I knew they'd be more sightings, it looks like I was right
The day has arrived once again, where things have come to light
Shinning armour is absent, and there is no gallant knight
Oh Annette, there's only Den, and your chastity's not tight

It seems Miss Tidy has returned, she's covered a long span
**** escapades displayed again, written by a big **** fan
***** heifers filled Cow Pies, diving in like Desperate Dan
I wouldn't mind a go myself, because I am a man

Bus stops and phone boxes, seem to be your mainstream media
Your depicted as a ****, and your appetite gets greedier
Every time that you appear, your antics are more seedier
Be careful of your infamy, you'll end up on Wikipedia

What the hell is going on, you've resurfaced once again
There's no accounting for good taste, with ******* different men
I don't know if it's better ***, than your getting from old Den
Oh Annette if you get judged, it'll be a Ten from ***

Bus shelters are the place, to read about your ***
Showing intimate parts of your life, like the local multiplex
Written words like **** and ****, are nothing to perplex
It's obvious what's going on, its hardly that complex

If **** *** is preferable, if it's not just a passing whim
You can lick my exposed ****, and I'll give yours a rim
A tight *** is just as good, as a nice warm ****
Oh Annette untidy your legs, and we'll go out on a limb

**** *** excites me, but there's just one small detail
Is your *** completely free, or is your **** for sale
If you use lubrication, then it never will get stale
Naked flesh I really like, that's probably cos I'm male

If telephone boxes we're obsolete, if bus stops did not exist
Where would Annette's news be then, from the *** obsessed artist
Would he try a public lavatory, would he have a different twist
Oh Annette If writings ceased, *** stories would be missed

George Formby leaned on lampposts, but I'm not sure I'm a strummer
Unless you count a *******, and you are a heavy ******
I'll wait until you come by, for one hell of a good ******
Outside in the night light, so much better in the summer

Could you be a lovely girl, or are you an ugly *****
**** ***** and ***** *****, are just the local lingo
Oh Annette if you want ***, don't wait too long in limbo
I can do it on all fours, as well as legs akimbo

Softer holes are better wet, **** positions don't much matter
Whether it is *******, or laying a bit flatter
Certain parties can be fun, if your naked on a platter
A very happy unbirthday treat, I'd share with the Mad Hatter

Do you bite as well as ****, be rough and rarely gentle
let passion take control of you, cos I'm not temperamental
You seem to be the kind of girl, to be experimental
It makes no difference if your a ****, it isn't accidental

There's nothing wrong with ***** *****, if they are never shut
Open all hours is quite fun, when you're an **** ****
I hope you have "**** Handles", that are looming round your ****
So Annette relight my fire, I don't want my long wick cut

Come on now be daring, because you seem like an old friend
I hope your ****** preferences, are not just a passing trend
So much is known about you, with all that has been penned
If your into *** ***, then give your **** a lend

Just how many blokes you've had, well I don't have a clue
There's Den of course but now and then, you try someone new
It doesn't really bother me, if you've had quite a few
You could be in fetish films, if your backdoor is blue

Perhaps I have misjudged you, and you are a teachers pet
And everything that has been said, is something you regret
But If the rumours are all true, then I would not forget
To stuff my ***** up your ****, and I'd say oh Annette !

