My mottos matter.
Yours do too.
What you believe
Becomes true for you.

Her motto was that
Hard work was the key.
She never had fun.
How could she?

She always worked hard.
She believed that she ought to.
The question remains,
What is your life's motto?

MOTTOS

I have two mottos that sustain me
Through whatever comes along.

Number one says simply:
“LIFE IS TOUGH - BUT I AM TOUGHER”

The second is
A little longer.  It says:
TOUGH TIMES DON’T LAST -
TOUGH PEOPLE DO.

I don’t know where
These words all came from.
I only know they keep me
On my feet and moving on.
ljm

A map of every country known,
With not a foot to call his own.
A list of folks that kicked a dust
On this poor globe, from Ptol. the First;
He hopes,-- indeed it is but fair,--
Some day to get a corner there.
A group of all the British kings,
Fair emblem! on a packthread swings.
The Fathers, ranged in goodly row,
A decent, venerable show,
Writ a great while ago, they tell us,
And many an inch o'ertop their fellows.
A Juvenal to hunt for mottos;
And Ovid's tales of nymphs and grottos.
The meek-robed lawyers all in white;
Pure as the lamb,-- at least, to sight.
A shelf of bottles, jar and phial,
By which the rogues he can defy all,--
All filled with lightning keen and genuine, 20 And many a little imp he'll pen you in;
Which, like Le Sage's sprite, let out,
Among the neighbours makes a rout;
Brings down the lightning on their houses,
And kills their geese, and frights their spouses.
A rare thermometer, by which
He settles, to the nicest pitch,
The just degrees of heat, to raise
Sermons, or politics, or plays.
Papers and books, a strange mixed olio,
From shilling touch to pompous folio;
Answer, remark, reply, rejoinder,
Fresh from the mint, all stamped and coined here;
Like new-made glass, set by to cool,
Before it bears the workman's tool.
A blotted proof-sheet, wet from Bowling.
--'How can a man his anger hold in?'--
Forgotten rimes, and college themes,
Worm-eaten plans, and embryo schemes;--
A mass of heterogeneous matter,
A chaos dark, no land nor water;--
New books, like new-born infants, stand,
Waiting the printer's clothing hand;--
Others, a mottly ragged brood,
Their limbs unfashioned all, and rude,
Like Cadmus' half-formed men appear;
One rears a helm, one lifts a spear,
And feet were lopped and fingers torn
Before their fellow limbs were born;
A leg began to kick and sprawl
Before the head was seen at all,
Which quiet as a mushroom lay
Till crumbling hillocks gave it way;
And all, like controversial writing,
Were born with teeth, and sprung up fighting.

'But what is this,' I hear you cry,
'Which saucily provokes my eye?'--
A thing unknown, without a name,
Born of the air and doomed to flame.

I shoud've told the bartender to tie me to the last working pay phone.
But I didn't. I let her introduce herself. Sadie, she said, like The Beatle's song.

I'm hard to forget, so I asked, What's your motto?

She breathed in reverse. She looked at the door. She was past mottos.

It was Josh, right?

Yeah.

Let me tell you something. I'm the bad, **** ***** that's gonna wreck your health.

And she did.

Every weekend for 105 weekends. I opened her up like a paycheck.
I spent her on a big brass bed.
I spent her on glass tile.
I spent her on the kitchen island.
The Japanese table.
The water lily pond.

Her brother Frank or Gary or Marvin---some American classic---kept us
horizontal with white whiskey from his personal still.
Personal still.
And there is a house in New Orleans,
but there's another one in Colorado Springs,
one you should be wary of.

I shoud've told the bartender to tie me to the last working pay phone.
But I didn't. I let him tell me about his dream. My name is Jack, he said, as in Jumpin' Jack Flash.

Like the Rolling Stones' song?
Like the Stones' song, man.

You were in it.

Four white girls shared one mic. Karaoke night.

You were in my dream. Are you listening to me? I'm gonna say it anyways.
I only had one eye, but I could see you. Seen you plain as day.
You were scared of me. As you should be. We were on the coast.
No, I don't know which one. I saw that thought on your forehead.
It was a dream. Anyway, you were holding a pen. A giant pen.
And I asked for your name.

I lifted my drink from the makeshift napkin coaster. Pulled a pen out of my coat pocket.
Straightened out the napkin. I scribbled Nobody. Handed it to him. And aimed myself toward the interstate.

I shoud've told the bartender to tie me to the last working pay phone.
But I didn't. She had one helluva an afro. Her name was Katrina, not like any song, like the hurricane.

My skin tastes a little like coffee, Katrina said.

I like coffee.

You wouldn't like me.

Probably not. But I've been lost in this bar forever. I could change my mind.

No, sweetie. Forever ain't that long. Just ask my ex-husband.

Katrina paid for her drink. Asked me if I'd like the change.

Yeah, I'll take it.

I called my buddy Chris back in Oklahoma, but he didn't answer.
I called my buddy Ben back in Oklahoma, but he didn't answer.
Sam. Sarah. Brooks. Nothing. Silence.

Barkeep (I always wanted to say it), I don't think your phone is working.

It works. You gotta remember kid. You're on Rocky time.
There's an hour, every night,
where you're the only person you know that's awake.

They say the ties that bind, wither towards the end
Their witty mottos downplay the love of a friend
“The blood of the covenant,” the adage remains still frozen,
“Flows much thicker than the water of the womb.”
And therefore they deduce: our loyalties reduce
And family only matters when it is chosen.

But the blood relations between man’s nations
Groan under the strain of their bond
For who would have thought that brothers were not
By long and far man’s best creation.

Under the bridge, a once again
Tranced by the rhythm of a river
Chaos culminated to calm strains
Crucified and paraded in clarity

A push and I pushed deeper to sink
Your eyes lighted with a remedy
A redemption of persisting ache
A depth tucked and hidden in a mast

Unclaimed and reared, purely untainted
An essence delivered by a spirited past
Cocoon to a parameter of perception
A scent delicately brewed in aged truce

Under a bridge in a moment called now
Blocks scented with nitrogen spurred *****
A depart from the swan hypnotic dreams
A renegade of mottos, hollows of morrows

Old mottos resurfaced in a strange land
Ogling blindly eyeballs
all over the horizontal landscapes
Laying with my head
upside dangling from the bed
Drunk wobbling it up now
to find balanced faces like demi-demon ghosts white haunting
panting voices and legs for days
dwindling each other down with nail file twine
How long does it take to cut open your arm with an unlit candle?
Rub at it turning the wax skin and burn
I have your half blood head fang
hanging over my bed now
It bleeds on me still
Drips in my mouth while I rest
It tastes okay
I guess

My mind is shattered

Green glass bottles lining a city curb

My body is scarred

Battle wounds from an inner war

I am awkward and shy

Mouths go mute and sound becomes silence

I am weird and uneducated

Care about myself like pigs care about wings

I choose emptiness and haze

Love is a fantasy, let the tab dissolve

I choose lies and incomplete thoughts

As interesting as a white wall

But I want you

Poetic mottos, background story, fluttering ideas

But I can’t have you

Age, timing, hopelessness, broken, sinner.

