let’s live suddenly without thinking

under honest trees,
                        a stream
does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling
-water pursues the angry dream
of the shore. By midnight,
                                a moon
scratches the skin of the organised hills

an edged nothing begins to prune

let’s live like the light that kills
and let’s as silence,
                            because Whirl’s after all:
(after me)love,and after you.
I occasionally feel vague how
vague idon’t know tenuous Now-
spears and The Then-arrows making do
our mouths something red,something tall

Veteran fashion designer Tarun Tahiliani believes that the Indian fashion industry has become more organised and a little more professional.

Best known for his ability to infuse Indian craftsmanship and textile heritage with European tailored silhouette, Tahiliani believes that the Indian fashion industry has become more strategised and cemented over the last 20 years.

"India's propensity to consume is gaining an international audience and this is changing the competitive landscape," Tahiliani told IANS in an email interview.

"It has certainly become more organised and a little more professional, and obviously the market has exploded, but I think that we still have a long way to go in terms of being more business oriented and there's still room to get more organised and professional," the designer added.

Eulogizing the new and younger crop of designers, Tahiliani, who has over two decades of experience in the industry, believes that they are doing well in terms of the handloom and textile industry.

"What's really heartening to see is that there are so many younger designers who are going places and are doing so well in terms of the handloom and textile industry... it has become more organised. I think handloom was very localised in terms of weavers with a certain look from a certain area sold through certain channels," said the Co-Founder of Ensemble -- a multi-designer boutique.

"There has been a lot more creative freedom and other regions are experimenting with textile alien to their region, especially if they are more lucrative. As long as people appreciate traditional craftsmanship and embroideries, machine work will never replace the richness of hand embroidery," he added.

Asked if the plus-size models are yet to move into the mainstream industry in India?

"Well, they should have moved into the mainstream long back. But are not normally associated with very expensive high fashion and couture," Tahiliani said.

Having draped most of the leading ladies of Bollywood like Priyanka Chopra, Aishwarya Rai Bachchan and Madhuri Dixit-Nene in his creations, Tahiliani says that fashion is his muse, not a Bollywood star.

"Art, architecture, interiors, history, travel and maharajas... My inspiration comes from many things. Sometimes it's from beautiful inlay work that I've seen in a fabulous monument; other times my inspiration can be something as simple as a beautiful kanjeevaram weave," he said.

"Ultimately, however, my inspiration comes from India's rich traditions of craftsmanship, particularly when it comes to things like embroideries that we have in India. Nothing is more amazing than beautifully executed, intricate and fine technique. I don't design clothes keeping a Bollywood star in mind, but rather for the new age contemporary woman," he added.

Tahiliani is all geared up to showcase his collection The Last Dance of the Courtesan at the FDCI India Couture Week 2016 on Thursday here. He has artistically blended fabrics like cotton jacquards, cotton silks, crepes and cutwork jamdanis with Swarovski crystals for the range.

That's not all. He will next participate in the Vogue Wedding Show and then the prestigious Lakme Fashion Week, to be held in Mumbai in August.

"I will present my Ready to Wear Autumn Winter 16-17 collection at Lakme Fashion Week. It has been inspired by the works of Mrinalini Mukherjee (late sculptor) and the journey only gets bigger and better from here," he said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/pink-formal-dresses

briano alliano performs on venus party trap




you see welcome to the trap and i had a great night at the poetry slam

where i met this man who said m6y poem was great, well, he liked it

in fact when i didn’t win it, he wanted to heckle the organisers, well, it was

fun, but i like the organisers too, but this man realiy believed in me, ya know

especially when i told him i am putting art in an exhibition

here is my first song, the poem i read at the poetry slam ,here goes

jingle bells oh buddy jingle bells

it’s christmas in july

the party is on for young and old

and presents to make us happy

jingle bells oh buddy jingle bells

it’s christmas in july

party on till next week, man

yeah, celebrate christmas in july

dashing thru the cold canberra winters day

you see i think my reindeers are in hibernation today

because the air is very cold, and it’s a great day to say

merry christmas my good friends in the month of july

jingle bells oh buddy it’s jingle bells

it’s christmas in july

the party is on for young and old

bring out the warm eggnog

and put up the christmas tree, and have santa on a stick

then you get those lollypops, and give ‘em an almighty lick

and give ‘em an almighty lick, my mate

ya see last night at the poetry slam, this bloke said i really sang the last bit with a lot of guts

and determination, and now as i left last night i saw a fight taking place, and i knew if i don’t stare

everything will be alright, and now here is my next song

i am tired, but i can’t sleep, i need to have a siesta, yeah mate yeah

i need to relax and enjoy my life, and have a soft drink yeah mate yeah

carn the swans carn the raiders carn the packers, like that man last night spoke to me for

yeah mate yeah, and now time for, here is my next song, loving friends and loving family


You see when I was young and I always was trying to be cool
I had a family who tried to stop myself from being cool, and I was
So fristrated with that, I said, no I am cool, but I wssn't cool, I wanted
To laugh at everybody and I laughed so loud that my psrents were telling me
To quiten down and this made me angry, you see I got violent and I started to rant
And rave and it took me over a long time to understand that they were treating me
Like a cool kid, but I was young and stupid and it seems like they were teasing me
And giving me a hard time, and i also said that I wanted to be cool and always go out having a good time and getting ****** as a parrot, you see, my voices were putting those thoughts
Right in my head, giving me a lot of problems, making me very very sick of being in this crazy situation, and I am glad I have this amazing loving family and good friends, to help me through any kind of situation.
You see when I try and muck with my father like a mans kid, my brother would say, don't muck with him, he's not like us, don't much with him, no he is not a young dude. Be like us, and be a young dude and be a little shy boy, you try and be oool every day, and you try and give stay up all night while everybody else is going to bed, so you can go, hey to him, but the thing about it is, that it is the fact that he is living in the past.
So then my loving family and loving friends made me feel better about how much I wanted to
Move on and live life to the fullest, you see he will laugh like a man should and then say, heh heh heh heh , i am a cool boy, I am not a little shy boy, I sit up all night, I don't go to bed, you see I am superior, but my mates call me a complete loser.
Because this man is a total and absolute ******, and it makes me absolutely crazy, and this drives me crazy, you know very crazy, but I always call it a loving family and loving friends, I don't need these friends who only like me because I sit underneath them.



here is my next song, titled mashed potato finger nail at the skate park, here goes

You see Jacki Fred Harold Stone was a very cool young dude
You see instead of going to bed with all the other kids
He wanted to go to the skate park and ride the skateboards
With his best mates down there, and it was a very weird effect
You see his fingers smelt like mashed potato and all his mates went home
And they said he was a little shy boy, and Jacki Fred Harold Stone said
I am not a little shy boy, I am a cool boy, who loves to skate
And when I have a rest the mashed potato finger nails come again
To inspire me to keep being cool here at the skate park
You see I did some very awesome tricks, and I had so much fun
But I still smelt my mashed potato finger nails, it was driving me wild
I told all the people at the skate park and they said, your not shy
In fact your the coolest dude out of your family, and none of us want you to leave
I don't care if you used to get teased by everyone at your school
And I don't care if your family teaeed you as well
You see Jacki, I think your cool, and I will never tease you, not ever
I want to sell you drugs, but you don't have to take them
Because your the boy with the mashed potato finger nails
And we'll never ever tease you, we want to be your friend
And we want nothing more than that
So come on Jacki Fred Harold Stone, show us how to skate
You see my name is Jason Lee, and this is my mate Tristan
And we'll be your only friends you will never tease you
Cause at least you come here and ride your skateboard like a cool dude
And after your finished you stay with us and have a joke around
Despite of the times you tell us, your cool, we still have problems with this deal
You see, you are the kid who has mashed potato finger nails
And I don't care at all, your like us, Jacki, your cool, and your fingers smell like a good
Dose of mashed potato, which means your very cool
here is my next song, titled as much fun as it sounds, here at the trap

You see Jacki Fred Harold Stone was a very cool young dude
You see instead of going to bed with all the other kids
He wanted to go to the skate park and ride the skateboards
With his best mates down there, and it was a very weird effect
You see his fingers smelt like mashed potato and all his mates went home
And they said he was a little shy boy, and Jacki Fred Harold Stone said
I am not a little shy boy, I am a cool boy, who loves to skate
And when I have a rest the mashed potato finger nails come again
To inspire me to keep being cool here at the skate park
You see I did some very awesome tricks, and I had so much fun
But I still smelt my mashed potato finger nails, it was driving me wild
I told all the people at the skate park and they said, your not shy
In fact your the coolest dude out of your family, and none of us want you to leave
I don't care if you used to get teased by everyone at your school
And I don't care if your family teaeed you as well
You see Jacki, I think your cool, and I will never tease you, not ever
I want to sell you drugs, but you don't have to take them
Because your the boy with the mashed potato finger nails
And we'll never ever tease you, we want to be your friend
And we want nothing more than that
So come on Jacki Fred Harold Stone, show us how to skate
You see my name is Jason Lee, and this is my mate Tristan
And we'll be your only friends you will never tease you
Cause at least you come here and ride your skateboard like a cool dude
And after your finished you stay with us and have a joke around
Despite of the times you tell us, your cool, we still have problems with this deal
You see, you are the kid who has mashed potato finger nails
And I don't care at all, your like us, Jacki, your cool, and your fingers smell like a good
Dose of mashed potato, which means your very cool
as much fun as it sounds to heckle, i still remember the american dude, but this man last night was a cool dude, buddy, cool man sam


and have you ever been a cool kid to your dad, and had people laugh at you, i felt that last night when i didn’t join in the heckle, but that man

