Its deeper than the olden day slavery,
Because these days,the chains are unseen so getting help is difficult.
Souls imprisoned in fake bodies that need validation to feel fit enough to live. Modern day slavery.
Its spreading too fast,we might all fall victim. Feeling incomplete when you miss a trend that won't add any inch to your height nor value to your life; that's modern day slavery.
Its so normalised,its hard to realise its actually slavery.
Free yourself and take charge of your life!! Be who you are.

i dont know what you thought
you were in for
but equality means being ignored
when your pleas fall on deaf ears
you will know you have found your reward
congratulations
welcome aboard

i've seen a u.f.o.,
yep - a weird orb - hardly a helicopter -
and hardly an aeroplane -
i disclosed it once to a "friend" -
   apparently in europe the entirety of
the oddness of the universe can be caged in
the mind of a psychiatrist - that's europe -
apparently every odd observation
requires the secular
"priesthood" of psychiatry -
everything, has, to, be: normalised;
the sort of *******-tickle-talk
that allows you to return
to talking about the weather...
or yesterday's eastenders episode
on the by pedohpilia bankrupt
b.b.c.
  so? **** it, play along:
the funny people will crack any
time soon...
         even though i have seen
an u.f.o. i'm sticking the the british
take on "sensibility" i.e. lying.
so this paddy walks up to me,
a british citizen like any other,
but has this "royal" airiness around
him...
  he thinks i'm mere peasant
and he's a ******* monarch!
          he suddenly think i can't
comprehend english...
but he can... then i ask him
to recite the alphabet... paddy can't!
sure, you see a u.f.o. when
you have to immediately curb your
enthusiasm, because you're in
europe, and europe is "sensible" -
     so you practice your sense &
sensibility: see no evil, hear no evil,
speak no evil: but **** me:
think up a tier of horror
                  above the holocaust!
if we're allowing science fiction,
if we're allowing the "dream"
but never the reality,
  if europe discarded idiot priest
for a psychiatrist,
i'd probably prefer the idiot priesthood
to the secular "priesthood" that's
psychiatry...
        i've seen an u.f.o.,
but as you might expect, i'm "european",
i'm supposed to be the sensible one,
the never: over-fluttering in
excitement -
                       ****, i saw a u.f.o.
actually means: i saw ****, nothing
really happened.
            i'm occupied, the drinking is
hardly a drag, and the music i'm listening
to isn't that bad, after all;
hell, i must have been drunk watching
this electric light orchestra "glyph"...
you start to try to convince people,
   when the people try to convince themselves
belonging to some day-to-day
everyday mundane collective "sanity" -
**** it, you do what you have to.
a bit like this "surprise" regarding the
transgender movement...
         3 year old trannies...
   ever read r. d. laing's the politics of
experience and the the bird of paradise?
i hope to hell that r. d. laing will overshadow
freud, perhaps even jung...
after all: what glasgow giveth one
does not dismiss so easily...
                not without a brawling
spectacle in the back alley...
     what glasgow offers: one does not discard
even upon a 2nd reading.
                 and this is truly a topic of
the proper regard:
          all of politics is an aspect of experience -
as ever, with respect to heidegger:
   there's there-being -
but there's also mit-sein:
     with being, i.e. what?
                           mit-sein has no actual
coordinate to ensure a contract of
analogues -
             not a flat earth my aß...
you ever navigated a car via
    antwerp, eindhoven, venlo, duisburg,
  essen, dortmund, hamm, bielefeld, hanover?      
that serpentine is a ******* killer...
you travel east from that muddle of roads
you'll be a ******* general of the boyscouts...
      no, no GPS... play god, looking down
on a paper, yes, paper map!
            navigate that ****!
       oh right, 3 year olds and trannies...
why the surprise?

       jesus said to them:

   when you make the two one, and
when you make the inner as the outer
and the outer as the inner and the above
as the below, and when you make the male
and female into a single one,
      so that the male will not be male
and the female not be female, when you
make eyes in the place of an eye,
          and a hand in the place of a hand,
and a foot in the place of a foot,
        and an image in the place of an image,
then shall you enter the kingdom.
    (the gospel according to doubting thomas) -

so... trannies?  
              
