You can yank me out of Yorkshire but I still want Yorkshire pudding
You can send me south but I’ll still go bargain hunting
Even though it is that I live in the South
I still have a hint of the northern mouth
Well that’s what the southerners say
But I’m sure to you it doesn’t sound that way
Anyway regardless where I am at
I’m Yorkshire bred and that’s a fact
To present this case to you
Some traits of yours; I have a few
I chose cheese to partner fruitcake
And forever search for savings to make
I always speak what’s on my mind
Which at times southerners think unkind
Though they themselves aren’t so good
When it comes to small talk in moments stood
A stranger is a momentary friend to a northerner
Whilst the southerner stands awkwardly waiting
I know which I would rather be
Let’s just say it has its’ own tea
So I am most pleased to see
That so much of you has rubbed off on me
For you my northern family
Are in my thoughts more than you know
And without you I would not be so

I am an exoskeleton
Falling to pieces
Half alive yet entirely dead
Crumbling and translucent
Delicate, and drifts, fluttering
With a single breath from someone
Nearby
I could be crushed or mangled
By a strike of the hand or a flick of a finger
But because I am considered beautiful and strange
I am kept preserved
The world revolves around beauty and
Oddities and I become one of these
Studied anomalies, a curiosity, merely
Because I am not like them
I am Oriental
And Occidental
I am a Southerner
And a Northerner
I am malnourished
Yet well fed
I am thin and short
But my stature belies my power
I am a geek, nerd, braniac, dork, and overachiever
But remain a stupid, ignorant, procrastinator
I am certainly an curio; a
Living
Breathing
Walking
Oxymoron

London fashion designer ­Carmina De Young is bringing her first ready-to-wear collection to market with the support of two local fashion mavens, wardrobe and image consultant Susan Jacobs, and business mentor Gloria Dona.

De Young’s Spring/Summer 2016 collection is now available by appointment at the Pop with Purpose studio,

The studio recently held an informal fashion show featuring De Young’s collection.

De Young was born and raised in Puebla, Mexico and discovered her passion as a young child, taking inspiration from her mother’s creative flair for fashion and design.

A graduate of Fanshawe College’s Fashion Design program, De Young’s clothing has been showcased locally and on national platforms, including at Vancouver Fashion Week and at the Caisa Fashion Show at Western University.

De Young started her own label in 2012 and now has a 25-piece ready-to-wear collection ranging from office to casual activities to a night on the town.

Each piece is available in size XS to XL with prices ranging from $79 to $259.

Instead of trying to break into the notoriously-difficult retail market, Dona and Jacobs offered to bring the De Young collection directly to London women through the Pop with Purpose studio.

“We love that we can offer women locally designed and manufactured clothing where they know the designer and know that they are helping make dreams come true,” says Jacobs. “There’s power in that. It’s incredible.”

Topspin scoops award

London-based Topspin Technologies Ltd., has been awarded the Synapse Life Sciences award for innovation in health. Their product, the Topspin360, beat out more than 60 invited applicants for products that demonstrate an innovation in health in Ontario.

This award follows the London-based Techalliance “Techcellence” award the company won earlier this year.

The Topspin360 is the first patented training device that helps improve neck muscles to reduce concussion risk.

Theo Versteegh, who earned his PhD in physiotherapy from Western University in 2016, developed the device after watching the Sidney Crosby hit in 2011 that caused his concussion.

Versteegh found that many sports concussions are the result of the whiplash effect.

The Topspin can be used in all sports, especially those at high risk for concussion, and also in military applications.

Northerner joins Fortune

David Ramsay, a former cabinet minister in the government of the Northwest Territories, has joined the board of directors of London-based Fortune Minerals .

Ramsay has more than 20 years of elected public office experience in the Northwest Territories. His cabinet portfolios included industry, justice, transportation and public utilities.

Fortune is working with three levels of government on infrastructure projects important to the success of the company’s NICO gold-cobalt-bismuth-copper project in the Northwest Territories.

One project is a 94-kilometre all-season highway to the community of Whati, northwest of Yellowknife.