a few songs can capture the modern sense of urbanity, and the
apocalyptic 5 a.m. of London - but i've become estranged from
that sort of neon addiction - there's no syringe involved,
no amateur photographers on the ready, either -
yes, a man of great love, but also of great contempt:
and that goes hand in hand.
the favourite memory of my first year at Edinburgh?
eating haggis neeps and tatties at the ***** ****'s
pub on the royal mile - followed by shots of whiskey -
in my student accommodation,
placing the amp on the windowsill, the window open,
and just jamming out far removed Nirvana solos
with a few spectators: modern day equivalent:
of mad max flamethrower guitar freak -
losing my virginity to Isabella: psychology 3rd year
exchange student - from Grenoble - France,
yep, not the ******* Himalayas - the Alps...
the lacrosse initiation ceremony in lycra shorts:
back then i'd be a stumbling buffoon after a bottle
of whiskey... these days? well, usually a closing
poem at 5 a.m. - minding the cats to come home
after spending it out in the cool on a sultry night -
i wasn't serious about the lacrosse -
jeez: the meat in this place is stuffing me -
get out before they tell you to buy your own gear:
team or group mentality? never got it -
soloist pronto - pronto andante - chirpier that way,
getting the whiff of the bubbly without stand-up:
imagine a sit-down comedian... hard to imagine.
the gym... oh **** me the gym...
you know, i knew a guy in first year that only managed
to cook up plain pasta, with salt... plain pasta
with salt... another guy ate spaghetti with
tomato sauce all year round... in the last week he
added meat to the mix... not trying to brag:
i'm even going to mention what i cooked -
                    i was living with horror seeing these
boys adapt to: mommy not here, mommy out to lunch...
daddy not here, daddy out to crunch out the income...
well... apart from the rich puppies who chose
catering accommodation, turning university
into a school with a pristine canteen - canned teens -
just as much - so if i wrote cantine you'd say:
canned thyme? how the hell does that work:
i abuse language, language doesn't abuse me -
i don't need cushions surround words like
()()()()()****()()()()() - better? much better -
hush the angry words out! use the sterilisers -
maybe that's why i never experienced anything bad
using the internet - honesty and bluntness -
maybe i shouldn't have said that. or that's just lucky.
princess and the pea and the 100 mattresses
and a fickle *** - ah itchy! it's pinching! it's pinching!
100 mattresses and still the ****** pea.
then again, staying up all night, then deciding to
climb Arthur's Seat at dawn, getting there, then
climbing down and going to Tesco at 7 a.m. to buy
cornflakes and full fat milk... that was something;
but you know what i'm really thinking about?
it's no longer a maxim, it's a cliche -
               but i'm thinking about it in mathematical
terms -                                from the verb
                           on one side, to the posit or inertia
on the other - there's no grammatical version of what
really becomes a pentagon with five attachment points
primarily - a cul de sac of facts -
                                                            but­ mingling with
grammatical categorisation nonetheless -
          but what i'm thinking about it how to make it
simpler, to use mathematical notation:
i.e.
               i think is an expression
                                       worthy of about 1 centimetre,
  given that thought is a marathon -
                   but i'll just say: could it be anything but
  so differentiated increment divisibility to
              thus provide a sigma? although the expression
is hardly an ad continuum - at some point you
stop thinking, hence to differentiate i think is assuredly
a way to say: well, not constantly - meaning thought
   is not a continuum - and can be talked about in the
same was as talk of god: that's where i place the prime
of ethical action - it's not god... i don't ascribe ethical
action in that direction: just too easy, whatnot with hell
and heaven and goody two shoes waiting for the
big spark of magic or applause and the heckler: well done!
god, dry humour is the best - sarcasm is dry humour -
satire is wet humour... and other than that?
               slapstick, nothing too witty, i hate witty comedy,
they always need canned laughter:
at least slapstick humour makes the effort for you too
make an effort... and it sometimes hurts, so it's real,
when you start flexing that abdomen and get a six smiley
faces on the torso.                anyway,
              looking at my **** it really dawned on me:
  (by the way, Descartes wasn't really out to prove he existed,
   someone thought he did, he was trying to work out a
proof for something that someone else would pick up
   and elaborate)             i think is but a centimetre
                              compared to the marathon of thought -
(sizes in this scenario is perfectly compatible) -
          meaning that               i am          (italics?
emphasis on these to expressions being unitary) is but
                 another centimetre compared to the marathon
   of being                                    or the Antarctic expedition
                      of non-being: i.e. not necessarily
   assembling: what if i wasn't here... but more like:
              what if i did something differently -
again, flea market questions -                        why bother?
    come to think of it: the former unit is more simpler
to encompass - although i agree that the former translates
into the latter: thinking proves i exist,
                            because ex omni instances
         (out of all), there's an equal compatible expression
of mutual exclusiveness: thinking - the two together are
juxtaposed to be allowed a kind relativism -
      but whereas the latter (i am) unit is not only plagued
by the nearest pentagonal absorption via the senses,
but also a definite article / articulation of so many posits
of expression: multiplex verb -
                  the former (i think) unit isn't:
a. plagued by the pentagonal... blah blah blah...
             but rather by a mandala of faculties:
   imagining things, remembering things, dreaming things,
               maybe i shouldn't have said that?
   who knows -
                             the basic thought was
about:           i think is but a centimetre compared
                               to a marathon of thought - a minor fact -
   i am is but a centimetre compared to a marathon of being -
     and to be honest: very few people would take
courage in understanding this glib in the sigma of all things -
imagine football hooligans equipped with this potential...
i can't: i was watching the Everton v. Sunderland today,
and all i could hear was the chant: YANNICK BOLAISE!
            YANNICK BOLAISE! YANNICK BOLAISE!
yes, this kind of writing is a paper mâché -
or a vegetarian starter - but, you know, if you don't
try something new, you'll definitely win a Pulitzer Prize...
  if you don't like it? chop chop, on you go.
i know Descartes wasn't wrong, and i know that
cogito ergo sum wasn't intended to prove anything -
but it did prove a founding block for existentialism,
that's where all existentialists take a **** - Descartes
is the dump where Sartre wrote his being & nothingness,
and Heidegger his being & time...
                        well, key ingredient in someone writing
a sophisticated aversion to time: space, would probably
write something about sitting next to someone on a tube
and writing about sardines and livestock -
                           humanity as a virus, etc. etc.,
   compared with someone writing and thinking out
a statement of: well, isn't this marvellous - so far apart
and clean, and solitary and chuckles.
    i just wanted to use the mathematical comparison,
deviating from the pivot                   therefore     -
   away from each of the unit's verbs and adjective attachments -
  i just wanted to stress that each respective facts,
  are but a centimetre of expression,
   compared with what each evolves into - a marathon
on either side - perhaps it's because that's a necessary building
block to something greater: i can't complain that being
aware of this fact is a hindering beginning -
       i'm not saying that being aware of this maxim is
somehow going to improve your contentment with life -
    geometrically it's not like
                                                      horizo­ntal left to right -
more like vertical left to left-up and right to right-up
             and never therefore - for a reason,
consequently... but rather in parallelism -
                   for no reason whatsoever -
                                              contra-sequential­ly;
unless you know a Queen of Sweden, i don't see how
thinking precipitates into being that might you
leave you satisfied - and let's not a put a ****** on it
either: how many thoughts about killing someone
end up being jokes with a friend late at night?