      a ******* elephant in the room...
it's almost like people don't want to cite
where this entire zeitgeist furore originated from,
i.e. from the "heretical" gospels of
the "lesser" followers of "christ"...
         by now the whole affair
is staring me in the face with burning
coal-eyes...
            if only the nag hammadi
library was found in modern day israel,
and not egypt, and not the story of
the flight of joseph and mary to egypt -
   and not the account of the secular historian
josephus in the reign of nero,
   and the book of revelation ref. nero
rather than augustus...
               hey, i inherited this crap...
even though the old testament is ridiculous,
at least it's only so "ridiculous"
as to be "ridiculous" given the time-frame...
the new testament is just a blatant lie...
a blatant greek lie...
        it's the nadir of what came prior,
i.e. the excellence of poetic harvesting by
the greeks -
         the new testament is a death of poetics -
a religion carved out of:
    the uninhibited testimony of
ever perpetuating the hunger for the next
groove messiah...
       odd, jesus christ perpetuated -
             moses christ sounds a tad bit sour...

never mind, perhaps, sometime in america,
as it stands, in europe, we're stressing
keeping up appearances,
  we're being sensible,
                  we're being the apparently
"well-attired" -
                  there's a "we" that has agreed
upon the secular priesthood of psychiatry,
i'll just ask,
    is it worth the spectacular,
given that so many people are gambling
with the mundane?
       so? shut up, and try to laugh internally;
it didn't help me having either 1 of
the 5 senses to craft an account of
an oddity...
     i was told to step back into line...

   and this, by ordinary civilians...
           i'm pretty sure that army personnel are
more liberal to such odd events, than
your everyday grey-day joe:
you know the guy, you pass about 100 of them
in an urban environment:
that face, so unmemorable that it's almost
like looking at a concrete slab.

- you've seen a u.f.o.?!
- nope, i must have been blind drunk hallucinating,
  sorry to disappoint, ol' chap.

we look the same
common, seeking to find what we have in common
feeling that I should try to see you as friend
we share so much
but is that real
feel there is so much difference
now seek to know there is a difference
lest we sink into relativism
the gulf between our minds so wide
not just generational logic
it is more
tension of belief
it is in the weave
the texture and makeup of thoughts
warp and weft manufactured by stranger forces than we can imagine
and now try to un-imagine
so that we are all normalised into the tapestry
we find ourselves placed
our fibres are made of different stuff
elementally
broken down into constituent parts
we are alien to each other
dare to agree with you
and the masks barely hide the truth
allegory lost

@journeyofdays

it's language, of course i'll be desperately self-conscious and worried and ashamed like i had been caught with a thong, attempting being a transvestite; i'm a man, i ought to be on a building site! instead i have about a hundred chinese per head tailoring and making things tick... what is this ****?! what, everyone had a poetic potential in them? so poetry has become an excuse, the art of excuses? hey! eh! play the jockey part, i'll do the moaning from now on... be the cashier at a supermarket, i'll do the dying bit of the existential convention of the many trades being advertised to foetuses! well obviously when you make music free all art forms will follows; everyone forget Newtonian causality? good... which means you'll all be artists... in your spare time; i do truly wish i had the inhibitions of a labourer, a smithy, at least then i'd know my life was full; rather than being a scarce exhibitionist as guiding the normalised feeling of inertia, coupled with hopes via the digits of readership.*

i can't do anything more
to this poem:
a Hackney hipster (live editing);
i can feel the shame of not
owning a cupboard and putting
it in there, dyslexia what have you,
html typos etc.,
i guess i'm just worried
by the speed of your reading
misappropriating it to
a different meaning, and
undesirable activity via quote into influence
of expression that shocks people
and gives them straitjackets of hope.

i’ve learnt about enough online bullies to bully back

why do people immediately assume that pixel white = talk? where i'm sitting i'm curious: who's talking? must be scary to think pixel white as enough public to equate "speaking"... which it, never was... there's not speaking involved in writing onto this pixel white... if no one owns this space, no one gains from it, and if no one gains from it... then it's just another blank space; play your little hit-le-rs games elsewhere, i do gave the lessons and the gob to answer, but **** me... it's always so ******* predictable, i might as well be talking to someone fixated on watching EastEnders! big shark bite bad... sir just comes short of: are you sure who you're talking to?

if you've asked me to read your work, rather than provoke me... come on! asking is better than infuriating! i know that most people are infuriated at being asked, but not asking is doubly infuriating... i have ample time on my hands and hardly any excursions to bother myself with... Krista, don't read too much into the content without delving into the context, it's not a personal reprimand, or some viability into an answer of an allergy... i can retort to an immediacy of offence being taken, although an offence not being planned to encompass a narrative... so please, have something bothersome to plague me with, like caring to read your work, which i will gladly do, but please remember, the man on canvas is never going to satiate your attempts to reprimand the man due in conversation, sorry to disappoint; my offer is still vacant though.