The road is supported by the Tlicho Government, a Dene First nation and would reduce the cost of living and improve the quality of life in the outlying Tlicho communities and promote economic activity. Fortune has already received environmental assessment approval to build a spur road from Whati to the NICO mine.

Delta hosts bridal show

The London Wedding Professionals will hold their second Bridal Showcase at the Delta London Armouries on April 30.

The event offers a smaller, more intimate experience for brides to meet local wedding industry experts, ask questions, and get inspired for their wedding day.

The show features products and services from professionals including gowns, photography, florists, venues, DJs, hair and makeup and wedding planners.

The showcase also puts a focus on inspiring brides with Vignettes throughout the space showcasing different themes or colour palettes.

The show runs from 11 a.m-3 p.m. and admission is free.

Student makes his pitch

Sean Cornelius from St. André Bessette Catholic secondary school in London is one of 20 teenage entrepreneurs heading to Toronto May 8–10 to compete in this year’s edition of the Young Entrepreneurs, Make Your Pitch competition

Selected from the 204 two-minute video pitches entered, Cornelius earned the right to participate in a Dragon’s Den-style pitch contest at Discovery, Ontario Centres of Excellence’s annual innovation-to-commercialization conference, to be held on May 9 at Metro Toronto Convention Centre.

Hamilton Road looks ahead

Business people in the Hamilton Road will hold an information meeting Wednesday about the creation of the Community Improvement Plan that could lead to the creation of the Hamilton Road Business Improvement Area. The meeting will be held at 7 p.m. at the BMO Sports Centre on Rectory St. and guest speakers include Mayor Matt Brown and MPP Teresa Armstrong.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/****-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses

I reference this not as the flower just of nature but in this case for the fact it is our anniversary this is an
Oleander of my heart yes the heart is a house all of my feelings and emotions are housed there the
Flower I choose to write about is my sister my wife’s sister Liz it’s kind of appropriate since she was the
Only one in our wedding party as we were married before a judge I guess she was a witness a witness to
The crime as it were to describe her I can use Roy Orbison’s song pretty woman a blonde cutie with
Southern roots in Tennessee now she is a near Chicago northerner take southern nights and northern
Bright lights infuse them with grace and charm you have begun to see the Oleander that lies beyond my
Door yard along my walk and borders the yard of my heart the glistening in the spring rain if you get real
Still you can hear tiny sounds of laughter among the joy filled faces the scented bloom fills my living
Room where ever I am eye catching satisfying delightful spring and summer what a wonder the spilling
Forth of fruitful life she matches the rose in pose an attitude of significance tinged with just enough
Brashness to hold your attention until you become beholden to the inner life that shows character
Wisdom authority a driven wind that lays down in the most beautiful fashion only to arise and make the
Trees sing the glass to shake in the most enjoyable way all in unison they dance the eye stormed by this
Profusion of elegance and color truly a best friend to the wayward wind carried near and far secrets rest
Within the heart that the Oleander knows and claims in darkness unflappable a sweet ghostliness an
Arbor found sweetly remembered but never forgotten unspoiled withstanding the day’s heat showing
Resilience a buoyancy of sprit uncommon the thrill that runs with deep rootedness when the sharp wind
Does blow she through power of will brings calm a flourish of maturity so lovely that is outstanding in all
these gifts she provides the greatest is she calls me friend thanks sis

Somewhere along the road
Frozen deep at home
I'm not dead yet
But I'm still alone

Melt me with a baseball bat
Crush me to bits
I'm not dead yet
But I still feel like ****

in exercising the rights of what most men want.
joy, independence and a way to make a living.
to be strong and to be able to hold on whenever
the northern winds decide to blow.

the northern wind blows and you know how cold
it can be at times. we need the shelter for protection.
a wall to hide behind when everything else that's pushing
us around seems to give away but not this wall.

it's tough and it has a job to do and that is to break the man
of weakness but the wall would rather you take it on because
it's designed to build character in all men who's brave enough
to fall into place at the right time and your protection will be granted.

blow wind blow, give it all you've got because here I stand as a man who has faced the tidal waves of the coldest seas yet I refuse to let it
take me down.

a good man who's down on his luck you can best believe that when that old northerner starts to blow again, you can look forward to meet another and greater challenge.

