There’s always been a counter-culture.
And by counter-culture
I do not mean the CPAs or CEOs,
Or those money **’s at Goldman-Sachs,
Nor do I conjure up a ****** of Brooklynese,
Some De Niro or Pacino, or
Bobby-come-lately Cannavale--
This decade’s guinea strunz--
Standing on the back of the truck
Checking his hand full of dollar--
As in Almighty Dollar--bills.
Another hour’s pay & time to
“Count duh money.”
Nor do I mean Harvey Korman
In his greatest film role:
“Count De Monet,”
Part 1 of Mel Brooks’
History of the World:
Harvey as French fop, 1789,
And we may as well throw a
Sop to Cerberus with nary a
Bean Counter around, to be found.
And if you are with me thus far,
You may as well stick it out to the end.

What one word defines the counter-culture?
For me: RESISTANCE,
Any kneecap reflexive swim against the tide.
For Count DeMonet:  La Résistance.
When hair is short,
They grow theirs long,
Or shave their heads,
Pierce their tongues & *******,
Inka-dinka-dooing their epidermis,
Mere skin-deep commitment to Liberté,
Always the least tangible of
French tripartite banner slogans.
The French:
As always, putting up a good show,
Masters of illusion & flexibility
When it comes to ethnic integrity,
Captain Louie Renault, Vichy stooge,
Exemplar extraordinaire,
Double shocked to find gambling
Going on at Rick’s Café,
His morality to the wind,
Tacking strategically,
Playing it safe, as always, a
Fickle-finger to the weather.
The French: girlie men, bent over
Presenting bidet-puckered rectums,
For *** and Viet Cong humiliation,
Once again, declaring victory,
While slipping out the back door,
Wearing nothing but their socks.
But I digress.

The Counter-Culture,
A mile wide and a centimeter deep,
Putting up a good front,
A Potemkin still life,
In it for appearance sake,
Like Billy Crystal doing Fernando Lamas:
“It's better to look good
Than to feel good.”
Looking marvelous, of course,
All the girls want to be
The Dragon Tattoo girl,
Haunted & smart,
Solitary & suspicious,
Cybercrime wealthy.
Cashing in, raking in affluence;
The guys all with Bobbitt night sweats,
***** shriveled, shrunken ball-sacks,
Count De Monet
Counting duh money.

Walking back onto the street around nine O’clock
Pizzerias, Clubs and white guys with dreadlocks
Moving like sea urchins with an urge to mock
Hey 2 for one at Roxy’s for black rubber *****

I’m carrying two bags of groceries; One with a pie
There are no stars in the city. Just the moon in the sky
I move lazily and tired as evening joggers pass by
“God I wish I was more active.” I say with a sigh.

I ascend the stairs because the **** elevator is broken
One flight. Two flight. ******* wood surely is oaken
2 minutes of climbing the obstacle that’s unspoken.
I suffer for being the Asian, the part-Korean token.

I reach my apartment, music playing through the wall
I feel worn out and about ready to fall
But I walk in and proceed, feeling anything but tall.
The time has come. I walk to the kitchen from the hall.

I live with three roommates: Sam, Dean an Owen.
Sam is shut in his room. He’s a DJ and I think Samoan
Dean is weird. Don’t ask about flagellated protozoan
And Owen is a reader and blogger. Just plain Owen.

I place the groceries on the counter, I stumble.
Owen is reading and I hear him mumble
“Did you say something?” I grumble
“Wrong Pie.” He says, his words fumble.

“What?” I don’t understand

   “Wrong pie.” Owen says again.
I point towards the pie on the table. “What, this?”
    “Yeah.” He says.
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Everything.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, it’s the wrong pie.”
    “How?”
    “It’s apple.”
    “Yeah, so?”
    “But I thought you were going to get cherry?”
I shrug my shoulders, “Yeah but they were out.”
    “Where did you go?” Owen asked, but he knew.
    “Just that corner market.”
    “Well why the hell did you go there, you know they don’t have **** there.”
    “Does it matter?  I got most of the things.”
    “Yeah, most.  Not all.  You didn’t get the right pie.”
    “Does it matter?” I tell him. Owen closes his book.
    “I think so.”
    “At least I got a pie.  You guys said, ‘Hey man, make sure you get a pie’. You didn’t say get a ******* cherry pie!”
    I try to calm down, but the blasting of dubstep remixes warp my thinking process.  Owen leaves the kitchen and knocks on the doors. He tells them I’m back and that I ******* up the groceries.
“I did no such thing!” I yell, “You ***** think you told me what to get but you’ll all too into yourselves to ever know what the *******’re saying and you come off as ignorant over-privileged *******! Yeah Owen you’re so unique” I mock sarcastically, “Must be why you dress exactly the same as every other hipster here, going online and vlogging about the same **** a 12 year-old in suburban America would talk about and his ***** probably haven’t even dropped.”
    Owen’s eyes are wide, never seeing this side of me before. Sam and Dean open their doors to see all the commotion.
I walk back in to the kitchen and grab the pie.
    “Here *******!” I toss the pie as hard as I can so it hits the ceiling. The tin tray falls to the ground and the apple crusted pie is splattered, stuck to the ceiling like an IKEA fan made of butchered apples.
    I open the door.  “Dubstep is just edited noises of transformers having ***!”
I slam the door and leave, walking back downstairs and onto the street


Roommates ******* ****. I was tired of their **** and rules.
They used me for their homework, Working me like a mule
I’m barely able to pass my classes, let alone graduate from school
So trivial to help them just to earn my cool.

I flipped up my hood and rushed through the streets
I didn’t know where I was going, I didn’t care who I’d meet
A slice from Death Metal Pizza, a drink from Fat man Pete.
I need to let loose. Relax and take that invigorating leap.

I stumbled upon an old movie theater, playing classics, new and old
“I want tickets for all the shows.” To the box office I told.
I bought popcorn and milkduds. I think my chair had mold.
And watched as Al Pacino was out of jail; being paroled.

Carlito’s Way, then intermission
A glimmer of previews then Pulp Fiction.
Ezekiel 25:17 and blasts of omission
From Jules’ and Vincent’s handgun ammunition  

After the credits roll I get three hot dogs and a large soda
Next movie: The Evil Dead, enough to put me in a coma
AH ******* demons Killing like the cancer of lymphoma
Scaring me and making me spill my watered-down cola.

Next was the Monty Python to ease the chills
Ensuring talking fish, puking and hilarious thrills
I really enjoyed the collective animation stills
I was relieved from the films and I had my fills

Now I had a good place to come and let loose, relax and laugh
And I wouldn’t have to display my clustered, boiled wrath
To my ******* roommates. Maybe I’ll move out on their behalf
We’ll see how it plays out. I’ll write a “*******” graph.

