When wallabies wander,
what will the world wonder?

Silly slips of slander?
Stagnating soliloquies?

If I ignite indignation,
Inquire indefinitely

All is asunder
And Amy abstains

Isolated, trapped in a dark abyss,
Remained under her lulled admonition;
Never wished to depart, but to depress,
Grieve then be stiff, yielded in damnation.

Cut off away from the world’s speed of light,
Off she choked a too petty eulogy;
Swore never to venture off from its sight,
Deprive hope, ****** apathy with elegy.

The dark poet’s ode continues to cruise,
Spills & spreads to her frail soul like poison;
Intoxicate & numbs her as a bruise,
Nullifies every positive motion.

Go better off now, my little sweet one,
The world has just locked away your sunshine;
Forget about help, you’re banished & gone,
Sleep it all away, not one can outshine.

My Anxiety is a parasite
Living inside my head,
Feeding off of every thought I have
In a hope to prevail.

He makes me feel sick,
Much as a parasite would.
He changes me,
Reverses me
Into something I do not wish to be.

He consumes me,
Uses me.
He uses me in a way
No girl ever wants to be used,
Screams at me,
Nullifies every positive thought I have.

He controls my everything.
Constantly lifts my fingers,
Slams them into any surface,
In a hope to hinder me
And leave me distracted.

He leaves me useless.
The desire to wither away
Into a small cloud of dust
Penetrates my mind
With every pulsing heartbeat.

My Anxiety
Is best friends with My Depression.
They skip
Through the meadows of my memories,
Holding hands and destroying,
Ripping out the flowers of my past.

If I had the words
A gift of wings that would not fail
Set my sword
To perforate the veil
Cut this clinging death away
Let the light fall like rain
Solace on a summer day
But I’m bound
Dragging shackles and chains
Starving for grace
As I choke on the profane

Sacrificed my petty dreams
Bled out on the altar of fools
Propitious as light might have been
I let darkness set the rules
Circumstance stultifies the child inside
Nullifies the need
To hope for a greater salvation
My spirit fights but my head concedes
Lost in the chaos around me
If I surrender who will lead

And if by chance you went walking
Through the shattered past I’ve left behind
Pick your way through emotional wreckage
Find my inner child deaf dumb and blind
This failing hope will not carry me
As I struggle toward the light
And so I wait abandoned
As the world spins fast toward night.
I know the truth you cannot see
What I carry hidden in me…
08/22/09
TL Boehm

Have you ever held so much of something that causes the things you wish not to see in those you love?

Have you ever held a pain that isn't even yours in some cases?

have you ever held on to it so that it doesn't slip and take out such a beautiful tragedy of those you love?

That if you slipped and allowed just an ounce of this pure and refined substance to hit the open air that it would be instantly absorbed into the psyche and physical bodies of all those around you , thus causing them to convulse in agony and gut wrenching pain?

Have you ever felt this could be even close to how you have felt before?

As if once they get the tiniest taste of their own creations and manipulations results, they would fall, so far and hard they would not see the way out of such dire deeds and sad and abusive ways and pains of the causes and causation's, the outcomes of the thrusted busted, go away's, leave me be's, the I don't care about you's, you are a fool's, you are stupid, stop annoying me's, oh here watch this one, they will break , so laugh as loud at them as you can's? can you see what I am saying?  in short all the truly horrible things we all , including me, myself and I, do, when we hurt, are confused, or some how, loose our way in this confounded maze we seem to find ourselves lost in.

Is it enough to allow them to taste the fruit of their leaves of the trees they planted on our mother womb as our father feeds them lovingly, knowing these seeds are wrong?

is it enough? would describing it be enough to cause the pin to be realized if only an imaginary trend of a friends busting the illusion for a crafted grafted second, in hopes to say, stop and look, we are all dieing if we continue this way...... but so many of us, carry these pains like a badge of **** honor, like we are singlehandedly saving the very souls of those whom we don't even know, at times, that is... when the pain and isolation isn't too much to bare, and we don't end up lashing out and creating sorry *** little seeds of trees we then drop along our mothers womb as father lovingly tends to mothers needs, as if we are johnny apple seed in the garden of plenty and abundance all like where is my coffee!!!!????? like i have been a time or two?

Would it be enough for me to change, much less you? maybe, seems we are all stuck on a revolving Russian roulette of, "you first jack, then we will see if my *** antiees up all in..." for we all seem to be in this oh so, silly Mexican stand off as illustrated by Marshall Mathers in the "*******" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHi-IjsilSw

