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Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
you can undercook pork - a little bit of pink
is rather - favourable -
you can undercook beef - a little bit...
let's go full bleu: which has a name... pittsburg
blue...
but please don't slaughter the cow,
send it to the butchers for the cuts...
and then shame it by cooking it well done...
thrice the cow thus dies...
aside from... fish...
well...
i was never a fan of chicken *******...
because whenever someone cooked them:
i.e. my mother - they tended to be... dry...
chicken drum-sticks and the almost grey area
of muscle flesh close to the bone -
these days? the former schnitzel fan has
become a chicken roulade fan...
because the stress for 165°F - and 5 minutes
worth of rest... for the cooked meat...

Ciara - another daughter of U Kʼux Kaj -
she can still be felt in the early night
when walking the streets...
some storms never reach essex -
and that's probably why i decided to grow
my beard long - to feel it combed
by the wind... this elongating chin to match
the moon's scythe -

point being... cooking chicken is unlike cooking
beef or pork... because...
well beef is born from blood -
in the body of another -
the mother - the pork is born from blood -
in the body of another - the mother...
you can undercook it... most certainly:
esp. the beef...
trouble with chicken: is the trouble
with undercooking fish...

to perfect the cooking of chicken meat...
is very much like cooking the perfect
soft-boiled egg...
you want the yoke to be runny...
and the white to be a: ścięte białko...
a coagulated white...
it's quiet amazing how chicken meat
behaves like the egg - the protein
in the atom -
how you have to mind cooking chicken:
for that juicy chicken breast roulade -
in the same way as minding a soft-boiled
egg...

i've never noticed this...
apparently that's the glaring obvious...
it always was!
beef you can undercook: cook it perfectly:
overcook it...
pork you can undercook: cook it perfectly:
overcook it...
chicken? you can only cook it perfectly
or overcook it...
undercooked chicken is a bit like...
finding a raw scallop nugget kiev-esque
in your chicken -

perhaps because: we can eat a poultry abortion:
the egg -
that i forgot or never minded to think:
the meat will behave like the egg -
the protein is borderline with seafood...
after all.. the birds are fish with wings...
that we managed to domesticate
a wolf and breed it with a dingo
and give it a bark...
how did we pluck the hawk from the sky
and gave it marching orders among
the strutting gehenna-game of the wehrmacht
with the geese...

i have no "beef" with the british and their past...
how many zulus became slaves?
hot topic...
if only a people were as fortunate -
not to be landlocked -
the last known invasion dates back to
1066 - nothing is spoken about the ottoman
empire or the mongol empire at the gates...
perhaps other people too...
could have their idle -
and been left to their own devices...
their high tea and all sort of *******...
but i'll still bemoan that...
this language does not have any orthography...
but it does have: n'dubz...
and a york-shyre from peckham and the rest...

- you simply can't undercook chicken...
you can either cook it to perfection...
or overcook... anything undercook is not going
to be eaten!
an undercooked chicken breast roulade?
that's scallop nugget in a kiev-esque chicken..
but why didn't i see it sooner...
how chicken meat would behave like
the egg when it was being cooked?
after all... what becomes of the yoke
when translated into the full-grown chicken?
the internal organs? the bones?
i'm pretty sure the egg-white translates into
the skeleton...
and the bones? it's not like the egg-shell
implodes...

in my hand i hold a chicken's egg:
a poultry abortion...
in my hand, also... a babushka doll...
this: little matron... бaбушкa...
because who would have thought that...
cooking the perfect chicken roulade...
would be akin to... 15 minutes extra...
when working from a soft-boiled egg...
oven-baked of course...
prior to the skin needs to be butter-fried...
and you can't enjoy
a chicken's neck... if it's not poached...
too many bones: not enough meat...
the neck of the chicken needs to poached...

again: one feels inclined to stress the importance
of curating the meat: curing it is one "thing"...
but it's almost an art...
as long as you respect the meat...
i find that most vegeterians or vegans
become thus...
because they have not learned to respect
the meat they're about to eat...

beef you can undercook... the sooner you do so...
the less chance that you'll butcher a second time
with a well-done: eating sand...
wishing it was poppy-seeds itching at the gums
between your teeth...

to respect the meat is to also bite off the heads
of the bones... for the over-cooked marrow...
i once held 30 or so poultry hearts in a cusp of hands...
hands prior to romeo & juliet's amen and kiss...
before i imagined what 30 hearts would otherwise
look like: if i was given the remaining body parts...

or 30 poultry stomachs readied for the broth...
with groats...
i too would become a vegeterian...
if the only chicken ******* i ate in my life
were: usually over-cooked...
dry... simulating imitation cheese
and chalk... the sort of meat: overcooked...
whereby your teeth start to experience
protein glue... and it's hard to pull the jaw
from the skull apart...

i have mentioned pittsburg blue, haven't i?
you can undercook beef and pork...
but you can't undercook chicken...
now unless you want to encounter
a pocket of a raw scallop sensation...
a chicken has to be treated as well as an egg...

most of the time you need to undercook
beef and pork...
but chicken requires...
oh glory be to the poached egg on toast...
the scrambled eggs undisturbed fried on
some pork dewlap...
when you can tell the difference between
the yoke and the whites...

such a versitile creature - this domesticated
hawk... this chicken marshal...
this would be cannibal... i've seen how one
becomes butchered with an axe -
one chicken, one axe - on stump of wood...
the rolling eyes of the decapitated...
the other chickens didn't mind...
they'd run up to the altar with the running
blood of rivers making letter markings
on the woody crumble...
and drink the blood... peck at left-over
flesh from the decapitation...

"gender expressions"... and... what's that?
leftover grammar from french...
translated from inanimate objects:
as being either endowed with a phallus
or a floral pattern -
but in english almost all objects of worded
interaction are gender-neutral!

native tongue "endowement"...
słońce - sun - is feminine...
księżyc - moon - is masculine -
krzesło - chair - i'm siding with masculine...
stół - table - that's clearly "gender neutral" /
alias: hermaphrodite... alias for the *******...
son / daughter of Aphrodite...
kamień - stone - masculine...
góra - mountain - feminine...

and so the heavens opened and became:
short on breath and soul...
the groundwork of earth...
the earth itself... started to nibble
on the delicacy of feet - the wind whispered...
and the echo: and the footsteps...
and the dutch clank convened and called it:
marriage!

how grammar transcended casual english
usage... how it bypassed orthography...
how it never attained orthography...
oh yes... the russian have it...
but... who would have expected it...

n'est ce pas?

what was once the gestalt primer...
that became a rorschach test...
i say: it's either a ink-blotch of a pelvis or a moth...
but with regards to the selfie:
i always require two mirrors...
i still remember the days when someone
would take a photograph of you being:
oblivious...
as if god: the narrator...
convened and descended upon the scene
and imposed directions of keen: montage...

the basis of gender neutrality of nouns...
it can't be extended to encompass verbs...
an oak: dąb - is male...
but a pine - sosna - is female...
all fruit bearing trees are female connotations...

whatever sheryl crow's debut album was...
wasn't alanaise morissette's jagged little pill -
however the conundrum spins with no
favor for the electric currents passing via
Ariel... give me the wind god...
the daughters and barons of: the lesser involved!

because i'm a far cry the alpha...
kindred of the omega... and all that alphabet
of meaning behind letters...
"self-imposed"... less a ******* and more...
feeble guide of watching others get
pleasured by the mantis
and the black widows of tomorrow...

a cactus would grow in my palm should
i witness germany re-united:
at least that's how the proverb stood its ground...
before common or passed on "wisdom"
learned to gravitate toward...
soap bubbles pop... charcoals smoke...
ms amber becomes a river
when there was no river expected...

the tides are hardly shy: they're buying time...
this one last commodity of the rotten mind
of the gambler...
puny prophet - of fate -
alongside the weathermen of a forgotten
afternoon: come birthday prior to noon...
and the fungus umbrellas chat
among themselves in a premature autumn
cascade...

fungus or just... lungs... devoid of a body?

my god: the kids are going after the grammar
that has already absolved them...
knitting mosquitos and lambasting
gherkins' worth of would-be:
pickled cucumbers...

that herring tartar... with dill and juices...
that baltic sushi never to arrive
at the cusp of the Caspian sea...
Molotov shots;
the Russians will always bring glasses
and ***** with them...
because... they somehow can...

- and that's because...
sheryl crow's debut album wasn't
alanaise morissette's...
but never makes the cards of a...
poker-match-up to better not earn
money if all that money is a gambler's
Eden...

- there are better ways to get away with
cooking an egg...
there's this entire myth of...
no poultry sushi...
mein gott! how the meat agrees with
abortions...
you can undercook beef,
you can undercook pork...
but when there are poultry standards...
they're just as risk-aversive as when...
a soft-boiled egg is required...
same with meat...

this direct translation of the atomised meat
in an egg white...
how it needs to coagulate to pristine juice
and all that perfect *******...
and... ****** via the runny yoke...
because i believe there's a puritanical
aspect of all life in general...
when hard-ons are sold
within the quarantine confines
of a viagara episode of: ***** into a hard-on...

chuckles and whittle charlie chaser says:
no man was ever ***** into a hard-on...
no?!
when charlie met chuckles and chuckie
and charles...
it must be a russian "thing"...
they have them... and hide them better...
there's nothing to hide in english...
just bad grammar and trans-grammar....

i.e. чa-чa-чa
            believe me... they managed to fold...
hide the caron in that alice through the looking-glass
of greek mu: μ - or (h)atches open!
how about hiding...  (letovers: č              č
the caron, in russian?          č č             č č         č)
or the H and the Z in english and polish
respective - whole - attached to the S?

epsilon lying back... the toil
of Sysiphus is a bore: шit...
****... and... шarp...
and... mateuш...
    
maybe people... or so we at least,
have inkling to hope to be receptive of...

