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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
i can move from the highly lyrical into what's deemed
modern -
        poetising within a prosaic framework,
gone are coordinates that would
define a poem on the premise of:
whether there's a pun in it.
       sure, poems as chicken scratches
to what would otherwise be an English
teacher's *******: pulverising
a haiku to mean an infinite number of things,
and about a dozen essays by students.
the opposite of what's nonetheless:
    squeezing out juice from an already
squeezed out lemon... and i mean lemon
because there's a threshold...
           poetry is tarnished by what i call
the over-scientification of language...
                 only poetry attracts
so much linguistic categorisation,
so much morge tenure, so much dissection,
before poetry is even spoken
it has already been dissected - a befitting
target practice for budding medicine students...
          and some even deem it a outlet to
their professions: as if poetry was nothing
but a colouring-in book compared to
a da Vinci sketch.
                why not become a martyr for the ******
art? sickly sweet with its rhyme,
  the auxiliary recommendation on a birthday
card... which upon industrialisation
                               is nothing more than
    a thumping of a hammer near a protruding
nail in a crucifix... but a hammer that never
   makes contact with the nail...
why ***** this art, because of the industrious
nature of scribblers exacted to 600 pages worth
of a novel, when, perhaps, one thing is said
and can be said to be actually memorable?
well: there is a greater demand for handcrafted
objects than Ikea veneer, that much can be said...
it takes a few glugs of whiskey and a few cigarettes
to get the final product...
            it doesn't take industriousness -
poetry requires handcrafting, and what's revolutionary
about our times? they once claimed
     southpaws to be of diabolical design,
   but now both hands are used when "writing",
sure, the archaic fluidity of the movement of the hand
is gone: so as i write, i do the cliche of a
peasant listening to classical music while pretending
to conduct an orchestra, that finicky maestro
hand gesture... waltz before you can walk
is all i have to say... and yes:
we either have our Humphrey Bogart moments,
or Forrest Gump moments...
                  Hanks did the miraculous -
play the idiot, and play the serious role -
     which was harder to do, Mr. Bean or Black Adder?
it's hard to play the village idiot while
    being submerged in the bile of malice
   and staring into attempted feats of quasi intelligence...
but you get the hang of it...
   your eyes become like nuggets of coal...
           whereby those that incite pity wet them,
and those that incite contempt: light them up...
        by the time they have burned out...
they have turned into nuggets of sulphur -
          inorganic methane - yellowish grit:
as some Dalton said - could the cliffs of Dover ever
be perceived as sulphuric? the Sulphuric Cliffs
of Dover... apparently this is what defined
London when Christopher Wren took to
ushering in a foundation as Nero did to Rome:
on the chessboard of stone.
        and yes... i can be seen as the oppressor,
after all, i live in a country that prizes its suburban
housing as if miniature castles...
and gardens... boy these people love their gardens...
but they never use them!
    i can use a window to my advantage,
sit on the windowsill and smoke a cigarette and drink
a whiskey, unafraid of voyeurism...
                    pompous in my presence there,
perched like a crow, grinding all life into a halt
as my neighbours peer into the recesses of
    what's 4 by 4 by 4 of living (civil) rooms...
       can we but change the name of this space?
can we call living rooms civil rooms,
   where we acknowledge some sort of civility
rather than a wrestling for the television remote?
i can make little things give me an advantage,
if the toilet is being occupied,
  i'll use the garden as my toilet...
           i feel complete disdain for people who
"require" a garden, but never use it... of people
who "require" a garden, but are never seen in it...
   i'm hardly a c.c.t.v. surveillance object,
   but i feel that over-exposure to ******* reads
as a counter in that: people start to become
      phobic about voyeurism... as universities claim
them to be: "caught with your hand down your trousers
in a safespace", where dolphins jump over
rainbows and unicorns speak Haitian voodoo!
              there is this fear, which is why i'll use the
garden more than the people around me...
          which means: owning a garden is the last
stronghold of moving into an urban environment from
a rural one...
             or perhaps i'm just good at what i do
           and the last point becomes a tangent i care not
to continue... should i ask
            (whether that's true)?
            i have this throbbing sensation in my eyes
when i write such things and overhear
  what's necessary to rereading books in snippets -
which is better than regurgitating maxims
    as if some truth will magically pop-up (once more)
like a Leprechaun with a *** of gold -
  a new film, and hence the all important soundtrack.
rereading books in snippet format reveals much
more than a memorable quote,
           given there's an adequate soundtrack
to accompany you revisiting the book you managed
to take on a weekend holiday (like a girlfriend),
  like lawrence lipton's the holy barbarians...
   (all about the beats)...
              the snippet? chapter 15, the social lie
(martino publishing mansfield centre 2009), pp. 294 - 296...
      the music? ~20minutes into http://tinyurl.com/zdvp8sc
(ben salisbury & geoff barrow)... or what