Cause this silly little thing, is ME, and it is You, yet, am I holding you correctly, by saying ***** it, its me and not you? or is this **** thing on backwards and in roman numerals? cause situation is all jacked up, from the floor up if we fail to see that , I and others who are pain eaters, or, what ever you choose to call us, for we are all full, just look about you, and see all the love is flowing but some of the most daring and beautiful ones are slowy fading, falling, wasting away cause we are too **** pridful to say, **** this not today, I will not hold your ****, this is your **** you take and feel it, I am rather in the clear and am shorting myself the love I truly need to breath, but, I am such a freak and a lover of you all, that I ****** this crap back up denying you the ability to even grab your **** from me, and I horde it hide it and die in it faithfully, for I said I would and my word means everything. but, Now I find so many begging me to release it, let it be, let it go and even if fools fall the **** over dead from the shock of the shame and pain they have graced us all with but we have not had to bare, do go dropping like flies, then that is okay, as I stand shocked, appalled and *******, cause we are to save them all **** it. yeah... says who, son? is all I hear any more. says who son? who said they could make it to such a place of pleasure, leisure, construct, invention, visionary, oh, my how we are to truly shine , shine, be and play? who told you this anyway? and I stand silent, speechless, and rather dumbfounded in my lack of afraid. for they are right. ****, it,, they are right, again.. for to be able to truly and finaly bew able to grasp, grokk, totally and truly rock this truth of movement and this transmogrification of station and situtations where we oh so are to truly play and live like life truly exists, we must let go and let bare the being that was, is, and wont be there. yet here i am, still stuck in a silence of judgement pending, standing in a hall, holding up the line cause I refuse to let go of this which is holding me from the true garden and my possible real soul mate, whom ever they maybe, all because I am so affraid of feeling the lose of even the hated, and hatful of thee, ?.. and why? why are so many of those bauetigul people like me, doing this very thing? so many of us became sin eaters simply out of need, and we eat the sins of others, and eneded up, sinning ourselves, simply to deal with the burdon of the pain... what , in the world were we thinking? , well, we were thinking, what a shame, and we were thinking, why do we not know how to help or deal with all this over whelming pain, why atre we burdoned so? and why must , i let go of the only think I have ever known, eating this sin, that became my identity and my reason to be, and now you ask, me to strip myself of me, of this child laid bare for all the world to see, as I fall apart, is that what it is you wish to see? for this is what will happen when I no longer bare the sin of you and you and you, for mine have been forgiven from what I understand for laying no blame upon no man for the sin I consumed of man, and I am not alone in this endeavour or relieaf, that is if I can muster the foolish courage to let it go, and watch as you all, fall, fall, fall, of your own pains, but I say this, as I have said before, as  child I said it and thousands of times in my life, you do not have to fall so far, just except what ypou have caused and bare it and do the equal and truly triple the opposite and love, see, for me to take such a chance, such a leap of faith and risk, my falling by my creations of feeling watching you fall from your own pains, in turn causing me to fall the same, , but I say, you do not, for if as I said I do this, and risk, then you do the same and love again, as you did before you remembered how to hurt..... before you learned how to hurt inside, before you realized, you die each time the pain lives inside... for you were never a sin eater, but I can and am telling you how to digest your sins, so you don't fall, so far and possibly fail and well, bye.. you must bare you harm and except it as real and them manifest the loving and caring truth that nullifies the harm and corrosive acridness and become, alkaline a base , so base your love in truth and harmony, and resonate out of the hate and misery, for, I do understand what it is I must do, but it all truly, like I said a thousand times, depends on you, and yes there is a possibility that you could bring me to my death by focusing on never getting out, but lets not kid each other son, I will not be loosing, and why risk the guarantee of you never being with the life of us, only so you can attempt to bring me or others down? for it makes no sense, and is not of the flow and growing of life and is not abundant, so, swallow all the fear and doubt, that pain and acid that you spit out, and except it for it is the reality you created and we sin eaters swallowed and held so as to limit your harm, and many of us, did this from birth and never truly knew what we did wrong to end up with such a work load if you get my drift. but my soul is clear, on this, and wqell, I must start laying this down, and by doing so, I need not grace you with a sound or a jot or tittle, but the facts that you may or may not find life get a little different, but This is not for me to say, for it is simply close and time for me to let it all go and look for the truth as my ownn naked frozen child deep inside shivers , but, I know this, no matter the loss, no matter the cost, no matter the choices that will be chossen due to tempral placement and how limited the view is from where we are, that I will be okay, and most of my people are already across, in fact, I think I am one of the few still stupidly here, begging and causeing such a scene, but, I suppose they are right, "if you have not chossen your own ways, by now, then what makes you think anyone should wait for you to realize there is no tomorrow once we move forward.. and well, I hope to wake and each time I wake, love be closer and closer to me and this horror and this lies deciet and hate, be a none existant, reality, for me, or anyone else ready to make that change. and you still can, but, um, if time is running out on the elect, then um, maybe time is running out on you and me so, we better get this thing going, and make a stand , a choice, and eat out own **** and swaet out love and all things worth growing and knowing. for the information is a seed that is the key, if you know, then it is time to unload, that seed so it can be a tree, for spring has sprung and we are about to be leaving and blooming some **** fine leaves, and flower, ohh, so, unless you are the dead and decayed bark that we are about to shed, litterally, then it is time to become a blossom, and swallow your own deeds and devulge the information that setts so many others free, you will be saving lives, and the livfe you save might just freaking be your own. no I mean this jack. and, I love you, but I can not keep holding this, for most of it is not mine, and I soon hope to be resigned from the possition of rather high ranking in the sin eating department, "Jesus is number one there, and I am not in the tier, but you can beat me, so swallow you sin and push out the freedom and love, the truth that sets the rest of the tree free from this infestation cause we wont **** the tree, but we continue like this and the tree of life we wont see either, for we will fall away and away to never be again, make your choice, cause I have Purple Hearts to Bloom baby, and blue and white stripes on my flower, for I am a full purple blue moon, , hope to see you there, and if you hurt son, sorry, but it is time, so, take my advice and swallow and shed and do deeds that save lives and loves.  Yes I know I am slow, ven my mother said so, in the scanned images, see, poems, though he is"slow?"  yeah, thanks ma.. lol, smile, I hope I see here , she, finally free of all the harm done her and forgiven, for I forgave her long long ago, I love and respect my mother, for she gave me these bones of gold, and at 14 she did better than many, with such a prize package like me.
Candlebox-Far Behind
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4QL0L9fgbg

My depression is a transgression
against me, and mine.
I never asked to be contaminated
with this strife.

