There is an age old story in a place called middle earth
About Hobbits, Orcs and Wizards all fighting for there turf
It all involved a ******* ring too much for what its worth
Sending all men crazy when its wrapped around their girth
With their finger in the ring who knows where they may surf
Wars began when worlds where new the creation of times birth

So what exactly does it mean by lord of the rings
Is it the golden type or does it mean other things?
Being a lord of a ring who knows what that brings?
Is it a Drawf ,an ugly Orc or an Elf that swings?
Or a Hobbit with hairy feet bouncing on bed springs
Maybe its a Wizard or some ***** Queens and Kings
Something with open ***** spread wide like Dragons Wings
Could it be a merriment of drunken Men or a Bard that sings
A mystical sword detecting Orcs while the blue blade 'Stings'
Or caught inside an arachnids lair when her webbing clings

If the one true ring is reaching out can you hear it call
Is this the case for Hobbitses spread up against a wall
I'm not sure if its all powerful or enough to make you crawl
But its certainly a finger trap when your about to fall
Dont get caught up in a song or a bar room brawl
You'll end up exposing your ring laid out in a sprawl
First there was a fellowship so that explains it all
An Elf, a King, a Warrior and a Wizard that was tall
One Dwarf and Four Hobbits oh so ******* small
A band of miss-matched fellows so too much **** and ball

There wasn't any ladies present none in their vicinity
No big boobed buxom vixens so no sweet femininity
Just a load of sweaty men so too much masculinity
One true ring to rule them all and the loss of their senility
Nine guys on a long quest with the need of strong agility
Half way up a mountain heading for their own affinity
Inside a cave "You shall not pass" Gandalfs grey divinity
With staff in hand the Balrog's Bain both falling to infinity
Frodo's lose and upset the fellowships diminishing ability
With the hope of something more for the lose of their virginity

Just take a look at Bilbo Baggins with his transfixed eyes
With his finger in the ring is what he would visualise
His persona will be changing to what you wont recognize
But he wont want to give up the ring or even compromise
Could it be the feeling he has of the rings sweet tantalize
Or leaving this reality behind under his minds hypnotize
If he does not surrender the ring he will be so unwise
Coz Gandalf will get so ******* with Bilbo's demoralize
An obsessed Bilbo Bagginses he's under a different guise
If the ring then turns him gay it will come as no surprise

So if your in the tavern and you spot old Boromir
And he's got a pewter tankard quaffing froth and beer
If he handles the one true ring who knows which way he'll steer
He'll end up in the cocktail bar the ring will turn him queer
Mr Underhill is waiting with the ring will he ever get gear
Waiting for a stranger while the patrons look and leer
Some people in the tavern they may even laugh and cheer
But I doubt they'd be too happy if they where taken at the rear
Frodo's mistake ******* the ring his invisibility may be severe
Black riders are not far behind so there is something to fear

And if you looking for a man who's name is Strider
But you're not really sure who he is a friend or an insider
For all you know he could be a foe or a even a Black Rider
He is just a lying **** his false name is his divider
At the Prancing Pony Inn he may well be your hider
But it will be a team effort and not a soul provided
Be careful of that ******* ring your tail will get much wider
You don't want any hindrance or a ridicule derider
Don't lose your ring deep in the woods within a ***** slider
That's nothing to what lies ahead when you face a giant spider

Just beware of those Ring Wraiths the nine riders of the black
Cos you don't want to use your ring if your going to be slack
Resist the use of the ring or they'll stab you in the back
The eye of Saurons watching you blades of evil in your crack
If evil gets into your heart you'll become one of their pack
At Elrons river their taunting you cos they are right on track
They will beckon you to Mordor but it's courtesy they lack
So warn them off defeat those Wraiths a sea of horses to attack
Time and pain could have been saved and a hell of a lot of flak
If you went with the Wraiths and it was them that you could hack

And you really don't want to come across the army of the dead
There are far too many of them and you'll run out of lead
You should get out while you can just don't loose your head
Make a bargain with the Dunharrow Dead to avoid bloodshed
The protection of those ****** rings protect your own instead
Is it worth all of the blood spilled when you could have fled
Sam should keep his guard up as he may fear to tread
Cos Gollum's out there stalking you as you lay on your bed
He'll **** to gain "My Precious" filling your heart with dread
Attacking you while your asleep and any of your stead

Smoke rises from the Mountain of Doom and the hour is late
Gandalf The Grey rides to Isengard of this he cannot wait
Seeking council with Saruman but he doesn't know his fate
The lord of Mordor he sees all I'm afraid that is his trait
Sauron's great eye's looming my old friend's fallen for the bait
Reason abandoned for madness the insanity of Saruman's hate
We must join with Sauron but then what would that create
The hour is later than you think are their staffs twisted or straight
A fight within Orthanc tower this was Gandalf's one true date
Escaping the clutches of Saruman's trap his former friend and mate

Have you ever wondered how Gandalf turned from grey to white
The quest began but too their dismay the Balrog came to sight
Deep within the cavern walls the desperation of their plight
No way back on a stone bridge during that hopeless fight
The danger of the crumbling rocks falling a great height
Gandalf will not let it pass the whip of the Balrog's blight
Was it that confrontation when Gandalf turned dark into light
Or when he got tossed of that bridge was his grey cloak getting tight
Is it the strain of whiplash pulling him or the fiery Balrogs bite
Gandalf will return on Shadowfax and the Eagles will take flight

Gandalf and a group of men the Great Eagles they had mastered
So why didn't he take the ring himself the selfish ******* *******  
Those Wars could have been prevented instead of death forecasted
But it seems they'd  rather people die populations maimed and blasted
The burden Sam and Frodo faced too long their quest had lasted
It could have been completed sooner if certain spells where casted
They where to suffer seemingly with rings they should have fasted
Instead of which they shared the pain with others that contrasted
Gandalf could have flown that ring without being flabergastered
But he'd rather smoke his ******* pipe and surprisingly get plastered

Battles ensued that needn't have been so was that really fair?
Gimli will have to get his axe out so you better all beware
He'll team up with Legolas and they'll **** without a care
Keeping score of all their kills cos they are a strange old pair
Aragorn would join them and he'd take on his fare share
But Legolas was a nice boy with his lovely long blonde hair
He liked to score with Gimli perhaps he had that certain flair
I'm not sure which way his arrow went I'd ask but I don't dare
Was it fair on Frodo the heavy burden was his own nightmare
Especially when Gollum leads you into a trap inside of Shelobs lair

The anger of Samwise Gamgee at Gollums treachery and betrayal
Fat Hobbitses don't like Smeagol a defence that was quite frail
With Frodo succumbing to the ring it's to late for him to bail
He wished the ring had not come to him afraid that he may fail
So do all that see such times when you could fall off the rail
Isn't that how its always been with the kings you have to hail
It's bad enough taking the ring when your led right off the trail
And maybe facing certain death not knowing if you'll avail
Don't let the ring take control or you'll end up going pail
Bilbo has already been there and back again in a Hobbits Tale

The great horn sounds attacking Orc's and 100's of their creed
A valiant fight but to no avail when protection takes the lead
The wooded Hill of Amon Hen Boromir died of his last deed
On the grassy ***** near Parth Galen the death of lust and greed
If he didn't want the ring so much there may have been no need
For hordes of Orc's to strike him down with arrows of great speed
Aragorn's comfort of a dying man a confession to take heed
He tried to take Frodo's ring so now his heart will bleed
Men will die and get obsessed the one true ring will breed
Rings will come and rings will go so don't you spread their seed

To gain the power of the ring many battles have been fought
If the ring wasn't so desirable then we wouldn't all get caught
Killing was Smeagol's desire his stressed mind in distraught
Deagol's demise to obtain the ring is what Smeagol sought
A birthday demand a savage rage a strangled death resort
Gladen River's legacy Smeagol's friend killed in a fraught
Downward spirals of sheer desire is what the ring has brought
Gollums years of torment but still nothing has been taught
If you don't resist the ring you'll lose your male support
The power of the ring's too great and far to hard to thwart