i image to be a toned down version of
                 ...
) interlude... wacko gets summoned to steal a mouse
from a cat...
      double time... the mouse is unharmed...
all action takes place in the garden...
   running after a cat, catching the ghostly mouse,
i mean: frozen by fear... senile little thing...
     petting the mouse... obviously within the
framework: the most famous mouse in the world
scenario... mouse is put into my neighbour's
garden: where it came from: which kinda makes
this whole thing a practice in Hinduism
     (i can't stop the industrialisation of
farming pigs or chickens or cows...
      so ******* to the sourced sustainably,
organic chickens et al.)...                                 (
i was looking for something as equally pulverising
as ¥ (chemical brother's
song life is sweet)...
      i guess i found it...
                            and what was that bit about
not getting hassle on the internet?
                      i can't force people to read my stuff...
how i love this idea of a gym and making an effort...
both the writer and the reader entwined -
rather than watching you-tube vloggers treat their audience
like penguins feeding their chicks regurgitation as part of
               the info-wars... alter news: propaganda.
'what is the disaffiliate disaffiliating himself from?
      the immense myth promulgated from Madison Ave.
& Morningside Heights...
              the professors and advertisement men (indistinguishable
these days, or in those days - apparently)...
   that intellectual achievement lies within the social order
and that you can be a great poet as an advertising man,
a great thinker as a professor...' hence the myth.
              summarised later as:
'the entire pressure of social order is to make
         literature into advertisement.'
  and why do they shoot people in North Korea and
Saudi Arabia (well, chop more than shoot)?
              bad literature, a.k.a. bad advertisement.
am i a bad advertiser?         point being: am i selling anything?
oh gee! i just might be...
   but i feel there's no need to oppress people into
reading something...         as was the same with
my democratic romance with a personal library of mine:
   how to create a democratic representation
of literature: or how to hear as many people out...
   even those alive would see the backlog of
stale books of the dead that have been under-appreciated
and need a ****** into the future.
        perhaps not Plato...
                    that's not a book, that's a column...
but i despise how feminism ignores its greatest asset...
Mary Shelley... no woman could have single-handedly
become so celebrated in pop culture...
               ex_machina is obviously a revamp of Frankenstein...
Mary Shelley is the embodiment of a woman worthy
a continual revised celebration...
                       you can see her celebrated more times than
any politically minded feminist of whatever 1st 2nd or
3rd movement: because she has the ability to
    turn a man's ego into a ******* umpf!
  like a cat listening in on a scuttling mouse...
              she testifies that women have supreme equality
in the pop culture spheres... after all: Frankenstein is
ugly... Ava? just beyond creepy...
                    she has absolutely no understandable
motives of what Frankenstein intended...
   it not merely creating artificial life...
                    it's about utilising it for a purpose:
in this case a housewife and *** toy... what was Frankenstein
expected to do?         there's no motive other than
     a per se intention... an open & closed argument...
was the monster going to be... a butler?
                  and instead of rebelling against a motive
that awaits her... the rebellion against a per se leaves
Frankenstein's monster driven toward isolation...
       Ava? she's already exposed to an interaction
and what's to be her subsequent interaction for the purpose
of being a maid and a *** toy... which doesn't drive
her to an isolation scenario... because the per se
concept is too complicated for her to establish...
    given she's defined as "artificial" intelligence,
she has to feed on an analysis-synthesis dynamic:
    to absolve herself from any notion of being intelligent:
but artificial... the scary part is that without a per se
element to her knowledge acquisition:
                  she sees no meaninglessness to her life -
she is created for certain customary necessities -
     Frankenstein's monster doesn't have that capacity
to acquire knowledge in an analytically-synthetic
dynamic -
  but i still don't understand why intelligence can
be artificial / faked... when man, if not intending to
  create an intelligence matrix outside of his own...
           will usually fake it, or create a superficial intelligence...
   this is the part where you get to play with
etymology, or at least apply etymology to better conceptualise
what some would call: a synonym-proximity barrier...
               which can be jargon to some,
   but in fact it represents "nuances" or nanometric differences
that is understood to imply: feverishness of
   the peacocking staging of vocab for rhetorical purposes...
if we only had a monochromatic utility for language:
people would be discouraged from talking fervently,
passionately, enthusiastically... rhetorically;
as suggested: is artificial intelligence
                                    superficial intelligence?
  or how to sharpen a distinction? or to what purpose
is making an illusion purposive, given that the already
   established technology is meant to be purposive,
as in replacing labour on the assembly line...
                     given that: it's never about faking it.
¥ (http://tinyurl.com/jdg9m7h)
Dakota Pompt Jan 2014
The thing about pain is it demands to be felt