But thanks to them I found a new way to survive
Which is better than the alternative; a desperate suicide
Watching movies late at night is better for me than to die
All ascertained from the incident of the wrong ******* pie.

early on i left an imprint for me to remember,
kinda like 2 x 2, equating to 4,
not as simple with words:
i like this dialectic between Dionysian and
Apollonian attempts to express aye arr parley!
shake the pine trees to get the toothpicks
like you might get a mojito, onward! toward
El Dorado! transgressing 24 hour hours
and you get the flavour:
first beer in in from dieting, oh ****, it's bitter,
second beer, mm, sweeter... then the headline
of whiskey and coke... Kazakhstan nice... yok sh'eh mash?!

three movements working their way,
those conquered and exposed to direct roman rule,
presiding over the "charm" with roads, western europe,
now they're so pride to reach that far back,
mention Boudica, one, more, *******, time!
i'll give you Britain that made Louis XIV
the peasant king at Versailles, and Charles II
wise with a Guy Fawkes firecracker... mm, guess
it happened here! in the yeast of a baker's
reincarnation via Malachi's heresy:
Elijah coming soon? Elijah not coming any time
you blunt sword of monotheism excluding
the chance of many, democratic influences!
either the fish or the aquarium...
the aquarium... a billion of them plus Islam will
be anarchic China, people never wish for better,
they only wish to better themselves,
including the social strata stampede that's necessitated
in the process... scientific positivism of Enlightenment
died, the absolute necessity (god) / the absolutely
necessary thing became trapped in the Bermuda
or the Copernican triangle, no good for crossing
oceans, just ably whirling east to no east outside
the atmosphere, try me with two thing:
Copernican vectors with a stable point constantly moving,
rather than sunny, constantly expressed economically
as usurper against usurer and the university grant
of simony, although worthy of an actor to spread
charitable work and paedophilia in Asia dubbed
Portuguese Missionary - well i'm sure the apologetics will
come, my neighbour hugging her dog watching television,
closest kin of the genesis story having secondary reminders
determining whether the lie was white or instructive,
a joke or seriousness - indeed entombed in treating these
words as a holiness worth for all the present religious attire.
absolutely necessary Kant said,
he also said: you said omni- etc., indeed you're on a
roundabout of intellectual yawns, there's nothing new here!
i need god as a concept of vectors and cursors, mediating
more than the caging of man's affirmation of himself
with Freud... the sounds and equally shared optics
need to accommodate a oneness, god is a predicate
of essential function: a. the triple affirmative:
i, thought, existence... something to concern myself with,
b. the duo affirmative:
denial, thought, existence... the arithmetic goes further,
i am writing quickly hence i will not brood over,
except a comparison in cinema, the film *hostel (2005)
and pretty much all of Hollywood's 1970's grit output...
take for example Al Pacino in the panic in needle park,
you know what i see? modern american interpretation
of what eastern europe represents, the farts
leave flamboyant Amsterdam hopeful for Slavic ******,
they come to Slovakia, and it hits them,
the passive lack of jealousy and need to impress
building a chrysler building, the oddity like landing on mars...
but it's already been done with, New York in the 1970s,
the same slavic grit, even the way the cinematography looks
like the colours were shaded with a peppering of sand...
new york in the 1970s is like Eastern Europe in
the horror set in 2005 in Slovakia... globalisation's paranoia,
there are still people out there who we can't ascribe
metaphors to being exclusive: no iron lady lifted the
iron curtain, the iron lady had an iron skirt, and she
couldn't lift that up either... Churchill puffer a cigar
and a million bees emerged heralded by Edward the Confessor.
that's the relation though, Hollywood's 1970's urban grit
and what the tourists encountered in Slovakia in 2005,
a sleepy kingdom, 2nd Mongolia, second to none,
which i beg to differ with, given the Scots were tight
stretching 2 pence copper coin to invent copper wire
and the Swiss (also in hilly surroundings) have us
elaborate paedophilia via Nabokov catching butterflies...
hardly two mountain ranges and hardly two plateaus.
it's called exotica these days... yep... the dissection of
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth and the emergence
of both Lach, Ukrainian, Lithuanian, Latvian, Estonian
and White Russian is what the Czech say made them
speak both cesky and saksonski... tseba! holy roman
prague ****, disintegrated into the Austrian intervention...
very much as if: thank you for defending Vienna from
the Ottomans, Jan Sobieski.
but the Jews got reparations at the end of the ordeal,
and western Europe received the Marshall Plan...
eastern Europe received Marx... too proud they said,
it's not exactly Mama Russia surrogate,
it's Papa Khan also... moon gall! no news from Mongolia
i hear, sooner a tale from an American zoo
where a retired silver-back dragged a baby from
drowning in an inch of water, hero shot,
where were the parents? a four year old can hardly
sit on a kitchen stool let alone climb over zoological
fortifications... ah the blessing given unto man
by Iblis to ape ably a delay he has no chastity over:
if Iblis defended his pride, then man can but
defend his chastity - Iblis was given a longer time-frame,
man was given a shorter time-frame, Iblis'
choice expands furthest into myth, man's choice
implodes further into repetition - for Iblis' mistake
was but one, when knowing of man's aplenty;
it is said that when a man is to become a father,
he relives his childhood - legality i say would have
obliged me, but pride took no notice of symbols as signatures
of such love, especially given the expenses,
or as in the supermarket today, the cashier invested ?
into the one buying the goods:
- where is she? you're not together any more?
- oh, she's moving to York, it's her work, she has to.
- you're not moving with her?
- well, it's only for 2 years, and then she'll be back,
  training, it will take her 4 months...
na'h ah... bye bye...                       she ain't coming back...
tell you what mate, keep a cat, the most selfish animal,
bestia ex solipsism - no necessary petting by constantly
showering it signs of jealousy and ownership and upkeep,
as if having to punch a gorilla to hold hands.
i love feminism for one thing only:
it made sexism a branch of Darwinism, *** warfare...
in relation to me? two girls chatting away:
- *******! how could he leave you!
- but he did!
- what ***** made him do it!
- philosophy!
don't get me started on those who read very little
and can't allow philosophy a poetic form, and necessarily
have to plagiarise Aristotelian stylistics to be considered
philosophy (albeit only in scholarly musings).
i'm sure it was something about the fruits of our
presupposed wisdom that bore knowledge that individuated
us, to the point of extremes, as hardly scraps for
vultures, to no animal nobleness, parasitic amongst each other,
defining the 16th century or such desires to keep
afresh, minted and pampered for the next cohort of dupes...
some find the memory of dogs towards us keener
than our fellow men should wish to share...
the animal domesticated and not eaten is seemingly our
prefect to walk toward a seize-less craft of un-exhausted thought,
only un-exhausted because of missing interaction,
say there, is that Hegel's mirror (master) and narcissus (slave)?
the emergence of these belittled nations is clear in
western europe, the bombing of Libya,
the usurpers of Syria, the once conquered having a taste
for empire and colonial rule think they cherish
the biblical conundrum when the resurrection was inclined toward
the lands Sven and Mietek - toward the lands
of conquerors and the ones converted -
four movements thus (sketched):
a. sonata: βορας ηλιος - μακεδων να ινδια
b. adagio: βιργιλιος ως καντηνoν -
                  μεσoγειος: μαυρος (ex),
κoκκινος (ex), ειρηνικoς (ex),
ατλαντικoς (ex), βoρειος (ex), βαλτικη (ex),
south a poet, north a philosopher,
from only one sea came two oceans and many other seas
to sustain the thirst for seawater among men!    
c. scherzo: Casimir the 3rd welcoming the Jews.
d. sonata: an die mitternachtfreude - more like a calm
before taking up the arms.