My depression is a possession
of evil, of illness.
I never thought I would be
rife with highs and lows.

My depression is a progression
of good and bad thoughts.
I never wanted to be
violated with cries and lies.

My depression is a weapon
against all who suffer its woes.
I hope the afterlife takes this repression
and nullifies it's effects.

My depression is mine but
suffered by many. We are pulverised,
neutralised and modified by our own
minds and medicated to keep sated.

My depression is Legion
a wickedness to the self.
A circle unending, unbending,
curving toward suppression of oneself.

Summer is ending
It's the perfect timing
To see my love shining
While the world is smiling
And those fragile eyes
An angelic disguise
It further nullifies
Our still standing demise

a medieval blacksmith, insO̲—
—much as lyrical material of mine gets cast sim. to cold
weapons; I'd say, as anything mind-distracting, like dope
["destructing"]
lyric-writing acts in the role
of temp rise, 'cause it unshadows the mind
like da[ɛ]mn skies, dissipating clouds of lack of delight
which is whY̲ I clepe
it as "mind eclipse" (lack of the light)
hence all the grimness seen in mY̲ bar sheets (chernukha)
like someone having a flight, a bored, tragedy wight
["aboard"]
lashings of spite I add in my lines
a geek practicing harassment in rhymes
as a pastime; an antihero, like Frank Castle I side
with on going against baddies with vice (lesser evil)
'cause you can't battle a knight
or a savage canine, or seize a bastion by
means of any kind of chatting (good luck managing that, gandhists)
get real; chances of collapsing
a toughened up corrupt regime by tranquil, brawl-free rallies
are as high as a bA̲nged up substance addict
can be (highly unlikely); though I keep the anti-autocratic
subject matter frontline, for ones who half-a##edly indite
their lyrics, it's casket too, like
a box for somebody pA̲ssed, like the time
of the plague (past); thA̲t's something I'm
more than glad to provide
you with; tra[ɛ]nslation: you ain't sA̲fe, chumps
[a casket isn't a safe, hence "it's casket" means "it isn't/ain't safe"]
like an offer to have a sled ride
"dude, let's slay some"
["sleigh"]
said the voice of the Islamist radical-like rapper in my
bean (Shady); "let's bring a da[ɛ]ng mayhem"
["bin Shady": Osama bin Laden + Slim Shady, who's a lyrical terrorist]
it added with passion, then I'm
like: "sounds like a blast of a time" (kaboom)
but no[ɑ]t to you, be—cause I'm on my violent bullsh#t (again)
like a jihadi loony; with these lines I'm suited
up with, you'll be blasted like plants bY̲ a shrE̲wd wind
or like a head of state ordained to invade
a neighboring state
in this **** field, I feel
like Max Payne with a gauge
[shotgun]
in a prey-tE̲E̲ming weald
hunting as sport; slay just to main—
—tain some relish & killing skills
you're like misbehavior-free slaves
in this field; translation: you're tame (lyrically)
["tranSLAYtion"]
therefore, you're unwished-for
like anyone & anything with a high lack of approval
[by "high lack of approval" I mean "dissent"]
on politics of the regime of some dastardly ruler (dastardly ruler)
drunk by the power he keeps a tight grA̲sp on & moola (power & moola)
just like Vlad the mean puta (Vlad the mean puta)
code name's lavato[—]ry shooter (lavatory shooter)
you jacklegs remind
me of simple cases or the Batman that time
when he wound up with his bA̲ck damaged by
Bane, 'cause I get you cracked with no strife
just like trash, you would wi[aɪ]nd
up in the dumps if you set your crap next to mine
and let ones being into rap scrutinize
your level of lyrical threat's to splatter a high—
—ball glass or stuff like
that, punks; me? like an armor-clA̲d man, a night—
["knight"]
—mare; Dante strapped with a scythe
[Dante from the "Devil May Cry" video game series]
the way I whack, it's so tight
that I have my device playing some phA̲t beats as I
masterly slice you hacks into stripes
like the Senyera; rap di̲letta[ɑ]nti
and political oppressors are picked as targets
and I may be read as a vigila[ɑ]nte
'cause I go after you like
V; like 2 sawbones having a fight with their scalpel-like knives
[I go after the aforementiond figures in my lyrics]
["after U [which is followed by V]"; V from "V for Vendetta"]
a pa[ɛ]radox while A̲t it 'cause I go autocratic, despite
["pair of docs"]
the views thA̲t I stick by; other words, I kick A̲## as if I
were dealing a jA̲cka## foot strikes
[I'm against unjustified maltreatment of animals, that sentence is just for wordplay]
a rebel thinker with a wrA̲pped up in rhymes
sick, hazardous mind bringing lyrical disasters & crimes
oh, there's one I'm imagining right
now; a rap-writing dabbler, besides an autocratic *****, wi[aɪ]nds
up inside a hearse
with me being A̲t the wheel like
a town that's rife in terms
of poison-pushing; a psychopA̲th when I drive
["atterville"; "****** path"]
speed up to 150 miles per
hour on a track in Alpine
heights, pound a go[ɑ]ddamn curb
barrier breaching it & sending the wagon in flight
open out the driver door
and jump out with a 'chute backpA̲ck on my spine (bye-f#cking-bye!)
watching the car go down, just like a war
criminal busted, & whereafter burst, like
brain arteries of a nazissistic scoundrel; like reports
saying an autocratic piece of trash nullifies
his presiding terms
I'm bA̲d news when I'm
on my lyric-writing horse
[the "high horse" expression]
like cavalry; I'd like a dastardly, vice-ridden autocrat to reply
["riding horse"]
with lyrics to any of the crA̲p I've devised
in opposition to authoritarianism
should I send some to the office with galore of rE̲A̲r-licking minions
of that "it's all the nasty West" guy
or that's suicide?