internet drama**

it doesn't really bother me,
   i'm about to embark on a internet-free hiatus
for a month,
         perhaps it should,
but it somehow doesn't,
    a CSRF hack on my account in place
cross-site request forgery hack is in place,
why should i not be surprised?
all i know is that being reasonable
these days, is to not have an reason at all,
you can be as reasonable as you care to be,
  but madness has been normalised
and by the time we're finished,
the sane will entomb themselves in
the asylum, while the insane will run amok...
   umbrellas upside down
shouting: we're collecting puddles!
we're collecting puddles!
for a straight month i will be clean shaven,
hair trimmed, spending time
with sane, civilised people,
within the confines of the drama
that unfolds between grandfather, grandmother,
uncle, father, mother, me...
          and upon my return,
if the hack is still in place,
   i won't suddenly break-down and
whimper, i'll add a second tier post-scriptum
addition to each, of the 3K+ poems,
and then i'll a third tier,
    and then a fourth...
and perhaps even a fifth if i am
worth the bullshitting material,
  and then i'll revisit the turkish barber
and get a second trim,
    and then i'll watch the day advance
against the wintry night,
and then maybe, just maybe,
make me a snowman...
          the only way this gob is going
to stay silent is if you cut the tongue out,
cut the hands and then gorge the eyes out
with a crow's beak attached to a short stick...
i am well aware of my errors,
  although i am hardly aware of
the errors i perpetrated without being
allowed an explanation...
  there's but one aspect of high school
that i abhorred...
     the "need" for drama...
                    i hate drama...
     as any man would say:
  give me war! but don't give me drama...
              war is every man's mother,
when compared to the drama of having
a wife.

A fallacy, pretentious and normalised
Innately defined of which claims reality rejects
Encloses the screams of forced commitments,
Despair remains silenced,
No one wants to be here
But they can't cut off their limbs, or switch lanes
No one's done it without spiralling out of existence
Struck by constant revulsion on sight
Strings of sanity sieved from the sheaths of the conscious
The urge to assuage loneliness cruelly descending in deepened solitude
Soft hearts turned stone
Apathy dissipates
Boxed in, then locked out
Great walls erected to impede deserting  
Bricks piling on as bloodied fists and claws scrape to break them down
Grid never empties as more piles descend
a game only over when agony triumphs

Or maybe the soul breaks free to dance with the stars

It’s the heat of the moment
The warmth of hatred and blood
Spilt in consequence of my opponent
Eternity itself and I land with a thud
Unable to do a thing because it's not real
One, three, five, seven, ten: it's all surreal
The clock on the wall, it’s no good
Unhelpful as it's always wrong
A shift in reality as told by a chunk of wood
Only right twice a day; the same old song
Out of power; no more battery
Inside of me in awakes: my all-out anarchy

What is a girl to a God?
I stand before the cusp of infinity
As person, I am deeply flawed
Too much rage contained inside of tiny femininity
Want to throw a punch but I’m too afraid
Of broken bones and ****** noses
One day I’ll part the heavens like Moses
Because from my terror I have strayed
And into the eyes of all
I shall make my fall

A descent against time
Tick, tock
I hate it, I hate it, I hate it
The clock sneers on the wall; a paradigm
Of all that I rage against on lock

Numbers fall and rise
In heavy breaths, only one creature tolls for time
And that would be us: mad humanity who toils for a dime
We construct buildings of an unimaginable size
Against the hour we call home
And all for a construct of capitalism
With everything and everyone on loan
Parts of varying brokenness in a great schism

Time and time again, they chide
But we’re the only ones who remember
With pen and paper, our memories are tied
To the treasures of our ancestor

Yet how strange I find the passing of time
We’ve normalised it so much yet it couldn’t be more alien

But I refuse
It’s all an illusion

what an improvement, if they keep it up, working from: Κατά τον δαίμονα εαυτού, toward rituals - they'll be remembered in history, just like aphrodite's child, and i guarantee this to be true; you really have to build an edifice of religiosity.