variation in what's dyslexic in English:          roy-     (+)     -al - like Al Pacino - or? roy-       (+)        -all - a different slug for a tongue caged behind the 32; alternatively say: casino royal - two pronunciations of the same word, and no distinctive two-lane stresses added to say them intentionally with variance - basically one variation is missing an acute a (á) - alter to acute: dentistry's alphabet - say A - you end up adding an invisible hark of prolonging a sound from ~aye into ahhhh; the tetragrammaton is more than a noun, the Hebrews didn't see it coming, the two H variations are involved in how diacritical marks are asserted and used - i too thought it was something to do with déjà vu  - but it turns out it isn't that simple - how diacritical marks are asserted and used, or upon second suggestion: how they're not used, and what complications arise from omitting them.

for someone as concerned with people's ****** lives
as *richard von krafft-ebing was,
with his mangum opous: psychopatia sexualis -
i'm surprised he didn't throw a *** party -
stage an **** - richard brautigan apparently read
this Victorian - may i say trash? -  compendium
and giggles with friends; modernity has no stamina
for the seemingly idyllic *** lives of bowler hat
gentlemen - a sample from psychopatia sexualis:
homosexual feeling as an acquired manifestation
of box sexes (the androgynous stipend to exercise
all mouth **** and ****) - however you like it,
quote: almost every self-****** individual (originally
masturbator) at last reaches a point where, frightened
on learning the the results of the vice, or on
experiencing them (νευρασθενια), or leg by example
or seduction to the opposite ***, he wishes to free himself
of the vice and re-instate his ****** life.
you could say that, unless of course you're put off
when a girl reads you a questionnaire from the cosmopolitan
magazine, and you've seen too many Jame Bond movies,
or heard stories - or how you figured: well,
totalitarian governments aided heterosexual marriages,
championed them with the standard myths,
democracy doesn't really do that... democracy likes
the odd fetish... hence with the aid of science the fetish
marriages - surrogate prostitutes aplenty -
that's not ONE HOUR AT £120 A POP... THIS IS NINE MONTHS!
someone once lived and said: Jews and homosexuals run
the show - i think it might have been a Bukowski citation -
yeah, but who's the audience and not the puppets?
the politically, what's the word? ah, uncomfortable -
there's a strategic unit in medicine that's not the MI5
or the MI6 that deals with them under the alias P.S. -
not post-scriptum, but paranoid schizophrenic -
formerly known as premature dementia -
to me creative, to others worth sedating - meaning:
why would i write about western society in defence or
in apologetic language like C. S. Lewis and his love
affair with Christianity when i'm pretty sure i'm not
writing about utopia? why? oddly enough niece is also
said likewise for Nice - or 'aw, how nice.'
staged on the promenade des anglais - is this a clue?
anyone in touch with the security forces?
could be a pattern clue - now there are two fronts to be
worried about, the achoo right - boy, what a sneeze,
and the already involved actors -
mind boggling, how, ever, could, it, have, happened?
and i swear language was intended to be flexible,
like a gymnast - flex flex flex - which is strange that
the unimaginative always attack from their rat cages
bewildered at seeing a way out of a maze and then blocking
it (e.g. Ezra Pound, mm, the prime fascist of them all) -
it's called censorship, but in the west it's hardly a Stalinist
plot (believe, it's not utopia, i don't understand this
collective delusion that it is - somehow - and indeed,
somehow it isn't - it's called a superiority complex -
the same happened in Iraq - coverage almost zero -
subterfuge requests all over the media - now i have to live
as ethnically placed in close alignment with the people
that regurgitate all this hype - i have absolutely no reason
not to fake a clownish tear and whatnot -
it just is. so yeah, why didn't rich von krafft-ebing throw
an ****? a swingers' ball to cure all the pathology noted?
even now, or *** lives are hardly concerning -
why poets **** over the book of genesis
and leave the other books to themselves - reducing
the book of exodus into only one pair leaving -
it becomes harder and harder to relate to these books
and the people that venerate them after reading Don Quixote -
it really does - it's almost like talking to an illiterate literate
person - as agonising as it is to say it, it's exactly that.
i wonder if anyone bothered including the prefix in-
to all the scientific words in the dictionary - denoted:
in-pathology, in-sanity etc. - i.e. the first person accounts -
i do it because i would hate to go back to the gym
and complications of talking over a sunday roast -
my life in a nutshell? my laptop was so ***** that i decided to
clean it today - anti-bacterial wipes and dried with kitchen towels -
i thought the mouse of the laptop was broken,
ages ago i bought a mini-mouse with a USB port -
after cleaning the laptop, to my disbelief, the laptop mouse
started working (you know, that little touch-patch of plastic
towing two clicks) - that's life, uncomplicated -
a marvel to behold such daily problems - bound by choice
we choose what is to worry us - the next
chapter in my adventure with Kant?
the critique of all theology pouring out from the
speculative principles of the mind -
so for i've passed the ontological, the cosmological
and the theologically-physical impossibilities for the
existence of an absolutely necessary being - even if atheists,
we're all chipping in - basis? presupposition of such
a being and argued counter (cf. Satanic rebellion) -
not the agnostic quasi-supposition (basically speculative
tact) - at 274 (page no.) ending at 442 (page no.) -
oh i'll finish it - transcendental methodology should
be interesting - it's just a question of how much distraction
becomes fused with blank pixel pages and my irritability
as to how or why poetry ought to be stripped from
banal / predictable technique - rhyme is definitely go,
listen to BBC Radio 1 at any time and you can just hear
rhyme ****** - well, if painting could be stripped down
further than cubism - i don't see why poetry
can't have conversational overtones to it, one of the few
unearthed secrets of modern intimacy, just sitting there,
like ducks.

here’s the thing

nothing’s going to change
because the stars
are aligned some certain
way
or
that he’s or she’s
different
or
that a new year has
started

times are still the same
people are still the same old
fiddly ******* that they were
five minutes ago
and you,
above all
else,
are still the incompetent,
useless ******
you were

when the big apple hits the ground
it just means another day has started

if you wake up each day and do jack-****
your not going to start being an astronaut
just cause the last number on the calendar
changed

and going back to what I started with

that horoscope isn’t going to bring you any luck,
that “perfect” person you just met is probably a
*** offender or just a plain loser,
and as we’ve already discussed,
nothing happens when the calendar
runs out

so you want to know what I think?

**** it.

don’t wait for some special opportunity
to change who you are

don’t make promises or resolutions,
you know you can’t keep

wake up each morning and say
“****,
I’m going to do better
than the **** job
I did yesterday”

do it
and see what
happens

or don’t

go ******* in bed
thinking that “the one”
will come to you
tomorrow

***** around at work
or at school and be oh-so-
confident that you’re going
to make 200k annually in
ten years

read those star logs
and get your palm read
and continue on knowing
that you’re going to be
the hottest **** since
Al Pacino

go on.
do it.

do it  and see what happens.

you worthless *******.

Her seventh suicide,
attempts failed, saved,
the last by that medic
with the beard like Christ.

Thin sharp blade
against forearm,
the fingers shaking,
the eyes focused,
the voice of some French singer
in the background,
the red line,
the spurt of blood,
the walls, the bath,
splattered.

Seventh time lucky,
the water warm,
the water reddening,
the body becoming cold,
tired
she closes
her eyes,
is this how one dies?

Mother’s demise
with the cancerous crab
******* into her brain
and ******* up to pain.

She thinks on,
the French song
on the hifi
low, darkening.

That medic
brought her back
last time,
like some Lazarus,
back from the dark,
the unknown light,
the long night.