щ: twice the hiding caron...
it's not that the russians don't use diacritical
markers - they just hide them differently...
the self-exposed vowels...
last of the reminders...
because there's the carpenter's obligation
to chisel a Y into an I...
or at least a J...

to add this currency of momentum is...
to... leave without a memory spare...
whipped along the trail via
a maine ****'s finicky worship of
air that will never translate itself
as being: breathed...

and yes: i drink... i drink to relax
my lexicon from the everyday strict: rules
and obligation of formal mr and mrs
and what doesn't fit into
a metaphor tuxedo...

over-cook pasta: we'll never talk again...
over-cook beef or pork: ditto...

it's an art to treat cooking poultry meat
with a quasi seafood status of scallops...
to curate a soft-boiled egg -
not quiet the abortion portioned
within the confines of a lost shell when
thrown into the dead-bath of
a lobster's litany when the neither alive
nor dead is cooked...

some bloos is necessary when it comes
to either beef or pork...
but you can't just have undercooked
poultry...
the grounded clipped wing marshall:
the decency of cooking poultry has
to be equated with cooking
a soft-boiled egg...

otherwise the common saying:
one apple a day... keeps the doctor away...
well...
one poem a day... keeps the psychiatrist away...
no? who are the circus freaks
the pseudos and the quasis of what...
has to be compensated by mr. rather dr.
surgeons and... the better half of whatever
becomes the butchering degree:
a degree in: what's not to be eaten...
but what has to be left intact
and reused?

less the homosexual yet still la la land...
not quiet cuck...
but still... every time i visited...
and never managed to peer at
the sort of first-person doom shooter experience
that otherwise third party sources would
allow me when...
the best fallatio is done in third-person...
talk about having someone to sit
on your face like...
never the literal metaphor translation
of ****** acts...
face-grubber from alien and...
performing oral *** on a woman...
no... none of it is true!
******* and winding archaic clocks...

some would even call it electricity should
it come from a burning candle!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
yes, i know he said he was a vegetarian, delicate counter-priesthood prince - a manner of vegetarianism that expressed an abhorrence of the practice of Eucharist, i too think the Eucharist as a metaphor is a bit porridge: i.e. yucky.  but as Wagner said to him: up north, either you eat meat or you lose the plot (loose - ß - again, not scharfes S - but die scharfes'zart - sharp-tender - already prerequisite of what sharpening omega meant for the w); mind you: salt & pepper to taste according to your own palette - if you're not a sugar ****** you won't over-salt the sauce... and you certainly will not overcook the pasta, halfway between dreadlocks and poodle hair: desirably experience bound al dente, and here comes Socrates with his knowledge of al dente: me no muffin! true that... like all these excess sugar breakfast cereals - ******* the outside, soft inside... or like the idea of ants having an exoskeleton... that's pure culinary theory - al dente exoskeleton; did i already mention salt and pepper to taste? yeah, the beef stock cube is salty, but not salty enough, given the already unsalted meat and vegetables: i cook, i take care of a toddler - Nietzsche keeps bragging: cooked by a cyclops.

who would have thought that a personal
revision of mama Italia's classic
could end up being so tasty;
Nietzsche is the foremost diner in my humble
abode: i just like the way he says:
who let woman into the kitchen?!
that's right, i deviated from the standard recipe
of mama Italia's cooking for papa don
Giovanni - honestly? in lonely times at
university when everyone was into ******
ad drunk debaucheries, and ****** fancy dress
parties? Aria Giovanni saved the day...
just look at the classic beauty, plump as a plumb
in between two cream bergs - such
exfoliation... where's that daddy long-legs
on the catwalk... come on! shove a malteser up
her *** like a suppository escutcheon - i'm sure
the salad leaves will keep her starving even more,
or walk her in Gucci with a drip-pole -
intravenous therapy while on the job -
but can you believe what only a quarter of a teaspoon
does to the Bolognese sauce recipe?
wonders... you don't add the carrot, or the celery,
among the vegetables you add button mushrooms,
and the three colours of peppers -
onions and garlic (a lot of it) as standard -
oregano, rosemary and thyme too,
some Italian five-spice - but the fennel seeds!
the fennel seeds! after i learned to cook i see
ready meals are diabetics in disguise,
and restaurant foods as defunct -
what? we're all expressing our capacity to
make choice, apologies if you made the sort of
choices you now hate... hardly a reason to
complain about my exercise in freedom,
i don't blame you, i'd have chosen differently
if i were you too... but there we go...
i'm cooking Bolognese from scratch because i like
to tickle my sense of smell and the buds of
the palette garden, i look at the sauce and
write fiction: the plot thickens...
                                                     and that's the great
3 minute microwave sequence on the other
side of the spectrum... because we're all so *busy
-
busy bees and that's merely the generation Y
dads getting hormonal treatment from tending to
babies - choices choices choices -
                                                          oddly­ enough
the mediocre work that goes on in those glass
shards - by comparison, the default argument is
pretty obvious: i too would have not invested
in caring for art, or as i once said:
you can't get good art and raise a family -
you can create good art that will support the family,
you'd end up being a great technician,
an artistic engineer - the standard model of bridges /
already in your head - is refining yourself
via plagiarism - you end up plagiarising yourself -
but come one! a quarter of a teaspoon of fennel seeds?
well, i'm not talking cumin seeds...
or maybe it was the turmeric powder that
coloured the onions yellow while frying?
2 tablespoons of garlic - for sure, enough garlic
and we're already talking Dracula -
~5 strips of bacon too -
                                          no, not necessarily involving
carrots and celery - why be boring?
this is me in my furore days in an organic
chemistry class at university - back to the esters
and perfumes, but this is raw, it's analytical
chemistry, it's nothing synthetic -
birds and the bees and some hippy buckles over
a giant butternut squash - which is why i find
people who ably memorise and recite poetry
are the same people who probably write polemics,
and do the peacock verbal dance for a woman
in a restaurant - rather than give her raw grub
of your own calibre - 1 cube of beef stock
dissolved in water - simmering for about 40 minutes,
tomatoes chopped - obviously tomato puree -
500 grams of mince beef -
                                                ever think that poetry
could reinvent journalism and also the way of
writing recipes? FENNEL SEEDS! that's what goes
in first, you roast them in chilli infused olive oil -
let them sizzle for a bit - and yes,
you pour some oil into salted water where
you'll be boiling the spaghetti - the oil means the
spaghetti won't stick together, plus pouring
oil into a saucepan of boiling water is the other
famous pastime of chemists... the former?
watch paint dry. i'm pretty ****** sure i missed something,
like mama Italia missed something to keep
the recipe a secret - well... there's Parmesan cheese
to garnish and fresh basil -
                                                and if i were raising a family,
i wouldn't be listening to the dead skeleton's album
dead magick... oh sure, the reward would be:
i'd have a little crowd at my funeral, some gibberish
about how many people knew me so well... but really
didn't... the whole street profession...
                i never got the idea of solitude and how it
might be sad from the Beatles' Eleanor Rigby song -
don't know never became an impressionable counter -
oh yeah, Darwinism helped! it helped a lot
in creating a world view, a world view that said:
don't touch this ****... leave them to it:
these people are more influenced by opinion columns
of newspapers than philosophy books -
in England, where, i dare say, the daily telegraph
is actually respectable, as is the guardian -
and the central of the two opposites? tickling
tabloid, i call the times posh tabloid, because it is
a posh tabloid: i like the way fame
desired for sales becomes toilet paper
the next day... or the newspaper on the street
that gets the footprint on the plastic surgery escapades...
love it! mm, yes darling! lovin' it!
Stormy Bailey May 2015
You stood there,
across the crowd,
dancing with your friends.
Your hair, your hips, your eyes, your lips,
I was hypnotized at first sight.
I adored you.
I adore you.
Everything about you.
You’re perfect.
As I dance in the crowd that surrounds you,
I’m laughing,
I’m smiling,
I’m feeling
lovesick.

I ask a guy to get your number,
I’m so nervous I don’t think I’d be able to form the words.
He points me out and you smile a little and wave at me,
I blush and wave back,
As a shudder races up my back,
You walk over to me,
Are you an angel?
A starlit sensual sashaying goddess.
I buy you a drink,
and I’m starting to think,
this might be something wonderful.

You have beautiful eyes,
and the softest hair.
your graceful and magical,
like you walk on air.
and your funny,
your so kind,
your sweet and sincere.
I’ve never met someone like you.
Someone who cares.


A first date,
you’re at dinner.
I’m at dinner.
We’re at dinner.
A second date,
Its a movie.
My eyes are on you the entire time,
As you laugh and cry,
I laugh and cry,
I feel what you feel,
and I know you feel it too.

We text constantly,
and I think we might be making a connection.
Im on your facebook as you post pictures of us together.
Commenting and laughing about the stupid faces I make.
But you're always so beautiful,
No imperfections to be found.
And the more we talk and the closer we get,
The more I feel I wouldn't mind if I drown
in you.

The closer we get the more nervous I am.
I call you and hang up,
I dont know what to say.
I see the world in your eyes,
I hear the stars in your voice,
And I can no longer deny it.
I’ve fallen for you.

I love the way you smile all sleepy when you first wake up,
You’re just so happy when you see the sun.
And the cute way you dance to your own silent music as you fix breakfast,
though you always overcook the eggs.
I love the way you wander around the house in just boxers and a T-shirt,
even if the curtains are wide open.

I know it hasn't been long since that first night,
but honey I love you,
and I can’t explain the way I feel in a better way than this,
with a ring and a stolen kiss.
so please say yes.
Please.

Don’t look so surprised.
Why am I in your house?
I’m here every night baby.
Wait, no, I dont want to get out.
Stop acting the way your acting.
Dont you want this ring?
No, stay away from the door,
and stop throwing things.

Why are you fighting this,
The way that we feel?
We are perfect for each other,
so why are you squealing and screaming at me?
Is it because I woke you up?
You’re beautiful when you’re sleeping but I wanted to seal our love.
So take this ring,
and kiss me girl,
I wanna be your light,
because you're my world.

Stop saying no,
stop saying stop,
I love you ,
I need you,
Cause you are my rock,
in this ocean of life.
And I’m drowning,
I’m floundering as I knock you out.
No I dont want to hurt you,
but you are so loud,
with your screaming and pleading,
And we need to get out.

Shhh its ok,
the gag is a precaution,
as I drive to our new home,
I dont want you to wake and be frightened,
of the rope,
around your wrists,
or the blind fold,
or my ****** fists.
You see I want it to be a surprise,
when I uncover your eyes,
and you see our new home.
I’m bringing you home.

Do you like your new room,
no now don't start screaming,
maybe I should have waited to wake you,
and you looked so peaceful when you're dreaming,
Who’s that?
Oh I dont know.
He used to own the house,
Is he breathing?
It doesnt matter,
I’ll just get him and take him out,
Why am I doing this?
dont you see I love you,
and I need you,
to love me back.
So I’ll tie you to this bed,
and I’ll turn on this track,
It’s your favorite song,
Oh you don’t need to know how I know that.

Whats that noise?
What did you do?
Why aren't you tied to the bed?
Now baby I love you but I will hurt you,
its for your own good.
No put down that lamp,
Why are there lights outside?
Hey where'd you get that?
Give me the phone.
GIVE ME THE PHONE.
GIVE. ME. THE --
Oh.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

I went out dancing,
I was in this crowd
and I think he was there,
But then my friends were all about,
and I felt someones eyes,
but there were so many people,
I would think I would remember,
I should have know he was lethal.
But we were dancing,
entrancing,
and happy.
And no one wants to believe.
I mean I didn't really think.
He must have really thought he loved me.