stray dogs...
                                    you heard me,
poland is filled with stray dogs,
homeless dogs,
   homeless cats that live
in the cemetery and wait
for the next burial...
   no stray dogs in england...
i was the one who finished off
the roof on the battersea shelter
laying the slabs on the extension...
it's god awfully strange
returning to a monochromatic
society,
        you feel, what's the word:
bleached?
           it can be sometimes
irritable, but then again:
i'm bound to read a book in
polish immersed in the language
proper, without some english
background noise to
disturb me...
    the day when english psychiatrists
mishandled the case:
the day when bilingualism was
actually "schizophrenia" -
i could sue the n.h.s. if i wanted,
how can you misdiagnose
bilingualism as split-*****-for-a-brain?
       when i visited london
the only face i can now remember
is that of a homeless person -
  all the other faces are either
boring, or myopic blurry...
              not worth the storage space
in the memory compartment;
i have a child to tell me what's
worth keeping,
  the once obedient child says:
you've been taught what requires
forgetting...
all the lesson in school are
erosions of your psyche...
                you learn, but by learning
you clog the river of thought
(flumen cogitatus) -
        unlike the *labyrinthus cogitatus -
schooling erodes memory,
   pythagoras is a bit pointless
given newton and projection -
and other trigonometric guises of
expansion...
        ****** schooling, schitty life:
the only option being:
   learn from yourself, by yourself,
and feed that learning to no other than:
your self.
               the english, what can you say:
how did the greek establish a need
for diacritical marks, while the english,
in their pompousness didn't bother?
the ambition to remain of latin stock
fizzed up in their heads...
even the greeks returned to helen's
*****, away from the byzantine crown...
the english? no, they didn't...
which is why i'm writing in a naked
form of inserting pieces or whole sounds...
rule being: if there's still any saxon
in the anglos -
ßpin...          soma...    soup...
                            ßpeak...
          suggest -
                               sacrifice -
                  ßpark!
               you think e. e. cummings
spoke of orthography? you want
to introduce orthography?
listen... english is a blank slate of
a language, it's ready to be imbued
with diacritical markings to invent
an orthography in the language...
   let's begin with:
   a word beginning with an S is
a grapheme when it's followed up
by a consonant...
      ßpit!
                    but when it's followed
by a vowel - it's a normalised S;
          i.e. prolonged.
      and yes, the R devolved when the french
started harking at it,
  and the english started numbing the
rattler serpent hidden in R...
           stood the statue of the two tongues -
are we clear about what orthography is
concerned with?
                there are two options,
only one is aesthetically accepted:
   guwno & gówno - **** & **** -
                      miraculously w = ł....
              so the V salute...
                         gavron, gavron... gavron.
no, you don't see any stray dogs in
england, you'll sooner find a homeless man
sitting by a tube station outcast
than a stray dog...
in poland? you'll sooner see a stray
           dog than a homeless person.
O beacon of the civilised world!  
speak to me!
                     **** it, shut the **** up;
i've heard illuminating ideas to
construct a chandelier.
          - and i did sometimes pitied
wooden houses, when winter came...
      how i thought stone was marble,
and then i realised, placing my crow foot
onto the porch wood: warm,
staggeringly warm,
   wood is besides the cold -
    it's actually warm...
    at least wood does not insulate the cold
as the stone does...
    we have no talk of orthography in
the english tongue, if we do not have
diacritical marks introduced...
      'n writing back to 'ye ol' english -
with that ******* thy 'twine v'eh
          rather than a f'eh perfect word -
forget it...
        i'm past integrating into this tongue:
i'm into disrupting it, mingling by mangling
it silly...
                   might i add...
rotting christ ought to revise the song
   ze nigmar...
there is a crucial melodic element in the song,
it's barely receptible,
but it's there, shy,
like all the bass in metallica's songs...
       this song (ze nigmar) needs
to be revamped - it needs revision,
a remastering, so the melodic backdrop
stands out from the heavy guitars...
           given the guitars play a rhythmic
section, it would not bother the entire
track to spectacle the melodic element...
upwards and onwards with this
greek band...
                         oddly enough,
by this track alone (ze nigmar), i might
actually buy their rituals album;
nonetheless we're still stuck with english
in eden...
          you ever wonder why they derived
so much political power not having
revised the original latin script with
northern or southern revisions and
       additions?
   the birth of unaccountable accents comes
from missing diacritical markings -
and the reply goes:
  why do you have an accent?
an english man asks.
the person with an accent replies:
and why do you not have diacritical
marks that are all-too-apparent
                          in your lettering?
you can't fake orthography by Mm -
or for that matter,
why has your tongue been cyber-netted -
lost in the abyss of a.i. -
to have once written later to now write l8r?
   you and your digital "orthography" -
he discarded the hieroglyphs,
he discarded the cuneiform -
but kept the latin, to write out an electronic
base, and kept the coliseum for
the modern football arena;
  yes, **** grammar, **** pedantic -
         and if anyone's going to "dox" me...
it will be done by me, and me alone;
that's how i appreciate the "****" element
of things: the pedantry is the pivotal crux
of writing a confession of
  having established the likes and dislikes
of using a language -
  given that this tongue is but my second
and subsequently my last,
   i relish the fact that i was born to turn
this language into a tool, a hammer,
a blunt knife...
     and how others are born into this
language, and know no other,
  while some attempt an escape -
  others treat this language as the all-encompassing
crutch of expression...
              for me a tool...
    for them a safety wheel -
     for me a language i can deviated into
aggressive tendencies,
  for them a language used to cushion
my exploitative advances...
   true assimilation only arrives when
the acquiring party speaks the native tongue
better than the natives...
                     but still retains respect for
its genesis of born "loss" & subsequent acquisition...
one never deals in assimilation in
the hegelian terminology of master & slave -
in terms of language -
    akin to etymology being the other part
of history - more apparent, and always
more nimble in being resurrect at a glance -
to me english is a parasite -
                                  and i'm but a host.