was nice to me, saying he admires me, but i am not gay, i am bradley simmons

Bradley lived in Cowra with his mum and dad and brother Kenneth, and Kenneth was a real mans kid who plays with his friends in the street and then he goes home to watch Disneyland with his dad, and he mainly liked to watch westerns, while Bradley was certain that there is something going on in the air, and went to church with his mum.
You see this wasn't really tbe best family unit, especially when families go out to fun family events, but Bradley and Kenneth's dad was a director at kids town, which is a Buddhist drop in centre, who looke after the daily needs of under fortunate kids, and Bradley and Kenneth were told to come into these centers, when their dad organised some games to brighten their spirits, one game was spin the Buddha, where you get a spinning buddha statue and the kids get a lolly pop if the Buddha spun towards them, and even though they thought it was lame, well you can see it in their faces, Bradley thought it was cool and then said to his dad how about I plan games for them to play, like soccer out in the paddock, or even cricket, or tennis, and one of the homeless Boyd sadism I am too poor to get into Auskick, so can we play Aussie rules, and if I whip your ***, I know I can play for Richmond, and Kenneth who tried to be the cool kid there said, well if you make Richmond, it won't mean you are good, it means you play for Richmond, and Bradley told Kenneth to be nice to him, he obviously likes Richmond, and Kenneth said to Brad, why don't you shut up you stupid old ******* ****, and Bradley said, I am cool, I can turn these kids away from you.
Then Bradley said ok it's time to play a board game and little Ryan said, well what does board games have to do with helping us get houses, and Bradley said, oh no I ain't that powerful, I am just a kid, I can't give you a home, no,,I am here to make you feel that people actually care for you, because I think it would be tough for you having no home to go to and the kids listened to Bradley like he was one of the adults and being a typical jealous little brother started to get very jealous especially when e tried to make a joke, and they told him to get lost, because your brother is boosting our self esteem.
At the end of the day, Kenneth said to Bradley, you are a stupid ******* old *******, playing board games doesn't make them really feel better, what makes them feel better is taking them for walks around, but you are too stupid for that aren't you Bradley, you are too fucken shy to be like those kids friends, you see they all like me better, they just tolerate you, so go back to your bedroom and go and do some underage *******, no you aren't one of us boys, *******.
Bradley was upset with what Kenneth said and went to his bedroom and cried for hours and since then he didn't have inspiration to go back to his dads work to help the kids there, but his dad said, your brother is just jealous, and you should do this if it makes you feel happy, and his dad said, and if you find that Kenneth is proved right, just ignore them, and you can start off by ignoring Kenneth, because really, I wish every kid could have the inspiration that you bring to kids town, don't let teasing stop you for reaching your full potential, Bradley, Bradley decided his dad was right, and he kept on going to kid's town to make a difference in these children's lives, playing games and talking to one another, this was so cool the kids thought, Bradley thought he was growing up, and Kenneth who decided to come in, because he thought kids need to be kids, yes, his dad was doing a good job, but really Kenneth had what the kids really wanted, like he bought his computer and showed him the virtual world, and Bradley said no kids playing board games are fun, and computer games can wreck your eyesight, but the kids decided that Kenneth needed to be heard too, after all he is the other son of the kid's town leader, so they listened to him for a while and instead of trying to play along, Bradley felt hurt and said, ******* all, and went to his room to cry, and all the tough boys said, 'what a cry baby' and then he said his brother isn't an monster, we still like him, but Kenneth wanted to make Bradley jitter, so he now decided to play around laughing very loudly, like he was like us, man or something and Brad was in his room, crying and their dad decided that Brad needed to share his friends and said that he prefers the way Kenneth did things, Brad got really angry and started to be totally mental, by punching Kenneth like a ******, as well as threatening to **** the father that gave him a perfect life as a kid, of course he didn't **** him, but he was an angry *******, you see he was the board games king, while his brother was a computer **** kid, and Kenneth tried to not hurt Brad's feelings, even though, being a kid, he found it hard to not teaee the ****** and Bradley was put in a special school where he made a few new friends, but they weren't into playing board games or anything else with him, they wanted to teaee him, with teachers joining in, because Bradley needed to learn about how to control is temper, and someone tried to bully him, and Bradley stood up to him, and another guy was determined to tease Bradley also, but as he tried to punch Bradley put his hands on his **** and squeezed his ***** real tight, and since then everyone liked Bradley, but not to his dads liking the little cool kid to his dad was suddenly Kenneth,,and Bradley felt he was trying to tease Kenneth the same way, and see how he likes it, but all his friends like Kenneth better, and Bradley punched Kenneth in the gut and his friends thought Bradley was a **** and left the house and another girl at school was making fun of Brads parents and Brad tried to stand up to her,but she said, they never helped me,**** kids town and ******* early to bed and early to rise baby, and Bradley got really upset and from that moment the only young ones who like him were the rougher ones, who hassled Bradley for money,and Bradey became to shy to say no. Which made him a little young dude with no friends, he had family trying to contact him, but he was determined to make their lives a misery.
Bradley was an idiot, with his drinking and teasing and punching people, yes dude, he needs anger management, and he needs it now, but you must want to go, but Bradley made a pact, that he won't get help till Kenneth found a girl and got married and has kids,,so his thought of being teased all through his adult years, wasn't going to happen, and Kenneth married Bridgett Kingsley and they had Toni and Ros, yes, Bradley's little nieces, and he loved them dearly, and the bonding of Bradley and Kenneth grew fondly, while their parents had the old Brad back, he ain't married but he's happy, and that's what Counts in life.


******* that look a lot of wind singing this to you at the venus party trap and when i got home i was told to sit there little shy boy and let your school mates play air guitar, i was happy too, because of sam

at the poetry slam, thinking i had guts tom read a poem and not win, who cares, it’s a fun night out dudes

You see, you are still a little shy boy, and we are still teasing you
So, now you are working, man, come, leave us
And let us muck around, we want to smoke our bongs
As well as drink our bourbons, and drink 100 beers
Yeah we all feel cool, and don't wake up little shy boy
We want the adults to not bother us, cause we are having so much
Fun, we don't want to be adults,and don't want you to worry about us either
You see, all the men, are sitting there, trying to muck with them
Saying tease him, if you want to tease, just teaee him
But at the end of the day, man, we aren't really teasing
We are sitting up all night, being bums and young bludgers
And it's because you are such a ******
We might be making it seemed you are getting teased
But, we really want to leave you alone,,if you leave us alone
Cause, we are drug addicts,,and we want you to respect the fact
That we don't want to work, as long as you think that you aren't a young bludger
Everything will be already, but young bludgers go to bed for work
So mate, just enjoy yourself, and smoke your bongs
And have a good time, doing it
You see, I want to enjoy ourselves doing this
You are now leaving us all on our lonesome
See ya dudes

see you soon, venus party trap, and t

He had been away. Just a few days, but long enough to feel coming home was necessary. He carried with him so many thoughts and plans, and the inevitable list had already formed itself. But the list was for Monday morning. He would enjoy now what he could of Sunday.

Everything can feel so different on a Sunday. Travel by train had been a relaxed affair for once, a hundred miles cross-country from the open skies of the Fens to the conurbations of South Yorkshire. Today, there was no urgency or deliberation. Passengers were families, groups of friends, sensible singles going home after the weekend away. No suits. He seemed the only one not fixated by a smart phone, tablet or computer. So he got to see the autumn skies, the mountain ranges of clouds, the vast fields, the still-harvesting. But his thoughts were full to the brim of traveling the previous November when together they had made a similar journey (though in reverse) under similar skies. They had escaped for two days one night into a time of being wholly together, inseparably together, joined in that joy of companionship that elated him to recall it. He was overcome with weakness in his body and a jolt of passion combined: to think of her quiet beauty, the tilt of her head, the brush of her hair against his cheek. He longed for her now to be in the seat opposite and to stroke the back of her calf with his foot, hold her small hand across the table, gaze and gaze again at her profile as she, always alert to every flicker of change, took in the passing landscape.

But these thoughts gradually subsided and he found himself recalling a poem he had commissioned. It was a text for a verse anthem, that so very English form beloved by cathedral and collegiate choral directors of the 16th C (and just that weekend he had been in such a building where this music had its home). He had been reading The Five Proofs for the Existence of God from the Summa Theologica by Thomas Aquinas, knowing this scholar to have been a cornerstone of the work of Umberto Eco, an author he admired. He had also set a poem that mentioned these Five Proofs, and had set this poem without knowing exactly what they were. He recalled its ending:

They sit by a lake where dead leaves
Float and apples lie on a table. She
ignores him and his folder of papers

but I found later the picture was called
‘In Love’, which coloured love sepia.
Later still, by the time I sat with you,

Watched your arm on the back of a chair
And your hand at rest while you told me
Of Aquinas and his proofs for the existence

Of God I realised love was not always
Sepia, that these hands held invisible
Keys, were pale because the mind was aflame.

He remembered then the challenge of reading Aquinas, this Dominican friar of the 13C. It had stretched him, and he thought of asking his wordsmith of thirty years, the mother of his daughters, to bring these arguments together in a poetic form for him to set to music. She had delivered such a poem and it took him some while to grasp it wholly. He wondered for a moment if he actually had grasped it. But there was this connection with the landscape he was passing through. She had mentioned this, and now he saw it for his own eyes. She had been to Ely for the day, to walk the length of the great Cathedral, to stare at and be amongst the visible past, the past of Aquinas. He remembered the first verse as only a composer can who has laboured over the scheme of words and rhythms:

The Argument from Motion

Everything in the world changes.
A meadow of skewbald horses grazes
Beneath a pair of flying swans
And the universe is different again.

And no sooner is potency reduced to act,
By a whisker’s twitch or a word,
A word, that potent gobbet of air
Than smiles and tears change places.

And everything has changed. Back
Go the tracks beyond seen convergence
To a great self-sufficient terminus
Which terminus we might call God.

And so it was in such a spirit of reflection that his journey passed. He had joined the Edinburgh express at Peterborough to travel north, and the landscape had subsided into a different caste, still rural, but different, the fields smaller, the horizon closer.

Alighting from the train in his home city on a Sunday afternoon the station and surrounding streets were quiet and the few people about were not walking purposefully, they strolled. He climbed the flights of stairs to his third floor studio, unlocked the door and immediately walked across the room to open the window. Seagulls were swooping and diving below him, feeding off the detritus of the previous night’s partying in the clubs and pubs that occupied the city centre, its main shopping area removed to a mall off kilter with the historic city and its public buildings. What shops there were stood empty, boarded up, permanently lease for sale.

Sitting at his desk he surveyed the paper trail of his work in progress. Once so organised, every sketch and plan properly labelled and paginated, he had regressed it seemed to filling pages of his favoured graph paper in a random fashion. Some idea for the probably distant future would find its way into the midst of present work, only (sometimes) a different ink showing this to be the case. Notes from a radio talk jostled with rhythmic abstracts. He realised this was perhaps indicative of his mental state, a state of transience, of uncertainty, a temporariness even.

He was probably too tired to work effectively now, just off the train, but the sense and the relative peacefulness that was Sunday was so seductive. He didn’t want to lose the potential this time afforded. This was why for so many years Sunday had often been such a productive day. If he went to meeting, if he cooked the tea, if he ironed the children’s school clothes for the week, there was this still space in the day. It represented a kind of ideal state in which to think and compose. Now these obligations were more flexible and different, Sunday had even more ‘still’ space, and it continued to cast its spell over him.

He put his latest sketches into a sequential form, editing on the computer then printing them out, listening acutely, wholly absorbed. Only a text message from his beloved (picking blackberries) brought him back to the time and day. There was a photo: a cluster of this dark, late summer fruit, ripe for picking framed against a tree and a white sky. Barely a week ago they had picked blackberries together with friends, children and dogs and he had watched her purposely pick this fruit without the awkwardness that so often accompanied bending over brambles. He wondered at her, constantly. How was this so? He imagined her now in her parents’ garden, a garden glowing in the late afternoon light, as she too would glow in that late-afternoon light . . . he bought himself back to the problem in hand. How to make the next move? There was a join to deal with. He was working with the seven metrics of traditional poetry as the basis for a rhythmic scheme. He was being tempted towards committing an idea to paper. He kept reminding himself of the music’s lie of the land, the effectiveness of it so far. It was still early days he thought to commit to something that would mark the piece out, produce a different quality, would declare the movement he was working on to be a certain shape.

And suddenly he was back on the train, looking at the passing landscape and the next verse of that Aquinas poem insisted itself upon him with its apt description and tantalising argument:

The Argument from Efficient Causality

We are crossing managed washlands.
Pochards so carefully coloured swim
Where cows ruminated last summer
In a landscape fruit of human agency.

And I think of the heavenly aboriginal
Agent of all our doings in this material
Playground of earth I can pick up,
Hold and crumble and cultivate

And air that is mine for the breathing
And the inhabited waters that cling
As if by magic to a sphere. What cause
Sustains the effects we live among?

For there is no smoke without fire
And as we sow, thus we reap. Nihil
Ex nihil, therefore something Is,
Some being we might call God.

So ‘nothing out of nothing, therefore something is’.  Outside in the city the Cathedral bells were ringing in Evensong. The sounds only audible on a Sunday when the traffic abated a little and the sounds in the street below were sporadic. He thought of going out into the Cathedral precinct and listening to the bells roll and rhythm their sequences, those Plain-Bob-Majors and Grand-Sire-Triples. But he knew that would further break the spell, the train of thought that lay about him.

He sketched the next section, confidently, and when he had finished felt he could do know more. There it was: a starting point for tomorrow. He could now go towards home, walk for a while in the park and enjoy the movements of the wind-tossed trees, the late roses, the geese on the lake. He would think about his various children in their various lives. He would think about the woman he loved, and would one day assuage what he knew was a loneliness he could not quench with any music, and though he tried daily with words, would not be assuaged.

This small green bear,
your name embroidered on its chest,
was never yours. It would have been
our Christmas gift to you,
had you lived a month longer.
The ones you would give
you had already bought,
wrapped, labelled -
thoughtful, organised
to the end,
to the bitter end.
We unwrapped them on the day,
smiled at your kindness,
wept at our loss.

Early Christmas gifts
that you had not organised,
that nobody could have anticipated,
went to strangers: your pancreas,
a life free from daily injections;
your kidneys, two lives free from dialysis;
your liver, divided, to a young girl
and an older lady, who would
quite simply have a life
they had almost given up hoping for.
Your heart, damaged by extended life-support,
not suitable for transplantation,
yielded its valves
to repair the damaged hearts of others.
Even bone and skin were harvested
for people you never knew.
That Christmas you gave hope
to so many people,
and to us the consolation
that they live on because of you,
and that you live on in them.