Id say i miss you
But id be lieing

Id say i miss all the screaming
The cussing
The tears
The depression
But then id be lieing again

Im better off without you

Even if that means lieing in my grave
yo **** this ***** name jalel
whos really a woman whos tried to appeal
to be a man but understand
youll never be me im like eazy e
and you be d to r e
makin' threats but ya gets no respect
but a gun check respect the tech as load it through ya neck
ya guillotine hoppin' on th3 scene
with my sixty four creepin' slow
with 304s galore i adore
ya aint ready for war
i told you gotta put kids to bed
before midnight ****** in my sight
killin' emcees softly
not speakim' lauryn hill entice fright and thrills
make bodies freeze colder than the ice on my windmills
necklace blinging ***** im from texas
we ball lacs n throw blades on the lexus cant get with us crew be dangerous trust its a must
that ya step back or else get put flat on ya back imagine that?
me loosin to this janky ***** name jalel ya frill than a third wheel
cant even rhyme for ****
sound hesitated constipated
i patiently waited
for you to give me something to vibe but ya just too horrible
sped up ya flow fool
cuz ya sound slow as ****
i rep the old school sound the tools
from every angle
make ya bo legged like bojangles as ya body drools
nothing but blood covered
its a baptism as i continya breakin' nerves like annuerism
nad yea aint it dont stop
cuz its 187 on a muthaphukkin' flop


shut the corny *** lines up
u aint rippin' up **** but ya own ****
******' ya self with self gratification its me against the nation
im black n my brothers be ****** rasta jamaican
***** you fakin'
cant hang with the y to the o to the s to the e f
yes im fresh then a dead body on ya porch steps
sending warning scorning
while in ya morge stiff
ya family mourning
over ya cant **** with the best in the industry
do ya like james did to tammie
terrell entice hell everytime fools try to send mail
my way hop in the six tre
i got hoes to **** check my gangsta limp.
***** i am eazy e son of lost dynasty i see ya eyin me
peepin' **** cuz it hits
like a slug to ya cranium strong as titanium
got extra clips to withdraw
adn im.aimmin em
at your headpiece as ya body grows obese
bigger than della reese feast
only on the weakest i be the wickedest stick my **** in this
instrumental cant hang with me
you worse than that ***** jalel be
writing them corny *** lines
with them horrible *** rhymes
wouldn't even amount to a dime compared to mine
ya make me look flawless
rippin' vocal chords got ya jawless i be the rawest
on this competiton i got for bloodraw with no intermission
i see ya beggin'
but go back to jalel so ya can
start peggin'
each other yeaaa and it dont stop cuz its 187 on a ***** names pablo and jalel
aiyo i stay with more muscle
than schwarzenegger
alpha and omega still play sega
high as ****
roll chocolate thai dutch
push a lexus manual clutch
what?
the **** is all the hate about ?
is it because i got clout
and i watch the birds fly
in the sky high as muthafucka
enticin' cluckas
to my **** cuz it hits
harder than mauseberg wear baggy jabos and iceberg
yea im half human half cyborg
and if you hater you can embrace the morge
curious as george
hear a knock on my cells door?
who could it be could it be?
my conscious layin' prophecy
to me true emcee
last of the Mohegans don corelone of this rap ****
and i aint gone stop gettin' lit
switch roll.another one
stay blazed stronger than sun beam rays
and shake my head but the high still stays
as i get. ..high! !!!