Perspective is everything darling.

Anything you put work into you begin to hate and anything you put money into you love, so its a constant cycle.

I was a mad independent individual and you broke me down to be a weak dependent among other people.

I loved feeling something new.

The stories I used to respect and look up to were becoming my own, even if they weren't much.

Always put your well being, career, and dreams before any person or thing. Your life comes first and that perfect kind of love comes after.

I hate feeling helpless more than anything in this world. Even in the small moments when your feet dangle while you're riding passenger with a person you don't know very well and you're having to laugh at every awkward topic the driver brings up trying to start a conversation.  'It's polite' is what you've been taught but whatever happened to a deep conversation right off the bat?  Whatever happened to meaning and opinion and stories and not just a casual small talk everywhere you go? I want to be told something that will make me remember you. Tell me about the time you got so drunk you ended up sleeping alone in a field and the stars were the only thing that mattered at that moment, there weren't any other issues to cloud your mind and your bottle of bourbon made the best companion. How you had this unexplainable feeling of living in the moment, like nothing else could ruin your peace.  I don't want to hear who won the most recent game, I don't want to hear about the current event taking over the news channels. I want a story.

Some friendships come together quickly and you wonder how you hadn't known this person earlier. They meet up and get all intertwined with each-other and go crashing like a comet, burst into the ground and destroy everything in sight. Some are gradual friendships, the two can spend time apart but still grow together over time. I call these perennial friendships because they will return every year.

My dad was always a big hairy question mark sitting on the couch. He watched brave-heart, liked old westerns and cheesecake, was an Elvis Presley fan and liked cars. Fast old cars. He loved God and hated Obama and his views were oh-so traditional that sometimes you wished you knew why. You wished you knew his whole story but he kept everything private. That's all I know about him and I grew up in the same house as him. 20 years together and that's all I could tell you. There was apparently a lot in his past and he didn't talk much. When we went out to eat we could have a full meal in silence and it wouldn't feel awkward at all. I was told I took after him in a lot of ways and one of them being that I was an extreme introvert. I called into a radio show when I was 8 on fathers day and they asked what celebrity my dad reminded me of, "John Wayne" I replied. The host sounded surprised to hear an older actor, "and why is that?" he asked. I gasped for some more breath because I was so excited I would hear my voice on the radio, "because, he always says, "thatll be the day"". There was an eruption of laughter on the radio and when they played it I blared the stereo so my dad could hear.

As I got older I sort of hated and loved when I would see patters in personality occur between my mother and I. I used to make fun of her laugh and her hair by calling them witchy, but then I noticed once I was a little older that I had both of those things and that I loved this description at the time. The sound and tone of her voice was another, I made fun of her for being a northerner but never pronouncing a G at the end of her words; "Goin, movin, talking, we'll see without pronouncing the break, so it sounded like well. I would catch myself pronouncing those words in the exact same tone and I'd say to myself *******.

Money is a trap as much as it is a tool of freedom. With money you can do whatever you want as long as you continue to make it, and making money can become a trap within itself. Without the need to make money constantly you can have the freedom to do whatever you like but without that money you are limited with what you can do with that time. So if time itself doesn't slap a pair of cuffs on your hands, money will.

I don't like playing games I like winning them.

I'm talking about defining our own personal generation, if we were to define our generation as a general whole it would be dubstep, iphones, social media, and street-culture wear. But we are an almost underground type of generation, alternative I guess. When the generics of our generation are going to sleep we are rising, with our Acapulco, our records, our high life tall boys, and our ink. The wolves come out at night.

I want to play piano on your black flag tattoo. I want to sit around the fire and watch you howl at the moon. I want to lay my head upon your chest and hear your heartbeat pace I want to sit back in your bed and watch the sun illuminate the place.  