You kissed one side of my neck and then the other, with a smile.
When you’re behind me and rest you hand on one hip to take a selfie, I have to place my hand on the other.
Quickly, you realised you love a girl of balance.
You lost her to tendencies and rules that love can’t fix.
And I know my OCD will affect you to.
Yet you still call me your little OCD girlfriend.

Within 11 days you realised 4 was my number.
It’s no longer quirky, just habit and safety.
But you, you could have waited till the 12th day
You ******* up a system in a bid to help
To make it worse the first argument lasted 21 minutes so even that wouldn’t fit the system.
You’ll never get it will you?
Yet I’ll always be your little OCD girlfriend.

Each colour may seem like a little, cute way of keep organised.
But without them it’s a black abyss in desperate need of structure.
A visual balance.
So even if it seems simple, it’s me.
And me, I’ll always be your little OCD girlfriend.

Clockwise.
That’s the way I’ll walk round you.
That’s the way I’ll make you turn if I’m in your balanced arms.
Don’t block my path.
Don’t roll the other way
Don’t try and change me
You know the rules
Because I’m your little OCD girlfriend

Now forget the clocks, number and colours, they are small fry in my OCD pond.
Balance
That’s my weakness.
That’s why I might hurt you
That’s why it takes time
But remember: what happens to one side must happen to the other.
Your love will be my balance.
As your hands learn a new way to explore my body
As your lips touch me twice,
You’ll remember I’m your little OCD girlfriend.

Pharaoh Tutankhamun graced the Egyptian throne,
A *****, brisk and spry.
From his majestical hands, dangled a scepter
And on his handsome head, sat a crown.

His empire was at its peak
For he wielded influence all over africa.
The bearded Europeans and nubianS sought his protection
For egypt, was a haven.

So organised was the land:

Amun-re and maat protected the people,
The country grew with the help of viziers.
Agriculture was a noble profession in the land,
As her economic markets were the best in the world

Egypt gave light to Greece and Mesopotamia
For her civilisation altered many a life.
And also, was the birth place of man
Such, was the land of egypt

The middle ages stroke and Europe went to sleep
But mama africa gave birth to many strong children:
Ghana, Mali, Songhai and many more
These children shoke the world with their riches and organisation.

Such was the history that africa recorded before they came.

Fredriech Hegel in want of speech said:
“Africa never had a history before the whites came.”
Such a mediocre declaration from an illiterate
For in place of his brain, graced a kidney.

Africa was well civilised before the bearded people came:
We had a religion
We had education as seen in egypt
We had a well organised system in all aspects.

We had everything needed for prosperity,
We attracted them with our gold, thus they came.
But most of all, we believed in equality.
Such was africa before they came

But when the bearded people came,
They altered our ways and put us in stocks
Then said: “we had no history.”
Oblivious that africa had made history,
BEFORE
AND BEFORE
THE

When I was young
I assumed
and naively believed
every person was being good
and I lived in a 'society of angels':
people who were seeking my happiness
and their happiness
and the happiness of all people in society;

Then I experienced
people attempting to exercise power
over me
and I learned
society is currently organised
by people exercising power over people
even when it leads to people's unhappiness;

And I experienced
people attempting to exercise rule-based authority
over me,
people who expected my behaviour
to conform to rules
they create and enforce upon me,
and I learned
society is currently organised
by people enforcing rule-based authority over people
even when it leads to people's unhappiness;

I dream
of a happier society,
a society organised
by authorities and citizens
who are people seeking their own happiness
and the happiness of all people in society.

It's getting hard in the RSA
even those who don't get paid have to pay
the insane tolls
the cops on petrol
just to get on there way
you under stand what I say
the difrance between we and they we have hi-def blue ray they have it hard desray it means destiny I don't have a plan to get a fan or a groupie I know you probably thinking this ****** mind is doodie but its my duty to make things know especially the things that aren't shown on tv like corruption or so called special selection and the detention of those who don't deserve it because you deserve it

I'm on buzz cause of this love I'm getting from my team it feels like a dream I'll rise to the top like cream but with skin like milk chocolate my imagination flows like water out of a facet, tap I've got talent in the rap and my connection to my soul  is uncapped
I'm just warming up like a kettle I'm like a precise metal in fact I'm talent in its purest form I should be on cable or at least the periodic table but registered as unstable because I'm on a hair trigger jack rabbit with my bad habits like talking about things I don't know then asking   About things I don't know you know making the unknown known remember my curiosity  been burning like an ember

I truly fear for our women ashamed of the cards they have been given or delt and the blows that have been felt on their surface and in their core these stories I hear just leave my heart sore I need to flyaway on the broken wings of my generation with the help of some recreation  to stop the exploitation of those who don't know better not because they could have Learnt better but been taught better you can call It third world problems I call it mankind problems because it affects us all and we're all one after all ilitaration is a mews helps send across my point of view so light bulbs flash ding an idea that's was a great example of onomatapia  it's a process of elimination in a  copulative form these thoughts and ties are more messy  then the perfect storm but I plan to help heal our nation not by confrontation but cooperation

I hope these notions stay in your mind like the blank slate sticks with the blind and the peace with the deaf order In the hands of the ref or better yet Organised chaos,
Because that's realistic But we didnt request it, It's like a pay off  see there I changed the rhyme scheme From aabb.Too abba It's redundant to say But it helps me see,
my potential so I know my credentials and knowing you is essential to keep your heart full your flaws on tour don't think it  trifle but gargantuan like Rabelais' book but most wouldn't know his literature or calling any man sir  but they know facebook I hope these notions stay in your mind like the blank slate sticks with the blind and the peace with the deaf by now I'd  think you'd like to be deaf tired of my voice but I have no choice but to make a statement about what my emotional state is I hope these notions stay in your mind like the blank slate sticks with the blind and the peace with the deaf the name of this poem is emotional theft

Gandalf: a character ( wizard) from the legend that is lord of the rings
...

chapter - 0:



he was walking past the useless lake on a breezy autumn day when the gust of wind brought with it the scent of a thousand abandoned garage bags littering the corner of this semi unorganised semi-civilised halli part of a mega city.

his home was about three thousand kilometres away and a dozen hundred dialects removed from where he chose to pursue his 'higher' education.

a term he took literally and to heart.

he was almost always high, if that's what you call being semi awake and always clawing somewhere deep, both mentally and sometimes even physically.


but as soon as the cacophony of a thousand different bad smells hit his soul, he knew the trip was over.

he jolted back to existence from an escalating thought process leading him to the discovery of a new and a better universe.

he took a deep breath and immediately regretted his decision, almost screaming in horror.

and while he was battling a lost battle trying to defeat an invisible and impossible to contain force of population and pollution,

his smoked eyes latched onto a figure emerging from the corner of his smoked eyes.

he suddenly realised where he was. and it wasn't where he thought he was about two seconds ago.

leaf-less and life-less trees stood where he could swear was just an empty slightly orange and red sky a few milli moments ago  

the lake had turned from blue to a shade of green or was it still blue ?
he wasn't interested at all, so he just gave up reasoning in mid-process..

what difference does it make ?

but suddenly his mellowed mind  realised the threat, and his attitude changed from i-don't-really-give-a-**** to oh-****.

there was something else there too, and he, like a ******* cat- turned around just in time to see what it was,

and the time stood still. he couldn't believe his eyes.

it was    gandalf.

**** it. he was sure. ******* gandalf.
with a ******* stick, his beard and that grey whatever. gandalf.

he took a deep breath again. it didn't hurt as bad as before. maybe it was growing on him. he took another breath just to make sure it wasn't. it wasn't.


and as gandalf started becoming bigger and bigger, he could see his mighty white beard dancing in the wind more clearly. he could sense his aura radiating a wonderful positive force that was almost impossible to describe with a naked eye and with an F  in communication skills.

gandalf was finally a stone throw away from the boy. he could throw a stone at him. he could but he wouldn't. no, he thought about it but no. it wouldn't make sense. it was too insane of an idea too. he wasn't yet ready to accept his true human nature that enjoyed the absurdity of violence.

though he was a hard-core stoner.  ah irony and puns.


instead he took the more scenic route and almost mumbled " gandalf?! what?!?! "


it took the old white man a second to register but he managed a sudden " gand elf, what?!? "

it wasn't awkward yet. but it was india. so it kinda' was.

the boy almost trained in apologising professionally and profoundly, mumbled " oh, no.. I'm sorry.. I just.. you know.. there's this .. dude.. people do cosplays now.. and I was a little high... ahem.. I mean I was thinking.. I mean I saw.. you.. I mean, I swear you're looking like a ******* gandalf.. I mean gandalf ?!?! "


another gust of wind and they both frowned.

gandalf responded " who .. what the **** is gand elf ?!?!"


the boy " he was supposed to be a dwarf like something.. but he become a wizard and tall, you know .. fought a dragon.. and rode giant birds.. ?!?! "


not gandalf " what the **** are you talking about, what is wrong with you, you're not making any ******* sense and I, I'm .. hey, you see.. just saying, I'm very good at making sense, that all "


the boy " so, are you like a ******* teacher or a .. scientist?!? "


not gandalf? "ummm.. well you can say that.. something like that "


the boy " what do you mean, for all I know you could be a perverted ******* who also happens to wander the woods doing weird cosplays and killing people. "

not gandalf " the ****, kid ?! jeez.. simmer down.. that TV is insane, you guys ******* love it.. **** man.. I should have stopped that from happening... and video games! god, they ****.. I should have just killed the lot of you.. " and on went a rant the strange man


the boy " wo.. wo.. whoa.. wait, you're talking like you are better than the rest of us...are you on crack ? what are you even saying you ***... you're more like someone who pulls on broken strings on a hand down guitar on some shady corner of an immaculate subway... you're just a boomer, are you not, mister ? "


strange man not gandalf " well, in a way I am.. I am.. well, I am everything and everyone" he whispered..    a satisfying smile almost breaking out


the boy " the ******* mean ******* ?!? "

this was too much for the old man who was just having a walk and minding his own business

he whispered more angrily his time " oh you punk, you little punk I'll tell you! I'm ******* god, you **** .. yeah, **** it.. I'm not even kidding.. I'm ******* god, yeah!... **** it *****!. "


he took his hand and pointed to the sky and the clouds parted.


the boy couldn't believe his eyes, and almost suddenly the clouds began to form a shape.

he couldn't make it out at first, all he could see was that the old man who claimed to be a god, drawing something in the air.

he looked up and finally realised what it was.

God was drawing a giant duck in the sky.

and as he was staring up in a mixture of disbelief and horror,  the old man spoke loudly " that's you.. you sick ****.. it's your little duck. "


old-man-now-god-went on "... I mean it looks like a big duck 'cause you couldn't see it otherwise.. but drawing to ratio... it's your little duck.. and the whole world can see it now.. and they know it's small.. and not as big as it appears because it had to be big enough for everybody to see.. "


the boy was now going insane. anybody would. people just don't turn up, part clouds and draw ducks in the sky.. that doesn't even happen in movies.



the boy went on- a little horrified of what he had just witnessed " what kind of a god are you, I mean... what in the god's name was that ? how did you do it. ?"


God responded with squinty eyes " which part of i-am-a-*******-God did you not understand.. you.. you stupid mortal. "

from the depths of darkness a flicker of light emerged in the boy's mind, and he realised something very important..


the boy " hey, you can't be god, god won't ******* curse! he's god. " screaming cautiously at the stranger...


God had heard petty arguments and had gone through all that phase of  people taking some time to turn around and warm up to the idea of the literal god in front of them, he'd been over that all his life.

but this was the single dumbest thing he had ever heard since he made the decision to create the universe in a hurry.