Seventh suicide,
attempts made,
unsuccessful,
buggered up,
teetering on the edge,
that time balanced
on the high office ledge
and that cop
with the Al Pacino look,
talked her in,
failed again.

Outside another day,
sound of pitter patter,
sound of rain.

at what point wasn't it a way to bypass
the editorial scrutiny...
to directly engage with a reading
public...
why did i think this might be: any good?
i guess i only thought:
i need this out and i can't stash it
like a corpse...
into some damp cellar... like a morally
relativistic monstrosity of a sociopaths'
analogy of: "feels"...
   well, no **** Sherlock!
how i made the following reply...
is beyond me:

- believe me... i had more to write but i felt a sense of restraint... i'd like to see what a terse reply would make you focus on... so i'm scrapping the concept of handicap: heads up... now it all depends what you'll be choosey about... or not... because there's plenty in you reply i could quip about... well... then again: is being witty synonymous with being satirical? i'm not for intelligent / condescending humour on my part... personally i love the dryness of sarcasm... but then again: what's to like about the bluntness of nail-heads? just my take on... what exactly not to like about schadenfreude (what's not to like about schadenfreude)... i'd much prefer a humiliation of a leather gimp suit... so it seems: honesty is the best joke in play... there are too many stereotypes in England too... the best one i heard was by my Glaswegian english teacher in school... ahem... how was copper wire invented? two Scots arguing over a penny... like the stereotypical arsenal of deciphering the Jewry run wild in the realm of the gentiles... with the Scots... being our prized asset of: reverse stereotyping... i guess because knowledge of poor Hebrews is either a mystery or taboo... worse still... a mythology... and here i promised myself restraint... yet i'm experiencing something of a writing block and i... most probably found the most surprising alternative outlet... the eroteme lady - ms. query... so there must be nothing concrete about you... well... i too remember being a teenager prior to 2000 on those hotmail chatrooms where the acronym ASL could get you... all hot & bothered... don't take this the wrong way but i've heard that most writers, poet (i'm a chicken scratching doodler at best) reverted to the medium of correspodence... lucky you, "lucky" that i'm testing the waters on you... but don't worry... i've tested the medium with other people and wondered about their stamina... you are starting to gravitate toward psychiatrist status...  it's so strange though... not writing on abstract... blank... rather: inform sender... it's to them... all that *******, romantic or not... about writing for that one person... sure... **** it... write 'em a letter... don't mind about that trippy-*** poem of yours... you know? apologies if you come across as something of a punching bag for sounds... i hope no typos... well typos can be excused... ah these ****** articles about... wait wait... momentary lucidity... i was going to use some of this in my way of combating my writing block... the troubles in the english language... spelling... "approximation" drop the vowels realise: that's how the Hebrews wrote all along... treating their vowels like diacritical markers... the ****?! i feel like i'm being robbed in plain sight... because Copernicus didn't ******* realise jack-****... they pile it up with their Pope and the execution of ******* Galileo...  ugh... it takes some ******* nerve for these days to allow for this ****-centred kindergarten of events in man's... non-evolving history to continue like some: no ******* dodo exctinction ever took place... (agreed... the following are all faux pas... "invigorations") honey? babe? ms. anonymous gender fluid pronoun neutral... what's the informal, best? ms. avatar ms. harleyquinn the world's stupid? what are american stereotypes of europeans? come to think of it... that cookies is too big to take a bite from... you can't exactly base stereotypes having only seen tourists... since a tourist is a stereotype per se... i'd have to go to california... to get a californian stereotype... to georgia for the georgian stereotype...  wait a minute... Costa Rica... "hint hint"? Latino? that wasn't exactly... it was a fork in the road... the Sephardi... you're working from an avatar canvas... you're making allusions to... what i look like and it's like i'm a mesmerising doppelganger of al pacino... is there a chicago accent? i heard a lot of the ****** diaspora was lodged in that *******... i was terrible at accents... almost always a chamaleon... people still ask me where i'm from... so like this one-stand-up comedian in Edinburgh said... when he was quizzed about the geography of his accent... 'you might recognise my accent... it's... educated'... now that's that... isn't it? i could fake you an indian accent if i wanted to... perhaps a german accent too... but i could fake it... by the way... in these parts... biligualism can be treated as schizophrenia... just saying... somehow integration is not fully deserving the status that: not integrating decides... because... not integrating is... "safety first"... the dodo project alliance...  least of all... i've been dying to by a baseball cap with the Cleveland Indians old logo with chief wahoo... so stereotyping americans... it's beyond hard... it's like stereotyping Russian that are not in the vicinity of Moscow... some are probably Mongol remnants... their own idiosyncratic solipsists to their own... i'll take up my bicycle tomorrow and this drunken tirade will most probably fizzle out... i truly couldn't make up giving a toss about what's internalized americana stereotyping... not that i don't care... i just don't know... the currency of the nation sends me years and years of Ed Gein reinterpretations... what am i supposed to "say"? tomorrow i'll be up early and bothered about my bicycle as if it were a horse... but i'll still want to retain gravity with leaving you with this frankness of a reply... lobster-red probably implies if not simply implores: ginger and freckles... i like to think of suntans as serpents shedding skin... i suntan i'm a copperneck... i like the german sound on this... plus... it's readily available as compounded: kupfernacken... what's better? auburn-tease? kastanienbraunecken? i like the joy you feel with what you already prescribed me with.. that i know so little about you... that while i'm prodding you withhold giving me concreteness.... concreteness would allow me... disadvantage me to focus on "things" that are absolutely not necessary... so: i can focus on whether i'm not being pedantic enough and: misspelling...so... what's the stereotype surrounding Alaskan gurls?!

- thanks for being ascribed in getting my "mojo" back...for now...

- What do you mean? I'm surprised this is the shortest message you've sent. I was getting used to your drunk musings. [I say this with a smile but I know you don't like emojis or silly acronyms, and writing out "laugh out loud" sounds ridiculous... after all, you know how important sounds are to me].