A sneaky ******* in our midst the slime was almost dripping
The foulness of this slimy guy Theoden chilled heart ripping
Chief adviser to his feeble king the oldness of poison sipping
Exposed as Saruman's agent and spy allegiances kept flipping
A name like Grima Wormtongue you'd expect a double tipping
Unless he used his wormy tongue for a tonguing and a slipping
A henchmen of the slimiest order his tongue is always dripping
Stabbing Saruman in the back his treachery deserves a clipping
Escaping from their Orc captives good old merry and pippin
Treebeards wooden victories he'll give those Orcs a whipping

The towering strength of fourteen feet and a unique repartee
He Ent stumped and he Ent felled and he's not potpourri
Do not be hasty in times of need take notice of our plea
With Meriadoc and Peregrin they where the power of three
Going to war that mighty oak for cutting down the tree
Branching out coz he's hacked off at Saruman's killing spree
He'll ******* stick one on you so those Orcs they better flee
Cos his wood, timber and leaf are his trunks aristocracy
So don't you ******* Treebeard because you will not foresee
His bark is worse than his bite and his log's his legacy

Death is just another path give me a ******* brake
But being a lord of a ring that is a big mistake
Forging of these ****** rings why are they on the make
The one true ring that ruled them all off this I can forsake
How many wars have been lost how many lost their stake
With people killed and deaths occurred within a battles wake
At helmsdeep Gandalf the White returned from grey opaque
Sword aloft taking a stand making those Orc ******* quake
On the back of Shadowfax the rumbling ground will shake
It would not have happened if the rings where ******* fake

Sharp black mountains up winding stairs was Smeagols secret way
He'll Lead Frodo into a trap he'll make those nasty hobbits pay
The heaviness of stagnant air the darkness consumes the day
Unaware of what awaits when SHE comes out to play
Weaving webs of shadows the dankness of black and grey
Deep inside of that dark lair is where Mr Frodo lay
The Phial of Galadriel's silver light keeping darkness at bay
Sam's glimmer of hope the Elvin blade Shelob he tried to slay
Feeling the 'Sting' of Sam's despair he made that spider sway
Dark defeated by the light but Gollums pleasures gone astray

Arriving at the fires of mount doom the volcano's of Mordor
Destroy the ring throw it in the fire but Frodo wanted more
Just let it go and don't hesitate what are you waiting for
As Sam looks on the ring is mine Frodo's last withdraw
******* the ring is hard enough especially if your not sure
Don't be too obsessed like Gollum was by being the rings *****
The following of footsteps Gollum's foul bite of blood and gore
Frodo's severed finger ring lost from a blooded scarlet claw
The joy of regaining 'My Precious' was Gollums goal and law
Falling in the fires of mount doom his death ended Frodo's chore

With Gollums Demise the ring destroyed our stories nearly told
Mount Doom has fell all things must end including rings of gold
Mordor has crumbled the defeat of Sauron and enemy's of old
Great Eagles came Frodo and Sam saved from Mordors fiery fold
Frodo's fellowship reunion at the bedside of the brave and bald
They'll never be the same again but no longer Orced or Trolled
Cheering crowds the Return of the King Arwen's beauty to behold
The Hobbits bow before the king but they really should withhold
My friends you bow to no one kings honour for the hobbits mould
A kneeling of the whole kingdom bestowed the Hobbits over bowled

Thirteen months to the day our returning to bag end
A familiar sight our home the Shire we left to defend
The beginning of the fourth age Sam's marriage to attend
Sam's choice of bride Rosie Cotton his wife to wed intend
Home at the Shire was too hard to fully comprehend
For Frodo's old threads of life the bonds of a true friend
There is no going back some things time cannot mend
Some hurts they go to deep the book that he now penned
The completion of Lord of the Rings a few pages to extend
Giving the manuscript for Sam to continue the written trend

The galleon is waiting and its time to break the chain
Bilbo's journeys are over the last ship to leave the main
The time of men has come and the end of the rings reign
Gandalf's work was over the brave Hobbits teary strain
True endings of the fellowship seas call us home again
Don't be sad and do not weep but Frodo felt the pain
Not all tears are evil Gandalf knew of Frodo's wane
A departure of emotion the tears they could not retain
The saving of the shire but it isn't quite that plain
Frodo's sad farewell the Gray Heavens don't refrain

The fellowships disbanded but as if that wasn't known
Quests for gold are no more the dead are dust and bone
Elvish has left the building the trolls have turned to stone
The one true ring has been lost so its no longer shown
Hobbits are back in their holes so all of them will groan
Hords of Orcs have now ****** off after lowering the tone
Towers have been toppled, Mount Doom's collapsed and blown
Gollum has lost his precious so he'll have good cause to moan
The Dwarfs are not around no more cos their not all fully grown
Ring bearers have been and gone so they'll be on their own
The king has now returned and he's got his ******* Throne
The story has now ended but you know how far we've flown
So thank you J.R.R Tolkien thanks for your story loan
But it isn't exactly Lord of the rings so its not a ****** clone

i hate to break it to you kid,
i'm not mindful of narcissus'
economics that's all oh so very modern...

but women are their own orbit,
more chance to find a single mother
than a single father...
it's against nature to make the man
without god,
as it's against nature to make the woman
with god...
thus we have the tectonic plates
making man with god, accepting
or doubting, church or laboratory...
and woman... an eroticism of jaw eaten
faces... but a kiss to be a fingerprint
likened to erasing the dangling of the bitten
jaw... erased only once by the aphrodisiac of sirens'
wail of aquatic opera so damnable that only
one man heard it, while others scolded
being in audience with beeswax...
and by second chance, erased, indeed,
but only by the suffragettes as the new nuns...
as the new nuns dare comply to change,
like every male become female and
vice versa,
and the popes disclose their continual
loss of matrimony in their misogynistic
involvement in ******; if i'm not the pope
and do no encounter such practices,
i'm not a pope at all!

only a ninth spoke as the necromancer,
and of the nine spoke clearest,
as it spoke, it dawned on me
that sauron was invisible for the sword
to strike, a gravity enveloping,
a gravity envelope, rather than a skin
of infinite diadem sharpenings,
for nine rigs unto men,
seven unto dwarfs, three unto elves,
but none unto the orcs... strange....
ORC ARKHAN MORDOR ARRAC!

One ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.

Three rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

The dark clouds writhe
like serpents in the sky
and belch down brimstone
where unicorns asleep they lie

In the distance Mordor's spear
dominates on high
demanding submission
from whence dragons fly

They search the jagged peaks
For one ring to rule them all
The fiery evil eye it beckons
and Frodo heeds it's call

and isn't strange

that i'm sitting in my car

in a parking garage

thinking of you and missing

your stupid plumb apple face

or maybe it's carved from soap

or shaved glass

fragmented by pieces

collected in bindles

followed by bundles

of the joy i used to have

of the sleep i used to get

of the energy i used to take

and isn't it strange how

i have no desire to have you

all to myself for you are

an automous being that

breathes and thinks and acts

wholy different than me

but i can't help but miss you

and your kiwi colored eyes

with the seeds cut out

dipped in a ring of gold

and like smegal i yearn to

hold that precious ring of gold

in my shriveled hands

even though i know

it'll corrupt me

but i'm drawn to mordor

all the same



that's what it's like

missing you



wanting to go there

even when I shouldn't



and isn't it strange

that my world is shifting

complicit and complicated

a deficit of the senses

a pull from the void

a shake of the head

with such filigree i am sated

but blinded by such yearning

to touch your hot skin

feel it rest

against mine



again but



maybe i'm too addicted to sparks

Playin' games.
=============
Jay Text Sandman aka Skitz Text

Set the timer click click now the clock is tick tockin'.
I came to play the game. Like a KNIK KNAK knockin'.
Your rhyme flow is slow you know like PLAYDOUGH.
I gobble up fine rhymes like a HUNGRY HIPPO.
Like SUBBUTEO I kick it.
Shruggin' off your challenge like BUCKAROO kickin'..
..up ****. I sunk your BATTLESHIP.
You played out your game of CHARADES. That's it.
I dig deep in me rhyme dictionary.
You scrawl on the the wall like palsy PICTIONARY.
Not strugglin'. I'm jugglin' the rhymes in me head.
Slam dunk. KERPLUNK. Nuff said.
No, never. No way. Who am I kiddin'?
You know I got the rhymes. And I got the rhythm.
I confess. Like a game of CHESS.
Checkmate. No debate. Not a pretty pawn missin'. *  

It’s the end of the games like RIP,
I Multikill MC’s like COD,
Keep your mind on your MINECRAFT can’t catch me,
Cause Skitz is EC's Artillery,
droppin bombs watch the FALLOUT or you’re Dogmeat
FAR CRY from the old days of CRT
So your attempt is DOOMed best clear the room,
SWAT’s get Swatted Mic shotgun BOOM!,
Blast backdraft will destroy your CIV,
No cheat codes PAC em up MAN time to give,
RESPEC- to the PORTAL gun hangin’ on me hip,
You’ve got HALF a LIFE left faster than NO CLIP
But I said no cheatin’ Hackers get Hacked up,
No Multiplayer,cause you’ve no backup,
I’m glorying in the games we play,
Checkmate VS XBOX  pass to Jay.