My dear friend,

There's no answer in those bottles
Or those false bravados
There's truth in cliche mottos
But those answers are hollow
Unlike those pills you swallow
Because you're chronically suicidal
With no contrary to guide you
And no lover to confide to
So you'll just cram it all in a note in the hotel room they find you
Now you're only living through all the strangers you were kind to
The family that stood beside you
The hell you dragged their mind through
The lovers you had lied to
The crafts that you had fine tuned
The dark past behind you
And whatever state your mind looms now

I have the honor to be your obedient servant,
M. Whit

Everything has to be by the book. I hate that book.

One
By
One
We are a unit
We are given
The freedom
To speak of something better
To live by different mottos
To believe in stories of the past

Often, we must  
Live by this book of rules
A helpful,
Organized book
I despise it
In this book
We are only given
The illusion
That we own ourselves.

Learned more from this pain than i ever did from a church.
Listening to your gut but make sure you detox it first.
**** be killin me softly, leave me in a Hearse,
Never a good thing when i hear from you first.
Be careful what you see,
even salt look like sugar,
Maturity is not throwing salt when you know you could've,
And not smackin ******* when you know you should've.
People Be like "oh i miss you"
**** i miss me too.
Had to use these teflon tissues to get me thru,
You not alone, **** i wanna be with me too,
Deadass On some days , smiles were too good to be true.
I be business minded when i be minding my business.
And ****** be ******* and ******* be on some ***** ****.
Overcame this novocain,
Recasted the impression of depression,
Ring around the rosary,
Never relying on religion.

Im from a home of funny bones
And My elbows been ashy,
I knew It would take more than macaroni art to kraft me,
And i been itching for this platform
If you ask me,
I used to wonder if i was a real person.
I used to wonder like what's my real purpose?
When i was young ,I taught my shadow to stick to my toes,
When lifes a battle, I fought to stick to mottos.
As a poet i never looked at it this way,
I never booked myself for this reading.
I was overbooked.
I bookmarked my favorite moments ,
I been forever overlooked.
And never understood what "more" ment,
I been overcooked.
The preheating of this season left me bleeding.
This farenheit left me heavy breathin
No fear of heights but Excuse me while I fall from
- grace -
me with your presence and
These broken promises,
Never been transparent to this degree,
Had to leave that monster house.
That was my American horror story.
I used to be couped up,
Had to tell double d to get outta my laboratory,
See mfs want my jazz but not my blues,
They Wanna be in my class but aint payed they dues,
Yall be Morally incorrect,
....More or less...
Lately i been Moralless,
Need to get saved no church bells ,
Put me on the zach Morris list,
These rhymes be like my confessions,
Front row seat to my ascension,
Carry out this life to which we've been sentenced,
Delivery me from evil - with even more incentives,
I dream in MLA format.
Double spaced a letter to my younger self,
Just some **** I wish i told the older me
A ***** laundry list of things I thought ought to be owed to me,
My OCD be blowin me,
Need all my ducks in a row,
My prolonged silence been leading this Crescendo,
Im not playing NO GAMES, fuxk you and your Nintendo.

A few months into the school year, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while
We got to talking and she asked, “How’s senior year?”
I told her, “Well, I’m having fun but it’s stressful.”
“Why?” she asked.
I said, “Well, all this college stuff is stressful, and having a full schedule isn’t helping.”
She said, “Why a full schedule? It’s your senior year, why try so hard?”

I don’t exactly remember what I answered, probably some generic response, but I didn’t think much of it.

Later though, I thought about that question.
It came back like waves lapping against my mind over and over again.
“Why try so hard? Why try so hard? Why try so hard?”
Well, why not?

Why not try hard?
Why not pack my schedule?
Why not focus on getting to college?

I mean if I’m going to pay all this cash for class, shouldn’t I be prepared to pass?
Then again, maybe it’s just me.
Maybe it’s absurd to be ready.
I mean, who wants to be ready for what’s to be?
Well, I suppose the answer to that question would be
Me

I, for one, want to be prepared.
And it seems like our generation doesn’t want that.
We squander what we are given and procrastinate like it’s religion
We love mottos like “Carpe Diem”
Yet the only thing we seize is the seat of our pants and we fly by it continuously
We strive for excellence, yet settle for mediocrity
If life was a mountain, we are content at sitting at the halfway lodge, never quite seeing the beauty from it's peak.

Maybe we aren’t to blame, maybe it’s not our shame.
Maybe we are victims of circumstance just looking for recompense.
We can’t control what happens to us, but one thing is for sure.
We control how we react.

See, we like to play the victim.
Pity parties are the popular theme
“Oh poor me, my life *****.”
Maybe that’s true, maybe your life does ****.
You might think you never have good luck.
But though your life might be covered in muck,
All you have to do is push through to get unstuck.

We need to take back our lives, we need to strive for something more.
Deprive the naysayers of satisfaction; try.
Try hard.

It might not be glamorous, it may not be hip,
But blood, sweat and tears are definitely worth the trip.
If we can break the monotony of complacency
If we can do away with apathy and replace it with productivity.
We can do whatever we could possibly dream of.

So to everyone asking “What’s the use? Why try?”
I promise you it is worth it.
When you do something for yourself, you fight back against the doubtful.
Be a tryhard, be a freak, be obsessed with your passions.
The outside world will call you these names, but they are jealous.
They will tear you down because they see you fighting back.
They see you doing something that they only dream of.
They want to have the same fervent desire to be better.

The saying “you only live once” becomes obsolete when you try.
Yolo has been turned from it’s true meaning into “do stupid things”
Get there and experience the world, show them what yolo stands for really

Pack your schedule
Feel free to always be busy
Because you only have one life, so live the one you got
That way, when they say, "why?"
You can say
"Why not?"

Once the window open up it's a different kind of breeze
And ****** put in extra work if they live on there knees
No subtitles but my idols have the safe for the work
And If they were force I made sure I enjoyed the perks

But I chose wisely in all my different cases
So I Shine bright no diamonds just the apollo laces
No church for the wild but just different kind of mockery
So let me put it down be for they start mocking me

Kings to the mild but what does the gold represents
The Depression and aggression and horrible contents
But that just history they don't want y'all to know the events
Because if y'all knew the truth y'all would fall and repent

Snakes in the grass but they come in different colors
So don't fall for the winter cold and false umbrellas
I subscribe you to sleep it off with brand new intentions
Because if we fall down they will still erase what was mention

Official with the hooks but I change for the books
And If I get any  points then I might look shooked
So ima have to storage my monogamy's in my apologies
Cuz ima **** myself if I start to believe in my Sorrys

But my description is chopped down to one piece
But if I mix it all then y'all all will destroy my peace
The vision is blurred but followers don't be scared
Cuz if I disappear it's to only to be reappear


Uh
No god to this
Uh
No honor to this
Uh
No honestly to miss
Uh
No lies to kiss


So the pro tools is open to the old school
And Exit them out because they're the ones who made the rules
Perfection is the correction if there's no path to follow
So I guess my wisdom will be my words and y'all new mottos

The men I date
The places I live
a song I humm
don't know the lyrics to
I forgot where I heard it

You say give it up and come to me
I say yes but I can't leave

Is it my pride
Is it because you're too close to a young child's daydream

All you see
Is pretty
And good enough for me

I need a place to hide
And that isn't in these mottos that were forced on me

Friends and colleagues saying the same **** thing

There will always be you and me
In a sound
In a smell
In a new woman to pull the trigger

You're a liar,
You can't hate me

Tempers edge the need
for your anvil head to break.

