Material objects tempt you
To leave your mildewy rags in the rearview
I know who can help you, he'll be here soon
Meaning he's arriving you just gotta sign this
Contractually obligating your silence
It's not science
Even a blind ***** would find this
Excitin'
See he's taken an interest in ya thighs
and how ya roll ya eyes like you know it all
But trust me when the dough's involved no ya don't

Your just tossing out them bills
Throwing em out like it gives you a thrill
Gives me chills, when the heats shut off
Coughing and coughing, I'm getting sick
Waiting on that ****, lickity split
Pass it around, I'm losing it
This ******* piling higher, I'm getting higher
Jumping out the window like that **** on fire
Waiting on a refund for all the time spent
No dimes or dollars even make a dent
Remorseful, with a side of content

Wait up ***** aint they raisin your rent
You need a sugar daddy not a diabetic
Let him take away your woes with a couple franklins
Getcha takin off clothes at his banks expense
Sayin that you bad, need a spankin then
And since you want attention this is what you get
Hard **** and love are two different things
but watch me blur the lines like the drink you sip
I've never been good with relationships  
And I lie tryna hide I'm fake as ****
But come to the bedroom
Got money and head room just so we dont drown when the blankets wet
Afterwards you smoke get your makeup fixed
Ask about bank while I take a ****
Throw you twenty to make complaining quit
Do i smell like money, honey?
Take a whiff

I smell something, it aint no money
You wanna play?
Imma need more than some stacks
and some grass to want yo ***
This aint no game of tic tac toe
Three in a row aint gonna beat my woes
You're reaping what you sow
Can't just throw out them bills no mo
It's rich, but you're not
You thought you had what you bought
But I walked, watch your wallet
Cause it can't cash your *******
This aint a relationship
Save it, I aint falling for ****
You aint having it your way
But I'm lovin it

when i cordoned you off
with Gorilla Tape and lilac vine
once i was done attaching encrypted files
of pearls upon that sultry salt of your inner-thighs
once i’d borrowed bonds
off my favorite banker’s portfolio
so i could waste myself in their earned interest
ratios
of blood bourne by centuries of
hapless gathering oppression
so i could use them in mosaics of swollen sand
that i could lay
like sea-glass shards under your
ebbing feet as useless parchments
i swallowed you in all your swollen spasms of fragile oblivion
until that bottom of this tongue lept amidst surfacing juices
obliterating and obligating all that ever decayed amidst obelisks
your whispers
(hatched from your
breathy endorphins)
shook me into
mine own
desperate shudders
astride our gathering humidity
and i gathered in
your needle-nosed
plier
eyes
-rust encrusted grey
incisors-
wrought from melted andirons
mixed with slug
trodden
soils
of hinterlands i was
never
to penetrate
as if i ever slammed
you
with yore spinning flails
into night’s emerging chasm
of charcoal sprinkled
with inner-orange peels
and their attempts toward
all that is illuminating, wistful, brief, and
precious—

i am your son, i am birthed from your sal i vations. i am twisting, still, amidst these rudiments of brine...

While walking
In his garden
One morning fine
Seeing a snake
He felt fear
Galloping down
His spine.
As a
Camouflaging trick
Attired a green silk
While zigzagging in
The grass thick
He should have
Squashed its skull
With a walking stick.
But he preferred
To walk away
“Let it there stay
I better
Keep it at bay.”

When he
Came back home
At night
He learnt he has
Lost his son
That suffered
A snake’s bite.

Misplaced mercy
Could backfire
To seek peace
With the snake
One must not tire,
For it will drag one
Into a quagmire
Obligating paying
A price higher.

Ask for mercy
An offender can’t
It is also not right
Unless s/he
Is repentant.

Also forget not
“Strike before
You are struck!”
Could afford one
Prowess luck.

If
The aforementioned
Advice you got,
“Hit when
The iron is hot.”

Modesty to
The heinous
And lazy
Is equally crazy.

