Ang ganda na sana ng tugtugan
Ang yabang ko pa
Abang na abang ako sa kantang patutugtugin nung kuya sa caf
Ayun, "Forevermore" ng Side-A
"Ay putang ina"
Solid.
Kahit may pagkain sa harap ko.
Ang sakit pala.
Ang hina ko pala.
Isang kanta lang, hindi ko kinaya.
Oa para sa iba.
Pero para sa'kin?
Iba.
Masakit.
Hindi ito yung mga oras na kaya ko maging matapang.

Isang kanta lang, hindi ko kinaya.
Bakit ba ako nasasaktan?
Bakit ang lala?
Mahal mo pa ba sya?
Mahal mo ba talaga ako?
Ang sakit pala.
Ang hina ko pala.

Ang yabang ko pa.
Akala ko napakatatag ko.
Pero hindi pala.
Isang kanta lang, hindi ko kinaya.
Bakit kasi hindi mo ako hinintay?
Pinanindigan ko ba talaga pagiging "laging late" ko?
O sadyang kailangan ko lang talagang masaktan nang ganito?

Isang kanta pero ibang sakit ang dulot sa'kin.
Isang kanta mula sa nakaraan mo na labis na nagpapasakit sa ngayon natin.
Madaling sabihing lumipas na yun.
Pero mahirap ding pilitin ang sariling 'wag mapaisip
Ano kayang iniisip mo nung narinig mo rin yun?
Naalala mo ba lahat?
Naalala mo ba sya?

Nanghihinayang ako.
Bakit ba hindi kita noon nakilala
Nung hindi pa ako ganito kahina
Nung kaya ko pa magmahal nang buong buo
Hindi tulad ngayon na puno ng takot

Nang tignan mo ako sa mata
At sinabing mahal mo ako
Saglit na tumigil sa pagtibok ang puso ko
Masaya at masakit
Sabay.
Lalo akong nahirapan.
Hindi ko na alam.

Sa bawat araw na dumadaan
Mas minamahal kita
Ayaw na ayaw kong nawawala ka sa tabi ko
Maya't maya hinahanap kita
Akala ko ganun ka din
Kaya lang nasasakal ka na pala
Hindi ko namalayan
Sobra na pala
Paano ba talaga magmahal?
Bakit kung hindi ako kulang, sobra naman?

Ngayon hindi ko na alam paano ka kakausapin
Paano kikilos
O magsasalita kapag andyan ka
Pakiramdam ko lahat ng gawin at sabihin ko,
Mali.
Sobra.
Kulang.
Ewan. Paano ba?
Siguro nga ganito talaga kapag nagmamahal.
Masakit.
Kumplikado.
Uubusin lahat ng lakas mo.

Ibibigay ko ang gusto at kailangan mo.
Pero sana sabihin mo
Kung sawa ka na
Kung ayaw mo na
Kung kaya mo pa
Kung mahal mo ba ako
Kung mahal mo pa ba ako
Kung mahal mo ba talaga ako
Kaya ko tiisin lahat
Hanggang alam kong may pinanghahawakan ako
Pero kung wala na,
Handa naman akong magpatalo
Handa akong masaktan
Maging masaya ka lang

Sanay naman kasi ako
Alam kong mahirap akong mahalin
Hirap din akong mahalin ang sarili ko
May mga bagay na sadyang hindi nababago
Pero kung tunay kang nagmamahal, matatanggap mo
Matitiis mo
At kahit hirap ako
Ginagawa ko
Hindi ko isinusumbat
Gusto ko lang malaman mo
Na ganito ako magmahal
Uubusin ko ang sarili ko

Sana maubos na rin lahat ng sakit na 'to
Hindi ko alam na ganito ang epekto ng isang kanta
Isang kantang magsasampal sa akin ng katotohanan
Na walang madaling paraan para magmahal

The last place for a waterfall, no mountains or valleys,
horizons flat as summer seas, then from thirty miles,
a white tower of spray punctures the blue sky.

Closer, you hear thunder, though there is no storm,
see double rainbows, bright bridges across air,
feel a welcome drizzle in searing, blistering heat.