God thought to himself " I should have paid more attention. meh. "

one more thing- the boy went on " why are you a he ? not a she ? I mean if you're a god why be ... I mean an old man with a stupid beard. why not somebody hot, and cool... and with a nice body and a face... slightly better... or maybe much better..  you get the point, right ? I mean.. you're god, right ? "

God just stood there and soaked in his own filth.

the boy went on hysterically " oh my... did you hear my answer even before I said it ? did you ? I mean can you ?... and did you ? or was it you that gave the answer.. 'cuz if you made the universe.. you made me too, right ?. "


God was annoyed. like really annoyed at this point and he blurted out " you think I made you ? you think one fine day I woke up and I thought to myself.. oh! I've created this beautiful but empty place full of darkness and the cold, spectacle of fire dancing in nothingness- breathing life in ***** of all kinds circling around the stars and what not.. and you think I was like 'what am I missing ?'... oh yes, right! I'm missing one ungrateful ******* snake with a little duck. "


the boy stunned " God ?!.. No, **** no! "

god almost curios " why would you say that. why did you even speak , why! "


the boy " my duck .. you know.. ain't that ... small. "



God almost smirking " shut up, *****. "


the boy " oh, yeah.. right you... really know how to abuse your own species. jeez. "


God " I didn't make you ... I ******* dropped my dope in the ocean once and you ******* things came out of it. "

he went on " I thought you'd die on your own but nah.. life's too nasty.. ugly and ... you know... it's.. admittedly... quite beautiful. "

time stood still as soon as he said that.

and it was a beautiful moment. both god and the boy trying not to turn red or cry.



" but the sad part is.. " God whispered with the love of a thousand cuddling pandas " you guys found me, I mean... oh my God! that brain thing really worked ... extraordinary! my subordinates tell me ... very expensive.. err... I mean to design... "


the boy " people work for you ? what ?! that's like.. you have a staff ?!.. weird. "


God " *****, i'm ******* god.. I don't have a staff.. I ******* make the staff. and no that's not even an iota of weird.. but you know what's weird ...truly weird, a fact so crazy that it'll blow your mind and give you enough wisdom to tear through the fabric of the world I've made and undiscover all its secrets, science and gossip?!  "


the boy was now as curious as a teenage boy in teenage, he replied " what?! tell me.. is it here on earth ?!"



God " yes, it is my child.. indeed it is! such joy!... and it is also right here where we stand. "


the boy's mind went into an overdrive.. maybe this was all his design.. the almighty has come to show him the path.. out of these woods he's lost in.... and also a path of divinity and happiness.. and also he had watched Bruce almighty a dozen times or so... he was ready.


almost in a poetic voice filled with a general sense of elation.. the boy asked god " tell me.. please what is it pleaseeee ? "


the god smiled, in a way only a father smiles to her new born daughter.. knowing she's going to be paid less, has to go through the cycle of being temporary insane every month ( or that's what female's had been telling him .. it doesn't matter.. you a guy.. you see a woman in pain.. you *******... that's 10 hours of her ******* the life out of you. and you still wouldn't be a good listener or attentive according to her even if you give up in the 9th hour.

the boys repeated desperately " what is it! I'd be a good boy but please tell me pleaseeee! "

and the god smiled. he smiled and pointed to him. " that there , that is it.. that ugly ******* little duck of yours. "


and immediately burst into a laughter more grandeur than any sound in the world. I mean right after radiohead but whatever.


the boy saw his finger and tried to trace it's path. and almost in a moment.. it was over.


he had lost it- he screamed at the creator " you think you can make fun of me 'cuz you a big guy ? you think you can make fun of me because you're the most powerful thing there is and can literally turn me into 50 hands and no ducks... just living life in pure agony.. " he trailed off looking a bit distant towards the ending..

God " jeez. kid. you don't have to be so dark and imaginative unnecessarily.. see, okay I'm sorry... I hurt your little heart...which by the way I have made and do own the materials to.. and that's why you're alive... basically all of you and everything.. now to think of it.. it does make me a big guy... or more than that... but that's not the point. "

he went on " the point is i should've known better... because you know I made it all.  even the concept of being better..  booom! blows your mind ain't it.. chuck it.. and the point is.. I should've known better, so I'm  sorry!.. you can tell people I said sorry but they're not 'gonna believe someone like you "


the boy " **** do you mean someone like me?! " back in his form


god " oh you know... someone with a small...... ******* duck !"

and the god fell down laughing hysterically and immediately as soon he said the words..

rolling all over the soft grass and the boy's face.


the boy had enough- he screamed " **** like you can spend two minutes being a human... who's to tell you didn't have a small duck and then just made yourself one big enough " his voice trailing in the wind


god hadn't been spoken like this since the invention of languages.. oh how much he despised languages..a ******* constant annoying noise in his head specially the bengali.. **** them.

God spoke back " oh, so you think being a snake is better than being the almighty ?! "


the boy " I'm not a snake.. I'm a human.. what school did you got to ? "

God " you can be a ******* rock for all I care ... just be nothing.. you know.. instead of being everything.. the idea of it... it's is rather.. you know... so beautiful. "


and at that moment the boy realised that even god wasn't immune to something that he didn't know.


the god " I'll do you a deal, you be two seconds in my place and I'll be two seconds in your place... and then we'll know.. I'll know the fear of being nothing and you can know the escatsy of being everything. deal dawg ?"


the boy " but.. like two seconds .. awful less of a time to enjoy any kind of escatsy "

God " running late, mate. "


the boy " okay okay.. let's do it "



God smiled a bit and immediately a giant light came down from the sky roaring with a thousand thunderstorms...

wind was growing stronger by the second and it was almost impossible to hear anything... or analyse anything for that matter...

God screamed at the boy " it's going to go in your *** and out of your mouth.. and your soul will be passed to mine.. "

the boy screamed back in oh-my-god-that-face horror barely making any coherent sense.


God rolling on the floor laughing
" jeez. I'm kidding you punk.... that face tho.. so woke.. so woke..."

it took some time but he picked himself back up and screamed at the boy " it's going to happen... three..two.. one.. " and boom


the boy felt what can only be described as the best ****** anybody has ever had.


the god felt like what can only be described as the hardest kick to the nuts in the history of universe.

two seconds after... bam! everything stood still.. like nothing had happened.


both stared at each other for a while..
God went first " so, ... ?! "


the boy " yeah. "


God " pretty tense...yeah.. *******.. I mean.. God!.. you guys are awful to be.. it *****.. I gotta' change that thing... you know... about people taking their own life... and going to hell... I get it... I mean..  yeah.. you know... like whatever."

God went on " how was yours. "

the boy " yea.. pretty chill.. ... "

God " that it, boy ?! "

the boy " yeah. .. mostly "


God " hmm.. woke.. woke... so were you clever enough to do something for yourself ? "

the boy " oh..yeah..pretty much.. nice cars and girls.. stuff.. " his voice cracking with a very refined i-don't-give-a-**** attitude


the wind was still now. butterflies were flying between the blooming flowers and singing AC/DC for some reason. it was pleasant.


god snapped his finger once and said " so.. yeah i should go now... apparently somebody's supposed to take a picture of me in the sky.. gotta flex up.. chow~ "


God snapped his finger a second time and lo behold!  like that he was gone ****!...


the boy stood still for a moment longer. he smiled and walked away.




(4 days later...)



god was in the alps...looking out of the large window wondering how dreadful it is to be human..  

and as he was crawling in and out of different dimensions he smelt something. something interesting.


it was alcohol. ( he's god so it's very easy for him to figure out such little things.)

so he went over the fancy bar and poured himself some *****.. " ah potatoes.. at least they turned out to be just right.." he thought out loud.

and then he proceeded to drink himself to death.. countless times. 'cuz he could do that. he was god.


over and over again. glass being neither full or half or even ******* empty.

drink after drink. and soon late enough he went into a deep slumber because of course god loves a good sleep. who doesn't ?


he slept through the entire life span of many insects and until the breaking dawn.

the first rays of the sun hit the mighty alps as well as the face of this almighty being on a white bed in a red hotel by a blue lake who had forgotten you do your own curtains in the human world.

his first thought was to destroy the sun- it took a lot to not lift his finger.

slowly but surely he regained his infinitum consciousness, and got in touch with the multi dimensional universes sprawling all over every  second in past and future simultaneously... but **** that 'cuz the head ache oh! so painful.. almost made him forgot he could just not want it and it won't happen.

God did not enjoy most human banalities.. but he did enjoy a rather a peculiar one...even more than drinking and kissing death. the one of peeing.

and he had to ***. bad.


God, with a hint of a smile lifted his finger and boom he was right by- where the deed is done in a civilised community. he imagined what would people think if they came to know why he's always more often than not a 'he' than a 'she'.

he was in his stark boxers, standing almost naked with a smile on his face enjoying the rush.

pink floyd started playing out of the thin air. an autumn's calm spread through the veins of this sudden universe. I kid you not, shahrukh khan was there with his arms wide open.

slowly the god began the almost holy ritual.

pull down the garment. admire. take it out. admire. do the deed, keep admiring. put it back. sigh. very well organised and neat.

so god took a deep breath, looked at the alps one more time, looked down with a smile on his face, and slowly pulled down the garment... his consciousness in a rush.

and then god screamed. there was a duck.

She was cold. Not enough layers worn under her coat to keep the combination of sea and mountain air at bay. But the afternoon was bright. A sky-blue Sunday. A day when there was space to think about something other than Martin, her coming week of lectures and tutorials, and ‘the book’, the necessary book on which her future, academic or otherwise, would appear to depend. And what was there to think about in this space? The quality of light, the colour of the sea, her new and still to be broken in boots, Jennifer Williams . . .
     She had arrived one morning at the Department's excuse for an office to find her door open and a slight, red-haired young woman browsing her bookshelves.
    'Have you read these or are they just for show,’ the redhead said, not turning round in greeting but reaching up to pick Foucault's Histoire de la sexualité, III: le souci de soi off the shelf.
    'No, it's just there to impress my students.’
    'Well, I'm impressed,’ she said pirouetting like a dancer to look Anne straight in the face with those dark brown eyes, eyes like chocolate, eyes that were to become Anne’s undoing.
     'Does Michel Foucault interest you?'
      'No, but I like the colour of the cover and the quality of type.’
     Anne put down her bag, removed her laptop, her lunch, an embarrassing attempt at some knitting, her National Trust magazine, and the latest Granta. Evidence of some kind of life perhaps, a statement. Just what does the contents of a bag say about who you are, she wondered?
     The young woman remained still and silent as her eyes followed Anne's 'getting organised for the day' movements around the room.
     'Are you going to offer me coffee?’ said the girl.
     Yes, she was just a girl Anne thought. 'How did you get in?'
     'The cleaner was here, I just walked in out of curiosity.’
     'Really'
     'I've seen you about. On the pier. Walking. Looking sad. Sadly beautiful. I came to ask if I might paint you'.
     Later, when she was naked in Jennifer's studio and she had been touched in a way no one had ever touched her before, Anne said.
     'I hope you are not a student.'
     'No, just an artist who picks up interesting-looking people on piers.’
     'What makes me look interesting?'
      'The way you move, so sadly, as though you don't know what you want from life.’
      'Oh.’
      Jennifer put her red head, her golden red hair against Anne's thigh, and stroking her foot said.
      'I saw you last Sunday all alone, so alone. I've dreamt of you. Dreamed I'd paint you into my stupid life. Be your companion, a dog for you to walk with, a cat for you to come home to, a warm body to hold you in bed.’
     Anne said nothing. She dressed. She kissed Jennifer very gently on her brow and on her right ear. She left the little flat with its view of the pier, the estuary and the mountains beyond. She knew then she had lost control of her life. She could and would from now on be the fictional person she had sought and imagined for so long.