Some guy asked for my number,
He said it was for a guy across the room,
He pointed him out so I smiled and waved at him,
he blushed and waved back,
And I dont have the best track,
When It comes to cute guys.
So yeah It was no surprise,
when I let him buy me a drink,
And ok, I think,
I kinda liked him.

He had nice eyes,
and ok hair,
but I got this vibe,
that he just wasnt all there.
He was funny,
kinda,
But he didn’t have much to share,
I let him down soft and left,
Maybe he didnt hear?


I saw him sometimes,
When I was at dinner,
and he was at dinner,
but we didn’t speak.
And again,
I was at this movie,
And he was there,
I was laughing with friends,
and I got up at the end,
and there he was,
watching me.

I got random texts,
But I didn’t know who they were from.
And he friended me on facebook,
But I’d forgotten who he was.
And then he would comment on my pictures,
and he was always in the background.
Smiling.
Watching.
Me.

I kept getting these phone calls,
but he would always hang up before he said anything.
I’d blocked his cell number,
but I was starting to connect the dots,
I mean I didn’t quite feel threatened.
Just really creeped out.
I still should have done something.

I felt like someone was in my house,
but I thought I was just being paranoid.
I mean who would sneak into my house?
Well I guess he would.
I started to close my curtains after that.
But the feeling never went away.

Then that night he was there.
I dont know what he was thinking?
He proposed to me,
he got on one knee,
and then he kissed me,
And I woke up.

I was so surprised,
I asked why he was in my house,
He said he snuck in every night,
I told him to get out.
I should have done something,
but then he started waving around a ring?
And then I went for the door,
and started throwing things.

Well he was saying so many things,
I can’t quite remember them all,
about us being perfect for eachother,
and he started to call me beautiful and yeah,
I was kinda screaming a lot.
But you would be too.
if you woke up to find him,
hovering above your bed,
holding a ring,
his lips near your head.

He wrestled me to the ground,
as I screamed for him to stop,
and I shouted no as he rolled on top of me
crushing me with his weight.
I was scared,
I was frightened,
and yeah I feared for my life.
I bucked and I twisted,
but I must have missed when he brought up his fist,
and brought it down on my head,
cause then the world went dark,
and I thought I was dead.

I was lost in an abyss.
And my world was quaking,
though now I know I was blindfolded,
and it was a car shaking,
but in the moments of nothing,
when I was half conscious and dreaming,
The ties around my wrists were gone,
and I was freely thinking of the life I could have,
so you understand,
why I fought so hard when I woke up.
you see I wanted,
I needed,
to stay alive.

I woke up in a room,
and I started screaming,
he was talking to me but then I saw in a corner,
It was an old man,
and he was covered in blood.
He’d been the owner of the house,
And the guy who thought he loved me said that he was dead.
I asked why he was doing this but he said he loved me
that he needed me,
to love him back.
It was so hard for me not to fight him as he tied me up,
and he turned on my favorite song.
I held back my rage until he was gone with the body.


Then I yanked at the ties,
and they cut at my hands,
and I ran to the window,
to see him digging outside,
and I searched through the room,
looking for somewhere to hide cause the door was locked,
but then I found the phone,
and I dialed 911,
And I told them to come.
and I waited a few minutes,
talking to the police,
when I heard him on the stairs and I thought he had me.

He ran inside just as I heard the sirens,
and he was questioning me,
and he was threatening me,
but I grabbed the lamp,
and he was screaming at me,
to give him the phone.
But I didn't give him the phone.
I gave him the lamp, hard, against his skull.
and he fell the ground as the police came through the door.

And then they helped me outside,
and the ambulance was waiting
and when he came out it was on a stretcher,
apparently I hit him a little too hard.
But I say not hard enough.
At least I know I will never wake up with him around me again.
Though he won’t either.
Wake up that is.
Because I killed him.

I feel remorse.
It wasn't his fault he wasn't right.
Though he made the conscious decisions to sneak into my house that night.
We found out who he was,
and that he was all alone,
no friends, no family,
and not even a home.
So here is my story.
And you know the rest.
Officer, is that all?
I think I really need to get to bed.'
Joel Emmanuel Aug 2014
pretty-eyed girl,
your underbelly's pink,
green, deep time,

don't know what you see in me,
I overcook things,
burn my mouth, trying to speak,

as
we daggle our already wet feet
over the pits of dog-bitten territory,

you always scratch first,

  but I dig deepest,

                 I guess, secretly,
                       I'm ready to see you go,

             far away, where the screams can't bind you,
                            and all the guilt quietly fades away,
                                 where you're comfortable, forever,
                             and your days remain the same, always
                                     where words don't come out
                                                      all ******,
                                              and your pretty thoughts
                                                    untangle at the feet,

                              where love can loop endlessly,
                                 and the old me is waiting
Karan Feb 2016
Sometimes you tend to form a beautiful thought, overcook it, burn it and leave it alone! Instead, just do it!
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
what, date an english bird, and get served fish-fingers, chips, beans on toast, and other ready-meals? no thank you... i'd rather eat dry cat-snacks, or choke on my own *****: like a cow... dry-cat-snacks? a bit tongue-numbing... but at least zero sugar... and loads of paris hilton concerns regarding vitamins... get used to it, get used to eating cat snacks than eating human snacks of an overload of sugar... still... i couldn't date or even marry an english bird... ******* have the idea of a kitchen so far removed, that they're plating toilet issues... a curry to them is a diarrhea sauce... i would never place a woman in a kitchen, why? i simply couldn't trust them with a loaf of bread, let alone a chicken breast, readied to be diced, and invoked for a bangladeshi special; if you can't trust them with condoms and contraception pills... why bother trusting them with culinary ingredients?

i agree,
women don't belong
in the kitchen...

   *they can't cook
:

they either over-salt
dishes,
or don't add enough
spices
to combat the use
of salt...

i agree with feminists,
women don't
belong in the kitchen,

why?

they simply can't cook;

next time i'll be eating
something made
by a woman,
i'll probably
   be eating an abortion.
Jane Doe May 2014
I want to dance with you
I want to take you to the ocean
to splash in the waves
and collapse with you on the hot sand
I want to watch cartoons with you
make pasta
and look at furniture in Ikea with you
I want to buy couple's Halloween costumes
You'll be Shaggy
I'll be Velma
I want to lay in your arms and read a book
I want to wake up early in the mornings
while you're asleep
and lay still in your arms
trying not to wake you
I want to memorize the contours on your face
the marks on your body
I want you to comfort me at 2 am
when a character in my book dies
I want to quote Casablanca with you
and think about you when you aren't here
but above all
I want you in all your perfect imperfections
because we quote Casablanca wrong
we never got the Halloween costumes
and we overcook the pasta
because of this, I want you forever
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
well: wasn't it a most spectacular night...
if ancient Romans used to throw themselves
****-naked into nettles...
i don't know... a meditation on saving a drowning
wasp...
funny... i still remember Ilona: surname?
OSA-
            wasp in ****** speaking...
                        my god: she was so unattractive
when i was dating her: i was... let's say... thirsty...
and unlike Laura she gave up her swing
of **** so early on: promised me a trip to see
Metallica in Moscow: i thought i was going places...
i was...
   three piercings in her lips...
tattoos... but she did have mighty dreads prior
to me meeting her...
once i met her she looked like... cross between
a pineapple and a wet mongrel dog...
            no wonder i had trouble getting a *******...
it didn't even help trying to think about
Aria Giovanni... i had to think about Margaret
Thatcher... you have to... it's the opposite rule
of imagining you have something better than what
you have in front of you...
you have to think about something worse
than what you have in front of you...
i'm all out of confessions that might paint man
is a pretty picture...
i'm just listening to ol' lover boy Ed Sheeran...
i probably only like one of his songs...
Shivers... and the acoustic version with the loop peddle...
smart boy... he settled for a college sweetheart
or some **** like that...
for the tune i'm done with sickly-sweet lyrics...
but being the real lover-boy...
bitter? me? no... i'm not bitter: i'm just nostalgic:
nostalgia can appear to be bitter:
it is... cognitive selection is in place:
sort of like natural selection:
   perhaps due to the erosion from pedagogy
(a, b c, d, e f, g... 1 + 1 = 2) i can't remember
what i want... i can't... i remember what is important
or hardly...
i can't chose what i'd like to remember:
memory is water... a fickle creature...
but i guess if there's hypergamy there's
also: misogyny... misandry:
there must be a hyperandry - it's not a made up
world: poor boys hooking up with rich girls:
summer flings...
her father was a timber merchant from Novosibirsk,
she one spare apartment in the centre of
St. Petersburg... it's like that Jojo... Mojo?
that song: in the summertime...
about dating rich girls...
                                  i was a stop-over...
   well... no wonder that i went underground
and back onto a diet of prostitutes...
body-met-body and two bodies came out... as one...
i don't mean to burn dreams of other people
but i hardly dream so... it's nothing eating
the architecture of splinters in a forest...
of pines: can't tell apart a splinter from a pine
needle... like: for like...
woman's competition with man's sexuality...
mind you: i set up a "fake" Twitter account...
just for kicks... john pickwick... @ aol...
         hmm... this is very interesting...
i tried the classical route with the girl that tried
to get me fired... banana loaf... homemade wine...
i was going to bring a vinyl record to play
on her vinyl player: i "lost" a wooly hat i found
at a bus-stop once in her house...
i was so enthralled with her that i simply forgot it:
the sorting hat i called it: i hate Harry Potter...
two doors down...

  right... this trend on twitter... because most of these
women signed up in either August of this year
or July...
now? they're parading themselves on twitter...
there's: Camila @ CamilaMommy...
all of them... single mums... thirsty... single mums...
the: i love chatting and meeting new people
types...
MommyAdeline: lonely mature women (not my typo)
looking for new ****** adventures...

the website? urbestmeet.com...
THESE WOMEN ARE ONLY LOOKING FOR
CASUAL ****** ENCOUNTERS...
single mums and cheating wives...

spicydates.ga...
   Priscila...
well... thank **** i wasn't looking in the "right places":
this could work...
i mean... it might be cheaper than going
to your conventional brothel...
but more of a thought experiment:
these women are not looking for relationships...
no... of course they're not...

this is going to turn out ugly: if i attempt it...
cheating wives? single mums?
well... i've already slurped at the oyster of a *******'s
****... i wonder: how serious would these girls
be about not having relationships...
i'll have to wait: school's out... their children
are at home... i wonder...
of course i'm no electrician:
but i do know that you first have to check the fuse
in the plug of an appliance before you throw the hole
thing out... i like cooking i blah blah this
that and the other: give me a cigarette in a *******
and i'm suddenly swallowing a blue pill
for a hard-on...