Chorus
Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic and it's Jay to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.  

When I flex it's hectic. Like SCALEXTRIC.
Switch lanes to PERFECTION.
I've a MONOPOLY in this game.
Don't pass go. Go straight to jail.
You fall like DOMINOES. I leap like a salmon.
Tisk tisk. Big RISK. Now I have BACKGAMMON.
Stamina. A steady hand OPERATION.
Ace up me sleeve and I'm just playin' PATIENCE.
Got me POKERface on.
Read 'em and weep as the game plays on.
I got a dead mans hand but I animate the mic.
BULLDOGS charge. You know I'll reach the other side.
Back to me den.
Repeat after me like SIMON SAYS.
RED ROVER, RED ROVER. I call Jay over.
You think it's over ?
No my friend. *  

Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic Schizophrenic to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.  

This Steam Machine is heatin' up a treat
So don’t be TEKKEN the ****,just feel the beat,
This KOMBAT’s MORTAL to enemies,
But it’s a full HEALTH PACK to Fans of E.C.,
So OverClock your CPU,
get your Soundcard Jumpin like chimps in SIM ZOO,
drop DICE on ICE from here to Timbuktoo,
STREET FIGHTER’s and Writers BIOSHOCKin' you

Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic Schizophrenic to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.  

I SPY with my little eye.
Somethin' beginnin' with J. I let fly.
As your JENGA tower wobbles.
I smile. You drop tiles. Dropped your poxy box of SCRABBLE.
Look out. That could spell disaster.
Triple word score as the rhymes rip past ya. Blast ya.
Quick out the trap like The Flash playin' SNAP.
Check the lyrical master. *
As the Dungeon Dragon spreads his wings-lets fly
playin' the game the pied piper pies,
catch you rats in me MOUSETRAP its a snap,
"cause I wrote the rhymes that broke the bulls back"
I'm the KING OF THE HILL I got ya QUICKSCOPIN'
in THE SHADOWS OF MORDOR prayin' and hopin'
for a hero like MARIO to bust you loose,
Jay's SNAKE'n' up the LADDER time to twist the noose

Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic E.C. to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.  

What ya think ?              
Me rhymes kink, bend and fold like TWISTER.
A wicked rhythm like DOUBLE DUTCH. Skip, skip.
Like EVEL KNIEVEL. Flywheel spinnin'.
Rev it up. Dump the clutch.        
See me grinnin'. Knockin' down the pin and..
SPIROGRAPH lines in me rhyme. I'm spinnin..
..out of control. You can't cope with me GYROSCOPE.
I bring you back to the beginnin'.*

Not mentionin' names. We're playin' games.
Energetic and poetic E.C. to blame.
Set the mic aflame. We burn it up now.
Set the timer click, click.

To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.

My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!

The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.

The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.

I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.

Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.

In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.

...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.

To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.

The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.

The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.

...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.

Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.

Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.

Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.

Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.

13.06.2012

Blood!

It’s coming from my right toe. I did not understand what happened at first. I took few more steps. It’s when I reached the door of the balcony, that I noticed that the tea cup, which ought to be in my left hand missing. I turned back.

Blood was there on the marble floor. In equal intervals of space, where I must have my toes pressed while walking. Looking at the blood, I felt ***** in my throat. It’s suddenly like I lost my senses.
“In the land of Mordor, in the fires of mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret, a Master Ring to control others…”

Do you think it’s the Voice of Galadriel? No. I know. But at that fateful time, I felt certainly like hearing Galadriel’s voice, from The Lord of the Rings: The Felowship of the Ring.

I shriek might have escaped my mouth. My hubby, who was sitting in the balcony, reading the newspaper, turned towards me. Placing the newspaper on the table before him, he came to catch me from falling on the floor.

Why all this had happened suddenly on this pleasant Sunday morning? Yes. There must be a reason. I had seen it. What was that it?

“Wife killed husband with a Saline bottle.” That was the headline I read by chance in the District special which was on the floor on my way from kitchen. The girl in question is known to me. Not known, she worked as a maid for us, and we loved her. In the shock of the news, I dropped the tea cup from my hand. The rest you know.

My hubby made me sit on the bed, and dressed the wound. When I explained what happened, he pinch stroked my chin, and laughed like hell.

“Well, what she did might be right. I won’t pass a judgment.”

Just then my mother-in-Law entered the house. She went to the nearby temple.
>>>

After a couple of days, I met Subbi. She smiled innocently. I took her hands in mine.

“What happened?”

“I could have done it long ago akka,” she said.

She explained me everything then.
>>>

Subbi worked as maid for us when we were in Guntur. My hubby and I were lecturers. As we both of us had to go to the college, and my mother-in-law had to be home alone (hi, you might have counted many mistakes in my English. I forgot to mention, I am a science student, and my English is poor ;-) and I love to watch movies. Home Alone is my favorite movie :P) we hired Subbi to her assistance.

Attamma (I call my mother-in law like that) is very sharp. He makes friends with virtually anyone. Subbi got attached to her quickly. She used to tell her story to to Attamma. Subbi calls her Amma (you might have understood it means mother).

Subbi was married and had 3 girls. Her husband was furious because of this. He wanted boy child. He used to beat her. He always drinks… (right? I mean grammatically) and abuse her, and the children. Attamma told us all these things at the dinner time. Once I asked my hubby to warn him.
>>>

It was a hot evening. I was in the kitchen. My hubby was teaching to the students. We maintain tuitions for additional income. He was explaining the concept of reproduction, I think.

“If X chromosome combines with another X chromosome, it will result in female child (In between us :P he too is weak in English :P). If X chromosome combines with Y chromosome, it will result in male child.”

“Sir, don’t they result in Woman and Man? Is it only children?” some guy cracked a joke. My husband playfully hit him on the back of the head.

All the while, Subbi, who was assisting me in the kitchen, observed them. She asked me, what was that big joke, and why they were laughing. I explained it to her. I noticed a change in her. She was silent rest of the evening.

When it was the time for her to go home, she talked to my hubby. I observed them from the kitchen while serving Attamma dinner.
>>>

After a couple of months, around June 15th, we shifted to Vijayawada, as we both got jobs in a bigger corporate college with higher salaries. At that time Subbi was pregnant. If I remember right, 3 months. Attamma felt sorry for her. She instructed Subbi to inform us if…
>>>

Subbi had an abortion that time. Another year later she became pregnant again. Her husband warned her if it’s again a girl child, he would **** her. Subbi felt shivers.

It was then time for the delivery. She was again warned by him. As fate might have been written for her, it was again a girl child.

Her husband entered the room where she was… furiously. Subbi had sweat all over her. He was about to jump on her…

Subbi took a broken saline bottle, and

“You mother ******* *******, why didn’t you send a Y chromosome?” her words echoed there…!
>>>

I returned home and explained all this to Attamma, and my hubby. After I finished, my hubby laughed.

“She did the right thing,” Attamma said.
I said to my husband, who loves to have girl child, “If you don’t send an X chromosome, I’ll **** you. Alright?”

This time it’s Attamma’s turn to laugh.
>>>

PS: Phew, I’m through with the story. Gitacharya asked me about the incident. Whether he edits my narration, is in his hands. My hubby’s calling me. Bye :D

Finally this day has come.
To get another go with the sun,
A year has it been since the daylight shun.
The shadows of Mordor were almost to get me done.

What a fine day to have an adventure.
Having to save a princess as a departure.
The signs are being obvious
Birds are flying back to the Mountain,
There is no time to be in bore,
I need to hurry and reclaim back my Erebor.
I’m in wonder of what she is doing.
Probably she made plans already by now.
Or maybe she didn’t decide on going.
Thought that she might be Lonely under the Mountain.
I have to get going to save her plain,
Must get her out quickly of that fiery chain.