His favorite song was Tom Sawyer by Rush but he reminded me more of a HuckleBerry Finn. Rolled pant legs, straw hat, and barefeet everywhere he went, always on the go, always yelling and dancing and even the way he smoked a cigarette was attractive to me and only me. He had a James Franco look about him when he was cheesing. It was those smile lines around the eyes, it killed me. He ruined the look with a head full of hair he was growing.

Rushing anything is never a good thing, good things take patience.

The morning air freezes in my lungs,
My chest tightens
My hands are too weak
To hold the panic down,
It rises up from the ground
And wraps itself around my ribcage

The cold has me exhausted
And it's only November

I need to stay focused now

More pain is coming

I take the frost on my windsheild
Like a glaring warning:

"Breathe now.
This is the calm
Before the storm"

I feel like the mountains are laughing,
They see what's coming before it
Reaches us
And they know how ill prepared
We'll always be

They think it's pretty funny,
The heats up all the way
But it's only circulating
Bitter air
In a tauntingly rhythmic
Motion

I am staring into blank space,
Snow blind
And shaking

You are where the pavement is warm
All year long,
And no one ever asks
You to feel their blue hand
On your pale cheek bone
So how do you know what
Sorrow tastes like?

Yeah, I've cried in the warm sun
But it's a unique depression
When it feels exactly like
the whole coast is crying with you

I let every call go to voicemail,
I need more bad news like
A hole in the throat

This is when the overdoses
Start to pile up

My friends are broken
I'm glad I never got there

The cigarette in my hand
Is shivering
While I hold it out
Into the elements,
Unprotected
It fights the stillness,
The thickness,
The grayness
Of Almost-Winter
With its small bit
Of raging fire
But it stands no chance
And as soon as the center
Gets damp,
It starts to taste like cancer
So I drop it over ice...
Watch it try to follow my car,
Watch it fail
And extinguish
Into the ground

That reminds me
I should really call you back
But I'm so tired baby

And sometimes
Maintaining anything
Feels pretty pointless

The earth inhales,
Kinda wheezes,
It sounds too much
like the last three gasps
Of a dying man

Do you know what it's like
To be as tired as the day you're in?

Days are never tired in the south

You'll never know darkness like a northerner

We can smell the bruises forming

The waves, I see them all encompassing me now
My tail—the green scales, look out
Won’t you look out?
I might surprise you.
Look out.
All my life I whispered to myself,
One day I’ll fly away.
Alabama sunrises, pool tables, and whiskey kisses.
Look out
Because one day I’ll fly away.
Sitting in the black box theatre
Quietly, just quietly now
Tears fall away?
One day.
Wings will spread so look out
Time, hours, and ticking clocks
Echo that my maidenhead should be wed.
But going forth, I went and recited lines
In front of judges
That’s the life I have signed up for.
Unafraid, unsure how to repeat Shakespeare’s depth.
Just look out though.
For I will surprise you, my tail and I
As we jump, fly, and soar through the muddy ocean.
Philadelphia, you swept me up like a lost little girl.
I remember my jet black hair
And large innocent southern eyes
So much. So much.
Constant escalators, smokers, talkers, and homeless begging for a bite
A bite.
I looked around wondering
Who can I hold onto?
Who will take care of me?
Take care of me.
Wont you please take care of me.
Watch, watch me now.

My acting teacher asked me to become a snake.
I hissed and crawled, my eyes taunting
This is the life I signed up for.
Such beauty and fear in it all.
I soon fell, fell into a boy I hoped would lift me up
Leaving southern society and past loves behind
I hoped a northerner would set me up right.
Dishes thrown on the floor, screaming violence
Everyone’s watching
Can’t you see
All the actors are watching
The audience cannot cover their eyes.
I covered my eyes.
I ran around bars that summer
Sensuality in the air.
Returning to Philadelphia for the 3rd year
Letting go of the past
Walking away from the violence
Ready to embrace it all.
Soon again, whisked away through whiskey
And the smell of your cigarettes
You were supposed to mean nothing to me.
“The blood of water nymphs courses through your veins”
Pulling back the branches, trying to find myself through the faces of men
Lone little southern girl needs her hand held
Lone little girl
Look out, she might just surprise you.
From one man’s lap to another.
Tell me who I ought to be.
Love, the love we shared
We might as well have been on different planets
But the smoke clouds and intense love that surrounded us
We tried to brave the audience
But I slipped away.
Slipping, diving, into being the brave woman.

