my bicycle,
feel the cold wind, feel the cold?
can i please just do that?!
******* so old it sort of reminds you
of a period of cinema best associated with Singing in the Rain...
when the talkies first came in, the jazz singer
and what not... i sometimes watch *******
so old that they have "dubbing": voice-actors that
compliment the *** workers since
the *** workers have terrible sounding
onomatopoeias when they ******?!
that's how far back i'll go, because this modern crap...

sure... i do have a fetish for...
gloryhole bukkakke thrills: Robespierre would have been
so proud... less decapitated heads...
more de-membered phalluses...
squirting out yoghurt juice... anonymously...
i can't say i'm even into the lesbian ****...
modern ****... alias of too much blah blah...
mommy this, daddy that...
there is just a massive undercurrent of ****** running
through it... i feel sick...
talk during *** is already bad...
i was tested at work concerning this...
the women i work with asked me whether it was...
ahem... "polite" to refer to someone as "daddy" during
***... you're ******* kidding me,
was my reply... not the exact words but,
ergo implied... who talks during ***?

you want a slobbering ****** at the end of your
popsicle... drooling spit, gagging... crying mascara tears from
the ******* or do you want something sensual?
this modern crap is... i'd rather watch a horror movie...
at least seeing makeshift conjuring of a monster
would give me more... erm...
"whereabouts"? but people, do this ****, to themselves...
no one forced them to do this...
they do this of their own accord...
i'm happy that i'm not earning the sort of money
that might associated with being tempted by
gynocentric broads...

i'm free... i don't need a validation mechanism...
having enough *** is not a social status...
i frequent the brothels whenever i feel like it...
if having *** implores me to think that
i am living a completed life... seriously?!
   how much VIAGARA are you popping?!
how do you deal with the expectations...
i consider the concept of the Greek alphabet soup
according to... brotherhood...
these part "alpha" **** boys know ****...
can you be part of a group, including the ****** males...
can you keep them accommodated?!
no one is stepping out of line,
someone is in control: even though they are
hierarchically below some supposed said: "supervisor":
some senile ***-whip?
yes? no?!              well then...
are you talking with everyone on the ground...
everyone o.k.? it's all Indiana Jones happy for all?
yes?! no?!

alpha buck ****-boy deluxe...
if ******* women was my sole modus operandi...
why would i custard my head thinking about
Newton?!
that's all there is? *******... erm... would be nonces...
existence... can, be, orientated... around...
the... non-existence, of, women, should, such, demands...
be, made, necessary!
you know what it takes?
just look at an old woman...
a woman you could never, possibly,
be attracted to...

she most probably has her "****" sorted...
time, the balancing aspect of all things...
why the Greeks never associated some demigod
to time: perhaps they had... but i'm just too lazy to know of him,
her... it...
i do have a concept... the rich thinking that
they own everything...
there is a Hadean Debt...
you, do, know, that... this life is on loan?
right?! and the resources you're using...
you, didn't... generate, yourself?
so you do know, there's a Hadean Dept?!
the debt owned to Hades?
you do, know that, no?

you didn't create the coal...
you didn't create the atoms, nor the wind...
people have become as sloppy governing people
as they have become...
having... unaesthetic ***!
what am i even writing?
        bet keep this within the confines of having
written too much, i'd appreciate it immensely
that people do not reach this rambling episode...
of course i'm not going to delete it...
but it's hardly anything worse than tabloid journalism...
sure, i sometimes turn on the ramble-mode...
how would you feel...
being 35 and unloved?
           there would be some venom in your words...
Teutonic monk song can only get you
this far, after a while a sleeping beast comes
to the fore... wounded, proud -
i can see old age and it's not a pretty picture:
i'll sooner do off with myself than reach that
rubric... there's no competition when it comes to old
age... i'm not sticking around...
i've already located the crux points on my body
where the arteries are... a sharp stab of the knife...
in my right armpit... just above the right side
above the collar bone... i'll bleed out...
unless... drinking takes me sooner...
**** this *******...
    i'm done with playing nice: although i'll still
play the nice... but not being loved by a woman...
take me! mother, sea!
take me! in a storm!
               take me, the night! let me marry death!
fickle peasant girls that might subsequently
require a plumber...
in my age gap that's all that's left...
single mothers... who were the fathers?!
if there was... ha ha... one... i'd be surprised...
worthless alcoholics... maybe i should have taken
the approach i took to my maine *****...
two of them... i once found a hot **** in my bed...
o.k. changed the sheets... beat both of them:
who done it?! who done this loaf of scrappy peanuts
in my bed? meow! both received a beating...
second time... caught in the middle of the act...
ah... you little *******... you're going to ****
where you're later going to sleep?!
smack... smack... later washed him,
wrapped him up in a towel and mummified him...
"mummified": tied a bathrobe really tight around him
with clips... sat him on a table in the garden
while hanging up the washing...
maybe i should have slapped a woman once or twice...
maybe then they might have stayed...
i feel ill thinking that this might have been
the correct modus operandi...
even though i smacked my cats about for *******
in my bed... who's in my bed, right now?
the two cats i smacked about for ******* in my bed...
well... one of them did... now we're pals...
i sit on the windowsill, he sits on the windowsill...
we greet each other with a head-****...

