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Jade Wright Jan 2022
The parks are ours
No matter what the signs say
Though the crunch of the woodland
calls from far away
calls us to hunt, to gallop on through
fields, mud and marshes
double-sniff around of favourite lake too.
We pad the tarmac
plod the concrete
whether the sky is day-pink or dusk-black
we will walk together
and sometimes you’ll chat aloud to me
I’ll take in each warm word
even as I feel the oosh of the sea.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
nacht! mein kalt! (pips and cult of shrining *******)
                        (night... my calm!)
esp. watching Tan
beat Serena Venus
at Wimbledon... the former just played
better tennis...  to hell with the crowd...
Tan reinvented tennis...
i was a huge fan of playing
squash... i loved the warm-up periods
where you had to oosh...
yeah: oosh... usher in
the right sort of temp.
for the rubber ball...
          she was... Tan: spinning the ***** like a
Shane Ward...
    it was lovely to watch...
in the end: force x **** didn't pay
off for the Williams' end of an era
match...
   *******... just be a mum...
    i clearly imply: thank you...
but... come on...
      joking aside...
looking at her husband...
you might be left wondering...
for the egoism of massive Africa-American
boyos of the massive ******* persuasion types...
are... with the blonde ******...
while Serena Williams gets to mother
the ***** of a... soy-boy...
wow!
       you look at that...
you try to "reiterate": you can be suddenly
squashed in the diagnosis of: "schizophrenic"...
point being: THERE'S NO REALITY...
it's all make believe...
the higher you are up the food chain
the more rigour-stance you exfoliate...

i like the taste of ***** *****...
i love eating ***** *****...
i also like eating eggs...
     i love sniffing anuses...
i love eating eggs like they're abortions...
i also like *******...
******* genocides into the loo...
problem?!
  my body! my choice!
i do about 3 genocides in a day...
problem?!
      are we going to, have... a... problem?!

because how ever many times i wished
to be a father and have the mother to / for my children...
****... it... let's forget it...
Africa / Asia can keep up with Darwinism...
white people can **** popsicles
of yellow Zappa ice...

i'm not even white... i'm universally pink when
bruised...
morbid fake... copper-neck pristine when
sun-tanning...
          American ******* ******* and their
racial profiling bull-*******-****!
you come round England one more ******* time...
i swear i'll throw imaginative acid on your face
to turn you into albinos...

i hate your graffiti grammar!
say what? you heard me...
I... HATE... YOUR... GRAFFITI... GRAMMAR...
you sound *******... urban... sure:
but... RE-TAR-ED...
slow... you know what slow sounds like?
you sound slow...
and i hate the H'american accent...
no... no money in this ******* lovely world
will ever bring me to kneel before
the people of this sordid Empire...

i drink: i'm an uninhibited fire hazard of speech...
while some drink and lose focus:
i drink and gain some...
FREE-DOM! WILLS the WALLACE!
WALLS-AH!
you seriously can't do it any other
******* way...
people are best preserved when they
don't listen...
                         n'est c'est pas?!
      
who the **** needs to stress intelligence
when it comes to crowds?!
keep 'em dump... keep 'em shallow...
keep 'em: "hippy"... idiotically happy...
und der nacht werden tragen die Überreste...

das ist!
     auf wiedersehen!
                                 hallo neu-unglück!
mein neu du.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2021
how could i possibly describe what
an auditory hallucination
feels like?
if the auditory hallucination is merely your name,
so clearly stated...
M'ah-T'eh-OOSH...
while you're on the job?
what if it's a sound akin to... a swarm of flies...
and it penetrates your "hearing"
with a needle sharpness: as if someone
just poked a needle into your ear?
- yet hallucinating is not like hearing...
even though: we're talking about
something auditory...
calmness but at the same time:
being completely startled...
when it comes to hallucinating your own
name... it feels like... a gust: a pick-me-up
of a cold wind...
come to think of it:
i was sometimes afraid of my own thoughts
than any hallucination...
perhaps it was a good thing that i refrained
from taking up a chance to ingest
some magic mushrooms...
i think i'll save that little adventure
for a time when i'll be old...
hardly spontaneous...
senile, perhaps even dementia prone: it runs
in the family...
well... i escaped the heritage of genes
that produce blindness / amputees:
diabetes... and only my maternal grandfather
had dementia... but just in case...
Amsterdam it will be... then ******* off
to some little wood on the flatland...
or a wheat-field and ingesting a mushroom
or two... but not yet...
not when i still write from my own
initiative...
alcohol hasn't rotted my brain: not quiet
enough... i'll save up time for this booster...
- and to think... so many people might
want to try to go mad...
but rarely ever do...
i watch them: confined to their solipsistic
placebo thinking-mediums
and... it's not that i pity them...
but it's... so varied... when you think...
but also can... dare i say, enjoy?
an auditory hallucination?
who wouldn't... if some "external" source
identified you, knew your name...
that's why i never "think" that i am alone:
i know i'm not... life can pass
its own little"game"...
save some.. waste a whole lot of:
proxy.
Here are my Lil ones Zoi sh n Freyanush

With them I always feel maha "khush".

Twins they are not like Luv n Kush

Freyu loves channa n Zoi "oosh".

Love they to play in Aarta's garden, around a bush.

Little soldiers with water guns in ambush.

Fighting each other; giving the other a push.