****
Another school shooting
Why am I not surprised
I guess it's because
We cherish guns over lives

America the brave
Land of the free
Where we have the right to bear arms
But can't go to school in peace

We protest and riot
After a ******* Superbowl
But only offer thoughts and prayers
To the families of children
Who aren't coming home

We build walls
And set travel bans
But as long as you're American
Take your pick of our finest
AR 15s on hand

We parade around
For gay rights and feminism
And whatever the **** else
But when someone murders 17 children
We say it was his 2nd amendment right
And put our last shred of dignity
On the bottom of a dusty shelf

I don't want to raise my child
In a world where
Mass shootings are normalised
I don't want to live in a country
Where human life means so little
That the most we do is tweet
When innocent people die

To the victims of the Parkland shooting
I am so sorry the system failed you
And to the people with the
Power to make a change
Times been up
Now what the **** are going to do

i've already transgressed the applicable diacritical
markings, i've already hidden the
slavic "grapheme": sz in š -
    (in english that's a sz with a H - a sheep).
         language has to first become
mandible - "erroneous" -
                    it has to be bribed, it has to be
changed, it has to evolve into something else -
  and that's how it happens -
           matthew, matthias, mateusz, mateuš -
i can hardly claim self-love:
                                           but i adore my name;
i'm actually fascinated with names -
       whoever calls their daughter peaches is
to me: unimaginative.
                         i abide by no school-rubric
strictness of what ought to be diacritically
         acceptable -
             i transcend this base of implication -
and some words from the native tongue -
  kawa (kava) - coffee -
     cukier - sugar -
         mleko - milk
       woda (voda) - water
            wódka (vódka) - ***** -
           when - łen -
            łamanie - wama'nie - the breaking -
   orzech laskowy - hazelnut -
   again the graphemes rz (ż) and ch (H) -
              and that's truly an orthographic
statement.
                    
   scales of a dragon, tooth of a wolf:
witches' mummy; maw, and gulf,
        of the ravined salt-sea shark;
root of hemlock, digged in the dark;
liver of a blaspheming jew;
gall of goat, and slips of yew,
      slivered in the moon's eclipse;
nose of a turk, and tartar's lips;
   finger of a birth-strangled babe,
   ditch delivered by a drab,
                   make the gruel thick and slab:
add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
for the ingredients of our cauldron.

  as ever, macbeth and the three years
in edinburgh bribe my thoughts concerning
the first time atop arthur's seat -
   a city that's also the perfect compass -
overlooking the firth of forth -
     i knew exactly when looking
to the east, when exactly looking to
the north, and west, and south.

      besides the already said -
manhattan boils, and i'm simply bored -
  it's has becoming a boredom expecting
what's to be expected -
                 that's the problem with terror -
it no longer dreams big, the unexpected
has already become the expected -
    terrorism has become normalised -
   when it was al qa qa ida -
  has become no no norman -
     who the hell names their son: norman?!