The fused light                                                

The brightness is tinged in haze it is corresponds to us walking in twilight but is the gift of
Discovery that hovers near all is needed is curiosity the needle that will stitch a thousand

Wonders take from time and place all guessing fill the abandoned with power and grace The child of yesterday will emerge a wand is held to dispel inroads that have been made
By neglect and cruel slights the soft blending is truly the mending that will remove deep lines

Of worry and trouble you can’t walk in light and not be refreshed the residue of malignant  
Thoughts and actions by others or even your self can’t endure light’s purifying qualities as well
As sight nullifies the danger of colliding with objects keen eyes see the riches that lie near and

Far expectation guaranties prosperity and prepares people mentally in its acquisition the golden
Light switches cumbersome burdens acquired in dark desperate hours that offered no relief it
Takes the renewing day to give you the power to expel waste that draws from evil darkness our

Deeds are contrary because we practiced them while hidden from the light but assurance rises
Not just on the distant horizon but in the weakened troubled mind once it has failed true
Forgiveness is the rekindling rallying call that light so grandly affords without it victories can’t

Be found truth says I am the light and the way how many wayward broken men and women have
Found and left their chains of slavery at His feet now they by divine impetus carry themselves
Forward carefree unrestricted there is a glowing light from within that can never be darkened

Though hell try with all of its might the fight is His and he never has or will be defeated oh sweet
Destiny we found you after many days of cruel blindness now we are transfigured we take on
The golden soft glowing a comfortable showing that is all bestowing love has its richest flow we

Are no longer deceived that life is only things but it is others and Him that only matters what joy
You will know when you walk in the light

They used to worship the Creator
Now they worship job creators
Because of their blind nature
And aggressive nomenclature
They sacrifice life and limb
Bringing all that is grim
Making the world dim
Not listening to Him

They won’t budge
While they judge
And hold a grudge
As they trudge
Behind whoever has the answers
Or can cure their cancer
Like a magic necromancer
Raising skeleton dancers

They’re sheep
They’re slaves
I’m not deep
I’m just saying
Their praying
Donkey braying
Causes slaying
Fish filleting

Christianity seems stupid
After they’ve used it
Which is *******
From a ghoul’s wit
Who can’t cool it
Becoming enslaved by anger
And afraid of strangers
Any threat of danger
Nullifies Jesus’ manger

The pious anoint them
The rich exploit them
I wish I could avoid them
Instead I just annoy them

They say the Bible is the greatest thing ever written
But I really love the song Subdivisions
Which they call derision
But Jesus said we would do greater works
Yet the mere idea of that hurts
So they act like jerks
When I tell them not to compare Hattori Hanzo swords
They formulate violent hateful hordes
Expelling anger they’ve stored
Towards me
Trying to set them free
From a more manipulative breed
Until I hate them
And underrate them
After they understated
Jesus’ compassion
I can’t see in their fashion
Building a fascist far right bastion

They scream
And yell
Their dream
A hell
I can’t tell
How they fell
Under the spell
Of a holy well

They’re lured
By a cure
And obscure
The truer
Who can make progress
But meet resistance
In holy offense
And insistence
We may need some distance
To make up this difference

That lunar sphere hangs
like a sliver of silver.
It boils my thin blood & nullifies my exotic fear until
We can dance ritualistically
through cobweb covered streets towards those
Blissfully
Rejuvenating steps backwards.
This nocturnal plague intoxicates us  
into a fugue state of ruthless fever dreams
that visualize memories of our young past.
Grip me close for this ferocious leap into
the Night's chill.
Breath me like you never have.
I try to scream.
I only howl.

..What was meant was never said and what is satiable isn’t fed upon. Long to be that faun in a misty meadow, lounging at dawn on the grass, gazing upon the peaks of eternity. What are we learning and what’s with the misuse? We tenderly abuse that which we dwell on. Claiming it a love letter, when a Better view reveals(in a peeling manner) that these are just clingings of a scrotal piercing fashion. Latching to these attachments as sacraments of dependability, nullifies valued spectacality. The pureness to the core of reality and the mess is a beautifully delicious birthday cake which never ends

Q.309 is the fire of existence pushing to action transforming the ideological Materia in revolutionary spirit.

SHE IS GODS **** AND MOUTH

Q.309 is the confirmation of the enlightening action above the primordial waters found in the structure and in the function of the eye.

BEYOND THE EGO BURNS INEFFABEL APHRODESIA

Q.309 is every union originating from dissimilar things with adulterous spirit.
Our anamnesis nullifies the liturgical and ritual tradition; the attitude in us pushing to the repetition of the ritualistic gesture intended as an offer and as a proof of the memory is amplified by the life itself.

CHAOS AS RITUAL

Q.309 is the radical conflict with the existing world and a new identity to be achieved through a process of identification with the will of the abyss that contains all: through this conflict you become a concupiscent being.