A jaundiced adaptation
    of fillers raucous threats

attempts obsolete mimicking
   in a conspicuous pomposity
     of disfigured reckonings  

slipped us the tongue of your
    ostentatious audacity
mid judgmental manifestations

Disengaged, as our eyes grew dim
     ' neath the masquerade
            of multiplex duplicity


**who the ******* do you think you are?

Stock them high was the order of the day
In queues one by one, they flock shops
A social warehouse of common sales
Slashed home events, buy one get one

On a balcony I sip Chai Latte swiftly
Masses line up on spotlight street path
Each drawn in enterprises of expenditure
A dime for a good, a rhyme to amass more

Coloured triangle on the forehead illuminates
A third eye, a seer pry, mood eased to try
Our eyes meet and my tiled notebook melt
Sing my heart don't protest,soul free to sate

We lost in narrowed jungles strolling multiples
Outer casts giggling, deep withering multiplex
Pasted blocks of concrete as loneliness replies
A vice subtle, an automated paradigm in demise

aix, beck's, becks, blech's, checks, cheques, czechs, dec's, decks, dex, eckes, eques, ex, fecks, flecks, flex, heck's, hex, jex, kecks, lecce, lex, meckes, mex, necks, nex, next, peck's, pecks, plex, rex, sheck's, shek's, specks, specs, sphex, tech's, techs, teck's, tex, treks, vex, whelks, wrecks, x, x. amex, ampex, annex, apec's, apex, armtek's, avtex, aztecs, berlex, caltex, cemex, centex, cmx, comex, complex, comtrex, convex, crownx, defex, dissects, duplex, effects, ejects, entex, execs, expects, eyetech's, fanech's, fedex, finex, gatx, gtech's, inmex, intex, latex, memtec's, metex, natec's, nobec's, nymex, nynex, objects, onex, opec's, paychecks, paychex, pemex, perplex, pewex, playtex, portec's, projects, qintex, quebec's, railtex, rednecks, reflects, rejects, respects, roughnecks, scitex, simplex, starplex, steinbeck's, subjects, suspects, syntex, telex, telmex, tenrecs, timeplex, tridex, trintex, triplex, truex, vertex, visx, wall-tex, wedtech's, westtech's adaptec's, ametek's, atx, banamex, between decks, biotechs, bottlenecks, cineplex, cybersex, cytotechs, datarex, discotheques, equitex, eurochecks, gendrisek's, genentech's, govpx, hyponex, intellects, intersects, kaisertech's, malcolm x, medarex, mediplex, megaplex, memorex, methanex, metroplex, middlesex, multidex, multiplex, neorx, oraflex, pillowtex, prentnieks, rolodex, stratoflex, superx, symantec's, teleflex, turtlenecks, unisex, ventritex adaptaplex, ameritech's, audiotex, begonia rex, ****** simplex, solar apex, videotex, tyrannosaurus rex, regression of y on x

oh' where did those days go
those enid blyton days
when my greatest wish
was to be jo, from the famous five....

those long and glorious
summerdays....
of sunshine and youth.

when bikes and fresh air
whipping past your face,
was way more....
important,
than winning the ratrace.

when the local creek
was the multiplex,
with so many different worlds on show ....
at each
new bend of the
winding, water slow.

when life was a beach
and living was carefree..

those days of watermelon
slices and orange icee's
backyard cricket....
belt it over the fence
for a six and out!!!

bbq'd sausages,
smothered in onions
and tomato sauce....
slapped on a slice,
of good white bread,
sufficed as dinner.

with a salad of course,
(if quick the salad could
be served surreptisiouly to
the local wildlife with a slip
and tilt of the paper plate)
if lucky, strawberries and
icecream to follow.

oh' those were the days,
simpler than most...
when the biggest
difficulty
was in ,cadging
one more hour,
before sleeping at night.
one more chapter,
(perhaps, even two)
of adventuring
with the famous five,
before sleeping....
under the security
of  youth...

Crawdads have a crazy *** life. There's not  
much to courtship and no real copulation. Boring  
as this may sound, it's somewhat engrossing  
for me. Likely more than any lady crawdad ever  
thought of it. I would think most women might
agree. Sadly, reminiscent of **** really. Males
act like ruffians, catching females like prey,
turning them over, and leaving a sticky deposit
on their undersides. Worm like sperms adhere
to her, which she carries with her until she lays  
eggs. I've seen this while preparing étouffée.

Not the *** act, just the worms.  

Life is a multiplex of convoluted situations.
"Please yes, oh no!" What's going on in those
crusty little heads? It seems such a foreign
lifeform. Still, eerily familiar to what I've found  
at the bathhouse. I think I'll fatten up my tail,  
wear some antennae and pincers this Halloween.

Mmmm... Étouffée.

a neighboring land
acquired
for multiplex
walked in
few trees on the site
stayed close to…
an experience
a feeling
like…. a day before hanging
an aroma of fear spreading
a silent noise from trees
communicates…..something
……………………….
decided to collect
some seeds from each tree
assuring
to give life in
another place…

wenn nietzsche
                    begraben gott,
                        wer begraben
                          die teufel?!

no, it's not perfect
german, it's mop german,
or what i like
to call: sloppy *englisch...

when nietzsche buried god,
who buried the devil?!

(while twitching):
   why does the devil require
an article preposition?
  i.e. a direct article:
a finger, a pointing to
a blinking eye?
          with, the devil
there can only be, a god...