But wait, What’s this?
My legs are unable to move.
Why is my heart trembling with fear?
I’ve been waiting for this my entire time,
I don’t get it.
I don’t get it at all.
I’m shaking pathetically,
This is getting ridiculously annoying.
Move it! Why is my body not responding?
I can’t control my body no more
It’s totally stuck!
Is the sun causing this?
But I’m no troll to be affected by this.
I’m the Bilbo on this journey,
I’m the appointed burglar
To steal the precious Arkenstone
So what’s happening now really?
Am I scared that much
That my own body is doing what I should be doing?
If this fear is about the journey I’ll take,
The dangers I’ll encounter,
The perils I’ll meet.
That wouldn’t be a serious problem for me not to go.
But it’s different.
This doesn’t make sense.
I need to get rid of this fence.
But It’s no use,
I’m stuck in this hole in fuse.
Stuck in this Shire,
While that desolator Smaug is causing fire.

I’ve forgotten the time.
The shadows are back.
Here I am underneath the moon’s refine,
Standing still in charcoal leather black
Not resisting anymore.
I completely stood in my own accord.
Tears are spilling down my face.
I can feel in my veins the sorrow,
And thinking about it made me wonder
If I can make it til tomorrow.

Then,
So sudden it came to me in a flash
The reason why I did not move
Why I did not meet her.
It’s because a year ago I was there.
In front of her.
My precious Arkenstone Under the Mountains
The kings jewel.
The jewel that rejected my tiny hands,
That reached beyond the Middle of Earth
Just for her.
The same jewel that replaced me with a greed of a dragon.
That burned the glow of what’s inside me.

And now I remember it all.
Clear as the sky above me.
I am no Bilbo Baggins.
There is no treasure waiting for me.
No adventure as destination.
Because this,
This is just the Anniversary of my Rejection.

Gil-galad was an Elven-king,

Of him the harpers sadly sing:

The last whose realm was fair and free

Between the Mountains and the Sea.



His sword was long, his lance was keen,

His shining helm afar was seen;

The countless stars of heaven's field

Were mirrored in his silver shield.



But long ago he rode away,

And where he dwelleth none can say;

For into darkness fell his star

In Mordor where the shadows are.

My insomnia is back
Mind is outta whack
This isn't really poetry
But I think you know that
Thoughts of something heavenly
Looking back on past memories

*******, I need to do something with my life
I write poetry
and have written a few stories
Tried programming as well as screenwriting
which I enjoyed immensely, but it costs too much money!
So here I am, back again with a poem
Another form of a story
I like it a lot
and have been writing them for about six months
And I'll write them again and again
Until my heart stops beating
Does this have meaning?
I don't know, it's rhyming
So it must mean something

Anyways, I don't know what to say
I thought I had it today
But in darkness comes the devil
His presence ever so powerful
Telling me I am special
But I struggle, yet he smiles
Saying that I have potential
Which I can't even fathom, not in this world of mine
That I'd like to abandon
Nah, I'm only kidding
It ain't too bad
No idea where it's heading
But I'm glad
Because I hate spoilers
Just as much as my handlers

That's a joke, I ain't controlled
I would go on and on
But I ain't going down that rabbit hole
My time is on a tight schedule, I don't got all-day
Another joke, ain't that funny?

You are wasting time though honestly
Reading this poem filled with much variety
Quite interesting though, wouldn't you say honey?
Yikes, a major yikes
That was pretty cringe, but hey
You're alive! maybe lost a few brain cells
But you already lost 6 billion from reading this poem
Ain't that swell?
You should see no difference though
You're already dumb
And quite frankly, appear to be a major eyesore
You look like something from Mordor
Now that's a joke

I'm sure you look great
A person that all should appreciate
Perhaps someone with heavenly energy
Something I wish to duplicate
But I can't, because I can't escape
Not from these snakes
I have a role I must play, which is fake
So many roles, so many faces
All  of which I can't break

I don't even know the real me, what I want to be
I thought I enjoyed writing
Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy writing poetry
But I don't really have that same feeling
When it comes to writing stories
What I want in life is to be free and happy
No worries, that type of thing
Writing poetry makes me happy
But it isn't stable, it doesn't bring money
What other thing is there besides poetry?
Maybe I'm being naive
Maybe I need to sacrifice some freedom
To have a stable income
But.. that isn't me, oh, I see!
At least I think
Help me, please

Yeah, this was one wild poem
If you can even call it that
It might be random
but that's okay
Insomnia made it whack
But also made me open about my current problem
You know, me not knowing what to be
Will poetry ever save me?
I suppose we will find out
When I wake up
From a deep sleep.

Storm Rider(sample the doors)
start with "Riders on the Storm" softly repeated x4)

Try catch me-leap from ground to sky,
light up the night as I fly,
Tip to tip mischievous-watch me salmon leap-avert your eyes,
The Celtic Dragon Storm Riding tonight,
feel the static on your skin lets take flight…
Vast vista’s fistula’s in the earths core,
fly with me you wanna feel more?,
cut core to core claws - millivolt amped,
up to attack lay down my stamp,
Earth tremblin’ rumblin' humbling when I catch the spark,
revered by Tesla - hear me Arc…
Another mic blown - booth in chaos,
I stand firm - you're reeling as you're reeled in tossed,
like ragdoll physics my rhymes rip timelines,
Faultlines and default rhymes?
Never,I’m too clever,agility reveals your fragility,
Claws rip and drag you down …to a sea of tranquility…
Hush now ,shush now,
hear the susurrus as I leave you nonplussed
phase you back to your body  trans warp jump
tachycardia spasms chasms torn by talons,
pounces crush tons to ounces as I flex my neck…
hasn't changed since Wu told ya’s”Best protect ya neck”

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...

Feel me breath blowing like a gale - the Gael without fail,
I inhale and exhale flames of hell,
hellbent- time to repent
you’re scurrying in gullies while I seek your Scent,
SNIFFFF-grrrrrrrr that’s the sound of doom,
from the Emerald shore to the Pharaohs tomb,
No room to escape the breath that melts steel
rabbit in my headlights feel my claws life steal,
oxygen and nitrogen erupt to seal your fate,
debate-berate, get estate in order,
one Molten blast of fast rhyme its over.
scorchmark against a granite wall,
burnt to a crisp by the firestorm from hell,
well welcome to hell do you feel the heat?
Sandman slim dragon never fears defeat,
20 years here  spittin’ in the underground,
Now its time to vacate my space hear my sound
A no go area,gates of Mordor,
dragged by the Dragon to your place of ******,
claws like claymores rake your face,
prepared to ignite,take flight-seal your fate...

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah, the firestorm
Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah, the firestorm
Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...

Call me Nukker ******, you're due to be Slaine,
one scaldin' verse melts down your brain,
searing breath - death bursts unprepared heads,
Streets run red with the blood of the dead.
Feel the headwind....blowin' as I exhale.
My fetid breath tastes stale as you inhale
lucid juices sluicin in the Wyrms Den,
just One spark you're gonna BURN then!,
wingspan of an Antonov best back off!,
forked lightning blasts ground - as I take off,
fly head on to the heart of the Hurricane,
calescent death as I stake my claim,
rider on the storm,your attempt? - luke warm,
spells incandesce without stress as they take form,
the Serpent serpentine's through the night sky,
take eyes off mine? - your turn to fry.
don't cry it's fate, conserve your hate,
you perspire before your expiry date,
a Deer in the deadlights I'll open the gate,
to the next realm, next challenger calcerated,
another Champion obliterated,
ardent first to set foot on my Isle
now you're here you feel febrile,
feeble feverish attempts cut short clean sliced,
by the Firestorm Dragon with the eyes of Ice.

(Soft-"Riders on the Storm" rpt x2 Chorusx2 end.)

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by.