Brave Woman.
Legs intertwined with
The cities wind
Snow drifts down and falls into my eyes
Unafraid of what could be.
Will I cross paths with him today?
Wonderful.
You are wonderful.
He whispered that to me
And though we do not utter sounds
It will remain always.
And just when I think—my wings are out?
A bonnet on my head, a large white wedding dress
And toothless grins, I am surrounded by them
But watching it all disappear like smoke, he too disappears.
Bohemian lover.
I had to wash you away this time.
I see this moment replaying in my mind
The summer night’s sky
Wanting nothing more than to surround myself with you
But now, it’s the coldest winter I’ve ever known
But I walk through it
My eyes wide with bravery.
No longer running after care
To be taken care of.
You must love yourself.
Put yourself first.

My tail, I see it glide and glimmer
And fat mermaids, they swim around me
Their multi-colored dreadlocks
Whisper “be sensual, be free”
And in this city, this city I dove into
All on my own.
Look out, she might just surprise you.
Its true, my parents worry
“Be safe out there.”
Safety
Guns held to faces
Money dropped on the street
If only we could all save one another
But gliding like the night
Swans take flight all around me
And this time I won’t hesitate
This time you will have to look out
Shields down, throw the bread in the air
And the swans and I
We will all graze together
In one terrifying troupe
And we all know it,
Our beaks they will retract with anger
And we might start to bite those that harm us
Sharpness and poison in such beauty
But fear not,
The swans and I
Swaying, looming, dancing
We will keep the beast at bay.
Leave it for the stage.
He said to me the night I made human mistakes:
“What was I supposed to tell them, she was doing a scene’?”
But here we are now.
Staring at the face of my beautiful black haired best friend
“Atleast we know we are better people because of it. We can someday find what’s good for us.”
And I will smile my sly smile, as her words become recorded here.
But I won’t bite, I promise love I won’t bite
And I will see the dancers with heavy hands—they cannot even hold them up.
But with their heavy hands, they come slithering towards me
Trying to push and fight me off
Blame yourself, it’s your fault.
Shove, push, that’s all you did.
Acting and not acting.
But their heavy hands, I know it now
They will fall to the floor with them
And with careful and steady glimmering eyes
I will take a look at the “scene” before me
Heavy handed ballerinas
They lay on the ground like shattered skeletons.
No longer needing my hand held.
Wings, sharp beak, and white beauty
Transformation.
Such a transformation.
Reinventing, crafting, clawing
But at peace.
Convulsing in the most graceful way darling.
Green scales and the ocean still calling my name
Flying above it like the pendulum in the grandfather clock
Of my Alabama home.
We will sound our most elegant sound
For.
For before.
No, only now.
Now.
Staring into the beautiful face of now.
Soaring.

Seven Foot Sickle Bar Mower

Lifeless on a patch of Wear farm swallowed
up by time marked in jimson and honey vine
milkweed to the eyes of a city boy, worse
a northerner, shoeless, shirtless, tanned but

for pale omegas of a low tide flat top wreathing my ears
white shading to blue at the temples, prayerful snakes
sleep late coiled around clutches of my nightmares.  

Oil can like the oil can that lubricated the Tin Man
brandished jail break file in the other hand
grandpa circled the scorpion striking at the lethal tail
silvering edges of serrated teeth, eyes shadowed

by the brim of his pith helmet, liquoring bushings
gone dry in the heat while I sat watching
from the open palm of the Ford NAA Jubilee tractor seat

bearing witness to the honing of blades against high grass
bearding the branch, touching but not touching
my father’s face swimming naked in the quarry
pond of grandpa in profile, angled low above

the linkage mechanism, steel on steel, shadow
against light, my hand rolling fine red clay dust
into thin snakes against my smooth cheek.

To drown is to feel more bleakly alive
Than the gold studded bees in a sapphire hive.