Sun light streams through the picturesque windows
   Cut to streaks through white cloth curtains
Birds chirp, cows graze, horses nay
   Fresh cut grass surfs the wind
Flowers bloom and fill the senses
   Breakfast feast a organised chaos
Coffee, tea and toast
   Stained jeans, warm shirts, big boots
Goodmorning
   Country kitchen.

the only shame i feel: muslims hold a single book to be synonymous of a library.

apologies, this is why i wasn't fully integrated,
i hold enough respect for the English ethnicity to keep
the reins on my Slavic origin, and its ancient history,
i want to see the Graeae cauldron
of multiple-ethnicity and culturalism:
what with former slaves learning
rap to topple the slavish shackles?
no one ever heard my story under
the Germans, Russians and Austro-Hungarians,
all those to topple Israel already toppled me
to migrate and leave my mother *******
toward an an export: until the black gold runs
out you sand-******... until the oil runs out...
until the oil runs out...
you're the one abusing it because you have it...
until the oil runs out sand-******...
you gonna take the slang out of me?
what is it now? global or feminist tactic?
Chine ain't about to give Dagenham back,
like they're not giving Ostrowiec Św.:
first division in 1997.. extra-class...
yummie piggies at the trough:
money was created to pacify and let
rich boy girls' spend...
      Lwów / Lvov was still in poker hands
of Roosevelt... so much for ******* H'america...
     biker-clan-glandular-rhaps (or plural of odes):
****! i hate belonging to come or some thing...
i always thought about comedy prone enlarged *******
for the geography between left ****** antarctic and
right ****** arctic in tune with the jiggly fatty-bergs..
no... factual-bergs...
but you'd never disintegrate into a 0a.d.
given the colonial history narrative that doesn't
involve the old testament and ***-kissers and
hefty conservative ***-pleasers like the book
of Antioch proposed... made that up...
got mixed up thinking on the necromancer of
the year that was actually 1997-8
17th *KSZO Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski, tablature
pld.     pts.        w.   d.     l.    f.      a.
         34      24    6   6 22 24 47...
piggie piggie: got the giddy giggly ***** ****-a-doodle-do...
and i know i would too...
small town Polish town, a big Russian
would-be clever-pincer attracted to ******-pinching,
and all the milky drools, down the Nile toward
Cairo, so long as you wife is an Oasis of hamburgers and
strobe-berry epileptics, i.e.: blink 182's what's my age again?
i speak the ******* sprechen and i don't even belong
here... it's like i'm apologising for something that
was coming... thankfully i'm resolved to integrate cognitively
but in the domestic realm have nothing to do with
this language...
     i don't want to speak it to my mother,
i don't want to speak it to my father,
i can't afford to rent a house and prolong a university
bachelor lifestyle, the arabs and nigerians bought
all the flats out and are renting them out...
hopefully to Somalian pirates for: essex tan orange
sake in terms of: if i figured my tongue was an
axe in the first place... i'd lace my life with
many more people applauding...
i never understood this desire to integrate without
having the right to censor what i'm about to
embrace... a contract, much of smallprint readied
on the fidgety hand...
       it's not that i suddenly chose to
ethnically suspend my origins for a need to respect,
i kept my mother tongue for times such as these,
when i can't be approached as white and as inheritor
of colonialism... if i say i'm German they'll *******
clap, i remember once they asked me as if i were
going to do an app. for the caliphate asking me:
you German? no... Polish... huh? what's that?
somewhere in between Germany and Russia...
now i can't claim the ethnicity that my's right hand
of use with tongue... and now i can't claim the
tongue that isn't the ethnicity but is otherwise my
limb-for-limb... 5p.m. tea 100 years later is
a hijab on the streets of Birmingham...
no secret... i just see why i need to be involved like
some James Dean "wannabe" schizoid spice...
there will be no news from Poland concerning
the migrant crisis, no talk of a Muslim takeover...
ironically, as Monty Python would have said:
everyone was expecting a Polish Inquisition,
or as the crowds chanted: Evangelism! not the Quran!
happily are those: seeing America involve
itself in this slogan... me? as ever, the Pontius Pilate:
i said it once, i'll say it again:
panic is worse than fascism...
   panic is worse than fascism...
you don't expect panic, hence the beasts' stampede
in urban areas... fascism? you know it's
coming, and you know it's not good...
             fascism is panic realised too late,
fascism is panic organised... you knew it was coming
and you did nothing to prevent it...
  the only thing that could have prevented Trump
winning the presidency was acknowledging an unequivocal
membership of the union... Cracow wasn't built in
one day... trigger ******* happy panic button: press!
press! oppress! that special relationship of yours?
yeah... ye'ha! rear 'em in with that quiff of yours, cowboy!
ye'ha!
please don't get me involved, i know how to
impale a turk on a rotten wooden stump, rather than
crucify a Syrian on a geometric of mahogany
amid sacred words: so descended onto a mosque's minaret
and the hippy-hair-debate, and no hair and the hajj.
i know, people are apprehensive you're not a businessman
employing 100 slave Mongolians enlisted to blowing
up 1000 helium filled balloons an hour for birthday
party contracts... and none of them are properly trained
in ventriloquist's chipmunk!
              james dean was the original schizophrenic...
who treated society as an asylum,
and the asylum as a garden of Eden...
                                       lucky him: mono-linguistic...
   i sometimes wish i had that luxury on inherent
cleansing of ethnicity, so i could be left with only
a culinary boasting akin to the Persian quote on
falafel... but then you never know who's side you're
gonna be on...
i might as well quote him akin to j. franco post-doppelganger:
you're tearing me apart!
                                   and they say people think...
nonetheless: whether thinking or not,
they are... a welcome aversion in finding pleasure in
zoos; esp. the times when they're sweating like sardines
stashed in vulvas on underground trains: ventriloquists'
suggestion? moans: foetal moans... get me out of here...
otherwise groaned? harder... mm... deeper...
make your pelvis kiss my pelvis! mmm... baby!
first your read the Marquis to get a hard-on,
then you ****-off that hard-on...
and then you do a hand-job to someone else
and pass on the Oxfam motto to some other "hungry" Afrikaan.

you see it was hard for me when my school mates were just in my voices in my head
and my dad and mum gave me carers, for me to do things with, and i can relate to maggie here, cause i wanted everything, i wanted to go everywhere, but it was the
cost of the ****** petrol, i look at this episode, and i view it from the eyes of maggie
because, i wanted to be cool, and i still wanna be cool, but having carers were good
and some carers were religious freaks, some carers, shown me the dangers about the man i used to like to be, and some carers wanted to show me a good time, or how to be an organised adult and some carers wanted to be on the community together, i like most of the carers i like, but there are a few rich arrogant *******, and also i had to pay money for my carers, ya know petrol, one carer, tristan, who reminded me of my brother
and patrick, took me on a holiday to merimbula, i paid for the petrol and my share
but we had a wonderful time, actually i learnt from tristan, about meditation, which i later
found out it was buddhist meditation and i believe in that, and he was a musician, and
i went to see his band at the *** belly, and i enjoyed that, he told me to eat vegetables
raw, he was a bit of a health freak, but i liked him, because, he inspired me, to love life
and he inspired to help my mate the messiah, in the same way, but, inspiration is a funny thing, i shouldn't try and be like other people, you should be yourself, but tristan was giving me stuff i have never done, a holiday with someone other than mum or dad
and later i took the messiah to merimbula, and i watched the pigs perform, not real
pigs, the music band the pigs, yeah, i felt like tristan in a way, but i really should be myself, as hannah montana, don't let anyone tell you that your not strong enough
just be yourself, and nothing bad will happen, you see one carer, who i will not mention
his name, tried to joke with me, by leaving me at revolve, but he didn't, and i had 2 crazy christians, a Y leader, and many more, this made dad and mum relax a bit, but mum and dad, were worried my past, is coming back to me, but what is wrong with looking young
or trying to look young, now, i have the same people clean my house, for me, i help, by making it easier for them, no i am a lazy person, when it comes to housework, but
i am a great community worker, this episode shows when arthur paid maggie to look after her, and i accepted carers after a few years of arguing with them, and keeping
pats voice in my head, until i behaved, i liked patrician and he was no carer, but he was as
nice as a carer, but tristan was a great carer, and he reminded me of pat's nice natiure
and he reminded me of my brother, in his music tastes, and occasionally his manners
with the adults, there is nothing with having carers, no matter what is your problem

but the messiah gave me a mate, behind the scenes, cause, he was nice to me
i need carers, only for housework help, and occasional shopping, and the NDIS might
help me with future goals, like helping the homeless at common ground
maggie beare is like me i am afraid to say, but not really, i am creative enough
to rid the stupidness out of my body

Everybody in Russia loves Vladimir Putin.
In the years since he muscled his way to the top of the tree, he has established himself as the Champion of all Russia!

In the degradation following the collapse of the USSR, national pride in Russia spiralled down to an all-time low, there was little to be proud of. The satellite nations fled to independence abandoning the Rodina,  Agricultural and industrial production fell dramatically, law and order diminished dangerously. The economy shrank and the order of success in business depended largely on connection with Government and/or the Mafia. The Oligarchs became monstrously rich, the average Ivan monstrously poor. Life savings were rendered worthless overnight by the plummet of the value of the rouble. Russian society polarised from the ecstatically happy, filthy rich to the chronically unhappy, beggared poor.

Russian leadership staggered from Gorbechev’s democratisation through Yeltsin’s alcoholism to Andropov’s sudden death…. enter the fray Vladimir Putin.

Putin tightened the reins.
He organised regular payment of wages and salaries to the movers and shakers, the police and the military.
He changed the rules of doing business within the nation and made investment opportunities within Russia available to outside interests.
He took charge and commandeered discipline within the ranks of central Government.
He set about correctional treatment for the terrorists/freedom fighters in the Chechen Republic and elsewhere.
He raised the expectations of the common man and gave the people an element of promise for Russia’s tomorrow.
He invaded and took back the Crimea as legitimate Russian sovereignty.
He garnered the roaring support of the six million ethnic Russians domiciled in the Eastern region of the Ukraine.

Putin now stands, bare chested, astride Russia. He faces a hostile but cowed West with pale, blazing eyes and a ******* bulge in his trousers.
He is widely idolised by Russian women and admired by Russian men. He is their champion; he is believed to be their key to the future.
His nation is currently under severe trade embargo and economic sanction by Europe and the West which is hurting the strained economy right across the board.
The declining price of oil is adversely affecting Siberian oil profits and making further shale oil exploration uneconomic.
He enjoys hugely profitable Siberian natural gas pipeline sales to the Southern neighbour, China, but they watch the unfolding political landscape with careful, calculating tiger eyes.
Putin is regarded by Europe and the West as an unpredictable, serious threat who should not be unduly provoked.
Undeniably, the West, in their sour lipped manner, would be happy to see him and his Russian bear, fade quietly and permanently into the obscurity of the frozen wilds of the far Siberian tundra.

But if Vladimir Putin plays his cards well, he could actually bring the Rodina all of the benefits, glory and rewards that it seeks.
However, should he overplay his hand here, he may well crash and burn….and in doing so, could bring Russia’s dreams and aspirations crashing down with him.

Marshalg
Auckland
15 November 2014

Such pure smiles
Such enthusiasm
Such independence

So smart
So prepared
So organised
So sweet
And lovely

My daughter
You enter
A whole
New world

May your true spirit
Shine strongly
And your light
Burn brightly

May you glide
Into a world
Of joyful learning

May you thrive

A day will certainly come
As sure as we breathe
When our creator will ask of us
What we did to aid the oppressed

On that day
As surely as who created you
Created me too
It will not be about religion but humanity

When carefully planned and organised jets
Launched rockets
To bomb populated refugee camps
Schools and apartment blocks

At a defenceless opposition
Without an air force or navy
Heavy weapons or artillery
Command or armour

That's not war
It's ******
It's cold blooded massacre
As a woman shot in the stomach
Gives birth to a cold blue baby
And a world across oceans changes channels tuning in to the next world cup champion

It was never about taking sides
Israel vs Palestine
There is a truth
To which we must remove the blindfold of ignorance

Searching for a voice of right
Amongst the cries of pain hatred and anger
The sign in a city
Where there is too much to see

Finding peace amongst people who are not ours
Because I see hypocrisy of nations
Who stand for human rights
But only when the human shares a matching ideology

I see hypocrisy amongst media
Where a million wounds and shades of blood
Are inked into black and white letters
Today I read 'An Israelian was killed whilst a dozen Palestinians died'

They turned humans into numbers
Quantitative data
They couldn't possibly de-sensitize it any further
I mean look at the verbs in which they phrased that  

I see hypocrisy amongst Muslims
Who stand equal and united
Yet they too turn backs when the interest is not beneficial
And the pitiful nation falls divided

Whether it is a prayer
A strike, a boycott or vigil
A protest or petition
Maybe even a donation

There's a thousand ways to help
But very few who do
So what did you do?
Was it out of sight out of mind for you?

Catwalk creations and cutting-edge designers will be turning the North East into a glamorous showcase this week to delight the most dedicated followers of fashion.

NE1’s Fashion Futures will make its debut at Baltic in Gateshead on the day that also sees student collections unveiled there in Northumbria University Graduate Fashion Show.