- you just asked one of those questions that... is aligned with asking... 'what are you thinking'? the moral 'ought compass waved me a goodbye and if i haven't broken any laws to pursue the sort of freedom of though i currently enjoy... bypassing the need so stress a "freedom" of speech... writing is an extension of thought: not a prompt / invitation to speak... i'm surprised that you scrutinise the length of my replies... and were we to begin with? in the "easily offended" pile-up? well i'm still getting drunk... you're still an avatar mystery... but at least i'm waging a war on prosaic sobriety to boot... i guess i had to come clean at some point... i never write sober... i don't see the point of being: disengaged from the genuine (a longer version of a one word would have sufficed... but i'm lazy about the spelling... while at the same time... there's this critical theory approach done in some of the newspapers about english spelling... let's see if i get it right... dis-in-genius... for starters... disengenous.. horrid... aaah so terrible... dis-less-advantageous... disadvantageous... oh **** me... i wriggled into that one: all sound and proper...why ask me: what do i "mean"? - it's not that i don't like emojis (well, i don't) but... what the hell... there are better hieroglyphs to focus on than chiseled into pyramid stone: own... happy face... the Chinese were doing ******* x-ray gizmo **** at almost the same time... it's a focus loss... don't even get me started that *** = a Parisian hello with tendering the cheeks with... a labyrinth of smooches... my lips are my pouches blah blah blah... you seem to be enjoying my rants... i gather? i don't even know why to bother with an ask (question doesn't even do justice to how i'm framing this)...  you want to write as little as possible to properly excavate me... well no surprise... if light can't bend around corners... i'll have a look: none-the-less... emphasis on the hyphens... this poor down-trodden word could be helped with some "breathing space"; no? i "mean": 霜... shoo-aang... frost... i have dancing skeletons throwing toothpicks at chopsticks pilled up in an area of pine wood... look at this sort of *******... and here we are... cradling one of the old languages with "holes in letters"... to peer through... O now i see... B: otherwise: ha, ha ha ha... what's **** in Chinese? the Greek prized π... but what P & I look like for a farting, mandarin? hey presto: "@"... not even a western concern for "patriarchy" could have complicated: what's already too complicated... a billion people... a wall... that didn't keep out the Mongols from invading... yet a phonetic encoding system that... would topple each and every pyramid... from Giza to the cleaving of South America from Africa that can be staged at some Aztec "miracle"... i am writing (to) you like a bewildered person... because: why wouldn't i otherwise not be? so what do i mean? hmm... what's that holy trinity of statistical terms... mean... meridian... mode? i think i remember correctly... thank god i'm not going to apologise for being drunk... i've heard the stereotypes of drunkards with no future for thirst... the other thirst... the thirst for something beside their own handicap... i'd also duly convert to Islam too... i was cycling past a mosque and heard the most impossible sound of praise that will never escape me... but by the bottle i did: closer to the Jewry i am... contradictory how that is... don't want to stop drinking... uncircumcised... it's a really magical juggling act that's littered with self-deprecating humour interludes... aligned with norse mythologies... grr... **** me... now i'm attempting to "sell" you a makeshift tinder profile sketch... don't know... never will... never used: don't ask...  but i forgive you... for asking me: what does "it" all mean? it means we're for the thrill of it... it makes sense if we're still gagging for it... and we're not exposed to old-age closure cinematic scripts of solo cinema of memory... i like typing because i have itchy fingers... you'd probably like to hear me speak... no? it's exactly 20 minutes past midnight and i have a date with a bagel at 9am tomorrow morning... i still want another injection of truth in me before i do the  lady nox some justice and sleeping with her fiendish daughters... i mean... who does that... wake you up with a hard-on? never mind... i don't even know how to end this "convo": it can't be with a farewell... or an adieu... or a サヨナラ... oh wait... that's "goodbye, forever"... how does one end a half-way between a musing and a real person on the replying end of "things"... i guess like this: NARA... ナラ... short for narazie...  translated from my mutterzunge as: perhaps loosely... for the time being... for now... how else... to end my tirade?!

- So let me get this a bit straight (as straight as a stray arrow, that is): you only write when you're drunk (I'm the luckiest one to be at the listener - or reader in this case - end of your tirades as you call them... I call them musings); you have a fixation with words, even the ones that you don't know how to spell correctly (except maybe in a language I don't know so I can't really tell), you didn't answer why I'm ascribed to getting your mojo back (where did it go?), and you wake up with a hard-on. Got it!

- i've been lodged into a backlog: ******-town sort of: stalling... give me a few hours... although: ever wonder what: giggles sounds like... in the deafness of the night? i do... i want to reply you like so... like now... like this... maybe i will... maybe i will not... i'm gaging to buy one of those cleveland chiefs baseball caps...the grinning siouxsie chieftan....perhaps i want to relearn "how to": take the GRIN... a little bit more... seriously... no? **** it... i'm drinking as it is... i want to reply you in full throttle... straight arrows... and the welsh V of the longbow-men too to boot... chopsticks straighter... "straighter"... i tend to only write when i'm drunk... i abhor sober prosaic intimidation and... all the lies, subsequently...sober people don't get "drunk" on moral relativism of white lies? and i'm born yesterday, no? you openly venture into... a quest of question within the regards... of being... this only.... i almost wanted you to feel this sort of... an alienating increment... of... how i might pile on more detail... they are musings... i don't take them seriously... about as much relax as is a required: necessary.... i have a fixation with words... jurisprudence to me is merely a game of thesaurus ploy-tow... i spell i don't spell... i'm overtly pedantic... i also felt queasy when testing my eyes at an authentic testimony of the "law"  being "exaggerated"... "tested"... "proved"..i must have: lying eyes... no other eyes do see... no? i have a fixation with "things" beside the usage of ***** and strobe lighting...

you have my attention... don't you? you know... the last time i attempted having a conversation... i was too naive...too young... everything "everything" applied itself to being too predictable... i want to love again: but being in love is almost a weakness... i don't feel like being weak... i guess this is where the rekindling of my "mojo" ends... hello cul de sac...

new paragraph... ever hear(d) of the alpha and the omega "man"? i'm pretty sure you heardf of mr. beta... for all the worth of a totality of... man... i'm last... i'd forever be... last... i don't want to be first... i also don't want to be 2bd sniffing **** and crab-meat-... either...

give me the totality... i'll be satisfied with a "question" of
last... hence the expression: omega man...
didn't hey-zeus say?
i'm the alpha and the omega?

i don't write sober, i'n afraid i might lie...
you're not lucky,..
but you're also not... godzilla....

i "somehow" haven't ascribed you with the sort of details of: explanation that would allow you... to satiate yourself with answers... as to how... why... yllu managed to "mojo" probe me back to life? you.. the Faroe Islands to begin with? you know... they have this gimmick... on the Faroe Isles... it's not a gimmick... it's called// i don't know what's it called... skúvoy? but i'm happy to tease when the whales are slaughtered... the the blood comes a running: the lions also... apparently tease with a yawn... look at this word, though: grindadráp....

ever catch the giggle im der nacht? nein? too italian... no? ******* borrowed pollack: the self-depreciating... loan... not load... of bollocking...

don't believe yourself as being the sole recepient of a reply...

you're not lucky... you're just... available...

terribly botherome... isn't, it?

- i thought i'd make this a two tier reply... it would be a shame to reread what i wrote on one of my "escapades"... perhaps this... hanging-over... ha'h... more like hung, drawn & quartered some time to time... but believably sane, pleasantly morose - at evens with masochism... so reclining into a moral trip-up... i probably mentioned grindadráp - since i still have the window open on the phrase i'm familiar with... Sámal Joensen-Mikines... i most probably ended up giggling in the night... god... i'm just skim reading what i wrote... well good to know that i can only the best thing and sober up: simultaneously returning to a more rigid, conventional... formal use of language: that i might suppose i'm in a confessional booth... a welcome mirage for the time being... while i decide to wither away watching the old firm (a derby soccer match between celtic & rangers)... of note... i had this argument with the natives so time ago... the... Celts... but it's the Boston / Glasgow Çeltics... no? you're a girl that likes sounds... i've been following this current discussion that has reached the heights of printed newspapers... citation, sian griffths (gwif-if-if-ififs) education editor: new spelling ROOLS to make english more predictable for pupils... "we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the feelds..." see... i really admired Charlie Bukowski for a while... until he came out as a lazy slob who would require an editor to correct his spelling... there's dyslexia and there's just plain: hash-browns... for all my worth of idiosyncrasy that i wriggle in as i go along, most of which will not find common ground and a cosmopolitan outlet of users... for me, as someone who acquired this tong'u: i've grown fond of how aesthetically messy this toong can become and how readily available this messiness is... even London can become a ****-joke: Loon'dune... in my mutterzunge sounds are more distinct... apart from the graphemes sz, ch, cz, rz (ż) - i'd have to borrow from a Czech a caron to hide a letter or two: š (sz / the equivalent SHarp in english) and č (cz / CHatter respectively)... all these unique sounds... ą, ę, ć, ń, ó, ś, ź - Wombat ł... anyway... i just thought, sobering up... that you'd like to have a certain bulging volume of fudge to return to... before i take another dive into ms. amber and pass another night as w. h. auden wrote: only the hitlers of this world write at night... sure... herr auden... because the day is for watching football and / or cycling.