  *******-trigger-happy-warning:
twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch
twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch
     (still twitching,
you know that eyelid reflex):

         popeye!

    pronouns in the "west":
   a careless "study" of german
reveals a concern for "gender" sarcasm:
   the multiplex of definite articles
in german is disturbing:
   but hey: there's the german precision...
then there's the sharpening
     of an "implicit", " gender"...
  
  gender neutral pronouns already
exist:            who?
                              what do you mean
who?
         you who.
               who you?
           yes, who are you?
        samuel, *******, beckett!

evidently advances in technology
leave the current zeitgeist model
of content: you are who?

                    now let me be clear
as an amateur:
       how man variants do the germans
have of the index?
       i.e. the definite article,
   i.e. not abstracting?
                      well a- or a coordinate
like god requires a double denial
akin to Kant's 0 = negation:
   which is a paradox of
     affirmative "action":
                    
                      since you get to deny
only once...
                     denying denial is
a "motivational" impetus...
              
            could see it coming... spotting
a Columbus in a bottle of whiskey...
hell... what positivity remains
in exploring?
               the moon's too far,
   there is a known world,
          might as well tip Poseidon's
realm and say:
       like it or not: an ocean of fire:
minus the indigestion...

             apparently,
when the world becomes ******
obvious, i am the one who has to
mezmerise myself by ******* up the use
of language:
   yes, i know: mesmerize...
   zee zoo dot dot sasha... sheesh kebab!
of course shish kebab would
  be accepted: if it only had iota
   donning the acute hat, i.e. shísh!
    e!
                    - and to imagine that
some languages have retained having
names for their letters,
      while, this, pathetic Latin is all
musical with a vowel catcher H...
                
                 epsilon epsilon: ee O!
  variant?                                omega.
excess spelling some say,
          unless in french
when comparing pel and peel and pél...
          apparently english
   "requires" punctuation marks
to be introduced intra-words...
   esp. when a Slovak girl utters:
   monaco as a waterfall all-in-one
   cascade, and doesn't pause
at:                mònaco
    and that's still missing
          stress on the m with-holding
syllable constructs...

       and to think i could have
invested the use of language into crafting
a critique of a painting...
   how lazy of me, how sloppy,
         pretending to be a radiologist
with the minimum amount of effort,
with respect to using colours:
   and never climbing to a tier
                 of an IKEA manual-guy;
but then i wonder...
   if they allowed a *******...
   and a Burroughs?
              Everest isn't exactly a Δ.

They loosed the moorings from Cala Cogone prematurely, when the tide seemed to be lifting over the separate lumps in the dews of the hailstorms, and on the head of the Cyclops distancing itself from its corporeal organism. On a lavish and romantic day, they went to Genoa, to continue with their travel logistics to Piacenza. During the displacement Etréstles was contemptuous in the prow under the Shemesh that seemed to be a fearsome specimen, before an embroidered intestinal being stirred in his own dream, perhaps more longed for than a dual itinerary. While they slept, at the helm Etréstles argued ringing dressed in his black cyclamen tunic, the comrades were also sleeping with their rhapsodic physiognomic dreams, coloring mutinous gestural jaspers, on some faded signs that were deteriorating.

A chimera of Etréstles: “His off-center memory of him ..., was still in Izzana, the capers rumbed through the pathetic clouds over the gray tulles, and the layers of the sky tried to stop being a reign emeritus for a prince without a crown. The paradisiacal layer "kyklámino stémma", was glimpsed melted in the scattered limestone Nuraxis, turning into sticky aeroliths agglutinated in the deployment of the Conjuration, laying the rye species in the jaws, and on the head of Vernarth himself. As they continued with their abstract journey, they remained to parade with the legal aid in his own mirage. He tells her that: "I see them beyond from where their ceremonies collide, they cross eroding the vanished reason of their itinerancy." They get up and take the ship's moorings and attach them to the neck. Then they all cooperate to walk along the edge of a tracontero's sooty ship, moving them all barefoot…, waking up at once! Vernarth, try to wake them up, shake them off, but they don't wake up. And when he tried to evade him from sleep, he saw that he had the ropes on his neck, along with two Unicorns who were escorting him and looking at the infinity of the uni-****** between them tied to infinity itself, supporting that Genoa was already coming in front of its antlers. The others began to wake up and ate reclined, almost without any desire to rasp the cover full of self-sliding and unctuous linen, which allowed them to pass each one their own aperitif from Apollo's head, surrounding them in their cohorts inclusively, being semi dissipated and rolling down the hatch cover. Etréstles transferred the dream to Vernarth, once he went to his bedroom to rest before they touched the roadstead. At the foot of the homonymous promontory, 36 km from Genoa; Portofino could be seen, close to some spiral planks that floated in their hydro form, with Apollo's eyes narrowed and circumscribed in the radius of his orbital process, with submerged herrings that frolicked from Apollo's zygomatic, and in the regional natural garden of Portofino. They found different entrance gates through San Rocco, Portofino Vetta, and Nozaregoino, entering with the agaves on the way with different levels of accessibility and auriferous perspective escape. The path traveled from northwest to southwest on the same promontory that was hidden, communing with all beauty the Mediterranean vegetation, with its beautiful pine forests, and bluish scrubs in the waters of the Mediterranean, filling them with itching lungs, and especially in the offshoots of the Kardiá , silencing the peaceful companions by the suggestive Natural adonis in the indigo abyssal eyes.