   of course not! i'm not god's gift to women...
i'm just curious...
it almost feels like walking into a desert
with a glass of water...
i have a newly woken ambition:
to be more erotically brutal than Ovid:
let's face it... there are difference between the times
when he lived and when i live...
i'm just thinking of the children and what i could
steal...
two doors down there was this single mum...
she entertained about 5 suitors per year
if not more... her autistic boy used to bark
in the garden, started throwing ***** into my garden
as if implying: i want to play with you...
then... started beefing himself up
by... eh... i get the gym-bros... but this guy
was beefing himself up by walking up and down
the garden with... slabs...
yep: up and down, up and down...
he would either hold the slabs above his head
or in front of him... his next "best" uncle tried interacting
with him like a person might
interact with a dog he would simply abuse
by tightening the leash on the boy's neck...
it was perfectly beautiful to watch in the sunshine:
but on overcast days i felt miserable...

she had several spare uncles...
when she moved out and the girl from across the street
decided to hook up with a guy who works the
Docklands light-railway...
the same neighbours: mother: two daughters...
one day i was watching the Silence of the Lambs...
what did i see?
the three of them give me a freakish slideshow of
their ****... mummy exposed herself first...
then the two daughters walked into the room and
straight toward the window...
mein gott: some sanity... please!

anyways... this young couple bought the house
last year... or the year before that...
nice young couple: nice enough to sort of ignore
you when you say good-morning:
******* too...
                    they're still working on the house...
trying to make sense of what ****-show they bought...
well: if you buy a house that was once owned
by a single-mum... in England you're not expecting
cockroaches: that's for sure...
but the rest? they might finish come the coming
Christmas...

i know i'm a ****-up... that's why i drink whiskey
for the anaesthesia...
but even i, am, not, that ****** up...
i have limits...
oh no: no limits in terms of drinking:
i start i turn into a leech...
i'm sober i'm a judge... a ******* evalengelist!
but i start sniffing a bottle of whiskey?

last night... i felt the heat coming...
i thought: better go into the garden and fall to sleep...
what did i do?
saving that wasp from drowning created
a strange wind... i tangoed too short...
i was blown off my feet: and i didn't even
drink that much... the strange wind threw me
off my feet and into my dear fig tree...
i woke up: oh, i didn't drink that much...
i completely forgot about the fig tree...
i broke the poor girl in half...
i spent today taping her up...
two bamboo stalks inserted into the ground
to correct her "height" and "composure":

mind you? my apple tree... she's CWAZZY...
she-he produced so much apples... tasty...
ultra tasty... that she became a hunchback...
she-he produced so many apples that she broke up...
huh! ancient Romans throwing themselves
into nettle bushes while i save a wasp from
drowning and some strange wind throws me onto
my dear fig tree... ****'s sake:
more nights like that!

i'm thinking... i have never used a dating app...
what's on offer?
single mums and cheating wives...
wow... well: i was never fond of virgins to begin with...
you need to try the entire spectrum...
but i'm thinking: adultery:
but with prostitutes: i like "sloppy seconds"...
i have an "agenda": one of my front wheel's spokes snapped
when i left my bicycle in the sun for too long...
****: i have to take the bus...

i like sloppy seconds...
but i'm thinking... about the kids...
perhaps it's time to unleash the beast...
if women are vacating themselves so freely:
apparently the website they're using is not giving them
enough traction that they have resorted to exploring Twitter
and i never used that website...
well: cheaper for me:
i wonder who's the bigger sadist of the pair of us...
i wonder...
i think i'll tackle the challenge...
why? the website stresses: casual hook-ups...
yeah...
           women just casually hook up...
i'll try it when then school-season reopens...
i'll just test it to test the mantra...
     no attachment? no relationships?!
so... elevated stances of prostitution?
             cool cool... i'll figure that one out
pretty soon...
i'll see how long they can go for on the basis of ONLY ***...
i'd like to see...
before i arrive at the origami heart:
ori (folding)... paper (kami) heart (hāto)  
オリカミ  ハート
   ガ: a "rendaku" also exists in English...
    somewhere between theta and phi...
                          although: al-VOU(gh)...
ha! found it!
                      THE: V'eh point!
                  it's not: i THought not so... no?

English slobs and their ******* graffiti culinary
mishaps... i know this language in-and-out
and i'm going to play the Joker with it!
see my smile? i'm pretty sure you haven't missed it yet...
i too can play games...
hide-and-seek of language...
look at a letter long enough and then bark...
i'll chase down the echo in the cave that's
this universe...

Batman won't mind...
i'm bored of brothels... after that *******
i became bored...
after Khadija: Muhammad was
illiterate, wasn't he? so... he didn't write the Koran?
did he? who was literate in his life
when Mecca banished him to Medina?
his older wife... Khadija:
the smart woman with mathematical and letter
acumen: a woman wrote the Koran...

she had to... no one else would listen
to the ramblings of a madman...
i bet she's turning in her grave by now...
funny: i ****** a Turkish ******* by the same name...
maybe reincarnation than i previously thought:
perhaps i ****** Muhammad's ol' ball and chain
in the year 2022...
i very much wish i have...
i think a woman of her calibre would like
a literate man to be a sort of dog sleeping
by her bed while she slept in the bed:
like Ilona Osa- once slept in my bedroom...
i gave her the entire bed while i slept on the floor
and gave her my hand to cling to...

Ovid was right: erotica is warfare akin to espionage...
the Russians know what a honey trap is...
what am i using? what am i protecting?
i always remember to forget...
oh... right... i'd love for a 2nd schism in Islam...
spearheaded by the Turks...
why? "i" feel like it... the universe feels like it:
by now there have been so many schisms
in Christianity it makes no sense
in treating it like a monotheism:
it's a polytheistic joke... and a monotheistic joke too...
like i said: Jesus: being the lord of Mosquitos:
was the greatest troll Hell ever produced...
lord of mosquitos? wine not blood all of a sudden?!

i can see the flag! white... red... purple!
just like i can decipher the colours of the flag
of Ukraine: blue skies above...
and the yellow booming harvest of wheat below...
like i can see the colours speaking to me
in ******: white peace above (contradiction)...
fuelled by ****** fields of red of blood spilled
to achieve the white doves above...
Germany? black skies: red: blood forever spilled...
yellow? eh... German efficiency...
we can go on forever like this...

namely? i can, become... very ******* superstitious:
i can abandon all hope for reason
and for the study of science on a whim:
gladly: gladly...
i just... adore the plethora that doubt creates...
the plethora of emotions that doubt can
only create while the pinnacle of NEGATION
if can simply: eh... negate...
seeing how the applied modern jurisprudence
is predicated on a defence mechanism of:
negation, i.e. innocent until proven guilty...
ooh... i can have: SO MUCH... FUN with this!

and each time i'm being asked to find a cure...
cure for what? curation? it's like Hey-Susie
once stated: doctor! cure yourself!
i've found a "coping mechanisation":
sure, i drink... but i drink to pick a fight?
i drink to excesses not bound to man...
a litre of whiskey each night every night
for three weeks solid:
some poor ****** with "12 years of career-experience
as a steward" at public events gets obliterated
by my lack of "experience" and for that matter
qualifications... circa 6 months in and i'm
given command... of 15 people...
i'm not even boasting:
i'm running into fig trees: breaking them...
i'm chasing rats... figuring:
that's just a giant moth: it's not a bat...
NIETOPERZ...

my garden ein welt... and the moon:
one source of light i'd gladly take anywhere...
into a pool of my own drowning...
light i'd love to bring with me into a heart
of a woman...
i salvaged a wasp from drowning:
that terrible birth of a parasite...
hmm! born by the antithesis of birth
of mammals! it eats its way out
of the host... no wonder i was thrown into
the fig tree by a "misstep"...

i much preferred salvaging the last breaths
of the bee... stroking its furry back...
easing its death by squeezing out the honey
onto my palm and seeing it die from a sugar-overload...
that was nice to watch: a bee dying in my hand...

i'm thinking about this website...
these desperate women...
**** it... when the school season opens up...
i might try it...
if the women are so brazen about their sexuality:
why shouldn't i?
the beast has been woken...
oh... the beast has been awake for much longer
than that...
i just needed for a curiosity to build up...
i've given crumbs / rations to
the Roma paupers... for the "rose"...
yeah... now that's done...
                      and i feel no moral obligations...
yeah? what now?
i'll have my: ******* FEAST!
sniff... sniff...
            
                   i just need to remember the rejection
by Ilona... Osa-...
             living in England... but having no access to
English girls...
is so?! why make complaints?!
accept your fate!
           i need to seek our these single-mothers
selling themselves off as prostitutes
without the same curiosity /
technicality of prostitutes:
i imagine most of them being terrible *****...
not that i have to:
reality just dictates this regard as being true...

but i have to try...
for the thrill of being the terrible "uncle" for some
poor pooch that should have required much better...
but, knowing me... i'll probably walk-out with a limp-****...
no... there's no fun in harming animals
as there's no fun in harming children...
i can't even cross the line with insects!
sure: i sometimes mishandle bread...
or spaghetti... i either overcook it or undercook it...
but children?! freely availiable *** from desperate
mothers?

i'll try... i'll try my best...
but i'm already imitating the shifts where i...
precursor the "advent" with:
automated regurgitation...
i just puke up...
                  i invest in milk: i puke up...
               i like the feeling of puking up...
i eat very little... i combat my "irritable bowels syndrome"
with regurgitation...
i puke up more than i am able to **** out...
i sometimes regurgitate the water invested in
being drunk...

dearest Ilona: my parents are freaks:
how they managed to be so coupled is still beyond me...
but we could have worked something out...
i see you now like i might see the night
and my shadow contrasted by it back then:
when... ah! water under the bridge...

yeah... i need to look into this freely available
economy of ****...
it's not going to be as pretty as
the anaesthetic of a brothel...
children being involved...
                           i'll just tease at the idea:
just tease at the idea...
i'll probably not go through with it...
                i tried the classical route:
oh, we met at work...
he brought me homemade wine and a banana loaf
he baked himself...
while i tried to get him fired...
yeah: that sort of route...
                  
my heart? what, does, it feel, now?
oh... you know:
like i can listen to the Davy Jones' theme from
Pirates of the Caribbean for 0 hours on a loop
and not feel, bored...
because? this, is, who, i have, become!
a properly decent: realist!
life's cruel: get on with it...
be nice to animals!
people make life difficult to fellow people...
get on with it!
                i hear one more: ******* complaint
i'm shutting my empathy: down!

oh no... it's not about making demands...
i'm just a careless free-be...
harmless "bystander":
at work no one expects me to live a double life
of literary adventures...
i like it that way...
i write: ******* children's literature...
i don't frequent brothels i don't counter
******* prostitutes with seeking out
single-mothers willing to play the role
of Mantis in the ******-coliseum!
no! no no! of course not!