Remember the shine of the great Eye always watching
Fire and shadow lurking over the mountains
An army chanting a language so very harsh, it hurts to sound
The break of the dawn where clouds are darken, and dreams are dead
Towards the pass, between the Black Gates
Lies the servent of great old foe
Who is now unlike his master, survived all the lords of the world
To become a lord of his own
One ring to rule them all
One ring to find them
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the lands of Mordor where shadow lies

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS"
lord of the rings fanatics, typical
Somehow controlling thousands of people turned us all into Gandalf
I guarded the food, you two the door
Most people don't tell you how healthy it is to assert yourself,
They crave passivity, fear aggression
Assertion doesn't mean aggression
Patriarchal society
How good it feels to stand tall
Huge like a mountain, wise like a wizard
If we are Gandalf you're the ring
I hope you get thrown into the pits of Mordor

Hats and Hooves and Humming Birds,
Moulded cheese and strawberry Nerds,
Oh, Good Gracious Paper,
You are this poems maker,

The Lion kills, Gryffindor's dead,
the snake bites him, Slytherin lies on the bed,
The Raven caws, Ravenclaw is upset
The badger has a cold, 'Hufflepuff takes him to the vet."

"I am the Lord of the Rings", Says Mr.Frodo
Then Sauron comes out from Mordor
Gollum Screams, "Smeagol the Lord."
Boromir kills Saruman, using a sword

All ends bad, as is bad
Denethor in his house goes mad,
he burns himself and leaves Gondor sad,
Bilbo beats the old took, all because of that footpad

There is havoc, everywhere
Voldemort challenges Sauron to a dare,
Voldemort has the Elder wand,
Sauron wields the ring and jumps into a pond

They duel right there, wand and ring,
Sauron things Voldemort's a dumb thing,
Sauron wins and Voldemort flees
then Sauron boasts about his good deeds

harry's happy but Frodo's sad
and Bilbo is weeping over his lad,
Sams works for Sauron's evil garden,
and pippin lives in a barn with a hen

thank you, oh paper,
This funny poems maker,
unfortunately, I didn't write this poem on you,
I wrote it on a computer screen, nanana poopoo

Home - what is home?
Most people equate it with where they live,
but I have a different idea.
Home is where the heart is, right?
And what's to stop your heart from going to some place you've never been?
Nothing.
Just as you can't help falling in love with people,
neither can you help falling in love with places.
That's why, to me, Hogwarts is home.
221B Baker Street is home.
The TARDIS, the Shire, the Burrow.
All are home.
The USS Enterprise is my home away from home.
Same with the Winchester's 1967 Chevy Impala.

They say you can feel homesick for places you've never been.
Most people can't quite understand how that works,
but I know what it's like.
While I may get to visit all of these places in my mind,
thanks to the stories surrounding them,
I'll never be able to physically visit these places.
They're real to me. They just don't exist.
But I have been there - to all of them.
Through words on a page or through scenes playing out on a screen,
the stories surrounding these places have allowed me to visit them.
I know from these stories what it's like to travel through time and space.
To live in King Arthur's court.
To witness Sherlock Holmes bored.
Stressing over Potions essays, adventuring to Mordor,
bonding through hours-long drives across country.
These things, these experiences;
they've filled gaps in my soul that I didn't even realize were there.
And that, I think, is why I call them home.
So that even when their stories are over,
I'll still have that connection to them.

I am a prisoner to the rings magic,
As the elves sing a tale so tragic,
A fellowship of friends embark from the city of elves,
And on the path to a red glowing hell.

He gave me this ring with fear in his eyes,
A powerful magic that filled our heads with lies,
I must throw it into the fires of doom,
No matter the cost,
Leaving the shire, i must depart soon.
For I am a Baggins,
And we may wander,
But never get lost.

Look for me in the sky,
Look for me under the ground,
Look for me on the back of an eagle,
You will find me going westbound.

Elven prince
Tender of trees
Molder of leaf-covered mansions,
And brother to the green and growing;
Older than Dwarves,
Older than Men,
And Hobbits,
Younger than Ents,
Eternally young,
Fading slowly
To the West....

Truer heart
Never surged,
Inscrutable,
Unfathomable,
Anchored in Old Codes,
Time out of human mind,
Hidden motives
Sometimes revealed,
Sometimes blind....
Worthy of fearful trust.

Friend to true-hearted
Hobbits,
Men,
Dwarves,
Eagles,
White wizards,
Hunter of Nazgul,
Blade-armorer.

Warg Enemy,
Orc Killer,
Spider Foe,
Sauron Hater,
Murdering Mordor....

Today I realized the world has gone mad,
Still lending bills to penniless debtors,
But now sending in knights with armor clad
So no one messes with debt collectors.
This is it—my Sunday epiphany,
That somehow could rattle my state of mind.
Yet looking back, it’s not very holy.
I’m starting my day, and no longer blind.
Even their stuff sneaks over the border.
Look, toothpaste! Made down south in Mexico!
They laugh at the sign “Welcome to Mordor,”
And they **** the man asking “Friend or foe?”
  Dear Congressman, answer me this, big guy.
  I’m confused – where does our allegiance lie?

  Is our friendship with China just a fling?
  I thought we trusted them with everything!

  “You can make our computers, shirts, and toys.
  Oh, our toothpaste? We hired that country’s boys.”
Now there’s a just reason to start a war.
Some racist fear of lead-infested paste,
No care for the kids sweating on the floor,
More worried that our nation’d come to waste.
Ignorance is bliss; knowledge is power.  
A slavery that no one speaks about
Will never reach its final hour
unless I stand on a street corner, shout,
and wave around my poorly crafted sign.
Commercials are about money, and lots of it,
Not kids working in a factory line.
A modest proposal: destroy all profit!
  
  We should either be poor or go down fighting,
  At least we’ll have honor while we’re dying.

I have watched wars waged and won,
Waged and lost.
I have died 100 deaths,
And lived 1000 lives.
I have loved and romanced,
I have fallen and cried.

Each life I live,
I live again,
And again.

Within the confines of these paperback worlds,
I have lived more truly,
More passionately.
Free of constraints and norms to censor my actions.

These hardcover entities have taught me--
Lessons more true and earnest than any parent could deliver.

I have ridden dragons, killed Voldemort, cast the evil ring into Mordor, been through Dante's Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory, watched Milton's birth of the world, and seen Shakespeare deliver us thousands of new words.

O, what brave new worlds therein lie!

And all in a day's work.

All those things a man does in life,
And those a woman does, too;
I have done also.

I have done them ten thousand times over,
And done them with infinitely more passion.

I am he who lives most without leaving the house,
She for whom hours are spent, lives exhausted.

I am--
The reader.

past Rock City we carry the fire!
to the ring; where Führer fights a frail foe!
to conceal what burns at 4 5 1–dire
Big Brother won't notice our hearts aglow
"Understanding: allow their point of view
walk around in their skin; folks are just folks"
Watch the merry-go-round go 'round a few
"More Weight," says Giles, but a witch? deadly hoax
The One Ring finally reaches Mordor
Kings are justly crowned, Bingley marries Jane
The Old Man caught the fish, or so he swore
but Dad, Liesel, Allie, Winston are slain
journeys are sacrificial, lives immured
Cheers to pilgrimage we haven't endured

If Frodo can carry the ring and its weigh, to Mordor, into the fires of Mount Doom, I can walk this earth carrying my backpack and its weigh.

Feel my breath blowing like a gale , the gael without fail,
I inhale and exhale the flames of hell,
Born hellbent-repent!
you’re scurrying in gullies while I seek your Scent...
SNIFFFF-grrrrrrrr! -that’s the sound of doom,
You’re better off digging in a pharoh’s tomb,
No room to escape the breath that melts cold steel
You’re a rabbit in my headlights fear my moulten hot claws of steel,
I breathe oxygen and nitrogen to exhale the red hot blast to seal your fate,
Best debate, best berate, get your estate in order one blast of rhyme its all over.
You’re a scorchmark against a granite wall,
Been burnt to a crisp by the firestorm from hell,
Well welcome to hell do you feel the heat?
Sandman slim-dragon never fears defeat,
20 years here spittin’ in the underground,
Now its time to take place in the sound that’s found,
In an Irish no go area, the gates of Mordor,
The Irish Dragon - draggin you to a state of ******,
grrrr!-claws like claymore’s rake across your face
as I prepare to ignite,take flight,seal your fate...