Closer, you part a bush, stand on the edge of a chasm;
the wide Zambesi glides forward, then plunges deep
into a wound in the earth’s crust, a break in basalt.

The ground trembles with shock, you shout but hear
nothing except a raging roar as solid water
explodes up in your face, blinds you, engulfs you.

Down in the Devil’s Cataract, the river cuts frantic
zigzags through deep gorges until it pours into a pool
where a dead hippo bounces up like a rubber ball.



[Mosi-oa-Tunya: the Victoria Falls, translated as "Smoke that Thunders"]

Paano ko kalilimutan ang taong hindi naging akin?
Mayroon bang off-switch na pwede kong pindutin?
Gusto kong sabihin sa sarili ko "tama na! huwag ka na umasa!"
Pero bakit nasa larawan mo pa rin ang aking mga mata?

Paano ko kalilimutan ang matang hindi ako tinignan?
Mga matang mapupungay at kaysarap pagmasdan
Kung pwede lang pumikit, tapos pagkadilat ay wala ka na
Para tumigil na ako sa walang humpay na pagluha.

Paano ko kalilimutan ang mga ngiting ubod ng tamis
na iginuhit ng mga labi **** tila seda sa nipis?
Gusto kong isigaw kung gaano kita iniibig!
Ngunit kung sarado ang tainga mo, paano mo ako maririnig?

Marahil sasabihin mo, OA na ang tama ko
hindi ko pa kilala, pero ang drama ko ay ganito
Kasalanan ko bang umasa na ang mga daan namin ay magtatagpo
lalo na kung alam kong andyan lang siya sa kabilang kanto?

Paano ko tatalikdan ang pusong hindi naangkin?
May bukas pa ba na nakalaan para sa atin?
Kailangan ko na bang itigil ang kahibangan kong ito?
Natatakot ako sa sagot, dahil madudurog lang ako.

For my autopsy, there will be a crowd around my corpse, layed flat upon a dinner table so when they cut into me the dogs know they're in for a feast. I want them to use a pen to open my chest, they'll find my heart over stuffed with love-poems, to feed int oa machine that will determine my exact cause of death. They will find so many vessels clogged with grudges, half-truths, my sons generation will need a triple bypass.

I want them to drag that scalpel across my skin like "Is this how [x] made you feel?", open up my stomach and find enough swallowed pride to lead a thousand men to their doom in some ugly battlefield, not enough paycheck stubs to make my bank stop calling, a note I was going to leave 35 years later when I hung myself in some office cubicle, and some expired tags to a license plate, because I couldn't get the **** out of here.

I want them to speak into tape recorders and scribble on clipboards, open up my lungs that look like the crumpled up cellophane you toss away from a pack of smokes and find all the breath I've held for someone else so the atmosphere can take one big inhale, and choke.

I want them to document the burns and cuts on my hands, her skin was like a stove-top you forgot you left on, her hair full of briar and the finest papercut edges, someone said they were good looking hands but they've done some ugly things, the calluses look like shields, so even when I open up my palms, my guard isn't down.

For the final ceremony they can quarter me because the world has dissected and separated me, I hope my tendons are used to tie together some little girls swingset so I can finally feel all this stres and strain is for someones benefit.

They can take my arms and hands, put em to work to pay off my debt to a government grant like "Nobody smokes on the night shift?" Are you kidding me? Take my lungs too.

They can take my legs and feet and give them to a paraplegic, watch him become an olympic athlete, because my legs are toned and trained from all the dreams I've chased. Maybe someone else can pull these ******* past a finish lane.

I hope they drain all of my blood and use it to fill a thousand pens, and I could save a few good people some strenuous heartbeats, put a little bit of the sandmans real good **** on some bloodshot eyes, hand out some cookies and juice to get the sugar flowing, because everybody bleeds when they write.

Give my heart to a girl so she can write down all her problems and stupid inside jokes on it, and toss it to a corner of her room where she lays down from exhaustion, forget it in her car, at her friends house, on the counter of a desolate library. When she finds a heart with a little more polish, a lot less IOU's and a LOT LESS tolerance to being used, she'll know how to keep it in mint condition, because no amount of life insurance on full coverage, the interest rates skyrocketing through the roof and ironically digging you a hole, can cover the bill, when a heart breaks.