Vernarth wraps himself in two linen cloaks and a spárgana for Etréstles, then intervenes, eclipsing each of the Unicorns from his uni-******. They frank him with their antlers on their pectoral, loving him with the subtle hint of attachment that is born from a primal genesis. His gesture softened the expectation that crowned the Empire of his cohort, with the impetus of Arbela, and in the semi-precious Onyx Crowns in chalcedony ..., lightening the gavels of the semi-precious sleep that awakened them before reaching the shores of Genoa. The land in Genoa, all descend in separate fractions and say goodbye, distantly gesturing their signs and making retro gestures with their hands dressed in the mineral encrusted with their rapacity. The ramblings showed on multiplex-rays at the levels of a growling aura, which instigated them to the enclave's inn among the algae that levitated on the ear tags of the ducks, and of some ruminant bluish unicorns, to reinsert themselves into the world of the adjacent daily chores of the cornucopia. The ship luridly hovered in the indigo bay, where it spurred on the Unicorns that were returning back to Sardinia, positioning itself in the bow bulb and in the stern the other to lighten the sails and return to Izzana.

The Scarabaeidae sing: “The Vernarthian tenor of Kaitelka carried them behind her with another Ballenid, this one carried the Demiurge Ezpatkul, with his prominent Augrum or Gold teeth that turned on the backs of all the borer beetles, delimiting towards a dialectic, and paraphrase of a qualitative satirical, especially in the form of Vernarth's sub-mythological genre. The sacredness of the unicorns was the winner of all the dull fantasies, pretending to raise the rainbow over their senses, delegating them remnant spatiality from the growing infinity. To praise the hypothesis of this whale, she sang native arias and cephalization ultrasounds in Genova, where she continued to harmonize the media in her cranial cavity, and in the muzzles that reached the larger fins, transmitting waves of parapsychological regression towards Vernarth.

well...
                      there's either the chopping
down of a tree,
   or there's publishing a book...
then there's the:
          what's in here?
cockney?
       what's in 'ere?
            sometimes i find that
if a blind man was ever to see
this world, and "read" english?
      **** the hype,
            too many examples of
over-stepping eloquent syllable
intake / intra-punctuation
             i.e. in words...
            whatever buddha said
makes no sense unless you
allow yourself to meditate,
      while walking,
                   in the coldest month
(february)...
                    that is the earth beneath
the moon's zenith in the sky...
          unlike walking
outside your house
    and on the opposite sight of
the road, your neighbour
      standing like a shadow
                in front of his living room
window...
            am i to be startled?!
           walks the sheep-eyed goliath...
or as the proverb suggest:
  wysoki do nieba, i głupi, jak trzeba...
translation?
    tall to the heavens, and stupid,
                       as necessary...
me ******* boyscout eh,
   for allowing myself to craft
                   this remark / reminder?
so while walking i contemplated:
the car, the horse and the autobelt
manufacturing industry,
   the limb-less man and the sound
of my feet...
                  back in the day:
so many iron horses?
         then again:
                  is it really worth
                   the argument
to own a car, while
subsequently having to "own"
                           car insurance?
it's a great joke, concerning
    zee germans...
                              when a german
is pointing at something...
     how many fingers is he holding up?
i'll answer that question
  when the english drop the F,
slop on a V, differentiate
   between θeta cheese and
   φilosophy, i.e. Fe point?!
               iron point?
    ****, back into the jack-in-a-box
   lunar motion of the hands
     that constitutes the sign of
the cross gesticulation...
       for a minute, i thought
the whole pontius pilate
  gig of washing your hands
                 made more sense...
     technically a dog barking
  makes more sense to "me" these days...
or vou... i.e. though,
                            will there
ever be an "excess" reminder?
    if ever: it's this...
            what on earth could be
             hiding in an onomatopoeia?
poetry?
                 knock-knock...
       who's there?
                    roses are red, violets
   are blue...
                       it's almost like biting
your own hand, to ensure
           that a tongue will suddenly
sprout like the insides
                           of an oyster shell...
and if you haven't seen
    the complete output of
            alexand'r dumas
                                       on a shelf...
well... the pyramids can stand and i'll
**** in a sand-pit and call that -
           gisel, ****, *** note,
    jee-sel...
                     it's certainly not gee-sel -
      ji-sel!
                     i am literally walking
   on ruins that ought to be bricks,
                   but are actually egg-shells...
for all its worth,
                     english can be beautiful,
     and the higher you climb the social
ladder, that is the case in terms of
  holding opinions...
                         but on the technical side...
          not so much.
brick upon brick,
                           yet no wall stands.