ah, only 8 dead, that's nothing,
                 i'm just tired of the tirade -
should it, or shouldn't it come along...
              beside "being" defeatist -
             it's just the plain sight boredom of
the said narrative -
                   who will tire first is the only
question i have to ask,
  but never will ask...
       it's simply tiresome to defend the "good"
muslims...
            **** it, throw the whole lot of them
into the same bucket and start shooting
the same fish in a single barrel...
                          some people believe
that authentic plagiarism is an artform per se,
this is true:
  plagiarism isn't easy,
   i wrote one sociology essay by plagiarising
at university, i did it,
   because i wanted to check whether the computer
program in effect could actually detect
a plagiarism... funny... it didn't...
i got a first by carefully utilising a thesaurus...
it could have been a reverse result
                 of kasparov vs. deep blue...
but this isn't a case of plagiarising
   the berlin attack -
              the kaiser wilhelm memorial
    church at breitscheidplatz -
       you become tired of the excuses -
      after a while you are given the opportunity
to finally cut the throbbing membrane mark -
there is and there will be the distinction
we're entrenched in the: us and the them...
      added the fact that i don't agree
on the crux banality of history -
   historiology is nonsense to me -
     the anglophone is over-stretched with what
it "accounts" for as "genuine" history -
      big bag, dinosaurs, cavemen, monkeys...
stretch armstrong or what?!
                           i prefer the much simpler
view of history, namely, that i have already planned
a shortening -
  whereby historiology is replaced by
   etymology...
                         hence the interlude of native
words:
            chrapać - snore -
                   sen - dream -
          śnić - to dream -
                                  kaszel - cough -
and the debate between
        kasłać and kaszłać -
                        or the readied laziness
with a grapheme - agrippa -
              chequers and cappuccino -
grapheme assured - not roman siamese -
                    but nonetheless graphemes...
once more: the fluidity of language -
   one again: not all rules are made to be left
orthographically unbroken,
      ask a silesian about his mongrel
                     germano-pollack tongue -
                                           or the kashubian;
perhaps the rules of the orthodox tongue
rigid and schooled remain in a vault
in warsaw, but outside of warsaw:
                   the tongue is no iron -
            the tongue is clay,
                 and moulded in the image of
    the one wielding it, to his desire:
            lingua est non ferrum -
        lingua est lutum -
                        ludere deus /
                     das zunge ist nicht eisen -
     das zunge ist lehm -
                                           spielen gott.

right now i have a mind-frame worth of a Janissary, so don't **** with me!

i have what you fear... an, idea,
is that not, the case?

            there few men that
delve in fear of idea,
                 new york is no odessa....

americans deserve the swine and
swivel - and the stench
of the immortality of nations....

if your beloved be Baghdad,
mine is l'vov...
as is your precious Constantinople....

byzantine...
                        unto my wish
sultan Mahmet....
the roma the bulgar...
the serb abnd croat...
                  i have you heel...
                    i have too by blinding
a deserving alliance...
a father's unsaid words...
                  most welcome the
undeserved,
                      a revealing scapegoat
of a a master,
                     what futile labour
of the 72 ****** awaiting whip & tail...
                                    
            no crimea the tartan tongue
worth speak,
and no *battle of tannenberg,
    wert sprechen...
                     united europe?
brexit unison?
                            apparently there's
no unison concern for a hasting's 1066...
you, ******* idiots!
                          learn a  bit of history
of your neighbours,
before you juxtapose your own,
upon the others! *******,
english, brats!
                      i hate the english for being
so ******* isle abiding,
they think they're icelandic but can
hardly compete...
               they have so much history
outside of europe that they're confused
about being european,
in than europeans have a history...
                 and they are dislodged from it...
the irish know more about england
than the english known about england.
n'ah, you know what, **** it,
   i'ld rather be a turkish white-boy slave
in the ottoman empire
than normalise the nag hammadi library
of keeping the narrative of:
it's safe to say, the madness of trans-gender
adolph ****** is pinching the revival
button...
        no... i'm not signing up to faking
the 2.0 of the next crucifix...
                               count me out...
i'm done...
                            first you flirt with
normalising schizophrenia,
before you "flirt" with "normalising"
the transgender,
    then you tell me where "la la land" is,
then you let me torture peter pan,
and then we torture alice in wonderland,
simply because you ******* normalised
a madness that requires institutionalisation,
the sane are deemed mad,
the mad are deemed sane...
                         you pushed the wrong
buttons, for far too long...
**** it, i'm pushing the
                        apostasy button...
looks like even though i drink, excessively,
islam will welcome me...
why? BECAUSE I'M NOT AS ******
UP AS YOU ALREADY ARE!

Every day hundreds of people

Spit on me, yet I remain unruffled.

I have normalised humiliation.