                            but i am: willing to tease
a little... see what's happening: hear what's happening...
feel what's happening...
i need wasps for that...
bees are not enough!
and then i need to "accidently" fall into and break
a fig tree!
hell! the idiot apple tree provided too many fruits!
she was bent over like a hunchback from
the excess of weight!
i had to relieve her by making an apple crumble
today!
either too many fruits: or none at all!
trees these days!
i might as well fill my garden with herbs and spices...
mint... rosemary... bay leaves...
i already have these... thyme... that too...
wild garlic...

i wanted to love: so badly...
so wrongly: so righteously...
to imitate my father's love for my mother...
to even imitate my grandfather's love for my grandmother's
shortcomings...
i wanted to love so madly and endearingly...
best i didn't... it would have left me with
nothing but my own shortcomings to mind...
now it's only a matter of:
where the Mantis / Wasp imitation of woman
wills to take me...

where little Calypso of the heart is willing
to scrunch my heart up and
feed the river her paper swan toward either flower
of river or the disfavouring gust of breeze...
i wonder... where will little Calypso
****** upon me:
yet another unfavourable twist of fate?!
Steve Matthews Oct 2021
Before I toss them
on the barbie,
I gut and skin,
cut off their heads,
wash thoroughly,
salt and pepper them,
then lather on some
Bbq sauce.

I grill until crispy,
careful not to overcook.
Delicious!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
learning to sip warm
                           ***** like a brute...
      nothing much: much of anything...
"social distancing"... in the graveyard of "new"...

a pick from my closet...
my forgotten drawer...
                if i'm not: if i haven't been
in a "prison" for the past
             better half of a decade...
then i guess i haven't been
anywhere...
      that's why... nothing is pretty much
new...
    i know my medicine...
     looking at others taste it is...
an understatement of forever...
                    the they in "they" couldn't really
stomach a heaven of a solipsistic god...
or a heaven as a labyrinth and a library...
and all the time... forever and all the miles
of no no no no...

so much for pretty faces with
pretty words...
  so much for thurston moore's
'we rearrange strange the rubble
to let a forest through'...

we strangely rearrange the rubble:
or...
we rearrange, strange, the rubble...
to let a forest through...
here's to the die-hard grammar
nazis and nothing nativist...

               everything i had to learn...
about anything...
i subsequently had to negate...
     integration:
   where are you: where i was from?
all that... unless it was
and forever will be the lesson:
1 + 1 = 2...

           a precedes b...
but not unless it's backed up...
  too many rules in grammar to produce
a simple 1 + 1 = 2 arithmetic...

past-participle... will the hyphen die?
and everything will turn to the remains
of this being the child of saxony
in the remnants of chemistry nouns?
you could insert a hyphen... into:

hydroxychloroquinesulfate    
like so, nurse! the scalpel...
hydroxy-chloro-quine-sulfate...
          if language and letters were
as simple as 1 + 1 = 2...

                  i was going to say:
     i be saying...
         am saying...
                          be not say much...
pigeons don't cuckoo-call...
         stressors when strolling
with an addition of break a neck
when the mammal higher-up is
head-banging or raving...

              goose-stepping never died
whenever the mandarins decided
to march... looks like they are not getting
any marching orders...

modern warfare requires... civilians...
target practice...
the mandarins are too peaceful a people
to do a genghis khan stampede across
the world...

              but if they can slide a sly bullet
that can procreate itself and
bring the shackles: for all the gold pillars,
blunder and slacking jockeys
of the four horses... to see the sand foundation
all this freedom was built on...

hey: spin me another one...
i'm still just drilling myself to ease
one of those: sober justification for...
what came of the bread and the circuses?

between a tweedle dee and a tweedle dum...
yes, hello, please join us...
a soar... thumb...
a plum mascara from a clenched fist:
over... pretty much nothing...
or as was the case: something frivolous...
obscure... a tryfle...
                              yes: that's Y(es)
   and not tree'knee'tee...

life as imitation of all manner of inorganic
"life"... the mountain that's eased by
the wind to take on a different theme
of the pivot toward the pinch of a sky
that could collapse...

          puffy clouds that want to be
marshmallows... marshmallows that would
love to be less... oozed when staging
a fire-rite of being sacrificed to the bite and
chew...

such an unspectacular end of the world
scenario... scared people...
because: there's none of that certainty
of an asteroid inevitable "hunch"...
which makes it a very ****** end of
the world scenario...
          nothing from ancient greece
**** galore...
                 nothing from the annals
of caligula's reign: for each and every man...

or wrestling to the death with
all those hallucinogenics and rushes
of sweat and testosterone...

         the current humanity: a death
of vermin... quiet: the angel of death is passing...
quiet...
it's not exactly about not taking
the prescription of the government's:
under full-proof guidance "precautions"...

but if all were dropped on a heads-or-tails
whim?
    like that... like so...
    so much for anything:
ahead of the other idiot in the race...
deconstructed hierarchies of man...
pyramids fizzying out into a sand-storm...

such an unspectacular event...
the fame of a madonna or a don mclean...
because there's no chance in heaven
or hell concerning the man who
discovered that fermenting grapes would
ever give us wine...
or that part of not making bread
and instead making beer...

      so... un-spec-ta-cu-lar...
       but of course i'm certain this is only a mild,
minor, scare, one of those precursors
that acts like a sieve...
hardly a siesmic event to give us dinosaur
grandeour... overstating any prior
to (it) egoism of a banker's *******-fuelled
***-riddle-and-rampage...

the guys with the biggest hard ons seem
to be suffering from a mollusk limp-on-drag...
i can't remember the last time i was touched
for a love of intimacy...
forever the basic darwin of:
"****"...

                      as any misnomer...
it's hardly the sort of *** you'd forgive if
she was still wearing socks...
or wanted to do it under the bed-sheets...
if a person was going to overcook
pasta prior... they will hardly learn to cook
it al dente "tomorrow"...

too many a posteriori: language evolves
to give a proper, a priori statement...
too many undisclosed parallels and "what ifs"...
not in language...
bad grammar aside...
    aside from: that's not a soft boiled egg!

besides: the vietnam war had the best soundtrack...
and fb's portal: look at you...
best keep together, no?
the best songs and the most ****** reasons
beside: proper meat for the butcher's market!
shouts the cockney slang improv for
one of those rare occassions of a: drama-
period piece...         -tized?

what in the capacity of words' axioms can
be synonymous with 1 + 1 = 2?
i can't find anything...
i'm... probably not speaking the language
of a universal incursion...
there aren't any beaches of normady
when infiltrating the third ***** abstract!

should have stuck to painting daffodils...
or something... or prescribing myself
to limit my "artistic endeavours"
to sending postcards and licking envelopes...

some shapes "conjured" remained
intact and became letters... the greek delta (Δ)...
      called it: down-right governing
a cascade or the vector: down without
a direct impetus to do so...

said A to 1... said B to 2... C to 3...
D to 4... E to 5... F to 6... G to 7... H to 8...
I to 9... J... i'm hanging on to...
   the deeds and the subsequent
extinction of cuneiform...
                           until... VI "+" IV "=" X....
the "+" and "=" had to be surds...
when using the abacus... some ancient roman
humming: singing in a shower analogy...
when you had... letters as used as
both letters... and numbers...
a bit like looking at braille...

if there's a number indicator (⠼)...
why is it presupposed that everything else
is a letter?
                 ⠼⠉                 3...
                               and then there's just ⠉...
which is that umlaut part of U that's
supposed to be C...

before anything intricate concerning the subject
could be uttered...
there was plenty of chess pieces
and spatial and temporal awarenss...

the consistency of retaining the primitive
nature: how this inexhausted stupor of numbers
just gives on giving...
before anyone might have suggest:
chisel a mountain... before building a pyramid!
well... no word to "describe" it...
or rather... infuriate any other alternative...
cull the forest... otherwise write:
  
111111111111111111111111111
    1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1111111111111111111111111111
   1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
11111111111111111111111111111
   1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
  1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
11111111111111111111111111
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
    1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1  1 1 1
1111111111111111111111111
                  1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

a forest of pines... it doesn't matter
how much you peer into it...
no light will pass... just a segment of
a canvas that's either all brown...
or eyes closed... a juggling clown
worth of: would be entertainment...

i've been putting off seeing a dentist
for years...
i'm still putting it off...
i quiet like the pain...
the pain being... a consciousness
of a single tooth...
not part of the whole coronation
of either jaw or the skull's lining
of bite...
   i like the pain as much as i like
this pain of a loose filling
being my signature...

     "he" would have said: 100...
miles... before later suggesting:
by foot...      no... prior to the wheel
and whittle princes jumping onto
the bandwagon...
          100 as a concept of travel
came prior to: by foot...

                      0 - the original: multiplied by...
and the original: divided by...
at times when "x" and "÷" were surds of
the abacus... way prior to merely "+" and "-"...
before that ***** decided:
hyphen glue for words i are!
before all that...

                          we might as well not have:
mentioned a french man and the squeezed
omicron mirror...
or ∞... which is very much a surd...
an apostrophe...
   or a lazy 8...
                          a reclining venus...

we had numbers before we had letters...
well... before we had numbers...
we had to have had a nibble of inclination
regarding the O - the wheel -
and from that... 360°... which is 5 "°" short
of coming into the full perspective
of commencing and ending... a year...

4 "°" if you were to count the leap...
inter anno per quattuor...

      all of it, though...
                                     serious matters
need "readjusting" to...
                                most certainly... ice-cubes!
   i've heard and seen worse
scares in my time...
the mad cow disease...
                and in all this time:
wishing for death...
           is hardly going to be that much of
an easy affair...
                             you'll be bound to
gagging for it... like air...
existentially exhausted from that crux:
life... if so easy, or so hard...
could somehow mediate a transcendence
of the yawn...

    unlikely...
                                     i'm more likely
to keep my toothache... than be in want of relief...
for the sake of a tooth individuating
itself and ascribing to me
its individuated status as ailing...
from the firm grip concensus of the jaw...
and the congregation of all the other, teeth...
after all... a loose filling never did a Columbus...

it's hardly me and...
a ghost limb for a veteran's amputated arm...
scenario...
            if it were only an asteroid...
but it's not...
   it's a sneeze... a cough... a woozy day...
it's hardly the end of a creature
that made the colliseum spectacular...
or what was spectated therein...

           what it is... is...
                        a lapse in islamic terrorism...
i think that's a welcome break...
i'm tired of wondering about: not all muslims...
and the trucks of peace
ploughing through a street in
Nice... it's a welcome break...
         univeresally adequate...
         congesting the advent of...
                         and relationship between
landowner and the serf: not for long, though...

               too bad that it isn't an archetypical
fear to coincide with the classical
narrative of darwinism: a tiger... a snake...
a spider...
          it's quiet a modern ape story...
which does require us to have a notion
of a microscope...
   which makes it... m'eh... less seductive
in any attempts for: fire! huddle round!
tell stories!