The way back from work saw
Lowry people scrape the pavement.
Dog-leg drags of shuffle, of make-up slide,
mixing flea-skin sweat with pollen rub
into a tincture of stench.

This is image that I do not want

I have
half a mind to **** but I
cannot be bothered, the other ,a
a monologue of delirious ramblings
some" French kings versus
squadron mottos" thing...
and , in truth, I am not sure what
it's going on about.

I am indoors, windows open, curtains closed
naked from the waist down, feeding the freedom
of sprawl- but this is mistake of gargantuan order
a cosmic, foolish, schoolboy- error of judgement.

The sofa is leather.

My scar tangled manners are reports of my standing
an amateur tanners spewed stew of expletives.
In a half-arsed way it seems  
I am to remain

part of the furniture

I search for shorts.. long shorts, short longs, whatever,
my legs and **** seek the solace of cloth.

On the canal a coot needs oiling
what feels like 20 minutes of incessant jar is
tapping with my rationale
Testing my love for all things feathered.

Something needs to give.

I am a Gobi taste of sandal straps and
in dire need of irrigation/ rehydration
I have waited way too long for liquid...
Don't get me wrong, this isn't some test
of deprivation- this is heat swung laziness
that is all it is..nothing more
nothing less..

And so..

We will get it tonight
You cannot pull isobars this far apart to
not have them break..
And that ogrish flat-top is thugging
the harbour side rents..

Ah yes...

"Après moi le deluge"

Seems to make sense, now

an evening like this one requires me to disclose what song i'll be listening to on repeat for the duration of this contemplation: red hot chilli peppers' desecration song... i tend to do just that: listen to one song on repeat when composing, i rarely compose while listening to several songs or an album: i want to capture something and listening to one song alone, on repeat, allows me just that: a heightened focus on several details...

i'm starting to think that the managerial staff at Wembley
are sadists, the original times for the shift
for the Taylor Hawkins tribute were:
external teams 10am to 12am...
and internal stewards the timings were
3pm to 11:30pm...
now? apparently no internal stewards and everyone
in the company is part of the external teams...
timings? get this... 9am through to 12am...
what the ****? do i look like a surgeon hacking
away in a hospital?
i'll be lucky if i don't have to leave the house
for 24hours... i'll be very lucky...
given that they'll probably close the Wembley Park
station doors in my face and i'll have to catch
the usual N18 > N25 > N86 > N365 back home...
having to walk about a mile if not two
to actually get on the N18 in the opposite direction
to where i'm going... sadists...
plus, i wanted to this gig prior to the Wembley
shift in Basildon, for the Garage Music Festival:
start times 3pm end time 12am... i could have done
it... but not if i'm supposed to start
a Wembley shift at 9am... ****'s sake... sadists...
that's the problem with Wembley...
they employ too much stuff... they are **** are
coordinating staff: because there is too much staff...
but Wembley is a capitalistic behemoth...
can you imagine how much money they make from
one even if they can throw so much money about?
i'm guessing each even brings them roughly
one million's worth of profit if not more...
price of a ticket? astronomical i'd suppose...
never mind the price of a pint of beer and a burger...
and people do want to get drunk at a concert...
we're talking roughly £10 for a pint of beer...
and about £15 for a 450ml cup of gin and tonic for
the ladies...

but i'm not here to talk about that...
i seriously had the weirdest shift at Fulham today...
it was so weird that i felt compelled to write about it...
work: i never write about work:
more? the people i work with...
the shift was plain enough... we were waiting to sign
in... me and cerebral palsy Martin decided to sit
outside of someone's house: the people of the house
were throwing out their sofa... next to a heap
of black bins... i became tired of standing around
doing **** all... i saw Martin on the opposite side
of the road: yo! Martin! rest your legs...
he came over and sat down next to me...
in that funny walk of his... what wasn't funny
was the fact that Fulham banned him from taking shifts
at Craven Cottage because he was accused of being
drunk on the job... cerebral palsy? it's a very visible
disability (maybe it's not cerebral palsy, whatever it is)
he stumbles when walking... tries real hard to keep
eye contact but his eyes sometimes wander to look at
something behind you... and he slurs and speaks like a drunk:
but he's funny... and there... all these football grounds
stick to security, safety, service mottos... "not all disabilities
are visible" with regard to someone wanting to use
the disabled... ahem... sorry... "accessible" toilet...
but yet one ground managed to fire a guy with a clear
disability... i like Martin... he's funny because he's funny
and not because of "X": he's actually self-aware enough to use
this to his advantage... soon a few other guys lined up
next to the sofa and we just chilled...

it's impossible to not note the following:
the bigger the ratio of men to women... when working?
the smoother the shift is... honest to god...
in this line of work... you need about 20 men and 2 women...
even today all the guys stood their ground
but one girl among us? she ******* ordered
an UBER McDonalds... and this wasn't even on her
break... no one would have minded if she did that
on her break... but she wasn't on her break!
what happened? she had to hand in her accreditation
and her bib and was sent home!
i mean: the audacity of some people!
                          on my break i ate three chicken
and bacon Caesar salad tortillas and was finally content...
but this doesn't reach the pinnacle of weird...

i was working with this guy... a colt... maybe 24...
i couldn't really tell... a certain Mr. Hussein...
a Yemeni... let's just call him Mr. Hussein Yemni...
i don't think i ever worked with anyone weirder:
and i'm not saying that in a bad way...
i'm saying this like prostitutes call me Biggie
or the good sort of mad...
                                         i don't think i ever worked
with an Arab before... i don't think i've ever
been so close to Mecca in the ghost-medium...
    a strange people: eerily strange...
                                  we must have talked about almost
everything... what book he was reading...
what he liked: drink? no... smoke? no...
but you must have a weakness... every man has a weakness...
coffee? yup... sweets, baklava? yup...
well... you can't beat the baklava of Edgware Road...
the best that i know of, i said...
so what did you study? Physics, Mathematics,
                       Arabic... smart kid...
now he's studying criminology - because he wasn't
to become a police office...
he informed me about these degree apprenticeship:
debt free studying and working in the field...
i told him i wanted to become a science teacher...
then again i'd rather become a primary school teacher...
because i told him:
it sometimes doesn't matter WHAT you teach,
what sometimes matters more is WHO you teach...
that old chestnut saying... it's not what you know:
it's who you know...
i told him i wrote poetry on the side when he asked
whether this was my only job...
i told him i sometimes come back from a shift
and sit down to write in the early morning...
although i don't stay up until 5am like i once used to...
so what are you going to today?
go home, hopefully get in before 12am
and have a drink and write...
                             turns out... he's a rich kid...
he lives opposite the Wembley Stadium...
his father? a banker... who he sees maybe twice
a year who works for a private bank in Saudi Arabia...
i did actually mention the Saudi-Yemen war...
must be difficult... esp. after he owned up to his father's
job... born in England... but never been to Yemen...
i did disclose to him that i'm not English but an Anglo-Slav...
what's that he asked? i'm ******: i speak Polish...
so why didn't you take an A-level in that?
easy grade... what's the point, i asked:
if i already speak it, read it, write it... what has a grade
have to do with my belief in my proficiency in
it? is it a difficult language to learn?
well... that depends Hussein...
                                i gave him an example:
most English people complain that there are too many
consonants in the language, for example:
RZ = Ż = the French of JE (suis)...
                  CZ = the English CH = akin to chatter...
you'll have to look it up yourself...
   Arabic is beautiful, i have to agree...
so he retorts... Chinese, ooh! so difficult...
                                   that's the thing about Chinese...
it's a complicated writing system...
we're talking ideograms... hieroglyphs...
but in the end? it's not a complicated language to speak!
difficult to write: to read... but to speak?
hardly... for example... what's... for example:

明?           phonetically it's nothing more than
        m-i-n-g... but the simplicity of the sounds when
returning to the ideogram morphs into
an idea: hence the ideogram... ming is not simply
bright... it's the: illumination (of the obvious)...
clarity... understanding... but phonetically Chinese
is a very poor language... it's the Chinese of ideas
that's the crux of its endurance...

so what do you write about?
   me? life... the day to day... since starting this job
i'm writing about it (obviously i wouldn't tell him
that i write about the people i work with,
i wasn't going to tell him that i was going to write
a poem about him tonight)...
his mother? a doctor... a pediatrician...
your parents?
   my father is an roofer... working industrial scale
construction sites... supervisor... once he had
10 men under him sub-contracting until a cousin of ours
who married my maternal "aunt" ****** him over
and started  mutiny among the workers...
he's doing o.k., after that incident i returned to work
with him... and worked in the roofing industry
for a while... rewarding work... tiresome but rewarding
like all physical labour... it allows your mind
to wander...
                 mother? she used to be a secretary in
a metallurgical plant... she then was a cleaner for
rich Jewish ladies... then she worked as a carer for
two old Jewish ladies... now? she's a home-maker...
is that what they call it in America? she's a housewife...

did i miss something? yeah...
when i talked i sometimes looked at him:
do most Arabs have those beautiful brown eyes?
at some point i don't know what i was to him...
oh, right... he hate writing...
he's about to do his NVQ level 2...
he's completely bemused by the questions...
all the idiots say its easy: sure! it's easy!
it's ***-squeezing mind-numbing! but for someone
who has studied physics and knows arabic
it's not easy: it's hard because it's mind-numbing...
i found it mind-numbing... people with very tiny
horizons who are best suited to violence
for the thrill of it find it easy... more intellectual people
don't find anything hard in it: just the mind-numbing
tedium of what's clearly a regurgitation...
so he asked me for a favour...
could i send him the answers, otherwise my mum will
have to help me with it...
i was like: i know this boy isn't a free-loader...
but i warned him...
listen... i'll send you all the answers...
i still have them...
but at Edinburgh i was doing this sociological course
to just pump up my points on the side...
and they had in place this anti-plagiarism programme...
do you even know how little interest i had in
the course... but the course gave me an ulterior
interest... how to beat an anti-plagiarism programme...
but then again: this was at university...
i hardly think people training people for an NVQ
have an anti-plagiarism in place...
for that essay of "mine" which i found on the internet
and heavily employed the thesaurus to reword
it i managed to get a first... come to think of it:
100%... you'll have to do the same...
i'll send you my answers and you just reword
them and send them back to me to proof read
and compare...
                                    oh... i'll just get my mum
to help me with it...
                                  whatever you like...
but just use the thesaurus whenever you can:
if i can beat a programme that was intended to
suspect plagiarism: i'm pretty sure people who are
training people for an NVQ qualification will not
be as smart...
     can you send them to me? tomorrow i'm doing
the London Stadium... Thursday...
i'll surprise him... my shift only begins at quarter
to four... i'll have enough time to send him the soon
to plagiarism to him tomorrow...
it's not even that i'm trying to look for favor from
a rich boy... he's on the ground...
he's not his father's son in that...
when i asked him: so you father wasn't the sort of
father that demanded of his to follow in his footsteps,
like most fathers who are bankers or doctors
or lawyers ask of their sons: to be like them?
    no... oh...
           well... if you only see your father twice a year...
funny story... he actually went to see the last world
cup in Russia with his father...
his father's friend blah blah this... blah blah that...
oh sure... i've been to Russia... used to have a Russian
girlfriend... stayed there for a month or two...
she brought me over to be a tourist,
to be a *** pet and to see Metallica in Moscow with her...

but that's not the whole weirdness of tonight...
i sometimes spoke to him looking at him directly...
and as usual... when i try to conjure up something
abstract i look away looking at nothing in particular...
in between conversation and silence i could
feel him watching me in the corner of my eye...
is this a Yemeni thing? was he really burning an image
of my face in his mind? i could see his stare...
i only saw it with the corner of my eye...
but i could feel him looking at me...

        an inescapable stare... must be an Arab "thing"...
he just kept looking... i exclaimed about the beauty
of the night breeze and the bristle of leaves
gently moved by the wind in the sunset...
he just... kept staring... every possible "awkward" silence
was broken with a question:
he kept asking the same question several times:
so what will you do tonight?
         i'll have a drink and write...
now... the point why i'm listening to Desecration Smile
is pretty obvious... the song is about a man's
lament about sleeping with too many women...
and not finding the one women to settle with...
i felt something similar with Hussein tonight...
why can't i find a girl to have this nervous-tension
of conversation with: with the opposite ***?
ah... i split the yoke from the egg-white...
i speak two tongues to women...
i speak with the body and i speak with the mind...
Hussein... was all mind...
most women are all body to me...
i hardly think any woman would have the audacity
to so blatantly stare at me in the way he did...
it must be an Arab "thing"...

the dynamic obviously changed when that arrogant
prat: ooh! ooh! i have an SIA badge...
anyone see me walk around and boast about having
a chemistry degree?
there's a certain level of people who... simply don't think...
those SIA ******* are boring...
no one goes around boasting that they have
a driving license... yet they boast about being able
to inflict pain on rude customers... kneeing them
in the back of the leg... choking them...
i told Hussein: i don't like confrontation...
i'm dreading being equipped with this badge of dishonour...
as a steward i prefer to talk sense into people
rather than use overt violence... choking them or what
not...

it's a ****** environment sometimes... with people
who have no intellectual capacity reading to someone
their braille of the fist...
this guy Rob had to attempt to be the centre of attention...
i know what a schoolyard looks like...
how he boasted: he did this to that person...
dislocated his shoulder... PROPER: PROP'AH
"ALPHA"... male... if you don't have the money
you don't have the honey and if you don't have the honey
you don't have children, therefore no legacy...
so what the **** are you doing?
Kant didn't have children: but he has children
of German Idealism... an idea is as much a child
as a child is not really an idea... because a child is usually...
a father and his son going to a football match:
indoctrination...

i have to admit: Hussein's staring freaked me out
a little... no woman in my entire life ever did what he did...
sure... Ilona... when she saw me making pancakes
having to take over two girls attempting to make pancakes
fail... while looking through my Ipod collection
of music give me that look of "love at first sight":
nope... that didn't: doesn't compare to the stares Hussein
gave me when we were talking...
it's different when a woman looks at your during
*** and it's quiet another when a young man looks at you
without him thinking that you know he's looking at you
like you're something... fire-prone...
i have no words to describe it...
it's not even ****-erotica... it's Platonism at its highest
mountain with a knife-edge...

i can't describe it, properly...

perhaps this Robert... this Cypriot spent too much time
with the managerial staff who play off this
macho-"alpha" attitude too much...
the game: it's a game of looking and sounding
intimidating... sure their large Goliath posturing gives
them away... they speak of nothing but a framework
of boasting... Rob has these many dogs...
trained them to become attack dogs...
good with children and families... blah blah...
but when some "****"... blah blah...
funny fact: you know that if one of those dogs
with impregnable jaw-bites has a grip on you:
the way you make them release their bite is by sticking
******* up the dog's ****?! ever heard that one?
and his SIA crew congregated around him listening
to him gloat and boast...
he's not bad: just the usual "good"...
the men feel "herded" while the women feel slightly
pale and out of place... Hussein was listening
on the monologue of Rob... but when Rob left
Hussein returned to me with a litany of questions...

do you like dogs? i used to own two dogs...
an Alsatian and a Dobberman...
but i'm not a boy-man anymore... i prefer cats...
Toni (a girl's name) came to us
and showcased her cats... i showed her and Hussein
a picture of my 10kg Maine ****: Quarus
sleeping in the chair i sit on when i write
crouched like a crow: oh ****! i saw Peter Crouch
up and personal... me and the guys joked:
one said! oh... he's 7ft tall!
i turned around and folded all my fingers
exposing my pinky: yeah... he might be...
but the fact that he's so skinny probably extends our
perception of his height... laughter...