- à propos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-L5iefl2QtA

- If you share music can I? I'm sorry that I didn't reply sooner. It's been a **** last week and this week isn't any better yet. I like reading your messages, drunk and sober. When I write in my native language I use the accent over the vowels to emphasize the second-to-last vowel of a word. I love speaking, reading and writing in my native language, though I'm sure that I know much less than you would about languages. Shall we continue talking about sounds? How about sounds in my language? Of course, you have to guess if you haven't already.

- mind you: i had second thoughts about writing this reply... perhaps you can judge for yourself... i'm just not into having double-mystery encounters with an "avatar"... plus i made an emphasis on the point... what music were you not going to share?

sure... but first share your music... i have this thirst for Nick Hornby's high fidelity and being a teenager again... a teenager in love, again...i was probably the most happy-go-anywhere sort of person when i found a vinyl copy of Wardruna's kvitravn in my local HMV... which is: sunrise records and entertainment ltd trading as hmv & fopp.... given i already have the other chapters on cd - copied into mp3... (runaljod - yggdrasil & gap var ginnnunga)...  and given it's so rare to fnd a vinyl of this calibre... that some vinyls comes with an mp3 link... i thought: hell... i'll give this record the proper 3D aura treatment and not listen to it on headphones... or utilise it to "conquer" space... & just walking with it across a market sq. without a plastic bag to stash it in... i might as well have walked with a cat on my shoulder... because... who the hell still buys... well... invests in vinyl? now... coming to the language...second-to-last vowels of  word... you know... you can keep me interested without overplaying this "mystery" game... isn't the use of an avatar enough? i really can't comprehend a language that focuses on second to last vowels... without focusing on vowels: per se... just to reiterate... you didn't share a link to some music... you pitted yourself as American... i can continue being interest without having too many enigmas to sort... i have yet to find a language that only applies accents to, e.g. suppOsE... or maybe i'm just too ignorant to have come across a language that behaves in such a way: unless it's some idiosyncratic variation (of it)... you don't have to remain a complete mystery to me for me to keep engaging... there can be some sort of rooting in reality... otherwise i'll just return to my original purpose of writing: staging myself against a blank canvas and a barrage of sounds that i'll need to "un-spaghetti" into linear streaks.... i'm not going to guess: you'll either tell me or not... i'm currently listening to snake-pit poetry: einar selvik... any one can have a ****** week... for a while i was anticipating you testing whether or not i'd reply not getting a reply from you... and that, somehow, miraculously... i'd continue to creep-up to teasing you again... perhaps that's me dabbling in misnomers... no... you'll need to give me something concrete... i'm already starting to itch with a sensation that i better return to the canvas than keep this conversation... no offence... it's just draining me when something abstract could also be doing: likewise... but it wouldn't end up being a ****-tease... i could possibly create something out of it... not just so more: oh... oh? ** **: what's next?! i know when it becomes a brain-drain... a side project... it has to come with an excuse whereby you'll probably recoil with: but i had a ****** week... granted... but who hasn't...  you could have waited another week until participating in the timeframe of the passing of weeks started to feel good once more... if you only dropped a music suggestion... otherwise... thanks... but... no... this conversation is going nowhere... i think i'm just relocating my writing block elsewhere... all the best: in keeping an aura of mystery... within the realm of avatars and non-accountability... come to think of it... no... this is as fair as i could be.

this supposed "unique" specimen... not really...
i want to focus on what allows me to belong:
beside the unfathomable landmarks
of trees and mountains:
roaming stars that even my demented
grandfather corrected himself on...
satellites... no... roaming stars?!
well... i didn't conjure this **** out of my own
*** for pleasure, either...

back towards... falling asleep while listening
to the Hellraiser soundtrack:
hellbound...
because eerie is how:
i how how: "things"...
i'm so alone at times that it's beyond making
sense: it's about infringing on a god-stature...
status... this omniscient
contradiction that some Elijah bundled up
into... two crows croaked...
the tower of London can entertain 6:
so the king's ******* and the queen's
jewels are left intact...
for the successor to worry about...

we have these conversations but too bad
the girl is playing timid...
and i'm... gargantuan...
the length of a tongue that turns into an eel...
hands like octopus extension...
i could wrap her up in... bubblewrap
and start the puncture pinch-pinch ceremony
of not seeing the bubble float: up-up...

i have a sense of ego like...
a bad l.s.d. trip?!
****-guage-abuse? gauge? sort the ones
for the snoozing zero-toasts
and you have yourself
a new jersey smart: bite-off... not bit... though...

i could never have children:
not because i could never be a good father:
but i'd be a terrible husband...
how do i "know"?
i would never allow myself
to earn the amount:
she'd want to spend...
via solo: i'll spend on ms. cojack amber
and some ******* liquorice vinyl...
and a bicycle...
rubber-teasing: ****-teet-****....
when using the brakes...
when minding my ******* "luck"
on a roundabout with a massive twuck...

plus i'd love to **** more...
i'd love to **** as much more as
the thought-"taboos" discourage me
from doing... so it's a nice adventure: thinking
the next: moral antagonist, antithesis
of "could i"?
central theme? Lo-li-t'ah...
and i'm the second from third removed
uncle of the marquis de sade...
you want... you need... you have to orientate
yourself around the last taboo...
the one that's not associated with...
crispy clean antics of those *******
in their savvy leather gimp suits etc.

"power to the people": *******...
power to who owns what...
i'm starting to conjure up
profanities akin to:
but at least when they owned slaves...
they took care of their slaves...
they wouldn't want a slave to be rotten...
to be despondent...
trouble with freedom is...
my own, self-made... man...
if i were a slave...
i'd learn to bend the rules...
i'd entertain the fantasy of freedom...
while being constrained with...
all the benefactor securities...
i'd be owned but i'd also be:
obligated to a social contract of some sort...

so freely as to nothing be:
so averaging assumptions...
presumptions... so by nothing i unfree myself:
to... sort of quest to: "be"...
while the priestly class held back literacy...
within the timeframe of when
a new literacy emerged... of coding...
so double-up-on-surds... no?

herr gizmo l:)(}{
the realm of the three brackets... )}]...
one literacy replaced the old literacy
but in terms of retaining the old type...
the new type is... not exactly allowing
for movement of... hearts? is, it?
i still have to retain punctuation...
i still need need to perfect it...

but this is not conversational linguinie,
is it?
i stand firm in, stressing:
writing is an extension of thought...
writing is an extension of thought:
it's hardly an invitation to speak...
the past centuries haven't taught us
that literacy is a constraining beast of priests'
fancy?
let me... detail my limbs for you
in stressing this point further:
what good came from the project
of literacy en masse?
graffiti scribbling on brick walls?
out of what beside desperation?