For my autopsy, there will be a crowd around my corpse, anticipating the nap of a vulture with a full stomach, oh and right- about my brain? Good luck with that, their hands will look like someone caught them stealing, and **** the rainforest they're gonna need some toothpicks, I don't even care about the leftover pieces-- but no amount of shiny surgical tools or a practitioners 10 year medical degree funded by the slack jawed desire to make people pay for a check up none of need, will be able to dissect my soul.

Osogo chiewa gokinyi tula ruto e wi tado,chunya penjoree nyakwar kibiere ang’o ma dwa yudowa ma awinjo duond jachein machiegni ni? Achiewo amanyo ang’uolana mane agolo ka pok adonjo e od nindo.Awuok oko agoyo ****’a koni gi koni ,aneno minwa oa turo bando e puodho ma path ot,’minwa oyaore?’ amose gi luoro apenje ni,to ma winy ochiewa gi ruto modhuroni to kare ang’o madwa timore,”Nyathina ing’eyo ni asebedo ka aleko lek moko mag tho chalo ni masira nyalo yudowa machiegni ni.”Wewuoyo kamano minwa nyoro ka koko ayiko nyabila osiepa mabuonjo mos to ong’eyo rito nyikwayo ,omwolo nyakamaye,ok adwa winjo wach tho kata matin.Ne, we keta gi wach tho gokinyi chiew owadu ma ababa mondo udhi e puodho ridho bando, wuoyi ber machiewo to yudo gi matimo ka chieng pok obedo makech,awuok achiko e od steve omera kuma ababa tinde nindoe karito ’ ,Ababa pok ichiewo,? mama wacho ni en nindo manade ma sani pod ng’ama dichwo ninde?Bro,nyoro ne anindo modeko nadhi e thum kaseda loka aduogo saa apar ga riyo asayou weya uru anind matin okatamora puodho to adhi.Ababa we tugo koda dalaka. kwani wan ema ne wakoni ni idhi e thum? Chung na malo ka pok achopo kanyo apami.Awera kode Awuok Oko Tiego Kwer ,nyundo pisore to goyo lweta malit ‘Uwi Uwi ****’,Fred en ang’o? Minwa goyo koko,Ta ang'ise gi lit ni " ok nyundoni ema dwa bamo lweta yawa',Ababa nyiera ‘Hehe mama nakoni ni jo town gi bure kata tiego kwer gikia’.Omera we losona kaka ilosonano idhi ****’o iya gokinyi.Mama to nyathini kamaye ekaka tinde onindo dalaka ? Saani dekoro wasechopo e puodho? Fred, in to ema ihero lungo wach,Nyoro donge nang’isi ni aseda mawuon Erick ne onindo e bade? D.O Misiani ne biro goyo ngolo kanyo gi joka shirati band,makoro imedo chumvi e wach dhina e thum ni? Ne ok awinjo maber ababa yawa,yani "Aseda ne osewewa ? To nyaka ne bi dalaka asebedo mana ka awuotho to shemecha gi ok kona ni wuod awino ratego osewewa,mayie we adhi sani agone gi mos puodho ok ringi pod an dala ka.Mama? Ababa ng’isa ni aseda kare ne ong’ielo orengo? We adhi agone gi mos mondi? Fred Okadwa Walo Ochuno Ni Nyaka Idhi Sani ? Dhi nenore marach ni asebet odieng' ariyo dalaka to pok adhi gonegi mos,we adhiya adhiya mama asayi?Kare dhi to kik ibudh kono,Aneno wuonu ma ngoto kono ohero minoni mang’eny gi penjo mag pimo wich,Tang' kode? Awinji minwa.Omera ? Mano fred maneno kalo e rangach kanyo no? Adwoke gi gero,'Mano ng’a magoyo koko gi nyinga E gweng’ no?An bena omera kwani ikia dwonda ? Omera kare in e gweng’ ka ? An Nabiro nyoro. Achopo ka owad gi baba u ma aseda kagoyo mos.Mano ber ,yaani freddy eldoret ka omiyo ok unenru, chakre john ma wuonu tho yawa,uweyo nyauyoma ema puro dalaka  kapunda? Ok kamano baba “nyaka wamany omera, piny oidho ma  ka ok imanyo toinyalo inindo kech kata kwelo.We an achop ago mos koka aduogi,Kapok idhi  Freddy miya gimoro kanyo adonjgo kisii ka amorgo chunya? Omera Benah, sani to atwo ok awuotho gi wallet lakini mak mia moro nikaa ikwe go wiyi, abiro neni maber godhiambo.Erokamano wuod baba, in gi chuny mana ka wuonu ma john. Sasawa Bena we an Aweyi.Hodi ka? Karibu! Karibu !  Freda,To in Dalaka? Antiye min akoth nabiro nyocha neno nyara matin gi minwa ,Mos  kuom gimoyudi ni? Nyathi john,mae e yo manyaka ji duto te nelu,nitie kinde nyuol gi kinde tho, wante wan jokalo e piny ma mwalo ka,mano adier min akoth.To ne  odhi nade ? " Kik iwach nyathi nyieka,an nachiewo gi sime koa kisumo ni wuon akoth wakoche ne oyang’o ng’ute gotieno koa tich.Gichinje matindo tindo." Mos yawa, pinyni  ne waresre nade? En mana kamano nyathi nyauyoma,to piny majan kono udhiye nade ? Siasa awinjo ni liet kono mapek piny otur ji dwaro lokruok? Nandi, dhi maber lakini nasewuok kono an eldoret tinde.'oh nisewuok kono ? Mano ber tek ni iyudo kamoro ma chumbi wuoke."Min Akoth ok awuotho machwe ahinya lakini mak rupia moro matin ni, iyudgo kata sukari moro ne nyithindo."Erokamano nyathina nyasaye ogwedhi,to pok iyudo min ot nyaka nya min nyathini wewa? Hahhahaha ! Naseyuto,Nyasaye ogwedha gi jaber kendo achano mana harus.Pod apime ka en miyo manyalo pur ma kojwach ka.Pod Antiye Dalaka Wabiro Wuoyo Kayudo Kinde. We an aweyi? Erokamano nyathi nyieka.