Hussein is the first person to call me after a shift...
i was sitting on the toilet when he called:
i have a funny phone... i hear people but they
sometimes hardly hear me...
we exchanged takes: hey, Hussein... it was nice working
with you today...
will you send me the answer by Thursday?
of course mate...
we compared telephones...
you don't like Iphone, you prefer Samsung?
yeah, easier to use...
how much did your Iphone cost...
£1,200... wow! you're not afraid of having so much
dough stashed in your pocket?
if i had something that expensive in my pocket
i'd probably glue it to my hand!

so much digestion... we're talking about a boy
of a rich banker... we're talking...
Mary Poppins' type of neglect of a child...
he sees his father twice a year...
i was gagging to ask him: Hussein! what do you
see in me, that you keeping staring at me so much
when i'm pretending to not look at you looking at
me?
women just avert their eyes:
Hussein... you know what you remind me off?
only a few weeks ago i had only 4 "friends" as contacts
on facebook... now?
i don't know why i have over 900 Arab contacts...
do i look familiar to you?

Longshanks was talking to and fro... Hussein was
roughly 30 metres behind: Matthew! Matthew!
Hussein! i need to eat something! you charge your
phone i'll go and eat something...
the interaction between men has become
somehow... mysterious...
more mysterious than among / between men and
women...
after experiencing what i have with Hussein...
the Yemeni... i'm thinking...
maybe i ought to enter a "homosexual" relationship
with a man... based on a Platonism of conversation...
we're both **** women left right and centre...
but? we'd come back to each other and talk...
we wouldn't be gay... in the need to explore each
other's ****-roller-coasters...
we'd come back to a friendship...
he would do his bit of ****** aspirations and i'd
settle for what prostitutes do...
why am i thinking this? his, ******* STARING...
at one point i was almost tempted to ask him...
did the Turk did a terrible job on my beard?!
is it badly trimmed?

those eyes were burning... and when a spider
frightened our supervisor i simply exclaimed:
i was afraid of spiders once... i did succumb
to arachnophobia once... now? i'm like a fly magnet:
why wouldn't love spiders?
i once managed to catch a mosquito by its legs
and feed it to a spider... it was lovely to watch...
i sort of enforced man strangling nature into
obedience: it wasn't exactly equivalent to saving
a poor homeless kitten...
i caught a mosquito by the legs and fed it to a spider...
there's a Surah in the Quran about a Spider...

this night i just escape his staring....
i sometimes wish women had the same audacity to be
be able to stare at a man worth their: "contention":
but that's not going to happen..
a contention that can be resolved by a perseverance
of: merely conversation...
that lays no basis for an argument to begin with...
interacting with such Arab youths
i'm finally allocating a "psychology" to myself...
it's becoming painfully obvious...

i do know why i want to do the shift at the London
Stadium tomorrow... i want to see this one,
particular woman... she's in her... i guess mid-40s...
she looks oh so frightened...
she's beautiful for a woman her age...
she has a knack for surrounding by these "alpha" males...
she watches me... i watch her..
i tease and giggle at all the "alpha" males jokes...
her eyes speak a different picture:
this little ****-wit is not intimidated?!
what the ****'s wrong with on the basis of
the women i've been with?!
i already have a child with one of them!
i like her... i like scared: scarred creatures...

                    given that what i truly have to offer
is either hidden or is too personal...
what is revealed about me
is what allows to be revealed...
Hussein?! am i known in the Arab world?
why are you looking at me with a beard-envy?
i was never going to make it "big" in the English-speaking
world... i already commute in and out of shifts
looking at people rotting their minds watching flick flick
flick flick UP tick-tock videos...
i pretend to pretend to sleep... i was hoping to read
some Ovid poetry... instead i'm reading people...
i don't look at people: simply.. i read them:
akin to the ****** proverb:
jak cię widzą: tak cię piszą:

        how they see you: is how they write you...

i'm starting to conjure up these fancies in my head:
not that i'd want to explore **** *******,
but that i might explore something else:
more sinister...
the quill's worth of **** of our "fathers":
             how strange to find oneself incompatible
with  the presence of a woman's conversation...
how: unsatisfying it has yet to become...
i'm bound to Hussein in a way that dictates to me
the categorisation of: NON-NEUROTYPICAL...
i stopped envying opposite *** couples after having
eves-dropped on their conversation...
like most couples: they "think" they better than the next
couple: they're happier, more successful...
than the random, "other", couple...

i was out of a relationship sooner than "never" when
the girl i was with started to create these castles
out of clouds... i was out...
because?! she was slandered in the open
by girls who said out louds: she shouldn't be with him!

magnets... man and woman are compatible...
their conversations might flow on for days...
but... turns out?! there's no intellectual friction....
sure... there's a ****** friction...
but demands never meet demands...
it's unlike being an older man with a younger
man... there are covert ****** frictions
with already: in situ intellectual frictions...
intellectually like-for-like are more inquisitive
of each  than what's otherwise non-intellectually
like-for-unlike physically compatible...

i'm not a homosexual... but...
i'd sooner choose a male partner intellectually than a woman...
so much so that i'd require a harem of women that were shared
by multiple partners than fake a forgery
of a "monotheism" of " monogamy"
of swans... i'd rather talk to a man for all of eternity
as i might want to **** a woman for all of eternity...

what's that casual "phrasing"?! it's... it's...
"complicated"... like assured **** after eating enough
it's assured with ****!
             i'm sorry... but i find women great
when it comes to ***... but complete *******
bores when it comes to conversation...
that's my modus operandi! i can't help it!
at least with men i want to keep talking to them:
because i don't want to **** them...
with women? i don't want to talk to them
for the simple reason that i want to **** them!

what would i talk to a woman about?! what?!
philosophy is not a money spinning mechanism!
philology neither... grammar?!
Chinese ideograms contra phonetics
of the Latin script?!
can i please leave my familial issue aside?!
can i stop worrying?!
it was simply Hussein's staring at me that gave
the secret away...

not all misery loves company...
some miseries prefer to be locked up...
treated in the same way as the fertility of mushrooms
are treated: kept in the dark...
i'm the sort of miserable **** that much prefers
his own: keeping of solace than having
to share it by boasting it with a Thespians' array of masks...

alphas: ha! siła razy gwałt: strength multiplied by ****...
you need a subtle touch...
you can easily appease the alphas...
you just give them what they crave....
and their craving has a low threshold:
they easily bruise...
        you "Hussein" the bigger picture...
                    you allow hierarchies to take
their natural form of exposure to abstracts...
shadows...
you tend to perform intimate demands of
conversation... rather than perform intimidating
details of oration...
   these ******* "Goliaths" are sand on paper.