such constraints were employed as
to: the person exercised in completely body:
usage... wouldn't feel like
a ******* hamster of a ******* ferris wheel
when push came to shove...
somehow everything physical became
lesser class: demeaning...
somehow we all turned into *******
fluorescent
      telepathic / telekinetic Chernobyll
monkey sorts...
and the fat "stigmata" is a what?
                  
  this world is gagging for something tragic...
this world is gagging for a world war III...
but... it probably will not...
"advise" itself to experience such a disatrous take
on prospect...
nuance in language can go **** itself...
application of misnomers for added fluidity can:
go **** itself...
you ever come across a choir...
and a great wind...
see a ******* shrink...

don't look at me for inspiration:
perhaps some jokes...
i've been more honest these past two minutes than
i ever was in the passing of a decade...

death the limbo of "sanity"...
esp. when someone memorable has taken off...
who am i left with? "perspectivelly accountable"?
grey-matter fiddle-through middle-man
*******... no?
i'm not sifting through that, murk?
perhaps i'm sieving... sifting... sieving...
sifting... sieving... get a dog! she says, mother, dear...
i tell her: it's legal in Belgium...
her father already cited his complaints...
i'm tired of the ******* optimism...
i'm tired of this "adventure" some cling to when
deciphering "life"...
an overrated statement of too many facts:
that's life...
it's not a ******* frank sinatra:
come as we are... would be: mea culpa...

troublesome sufferings of a tired brain...
too many pop ref. points worth of closure...
i bought a vinyl today...
i walked it down a market place
like it was a puppy...
in a rucksack...

that there's a hope... my mother is crying
this silent agony of truth...
i tell her: it's sensibly legal in the Benelux...
England is ****** by all accounts...
a dog will save me?
i'm becoming rigid... brick-esque...
tide-prone...
moon is the mother of my skies...
i might might what?
fall in love: to fall in love is to allow
oneself to be weak; to be... dependent on
someone: the concept of "other"... no?
recurrrency is pricing on how many times
that's... sensible to try out?
before it fails?

i fall asleep listening to horror movie music...
i'm best coupled to a ******* hyena than
i am to a woman...
to live under a false sense of hope
is a: welcome bypass to otherwisse living
under a truancy of truth...
as the life around me shrinks...
the abounding shadow of me grows...
and not as a patriarch...

oh ****... "i simply, somehow...
just so it happens... fowgot to... encapsulate this
offload whiff a wyme".

.metallica, manchester 2019... master to whos mastery: whos puppets to whos puppeteering... i have to admire the fact that you have to play the standards... its not like even plagiarism comes into the play, but it must be tiresome to have to continue to play the crowd favorites... no compensation for what's expected as new.... if i were stuck in the rut of replica upon replica... regurgitation upon regurgitation... doesn't this art form tire so easily... who was that poet, who went to bed crying after listening to liszt play? matthew arnold... god i'm freed... all the fame and fortune and also not enough time to make your shadow a friend... one inherited temptation is enough to succumb to facing the subsequent ones... come playing a guitar staged before a horde... or fiddling with my beard in the background without malicious intention... but the poverty of lyricism... sure... blues players and their incessant rhymes... but these modern lyrics? to hell with it: i'm no better... but how can you fathom the stamina to replay, to replay, to replay the horde's echoing boom boom mantra fantaticism? i couldn't do music... rememebering words, contonuing a course for replay of the greatest hits... even if expanding into unwritten new territory was a farce... so what... come the bad with the good and the tabloid quality... but having to "love" your work in order to erode your memory like your standard pedagogy manual... i don't want or would't want to remember my words: half if not a third is hardly worth remembering... to a verbatim suited & booted closure and an opening for poet turned entertainer... i don't see how these people cling onto their nostalgia performances... well: to please the crowd is to please the crowd... ilona (former russian "gif") reminded me when james hetfield opened his mouth: he's such a redneck with that accent... god, this russian loved how i appropriated the english shropshire accent... what was that word she called me? ah.... i was a.... yuppie! then the moscow crowd took out their cigarette lighters and we snogged... god i miss relationships, being in that state of vulnerability... i really miss being vowed to a woman and free-falling into a grace of competent trust without question... now here's me calling out the lost trill surrounding the R in both the snake-bitten english numb "R" (without the trill) and the hark of the Francians... i miss being vulnerable... which is what love feels like... being assured a safety when staging a dangerous theatre scene of... say... free-falling before the parachute... that's love: the ability to feel vulnerable... love is and never was some ******* poetic ideal... of perfecting the "art" of loving... to love was always to feel vulnerable... i really miss that... to love was to trust, it wasn't ever about spewing out amour cliché after another amour cliché... sad news being, i will (probably) ever experience that softness of the heart, always the anchor of the weight of a marble slab... never the emotions derived from the heart, forever bound to the bowels... gut-sensations and the reflexes... never a mind to compensate incompassing reflections and the expansion of time to a fixed space... i once loved... is it better to have loved than to have no loved at all? that's questionable, riddle with... is it better to have lived and died, without the knowledge of pain associated to a brain haemorrhage or with: said knowledge? any man can claim the same: it's horrifying to have to live the rest of your life without the cushion, the bed, the feathers of love where you throw yourself icarus-esque, head-first, as a vulnerable babe... shedding the wolf's mane and softening your heart to escape the rational, reflexive array of emotions derived from the bowels.

guess who's diacritical abstaining from the prose...
      kurwy codzienne
czy te kuchenne... a raczej
               zbyt?
no churrah w mnie i horongiew
       wapnia i kurczu -
i tyle to, by gadać tchu!
pięć łatwych utworów -
you made my mind up to counter...
    i said no to the niqab,
so i said yo- to the -gurt...
and let me franchise it babe....
because when i do i won't be
the Franklin as the heavy heave to a scutter
and rat bound
smartease of a Jefferson's lighbulb...
you get boring
more so with the season...
***** and the farthing: quick-change
to quicken your step,
spelled Tokyo... takes two with reminders:
now pay and wait and pastry-size to
concubine the shadow....
                        of hiding cassette and
the lung to breathe through to gorgon enterprise
of the three-headed alcatraz.
i said score ***** harry
     i said i said it twice... 7070 film...
                  i said it thrice...
i said it a fourth time...
the fifth time i was left the overs,
and america r.i.p.,
and i said: god: just let me be!
you were the 20st century fake in the project act
and it was named kevin spacey....
           and you said drive-by
bygone shoot-out... and i said: hamburger
        tattoo and other things worth
the same idea of gluing **** together...
                         and then the toad's hiccup...
rhapsody of burps...
and then that...
  and then i want to be: martin luther king jr.
and a national holiday icon,
and when i want it... and i gag for it....
and then i die for it...
   and then i hate dying for it.... and
so i earn my living as a plumber....
    and then the nation goes for iraq...
and then i am president and face a q & a...
and i'm like: happy are those
who come with applause...
    because i'm the sole one battered with
with the qualm that might translate
as america bound...
well ye-ha! aren't we the lucky living *******!
then i'm about to pludge-****-and-poach-the-*******-yankees
into a question of: a horn brigade to toll the folding bridge;
scatter skew the next new coercion for a parade...
infantile french be the said: long gone...
germanic kinder less a rhyme,
and more a gas... just gaß... or governor:
that should have been gaś or gaš... but then you're
so ******* boring, it makes sense that you're rič...
because you didn't actually get that part...
to be: clint the runner in western and not
***** 'arry...
say you laugh, you don't say clint eastwood
when you actaully watch al pacino in
dog day afternoon... and 1970s america makes
sense...
             and you won't be able to replay
1960s america... because you can't... and it makes
sense why it all feels filthy and dry these days....
that you believe in recitation as you might
believe in the word regurgitate....
and all you want is horror and a.i.,
    and you will never wake from that dream again...
because there were those not lazing in learning
english, that you were left, so glutton coerced
into learning more anagram of english than french
wasn't...
and sure: you created these games of a language
for the sole reason that you wanted to avoid learning
french or german...
you created games from language
because you felt superior... and you created
these games from language because you said
it wasn't worth saying anything in french...
LAZY, OBSOLETE, MOTHER... *******!
but i say: it would have been easier to learn
german than to invoke the game of anagram...
   but then again... who am i to judge?
              who cares, when there are over a billion
chinese and we are but a case of ****
in asking for the perfumed number?
             i say thank god for the indus and the chinese
with their billionth marking...
    it makes no matter if i'm white
and speak english or german or swede or *******...
     it took just one of us to be as lazy as we were
to leave the rest of us happy in tuning toward
becoming extinct. ha ha... ha ha ha ha ha ha!
well, d'uh! you ******* dodo!