Headmaster’s son
Skipped class
Entered theater
Life to Alter
Matinee show Shaheed
Worshipped Dilip Kumar
Like many before
Dreamt about Movies
Like a few followed up
Won Filmfare talent Contest
Frontier Mail to Bombay
Promised film stalled after start
Struggled even for a bit part
Anonymous in stature
Mononymous in Name
Debut in 1960
Finally part of filmdom
Small role
Mentor Arjun Hingorani
For a princely sum of fifty and a cup of tea
Still a novice
Women centric movies
Romantic lead in the Sixties
Meena Mala and Nutan
Supporting role with passion
Step by step rise
Salary raise
Accepted every role
Occupied was his goal
Villain to Jubilee Star
Filmfare Nomination
Sunil Dutt first choice
Destiny's voice
Phool Aur Patthar
Set on fire
Box office Register
Superstardom attained
Humility retained
First Action Star
Christened He Man
Shirt removed on Screen
Greek God looks
Women Swooned
Top ten lists
Most beautiful men
Ranked seven
Romance and Melodrama
Bollywood formula
Action film as chosen path
Rode the Lone road Superstardom under grasp
Looks Delivery and Fights
Made fans of Men &Women alike
Blockbusters galore
India's Superhero
Hit after hit
Audience explode
Cinemas full
Entry to Dress Circle
Needed a Miracle
Action and Drama
Tragedy and Comedy
Range of talent and skill
For one ticket fans would ****
All performed with ease
Endearing fans with range
Complete Superstar India’s Gain
Rajesh Khanna with Aradhana
Took the Nation by Storm
Adulation never seen
Sensation by definition
Costume Mannerism
Copied by every Indian
Every Star took a fall
Rajesh the magician
Stars faded into oblivion
Mass hysteria
Across India
First Superstar
Next 5 years none on par
Giants’ wayside
Stood his ground
Equal number hits
Second to none
Dedicated Fans
Built over a decade
Common man
Still wanted the He Man
Action and Adventure
Helped endure
Glorious career
Storm passed
Many faded
He never dated
He was fated
Test of time
Passed with Jubilees
No obstacle for water
Flows through all
Fridays proved
He’d never fall.
August 15 1975
Saw the release of Sholay
The greatest Indian film ever made
Said the Great Master Satyajit Ray
Top billed in the cast
One film showcased talent all
Action, Comedy, Drama
Cannot tell the Character and Actor apart
True quality of a genuine movie star
Many giants in the cast
He did help some get the part
Ensemble film
Even though the biggest star
Did not want to stand apart
Final product always in his heart.
70 mm Surround Sound
Entire country Theater bound
Never seen action sequence
Racing high the crowds pulse
Music Score by Burman
Records sold by the Million
Every dialogue known by heart
Salim Javed knew their craft
Ramesh Sippy knew to bring them all
Extremely well acted by the cast
Never will be another Sholay
Present future or past
Not to be seen but experienced
Its not a film but a phenomenon
Greatest Story ever told
Greatest cast ever assembled
Was the Tag Line
Global Indian Population
Viewership the film got
Not surpassed till now
Never will be
Every city town or village
Across the entire Country
Full house boards were not a mystery
Number of years it had its run
Till today box-office records undone
Yeh Dosti with Manna Dey and Kishore Kumar
Greatest  film Song picturised
Sizzling chemistry and male bonding
Friendship the central theme
Bullet with side car
Everyman’s. dream
Zanjeer with Amitabh Bachchan
Birth of the Angry young man
Indian Cinema never the same
Reached Pinnacle
Rode like a Colossus
One Man Industry
Steamrolled into one
Every Aspirant pushed
Donning Supporting Role
Every Reputed Writer, Banner and Director behind
Thirteen years
None had a career
Superstars became former
Stars to Supporting actors
Newcomers extinct
Old timers jaded
Galvanized Nation
Every release
Celebrations for fans
Faded festivals
Another Superstar
Bigger and Better
More popular than god
Elevated to one
Neither shaken or stirred
Matched Bachchan
With box-office Gangbusters
Hits became a habit
Fans and public
Yearning for more
Whatever the competition
Stood his ground
Megastar or Superstar
No dent to this Farmer
Paired with Hema Malini
Record Successive strikes
Result was Box office gold
Many a Phoenix
Flashed and Vanished
Shorter reign at the top
Never could topple him
From the moviegoers heart
Superstars became Supernovas
Younger generations
Had come to stay
Still stood in the fray
Never one to give way
Always had the final say
Held cash registers still in sway
Replaced Relegated
Never to be
Another name for longevity
Turn of the century
Completed 4 decades in the industry
60s 70s 80s 90s
Times changed
Many faded
Some retired
Contemporaries eased into character roles
Later lot fared similar
Star Sons made their mark
His sons did their part
Dawned the new century
Multiplex and wide releases
He never ceased to be a draw.
Man with a very big heart
Gave breaks to many a director and star
Never bitter Never insecure
Thanks people for making him a Superstar
Gratitude and love
His trump card
Became the Symbol of friendship
His Chemistry with Amitabh
Deep from the heart
Reciprocal in nature
Their oneness
Greatest gift of God
For the entire Country
Will be celebrated
For generations to come
Amitabh and his name
Always mentioned together
For every moviegoer
Till kingdom come
Till the universe remains
Etched in the hearts
Is his name forever
Can never be erased
That's true loves power
Men want to be him
Women want to be with him
Oldest cliché used for a star
Suits none better than this man from Punjab
60 years completed
From Meena to Mallika acted.
Done films with his son
Now with Grandson
There’s no one on par
Who's lasted so far
What can you say
About an Actor and Star
Captured a billion hearts
Transcended generations
In this delicate world of films
Who cannot be confined to any era
This timeless living legend
Is called Dharmendra.

While giving away the Cecil B Demille Lifetime Achievement Award to Martin Scorsese Robert De Niro famously said that Mr. Demille will be equally honored if he were to receive the Martin Scorsese award
Likewise Mr. Phalke would be equally delighted to receive the Dharmendra Award