Wednesday marks the start of NE1’s two-day fashion-steeped extravaganza of shows, talks and panel discussions and the event, a first for the region, is attracting big names in the fashion world such as British Vogue editor Alexandra Shulman, top designer Henry Holland and home-grown designer-to-the-stars Scott Henshall.

It is born from local business champion NE1’s Newcastle Fashion Week which ran for four years.

The idea is to bring the best aspects of that together to shape a whole new-look affair which will culminate in a Fashion Front Row event on the Thursday evening.

As well as highlighting the mark the region has made on the fashion industry, with North East-trained designers on the guest list, the event promises a perfect opportunity for anyone keen to learn how to follow in their successful footsteps.

High profile brands Mercedes Benz of Newcastle and international footwear designer Terry de Havilland are sponsors of NE1’s Fashion Futures which is organised by marketing and events manager Sandra Tang.

She said: “The event and its contributors highlight the strength of the region’s fashion industry, will help us celebrate the city’s fashion academic heritage and hopefully encourage a new generation to enter the fashion industry.”

This year’s Northumbria University Graduate Fashion Show, called FASHION, will be held at Baltic during the first day and the catwalk show is set to attract buyers and industry figures from around the world.

Then Thursday will see the main programme of free Fashion Talks run from 1pm to 3pm, aimed at young people interested in a career in the fashion industry.

There will be plenty tips to be had from the likes of Henry Holland who is known for his eye-catching designs and fun style.

He will be in conversation with fashion journalist Laura Weir and giving an insight into his life as one of the UK’s leading fashion designers. He has dressed famous celebrities, won international acclaim for his collections and sold designs in glamorous outlets such as Liberty.

Alexandra Shulman will also take to the stage to talk about her own life and work and give advice to any aspiring designers as well as style journalists.

And there will be a panel discussion with fashion experts including former Northumbria University students Michelle Taylor, founder of luxury lingerie brand Tallulah Love; Charis Younger, a menswear designer at All Saints; and Kate Ablett, a senior designer at Berghaus.

Joining them will be Terry De Havilland’s managing director Darren Spurling.

That evening’s Fashion Front Row event - a popular feature of NE1’s former Newcastle Fashion Week - will then showcase the best of the North East designer talent.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

There was none of your itsy-bitsy, teenie-****** bikinis at a fashion show of vintage swimwear in aid of the Cleveland Pools.

The costumes on show on the catwalk at Green Park Station were a much more modest affair, with a lot less flesh on view, and with some very interesting costumes which seemed to amuse the younger audience.

The Vintage Swimwear fashion show celebrated the last 200 years of bathing suits – the pools celebrate their 200th birthday next year.

Costumes from the last two centuries were modelled down the catwalk, with some interesting reactions from the audience, many of them design or fashion students from Bath Spa University.

It was a great turnout according to Sally Helvey from the Cleveland Pools Trust.

"We had a great night, and it really was great fun," she said.

There was a bar and barbecue hosted by Green Park Brasserie, and ice cream from a vintage Humphry van.

The audience also enjoyed a photography booth, and picture and video slideshows.

The Cleveland Pools is the only surviving Georgian Lido in the country, with a beautiful outdoor pool nestling in the back woods by the River Avon near the Bathwick estate.

But it is very derelict and will need millions spent on it before it can be re-opened again to the public. Last summer the trust received the welcome news the amenity is to be granted more than £4 million from the Heritage Lottery Fund, so plans are in place to have the pools restored and open for use again possibly as early as 2017.

A lot more funding needs to be raised to try and match the funds given by the HLF, and the fashion show, organised by Bath Spa student Jenny Brown, was just one of many events being organised over the summer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses

Fashion designer Dame Trelise Cooper is holding her first show in Wanaka to help raise funds for the town's planned hospice.

The September 30 Theatre of Fashion event is being organised by Wanaka fashion store Escape Clothing owner Lucy Lucas and the Upper Clutha Hospice Trust and organisers hope to raise up to $30,000.

Trust fundraiser Bev Rudkin said the show was "such a coup for Wanaka".

Wanaka hasn't had anything like this before and we know Theatre of Fashion will be an exciting event."

The event will be held at the McRae family's Glendhu Station Woolshed and will showcase the Trelise Cooper Summer 2015/16 collection. It will also feature three Trelise Cooper 1950s-inspired installations.

The event includes an auction of donated items, with all proceeds going to the Upper Clutha Hospice Trust.


photo:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses
Lucas lost her mother to cancer two years ago and says the hospice facility is especially important for the local community.

At the moment, Wanaka cancer patients and their families travel either to Clyde's Dunstan Hospital or Dunedin Hospital for hospice care.

The Upper Clutha Hospice Trust will be a tenant in the Presbyterian Support Otago and Mt Aspiring Retirement Village's proposed aged care/dementia facility on Cardrona Valley Road. Construction is scheduled later this year.

The trust is raising capital and operating costs for its patient rooms within the larger facility.

Lucas stocks Trelise Cooper in her shop and approached Dame Trelise to see if she was interested in helping the trust.

"Dame Trelise is incredibly generous with her time. She does a lot for community causes. Wanaka is so lucky to have her agree to holding this event, and for her to attend is even better. Guests are in for a treat. Trelise Cooper shows are always fantastic, with plenty of 'wow' factor," Lucas said.

Dame Trelise said she was only too happy to help: "Giving back to the community is something I have always believed in. It means a lot to me that my passion and the work that I do can be put towards something that really makes a difference . . . I have some very loyal customers in the South Island who have supported my label right from the beginning, and it feels great to be able to bring an event like this to them."

FAST FACTS

What: Theatre of Fashion inaugural show

When: 6.30pm, Wednesday September 30, 2015

Where: Glendhu Station Woolshed, Glendhu Bay

Cost: $65 per person or $75 for front row seats. Tickets from Escape Clothing, Ardmore Street, Wanaka, or the Upper Clutha Hospice Shop, Ballantyne Road. All proceeds to the Upper Clutha Hospice Trust.

- The Mirror

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

Captured in the psych ward 16


On the day of jeff paynter's psych review. Ron got up at 3 in the morning to try and figure out how he was going to do tips, he is always one to let the patient speak but all night he get texts explaining that he had violent outbursts which causes him to change his approach, no if he has anything to say that might help him be cured. Ron us in for that, but there is a lot of inappropriate language which can force the staff to postpone the review. So Ron searched the web especially YouTube and some great psychology websites and even read a bit of his old timer psychology papers and text books just to find some useful information, and Ron really wanted to help Jeff. Like he does for everyone and at 6 Ron had a shower and went to fran and dans and fran asked Ron how are you today and Ron said, I am doing great but I have this stupid psych test on a patient of mine and really this is looking weird, cause last night he had so many outbursts. I had to get up early to find out what the hell is wrong with him and Barry Allan said, well Ron
I think he has a lot of problems fitting into society and you need to make him understand that what he is doing is wrong, now, yeah it is hard for me to judge cause I hardly know him, but really you should try to get him to speak up about jest is really wrong with him and Ron said yeah mate yeah, jeff, yeah I know has something wrong him, but I am having a mighty hard time trying to point out what is wrong with him, like it could be schotzpgrenia or even bipolar or maybe multiple personalities but that is rare, all I can tell you guys that there is something wrong with him and after finishing his coffee and chinwag he went to the hospital and clocked in and as usual, the first thing he did was give out the morning medications to the HDU and then took their blood pressure and went in to talk to Bill to say that another member of staff will have to take you to TAFE today because I have to spend the day with Jeff, and bill said who will it be and Ron said well at the moment it looks like Tessa, but I will let you know when it happens and then Charlie came out to ask the nurses about leave to do a silent movie and jeff said. Why he **** should you get a job on a silent movie. You are so goofy and then Charlie do you know who I am and jeff said, no your not Charlie Chaplin, all you are is a insult to Charlie Chaplin fans and then jeff called him a big phoney and Charlie Chaplin threatened him with a I am going to bash you up, I am going to bash you up and suddenly Charlie and jeff were having a big punch up and Pete also became involved as well, Ron and a few nurses had to get into this fight and break it up and Ron took jeff away telling the nurse to make sure that bill gets to class at 10-30 and then took Jeff into his room and stayed there with him, to try and figure out jest is wrong and jeff said, you fucken doctors with your medical degrees don't know squat what I am dealing with and Ron said, ok I know I am getting paid for this. And to you I might look like I am helping you to pay the bills, but I am interested in what you have to say. And it stays in this room and Jeff then agreed to tell him the whole story of how a Catholic priest molested him as a child and that got him thinking that molesting kids was right. So then he went to shopping malls and chased every kid, making them very scared of me and then when I saw a kid waking with their parents showing their muscly white legs, I would go come here kid and if the kid came I would grab them and say I have you kidnapped you little rugrat, and then Ron asked, when you said I have you kidnapped, were you actually planning to actually kidnap this kid, or was that illness taking and jeff said, what the **** do you mean my illness, I ain't ill, I just take revenge on people who do harm to me Ron, it's called looking after yourself and Ron said yeah, but I am trylng to give a psych review cause there is something wrong with your brain, and with his hands in the air assuring that he just means he understands, you see to take our your anger on a poor innocent child
Is horrible just because it happened to you, now I know you are sick of the patients here like old blimie Charlie. But mate I can monitor you on medication and make you avoid jailtime and jeff said I don't know right, I don't know why I followed the kids around the mall, and I don't know why I grabbed one out in a public place, I just did it cause I did it and that is why I did it and Ron told Jeff, ok if you go to jail you could get bashed you see they bash people who do harm to kids in there, and if you do wrong things jeff, you have to realise that life stinks and it can be unfair but I am here to find out where are you going to go from here, you see if you stay here, we could get you leave to do courses at TAFE or rehabilitation courses so you don't reoffend, but you need to coopperate with me, I don't want to see you in jail for this. I am interested in letting you do a course, and yes we can help you get back on your feet, so how about I give you this paper and pen and you tell me what would you like to do and where you go from here, and tell us your future goals, be realistic though but don't be shy to say movie star, we can help you get through all this, but that will take time and Ron left Jeff in there and when it came to Jeff's psych review, well jeff was really organised, well he said yeah he believes in standing up for himself but doing it to a kid is wrong and he listed a whole lot of things but the main thing that Jeff wanted to do is learn a trade and he wanted an apprenticeship as a plumber, so Ron did some ringing around and found this plumber who is willing to have him, and he was professional and took him on two days a week, picking him up at the HDU and after having that organised Ron gave the nightly medication and then clocked off and went to the Chinese takeaway and sit in the park near the yarra river at 9-00 pm and Barry Allan came over with a longneck of beer and they spoke to each other and Ron said that he really has the knack for helping people find their feet as he told Barry everything about jeff except for his name, and
They were having great conversations as the yarra river continued to flow so peacefully in the back ground


Sent from my iPhone

MY NEICE IS A AN OLD ROCK AND ROLL SINGER OF THE PAST




YOU SEE MY NIECE CAITLIN IS A ROCK SINGER

JUST LIKE MY BROTHER IS

THERE COULD BE PREVIOUS LIVES STORIES HERE

LIKE SHE COULD BE ROY ORBISON OR RICKY MAY

OR SOMEONE BETTER, CAUSE MY NIECE CATLIN

IS SO PERFECT AT SINGERS, IT GOES FURTHER THAN  GENES

IF MY MATE PAUL BERENYI DIED IN 1995 LIKE A ****** TOLD ME

HE COULD BE CAITLIN, BUT YOU CAN’T TRUST OTHER PEOPLE

BETTER JUST TRUST THE NEWS

AND NO MATTER WHO CAITLIN WAS IN HER PREVIOUS LIFE

SHE SHOULD ****** CHOOSE, WHAT IS A HER CHARACTER

I AM JUST CRONUS THE POWERFUL GOD

I CAN TELL IF I HAVE THE INTERNET FACTS

I CAN FIND PREVIOUS LIFE PATTERNS

BY, WORKING OUT WHEN PEOPLE DIE

AND HOW MANY YEARS, AND NORMALLY IF THEY YELL

THEY WERE EITHER, KIDNAPPERS, OF OLD HOOLIGANS OF THE PAST

BUT CAITLIN IS A GREAT SINGER, AND SHE HAS SOME PREVIOUS LIFE PATTERN

I KNOW MY BROTHER IS A SINGER TOO, BUT THERE IS MORE THAN THAT I KNOW

LIKE, I WAS ISABELLA OF FRANCE, I WAS THEIR FAMILIES ENTERTAINER

I KNOW SCOTT MCDONALD WANTED TO TEASE ME

SO HE DIED AND BECAME TWO CATS, LUCKY THE CAT WHO WILL TEASE DAD

WHEN IT RAINS, AND MUSCLES WAS TO SAY ONLY ANIMALS DO WHAT I DID BACK THEN

THAT IS WHY THE GUYS TEASED ME

IF PAUL DID DIE, IN 1995, HE COULD BE MY NIECE CAITLIN

BECAUSE NOW I MENTION IT, IT COULD’VE BEEN BEFORE 1995 WHEN I SAW HIM

AT TUGGERANONG WITH ANTHONY COSTA WATCHING BASKETBALL

BUT I KNOW DAD IS IN THE ****** OF LISA CAMPBELL, WITH ROBIN WILLIAMS

WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO, IS BRING MY FAMILY HAPPINESS