Love to watch them play I, my darling Zoish n Freyanush

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
so much for view counts...
when... you find... more pleasure...
sieving 2 tonnes of soil...
than... writing your abysmal best...
for some...
competition...
with... wait... who's in charge?
of the poetryfoundation.org?
well... old news...
willard bunn III...
    henry bienen... "resigned"...
oh now i'll be watching...
gone with the wind...
like some ******* secret a-class
*****... like some: ******...
like... requiem for a dream...
             like caligula in the face:
malcolm mcdowell...
i never liked: gone with the wind...
more a ben-hur fan...
barbara! oh... barbra: streisand! oosh!
and effect...
i'll be watching gone with
the wind till the wind don't take me
but lazy thames: might...
**** it... gone with the wind
marathon... one movie x 4...
will probably equal...
the whole harry potter and twilight saga...
well i don't think it's funny...
given... Hattie McDaniel...
nigh-eerie-***** was an uncle tom
after all... h'along...
didn't work 'ard anough!
cots the cradle and cotton the *******
spinning "oops"...
                    about time to stop caring...
i cared once...
bash up: prop'ah punk limbo...
   and the youth can read
the same trash elsewhere
on brick walls and their grafitti hierogylphics..
not mine...
oh sure... well... the movie film critics
were always...
not-circumcised ******...
hard to match up to a pleasing
palette of the aesthetically pleasing: prunes:
last sauced... for the edible...
   coz danzig and world war two
vil alwayz be like: whatz-everz...
             cotton picked: no coal mine: mined...
the slam dunk!
leave that to the slavs:
the albino nigh: oh gee...
no carry bone-ant-and-bean-pop do...
  paid for nothing:
kamikaze!
what is a cat is a cat is a foot in a sock
is a sock on a foot is a foot and sock
in a shoe
and there's walking involved:
or simply standing:
don't get me wrong:
but i "got" Knausgaard all wrong
when i tried to read him in English...
maybe it's just the same with Jon Fosse:
maybe English is an ungly language of translation
maybe English is something momentarily perfect
in an abstract:
i think of Septology like i think of
Doctor Faustus and Herr! mein mann!
my future bridge of bride to be
is weeping into the telephone and
i have no avenues of consoling her:
with all that Omine Patrii Catholic ******* litany:
i'm a lion sleeping on sheeps' cloth
and the sunlight is spectcular
like
like
it's almost orange: like the fruit...
but without the tecture o
full texture of the full:
ORBITAL...
       define orange... Frank O'Here.
O'There: Oh **** everywhere
defined orange as a bad... a "bad" colour...
once i needed a serprent and a garden
and i've watched so much *******:
i'm reduced to old father dragon:
a recluse salvation
of solo: a worm weaving its way around
a bookshelf...
i am that...
evil, i find, has become a subpar IQ testimony...
these rigid half **** wits
and
if i were to think of woman and the foetus
which
enlargers the prospects of the ******
birth
and if my mind was a womb:
my foetus: my my my.. not my foetus
would be the ego...
and well isn't that a welcome sunshine
for a sunrise to a parody like
all Norwegian writing is exemplar:
you strangulate the Poles from the POLANA...
you make them desecrate
the **** the grass...
like: who was that ***** that catapulted Samson's
ponytail along with the Mongol tribe who
only found out: figured out counting
by barraging Baghdad by sling
of dead head cope...
        i'm painting: with sounds: but i'm painting
without sounds being sounds...
it's not like i'm writing: ******* music...
i'm writing that what i think i think
might be: red...
         or orange.... or brown...
when my partner starts crying because her
samurai would be... was poisoned...
aparently cats have short memories...
but it breaks my heart in order to give me
two hearts: two lingos...
and two minds to match:
maybe Reyla... hmm.. impossible:
that sly ***** couldn't poach a ******* egg
but what if... suppositional dysfuynction...

but if i am the nothing womb of the birth of
ego... id aside...
i feel uneasy hearing what pain
is true and like... alike...
it makes me beg: to differ...
i hark i send snow and i even send the night
with all the frost, nail, bitterness of
the biting...
i juggle:

there was a concept of writing poetry and of music:
but that died with Nietzsche:
i think then i don't think:
then replace the medium of writing
like some journalistic cul de sac
and some ****** lackey
you ******* kidding me
i will burn this continent with thoughts
alone!
i will drive that ****-******* crucifix into
your **** whale-bone
you Kentucky fried IQ lost puck-puck-puck-ah!
you Jew herder!

enloghten the spirits they said:
so much for circumcision...
can't ******* **** into the toilet bowl:
can ye?!
oh but it's alright when males are circumcised
and leave bad hygiene habits in the toilets
for all else to see:
scrutiny of the *******:
or maybe... maybe that's like:
fried onion rings... more or less:
foreskins...
so fry: those... *******... foreskins!
make 'em TH chewy...
like porky pie ears and all
that deep fried gelatin unlike
the Scotch deep fried Mars bar
you ******* spandex in gravy lateral
navy oosh! you Scotach better
beg for my pardon!

    the sun          and her sons...
the moon: and her daughters...
no one preparers you make digestion of this
subterranean *******...
Norwegians tied to try:
if i couldn't stomach Knausgaard
in English:
i can't stomach Fosse in English:
sorry: not sorry: but boo hoo anyways
ghost Angevin...
           i'll ******* get that smirk of self-assurance
readied
for the torture chamber
and there will be not laughter there:
i'll just perfectly employ the *****
to the ******* device
and i'll itch with each
available scrutiny of pleasure:
to allow yourself to suffer...

        because that is my judgement
and all else:
a repetition of consequence(s).

— The End —