If a human snake
Buy time
No doubt it will
Will commit
Further crime.

*** was something from the start

To keep the species going

If you mean to make a child

Be there when he is growing

The responsibility is great

Not something took for granted

You must be careful with the seed

And where and when it’s planted

The act is obligating…

It’s not  for wanton pleasure

The little one must be aware

He’s loved beyond all measure

And those that leave one on a porch

Are worthless when they do it

You must be mindful in this world

Of those you bring into it

While you enjoy the moment

Be cautious with your role

No *** is unprotected

Unless you have no soul

Trapped in the obligating shift
That I captured in a glass bottle
Then threw off the cliff
The mischievous trip
Is wrapped with a gift
That controls fancy imagination
Written for us
Then destroyed for participation

A systematic disguise
That seeks to attract us
And then smack us
Like flies

One must understand:
I am not the source
But today, I surrendered.
I am the corpse.

No direction anywhere yet I know just to take it day-by-day
No direction anywhere while I wonder if it’s even needed
If direction isn’t simply for the weak
If the real option isn’t just in letting go

Writing these lines at 10 am in Barcelona
No fixed plan but to live day-by-day
Look into my shadow and see the reason behind this short of breath
Deciding to get some proper rest before facing the day,
I put my alarm at 11.30 am

Responsibilty
Respons-ability
The ability to respond
Not mapping out your entire life
Moment to moment having the ability to respond
Day-by-day without direction
The most responsible way you can live

Phone on silent sleeping through
1.30 pm as I open my eyes
Back to being depressed as I desperatey try and tell myself that it’s okay
That it really isn’t so bad what I’m feeling
Not believing myself,
dreading that day-by-day will never enough
my religion, my holy grail
The daily question of ”what is the right choice today?”
No path laid out, no decided way to walk
Nobody giving you orders nor pushing yourself for a goal
The act for the act itself
A freedom obligating yourself the constant question of,
”what is the right choice today?”

I wake up to the alarm as I hear her roommate in the kitchen
Dreading the encounter desperately hoping she will accept me as I’m afraid to look her in the eyes
Hating the fact that I just know she sees the state I’m in
The anxiety written all over my face
Surely thinking, ”what is wrong with this guy?”
This guy with no direction in life

Day-to-day, waking up in Barcelona
No fixed plan but knowing the time has come to look into my shadow
Day-to-day, propelling me to write poems
Do serious introspection, forcing me to be fully alive

I leave the kitchen with the implications it might have
Of being this guy who’s not more than what is presented in this very moment
Wondering how much it has to do with a lack of direction
Yet I wouldn’t want any
Nor could I try and force one on me would I want to
The only option being to come to terms with the fact that I have no idea what tomorrow will bring
Where I will be in one month, what I will do in one year
Life is not to be controlled but to be unfolded before your eyes
And if the prize for that is angst
What at times seems to be an everlasting short of breath
Then I choose the uncertainty of life
Rather than force a direction
A direction from my logical mind which doesn’t know ****, anyway

Writing the poem sooths me, as I for a moment accept my faith as the aimless drifterer
I ask a pretty girl outside the book store what she’s reading
Another girl inside only speaking Catalan if she’s finding anything interesting
Before passing by a punk with purple hair begging for money
”How are you?” I ask her looking at her five cups spread out
One for food, one for tattoos, another for vet, and two more for alkohol and ****

Take the anxiety as it comes with all my freedom
Sit down in the dark with a candle as long as it takes
Letting the emotions have their run
Only to wake up the next day with the very same question,
”What is the right choice today?”
No pre-conceptions, no judgement, no saying I should do this or that
Response-ability
Let my instincts guide me, moment to moment being all there is
Not as in watching Youtube or other so-called escapes
Fully engage and if you can’t,
take the huge amount of responsability needed of living day-to-day
Not falling into activites being about life rather meant to be lived another day
Unless, and if you can all the power to you, if you you can watch that kitty-clip with all your heart