Disheveled and mutated. Ugly shell of what it used to be. Our government curated by the CEO Neo-Con warheads with nuclear weapon arms and drone strikes aimed at every other countries heart. Hawks of the most grotesque nature. Warhawks with bombs of freedom and democracy. The right to social justice and free choice are properties of the US. Yet those same words "Property of the US" line those missles, the only freedom they ring is freedom from this world. Free to dive into the afterlife.

Staunch support to policies of corrpution. Reeking of ****** and money. Dressed in red and green, piles of each, blood and money line their legacies. Facades played out in media like a family soap opera. Facsist facades play out in legislature, tyranny inducing consequences. Justice not served as they rally around the mottos of "Just us". As in just us rich and powerful get to pass laws. Just us white and privileged get walk away from cops without a 12 Guage bullet in the brain. As in just us media pundits know about politics.  In jusice they have no belief. Only selfish belief of "just us".

Oligarchic and xenophobic. Slandering the people's knowledge like we don't feel the ***** hand of power encasing us in its ****** grips. Convincing out of fear we are all each other's worst enemies due to color religion or Politcal theory. Propaganda created shackles out of freedom and enslaved us in our own good will.

The ***** roots of our skyscrapers poison the soul because what they rake in at the top is dollars made from death and destruction. From the creation of war refugees and third world farmer suicides they install suede in the penthouse. The money has created shackles out of freedom and enslaved us.

I think

I think we have high expectations for a world constantly competing
We expect to be treated fairly
And to treat others fairer
God how we wish that were true
I think we live in a world where beauty really is only skin deep but the slogans and mottos will have you think otherwise as you buy that new mascara and pass on one more cookie
And not that we cant be who we want to but because you are ranked by social class and the amount of space left in your closet
By the grade you got in science or how fast you ran the sprint in gym
I think Amelia earhart is still alive
And my stuffed animals come alive when I leave the room
I think global warming is a bigger deal then kim kardashian’s nip slip
i think we dream and dream because we know reality will never just give it to us. we have to earn it.
I think we give more to others because we expect them to eventually do the same for us
I think people with mental illnesses are seen as outcasts but I think they actually see the pain and shattered, ripped corners that the rest of the world pretends not to see
I think bathing suits are uncomfortable and the sun is a ball of light that punishes us for wearing such small items of clothing
I think we work too hard and money should just turn into snakes and slither away because that alone would solve so many problems
i think kids need more activity and less school
i think the government is ran bycorrupt leaders and one day they will be the reason we collapse into dust
i think magazines portray beautiful women making us other women feel not beautiful
but who cares what i think
it's just what i
think

Are You .... " P.C. " .... ?  

What Does That Mean ... ?  
Does It Make You Feel You're Good ..... ?!?  
And Treat People The Way You Should ... ?  

I Guess For Some ...  
That's What This Means ... ?
    
Well Folks I Hate To ...  
SHATTER Dreams ... !!!
  
But ...
That's NOT What It Means To ME ... !!!  
  
Calling Me ... " Coloured " ...
Instead of ... " Black " ...
  
ISN'T RIGHT ... !!!!!  
  
What's Up With That ... ?!?  
  
How Many Colours ...  
Do You ... SEE ... ?!?  
When You REALLY ...  
Look At ... ME ... !?!  
  
Coloured Is How White Folks Be ...  
After Fighting ... In The Street ... !!!!!  
  
But Am I Black ... ???  
Or Am I Simply ...  
Just A Man ...  
With A Slightly ...  

DARKER Tan ... !!!
  
Check Those Words ...  
And ... " OVER - STAND " ... !!!!!  
  
P.C. Means ....  
NOTHING ... To Me ... !!!  
  
P.C. Can Stand For  ....  
  
" Police Constable " .....  
  
Too Many of Them ...  
Means ... Here Comes TROUBLE ... !!!!!  
  
P. C.  ..... Does NOT Mean ...  
You Are ..... " Humble " ..... !!!!!!  
  
Stay With Me Now ....  
Don't You .... " Stumble " .... !!!  
  
This Simple Piece of Poetry ...  
Will NOT Be Seen As Being ... " P.C. " ... !!!  
  
Especially By The ... " Bourgeoisie " ... !!!!!  
  
But Truthfully ......  
What Does It Mean ... ?  
  
" Personal Computer ? "  
  
Or ... Could It Be ... ?  
  
" Big Brother's Viewer ? "  
  
... " Watching " ...
ALL The Things We Do ... ?  
Whilst Surfing Sites ...  
In Our Bedrooms ...  
  
I'm Not Sure ... ?  
Do You Have A View ... ?  
  
That's Something ...  
On Which To ... Chew ... !!!
  
"Eh get back to  
the question Jack !?!"
  
"Actually, the name is Virge !
Son, listen up, to these here words !!!  
are you P.C., or dismissing my poetry !?!"
  
Here's Some More ...  
..... " Analogies " .....  
  
P.C. Could Mean ... ?  
  
YES ... " Poetry Clique !!! "  
  
That's ... BAD P.C. ... !!!!!!!!  
  
I See These Cliques And EVIL Breeds ...  
And Watch Them From A .... " Distant Seat " ................................... ........ !!!
  
P.C. ... Could Mean ...
A .... " Private Club " ....  
Do You See The Link ... ???  
  
GOOD That's The Stuff ... !!!  
  
That Makes  ... " P.C. " ...  
A Thing For Those ....  
Who May Get Stuck ....  
  
Because P.C. ....  
Means Oh So Much ... !!!  

To Their ... " little " ...  
... NEEDY Minds ...  
  
I'm Saying ... !!!!!  
Are These People Blind ... ?!?  
  
THEY Seem To Need ...  
To Have ... " Guidelines " ...  
And ... Tend To Lie ...  
Throughout Their Lives ...  
  
THEY Like HARD Drugs ... !!!  
And ... Getting Drunk ... !!!  
  
"Sir, park your car  
between these lines,
NO, NOT those ones !  
that's Moss's Drive !
  
Her Mottos's ...  
  
"Be a ******* model,
take *******, and wreck your life !!!"
  
Folks That's A Joke ...
of ... My Design ... !!!  
  
Did You Laugh ... ?  
If Not ... That's Fine ...  
  
Let Me Move On ...  
And Feed Your Mind ...  
  
With More of .....  
My .... Simple Rhymes .... !!!!!  
  
" P.C. " ...

Could Just Mean ...
.... " Pretty Cool " .....  ?!?
  
Now THIS Definition ...  
Fits The Vocal Style I Use ... !!!  
  
And My Poetry When Fuelled .......  
  
By My Wish To ...
... Air My Views ...  
    
WITHOUT Pretence ...  
But Through The Use of ...  
  
... " Common Sense " ...  
    
My Wordplay's Built ...  
Like ... Navaho Tents ... !!!!!  
And Is NOT MEANT To ....  
  
..... Cause Offence .....  !!!  
  
But .... " secret sects " ....  
  
I DO Detect ....  
Are Stuck On Being ....  
  