I PUSH HER **** THROUGH HER THROAT

Q.309 is the cult of the slough whose common thread is constituted by the constant sexualization of the human world and of the divine sphere, bringing them closer till the overlap.

A RESIPROCITY OF ******* IN MUTUAL EXCHANGE

Q.309 is the energetic foundation and dynamism typical of the devolutive systems.

HEAD ABOVE THE HEAVENS FEET BELOW THE HELLS

We turn our gaze to the underlying face of the Materia and we consolidate our desire in her; the concupiscence is our vis generandi through which our gnostic process of emanation is activated.

I AM EVERYWHERE WITHIN  HER


The Flesh of God melts with the one who creates him.



[From MEQOM YAD/Assur #1]

Like the saying goes... " We have no words for this, so silence will have to die with a pillow over it's face, horrified by the damp dreams, sunk - in; ******* on the fumes of deferred desires, until the whole of the world can hear you scream... but cannot find you. "
We are born into grief with wailing. Then we laugh at our mother's chin.
Groping at the matted hair of her fertile youth.
Smacking our gums in class.
The hard lesson, shimmering in the distance
Like hard candy on a heap
of abandoned houses.

Too stunning is the thing that becomes the vision of our blank stare
into the abyss; as we ignore the essential, to favor a blockade of easy pleasures in the face of hard clocks. Our ghosts are driven out of spite and the hours march depleted of our joy, as we entangle our quaint miseries in dark trees, like kites.
We tug and resume the defeat of our careful sabotage
to glorify the random hell, that nullifies
the pointed quip of a wise man's
emphatic sigh.

we trip on the whip of our masters, and call it a day.
a day for running blind in the tunnels of our entropy
like an inchworm in a blender.
or a seed in a vacuum... damning the soil of the void
and the sunshine that mocks it.
the box is a lost blip of atoms in the Attic,... and not at all -
on the list.
You can have your Birth-Day, but you can't have both.
Your birth is a fluke, after all... And a Day -
Becomes the Night.... like an inside -
Joke.

i follow in a dream every night
a light whose blush nullifies the emptiness of my room

shifting shapes and colors and sounds
and speed and time and air
does anybody know what is going on?

i only love that which i can not understand

What is this bliss
That has me amiss
My thoughts verdant burning
Sound of cool rain
Soothing my pain
Nullifies the yearning
To see more of me than you
Hidden from my view
The epicenter of my discerning

This mask of stone
Your presence has grown
Barren branches reach for the sky
The silence belies
My unfocused eyes
Frozen from tears I cry
But you carry me through
To the place that is you
To the where and the how and the why

Turbulence grows
Cold wind blows
My mind is storm filled and gray
But you are the mark
The light in the dark
I stand clinging to what you say
In you I have seen
Fields of green
Upon this troubled path I stay.
072006
TL Boehm

The twisted, bare branches
of the vines in winter
have something of the sea
and a memory of centuries
healing their gnarled amputations.
To see a vineyard, thus,
spread out across the earth
in neat little rows
is to look at stillness.
Or maybe it is patience.
The quiet, passive waiting for the inevitable.
The lurch out of silence into life.

July now and, though the base is untouched,
though there’s still the sea and an age,
still the same crippled shape in the branches,
an outside has blasted across the fields,
so green with the sun shining through them.
And from this abundant foliage, order,
at least to an exterior eye
which sees only one thing or its opposite.
Earth and objects only cannot falsify alone.
How easy it is to be happy.

And how easy to compare with snow
those fallen poplar seeds that covered
the ground towards the end of spring,
and so dry that, seeing soldiers
lighting fast, impermanent fires
like fuses to some explosion,
I, too, had to try and so bent
and clumsily set fire to a huge pile
which scorched a path
a yard wide across the grass
and burnt the hairs from your arm.
Later to step into the river,
not knowing that the seeds had spread
even that far, making it seem
more like the earth than water.

How much there is to give,
to learn about each other.
So much seems solid for so long and isn’t,
seems forgetting and is waiting.
So, slowly and with many deaths,
like the building of a cathedral,
it all accumulates, then disperses,
leaving time like a stork nesting.

But for towns, for cities, there is
not this hording of experience,
just monuments of cement and stone.
Memories can be found, of course,
An old wall in Logroño,
an aqueduct in Segovia,
but these memories are a comfort,
not a weight to be carried forward.
The difference between a mother’s kiss
and that of a lover leaving.

Strange how things live towards a point
which, when arrived at, nullifies
that which has gone before,
becomes the point from which its life begins.
The name Guernica does not mean
for many an oak tree, distant lords
swearing to respect the law.
It means either war or Picasso.

Life can only be built on levels of reaction,
extremes of light and measured darkness,
what exists and what is invented,
love where silence matters
and the sleeping world given in
to our far from careful keeping
when what there is in the head is too large.

We cast off the unimaginable and sad
and the intrusion of fact narrows
all boundaries to the certain,
growth permitted in one way only.
Ah, the half-truths of poetry,
the evasion, the huge deceit.

Near my house there is a mountain.
People call it el León Dormido,
and when seen from one side,
looking out from the city,
you can believe it to be so,
this lumbering, wind-modelled rock
really is a lion asleep.
So long as you never see it
from any other direction.

To make the journey happily
out along the dust road
or maybe even by train,
gripping a bag of grapes,
is to allow the truth and fact
to step into your present.
From one side the mountain’s magical,
from the other three it’s nothing,
not even much of a mountain.    