it's sad, though... to keep a woman one might have
to resort to mild violence... slap her a little...
oh **** me, no... no...
   i'd rather be a monk...
i don't do well around fickle creatures...
you're either part of a legion, a cohort... or you're a *******
rebellious outlier that can be duly ignored
and disregarded...

esp. with the modern ****... i don't watch it...
i have to sieve through and find the classical
1970s Italian ****... when *** was a joy
and not an endurance test for gagging *******...
no... just... no...
            even with prostitutes i do my best
to be tender... this current bollocking works ill on
the eyes... right... so a Billie Eilish tells you that she's sick
of modern ****...
i'm a "nobody" and i can tell you the same...
so much heterosexual *** orientating itself around
****...
can't i just poke an oyster?!

then again: do i have to always be *****? do i need
a libido insomnia on top of an actual insomnia?!
what am i, a ******* Duracell bunny?!
jiggy-jiggy-jog-on-constant-hard-on-androidd?!
maybe the "alpha male" **** boys can play that role...
solipsistic vectors of this world: egoists...
make sure they get pampered first...
but try to get as many normal people and weirdos
on your side to satisfy a service...
      of sure... those **** boys will be right up there
in authoritative roles trying to make everyone inclusive:
never demeaning the presence of creature less than they...
yeah...

          they'll be up there... alpha male **** boys...
pistons... clogs in a vaginal machine...
   not much to go around being an artist,
or a plumber, let the dust settle... until it can be governed
by a next whirlwind.

Be the best of philanthropist
Build castles and name them temples
Save the world and imprint footprints
On that very special day when the beagle sounds
I'll be at the gate with a question tag
Why did you do it, why?

Why did you truncate my destiny, why?
A glorious vessel set to flourish
Basking in joys to change the world
I set sail and made for planet earth
On a vessel so fine, yet so cracked
I advanced in peace but left in a ****
Tell me why you made my death that cheap?

It was warm, cold and lonely inside
Then I felt the rod as the ****** gave in
No where to hide, the die was cast
Helpless, the tube pushed in as I watched in fear
The moment the curette came to sweep
The deed was done, a murderer was made
A very beautiful one, clad in Gucci apparel

How I longed to hear me cry my first
Feel your warmth and suckle from your breast
Nine months was like a thousand years
But patience was a flower that grew in my garden so I wait
Yet, you murderous thing murdered my destiny
I am waiting at the other side
You really want to make heaven? Smiles!

Did you get some quids to do the do?
It meant nothing to you like a latrine flush
Did he promise you heaven on earth?
That irresponsible goat worthy of castration
In the Supreme court will I call your case
And be sure the judge is no mortal being
Except, there is a justification for ******

While you opened up like a pretty *****
I was dis-membered and cut open
My soul watched in agonising horror
I didn't die before I died, slow and painful so it was
Ears, hands, mouth separated from my body and all
It was cruel as my head got ******
Until I heard the still voice, "It is finished"
Then, I died in cruelty and returned to base

Each time I sit by the gate, I watch and pray
That soon your time will come and I'll get closure
When you meet with my Creator what will you plead?
"My Lord, 'One thing, one thing' ", then the gavel is banged
Even if you invoke 1 John 1:19, backed with Psalm 103:10-14
I will bring a joker in Psalm 139:13-16
He gave me life, but you took it
Truth is, like Pharaoh, your case is closed...