                         the modern "ape" and
his... cough venom and predator lurking in:
a horror story told at noon!
again... boring the living daylights out of me!
Mateuš Conrad May 2021
at what point that the sense of taste before
subjectively exclusionary
to the point of teasing itself as being
synonymous with objectivity?

beside: taste as subjectively inclusionary
is somehow a: bias
for example in two statements

(a) the Indian-subcontinent cuisine
is superior to the rest of the world...
  
   (b) Baltic "sushi" is superior sushi-sushi...
sushi-proper... Japanese "mushy" - no shy-moo
in sight...

well... question is... what can be objective
about taste...
perfect example... pasta al dente...
no one can argue with that one...
pasta is either just underdone and therefore
perfect or it's overdone and it's
only worth to put in some chemo-tomato
soup canned...

you can also overcook rice...
objectively you cook without salt...
which implies that if you don't cook with salt...
you're not exactly cooking at all:
as i once heard: food without salt isn't food...
it's produce...

it's not subjective to say: under-seasoned...
but still... the statement -
the Indian subcontinent cuisine is superior
to all the rest...
since there would be an argument for
south-east Asian cuisine... Chinese cuisine...
Italian...

there would be but...

(b) raw herring with gherkin, apple and dill
in a creamy sauce on a slice of toasted rye bread
is... well... what's the alternative...
a slice of raw salmon on a cushion of mushy
rice dipped with soya sauce / a green horseradish...

(a) a curry is... in all fairness... a gravy...
a stew...
   yes... but what over gravy / stew has an arsenal
of spices that could match you
to the Soviet stockpile of atomic warheads?
even yesterday as i was recovering from (a propos,
more on that later)

i came about a curry base recipe...
most other recipes involved merely
throwing some Kali dust mindlessly at tinned
tomatoes with the usual suspects
of onion, garlic and ginger...
however many times i did make this
recipe: turns out there's a difference between
a korma and a pasanda
        and since i was defrosting some lamb...

- but that i have a korma powder in my arsenal...
it's never enough to just... use a "swiss army knife"
when cooking...
i can't stress it enough, for the base:
onions, garlic, ginger... carrots... a green pepper,
a red pepper, chopped tomatoes,
say... madras curry powder, cumin, coriander,
turmeric, SMOKED paprika...
and of "course": ground fenugreek!

there's only an exclamation mark
after fenugreek since once i followed a recipe
that said to use seeds...
the first time i used fenugreek... like the first
time you use... Szechuan pepper...
or a black cardamom...

and then obviously... some sugar...
sultanas, ground almonds... coconut milk...
the best ****** sauce i ever tasted:
but there was more to it... you can't just
throw Kali dust at a can of tinned tomatoes...
or restrain yourself to merely onions, garlic, ginger...
what if i were a priest and i'd frown
at garlic? well... that i know:
                 asafoetida (a fennel like the scent
of rotting garlic)...       anyway...

am i being objective or subjective?
          for me the Italians can't just cut it with...
rosemary, oregano, fennel, thyme, marjoram...
plus... the health benefits of turmeric
and ginger?
it's essentially a stew... a gravy...
but no other cooking allows you to play
chemist once more...
  and i sometimes do miss those organic chemistry
experiments at Edinburgh
that could sometimes last for weeks...

subjectively this... objectively: under-seasoned,
not al dente, overcooked, too salty...
too spicy... bland... but there will always be some
h'american comedian who'd say:
burgers and frankfurters make the world
go round...
yeah... and in Russia you have this
pancake fast-food outlet that serve you...
well pancakes... with caviar...
because you can drive a car and eat a hot dog...
apparently...

the Indian-subcontinent cuisine...
give me that... and i can forget the rest of the world...
with one exception: Baltic "sushi"...
that food is ingrained in me like bone
or a croak-and-gargle to a crow...

- but if taste cannot be subjective to be a "respected"
opinion...
then it's back into the robotic, objective:
edible... inedible...
and the minor-objective cues of... al dente...
spicy... salty...
   this whole "superiority" statement...
                                  even though the amount of spices
& the kaleidoscope of nuances
of say: merely fennel...
                          a tulip is not a tulip is a rose
isn't a rose is a blimmin' buttercup...
nonetheless, elsewhere: a tomato is a tomatoe
is toad-matted-o... hiccup...

which brings me to... the toothache...
this close to a second astra-zeneca jab and
i might be on course for a second round of health
tourism...
it's not like i haven't tried...
over a year ago... visiting my local NHS
dentist...

- can i register? i was registered elsewhere
but i neglected that practice
plus i moved from the Ilford vicinity...
no i haven't been to a dentist in over a decade...
but now this 15+ year old filling has come loose
and...
- we are currently not accepting any new
NHS registrations...

well sure, with the pandemic and "pandemic"...
so i called the emergency number
and managed to squeeze in a visit for
a makeshift filling that... if i wouldn't bit into hard
toffee could last me well into 4 months...
apparently...
but when an opportunity arose circa June of last
year i hopped on the chance to travel abroad
to see a dentist...
well... it's been almost a year & that one hiccup
when that tooth hurt again:
why have we lost out intuitively-superstitious
grasp of sensations? it hurt to the bone...
when my grandfather died and... what... nothing?
here it is... at it again...
a year later and i still can't register...
i'm guessing... another year to wait for registration
and then... maybe 5 years to see a dentist proper:
for the root-canal treatment!
or... get that second jab... ******* to Poland
to see a dentist... privately...
well... even if I saw one privately in England
based on the quality of the temporary filling?

well... the filling is still intact...
what came across as a toothache might have actually been
a gum infection...
but since any sort of acute pain first disorientates...
antibiotics all that painkiller sobriety:
mr. zombie dr. sleep...
after the feud with the brain passes...
after your mind has opened up to nonsensical dreams...
the alleviation of acute pain brings back focus...
tooth-tip below the berg of gums...
rat's a labyrinth clearly i don't care much
for the jab to meat-head through a moshpit at some
festival, or turn into a copperneck on some beach
in Greece...

elsewhere: simultaneously... a cacophony from the news
outlets...
when Christine Chubbuck shot herself in the head
because her toe was too small...
and a movie was made about her...
with the end scene of her being strapped
to a hospital bed... because... well...
she didn't use a cockcroach buster of a shotgun...
a Shasha Johnson... and her litany of race-baiting...
it's like that butterfly effect:
one man's toothache is another man's bullet in the head...
or a woman's in this case...
Christine Chubbuck wouldn't die from
that urban myth surrouning headless cockroaches
dying from starvation...

the list though:
      CLINDAMYCIN-mip (clindamycinym) 600 μγ-
the antibiotic...
    codeine phosphate hemihydrate / paracetamol 15 / 500μγ
      CO-CODAMOL...
and since this painkiller is prone to give
you constipation...
   something for your stomach-lining:
    OMEPRAZOLE 20μγ...
    
but of course... a curry would help... to get your
digestion up to speed...
3 days of constipation and a mere thought of an Indian
arsenral of spices... a whiff of them...
charge of the **** brigade!

- and for someone who loves food... chewing more than
yapping with a red-hot poaker of a propaganda juice toong'...
however est. or anti-est.
   one brain-wash less either side of the fence...
but i know which side is a rhetorical cascade
and which side is a mantra machine...
which side is grizzly-arghh and which side is...
boistrously waspish...

but that's not all of it... you'd have to be familiar
with the Marathon Man...
Dustin Hoffman, Laurence Olivier...
   whoever said all nazis were evil?
   Christian Schell...
               well... it's a joke...
EUGENIA CARYOPHYLLUS...
              syzygium aromaticum... if you've seen
the movie... aromatherapy? clove oil?
em... sure thing... yeah... it's primarily aromatic...
sure, the bottle reads: only for external use...
insufficient evidence to suggest analgesic properties...
hello mr. rat... hello mr. chimp...
hello mr. southpaw chubby-jab brigade...

time's for experiments... anyone and everyone to their
scepticism: what works best for you...
chance of me getting root canal treatment...
a drowning man will grab a razor's edge...
a drowning man wilbb grab a razor's edge...
because all medicine is beyond rancid beyond
chalky... i wasn't expecting the clove bud oil
to be... syrupy sweet mind you...
but as someone who wants to return to evenings with
ms. amber whiskers and the basic point
of the mouth and teeth: to ol' chew-chew...

lessons learned... waiting in line -
       to bypass the waiting game with placebo scepticism
of the otherwise effective painkillers and
antibiotics... but as a man who's irresistable
to any sort of agitation & momentum...
the immediately available: whatever proof or lack
of it there is...

in the back of my mind: it's hardly arsenic;
for now it's just me, the tooth and Christian Schell
and a song: 'if i had teeth made from diamonds,
             if i had teeth made from diamonds,
             i'd be on a diet of milkshakes!'
          
p.s.

original title: by
original "work":

bitter sweet
myopic
glutton

    anything to push through Eugenia & Herr Schell.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
.alt. title? a five string acoustic... never mind the guitar, i only discovered this today, when you cook asparagus properly, very much akin to cooking pasta, you overcook it? we're not talking, you slightly undercook it? eh, it'll pass... who needs a floppy little richard's worth of this noble vegetable? you boil some water in the kettle, let it rest for less than a minute, you have your asparagus and the stove is on... salt (obviously)... and you pour the water over these fine beauties, these legs of venus... and you blanch them for about 3 minutes... take them out, pour cold water over them to stop the cooking process... melt some butter with garlic paste, toss the legs of venus into the sizzling butter for a minute or two and... well, would you believe it? the legs of venus have a surprise in store for you... the tips? by god... i never expected there to be nutty accents bound to them... when cooked properly the nutty accents exfoliate in your gob! wow, wow... wow!

there are just some songs that put
an immediate smile on your face...
you can help smiling,
and tapping like a one legged drummer
perched on a windowsill,
head out of the window smoking
a ciggy, enjoying yourself
in the presence of the baltic queen
and her sister: ms. amber...
   a whiskey and a ginger ale cocktail
is always my kind of sunshine
in a glass at night...

                    one such song?
   creedance clearwater revival's:
run through the jungle...
                   good thing i don't bowl
on a regular basis,
   and as a fellow bowler would add:
to hell with the eagles!

   and when i still played guitar...
  just a few songs i loved playing...
   what i wouldn't give for a vinyl
of spirit's twelve dreams of dr. sardonicus...
when i first found this album,
by chance, in Edinburgh's FOPP shop
on rose st., obviously i ate a grenade...