How do we do it?
How many quests?
How many fellowships
formed and broken,
going on to separate ways?
Doesn’t the heart rub a bit
sore after each parting?
Are we fools thinking
our’s the most arduous journey,
a long trek into Mordor,
to scale the heart of Doom?
Are we a bit of Merry weather
and Pippin riding on a shoulder
of an ancient forest?
Do we fight the Nazgul?
Are we foot soldiers
once more going into the breach?
We go truth be told
with no magic, no ring,
just cheerful Hobbits with secondsies,
snacks between full meal,
brief taste between breakfast,
and lunch, filling ourselves with joy.

Deep within the spacial abyss that is my brain
There lies a little blue planet called “Paul”.
Hidden away from most of reality
This world is full of wondrous dreams.

Its drifting continents are full of sporting arenas,
Traditional pubs and inns
And swarms of gorgeous women.
Lofty mountains overlook sandy beaches
Fringed by sun kissed palms.
Endless vistas of hill and dale
Teeming with Life.

There is a Dark Side too:
I have my “Mordor” for sure
And my own Sauron.
Who doesn’t?
Lands full of man eating wasps
Fearful ghouls and witches
And torture chambers
Full of dental equipment.
Giant eyes
And Mirrors
Which take on a life
Of their own.

But let’s focus on the Brightness here:
The music and poetry
And even dance
And romance!
A place where we can “Get Around”
To Beach Boys harmonies,
Rock to Chuck Berry
And enjoy whatever delights Carlsberg can conjure up,
If not a pint of “*****’s Beer”
From Cleethorpes.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\5\2018.

Me


You have no ******* idea,
What it's like to be me.
You simply couldn't comprehend,
That this is the way things have to be.
Every day feeling more pain,
The pains getting worse, it gets no better.
Every day is now the same
And it will be this way forever.


No regrets due to no memory,
Except the things that scarred our lives.
No new life can there be for you and me.
I overdose nearly every night;
But they keep keeping me alive,
And for what?  I just don't know.
Just to continue this daily punishment;
I'm still alive, so on with the show.


I'm walking through the town,
Careful to never make eye contact.
Never being recognized by anyone
And I'm never coming back.
I hate everyone in here
And I hate every stranger I meet.
I hate everyone I left behind
And I hate anyone who knows me.


I have to make small talk,
Whilst they have nothing left to say.
Their deepest conversation is about makeup
And who they ****** last Saturday.
They’re lucky they'll never feel this;
This bitter hatred in my soul.
If they walked only one day in my shoes,
They would pack up shop and they would go;
To wherever the journey ends.
Maybe the fiery pits of Mordor
And they would jump like angelic lemmings,
Just to end this life; this bore.


You meet a beautiful girl,
But you can't go up and speak to her;
Because your heart has been torn from your chest before.
You've now become a beautiful bore.


You fancy them all, yet you don't want any of them.
You could love them all, but you can't take the risk again.
So you throw in the towel
And become a celibate monk in a monastery.
Now you can't get hurt anymore;
No ******* woman can ever harm me!


But you'll never find love,
Get married and have children;
But you’re resigned to a life of struggle,
And you wouldn't want them anyway.


What?  Have a kid grow up to be just like his father.
The guy who doesn't know his family,
Has no job, but loves his baby’s momma.
The woman he'd die for is just using him for cash;
Because the kids real father, has gone and packed his bags.


She's in the last chance saloon,
Because she can't afford a kid;
But this must be her lucky day,
Because she's going out with Stupid.


So come on now boys and girls,
Please slit my throat as I sleep;
Because tomorrow is just another day
And believe me, you don't know me.


The man you used to know,
Died a long, long time ago.
Now the heart is dead inside,
But the body still moves on.


His girl has ripped his heart out,
After selling his soul.
He was convinced she was his girl,
But she's just another '**.


His brain is in pieces, his energy gone.
He no longer has faith
And he will no longer fight on.


He finds happiness in depression,
It's always been this way for him.
It's all ****** up, his life is chaos;
This is normal life for me.
But if everything’s alright for him
And the world and he spin as one,
He packs his bags and darts through the exit;
Heading back to the norm.


Chaos and pain and tragedy and suffering;
These are a few of my favorite things.
Peace, love, friends and family;
No longer mean anything to me.


I crave for nothing,
So there's nothing I need.
I don't require any of the products sold on T.V.
I don't need a wife and a kid, or a million pounds.
I'm happy alive in a world of nothing;
It's the other people who bring me down.


(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

.for two days a song was haunting me, seemingly unheard before, hidden in the deep recesses of my mind - unrelated by sound or memory... yet burning itself a presence regardless of my faculties... restless... i had to take a walk through bedfords park, havering country park and hainault forest country park - through sun and rain and two bottles of wine... twice seeing bambi and at times scuttling like a rat / misanthrope from the unusual traffic of these parts... to finally find peace... Borodin's prince igor!

there's just enough of gloating to have to muster...
before some grander detail has to take form:
i've been trying to capture the song
i want to listen to: but it's hardly a genesis
of an #A... or... whistling...
             kik kershaw's the riddle?
                         it's not - now that the hindsight ("spoiler")
is presented... it wasn't a bach aria:
or a batCH... well: who's the good surd?
'ere boy... vat's a good tau: ba'ch...
     the would be baчelor: j. s. baχ...
                            a juggling act of... less than...
what james joyce's finnegans' had to offer:
and more: the diacrcrcr-detail-of-antics...
       pop sort of reference points?
                   would they be... if they weren't...
for the per se reasons?
                  details are in the noumenon -
that... axe-folding: exfoliating lesser demand
for: **** in machina...
                                      the sort of details
that mind: the over-simplified woman...
and... the terrible complicated seance of...
when witches were detailed about...
their broomsticks were to be replaced with...
vacuum cleaners... terrible details of
"unnecessary" complications...
man of science man of technology man
of engineering and man of mathematics...
much later... the man of linguistics and...
the troop of ballet dancers... the choreographers
and the composers...    

i have taken enough days to gloat...
working an addiction in reverse...
a bank-roll filled with: plenty of nicotine...
and chem.,
           just waiting for the completed
day... an exercise in language:
and jack daniels bubblegum:
pale blue... blueberry images... gluttons
of colour: those pearls...
back to music... back to music...

   i wanted: rather than tried...
to fathom a pause in the construnction
of the res cogitans: with the usual
punctuation markers...
it's hardly a semi-colon...
          a full-stop... a comma or a full-stop...
hardly the detail of syllables
with diacritical markers...
    hidden letters...
rare in english that sheer and chisel
should come together...

i was thinking of a punctuation marker
to block of all narrative...
not a mere punctuation marker -
not some apostrophre...
                precursor to the possessive article:
's..              's...
even the russians do not have
what i already have...
         namely... дж...   джик is an approximation...
something is hidden within...
dzik itself (boar)... dzikość - wildening...
        a lost attribute for the civilized man...
   дж is... slightly off from the intended:
   дз - while ж (rz or ż-art - joke) -
              is... well... it appears...
but is a few letters apart...
       for example in: drzeć (tear - ter:
not tier - nor teer - backwards to forwards...
latin diphthong of æ) -
                        to tear paper into pieces...
   a tear ran down my cheek...
   to have read: rather than... to simply: read -
and... the reed - a stalk of a bulrush...
               the eastern lands...
                      synonyms and two best known
aliases: the birch tree and the bulrush wetlands...

this is the only best: approximation
of a song akin to Borodin's prince igor...
that can't be hummed... unless heard proper...
not from an abstract of memory...
conflation of adjectives?
abstract is more an adjective than a noun...
for this presentation...

      hiding letters like a good 'ebrew...
           surds detailed with apostrophes...
mollusk legs... exercised...
  a day later and the extreme cigarette high
is "missing": not found...
   щыт "vs" szczyt / ščyt -
                 no less congested than:
                                       dość! enough!

from the initial fascination of working
english into greek...
                     things had to translate themself
into "mordor" regions: Ruś, Krym, Tartar...
the Caucaus...
                        and the Turkic dwarf plebs
of mythical Constantinople... takeover...