so guess what, one day
I found a key (to a closet (in the church.))
and it was very dark and dusty
in there &
the ladder nailed to the wall was only wide
enough for
one
foot
at-a
time,
so, it’s lucky that
I’m skinny enough to wri-i-iggle my shoulders
up and through the hole in the
closet’s web-trailing ceiling.

I clambered up there and into this black
forest.
Plants were sprouting
up in big rills and clumps--
stalks thin as my finger and
pipes wider than my waist,
some fading up into the ceiling’s darkness...
others squatting low, and glaring up
at me with One. black. eye.
they were all deathly still.

Then,
the creaking boards, the black forest, the cramped path of unmarked dust that winds between the pipes, all that just
SIGHED and VIBRATED,
and with a hisssing hoarsse
!shhhhhhhh...
breathed!
and my heart just stops!!! BAM!





{cricket}


and i feel ****** into a dark mouth! i am caught and trapped by this black closet’s maw andI’mwaitingfor Godknowswhat tocomewrigglingfromthepipes-- ! --!
and then guess what?:

!b’URsting up its throat
is a SONG!
slowlyand Suddenly,
a blaring, screaming,
golden
!EAgle of a chord
that s(oa)rs and c’RASHES into anotherand another one
all rising and falling,
champing at the bit until One Thousand hhums and shhivers
fill each pipe.

and it feels like
holding ten coins in a stack and making them jump-clink-clickity-HOP together--
oh, it feels like
pushing your fingertips into a bucket of cold paint
it feels like the moment after jumping off of a tall tree
it feels like un-rippling your braided hair with both hands
like a songbird’s claws curling about your finger,
like closing your eyes in a hot summer-sun
and falling asleep in a hammock

it feels like holding a blacksnake
that curls and struggles strong against your wrists,

that’s what this church ***** feels like.

I’m gonna **** the genius that started playing while I was in there.