Too much examination can be bad
as we invent what it is we wish to see,
invent, distort and fabricate.
But when we find what lies behind,
the truth is there waiting for us
like an eagle high above the mountain
casting its shadow down across a fox.

She walked along the foot path.

She was scared for no reason. Oh yes she was!.

Meeting people scared her.

But that is what she liked to do.

New faces refreshed her somehow. (She always wondered about the ideas on how to make a face)

The fear and the passion

Both constantly fought within.

The framework you call - "mind"

The fear was winning, of course.

But the passion being present quietly.. still..

was the proof of its strength. O yeah.

Or was it to be  meant this way?

There is a third character.

The Numb. (Thats just a "factorius" name :) )

The presence of this nullifies the fight outwardly

Pain killer act.

But then..



I can see a four.

even i didn't expect Heidegger's VII - XI
to be so centrist on account
of pedagogy...
a reading tedium... sure...
i wasn't expecting so much concern for
pedagogy in the 20th century,
but i guess a concern
for pedagogy stems from
the 20th century,
and the 21st century is rife
with pedagogy posits of
notable interest...
no...
it's not easy...
it takes weeks,
months,
perhaps even a year or two..
to finish reading
a book of said genre...
unless it's Kierkegaard...
then it's butter to
a warm toast...
     Kierkegaard is perhaps
the most readable philosopher
to date...
     the rest are a tedium,
because they have to encompass
the replica of the tedium of existence...
per se...
          akin to:
you never listen to Wagner...
you listen to Wagner,
in the sense...
  there's only Wagner...
and no other music exists
outside of, Wagner...
               i guess that's how
solipsism implodes and is
made rational...
                    i guess inverted solipsism
works akin to:
Wagner...
      it's not that "you" believe
that only "you" exist...
that's what a child might expect
to experience...
no... when appreciating
someone's work...
   a text, a painting...
   a piece of music...
   what doesn't actually exist
is a "self"...
but what does: are two individuals...
a twinning of the selves
that nullifies both within
the conceptualization
of both individualistic concerns,
for, a, "self"...
              i listen to Wagner
minus the orchestra...
  and i have no nationalistic
allegiance to Chopin...
                 there is none...
**** me...
  i'd forsake my bias for Händel...
     akin to that time i missed
Messiah as the Royal Albert Hall...
where i went to the brothel instead,
and kept hearing the opera
in my head while i ****** her soulful
yet silly embrace...
   i'd forsake my bias for
Händel:
  if it only be:
               Wagner, minus the orchestra!
the bare minimalism of
a once encountered doubling
of effort!
                    and always, always,
said minimalism,
exposed on, a piano...
             no violin...
                  the foundation is different...
Wagner works pristine
assumptions within a piano confines...
Strauss i'm sure will doll dance
the Vienna waltz on merely a violin...
          
but there will always be something
haunting about exposing Wagner
to nothing more, than a piano...
an unsettling: stillness...
   a harmonious marriage toward
existence, and post-existence -
minding the artifact that is death...

i can't look elsewhere for culture than
in the pseudo-genesis story
incubating the Germans as
source material...
                 dritte reisch or not...
   even the Yids bemoan a sour taste
for Schubert...
given the historical artifacts...
               after all...
the Hebrews invested the most in
assimilating into the German language...
for ****'s sake!
terrible Polish accents...
but spoke northern Hebrew:
a mongrel of Hebrew and German...
Yiddish!

                           such is the graveness
of the lament...
   a mere killing is what it is...
but undermining creating a new mongrel
language?
  devouring...
                   even with 10 million dead...
a quasi-language,
  a marriage of German and Hebrew...
****! gone? within a span of 6 years
if not longer?
          
i know how i feel about language...
sorry, i'm not french,
i don't push it outside the realm of
reasonable logic, so i refuse to "i" my way
out some sort responsibility...
    
perhaps that's why i'm not fond
of either French philosophy schooling:
too impracticable...
or the English philosophy schooling:
too practicable (pragmatic etc.) -

assured, as i am:
there were only two "schools" of thought:
Greek... or German...
and i can't be dealing with
outdated cliches concerning
the Greeks, in order to get laid...

yes yes, the live not investigated:
Socrates...
yes yes, the theory that only your self exists:
solipsism...
  ******* yawn...

but i'm not ashamed to have
to read a philosophy book unlike a novella...
technically you're not
supposed to...
   if you do: you really haven't read it...
where's the interlude of thinking?
the footnote non-existent in
the book, but much existent
in your head?

   frankly...
  i'm disappointed at Heidegger's
    ponderings VII - XI...
i never anticipated so much
pedagogical stipulation...
    
                  but then again...
the most daft, sour, most dry writing
by a German in this genre...
out-competes this sickening
English mockery of realism -
this... pragmatism...
       this... over-insured posit from
the focus of biology...
           it's like i want to
spew my intestines out,
and then ingest them in sushi
bite-sized mini-horrors...

                 i can't read an English
philosophy book, nor
the French...
i tried...
       i really tried...
                   vague success with the French
ascribing philosophy to fiction...
but the English?
they're ******* islanders!
   what is a philosophy of islanders
other than the two tenets:
isolationism and eccentricity?!

         not much...

          i'll die sooner than find myself:
soon... reading a book by Locke...
can't stomach that ****...
  