- with thinking i wanted to capture:
res vanus: the empty thing...
       a synchronised: symphony of...
with what's being emptied...
while at the same time... with what's being
filled...
the years passed when pacing
with a heart of a turtle...
compared to... the heart of a mouse...
i call it: no known noun...
              to think is to have the heart
of a mouse... easily agitated...
no room for lost narratives...
      hell: better still... without haikus
and all those condoms of denial and...
delayed view-count murmurs...

          a case of: res cogitans:
a thing most animate...
a case for: res vanus:
   aa thing most inanimate...
         it's... a slingshot... a strain on purpose...
it's an incremental addition of purpose...
it's a punctuation mark akin
to: lost the linear...
up toward the copernican east we go...
and then back toward the flat-earth
project of... being able to read a map:
topography... without: the need for 3D:
3D the copernican: it's all very imaginary...
vector alpha:
points beta and gamma...
to find punctuation: a silence...
a bit like... finding gravity...
which isn't a sound... but if it was...
it would be... the sound of falling rain
on leaves or lead plating of a roof...
or... the sound of recycling...
of water... in a waterfall...

by now all the ******* readers have
disappeared... there's no more...
instagram haikus in the system...
there's the drone drill sequence...
a very distant humming sound...
perhaps an impromptu crescendo of
variations of a cat's meow...

absolute: total: шит... more like шитышит:
    шыт if i was... to be honest...
   sheets of paper... floating about...
                    well... i too once thought:
those russians... with they cyrillic...
but no diacritical markers...
      well K in a mirror: ж...
                      no one told me about brining
mirrors into the project...
     sh-ch-
sz-cz-                щыт - height: well... zenith...
bl-ы'h bl-ы'h: blah... blah...
       it's a letter: the russians call a "sound"...
like the english should start calling
the letter "g" or the "h" a >sound<:
surd...    an apostrophe: gnome: 'nome...
gnosticism: 'nosticism...
                                 'alf the 'arvest...
prop'er: cockers and pouch of punches...
   very ******* irish sober to me...
brings all the harlequins and loon'doon'ish
to the backyard for:
                   milch-schütteln-und-schäkel...

and then i return the cork back onto the corkscrew...
as i pa'k - my... packaging... CCCP... comrade...
the folded soviet shop...
don't worry terrible ivan... there's a new shop
in town... the iron has morphed into silicon...
see-through curtains and...
this virus... did more damage...
than any... brave lion of the jihad would ever...
circumstance of the affairs of westminster bridge...
they would "epstein" one through
one in a while...
                 to **** chicken the populace
into a cucklicking KKK strut dance of:
burning hoods and bras and crucifixes...
and ******...
                              conventional... formal...
language usage? please reserve that for...
the golf course and business talk...
                write? write what? a kandinsky?!

yes... a big hello ******* from
tiktok and twitter...
1 minute videos and... 180 characters...
         i feel constrained... claustrophobic...
if... i can't write an imitation Dickens chapter...
1000 words is ******* lemonade...
2000 words is... regurgitating a day's worth
of a newspaper... saturday edition...
which includes the editorial and the magazines...
3000 words? a truly rare thing...
      given that... conjunctions and their details
are not counted: ' - is both an apostrophe and a surd
letter... t'at all depends: on the "v.a.t."...

the whole point was...
finding excuses to write about quitting smoking
are other... they were all fine: crack ******* smoked
when the levels of nicotine were dropping...
the upper body was exercised...
but the legs weren't... mollusks and oysters for *****...
or... toes...
to count... oysters for toes...
but when the legs have been exercised...
and a balance has been reached...
there's little to gloat about... about...
quitting smoking...
there's a need to say: the glory of the tongue
and its palette when walking...
the budding beauty of things surrounding me...
all blushing envy of the green...
  self-respecting green and its almost
teasing green phosopherscent insomnia
in the rubric of the sun: next to wake...
next to hide... a bud of bishop hues...

insomnia green of the forest...
                     poor bambi (x2)...
                    zinfandel rosé!
count! syllables! nurse! scalpel!
zin!-f'ah-del... rou-s'eh...
                              oh remind me of the night...
and the forest... the blinking moon
by count of clouds obstructing its glee...
turned into a melting moon...
spray-painted over the leaves with
its last will of agitated: clingy mercury tinge...

the debate: "debate" wasn't about...
i took 3 days to gloat about quitting smoking...
there are more important affairs to mind...
notably! notably?

example!

la traviata is an opera in three acts by (giuseppe) verdi
set to an italian libretto by francesco (maria) piave
                                                 (verbatim: i.e. borrowed)...

there... they cite... the composer...
    who doesn't need a first name, since: verdi is...
synonymous with verdi and opera composition...
but...
         yeah... you need to mention the first name
and the surname of... the libretto: francesco piave...
the opera...
      music... and... the words...
well so much for the music...
but... last time i heard... a violinist holds...
a violin and a bow...
                         what's the opera singer
to hold? the melody? no! he needs to hold...
words...

   today i passed a family in the forest...
a mother, a father... two children...
                   and a grandfather...
maternal / paternal... i don't know...
i was already on my second bottle of wine...
the woman asked me:
   'will we get back to the car park if we turn
around on this route?'
        i was already eyeing them with
a curiosity prior...
i uttered the words... 'you should...'
          not... 'i hope so... since i'll be
testing that question'...
or 'you will...'
                           several minutes later
in my own solipsistic interlude...
            you should... i swear to god...
sometimes i say something and can't
see letters behind the sound...
      like: i shouldn't really see: meow...
behind the sound a cat makes...
since... a cat doesn't just make an: ego sum: meow
universal statement...
there are variations...
    'you should'... i repeated...
slightly drunk and... whatever... i didn't see
any letters in the sound i made...
           for once... not the last time, though...

to abide in such joys from a past -
chevalier, mult estes guariz -
                 to cite charmlemagne and prince rolo:
the scandinavian convert -
who's (whoz: not who is) descendents
were the morphed vikings: the normans...
who conquered england...
        since the predecessors couldn't...
walther von der vogelweide:
                    palästanalied...
all through the german autobahn...
                   the word... AUSFAHRT!
the lands owned by the lithuanian who
married: and by marriage became converted...
from the last pagan prince of europe:
enclosure rhapsody of caged
elephants: prior: mammoths...
  the estonian bulwark...
von meer zu meer (von baltisch zu schwarzes meer)
these jagiełło platitudes of envy... chełm...
      sch'war'zes...

begotten not made: blistered...
the scarf of colour to capture the frenzy of
autumn... a shawl best worn to...
loot the colour and suffocate the subject
with: no past a dream and a dream
without rucurrence...
to borrow from the past as much
if not more from fiction!
to say: once they pickled Barbarossa...
come the third crusade... disgruntled oath-breakers...
sought the prussians...
and the lithuanians... and all that land
to the east...
had they only known... what the prussians
would make of the absence of the saxons
of the pomeranians and the bavarians...
i wasn't there... no...
but a romance is a romance is:
here's to... no ode to a ******* sailor:
capn' ahab... or the rodin instruction
knee deep in the mud at ypres...
or the mass-graves of german youth
or: how kaisser wilhelm and that in-breeding
crew of familial ties tore europe
on the altar of the bull...
before this bourgeoisie whittle adoolph HIT!
came about and charged the former
bitzmarck ***** and the elites with...
eh... the story is so told and so old...
"they" couldn't fathom the middle-project
of the khaki and ******* not coming
from their... high-brow... aristocracy...
better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven...
choir boy whittle adoolph said:
i'll borrow the schnurrbart from chaplin...
after all... with a surname like mine...
a ****** or a chaplin is no... WIN-D'SOR!
yes... apostrophe 'ere if not to hide a surd...
it's to elevate punctuation...
for the sake of syllables... the hyphen is not
enough... vowel catcher tetragrammaton
invocation! the first arm of the god:
the second arm is for: ha ha ha! laughter!
cynic and satyr!
            eh... let's leave the stoics to their
love of labouring over the fate of oysters!
protestants and pre-destination-alists...
clarvoyant calvinists!

                         from the decadence of a "lost"
empire... what "pseudo" history is to be
resurrected... romanced...
the angevin empire?! that there is a past...
the "lesser" dream...

a patrick and andrew a george...
and ef bwy newid troi (he who...
altered path) -

troedfilwr - petty velsh:
quasi-silesian / kashubian / little warsaw
of the "bigger picture" masovia...
CAPital neu...
          