There was MM.
He awoke the waiting ****** being that was hidden below Southern rules and tradition. With a touch and a release of pressure and tension he unleashed an alter like no other. But he treated me like his personal plaything, a discarded shirt, an afterthought. So I let him go.

There was OA.
He reignited the spark extinguished in the aftermath of MM. Gave me the beauty of motherhood that I was told I'd never have. But he proceeded to leave us for an easy life and for the sights and sounds of big city living. So I let him go.

There was CJ.
He made the apples of my cheeks burn underneath my caramel brown skin. Filled me with a love that I had read about in copious amounts of books. But then came his mother wielding her rumors and I lost most of my hair and had to be put back on the zombie meds. So I let him go.

There was AB.
He gave me time and my passion came back full force. He gave me breakfast in bed among crumpled sheets from nights spent devouring each other with pure, unabashed lust. But people came along with their lies and jealousy. So I let him go.

There IS CK.
He came in like a meteor, crashing into planet Me with such force it knocked me off my feet and into his whole being. Friendship came and solidified our bond. Age didn't matter and neither did any of the world's oppressing views. People came again. So we let each other go, but the bond remains.

what? you seriously gonna row ρ row your boat, gently down the stream? well, aren't you the cherub to my apple's worth of hopes in being my ferryman, replacing charon, when crossing the styx!

it's one of those *edgware road scenarios,
you're walking down it,
popping into a restaurant for a shisha pipe...
and then street preachers prop up...
your girlfriend is half irish, half indian,
and they ask you: you german? you german?
no... wait... am i?
                  i guess there's a physiognomy
aspect in the way i look to others...
        am i german?
                   i ask my girlfriend at the time,
do i look german?
                 i don't know the ****** language...
should i learn the language?
               so these muslim street propagandists
keep egging me on...
       look at the jews... blah blah...
            and i'm thinking...
             my native tongue is polish,
and i'm trying to settle myself in english...
     what's this german bit?
even at school, i hate reciting this, but a history
teacher talking about the second world war
singled me out from the rest of the class...
                "blonde" hair... she didn't spot
i had green, rather than blue eyes...
             this is freaky deeky deep ****,
unconscious forces working against me...
                               the **** did i do?
turn into michael fassbender?
    fast-bartender, or simply futurama's ******?
shoe on head is not enough, when
you're asked to don a stilleto as an earing
dangling on your ear... not the same ****,
and certainly not the same cover...
       my paternal great-grandfather?
spoke 7 languages, was in the MP (military police),
moved to america,
      my mother tried to get in touch...
      i think my family owned portions of the steel
factory that would have allowed my city of
birth to grow into a county-like-capital...
that failed...
                       if i did a gene test
i'd be least surprised to have some german
or mongol, or swede in me...
                                         read the history;
it's just the idea that muslim preachers at
edgware road (where's the edge, and the wear?)
         giving out free korans decided to
consider me german?
    they didn't call my girlfriend at the time
an australian, even though she was raised there...
i was suddenly german...
   i ****** well hope this is not some form of narcissism
that requires: being written about...
         well then... i must be then!
still, what bothers me more is edge-wear rho-
             -and the missing -ad.
                                       ro-                -ad?
    i swear people just establish there is no oa
        or an ao grapheme borrowed from latin...
               they just say: row'd;
     as in the past tense of: i was rowing in a boat,
down the thames.
          clearly you need to gulp down an oyster
to make clarifications to the slight differences
in spelling, to make grand strides in what you mean.
     it's also edge-ware... as in... the edges are
being worn... ware & tear ring any bells
                                          via st. mary-le-bow's?
a bit like saying: quacks? or quakers?
that's the same doctor?
     no, you ******* ponce... it's a play.
on what?
                                                         words!
i really, really either need to start learning
braille, or sign language; people are exhausting
with all their functioning senses,
       and i don't feel like subjecting my tongue
to the treadmill of conversation;
       ****... there's no chance of talking the earth
out of orbit!

the natural dichotomy of composing
in silence:
with the aid of alcohol and marijuana
and any other truth serum...
then there's composing of words
the anti-arithmetic Aramaic not:
when under the influence of music:
which is the sonic white ingredient
that competes with big pharma...