" Politically Correct !?! "  
  
Now THIS P.C.  
Is NOT For Me  ... !!!!!!  
Cos' This Defines ...  
  
.... " Hypocrisy " .... !!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Be Nice Because ...  
You WANT TO BE ... !!!!!  
  
NOT To Prove ....  
  
You Are ............................  
  
,........ " P.C. "

I have two mottos:
Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.
AND
**** happens.

I have one favorite quote:
Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass,
It's about learning to dance in the rain.

I have two rules:
NEVER regret anything!
AND
Stay as pure as possible.

These are the things that I live by.
This explains alot about who I am.
These are the main things about me.

i can only suppose that my expectations concerning
life... slowly fizzled out...
once i realised that i had no obligations
moving forward...
  obligation is a loose term:
              investments in responsibilities...
although: i still dabble in a variation of responsibility:
on a bicycle... minding traffic...
esp. at night... with no indicators...
or a front or a back light flickering...
aiming at 30mph downhill...
with my headphones in... not holding the handlebars...

what a silly little quest: at 35 i ought to have
a life resembling my father's, my grandfather's...
although: i'm not having all that much
"fun" that might also be expected in a man's
prime...
once in a while i'll wake up from half
a decade's slumber and shout:
that dwarf in the Game of Thrones will not...
have more fun in the brothel than me...
perhaps it was easier once upon
a time to wield a sword than
seek something from slowly downing
a bottle of wine...

there are moments of absolute terror
when i freeze all over and start
rummaging for my wallet after a night's ride
in my rucksack where i keep
my bicycle lock... for a splinter of what's
time... the entire tree:
that freezing sequence...
but then i find it and i remember
that... that one kleptomaniac in the brothel
didn't steal my debit card...
i guess it must be hard to go about
debit card fraud...
which is why i don't have a credit card...
although: so i heard:
you get better insurance if...
your credit card is... cloned...
but then: you also have the higher risk...
plus... at least with a debit card:
i can't spend more than i have...
i never liked the idea of credit...
it was a ******* nuisance...
i'll spend what i have...
if that involves me spending £120 for an hour's
worth with a *******
once every... half a decade...
by the time i'm through with: "man in his prime"
i'll have about... 3 notches on my belt
of... "conquest"...

while in between all those nights...
there was that handy... cheap... but handy...
£4.99 bottle of new south wales' Merlot
to ease into a dreamless sleep...

ooh: soppy puppy...
  unless listening to some French escort...
the prince charming the white night...
the mistress contra the wife...
such attitudes only French people can have:
of a certain economic stratum...
not among the yellow vests...
no no... the fairground carousel people...
professionals...
limitless: who... on a whim...
want all that: XAOS...

  interlude: just some doodles that kept
me awake before i drowned them
with a slice of bread
and some... pork: BRAWN
(pork tongues, pork jowl, skins, pork liver)...
am i missing something
beside the Swedish sweet mustard?
the gelatine...
but after the red wine:
i'd **** for a raw herring in some...
oil / vinegar and onions...
ooh... slurp me another sire...
this Baltic sushi!

    (that Hannibal Lecter slurp sound
that i will not bother to write an onomatopoeia
for)...
my sunken cheeks! my folding tongue!
tears in my eyes
are the memory of the taste that:
when retested... is always the same...

between what's..
hope... and faith...

  well... nadzieja and: wiara...

hope and belief...

hop along: e-tymological...

be a leaf: of this grand tree with past...
  otherwise the secular variation
of belief:
the negation of doubt...
was... belief ever a certainty...
or a masquerading of:

  "something"... ahem... "else"?

hope is faith
in that hope isn't belief...
belief is rigidity... orthodoxy...
faith is that one on the sly: *****-nilly...
faith is an indefinite article...
belief is a definite article...
perhaps in other related languages
but esp. in English...
the scissors of a-          -the-
  and some variation of -ism...
it cuts through most things, words...
subject matters...

  faith: indefinite... articulation of off...
sometimes even from...

it must be a balancing act... i write a sentence
akin to: hope is faith
i might as well draw a red circle...
or a blue triangle...
of a green square...
by any standards of "logic" and "image":
it's hard to imagine 2...
unless you're cycling for 2 miles...
20mph: but that requires a multiplication
of 2 via 0 and the mph suffix...

2 is hard to "imagine": translate into an image...
it becomes too symbolic:
a symbol isn't an image...
a pair... most likely...
2 would be a 7... with a curved base
and medium: chiral... chimera...

hope is faith = a red circle...
what's more important is...
  the secular variation of: to counter hopelessness...
the antonym of belief:
the negation of doubt... oddly enough...
the antonym of belief shouldn't
be the negation of doubt:
since the antonym of belief is doubt...
well: the antonym of doubt is most probably
negation...
bad faith... alias...
        
a drunk's muddles... muddles...
spaghetti for shoelaces...
now i rather walk either barefoot or in one sandal...
my left foot...
i'm right-handed ergo right footed...
i'd need a sandal on my "weaker" foot...
which foot is supposedly weaker
when i'm peddling?
kicking a ball... sure... the "weaker" left foot...
foot... because not the whole leg...
holding a pen: my right hand...
but i could coordinate left hand fingers
pointing as i would with my right hand... fingers...

- yes... the wine... to oil up my fingers
and to wet my appetite for the tongue
to rummage in its cave of 32 pearls...
then a knockout of a trap of ms. amber...
to put me out of my "misery":

and with these words: what conversation
would i have... a challenging life...
there is so much everyday soap opera drama
to get through though:
eyes glued to the television... perhaps...
the news: i'm still going to vouch for
a higher status of advertisers to that of journalists...
after all: in the editorial section...
the commentary section:
newspapers are sold... they're not pamphlets...
journalists are not... punk:
they're not pamphleteers...
apparently...

  are these words sacrosanct?
          nor are the words in a newspaper
in the opinions section:
are these words... cursed? i imagine they hold
a sway of cruelty about them...
teasing with mottos like:
to make art rather than money...
to forever escape the formality of language:
i'll be perched on a windowsill:
the whole 6ft2 200lb of me
cradling the night and...
one insomniac magpie or a crow...
accomplice of the moon...

ol' baldy... tod-kopf... grinning idiot...
and his nation has the flag
in the following colours:
red, yellow and white...
  i will not make money:
i already don't earn what i wouldn't
otherwise spend...
even in central London i pass these
homeless men and think:
they have achieved the stature
of Diogenes of Sinope...
but they're still... clutter of what could
agitate thought...
i found one mesmerised into a mantra
bemoaning the river of people
imploring them to see him:
the solipsist that he was...

the mantra run along the lines of
the following words: 'some recognition, please'...
on a ******* loop...
if i were down there:
i'd ask for a flute... while rendering the rats
to an obedience...
whimsical me... the charm of a dream...
although not tempting dragons
into the whole affair:
stray dogs is already pushing it!

- a dietary requirement of needing to feed
on... cow intestines...
the thirst word that comes to mind
via my translation: trollop...
tripe soup...
                    and all the edible parts of
the pig's body... including the parts
adorned to be worn as leather:
shoes... belts...
                            mmm... i will never understand
the Semite: whether Hebrew or Arab...
the critique of the desert gods' critique of
pig...
sheep stinks... here's mine...
you can eat almost all of pig:  except the nails
and the oink...

dry ******* a camel's... ****?
in between that... currency of Dubai buck latex:
only-fans: watch an American girl **** into
a bucket?
oh sure... this one time in Amsterdam...
i walked in on one of those peaches
of Puerto Rico...
she kept the window open so she could
moan... entice more customers in...
a little black boy brought me a can of beer...
while she ****** into a bucket...
all gratis...

i'd win the lottery aiming at homelessness
in Amsterdam...
just for the licks, kicks and...
lycra long-shorts... worn beneath...
decent garments for peddling...
the closest material i'll ever come across
to... compare with... mr. and mrs. gimp's latex
full-on... save the church: attire...