- ever write something...
at a snail's pace: crow pecking...
because a moth has just flown into your room...
and... unlike... holding a seashell to your
ear... to find the ivory shore...
and the details of false echo of... galloping
waves...
you clench your hand...
and hear... fluttering... like the sound of...
desperately falling rain..

madame butterfly is an opera
by (giacomo) puccini, with a libretto
by luigi illica and giuseppe giacosa

the magic flute, k. 620, is an opera in
mozart to a german libretto by
emanuel schikaneder:

           der verk is in the form of a singspiel:
singing and spoken dialogue...
my demise: the awe... interludes of...
theatre... in an opera!

               rushing rushing and... kandinsky
the colt serenade kind...
  with... canvas... and an auction house
of reserve that... fridge magnet enterprise
of a single mother of... 6...
              
you couldn't get an opera...
working from the carmina burana...
the... libretto... thankfuly...
constricted the music...
you'd only get what you already have...
a medley... opertics instead of an opera...
sketches of an opera...
    the whole custard mess...
the rhubarb the rasberry "finicky"...
         the Goliards and the... gonnards...

               were diu werlt alle min
               von dem mere unze an den Rin,
               des wolt ih mih darben
               daz diu chunegin von Engellant
                lege an minen armen

the quid pro quos and the... anon. circus
spectacular sheen!
  
  what is the composer without the libretto?
the violin player has his violin and bow
attached: like some... frankenstein's take
on an elaboration of an autumnal fallen:
leaf of: a "false" limb...
dire desires for a lingering crescendo...
of a piece... without an overture...
bothercome children and the good life...
nothing worth clarifying the nouns:
to a supper... a goodnight...

                       bedtime with nabokov?
my take... well... it becomes apparent...
when... the local... easily accessed by the many...
avenues of love... are exercised...
what remains? taboo...
and once the taboo is... investigated...
invested in... well then...
there's that all overpowering tease of
thought not materialised into a will...
a 14 year old girl... below the mark...
she's 16 and i'm 18...
and i'm not her... cousin and this is not
israel...
                  after a while... the only *** available
is... the forbidden type...
and there's... so much freedom in
what's forbidden... when it's only thought...
the complex: θ(ought) complex
that becomes φ(inking)...

              the moment "she" starts to
perceive the mirror...
       and you're looking into the concept
of time and of glass...
  
but then... there's... the libretto... and the composer...
the rare event of: richard wagner...
where there's a schizoid... bilingual...
"in theory": der kommissar working 7/11
on the advent of: neu-muzik zu kommen!

  queen of the night aria contra...
my sleeping karma - satya - ahimsa...
that one: "last" cigarette...
me... a wife and a child...
        tidy... if i only aimed at...
the fraction to no effect...
the wife and the sole child...
i'd be doing all the proper details...
a wife and... the hungarian model...
of at least: towing 2...
      hardly an embitious venture if only
towing the holy trinity of:
fake hey-gay-zeus fake myriam fake josephus...

not looking for queen of the night aria...
   nor satie's gnossienne no.1 sampled...
ezio bosso - under the trees...
           vittorio monti
jean-paul egide martini {/^.5.p 6^)_(0$drd...
toast!
it was... bothering me... started last night...
took 6 rough miles to get the tune
out from my head...
into a coffin... of sorts...
it was... borodin's prince igor! all along!

p.s. re-flex: the politics of dancing...
       duran-duran: the reflex; ******-pointer-ler;
h'american pie contra dad:
   the gay bar: electric sexes und siebens:
hefyd...                         deutsche bankschisch...
zeit (time) and the ruschischen:
              цeit... always conflated as...
indistinguishable by a ****** / lithuanian...
           цeit - bißcuit... crumble: чarcoal...

hey presto: a *******... voilà contra eureka!

most nations are divided by
either the south vs. the north,
or the east vs. the west,
well... some, not all,
there's no clear indication that
there's a true indicator -

in the case of england though?
well... you
have the emergence of
a "demographic" slang,
and apology for a lack of a better
word,
but i already indicated
this to be a misnomer,
meaning?
               third-parties,
i was never into coining a phrase,
so i took the lazy route,
and unquoted ("     "   vs. '        ' -
hence the inverted commas)
what would sediment into a fluid
pretense for rhetoric...
sure, the picts know
that glasgow is poor, while edinburgh
is rich...
   but that's an anomaly
of the rules...
       most of the underground
services are bound to the earth-worms
of north london...
  south london barely touches
on the convenience of underground
services...
               the underground
stretch of influence goes as far
as brixton (victoria line) -
   and morden / mordor (northern line) -
   **** me! on the north end, we're going back
as far as epping! farmland!
croydon? croydon?! talk about
                heathrow for ****'s sake!
   what the **** happens in west ruslip?
so kilburn is not a mini-havana / kingston
a jamie-jammin-chicken-****-fetish?
marble arch through to edgware
not a niqab "cat walk"?
             i knew i'd loose my compass
when strutting in london...
              homerton, hackney whick,
stratford...
           oh **** me, you go beyond
   hainault....
can you believe they still have
a video rental shop (blockbusters) just
outside of woodford station?!
               cities within a city,
like all modern micro-states of
frowned upon nation-states are:
   london? a city-state...
                           it's not a nation-state,
that 19th century: uh-hum...
                       ya ya...
                          i'm living within
an ancient-greek tickle of a city-state...
i'm living on the membrane,
i'm at the gates
  of the barrier between
   a city-state, and a nation-state...

newcastle, liverpool, manchester are
not actually considered to be
city-states...
           they're national-disconcertives...
   birmingham? ha ha!
           is it either? is it not the lahore
of the north-west?

mind you, me drinking an ale from
newcastle, walking in essex,
the "demographic" slang springs to mind...

i'm a southern fairy... drinking a
northern monkey's brew...
         ain't that a cause for rhyme?
i'm ******* sure it it:
what thrill in crafting art,
   within the confines of a mind
that knows no ill,
               for what of art,
if there be no ill of mind -
         to craft the thrills of true art?
is not art the craft that
          encourages control
over a decomposition, into the vigour
of ferment,
  like wine, like cheese,
                    so too...
   a florentine gallery...
    god: by a tarantula's bite, immobilißed
in the uffizi: mouth agape, pretending
to yawn.

ah yes... a reminder:
with a northern ale in the southern lands
of england...
   ******* southern fairies...
      bollocking northern monkeys.

In the eyes of the fleeting foxes
we were not magnificent
welcome to the machine
or rage against it
but remember
if you betray the wall
then you must bid farewell to kings
working on a mystery will bow to natural science
so hear me now my starry eyed talking heads
in the days of future past
deftones that guide us from the dark side of the moon
like time, stands still
sounds of silence will prevail
from the darkest depths of mordor
GaGas, Biebers, and bands of mindless disney orks
shall arrive from across the universe
black days shall grip this planet
down down down in a burning ring of fire
landslide
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
stayin alive
the day the music dies

you told me you were so excited to see me that you threw up kittens.
and i vowed to love you one day longer.

the next day you whispered that you would gladly take on the armies of Mordor with your fists for me.
and i vowed to love you one day longer.

you propose to me at least once a day.
and i vow to love you one day longer.

i whisper that you are my "forever boy" and we talk about silly things like Nutella and Al Gore and nonsense
and you vow to love me forever.

You can't catch me 22 
I'm miles dead ahead of you  
Runnin' circles round' you squares
With lion shares and grizzly bares
Livin' on a cobra's prayer
With taboo turpitude'n tongue
Conundrums that I'm summon'un
The meta-Orpheus has come
Since 21, the chosen one
I'm neo-hippy rebel ****
So ante-uppers, get you some
Eleven seven slurpee sun
Super-soaking supernovas
With a matrix water gun
From vats of hydrochloric
Spillin' Joker on the masses
Turnin' Gotham allegoric
Into clown prince rhymes of passion
Of a blood of Christ fanatic
Jimmy Jones'n as I'm cashin'
In the semi-theocratic
Weapon cache'n checks imbalanced
Chemically unstable attic  
Bat **** crazy poison gases
Spewin' power-trippin' fascist
Cataclysmic autocratic
Devolution clash of classes
Resolution's prehistoric
Meteoric democratic  
So I'm risin' from the ashes
From dismayin' to conveyin'
How I'm goin' super Saiyan
When the treasure hordes of Mordor lords
Corrupt the men of Numenor
For Bard the Bowman heroes
Are the roles that I am playin'
In shadows of the Arkenstone
When I go dragon slayin'