i have a story to tell:
philosophy truly begins with
the tide of death...
if life is earth
then death is water...
it begins here:
it doesn't begin with get behind me
demon:
in old age with the answer:
if you will find a good woman:
you will be happy and not crave the intellect:
but if you find a bad woman:
you will not be content
and you will become a philosopher:
but i am mortal and before being
wedded to a woman
i am bespoke of death...

          now for the music...
i have three dimensions of German high thought:
my thought agitate me...

there's the categorical imperative of Kant
there's Nietzsche: the solipsist
rather than the nihilist
Kant with the categorical imperative
Heidegger with question-worthiness...
guides:
read philosophy in your 20s
then watch your 30s and 40s...
map out a plan of understanding
then you will have knowledge:

YD OA...
  of yod off DOA...

modus operandus: modus operandii in
the plural...
operandus: mode of operating
under a strict dictum: vox se: per
to think that there was no noble ****
intellectual project is
heart-warming and heart-breaking
the Nazis
the Nazis the Nazis
oh the Nazis
came and left so quickly:
but we're talking: we're not talking
Egyptology and pyramids
but instead chimneys and grey snow
and Mozart...

an anti-German seeps in:
Heidegger's question-worthiness
is matches in ancient thought
by the Greek Archimedes
and eureka!
i found what? these days?
the question-vector the worthiness off: to be
asking...
exclamation-worthiness:
eureka, the song: by Abba:
no new Stockholm just the Helsinki Syndrome
in a world of phenomena...
to me Kant's noumenon
is the equivalent of the Q and Anon
and ? in what is:
question-worthiness...

beside the hammer?
i don't need what could possibly look best
yellow on red
if the Mongolian tribalism
the Holden Horde:
like the colors of Ukraine:
blue above
sky blue Autumnal vagary...
then the yellow of the fertile fields...
the wheat for the bread and
beer...
Dolcce und Gabbana Lombardy...

my teeth are not artifact...
i smoke a little try to drink so little
but then the serpent comes and slithers
into my throat with so much fire
that i start to grow wings
and breathe fire:
cousin serpent: why have you come into
my mouth? slithered there by MY apple:
by my apple of the throat
who says I: you? or me?!

Matt is the Devil:
i should know: i scheme all kinds of goodies
for the children
who are yet to be Auschwitz factioned
told to be humans
segregated by ego mother
brother archetype
annoying sister insect...
i'm become poly-schizomatic:
i have turned individualism
into a persona generating machine:
i am PROTO-OEDIPUS...

i am already gearing up for the future:
my pornographic habits involve
GILFS: grandma's i wanna ****:
her previous husband was into bisexuality
and schoolgirl ****:
i'm into ******* women in her 70s:
i want to **** the GRAEAE sisters
to have a third eye:
i will **** my way into the
demands to be met to gain this mythological
dimension!

i will be the father of those ugliest of all
horrors of Heaven:
that Medusa was spawn of heaven
that Polyphemus Outis!
the gravity of the grotesque shifts
from Hell and a democracy arrives:
since what is timing when killing
a child?
the abortion, Lucy Letby's cases...
Bebe King, six; Elsie Dot Stancombe,
seven; and Alice Dasilva Aguiar
a heaven is a place where they went:
you want to go there
and... ahem: ex-plain?!
in Catholic school the pope played
bingo and golf:
had no concept of chess or cards
or backgammaon:
but somehow he knew a Kennedy... which i thought
was: a tad: bit... weird'oh...
so heaven is a place you go to
to become surrogate:
freaks... all those abortions...
what's three names to the list of the unlisted?
what is ****** what is abortion
i don't know: let's **** some six year olds
to quicken the debate...
killing 6 year olds is not killing foetuses is
not killing ***** is not be squandering
by asking ***** to be manna:
i just don't know...

        good philosophy comes:
not because you grandfather died...
or your mother:
you're grey on grey:
your coworker died...
well **** forget that i forgive
you not apologizing...
where's this night guard:
i want to meet this
werewolf zombified-vampire:
mind you...
this the fetish for vampirism die off
into the Zombie Apocalypse
when the AIDS epidemic died down:
to be less and less culturally relevant:
Bruce "the Boss" didn't sing:
the streets of Philadelphia...
so that's the one angle of ****
we covered?
besides the ******* rainbow: in rainbow....