great poets! Milton over Dante:
any day...
              pretty ****** thinkers, though;
and don't get me started
on the "supposed" genius of
Elgar...
    ******* wombat...
                      an elephant stepped
on one of his ears, in which he related,
constantly hearing a jazz
trumpet which he could never pen
down...

   different story with
ralph vaughan williams...
  *******...
   EVERY, SINGLE, TIME...
i cry like a baby with the right spike
of bourbon when i play
thomas talis...
            but philosophy?
the English don't know philosophy...
never have, never will...

unless you impose
something relating to monetary exchanges...
hell... they assure other
Germanic uncles and aunts...
that they're not inclined to
the stereotypical *** mentality;
which of course... they are...
and yet... of lately...
very ****** when it comes
to managing money.

lives are always under the dark clouds.
little kids who just wants to play outside,
in the sun,
in the rain,
away from the busy streets
of
the city
where childhood
meets
the end of the road.
further and further away,
it’s an endless road.

lives after lives after lives after lives...

no one looks
at the sky anymore
just like the way we did
when we were young.

we’re all in the same picture.
desperate lives,
kids who doesn’t want to grow up,
kids who realized too late,
old living room superheroes with capes
now wearing business suits and neckties,
bachelors employed in to something
they’ve been lied to,
hundreds of the kindest, smartest,
educated beings now demands
order through activism,
current bums in the streets still the heirs
of former bums in the past
the same with
current politicians,
heirs of former politicians.
countries, big ones
racing and paddling tirelessly
with people that serves as their
coal. . . .

it’s all happening and you know it.
it’s all happening but they keep you
distracted every two weeks in a month.
it’s all happening while you’re on your
knees with your eyes closed as you believe
in something you’ve been lied to
which costed millions of lives
through history before
it became what it is today.
it’s all happening;
one proof is that writers from
hidden parts of the world
and of history came to feel its
presence and has written it
as a reminder. . .

and

the one sitting on the dark throne
nullifies their stand
by keeping us occupied. . .

you got hired?
you got a raise?
you got promoted?
your boss recommends you?
your boss sends you gifts?
you got your own piece of the land?
you worked hard for it didn’t you?
for what?
to prepare the ones your worked for
just to suffer the same fate?
what?
i’m crazy?

oh you got admirers?
you just posted the smartest
useless thought that caught a lot
attention?
you feel secured because it won’t
come in your time
and
i’m just crazy?

yes,
like a mad dog under a
restraining order.

ah, the romance, the man who learned the alphabet of chemistry, and turned out to be more eloquent than the man who learned the compounds of an english tongue... you have a sing-along, friar Tuck?! some Gregorian chant up your sleeve?!

let's get it over and done with,
i write a tattoo on your body,
i own part of it -
      in theory, sure,
i listen to some ****** pop
song i will keep to myself
than ask for the desirable ***
position, and find the latter
a more engaged: hue in cheek...
fine...
     but given the benzene ring...
meta- positioning is clearly dead...
the trans- positioning attracted
the gender "debate"...
sure... i''ll settle for that...
but there's still the" ortho-
direction...
                       chemistry
teaches: there's no fourth in
a north south east...
          i guess it was called
the West at some point...
            do what the transgender
kids are doing going crazy...
the islamic appearance of prayer
was always going to return to
****...
as the christian to a *******...
now i've been trying to
switch on the metaphysics gyrroscope
for some times...
thing's fidgety and the most
likely un-curious affair...
a bit like stroking a cow...
         there's but one answer
to the trans movement...
    the english language has been
alienated from the concept
of orthography...
   kept in the dark,
  strutting along on ****...
growing into a gargantuan Chernobyll
artefact...
            you want sanity:
let the trans freaks do their bit
in ****** the common consensus with
an anti-orthodox gospel of
thomas,
   who should be doubted as a saint...
stick to the clue of, language per se...
if only i could interest the english
into investigating the concept of
orθograφy...
        y the acute iota - morph dearest:
orθograφí - pretty please: epsilon.
   and why did they search in Iran
for an answer, and derive aryan?
simply to combat the greek undermining
of the roman?
me? i'm coordinate at (0,0) - a third
0 nullifies the history...
                  a movie called:
a roman revenge!
                 keep your greco-judeaic
"new" testament,
     the sort of account of god that's
cosmopolitan, and, agreeable to the fashionable
ladies...
              θ-φ,
   the quadruplet Siamese twins...
question is...
was it boy-girl boy-girl
                           or boy-boy girl-girl?
huh! myth! it un-writes the blandness of current
history being pulverising,
     additive,
           and journalism becoming
worse than a **** speech...
has anyone noticed how condescending
journalists have become?
    how puny in attire of, something or other...
has anyone noticed how
    authoritarian these word-pushers
are becoming, how the middle class is
agitating a shadow which answers
them without
journalists these days are nothing
short of a bunch prying brats...
     with or without a dictator,
they are beyond fashioning a revised
credibility... i trust listening to a ****
more than their ******* opinion.

  bellum perfectus est in status quo

i still lament the lack of an article in latin -
           i.e. a perfect war is the unmoveable
"object" of affairs,
  and the perpetuated concern of a subject
matter, that is solved by a mere, yawn.

war is perfected in a status quo -
which means: constant war,
    a war in which civilians are militarised,
to the point where women are willing
to conscript into the army,
  and hardly any desire work,
in the construction industry;
  for some reason army allows slack,
yet the construction industry, doesn't.