What direction could I possibly choose anyway
Go to school
I love my freedom too much
Be a ***
Not really a direction
Neither is traveling
Work as bike messenger
More of a paid hobby
Be a poet
That’s not something you choose
A poker player
Not really something to choose
Devote myself to creative processes
But I wonder if I’m just fumbling in the dark
Desperately trying to hold on to something
When the reality is…

Despicable future lies ergo, ahead here we trade to go
Pretending receptacle, disk-like topsy-turvy and a memoir
The years of strenuous struggle and summer's past
Antithetical to the present, zenith is here we endeth
Hermaphrodite, are you a dove in a flock
Of seagulls, that entices the erudition of like minds
Of yells and drama that show promise of an actionable decision
Derisive, and here's where we toll and we ring like bells
To the signs of perturbation, and anticipation is latent
Derogatory, and denunciated is dystopian life in this derivative
Of residence, maybe, we might mold ourselves into movers and the touched
The items that are among a collection are well-cared and nurtured for
Trembling fear is your colonel who is braving those storms and keeping rank
Somnabulance, serried, surfacing terms of senile agreement met
Setee and servile and set by the beset sentencing of someone on trial
Like I came into the room knowing the poor vernacular of my dreams
The error in my ways was courted by other folks
Floored and my pleas, were met obligating eyes