so no cheese?
no drag queen traumatizing children...
maybe we should stabbing them...
rather than exposing them
to this **** virus of bad grammar ideas...
**** it! hey guys!
we're going for a biological impasse:
we're going to just ******* LAUNCH!
against everything!
just, *******: LAUNCH!
we're going to hijack:
**** it: hack:
the ingredients list of Gweneth Paltrous...
health-stance milkshake...
we go you us RIOT!

just checking: so when is killing a killing
and not a lifestyle coach typo
"choice"...
just let me know:

i need vitamins: i need muscle:
i need brain de facto: defects...
i need Frankenstein:
traumatized...
i need to know the cut in point
\and cut off point of meaning:
so stabbing them while they're 6
is bad: because they know Taylor Swift
is not going to capture the dragon...
so...
it's o.k. with serial killer promises
killing infants:
no riot there...
and no riot over the guillotine of white, pill...
good to know...
at least now i know
how to best behave in a crowd....

the Germanic overlord to the beacon
of usage of the English tongue...
just need to find the right sort of meassurements
to know my way around.
but i came to these lands without so much
as a tongue of my own:
so why have i integrated to deposit anonymity personas
while these ******* end up stabbing little girls?!
a bit like the story of the Polish-Linthuanian
Commonwealth:

a foreign ruler would come in:
if only once the Commonwealth gave powers
to a Russian of Origin:
what a Marcus Aurelius a quote
that would have made!
should a foreigner come to the shores of England
and still find the Welsh speaking Welsh
and the dynamic of the crows
flying at lengths: ******* apart:
huginn and muninn...

if i were to sacrifice the eye i ****** off and out of
the possession of Polythemus and the GRAEAE...
GRA-E
or... GRE-A...

           and combine thinking with memorizing...
i thought therefore i remember...
i tihnk: therefore...

therefore: not logic: i have to to...
if i think then, i have to remember...
remembering is a faking of cognitive storage:
thoughts can't be stored:
shackled: enslaved:
thoughts are reincarnations...
for individualistic purposes:
thought sometimes need to be written down:
authenticated: given person...
require signatures:
given the disparity of one individual having them:
burdened with writing them down:
and another: oblivious, individual:
not: individuated enough:
making the same claim of:
these exact thoughts passed through his brain: freeze:
freeze brain!

Kant's categorical imperative...
Heidegger's question-worthiness...
Nietzsche's solipsism=nihilism
Archimedes': eureka!
there was a third dimension i was thinking of:
it must have arrived in my son of con:
the science of -ness affix...

just think:
how poorly most people cipher the Cartesian
doubt:
so blinded by faith...
they ask so many impertinent questions
to guide them:
they have no quill to stomach:
not as guide but as tourist...
they ask so many questions that are not
question-worthy...
this is not acting immorally:
but then again: goodness is allowed to lapse
into sleep:
evil is insomniac...
and when goodness becomes complacent...
evil strikes...
and to me: that's perfectly understandable:
since then chaos ensues
and there is no madness of crowds:
just the chaos of simplicity
having to have to return to the basics of order
that is 1 + 1 = 2
vowels, consonants... an article, the article:
pronouns...
or are we going to have any more arguments
while i gag death and keep her hostage
to her finalizing her postal duties, or what?!
people not understand people being angry
who they think they can control by the summons
to the t.v. glazing neon
that is Plato's cave:
care to watch the horror of a newsreel
in the graveyard shift of life answering?
even to me:
getting a cold in the height of summertime
is weird
as is the fact that Beelzebub's emissary was
buzzing in the night...
but not that green bottle bottom maggot frenzy...
the black fly...
the wholesome miniature of a horse...
jarzębina: mountain ash...
Rowan Tree eyes are poison pebbles...
so dill...
the Egyptian with the dung beetle
the Europeans with their flies... what desert
under these unearthed roots of trees: these crowns?!