- i might have mentioned this once, twice...
thrice already...
a collection of 72: dobbermans,
rottweilers and alsatians stand between
me imagining a middle ground between
Valhalla & Jannah...
forgive me from lying to those timid
creatures... who probably turn out to
be man-flesh eating mermaids...

a ******* tamed by as many pedestrians
as she might already be tamed by:
and a ******? and there's supposedly
72 of them?
**** it... throw in a wrestling with
72 rottweilers...

to objectify a woman with metaphors:
is as close as i'll ever come across
painting an imitation Munch...
  *** like a Lamborghini...
a body of a well worn armchair...
and all the rest of "it": experience of an alcoholic
surgeon...
the whole body: an extension of her
mandible parts: esp. the jaw...
how she pretends to eat "something" would
needing to tease beyond the tease
of the nibble: all the world in the foray
of foreplay... before the "ugly" parts
come together: the eyes come first...
the tongues... the hands... the lips...

the arithmetic of fingers
and the arithmetic of the remaining body parts...
if i were rich enough to: if i were as poor as ****
but had the capacity to paint:
perhaps...
pause... insinuate a punctuation that's: mine...
forget the form... the rigidity of both
rhyme & / or lyricism...
of those brackets of verse of paragraphs...
now i'm looking for an imitator...

- perhaps unlike the analysis of Samuel Beckett's
use of the bicycle...
by none other than Milan Kundera...
come the nacht...
the air thins out...
i receive a jolt of momentum...
i can hear church bells from a mile afar...
and trains: that give of a whiff of
horses galloping imitation:
the air thins out... i gain momentum...
i like the concept of generating my own
momentum: breaking my body...

plus... the bicycle has given me
the added dimension of meaning:
with speed i have an AGENCY...

- i "think" of a woman i think of her
walking into the forest with me
in the zenith of the night...
impossible to come by...
nay: imaginary...
  who's this pseudo-Athena...
this Sophia that never materialises...
this almost Aphrodite deity that bridges
the concept of titan with man?

come night and some flashes of genius...
come day and a return to:
all that's accurately mundane...
the same people talking with their same
lot of arrogance... pride... fakery...
hoisting up their litany of...
          keeping up:
well... it was hardly called
sense & sentimentality...
was it? it was called: sense & sensibility
for a reason...
although: at the time of writing...
prudent girls:
2nd or 3rd or 4th wave of the ****** revolution:
seems to me... only the girls have
progressed...

the white girls are making all the shots:
said one mixed-race guy to a white boyo
on a street...
i guess they are...
do i mind?
i'm into Turkic girls...
ol' raven haired types...
blue-black hair types...
ink types...

              blotches of cull against the wind...
the sensation of pouring some whiskey
into a glass where once...
those red stained ice-cubes entertained
a more sober moi...
a more: deliberative typo...

don't mind me...
but if my freedoms are being undermined
by a polity of objects expressing their freedom
in a fashion:
of... however much they don't wish or want...
but nonetheless do...
here's my: butterfly to their... hurricane of...
nonchalance...
murdering them isn't enough...
living with them is already a ******...

if only i... if only i...
hence my need to remind myself: solo...
cycling in the night...
aiming at the prospect of a traffic accident...
for the thrills for the Parisian
cosmopolitan affair simulation...

goodnight: riddle and riddance.

The Isotrain Mechanism then headed out in the midst of the stars.
Dragon-Man programmed the Matic-pilot to travel just this far.
He then piped up, So what do you think should be our new slogan?
I promise whatever ideas you guys have I will be open.
Breastplate Bearer sat up and spoke, as only he would
If we cannot defend thee, then nobody else could
This fight isn’t our fault but we still go full throttle
You fool Breastplate-Bearer that is not a fitting motto.
Lady of the Night asked, Where is Message I have not seen her in a while
Message came out of the Emerald Latrine with the biggest smile.
Why you grinning, Lady of the Night asked, Message said, Oh I just heard you talking absurd
And mottos, slogans, and anthems are my speciality, my people dabbled in spoken word.
From the depths of the sky to all the realms you know, we are arisen and come.
So Drozen and the Faceless Tongues, those will not end up slain cannot run.
This is the SheTalkman of the Federation, if you did not have evil you’d have nothing at all.
So it does not matter how you will rise or where, because you will together fall.

I’ve never heard of SheTalkman, Dragon-Man said with a wry grin.
It doesn’t sound as good as Breastplate-Bearer, said Breast-plate Bearer’s seated voice scowling.
Message said I guessed now is a good time to say that I am the Federation’s spokesman.
Or spokeswoman, why you Earthlings attach male to everything is one thing I don’t understand
You can’t say mankind without man, Breastplate-Bearer said in a combative tone.
You also can’t pronounce it without kind, Lady of the Night interrupted, So leave her alone.
We are here, Dragon-Man said, relieved to break them up before something bad happened here.
This is an ugly here, Lady of the Night replied as the Isotrain Mechanism shifted to Chaplain gear
Dragon-Man touched his head and then his chest, Message asked, What on earth is that?!
Breast-plate Bearer condescendly said, we are not on Earth anymore, and it is a Bloodstored Chant.
Dragonman replied, There is no Oathed Sacrifice without the Bloodstored Chant and the Laisian oath.
Lady of the Night asked, Do we come for war or peace, and Dragonman said grimly, Both.

gray brittle phrases
where's my osteopath
fed up with thoughts and hypotheses
with my soaked shoes
with my own self forever standing out
how tall are you, you brat
countryside
otherwise
otherside
misery of shallow waters
overused leitmotifs
simplistic mottos
approximation when it comes to numbers
nostalgia when i have to deal with childhood photos
casuistic morals
opportunist goals
the vigour of distrust
whenever i think of social distancing or social media

the concept of not being involved
similar to not being alive
yet it's better than being dead
that's my life

Discover Discomfort, there
a bubble of knowns in current context,
be
having, as water to a fish… bubbles
of no interest,

sending wishes topside.

Messaging vacuum pre surity,
to form predictable winds,
verily worthshipped as software,
virally priced per use, right, misses
do not constitute
legitimist religious knots… tightening
the grip, get the concept,
as held, attained, by the skin of the teeth
on the gear that turned the clocks hands,
sorting second
glances for 'nother chancers.
-- we discover discomfort,
or we never learn the ROI on patience…

sitting silent in the corner
to consider what I did,
to learn some pigeon superstition,
for next opportunity,
to sense the pain first cause
above the knowing abuse, eh, tricks,
whence grew the evil essential lie,

to be all hero's mottos,
do, or die, of shame,
there is no going back,
but as water…
or Case hardened steel
we be… as we were informed…
come and see, what is to be made
of proverbs cached in old holes
in the floor, under stood upon,
until the worms and mould
perfected revitalization.

And yo, the waitress
from that place in Caiguna
{she followed my dream home}

opens the door and offers half
of her peanut butter cup.