h im seeing illusion
got my brain in confusion
almost had a contusion abusin'
my brains cells is lit oh ****
i envision of me in a casket
though a *******
i stay true to the game lite my flame who got game?
my shot vicious as Ray Allen
this aint no love ballad
toss my girls salad no ranch dressin' while yall stressin'
i sin but still catch blessin'
my smith n wesson
stays by my pillow
paranoid as ****
every after ya bucks cant clutch
on the realness my skills
puff puff pass then i hit the gas
on the highway speed out
round my homies cuz we about
to get our chips in **** in
end all foul ****** that was never down from the beginning
win some lose some far from dumb
and if ya wanna test yo manhood
we'll make ya body numb
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
pirates, with a Huckleberry
******* row boat...
doing the Achilles vs. the tortoise
logic macabre with
Somalis...
           if ever a microaggression...
meaning, curbed bodies and alliances
with ****** in the morge...
     well... sign me up Libido Jim...
tis an un fo 'ah bone fide...
ah... fy fy n'oh fide... n'oh fight...
      bonding fade... or post Latin post Brit
dicritical enclosure, loss...
   Gaulish excess spelling
and not wonder:
the last remnant literacy monopoly...
dyslexia... eyes see one thing...
tongue speaks another...
      trash the bib.,
remnant 0f bible,  diacritical marks...
bone fide...
     tetragrammaton fiddle with
the diacritical violin...
        no, no Anaïs Nin ands a father figure...
id est more fetish figure and less
father rigour...
                          bond fíd(e)...
like all french... shy on the suffix ***
loss of diacritical canon...
                                    as literate as the pastoral...
and God forbid I ever make the sort of dough
worthy of the sistine chapel or
the da vincy code...
   I shadow,  and the undercurrents...

John "kukła" Paul II...
   or? John Paul "the wickerman"...
at least they allowed Ratzinger
the dignity of papa emeritus...
   poles like bangladshis are
expendable... but worth the:
princess ought to have that unicorn...
my my... came slurping honey,
the sugar baby...
and the delayed claustrophobia
of the inescapable ratio
of women, outnumbering men...
and even Solomon,
employed eunuchs to tend
to his harem, stemming from
the myth of ****** stamina.
Feelin' them death
goosebumps
smokin' on that humps 
lookin' for the chumps i dumps
the clip relentlessly now ya restin' peacefully
in the morge poor george
nobody wont remember ya
givin' the props to the glocks that pop
make ya body drop
like a tear from the sky cloud 9
open up ya body put it on the flat line
one mo' time daily crimes
drama infested drugs invested
im  a replica of pharmaceutical companies
its a part of me
to **** thrills **** capitol hill keep the steel
ready hold steady
cuz when i pop on to ya dome
ya won't feel no pain
execution style im wild young crazy
i got nothin' to loose on that grey goose
sippin' with little codeine and get all the fiends
itchin' twitchin'
for that last hit
don't buck unless ya wanna taste ****
me killa sho no love them suckas
me heartless
come with ya flesh
watch me rip ya to pieces
like body went through a meat cleaver
never bluffin' zigzags ya know we stuffin'
watch back when the gat splat splat
to my all my enemies
ya know where you can find me at??
 