when i still played the guitar...
before my ex's daddy-o decided:
you broke my daughter's heart...
i'll break your guitar...
                     chisel and hammer...
it actually took my head to make
a hole in the ****** beast...
                and he lied about it...
oh... it broke by itself...
               hell: i still had 10+ installments
to pay her off...
  after all... i did sign a contract
to pay off her 600+ quid of worth...
so... i was paying for a broken guitar...
just because daddy issues and
a very precious daddy had to stage
an intervention...

   martin & co acoustic guitars...
fine beauties...
              what was the one i owned?
000-15M? given the current price
i bought mine at a bargain...
  still... "broken hearts", daddy interventions,
and the ******* of paying off
a broken guitar...

             subsequently i had enough...
did the nirvana stage antic of smashing
her against the rocks...
such a crisp sound...
        mmm mmm...
              blues and all that jazz...

         what songs did i really enjoy learning
and playing?
   silverchair - shade...
                link wray - rumble...
      free - all right now, fire & water...
         spirit - when i touch you...
offspring - pay the man...
             under the bridge:
       just for the technicality,
   but not really the song...
              cream - sunshine of your love...
the acoustic version of layla...
       bob marley - redemption song...

    i'm pretty sure there were more...
but...
                no band...
what was i going to be,
   the next egberto gismonti?
hell... here's to not trying to outshine
davy graham: akin to blue raga...
   still, silverchair's debut?
   is still, most probably, a Carslberg motto:
the best debut of the past 30 years...

i'll still die the most unsatisfied man,
not having learned the piano...
but...
     i did find: using the motto -
an elephant stepped on my ear
(i.e. tone deaf) -
       i did find grieg's
  in the hall of the mountain king...
which was fun as a bouncy-castle
or as jumping on a trampoline...
            as i also found Гей соколи...
a folk song popular in the Ukraine
Poland and the surrounding region...

   how passions change...
              i can't even begin to relinquish
my passion for cooking...
who would have thought
you can make a counter schnitzel...
not beating the chicken breast flat...
        and instead of a breadcrumb envelope,
using handled cornflakes...

    or the simplicity of making
   the clear chicken soup...
         basically poaching a good proportion
of the left-over chicken,
   with a carrot, a leek,
    garlic, parsley root, celery,
celeriac, chicken stock...
                          fresh parsley to garnish
and salt and peper to taste...
   and once the clear chicken soup is
finished... mincing the poached chicken
with some mushrooms and sourkraut
   and making ****** dumplings!

     one chicken... two day's worth of meals,
hearty meals mind you.
really? people are in a dire need
for love poetry, for the sort of love that
only poetry allows, i.e. ideal?
       how about this... why is the female
hand the most ****** part of a woman's body?
em... if you have a hand the size
that can hold a baseball with it,
without dropping it...
   at what point is there a necessary
***** envy?
        d'uh...
                   optics...
          once a day while taking a **** will
do me just fine, after all,
i have the maxim: let the creative juices
flowing...
        and that's that...
              my hand on whittle richie
and a woman's hand on whittle richie?
              parallel universes.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
because jim dine looks like
    jack nicholson from
afar...
but it's not about that:
oculus per oculus -
     eye for an eye...

when painting is involved
i hardly think it's necessary
to give abstract "grace"
to necessary objects:

a wonky hammer or a house
is sand and grimace
and all things unbelievable
but it's not the strict
schematic...

when painters have to invest
themselves in words...
that frank o'hara anecdote
about SARDINES...

or if it isn't too obvious
as to what will be cited next:
magritte's:
    ceci n'est pas une pipe...
well: at least colour is true
as much as a noun is...

here at the zenith
red dictates stopping at a traffic-light
junction...
and there's than synonym
of: strawberries...

              when painting had become
abstract enough:
words had to become employed:
i'm still stacking
x-rays and skeletons
with muscular meshes of grey
on the fading with words...

i don't bemoan the task:
looking for alternative, "better" options
in painting...
i've have to be blind...

that painting is all eye
that poetry is all ear and perhaps
the tongue too...
oculus per oculus: eye for an eye...

i allow myself to drink to excess
tonight,
because what i really want to write
is what i gathered from this
afternoon...

autumnal promenade...
         these trees and the sunlight raising
them... to trans-natural realism's heights...
it does 'elp to merely take
a stroll...

       it's beyond comparison:
i dared to think: and if i took a photograph...
no... a photograph would
make me sulk...
i would keep it as something
both horrid and both saddening -
mind you: my memory bank
is running dry and i much prefer
to take photographs with
a blinking of an eye
to expand my memory hoard(ing)...

clearly at this junction
of the near impossible: for something "new"...
there is no new...
when there were formerly people...
up in the northern most easterly tip
of greater london
i'm looking for a "delusion"
of being able to walk
several miles without any
human interactions...

well... would a creature such as a grouse
or a deer allow itself being
spotted in daylight hours
if such a place was governed
by a frequency of man?

the deer spotted me not too far off...
by god: i didn't give it prance to
a get-go to gallop ever so silently:
by the woodland pigeon did
breaking into flight... rustling leaves
of it perching in a crown...

in love with england: more to the point...
the countryside for the nth time
resounding...
the topology of the english countryside...
it must be a desirable word to use
when i have this picture before me...
there were feet that walked
these "roads" and there were eyes
that sorrowed for: the platter of details...

it was never an intended piccadilly circus
bulwark of **** neon...
insomnia neon and incognito -
the middle of this drab
of london bothers me from time to time...
from: time to time...

not in spring not in summer:
now... autumn and these trees
and this sunlight gracing them to an elevation...
i've already chosen anecdotal
points of familiarity...
celebrity trees -
trees like signatures like:
everything else that is also a tree
but is so generic it can't stand alone...
it needs a canvas a window or a view...

then those trees that... i swear they are
so: unto themselves that
i wouldn't require a mirror to peer
at myself...

sure... upon reaching a pinnacle
of cubism... painting new abstract:
a best a verbiage and forever this extension
of psychoanalysis -
at best this verbiage and...
what is it that they called it:
base: introspection of the self...
well... that's already a doubling of
the act...

   given there's (the) definite article self
given there's also "a" self...
and then the possession of it:
which is... compounded reflexive
rather than reflective... rarely is it
my self... yourself myself themselves...
hey presto! juggle circus with
the alphabet people...

i didn't take a photograph for i didn't
want to spoil autumn per se
or my availability of sponge brainz...
i had to excavate these words...
to borrow something from heidegger...
a major pillar ought be cited:

well... hier-sein... hell... expansion...
hier-jetzt-sein:
   or rather the most temporal:
jestz-hier and i'll leave being in a shallow
grave of grace...
i'll concern myself
with... not being a fear-mongering
vegan... when i respect the animal
produce thus presented:
i will not overcook a chicken...
when i insert a thermometer into
a chicken breast it will read
in the range of 165 - 170°F...

i will not become a vegan because:
i ******* well know:
i know blindly i will allow my eyebrows
to be gambled with...
these "vegans"...
probably never cooked a chicken
properly...
when a food can be
respected...
when the ******* are juicy...
one, can, be... thankful!
but if you do a second work-around
of a butcher's "quarter"...
end up eating... protein pasta glue...
no wonder: return to
overcooked vegetables!

i much rather respect a protein...
than fake veganism for
not having respect for it!
omnivores "anonymous"!
gaffs of trends of people who...
probably don't know how
to cook... i love my... presumptuous...
agony aunt sort of flicker...
of demands...
of: stereotypes...
sometimes these higher-tier
critiques of stereotypes pay off...
they have to.

oculus per oculus...
autumn, these trees and this sunlight...
it has to be temporally specified:
"circa" from 12:30pm through to...
4pm... enough time for the weather
to change drastically...
enough time to find an old acorn...
with a ladder attached...
and sit in it... like some long lost
late-starter in the darwinistic narrative
and hide from the onslaught of
rain...

i guess that's why i cited heidegger...
but i was meditating
on other words...
oko - eye -
oczy - eyes...
            to - this
             tamto - that
         tam - there...
     conjunctions more or less...
and... how i might describe myself...

anglo-saxons were my prior...
so the anglo- prefix sticks...
anglo-slav...
for the general purpose: works...
but saxon is specific...
it's not like there's a concept
for anglo-thurengians
or anglo-pomeranians...
or anglo-swabians...
               a specified germanic tinge
that encompassed
an outline of prior to celtic and
velsh...

anglo... an anglo-wend...
                         albion-veneti...
           well... given that every *******
two-bothered-sanctum-christi
auxiliary has gathered on these isles...
"of late"...
but like a sore thumb:
"my people" have
retracted on the tide
so overpowering come
the opening of the floodgates
circa 2004...

moi? earlier immigration...
as early as 1994... n'ah... anglo-veneti
is no sticking word... anglo-slav...
anywho...

a quadratic: because i just love: squared
t'inking...
it's almost like a magic trick...
two buzzwords...
reigning the niche outlets...

patriarchy! ugh! power wording!
and... gynocentrism!
well... let's party!

back to the days of copernicus...
gynocentrism is an elevated
variation of... geocentrism?
which is paradoxical since...
that would implore the vatican to play
it: hush hush...

no! no you idiot!
gynocentrism is heliocentrism!
the all encompassing...
sun *****!
a **** that spits out...
lucifer fell head-first...
"fell"... bungyjumped and
was tugged back onto
the throne when god had a medley
with a banjo piece of working
out: a cross is never a table?
a cross is never a table?

gynocentrism is... heliocentrism...
and "the" patriarchy is geocentrism...
god... i love this quadratic...
i had a cultish idea
today...
among a Pythagorean set
concerning eating beans...
how...
you must uncover your head
when walking under trees...
how you should cover your head
in public... but have to expose
your head beneath trees...

it's not unlike the already well established
kippah and the circumcision...
so... what? exactly?
i still hafe mine: doubly mine since
i don't vacate a tonsure...
a slap me pretty sort of "disguise":
for - covert... monkish brewer... alias:
house of purim...

          hafe hafe: a'v'eh! mein!
i look across... well... no wonder!
h'america by no invitation...
those black atlases would be forever
celebrated...
as they should:
but it's not like the hebrews
took too lightly concerning
intellectual gymnastics when...
intellectually: you'd only have
to replica... stalemate...

i too could perfect: plagiarism...
not that i'm... oh god my qabbalah fetish
and how:
the demiurge is one thing...
i don't need to demand more from
the yids themselves:
their god will do... just f'ah f'ah fine...
he's phonetically ingrained...
my words aaron bricks...
he's the cement...
less the grammar... in between...
after all... he... doesn't really...
favour them as much...
always putting them to the test
to reclaim the noun israel...
hey... of all the people of the ancient
world... a people that envisioned...
their own god... israel:
wrestling them... testing them...
more or less... keeping up their soul-search
vitality assured...

now i will start to chew chewing gum...
and pretend it's everything that
requires / required me the ability
to tie my shoelaces...