CAITLIN COULD BE PAUL BERENYI, OR COULD BE ROY ORBISON

AND NO MATTER WHO SHE IS, SHE IS MY NIECE, AND SUSAN IS MY OTHER NIECE

AND I LOVE THEM BOTH TO BITS

AND NOW, THE RAIN IS COMING CAUSED BY PAUL BERENYI

SAYING NO MATTER WHO I AM, CRONUS SHOULD KEEP IT DOWN

GO TO BED USA, AS THERE IS A BIG SURFING TOURNAMENT IN MERCURY

ORGANISED BY THE TERRORISTS, TO CALM THE HEAT, AND NOT **** THEIR HOOLIGAN

BUT CRONUS TELLS DAD, TO KEEP THEM STRAPPED IN THE SUN

WHERE NO WATER CAN SAVE THEM, THEY’LL SUFFER

Teen model Shonali Khatun strutted the catwalk as the audience cheered at a fashion show in Bangladesh's capital.

But Shonali is no ordinary model, and this was no ordinary show.

She and the 14 other models are survivors of acid attacks, common in this south Asian country, where spurned lovers or disgruntled family members sometimes resort to hurling skin-burning acid at their victims.

The fashion show, held Tuesday night in Dhaka and attended by fashion lovers, rights activists and diplomats including the US ambassador to Bangladesh, aimed to redefine the notion of beauty while calling attention to the menace of such attacks.

For 14-year-old Shonali, the event was nothing short of empowering. She was attacked just days after she was born amid a property dispute involving her parents, and was left with burn scars on her face and arms. She spent nearly three years in a hospital and underwent eight operations. Her attacker has never been caught.

"I am so happy to be here," she said. "One day I want to be a physician."

The models, including three men, walked the catwalk, dancing and singing and showcasing woven handloom Bangladeshi designs. The show was choreographed by local designer Bibi Russel.

Organisers said they hoped to highlight the fact that acid victims, too often overlooked, are a vital part of society. They deliberately chose to hold the event on the eve of International Women's Day.

"We are here today to show their inner strength, as they have come a long way," said Farah Kabir, country director of ActionAid Bangladesh, which organised the show. "I often take inspiration from them. Their courage is huge."

Bangladesh has struggled to deal with acid attacks in recent decades, and has instituted harsh punishments for the perpetrators, including the death penalty. The country has also trained doctors to treat such sensitive cases and attempted to control the sale of acid, but has failed to eliminate the scourge entirely.

In 2016, some 44 people were attacked with acid in Bangladesh - an annual number that has remained relatively stable.

"I am ashamed of having such things in the country," Kabir said. "Unfortunately, in Bangladesh we do have acid victims because of either gender discrimination or violence, or because of greed. And we want to remind everyone the kind of injustice that has been meted out to them."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Hero got a phone call,
From the being with three eyes.
So often his existence,
Could be validated by advice.

It is then organised by rhythms,
So that the words solidify,
If the chaos cant be structured,
Then all vision is blinding light.

Hero said to the being,
“I fall in to infatuation with such ease.”
The being said, “You’re seeing,
Your own love reflectively.

“Your brains mirror neurone system,
Causes you to smile at a smile,
This mirroring of others,
Allows for formation of a tribe.

Now you know this wisdom,
Think of your romantic life.
The subject of your infatuation,
Did not cause your love inside.
The love all humans seek,
Is already in your possession,
Which is why the search feels bleak,
You’re hunting the impossible obsession.

You’re all looking for your lost keys,
Tearing everything apart,
All the while they’re in your hand,
Or your breast pocket by your heart.”

Hero nodded rhythmically,
But found it hard to understand,
“If the love’s inside of me,
Then how has any love began?”

“A lot of love is a product,
Of false infatuation;
Two people seeking it from each other,
And thus there is divorce and separation.

But true love is the love inside of you,
Which is the love of the universe,
If you can learn to embrace this,
Then it will free you of your curse.

The mirror neurone system also detects,
The love inside as if it was a grin.
Within another, you’re existing love will reflect,
And embrace and share this world that the two of you are in.

It’s not a swapping of hearts,
But a pressing of them together.
The look in her eyes was not the start,
The start of love was forever.”

The dweeb lived in the dwellings of a dwindling tribe of dwarves
Who anchored little kayaks at the moorings in the wharves.
He organised this transport so that they might go at night
Deep into the dark dense woods to visit their Snow White.
But the dwarves were very old and weren’t getting any younger
And although they really wanted too it couldn’t last much longer.
Meanwhile the dweeb would study every minute of the day
So studious and serious with little time for play.
The daddy of the dwarfs known as Doctor Joe
Said to him, “Look dweeb, there’s little left to know.”
But still he studied on writing loads of lengthy notes,
Which sometimes he would use to make tedious little quotes.
Until eventually the dwarves found him annoying and real boring
Besides he woke them up at night with his constant snoring.
So Doctor Joe hatched a plan with his little tribe
It was devious and genius and this I will describe.
They knew Snow White was lonely and longing for a man
So this is what they had in mind for this dweeb known as Stan.
Snow White would lie there in a dwam pretending to be dead
And somehow they would lure Stan along to her deathbed.
So they told her that he was a Prince, the great love of her heart
She of course was up for it, and couldn’t wait to start.
Doctor Joe then told the dweeb, that Snow White was no more.
He said that he might save her and showed him to the door.
On their little kayak they paddled up the river
But the dweeb then said to Doctor Joe, “I don’t know what to give her.”
The Doctor reassured him that it would be real bliss
If only one time in her life she had a loving human kiss.
The dweeb replied, “This just won’t work.” So he quoted healing potions.
When Doctor Joe rejected these he suggested soothing lotions.
None of these the Doctor said were right for their Snow White
Only a kiss from a real-man could help her end this plight.
So eventually there beside Snow White all the party stood,
Outside of the stone cottage deep within the wood.
The dwarves should have looked distressed but they were full of glee
And so they had to hide their smiles in case the dweeb should see.
At long last they’d be rid of him, this boring little nerd
Some of them expressed this and they hoped he hadn’t heard.
But the dweeb was now distracted by the beauty of this girl
He didn’t know if this would work but he’d give it a whirl.
He puckered up his lips and planted one before he spoke
Then gob-smacked he stood there as Snow White soon awoke.
Immediately when their eyes met he knew that it was right
Likewise she felt this too, it was real love at first sight.
So you see that all of this now ended happy ever after.
Doctor Joe and all the dwarves left in bursts of laughter.

rain hits the window
a shower of tapping
organised wet
blown by wind force
from out the cosmos
somewhere deep in the mind
the collective observations
and organised dust particles
blown together seemingly
random weathered rocks
crawling out the waters
mineralised and breathing

allowing for a two part volume
of Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu...
is unforgiving... it's asking a meat-head
to read such a body like exploring a woman's...
a gay-man's psyche is pretty much a woman...
or what a woman thinks in secret,
gay men merely vocalise what a woman does
not say... and yes, that a with a diacritical
mark... that grave above the a? the à?
it works like a comma... à! a surprise kindred
an eureka that's not really original,
an: ah! and then you say the rest of the title...
iconic pause: in search of lost time...
          it took me about five minutes to figure
that one out... lost time, but occupied a space...
  and so much political vanity is consecrated
upon the reverse.. ineffective space:
thus gained time... for all that protests are worth.