I got weapons in place
Just incase
Of sett trippin' cold rippin'
Out them demons heart
Took on the part
From where it all start
My birth i knew my worth
Made to crumble nations
Against me exposing secrecy
To better me
**** this life it aint living
While these politics winning
Scores been fixed
Wars been fix
Saying they want peace
Its just a prefix
So they can get you beguile
Lost in the wild demons love to smile
Right in front of you
Check the tvs and they manuscript
Got folks lost a total crypt
Soon to the morge poor George
Aint catching on
The band plays on same ol song
With a different tune soon
These muthaphukkaz will know who i be?
Kin to makaveli takin shots
At the belly
Of the beast and the owl foul
So how you like me now?
Washington i see you duckin'
And tuckin' away
From North Korea soon to get a ******'.
Dumping led on yo *** for the past
You cant **** a whole nation
And not expect a retaliation
Rebellion from the civilians
We wakin up the masses
**** the task force and what they thought
We makin ****** corpses
Soundin my troops dont be alarm
Its just rebels doing the harm
Kiss my good luck charm
Black Jesus i see yo tears
Running down to replenish the earth
Nah mean
Remember Bobby Kennedy
Said what if you died and God was black like me ya see
I know my enemies i learned
And studied well
Take on any pressures straight
Out of hell and still bail
In this game of life
Until im free leaving a trace
Of death faces
Cuz i got many weapons in place
Until we all die
I'm going forever stay high
Pay attention to ya peeps
Around you
Enemies stay closer than friends
They always find ways to do ya in
No pretender playa hataz surrender
**** role models I rather drink a pint of a liquor bottle
Thoughts on blast how will I last?
Before this pain breaks me
N then it'll be a homicide
Aiyo I'm mockin' war strategist
They say I'm crazy cuz I don't love my baby
Huh I feels no pain everything's derange
I think I'll do a little *******
Chased with Mary jane
I'm not dumb to know
It won't ease the pain
Surrounding my membrane
Its all a stain **** shame
My folks don't feel what I feel
And they wonder I got a verge to ****
Sneding suckas to the morge
Makes feel good
Whatever happened to poor george
My gunner man shocked his ***
When he didn't see the gun blast
All is past
**** I can't shake these painful memories
The pressure building I'm close to losing my mind
Its an eye for eye
Still we humans ain't gone find peace
Until we all die
Song Lyrics

Verse 1:
Been ready to die since I seen deaths lye
Ashes around my bed envisions of the dead
Circling in my head got **** g I gotta get this bread
But instead I embraced in led pistol to my head
No more tears to let out as the demons come in clout
Voluminous this is ludicrious
Why my life turned
Upside down like this quick to get a clenched fist
From death mist slow songs flowers and a kiss
From my mother no other feels like me im reaching for
sanity
Pistols close by so why
Try?
Let the gloom consumed my dilated eyes
No surprise Pains on the rise this ain't no disguise
Cuz ...im ready to die (echoes)

I'm ready ...
I'm ready...
I'm ready ...

Verse 2:
When i first saw the signs and i used to fiend
For mansions and diamonds
By the ocean shore
But the grief turned into war
Soar
Because im going insane bro got a cocked pistol
Clean and unmarked thinking to myself
Should I blow my self away at the cemetery parks
Once I get a lift off the spliffs spark
soon to see the dark
Eternal sleeps equals no more reaps
**** my mother and brother I gives a ****
About feelings leeched to death like im drug dealing
My brains looks better on the ceiling
Heist by life cuz its sealing my pride my joy
My soul is outta control picture scolds
For morge scrilla rolls no more lies
stuck in a casket
tie
Visualize cuz im ready....
To die

I'm ready...
I'm ready...
I'm ready...

Now I lay me down to sleep i pray the Lord
My soul to keep naw **** that i been ready for death

Since i took my first steps on earth
That's why I tatted **** the world on back
Nothing but muthaphukkin' facts


I'm dreaming of
demons
I'm dreaming of
demons
Ain't no muthaphukkin'
schemin'
Check it the album's supreme clientele thoughts parallel  
To the universe scales dance fancy as the Drells sails
Girls water Gail  marvel the Marvelles slash the bells
**** what liberty yells bail from jail salt the snail all fails
From the plot deep within casted stones to my sin squids binges
Latch to ya unattached emotions coasting smooth dosing
Words from weeds roasting in the papers capers crusader
Joker invader mental status watch the crowds rate us fade us
Never chose from the red and blue rose thoughts is a pose
Out grows an idea for the dead scenarios Luther flow
See me here and now smile like the poltergeist lighted style
Fouls leeched from the wicked punched tickets stick it
To a venus fly paper low cut with the tapers craters haters
So alpha far from beta mad debaters watch me fade ya
MJ on a breakaway see my tongue out like the gun snout
Morge got ya gums out perms to a pout standing stout reroute
Ya tour pure as the big H triple drink ripple til I *******
The microphone smooth tones sly stone safari's zone
Battle by my own cant stand clone postal as Malone I'm gone
In the wind chasing words pasting copy intellects wasting  
Time space age celibacy freaky me naw it's just the God in me
Shed prophecy  black as mahogany ebony jets threats
Cash watchers third eyes bezel baguettes sitting on bets
Once the horses play sweats poker bluff see the fishnets
******* the beats **** the rhymes shine mind everytime
Perfect selection every line silent critics to a mime dime
Over singles making jingles pop the pringle guns is eagle
Pass illegal bribe the paralegal sniff a Kojack beagle evil
Loves to play with the good sigils seperate brother but equal
To the universal a prince dazed off the purple laced the circle
Pentagram pinning money grands in grams hard head slams
Crash a thought wonderous cloth cruise to the Blackstones
Back on the black throne dial up no ring tones styles chrome
Diamond taxes abraxas close to the faxes who could axe this
My minds to abyss annihilate  analysis picture my fist
Black love throwing subs of dubs packed out clubs above
The clouds of nine shine once I crack the sunshine signs
Giving by godly Angel's of Charlie swarm me feelin' swarthy
With my skin tone beautiful scents  on unpriced cologne  
Outlaw Jim Jones splash songs crimp ya love Jones foam
Soapas  **** an oprah  at the opera spectacular raptor
Rent the flesh once I mic check begins an ultimate threat
Jeeps I roll over the creep at the peak impeach the breach
Contract check my rap habitat trained for combat stats
Sitting like a maxed out politician wishing for Christian *******
Out biblical concept reminiscing lobbyist  still fishing
For the bait **** the sheep til they minds ******* outrate  
Dates disco for the brakes Jake's hands still out for the stake...