seriouslly... Islam can *******,
from where tt came...
why isn't anyone talking
about the nag hammadi
library?!
                  it isn't a problem,
or something?!
seriously... Islam can *******...
i'm tying lose ends
and bewilderment with
the nag hammadi
library...
   but suddenly Islam is the big
new "thing"...
the nag hammadi library
nullifies the point of Islam...
there's a gospel by
St. Thomas in the library,
of Jesus playing chinese whispers...
Islam is your answer?
how about reading this crap,
resurrected by an Egyptian
shepherd in 1945...
coincidental
with the text of Josephus bin Matthias,
the historian...
the would be nationalist
turned Roman subvert...
   Islam? seriously?
so the emergence of
the nag hammadi library...
isn't a problem,
and the problem is the solution
that requires you to convert to
Islam?
       well... i guess the original
diagnosis was correct after all...
i am mad...
  as mad as listening to the grievances
from Rotherham.

Bad memories pollute the skulls of men like weeds choking beautiful flowers.

A man who has known fear can truly appreciate love.

Hatred magnifies cruelty but compassion nullifies hatred

An open mind can conceive of wonderous things.

A truly repentant man will gain salvation if he revokes past sins.

A flower blossoms with gentle care as does a tortured soul.

Tolerance can bring understanding. Understanding is the key to peace.

Selfish attitudes lead to the downfall of compassion. Unselfish actions sow the seeds of hope

we’ve known each other
for years,
hell, you’ve brought me to hell and back.
it’s confusing really.
can’t tell if you’re the same
monster who once sought to destroy
and shatter my dreams
for you don’t have the
same intention anymore.
or is it just that you were once
the victim of the same battering ram
pushed by another?
the thought nullifies the hate
i’ve gathered but not all of it
gets out of my mind that easy.
the disease that you’ve invested in me
affected my stance,
resulted into my-now inferior character,
bore instability and anxiety
but what can i do?
i’ve come to live with it day by day
like it’s my secret identity
and now to think that you’re
literally under my bed,
snoring like a tired beat up dog
home from work,
i couldn’t hold any more
but to let go. .

Blinded arrogance steeped in seasoned ignorance
cannot understand that contempt nullifies
what song does a canary sing to a nightingale
do sewage gutters ply routes in chambers at the
Taj Mahal

When the drums of empty noise oozes its ****
only village lamebrains come out to dance
the Scaramouch sits in his own faeces
calling the genteel fragrant ***** and smelly
peasants

So the revolution of the dishonorables pigs
farm pork's and dine on sizzling bacon
sham hogs marching left into right wings alley
lame boiled brain idealogues in snow blindness
merely poked out their blind eyes

The truth of the straight wholesome holds supreme
termites eats wood and skunks stinks in fright
in honor stands fearless Grace in light as it does
the Neros' of the pale ghettos fiddles in the ruins
of their Pompey's

until the cowed chickens come home to roost!

Sunlight streaming thru window
body electric of mine doth whet
begets hardiness to acclimate
against PECO shut off threat
ideal opportunity to spouse
analogous to her being my emotional pet
snuggling while standing in kitchenette
but accidental twerking
can guarantee yours truly
(me) being recipient of epithet.

I bundle up to stay warm
inside my cold man cave
particularly as average outside temperature
for November twentieth
two thousand and twenty three
hovers between high and low
fifty degrees fahrenheit
nearly brisk enough to see my breath.

I and/or the imaginary paramour
take our separate showers
during warmest hours of the day
less optimal to engage
in neighborly horseplay,
but more ideal for mistress (ha)
to pad around the unit donning her lingerie,
which nonverbally signals
(and greenlights)
more than voluminous words,
hence, I seal lips of mine

despite sudden aroused frisky urge
to burble exhibiting
debauched casanova behavior
accompanied courtesy illustrative
of suave debonair popinjay
rerouting spontaneous seduction today
indicative of throbbing
bulbous anatomical appurtenance,
which protrusion nullifies necessity of x-ray
to identify sudden
source of vasocongestion.

During daylight hours fresh air
arbitrarily, humorously, and noiselessly
streams and wafts
thru screened windows
ushering invisible scents
and audible sounds
of the webbed wide world here,
in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
our neck of the woods
since seventeenth year
after second century Anno Domini.

Civilizations since time immemorial
revered fiery celestial ball
establishing their respective mythology
which scheme attempted to explain
divine thermonuclear processes
sustaining the nearest star,
which Sol Invictus did enthrall
housing an astronomical object
comprising a luminous spheroid of plasma
held together by self-gravity
within the heavenly vault
divine creator didst install
which supposed movement in the sky
signified daytime and nightfall
linkedin with planet earth
a veritable, observable, honorable,
and admirable terrestrial tetherball.

In the wake of distasteful anguish



Fearlessly she saunters into vacuity



Forsaking me in the shadow of faux pas



As she nullifies my plead for redemption





As the tears gradually cascade upon my cheeks



They mirror that mark of quarantine in which



She sadistically stained my paper heart with revenge



Not giving one third of a **** as to how I felt





Chase after her I would have only I'm afraid that



The trails of her trench coat will slap me in the kiss



Of the rancorous bite of the breeze that dawns in her wake



My heart couldn't dare to bear the torture that would arise





Forgive me for this turbulent experience has now driven me



To bathe in the deathly grasp of the gallows, my new lover



My final goodbyes live in the blood stains that blatantly occupy



The suicide note that your vanity so rapaciously conceived