      oh yes... the god of the yids abhors them...
it's not like there was no other
memorable balam...
beside... the one still hanging around
with churches
and south america and tele-evangelicals:

after 2000+ years the question
is beside: are you the son of god...
it's more... morphed into...
can i still be a hebrew?

            if you can't celebrate something
when getting into the nitty-gritty...
je suis! my ******* oddity of ***!
throw that charlie hybrid-dough
into the cauldron and let's pray
for ******* bagels! or croissants!
whichever takes your fancy!

that i somehow allow myself a "revision"
of writing under the influence
of btih music and miss amber...
the god of the hebrews already prides itself
on a following...
so meticulous that it's satisfactory /
savory -

  i can't be allowed... a nibbling?
seems unfair to procrastinate on the altar
of how easily a moloch or a beelzebub was
sacrificed upon...
whirlwinds of aeons and of chaos:
how there's only a certainty within the
confines of space:

the clinal pressure for the eye's
critique of autumn...
and the trees therefore basking
in the light of borrowing azure...
these hints of auburn and
commando foliage...
of perpetual green: shying glee
of envy...

      i want this **** of verbiage...
to impress details of fracture
and "fiction"...
i want to return to the ancient
vernacular...
for all i want i must not never
hope to conceive as: outright will...
to hell with a freedom
so ill-advised...

in these pastures where old
ergonomics: horses - graze...
i heave a thumb... a fattening
of it... i experience creases best known
to the advent of the corruption of paper...
but i am not using any of it (i.e. paper)...

there was a rabbit... there was a deer...
a grouse...
and as many birds as my fingers
could fathom themselves alone
to suit up to a replica arithmetic...
i wanted to learn enough of
simplicity: but i was never to
be allowed: a finicky teenage phase
of taming a need for replica:
offspring...

  i desired to not leave any cul de sacs
of grieving processes...
this hebrew god, though...
antithesis: an-t-fezz...
it looks so much of so differently
from the standards of merely speaking
to peering at...
this language without a clear-cutting
of sounds: dyslexia...
what?!

in a language that doesn't allow
orthographic stressors...
and all it has to offer is...
"idiosyncratic" spelling?
   who could have guessed:
a who-dunnit exterior... purpoise?

purpose?
                  purr-poise...
i do have to allow myself to stage:
when dub-step was a music
genre was still worth salvaging...
distance... vex'd... burial...
and that's about all i want to hear...

i'm so adamant in being so therefore
blistered in a gangrene of
politics that has to borrow from...
time immemorial and secure...
it has to translate into a...

you can almost fathom the silence
of horses...
they approvingly nod...
somewhat... and whatnot...
agreeing
to you being a something
and somehwat...
that allows itself to pet
either a cradle of cats
or a brood and leash invoked
sour crease of doggy-dodgings...

it's not **** flinging invoked...
it's something more sinister...
personal: thereby all the more involved / invoked...
it's not Golders Green judaism:
tonsure for a scalp / circumcision for
a ******* kippah: y'er boot?

in that... yes... i appreciate being seen...
i want to be seen...
but at the same time...
i like quivering in a fancy
of being "counter-inquisitive" debased:
outright: anti-...

              i appreciate being seen...
replicating modus operandi: esse...
but... when i invoke this most private
made most public of disclosures...
and it... somehow... "works"...
i hardly think it's necessary
to achieve an omniscient status: quo...

especially when one can encounter,
passibly...
two women... perhaps two dogs...
a park... and on a bench...
a giggle and its most certainly female...
i don't want to be "known"...
existentially pronounced / prone
having to encompass this "audience"..
i desire to be less of what's
leftover / made available...

it's just a minefield...
i visited the Ypres cemeteries...
the anglo-
lingua rubric...
             then these... shallow... deafening...
germanic sorts...
sparrow and robins and wrens would
grace their amassing puncture
of details...
and i would want nothing more...
because i was not anglo-sas
and i didn't want to earn
or learn of make oath to such bridging of
sorrows...

the mass graves of the germans
in belgium come the enforced endearment of
memory come...
no more from cabaret volatire escapism!
no... more!
they are so fuckingly posed
to be therefore so poignantly named!
by grave and so therefore by so little
of body!
the mass graves of the: germanic:
peoples:
how the english, once upon a time...
allowed themselves to play a trough
of towing themselves... romanesque!
this: greviaous mud...
this... horrid first pretender!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
well... i have to agree... with my myself: who else?
exercising the torso would be...
just fine... getting a six-pack muscular "tinge"
even better...
it's not enough to cycle... press-up your body
weight so your man-***** disappear...
but then... the aesthetic of a ribbed:
what's otherwise a cage that encompasses
all the sort organs...
body-hair... i'm not going to shave my chest hair
therefore i'm not going to shave my stomach
hair...
hell... from time to time i get an itch: wanting
to revive the use of the razor...
but inspecting the work of the Turkish barbers...
it's not a prized beard / moustache...
**** me... it's a fu manchu and a walrus
   (when did i last see a barber?
the last time: after i saw a *******...
so about a month)
                                      and a garibaldi...
obviously the chin needs hiding...

but you simply can't pull off the aesthetic
of an athletic torso
when you have bush-whack sprouts growing
over it...
impossible to do...
best to leave one area of the body soft
to allow for some: liver-boxing...
like today... 2 and a half hours...
i did the inspection of Havering...
the entire council... from Havering itself:
a little village on the tip of the "topography"...
on a hill... founded prior to the battle of Hastings...
1040... something or other...
all the way down to the village of Rainham...
just beside the A13 to the "left"
and the Thames river to the "right"...
Upminster and that other little village
beginning with A-...

every time i get on my cheap-*** bicycle
i find the meaning of life...
not that there's much life to be found:
but plenty of meaning...
if i'm this supposed 6ft category of man...
for the choosiest of women
and i have it... ahem... "rough"...
no wonder... but mea culpa moi:
i'm also a minimalist...
even if i wanted to own a car...
or a bike... i wouldn't want to...
own it: but also not... own it...
pay a tax on it... to use...
a road tax... an m.o.t. you name it...
i like owning something: by owning it...

the idea of a car is so... beside the point
of ownership that...
i simply don't want to own one...
my grandfather didn't own a car:
my grandmother always: the mantis that she:
still is... even though he's "transitioned"...
regretted how he: ****** away
a Mercedes-Benz...
me too... ol' Joseph... i'm also counting
how many i can find...
find what?
how many goldfish with no wishes i can find
at the end of a bottle of bourbon...

it suits me fine...
a life is much more worth living when...
you know that...
someone can't blame you for your shortcomings...
if were to be staged in a trial
and a woman would claim with as much audacity as
might be expected that:
i made her miserable because i had... have... have...
had... a drinking "problem":
i already had the SOLUTION!
it was drinking: it wouldn't be her redeeming
company... prostitutes are for that...

what have i inherited: perhaps all the men in
my lineage have had "problems" with women...
how much fun it is to **** one:
to be with one... i just need my mother as
the perfect example... of late: come 9pm she throws
a tantrum while i sort out the food
and help her with the household chores...
the one time i will or ever have used
Fahrenheit over Celsius...
165°C is the most perfect temp. of chicken meat...
anything above it... a memory of my grandmother
butchering a chicken twice:
it's one "thing" to **** a chicken...
it's another... to don't give it due justice
when it's cooked...
an oven cooked chicken with ******* so un-juicy
that you wish you could be eating pure gelatine...
smacker... teeth seem to stick together...
shoe-lacing of teeth on over-cooked
chicken meat...         it's an ugh it's a smacker...

i once dated a Russian girl...
she "thought": hardly... that it was some sort
of an innovation to drink cognac with a slice
of lemon...
she also "thought" that a suntan was
a signature of lower-breeding...
a suntan was a peasant "thing"...

juicy chicken *******... perhaps the skin isn't
"suntanned" enough... but at least the juices are running...
you can't butcher a bird twice...
it's enough killing it...
but not giving it justice when cooking it?!
that's... mildly: unfair...

in the supposing absence of the world:
alias for: other people...
i can't remember the last time i've had a dream...
i look at the clouds...
there's a bearded man
reclining... with a baby dragon
on his chest: puffing out smoke
into the shape of a speech bubble...
i'm bound to see such things...
since i don't dream...

perhaps if i were to dream: i wouldn't see
stories in the clouds...
i'm growing suspicious of the she-maine-****
in my bed right now...
she usually "disappears" when i light a cigarette...
eyes piercing...
i thought petting cats was
supposed to be easy! she was supposed
to ******* and do her solipsistic hair-do in purple
and peacock subtleties long before
i came around to harness the keyboard...
but there she is... eyes piercing...
like i'm about to groom her again
and go wild with her uptight **** of an ***
cycling between outer London and inner London:
yet still going back to the tested brothel!

- oh good, she decided she was implied as more
important in some "elsewhere"...
i can keep a focus on immoveable objects
in my vicinity...

closer to eternity on a bicycle than with
72 virgins... closer to eternity with 72 prostitutes...
if i were going to be thoroughly: frank...
cannibalistic outskirts: of Germany:
literally we eat our own...
since the Christian metaphors will...
simply not do...
excavate the juices... the German fringe
"movement" are teasing the questions:
literally!

i was gagging for either a bicycle...
Thurrock... the flatlands... teasing the Thames
to: hold the tide...
the German cannibals...
an unlikely project... on the fringes...
the world might blink thoroughly through
the day...
eyes open... wide: come the: NACHT...
i see you... Albert Fisch... pushing needles
into your pelvis...
for the added conductivity... blizzard...

you simply can't butcher a chicken: twice!
you can't overcook the meat!
it's not fair on the cluck! cluck!

while making a Waldorf "profanity"... i added some
poached: said... meat... reiterated... meat...
i was making a rosół...
a chicken broth... all that was missing
was the celeriac head...
celery stalks... carrots... a parsley root...
garlic... leek stalks...
fresh parsley... i had some leftovers...

the Waldorf "profanity"...
i added some poached chicken thigh meat
to the usual: mayo... lettuce...
toasted walnuts:
mind you... all nuts ought to be toasted...
beginning with cashews...
walnuts... but pecans esp.
apple & celery..
    
my heart breaks while it still doesn't find concerns
to abdicate: for the crows of via death...
"gammon": all these simple girls...
from the villages from Havering through
to Rainham...
such native beauties... lucky them...
i live two outsider roles...
not born in England: having most of my life
lived in England...
born in Poland: having most of my life
not lived in Poland: hey! quadratic!
i'm an outside either way i "will" it"
i'm an outsider in either England or Poland!
born in Poland without an inkling
to the daily affairs,...
living in England... without anything that
to be inherited as... sensibly... "their" own!

numbed by the drink....
**** serve mollusk: she's the pitch-perfect
harem piece,,,

— The End —