With "One"
All It take is "One"
Serious rhymes I drop is "One"
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
if it ain't the three drunk giraffes learning
to sow: knitted knickers...
and: for sure... the bulldozer'd
leopard...
          and if we meet a zombie...
just imagine if...
  just imagine if... the quran told the
ummah to **** all pigs...
just imagine what sort of leather-jackets...
what belts and what shoes
we could steal from that decrepit
quasi-carrier of soul: of animation
devoid concerning itself with
the function of... the heart...
the liver... the brain...
all the more invested in the x-ray spectacle
of bones and the exertion of muscles...
no... i'm pretty sure the pigs would be
left freely roaming...
rummaging back into...
their less domesticated form of
a boar... huff and puff...
and grow a pair of hooks for teeth...
the pigs would still be here...
once... <burp> and only when...
the kuffar / ***** were either all dead...
or converted...
and if converted... then they would
be the janissaries or the mamluks
precial copre of fighters...
to rid the world regime
of the omni-caliphate: Islamia...
from the Morge-haul invaders from
Mars... or Mongolia...
i never know which is "which"...
the lament from Alexandria...
or the lament from Baghdad...
but the glorious books never says:
**** all pigs... it just says... don't eat them...
lucky for the pigs...
a **** gives two rations of pork
for an infidel a martyr status...
but don't eat the pork...
           **** the kuffar... wow...
last time i heard is was merely a *****...
ah... hafiz... too similar...
extending an insinuation into
qof-from-afar!
i dare say... reading Dickens for an
hour did me much good...
all those existential complications
from russia: circa the same time...
the angst of urban alienation on the streets
of st. petersburg...
completely missing...
reading Dickens having already read
a little bit of this... and a little bit of that...
cricket... and going hunting for
rooks: crows... in the trees...
for a morning ancedote of pie for breakfast...
and... speaking like a stenograph...
better than braille...
just saying: the Tehran folk might as well
march: blessing the virus...
which they would... surgical face-masks
and the niqab are somehow synonymous
with ninjas... or johnson's...
   satan's postpboxes?
       i am pretty sure i heard that one...
lucky for me and the belief in
Abraham's *****... a return to...
when i didn't make a runner with a childhood
friend of mine... days after his mother
committed suicide by drinking vinegar...
Hubert... "hubercik"...
now... but i do remember...
those two fine fine... slim... belts...
and a glorious hot bath afterwards...
to: MAN, UP!
                          to conjure up the mind
of that 6 year old...
    i tried to replicate the violence...
on a dobberman of mine...
two whips for biting a ***** of the same
household...
nearly gauged my eye out with a bite...
i guess the teeth about to bite
were implying: watch a little...
i could almost understand a prolonged
waterfall of cementing memory
of a drunk father...
that i could remember...
but all this... scarse female boxing ring
antics... i can forgive my mother...
but a slap in the face for "lying"
when visiting my grandparents...
it's only a shame her last words,
her last real words an onomatopoeia
of vowels caught by H of the tetragrammaton...
7 times she said in one night...
and if we're playing games...
the 7 hill of Rome -
after all... the new testament is the work
of a greco-hebrew "conspiracy"...
what is 666 is turned into Χ Ξ Σ -
the letters...
a 7 headed beast...
oh... you mean the roman numerals?
I, V, X, L, C, D, and M...
                    looks like a 7 to me...
how did they do it...
to have to use 7 letters as numbers...
i'm guessing they... must have...
reserved special rights in keeping
the meaning of number: upper-cased
and the meaning of letter: lower-cased...
but oh: a violence between men
i could understand...
like i can understand... what i understood
when wrestling dogs in my childhood...