To choke is to breathe in the Northerner's wind
that exhumed itself from the smile he grinned.

To burn is to feel the passions he hides
that tear up his heart and corrupt his insides.

And to live is to feel like you're finally dead
Because life is not life, when it gets to your head.

We get our seniority
but
it's like bungalow priority,
you have to wait your turn.

I'd burn the flamin' lot of them
build houses fit for working men.

We are down there at the bottom of
the list
and they wonder why we're so *******

I think they're getting off
on poverty
it's
***** for high society.

I've seen 'em come and watched them go
it makes no odds to me,
I'm a poor old knackered Northerner
I don't get seniority
just a kick in the ***** from them
in the halls and the mansions on top
of the hills
but I thank my lucky stars
for the National Health and
its
wealth of pills that help me to
forget.

Is it so terribly rude of me
To say I couldn’t care
About this royal wedding *******
That’s hanging in the air

The fancy hats and celebrity suits
That flock round the regal brood
Spouting posh words and fancy nothingness
Really put me off my food

Not content with stealing the limelight
Theyve even wangled the sun
Scarcely a drink seen in the palace grounds though
Do they really call that fun

Here’s to Harry and Miss Markel
But sadly I won’t be sharing your day
Cause I’m a gritty moaning northerner
With far to much to say

Oh there is bit of excitement
Elton johns just dropped a *** of money
And a pigeon has flew down and nicked it
Now that is really quite funny

בעל יתושים

i've found him! hiding in plain sight! right there on the crucifix! the lord of mosquitos! the greatest troll that our pandemonium has ever known! look at him, in his glorious blood-thirst, it's not enough to merely drink blood, he had to metaphor wine as blood! our greatest asset so far! you can call him Jesus Christ if you want... fellow of the Milton & Co., didn't he call for a blood-lust, didn't he spawn myths of vampires, didn't Elizabeth Bathory bath in ****** blood of peasant girls? weren't the two world wars staged under his stewardship... wisdom?! what about the wisdom bound to / associated with the Milton & Co.: i.e. better to rule in hell than be a servant in heaven? son of god my ***... b'ah al' ya'tuś / ya'tuš (depends how you want to interpret the Hebrew shin: שׁ, שׂ, ס) - but that's only an approximate for the name of Jesus Christ from where i come from, or rather, where i am going, after all... the above name refers to Lord Mosquito, not the Lord of Mosquitos, but we all know that Lord of Mosquitos is implied... the great troll - by the modern definition of the word - that ever existed... come to think of it, what the hell happened to the archangels, Michael, for example? didn't the archangel Michael become a St. Michael... to begin to contemplate... angels being demoted, degraded to the status of saints, standing on equal footing with plumbers, with fishermen... being elevated to the shared status of... sainthood? right... well... if we're going down this route... Lucifer... ought to be known as a transgender queer anti-social... "thing"... Lucifer can become Lucy... Satan can become Samantha... Beelzebub can be known as Beatrice... Behemoth can be known as... Bohemia: i don't know, some people have decided to call their children Peaches... not Peach... but the plural... sure, "something" died on the cross on the mount of Golgotha, for me what died was the entry point for hell to reclaim its reign... to usurp the construct of nature... that the weak might control the strong, how easily this foundation might be willing to crumble... the strong just play along, they just, play along... all, played out on the event horizon of Damocles' Sword hanging from a single horse's hair... violins?! since i see past what Christianity is, not even Nietzsche can entertain me... the Hebrews know all too well what power this little gnat of a whinging philosopher proselyte, "philosopher" - whatever... among the elders it has been agreed upon: no more of this bloodlust... we are done with wanting to purposively strain people down the wrong path... we have become... quiet simply... BORED of these zombies entering our domains that we'd rather recycle via the Hindu deities than give them a fixed point of consciousness that would allow them to stretch it toward eternity... no, sorry, these people need to be recycled: i wish we could allow them entry into the eternal domain, but then they'd just be... sort of... static... sort of... *******... sort of: 'my mind is made up and i acknowledge no higher authority!' sure, sure... i guess zombies would be more entertaining than such people... regurgitating mantras, prayers... they need to be recycled, i personally don't know whether worthwhile people are reincarnated... but recycling is a common theme in this realm... might as well... it's not like anything will get through to these people, we're talking quotas... people need to attend football matches, just like some exceptional individuals need to become football players... Islam? ha... what... that religion born from the son of Abraham's concubine? by lineage, of course... among the monotheistic religions... the ******* brat of the lot... drop them this and... they ought to shut up... eh... good old Nietzsche... once you take up my perspective, there's no going back... literally... who instigated the blood-baths of the past 2000 years, the Reformation, the World Wars... wasn't it... Ba'al Ya'tuś'ēm? you can literally **** around with whatever diacritical markers you want, to drop the apostrophes... let your mind wander... like the wandering mind of a Hebrew... last time i heard this little brat of ours was making new progress in Africa, having solidified his place in South America... even hell requires a hierarchy, but this... "lord" is like a virus that needs to be stamped out... or rather... controlled... or rather: he needs to learn to know when to stop... he's almost like a grown woman... i mean: children - regardless of their *** are not given the same freedoms as some grown women entertain... notably with regards to public officials, staff in venues, hospitals, shops... he's sort of like a "Karen": in spirit... sure... great... if his crucifixion happened in a culture akin to the Aztecs?! YAWN... blame the Hebrews... for what?! the elders back then knew that he was suspect... as to why or how he became incarnated in flesh is beyond me... for me: he was forever a festering wound in our arsenal, in our prospect of bringing forth all that arts that Prometheus began with... alchemy, medicine, engineering, the prospect of man's better future... "hey-zeus" etc. was always going to bring stagnation... since? at least in a time when the strong were strong and the weak were weak: the strong could defend the weak... now? hey presto! i do my ****, you do yours... let's see who the preditors single out.