the Cartesian schematic, "schematic" will never
feel, seem or be thought of: as outdated,
clearly there is a parallel to how
it abides with the universal applicability of
1 + 1 = 2... somewhat, somehow...
take for example how i think about the God of
the Hebrews...
and how i think about about:
the time i spent from learning to swim to learning
to ride a bicycle:
in either case finding gravity: discovering it!
wow! although... i learned to ride a bicycle
before i learned to swim....
that element of peer pressure in terms of swimming:
because swimming teamed up with
survival instinctive-ness and peer pressure sort
of got along with the lesson dicta...
besides the point:
within the realm of res cogitans:
i think of ha shem and then i stutter and then
i think again with a hot-air balloon worth
of a comma or even a semi-colon
and i conjure up... Solomon's geometry of
the yet to exist Latin scribbles, letters...
YHWH is perfectly symmetrical in terms
of the pentagram of vowels: although:
some might say... Y is a vowel... not a consonant:
outside the abide of the English mongrel zunge...
but that's my res cogitans model:
my honing in decide-
   decisive-
          decisiveness...
             ah! stand corrected mon frer!
god almighty the Polacks drink the worst kind of
***** the spirited kind diluted from
ultra 98% from Mongolia or where the ****
Communism first originated:
state-atheism...
which makes me laugh when i labor
and i give birth to stillness and silence
when i emerge from what used to be State-Atheism
with these Western
Individualistic
Science-Prone monkey wanking super
supreme atheistic individuals and there's mention
of the wonders of the universe and
equations and i think:
on the individual level this atheism is rock
bottom in terms of being bewildered:
in terms of what's allowed and what feels
good beside(s) what feels... right:
obligating me to reciprocate...
i'll ******* reciprocate what the **** i feed as
necessary: i feed: not what feels
but what has a hunger...
so all this atheistic zeitgeist of western-ininity:
*****-nilly...
i have inherited state-atheism:
what the **** is use
for me
individual atheism?
something... ahem... specific?
what if i find science boring and crass
and elitist and all those scientific arguments
are worth jack'o and jackey worth of ding-ah-doodle-do
to me?
see... transcendental thinking is exhausting:
when i smoke some marijuana
and drink....
i much prefer drinking and being alone
and watching how people starve for
audience and audibility before the pope
and find a universal: title: like: devil:
do evil... and do us apart...
but then i think of how i mastered the clutch
and how i stopped theorizing and now
the car is 90kmh when i can take it that far
and it's no longer a bicycle because
i stopped loving cycling
and swimming is like eating fruit
i prefer eating vegetables and
like reading philosophy and your wife
is reading self-help books
and i think i enjoyed reading then
i didn't have so much practical awareness concerning
the mechanization of the world...
and as such: the muscle-thinking...
in Latin i think that's...
lacerti-cogitans...
       i've had sleepless: thank god: nights
imitating **** reactions worrying about
not drinking enough to fall asleep while grandma
does her... *******... Soviet Era gymnastics and
hopes to die before i cook her the ultimate meal
and i tell her:
not yet...
but in the open world... there's the Res Extensa
and in this dimension
the Ha Shem and YHWH diminishes
and fades and there's this elaborate network
of the ELOHIM and the Res Extensa...
and at least the remains of the Jews
who are now the Israelii...
and at least: the remains of the Jews of History
in the ***** of Europe who are now
the Israelii...
as the English commentators have it...
well... i can bow out: if the migration crisis is so bad
i can just leave Europe and *******
to the Pacific...  Hawaii...       ahem...
can...             you?
i can... i sort of wiped the floor with
a tango of red and cry and pink and
menopause...         but i ask... can you?
i don't really need a Christ on a cross and
some elaborate ******* plan
if the plan doesn't invoke me thinking
of transcendental plans of the everyday
and not doing the replica intrinsic: SICK:
on the crucifix there i was...
******* at Golgotha the stump
and then reminding myself:
of those not circumcised: ergo: not crucified:
well circumcision would make sence
if properly wedded and assured
i mean better than a wedding ring:
if i were to wed a woman i'd ask to be
circumcised... if i were... but i have two protruding
veins on my ******* so i can't so
the theory goes back into
what Islam is "thinking"... not much...
and out of the 20th adoration of foreign influence
whether that's Buddhism or Islam...
with the tumult of people:
i'm starting to think that...
these people and the birth of AI
oops... are having a reverse effect on:
who influences who...
           but at least i know:
within the realm of res cogitans there is "yhwh"
and ha-shem...
            while within the realm of res extensa
there's the park the savior of silence
and the godheads of crow snake and all the
other creatures and in the whirlwind there
is also a "ha-shym" by the allowance of ELOHIM...
i don't mind giving Europe up and its architecture...
i will claim the mountains and the tides of Kauai...
i do not need this modernity and this drowning man
attempt at clinging to life
dearest life... drowning while cutting himself
on a razor's edge...
i don't need western individualistic atheism:
nothing special with the bulls' bollocking
thrash at *******
i don't think that works:
i have come from state-atheism:
i think that works counter to
whatever thought entails atheism
to be some miraculous spectacle of...
funny... i don't know what...
state-secularism... m'eh... but state-atheism...
that... that sort of compliments the Vatican:
and that almost makes me laugh at how the English
had an Empire, Empire the imploded:
and oh so nice Whitechapel needed to be one
of those cruxes where Bangladeshi
some nearing extinction tongue needed to be placarded
for surveillance under: "ENDANGERED"...
so much of living among my own bio
and mess and history among the Western Slavs
learning how to drive will do to a man...
who will not save England
who will laugh at England
who was told to *******
who was told: ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT
in 1997... who was asked politely: not deported...
but the Home Office came to the house
and my father did a runner and then i
was left with my grandfather punching the wall
about the injustice and i saw my father and
mother handcuffed and we left...
and then...             well hey! hey!
free as the world can be!
not enough scruffy big on that fatsoid and get
delivered on kangaroo hop hop you
******* scream?
i do believe: oh such a relief...
the centrist and perfectionist in me...
i owe no allegiance to the narrative of England...
except for...
the allegiance to English humor
and a sense of traffic...
i owe England nothing of myself
that it might use me to align itself with others
on the labyrinth of world and history...
for the two are... apart... aren't they?
history is a study of time...
the world is a study of space...
maybe i'll keep my wife in the dark about
my fetish for Heidegger...
after all:        da-sein: there-being...
                is a sort of vibration counter to
to:       welt-außer!
oh... but then i like the S//Z the sharp dictation...
i'll settled for what compliments the individual
and the da-sein with making it a:
welt-neben!