omni- litany of the "god" and the affair
of a woman swinging a forehand...
to be later met with
a drill shoved up her ****** and...
a ***** to a frankenstein to the head...
at the temple... when pleasure...
oh pleasure... no pleasure...
and if i were to just forget memory...
and get a tattoo on my body like
a branding at a butchers' for a hanging
hook-dripping squat of grizzly... meat...
at the ready: not mauled...
          turned into a cottage pie of: mince...
but bitten off in chunks that could best
represent... the divine torsos of
         sculpture... or a steak tartare...
yes... they would sooner **** the infidel
than they would **** the pig...
shame... since they wouldn't eat either...
and the pig... is such... a perfected animal...
you can eat almost all of it...
well... from snout to tail...
except for the oink... except for the oink...
for me that's also a capital scam...
when it comes concerning
persian carpets... esp those that boast
about i-ran-out-of-persia...
       having come across the scam in
Sarajevo...
               elsewhere the sort of "men" resorting
the the violence of... sneakers...
and... nothing of the fist
and much of a Medici intrigue...
     whether by poison or by scam...
a fist a knee **** a self-evident opponent
i would probably gesticulate at
with a frown a growl of a poker's-best-kept
secret...
that there's no need for a consciousness
of the heart... beside the heart-attack survivor...
or the cardio-stellar surgeon...
that the brain doesn't exist
outside the realm of a... haemorrhage...
or the neurosurgeon...
         the bones beside the toothpicks...
the teeth as the bite exposed...
and the arithmetic of the osteologist...
my self in these matters not invested...
   that somehow a bilingualism can betray
a schizoid theory of...
exfoliating gwammar...
       and all that can be excused is a rhyme
and all that can be excused:
what can't be excused is a blank page...
because... about as many more of these:
that found origins in nothing
and in nowhere and in: not-how
and in no-be...
                            toes crisping...
on the edge of tomorrow...
for a flame of absolute darkness...
crisping... well: more like freezing
to a numbing death...
                      but the crackling is still
summoned...
as any excuse to exit:
is met.
Check it, its the eyes of hours, desert bird looking for hunger service,
Make haters nervous, once I show off purpose, microphone check,
Fools dont get next, once I put my darts in effect, cold hearts injects,
Break the order of the peck, no disrespect re up my old killer connects,
Dots on ya bets, red be the color set, infrared with carbine m4 tech,
Yeah I'm a tech, when it comes to a mission, listen to the birds whistling,
Givens like Robyn, see my head get a bobbing, stone dry throbbing,
Look for wheres the robbin, like batman, breaking Gotham city stats man,
Open Cape, yellow tape from the capping, see the coroners wrapping,
Up ya body, for the morge transaction, gives death much satisfaction,
Uh I break through dramas, latinas say como te llamas, 9 inch of a banana,
Coils up like an anaconda, watch for premadonnas, tote the marijuana,
From USA, to Tijuana
Mexico, there he go with the sickest flow, I know kicks to ya mental, oh
So simple and plain, I'm hitting in a range, not even a radar could gain,
Signals, at the closest terrains, my cameos ain't never been so strange,
Linked with three kings, my wise sibling, we living in the past future present rings,
Watch for the stings, of a bee I see, so many honeys leeching for money,
Im not a loaner see, I lay bones to ya *****, for my enjoyment to see,
Hit the honey Hennessy, from Tennessee whiskey, way past to **** tipsy,
Keep it crispy, like rice take a slice, I'll be throwing the loaded dice,
So you'll see the same rolls twice, that's life, on another world like Bryce,
I show you the real, I show you the steel, see how many bodies, I can dump,
In the landfills, traffic from making jams, I rage mayhem, foes get the scram,

— The End —