i know i go on about this a lot, surprise surprise,
i'm actually engaging in systematisation...
once you enjoy writing as much as walking
you get to reach a systematisation,
     it's a painful process, i'd never do the editing process
of a Hemingway... write something: shoot some
camels and reindeer and go back and revise a piece
of writing: drink a *death in the afternoon -
a shot of absinthe inside a champagne glug
or the modern: shot of Jägermeister inside a glass
of red bull... (yay-gay-mr.) -
                       or how do you make snakebite?
half a láger half a çíder - and a head of blackcurrant
squash... scoot meine good look.
  but diacritical marks are what punctuation marks
are... it's only that they've become elevated,
and unlike punctuation marks governing paragraphs
and sentences... they govern the words,
         they are syllable incision indicators...
  i mean: i don't revise something i've already written,
unless it's a spelling mistake... i just write
something new... it's sadistic in my mind's eye to
revise and revise a single effort of writing...
                i'd rather centralise a theme of the paradox
of re-, in the year 2018 i will still experience
the tetratempus - containing four seasons -
         and i will never return toward making a piece
of writing become a morbidly corrected statue...
     what's done is done, let us move toward another
circumstance of being able to acquire a new kind
of observation... i can't be a sadist in terms of also
being a perfectionist... i break a leg, i break a leg...
if i write a ****** poem, i'll write a ****** poem...
but i won't be bothered like human history has been
by preoccupying itself in forwarding the drama
on Golgotha Street...
    the newest addition to the vogue scene is a corset
paired with a waistcoat...
   the snooker championships are taking place,
and i says to my father: 'a bit like chess, ain't it?'
   'sure is', he replies, 'you have to think 3 moves ahead.'
and it is... a smart sport, actually the most intelligent
sport there is... ****** boring obviously,
unless you fake the boredom and think about angles
and triangles and Newton...
   and cover the game with such congestions of
pretending to hallucinate it all...
                or take to thinking about rebellious
Saturn spinning out of orbit and doing a Mike Tyson
to Jupiter...
          but it's very much like chess...
                   it's sporty chess... snooker is chess...
  and it definitely ain't pool...
         you could actually have a ******* on a snooker table...
while either doggy or missionary positioning on
the snooker table... so what are the odds?!
         but i'll tell you one thing... snooker beats golf...
i don't know why... but once colour televisions came into
existence: it made much more sense for both
spectator and commentator... and how dare you
not cling to the 20th century if you were born in it
to translate to the 21st androids how we experienced
an evolution of technology, that made much more sense
after what i just heard...
      so there's this woman in the U.S., and this is before
president-elect and whatnot...
  and she's 22, and it's all over vice news,
and she's scared, and she's a mother of a 1 year old...
    and then this picture emerges
(don't worry, it's not anything like playing the Sims
   and moving your Sim to play computer games
and seeing a wormhole, or the infinity mirror effect)...
and there's a scene when she's talking Donald Duck
to the child... there are no meaningful words being
said... merely sounds... onomatopoeias...
and yes... this makes perfectly good sense when
stressed as a cut-off capsule...
because Darwinism doesn't really provide much
history... Darwinism is a historical erasure:
the past 2000 years could have happened,
but not really...
  but it just fascinated me...
         when did we learn or who did we learn it from
given we were placed at so many different
plots of the globe and became convergent -
anyway - the woman is teaching the child
words via the onomatopoeia of a hoarse quacking
of a duck! i probably will not find an answer
(primarily because i'm not supposed to,
if i am to perpetuate what Aristotle taught, i.e.:
be wrong and continually circumstance being in awe,
given the mundanity that nonetheless
everything keeps repeating itself over and over again,
for sustenance, and you are not sustenance bound
as corrected by your language deficiency to
ever merge into an unconsciously organised module
that might also argue an ego) -
    but i wonder how difficult it must have been
to extract something beyond the minimalism of animals
that identifies a duck with a quack, a cow with a moo,
an serpent with a sss... a cat with a meow, a dog with a bark...
    i cannot conceive how difficult this explanation
will be... but given the timeframe, i'm more awe-stricken
by this than merely being awe-bound by the time-scale...
which becomes the least affordable option of being
struck by awe, because one becomes merely awe-bound
by it, and therefore apathetic towards such a time-scale.
       how did we suddenly extract an understanding
of an onomatopoeia to distinguish our own ontological
basis for making a sound by infusing a sound that
doesn't resemble us? when did the first ape bark like
a dog? but then again, looking at the canvas already
apparent to us... what was the point of such an adventure?
hippy culture says: monkey accidently ate a mushroom,
monkey suddenly was blown away and reasoned of
a higher purpose other than a tree and a coconut...
     mudvayne quotes the guy on l.d. 50...
what's the guys name... uggh! not Timothy Leary...
ah ****! Terence McKenna! that's it!
        am i high? nope... my respectability of argument
comes from the mystical properties of... whiskey.
hmm...      that rarely happens to people.
                   it's what's called being earthbound, or gravity
prone... sink like a skipping pebble across the lake...
          and like a tonne of lard.
             tomorrow i'll wake once more and still
think about how we encouraged the discovery of
onomatopoeia to teach our children the multiplicity of
sounds, and later deconstruct such a multiplicity to
create meaningful words that go beyond knock knock! jokes
and grunts and barking...
                     but i will never know the man who
created the fermentation process from potatoes to make
*****...
                or the guy who brewed the first pint...
or the guy that smoked the first marijuana bush ensemble
while clearing the land for a place to harvest wheat...
   all the fame that exists is simply scholastic...
  schoolboy fame... which is why so much attention
goes into becoming famous in school...
                        but still that woman teaching her child how
to speak by going down into the blobby-gurgling
  tongue of the toddler, stiffening it,
      and tightening the **** and bladder too...
  by talking Donald Duck to it...
                        i probably could have had a family myself...
but can you imagine someone writing this load of
******* and having a family? there wouldn't be any time!
           still (god, what a need to repeat!)
         how did we progress from saying ape-****?
surely if we started to imitate other animals they'd join us
in our need to usurp those ******* lions!
  lo and behold... we managed to pet dogs (so they were
in on it all along)... and cats (who came from Japan,
if **** sapiens came from Africa... cats came from Japan...
bonsai frocked and all) -
                            but you have to admit...
from what is written history, to what is history and
a gap in history going back to a similitude of form -
      you can write as much historical fiction as you want...
    and you'll never have to write a bestseller about
some centurion in the Roman Empire...
   or a quo vadis by Sienkiewicz (nobel prize winner)
for the depiction of emperor Nero...
                               ******* Sesame St. giggles...
still, the question beckons... if animals can behave in
an ultra-intuitive way as if fashioned by a telepathy...
then telepathy can only exist upon a very simple,
atomic, terse vocalisation of an identity...
   a dog barks... a man can bark too...
                                but we have completely lost our
intuitive talent (if it can be called that)...
          to have sacrificed intuition is to have created
cults or counter-intuitive hierarchies...
  so a 1000 blah blahs later i still prefer to write what
i like... than write what people "might" understand
and talk to a girl about...
                                     a bit like a woman discovering
you faked writing a poem 20 years into a marriage...
                  obviously the setbacks to boot...
                            dyslexia is an optical dimension...
no one dyslexic says a word they don't understand
a meaning of... dyslexia seemingly came from
finally having enshrined the "secret" to the monopoly
of writing sounds...
                          nonetheless... at the end of the day...
it's just too much history... there's too much of it...
            there was never going to be a world
where carpe diem ruled it...
                               it was a question how we clung to
certain things, within a framework of
                                             salmon dye omni:
sure sure... piglet pink and innocent for the rest
of our lives... once Darwinism pointed at the ape,
and once physicists dropped the bomb and the bang...
no day has had any significance at all...
   + the 24h news channels...           snuggle up to a hog
             and say: fog over Heathrow... all flights are grounded.

The RICKARD'S coach arrived at the seafront the sight of the sea and waves and seagulls in flight and sounds of sea and gulls and waves on shore and Janice waited in the coach seat beside Benedict both gazing out at the view listening to the gospellers talking about the day and the plans ahead and one of them with one eye said not to wander off but to stay with the group and before we get off the coach make sure you are with someone it's easy to get lost on your own so stay with some one all day or a group of others he said his voice a drone to Benedict who looked at the sea and the gulls and also there is a fairground to visit One Eye said but stay with a person and do not wander off with anyone you do not know and the rides are paid for so no need to pay any money out he said the children on the coach buzzed like bees with excitement but Benedict sat and watched the beach the families the ice cream van the fish and chip shop the shop selling buckets and spades and whirly things that go around and around in the wind and so on but before we leave the coach we need to say a prayer and thank God for this day and for the weather and the sunshine and for the gospel church members who paid towards this day out for you One Eye said there was a silence and lowering of heads and closing of eyes and One Eye said a prayer and was ended with a loud AMEN which echoed the coach and maybe along the beach Benedict  waited until the the kids got off the coach one by one then he and Janice moved down the aisle as One Eye and another gospeller counted them off Janice straightened her red beret and Benedict followed her out onto the seafront pavement and sniffed the air and listened to the sounds of sea and gulls stay together a gospeller said to them we will Janice said excitedly taking hold of Benedict’s hand and squeezing it where can we go? she asked the fairground rides are over there the gospeller said pointing over to the side and we will meet for lunch at one pm meet here I’ve told the others and we will keep an eye out for you ok Janice said Benedict and she walked towards the fairground where there was a loud sound of machines going around and voices and screams and laughter and shouts they went in and walked around the various rides and stalls and Benedict said where shall we start? I don't know Janice said there is so much to go on and do but Benedict had his eye on the motorbike rides where small motorbikes could be ridden around a circular track I’m going on that he said looks a bit scary Janice said releasing his hand wait here for me then or ride on something else less scary he told her no I’ll stay with you she said and followed him onto the side of the track where a man was organizing the rides and kids want to ride on the back or on your own? the man said to Janice who looked uncertain I’ll ride behind him she told the man and climbed on the back of the motorbike Benedict was sitting on she put her arms around Benedict’s waist and held on tight then they were off around the track and at a given speed and around and around they went Benedict over taking other kids on motorbikes and now and then being overtaken by others then it was over and the time set finished and they got off and went on a number of other rides and stalls and kept together until it was nearly one pm and a gospeller said got to meet for lunch now and they followed the other kids back to the coach and waited until all had arrived and then they set off for a restaurant where a meal had been organised by the gospel church in advance and they all sat down and Benedict and Janice sat in two seats together and Janice said that was good I haven't enjoyed myself so much in years  and that motorbike ride was scary but I did enjoyed it after all and Benedict let her talk because she was good at it and he watched her how her red beret moved as she turned or shook her head in her excitement and her eyes bright as stars and her hands clapped and her fingers moved and he just listened smiling and nodding and he said maybe we can sit on the beach after lunch or go in the sea and paddle and see if there are any ***** or dead fish left by the tide O she said will there be? and will the ***** bite? and I best go to the loo as I think I’ll wee myself with excitement other wise and she walked across to one of the gospellers and asked and they pointed to a door at the back and Benedict watched her go and listened to the other kids and people around talking and laughing and thought of home in London and wondered what his mother was doing and should he take her back a gift out of the money she gave him if there was a shop that sold things he could buy he would if he could find something he thought she might like just as Janice returned a waitress brought the meals around and laid them on the table in front of them fish and chips O good Janice  said I like them I wonder if they caught the fish around here in this sea do you think they did Benny? do you? I expect so Benedict said although he didn't know and hadn't thought of where the fish had come from apart from the sea some place he liked it when she asked him questions as if he knew everything when he knew he didn't but it made him feel good and he looked at her and felt happy her being there with her red beret and fair hair and she like him was eight years old or more and she living with her gran and he not knowing what happened to her mum and dad and never asked thinking it best not to ask and he living with his parents and sister and brother in London and so different from the seaside with the sounds and smells so different and fresh and she talked of the beach and maybe paddling if they went in the sea he with her in case she slipped in and drowned and she didn't want to do that and of course he would he said and they ate the fish and chips and he looked out at the sea over the way and sensed her near him and was enjoying the seaside day.

.

I am the one who walks at the edge of the herd
noting and observing the crush.
The jostling and positioning, and re-positioning.
I see, I watch. As the participants dance,
desperately seeking to be sorted, boxed, stamped and labelled.
The reject of the herd, I document.
I can paint a flowery picture.
I can write an apocalypse.
But its not like that, its not black and white.
Its complex. And it is moving.
Constantly. The only true organised motion.
Infinite individual minds, racing.
Racing towards oblivion
carried by the herd.
The weak, trampled; helping elevate the strong.
The strong, elevated; trampling down the weak.
The battle for posture.
The psychology of a single entity
split, schizophrenically, amongst the countless.
The herd travels as one. Inexorably.
United and scattered, evolution incarnate.
I see the hate, the love, the conflicts within.
I see the pain and misery.
There is danger here, on the edge.
I am the one who walks apart from the herd,
finding my own path.

©Pagan Paul (20/06/16)

I am different
And have always been
Right from the age of four
Whether it be my fascination for trains
And cement mixers, for some reason
Or my peculiar fear of water
Or my obsession with the number of pages in a newspaper
And last but not the least
Playing cricket with myself

I am different
And have always been
I can't make small talk to save my life
Social cues are like Greek and Latin to me
I understand sarcasm
As much as Voldemort understands love
I keep fiddling with my things
Pens, papers, clothes, hair etc.
My room is as organised
As a typical bachelor's den is
And the list goes on and on

I am different
And have always been
Earlier, this always used to bother me
And make me feel inferior
Especially when people advised me
To improve my verbal communication skills
And body language
However, I have realised now
That they could not have been more wrong
Because I am autistic
And autism is not something that can be cured
Rather, it has to be managed
And thanks to therapy
I have been managing reasonably well
For the last five years or so
Let me repeat
I am different
And have always been
If you have a problem with that
You are welcome to leave

except when we are not, except
when we forget. or we are not
notified.

there are lists and diaries, notes
and reminders, days set aside for certain
tasks. it has to be done, when
there is only one
to do it.

yet, oh the shame, the horror
if we miss a trick, or lose the
page.

eventually we will know,
that none of it matters.

even though it all does.

now.

sbm.

( prompted by 52.60. )

I have finally found my talent.
I ruin things.
I ruin our days, our life
With my inept ways,
My frustration, my dumb rants.
I ruin your organised mind
And your practical intentions.
I ruin the weather, the mood,
I ruin your lovingly cooked food.
I am the Chelsea Football Club of everything.
Maybe that’s why they’re my team.
Ruining things whether I win or lose.
Ruination is my talent.

What marvellous creatures those biped ants,
Inhabiting the terrestrial little dust sphere, third from its star.
A naturally social animal “living in a complex social colony,
with one or more breeding queens.”

What organised creatures those biped ants,
Arranging themselves in a hierarchical manner, to follow
Rules and be protected by their chief, whose interest is
The survival, wellbeing and self-enhancement of all.

What ingenious creatures those biped ants,
Drawing, inventing and building that which their mind can imagine,
Creating words out of nothing to tell each other stories,
Hand their wisdom over and down to their heir.

What intelligent creatures those biped ants,
Engaging and toying with thoughts and questions
To find answers to sentiments they spontaneously recognise,
Driven by curiosity to understand their potential and universe.

What extraordinary creatures those biped ants,
Capable of love and caring, so unusual and rare on other planets,
Believing in strength and justice, freedom and equality,
Marching for their rights and for them be willing to give up their lives.

What fragile creatures those biped ants,
So vulnerable to greed, arrogance, fear and complex,
Self-commiseration and self-loathing, punishing themselves
With self-destruction.

What paradoxical creatures those biped ants,
Dividing in colours, red or blue, black or white,
Unwilling to acknowledge that any idea is a good idea
If in the best interest of humanity as a whole and its home,

Regardless of who gives birth to it and casts the seed,
For it to grow.