this is an "etymological" petition, there's no "proof"
involved... let us just say,
   why do i never, and never will
cite an english "philosopher":
frankly? because there aren't any!
i know there are worthy examples
that kindly lend their tongue
to idle ears...
         but the english,
being counterparts of the swabians -
i.e. the saxons: are sophisticated
braggers of esteems -
    they parade upon the notion
that they are best as gesticulation,
fathoming their superiority upon
a gimmick! they they are superior
because of their accent...
      yet fathom half the work and twice
the leisure in competing with
the greeks in diacritical approach...
they really gave swallowed the
red herring... they never could
   keep dialectical approach to their
already shakespearean approach
of being two-faced sheep-shaggers
while pushing them off a cliff...
that's why i can't redeem or even consider
the english a philosophical race,
poetic, yes, but their demand for replacing
the greeks as: the "philosophers"?
that's too much, it was enough that they
imitated the romans and left the latin
script edenic...
  but to fathom an imitation of the greeks?
now you're pushing it!
******* bellybuttons of the world,
it has no bearing with greenwich being
the ******* meridian!
             you've pushed it, far enough!
you can be the "philosophers", once
you acknowledge diacritical markings,
and eradicate dyslexia!
          why are the poles so fathomable
with their tongue? clear, syllable, indicators,
diacritics = punctuation marks within
punctuation marks... which probably
means an enigma for you,
  and that subsequent paraphrase.
and it's an irony, i must call it
   german ironism,
                 for a people for efficient in work,
they were the ones to produce the most
philosophers worth citing,
i guess: once you become too efficient
you have to craft a tier of gifted bums...
intellectualism for your spare time...
which the german philosophers are,
bums,
            intellectuals that can fill a room
with more furniture than a carpenter...
odiously its very much imaginative / cognitive
furniture, kinda likefeng shui,
but less so...
               which is strange, since the germans
ought to be the last people able to think...
hence german ironism is a paradox
having replaced idealism,
   and the yiddish zenith...
       i think that's where god resides -
      his curiosity made him non-existent
in the darkest hours of auschwitz -
    he was like: huh? how the **** did that happen?!
there's a new fragrance in the air,
  it's not some englishman with his head
in a ****,
    it germanic, pure and simple,
   and only if it was the anglo-swabians
and not the anglo-saxons...
       ******* porridge-pie for all i care...
sure, john stuart mills,
       adam smith (an economist in the end) -
but the english are not a nation of philosophers,
which is odd, since they ought to be,
with however pointless jobs they invented
after having exported the meaning of labour to china,
and are the genesis of marxism,
which was tested in mongolia...
            oh, you didn't know?
yeah, mongolia was the laboratory in vitro
groundwork for communism -
mongolia = in vitro communism
   the warsaw pact = in vivo communism...
what?
       yet the persistency of the question
that is greater than a question per se -
for a nation of such ardent workers,
such efficient workers,
   such effective monstrous combatants of
economic prowess,
  who, sane enough among them,
could ever provide a book of philosophy?
   that's what i mean about german idealism
being replaced by das groß ironie -
the english have no chance in being philosophers:
it has become too cinematic for these people,
too: what's "real"?
    i can't treat them without a whip -
they are too an obsolete a people to compete
with either germanic or, (that dreaded association)
with the fhhhhhhench...
             the fwench! the fwench!
because the english have not allowed
    faking work, to making certain work
obsolete, they simply made working
obsolete, and faking the most apparent form
of work! no wonder that communism
originated in england!
   once more, if you don't like my scolding
whip-of-a-tongue to be on your case:
        in hope you enjoy the next bomb-blast!
but, how, how could the most efficient people
on this planet, provide enough time to
guarantee a family tree of philosophers?
   how could these people end up so
unimaginative and bored, as to provide the world
a kant, or a hegel?
           cracks in the ceiling i see: load the ark!
- and i will never cite an englishman's thought,
for the simple reason that:
   it's too late to test the englishman's
pompousness as the global meridian bellybutton!
about as centre as my ***-crack is to my nasal cavity
in my ****** geography.
       i can't cite them...
         i'll take these peoples seriously once
they wave goodbye to their multiplex romana -
and start bereaving their europeanism
akin to the icelandic peoples...
                 there is not a single greek among
them, they can fake it with their greek-cypriots -
but that gets you as far as feta cheese
            a shy kofta kebab, or a moussaka.
hence das groß ironie - for a people for efficient,
so engrossed in celebrating manual labour,
der deutschevolk, to be the rightful inheritors of
the greek thought?
         staggering...
unfathomable, unimaginable,
              but as the statement suggest:
  probably the greatest irony in world history...
i almost think there was no divine
intervention because of the creative output,
akin to a beethoven et al.
   i still will not cite an english "philosopher",
for there aren't any!
               and if there are:
they're probably as boring as any atheist is,
   or as any naturalist can be...
plus: it's not nice to shower others with compliments,
as it's never proper
   to admire another person's pair of shoes...
why? because you wouldn't swap them for yours;
the best advice you can give?
   do not give any advice.
               what's the worst compliment you can give
(akin to a woman asking what you're thinking)?
      i like your shoes.

p.s. i've only just realised,
the germans have so so many forms
of the direct article that the english
doesn't, without only the...
but like the rule shared among the two
languages, the indirect article is
plagued by its cousin english -
eine kangaroo, ein aphrodisiac -
                           a cat, an ape.

Red horizon―
had bite-marks
of setting sun.

On the table,
I will place all my oblique wares
for a change.

You embrace the strange
things, horns and all. The
dissection was accurate.

A multiplex opens the
gates for all the
lipless gods.

The maddening silence
of the priest was
deafening.

I will not come near the skulls.

Tolkien’s Shelob the Spider

                “…a great malice bent upon him…gloating over…
                  prey trapped beyond all hope of escape.”