i've just spent a day filling out the form for a module 3 of an NVQ for crowd management... brain-numbing...
literally brain-numbing...
skull-itching doesn't even cover it...
do most people exist: within this framework
of language: they never find an escape plotline?!
they must do... since so many comply to rigidity and
ridicule...
it's not even boring... it's painfully-obvious...
i've already proven myself in practice before
having to scribble down some "theoretical" details...
oh... but wait... i can't actually use examples by
experience in a theory-based test...
what... a... load... of... *******...
you walk up the gangway with 20+ odd Yorkshire
beefcakes from Leeds?! oi... mate... ******* from
this route... i'll be coming up here every 10 minutes...
into your seat...
not said like that... but... the reply...
ANYTHING FOR YOUR MATE...
even i'm getting a hard-on for my ego...
but where did this come from?
i was supposed to be this solitary creature trapped
in an ivory tower... yet here i am...
bothering myself about crowd control...
readying myself for a second Hillsborough Disaster
or another Manchester Arena bombing...
i'm pumped... i do 100 press-ups before an event...
lift some weights... and prescribe myself
the Ramadan manifesto of fasting before an event...
drink plenty of black coffees though...
smoke like a choo-choo train straight
to Auschwitz... ha ha... what?!
i seriously have to be somewhat drunk to fill out
these NVQ forms... i've already had some practice...
most of the drunks i've encountered were more
than willing to talk to me,
everyone seemed to friendly...
maybe i just have one of those face...
but... but i'm not going to be doing the job
for the worth of two people... esp. with some colt
Somali **** of a boyo!
that's what's ******* me off the most...
at least among the Yorkshire beefcake lads
i can be... associated with them...
why do they comply?
it's not a racist thing, they just feel comfortable
when dealing with someone who looks like
them: in-group preferences...
        when you learn that you're dealing with,
ahem, racial... "minorities" that **** your daughters
and want to enter paradise strapped with
suicide vests... that you live with these sort
of people, who are you going to prefer?
like last time at the London Stadium...
i was surrounded by the away fans... all from Leeds...
friendly *******... i had no trouble...
do i look so imposing?
yet... oh my god... i was paired up with
this Somali ****... kept watching the football
match instead of the crowd...
i'm done... **** me: *******...
i was grinding my teeth in the 9th circle
of Dante's circle of hell... come to think of it...
i must have been biting at Brutus' teeth!
while making an oyster feast from Cain's tongue!
i don't exactly require racial quotas, "quotas" to know
what's coming next...
lazy-***: one more ******* "oops" up in Manchester...
because it shouldn't have happened...
yeah... it shouldn't have... but guess who
you employed: YA ******* KANTS!
sympathisers!       *****... the whole and the rest
of 'em!
grr... grind that: ***** grind than grr...
the fire is not yet ready to be raised...
to a crescendo of an inferno.... it's coming...
it will come... it will be more spectacular than world war I
and world war II put together!

this be the interlude period... this be the period of...
spiders weaving...
there's no mention of the Lord of Mosquitos,
there's no mention of the Lord of Spiders...
but there is... a Lord of Flies... ha...
why weren't these two Lords accounted for:
with my own fall?!
who will ever account for, their presence?!
i, do, very, wearily, wonder... who might?!

i have started to hear whispers...
no, oh, no...  i won't disclose them... until i'm readied
to marry a rich girl with a daddy that owns a yacht....
i rather enjoy my semi-poverty & the company of my cats...

NUMB-SKULLS...
   two Lords are missing from the narrative...
the Lord of Mosquitos... my best estimate is that of Hey-Zeus!
Krist?! you sure? oh... right... blood... wine...
vampire invention... i love how hell loves to troll
humanity... ha ha! o.k. so Lord "Misquote" had his 2000 years of
fun... more people equating wine with blood...
more... ahem... "vampires"?

the lord of spiders... i'm waiting for him:
to show his ******* ugly face! up! please don't tell me he's
busy with his somewhat, already flimsy architecture!
imagine the shock... people didn't think that Jesus Christ
was the Lord of Mosquitos...
ha... well... who wouldn't... well it's not like the past
2000+ years passed as smoothly as extracting ice-cream from
a tubing...

hell is all around, eh... some Cain outliers...
what, can, you do!? eh?
mein gott:                nein: nein gott!
Jesus Christ isn't my lord... he's the lord of mosquitos...
blood... wine... do i need to paint a prettier
picture? in the hierarchy of the scheme of things...
i'm not even the blatant beast of the upper tier...
i'm not: definite article enemy...
i'm not even Lucy... who's the antithesis of Sophia...
i'm the buzz... the buzzing grift in the shadows...

but the Lord of Spiders is missing...
we have already accounted for the joyride of the Lord
of Mosquitos for the past 2000 years...
poor man... i want to pity him...
then again: i want to pity myself for wanting to pity him...
i have a weakness of a heart for about 10 seconds... i allow myself to think for 10 seconds... after 10 seconds... concern for traffic takes over...

oh... you're not going anywhere with me, until you're going down, and i'm going down;
shove your Quran up your ***... like any respectable Northerner might give a **** about some post-Nomadic niqqab-clad ******* worth of ******* ****** ***!

The Nordic Tribe

There is a great movement of Scandinavians
going to the South of Europe, they have their church,
cafes and shops selling the type of food sold in
the North. The Spaniards, say, accept and ignore them
because these strange northerners came here for
the sun and not take anyone’s work.
You can call the economic refugees, it is cheaper here
and that also keeps the heating bill low.
The people of the North dislike refugees coming to their
country a place to live and they protest loudly.
One day, when the economy in the south is par with
the Nordic one, the will leave, or seek other shores
where they can live as kings among the poor;
the Northerner’s are racists by nature but do follow
the money and its fluctuations and they have the ability to
see the local people where they have temporarily
sought shelter, as foreigners.

The man who wrote Dixie
Was a Northerner
From Ohio
Horrified to discover
Southern troops sang it in the Civil War

It was also a favorite of Abraham Lincoln's
Who requested it to be played
When Lee surrendered
At Appomattox
A gesture of good will

Mary Todd Lincoln
Elizabeth Shaw
Xanthippe
Kiss me, Kate

Oh I wish I was
In the Land of Cotton
Old times there
Are not forgotten

     But I'm gonna have to wait.