                                     -Tolkien, The Two Towers

A poisonous lump of flesh in malignant repose
Her lair all befouled with scraps of souls
In life sought out with her multiplex eyes
Her Sauron-eyes - it was the hopes that died first

Should a sunbeam shine in, it would be darkened
Should a breath of air waft in, it would be poisoned
Should a sprig of green appear, it would be withered
Should a prayer be whispered, it would be cursed

A poisonous lump of flesh in malignant repose
Within whose realm of hate nothing ever grows

(allusions to The Two Towers and Beowulf)

Pagan roots a whisper, adding to my Thesis,
Then She works her Majick dearly, and feeds Telekinesis!
I've deterred realm muddied, absorbing all Demonic,
Not just Placebo, who hold No Go Zone Harmonics

Cover me in Monarchs, a favourite Butterfly,
And reattach my beside-Soul, as I roll up Mount Sinai.
That trek down Gilgamesh, HâH I finished in two strides!
And I fly round orbit, Fire Euphoric, with Earth-Heart every night.

Orpheus & Eurydice, Jezebel's Suffragette,
I Fly in a Witch Volcano, imaginative Lunette.
The only way out is within, I'll soak up all Infernal,
Then chew them up and spit them out! Please read deeper my mind's journal.

May you Cast the Circle, Thrice about, soft èYé and light of touch,
And savour no Voce unless you've spoke, and really Listen much.
For She expects in retrospect, to adorn your heart & mind.
And sail away from conquests Wiccan, if you are so Disinclined.

New Moon Gemini's Rune, it's got me all so Ritual,
Ancient Axiom Pagan, it's got me All Habitual,
Wayfaring Strangely Reconciled, it's served by Many Reasons,
And smiling as your **** ran down, A day for All Four Seasons.

A Light that's Burning Low, still floods Singularity Source,
And I prefer Snow and Sunshine, on the Same Day I speak of course,
All Roads lead to Home, and Rome hosts Colosseum,
And now Summer's Solstice Beckons, Marquis' shields down Igneous Unum

My Ceilings all transparent! Don't Worry or You Frown,
But What is All Apparent, journeys from my Heart to Crown.
Everything I touch ya say.. Hah, Genie rubs Divinity,
How Quaint again a Saint Emplane, you Bypassed Holy Trinity

Hex marks the Spot, be loving Hexadecimal,
Multiplex or not, I'll conduit All your Seminal.
I Found Peace in All Your Forestry, I Learned of Waters Flowing,
Cast out to Sea, so Mote it Be, Heart's 5D and Glowing.

I Now talk to Feathered Friends, down with Ornithology,
To Equate a Severed Aether, I Rewrote my Chronology.
Universal, Atmospheric, Galactic, Solar, Lunar
963Hz, we don't need Piano Tuner!

She served me Heart, where does one start, when all Rhodes lead to Roam,
Within Headwaters and those Two Daughters, sent in by D'orcY Gnome.
Mistakes you made, Great Lakes you Paved with your Clapped Out Clapperboard,
A Tagteam Willing, ten for a Shilling, a Major7th F Chord!

And then again, my Spiritual plane, was spoiled by that Gnome!
Into my life, my lovers, and evens in my Home.
I can't begin to work your Sin, your manipulation dwelling,
Well I'll tell thee, now in my Quay,
We cast our EA Spelling.

I place my Heart on Her forest floor, and listen as I whisper,
She speaks Back! But makes no sound, the same as Seven Sisters.
The Weight has Slowly Lifted, Usual Program Resumes,
For Ancestral, I shall blow to Ease Magdalene Wounds.

Widdershins go by the Waning Moon,

Chanting out the Baneful Rune,

Need the North's Wind, Magenta Grail,

And that's some Cache for your Eggs of Quail.

Akasha Spirit Come to Me,

Sèé Shapeshifter's Synchronicity.

And Ravaged in Adrenochrome,

Attempts my Soul, Rites in my Home!

Nein Woods in the Cauldron Go,

Burn Them Fast and Burn Them Slow.

Eight Words the Wiccan Rede Fulfill,

"An It Harm None, Do What Ye Will"

                          o O o
♎️

Lawrence Hall   Poems  

2d
Tolkien's Shelob the Spider
Tolkien’s Shelob the Spider

                “…a great malice bent upon him…gloating over…
                  prey trapped beyond all hope of escape.”

                                     -Tolkien, The Two Towers

A poisonous lump of flesh in malignant repose
Her lair all befouled with scraps of souls
In life sought out with her multiplex eyes
Her Sauron-eyes - it was the hopes that died first

Should a sunbeam shine in, it would be darkened
Should a breath of air waft in, it would be poisoned
Should a sprig of green appear, it would be withered
Should a prayer be whispered, it would be cursed

A poisonous lump of flesh in malignant repose
Within whose realm of hate nothing ever grows

(allusions to The Two Towers and Beowulf)

When we get there
and
no one asks,
'are we there yet?'
I bet
someone will want
to go somewhere else.

The end of the universe is
a multiplex cinema
showing black and white movies
on eight by four screens,
proving
you can please some of the people
if you make the loopholes or wormholes
attractive enough to be interesting
which in itself is interesting or would be
if you were interested.

I'm still in waiting mode
And I still can't stop writing
The time will come to fly
The time will come for fighting

Jesus was probably gay
Killed for unkosher ***
Un pequito hope
At the Multiplex

There must be women priests
Biology is strange
Magic Johnson, Larry Bird
More than Danny Ainge

Alex twice in this town
And in Tucson, Arizona
Casa Roble High School
On the bus with Kevin Blazona

Gonna keep reading
Libraries contain
Been to Portland, Oregon
Never Portland, Maine

          Good luck, Mr. Wayne.