Every morning at six-thirty I sit
at that table by the window and drink
my coffee. No, I’m retired. As you see,
I can see that corner, and most days the kids
come there to wait for the bus to take them to
the high school. Two boys and a girl, usually.
No, I don’t know them or their names, but I’d
recognize them. So, they stand there talking
and smoking -- whether cigarettes or something
else, I don’t know, but sometimes they shared it.
And I’m thinking the boys shared the girl too,
because one day one’s kissing her, the next day
he doesn’t show and she’s kissing the other.
That was yesterday. Then, today, the first boy
walks up and bang! bang! -- he shoots them both,
the girl and the boy, point blank in the head, like
Pacino in Scarface. Yes, I’ll testify.
But please catch the little ******* before
he finds out I’m a witness and pops me too.

Fade in: Ext. Theater - Day
Cue clouds: gray shrouds
blanket the sky
and the sun's last remaining rays
Cut to: Ext. Theater - Noon
Cue crowd: no sound,
no song comprise
the mise en scene
of this somber scene
Fade in: Int. Theater - Night
Cue sound: few gasps,
some oohs and ahhs,
some cries comprise
the mise en scene
of this joyous scene
Cut to: extreme close up
Their eyes reflect the faces on the screen:
Newman, Hoffman, Brando, Ledger
Pacino, De Niro
Penn, Caine, Dean
Fade out

a quote of Al Pacino

<>
it took/takes
a lifetime to get close
to where the answer
possibilities  don’t river
rush past, and each eddy
seems like that’s the one,
the definitive affirmative, 
 jump in and all you get
for misjudgment, is a
sopping wet
for your troubles

but you keep on jumping
from job to job, roll from
role to role, cause
even if the
last one is not
a fulsome answer, it
is in possess of the
creative release,
the high that satisfies
till you need a
new hit, another hint,
of tapping into
the vein of creation
that enlivens and
declares, I am purposed
for this,
no matter
how long it takes,
and or the
errors of mistooks,

me I’ll keep jotting down
jumbled jimmied words
in new combine
until such time -and rap,
I can say well shoot
that’s a wrap,

eyelid hints at
a rest but at
the same time
it gives forth
a sloooow wink,
that best poem
yet to come
won’t likely arrive
until it
comes forth
in a last gasp,

a final exhaustion,
exhaustive expelling
and even might be
highly satisfactory
breadth of a last and
everlasting breath~taking
****! just got
t a k e n



nml

In Cities in Flight
transformations are chronicled over generations.
It can make us cry
out for the genius occurring
now and in our past. How
the unseen, unknown participant
was made known to himself
through devotion to those outside himself. He
guides his city
into space.

So, the father and the teacher
guide the family and the student
through the close spaces of knowledge
and obligation. And perform
the history that surrounds them.
Good actors and directors,
philosophers and physicists,
soldiers and foresters.

Today
steam rose from the asphalt
because the sun
has arrived in place, powerful, equinoxal
as the human song
that receives it.

Two big deer
       Lope cautiously
             Off the open road.

Two crows
       Fly low
             Above the Oswegatchie.

Frank Bassett
forester since '57
marks a stand of maple and black cherry
for selective cutting. His actions today
will be noted
by another forester, also acting alone,
in the 21st century.

New York City
in a froth of creativity
Pacino and Sheen in Julius Caesar,
Sonny Rollins at Town Hall,
films opening, one
that portrays the flamboyant style
and dedication
of a barrio public school teacher.

You cannot act alone.
You must belong
in your heart
to the flight humanity makes in Spring, north
toward wild flowers
in geese chevrons.

a quote of Al Pacino

<>
it took/takes a lifetime to get close
to where the answer possibilities
don’t river rush past, and each eddy
seems like that’s the one, the definitive
affirmative,  jump in and all you get
for misjudgment, is a sopping wet
for your troubles

but you keep on jumping from job
to job, roll from role to role, cause
even if the
last one is not a fulsome answer, it
is in possess of the creative release,
the high that satisfies till you need a
new hit, another hint, of tapping into
the vein of creation that enlivens and
declares, I am purposed
for this,
no matter how long it takes,
and the errors of mistooks,
me I’ll keep jotting down
jumbled jimmied words
in new combinations until
I can say well that’s a wrap,

eyelid hints ai a rest but at
the same time
it gives forth a slow wink,
that best poem yet to come
won’t likely arrive until it
comes forth in a last gasp,

a final exhaustion, exhaustive,
and even highly satisfactor
breadth of a last and
everlasting
breath~taking
t a k e n



nml

not much of a story...
             it's only half past 10, and it's a saturday...
but i have two litres of dark *** with me,
and a bottle of hoisin sauce...
                       ****'s gonna get dangerous
   down in the kitchen...
                some pork is going to get slaughtered...
and if i get my hands on some
                                booker t. and the mg's?
       and then fry some rice, and add some eggs?
you're going to be talking to marlon brando...
without the cotton-***** stuffed into his cheeks
to speak, like he spoke, when filming
        the godfather...
                            could have smoked 20 packets
of marlboros... and you'd still get the huskies...
and the sledge... and a holiday in alaska...
                                                       ­  never mind.
hoisin sauce though? that's the dog's *******!
it goes down well with duck... chicken?
to bland...    but i'm guessing will pork will go
down well with the sauce.
         otherwise? z.z. top me...
                              i only learned yesterday,
what a boilermaker was...
                            apparently a shot of whiskey
followed by a beer...
         nothing quiete like al pacino in
                   the 1971 film, the panic in needle park...
this is going to be a feast... i can feel it...
            what do michelin star chefs eat when they get home?
some simple grub... probably egg on toast...
         i hardly think they're spectacular in their
choice of edibles to replicate their restaurant outputs...
      for them it's probably like:
            if it ain't done in 15 minutes... i'm not eating it.
hoisin? yep, that's to replace the sweet chili sauce.
           then there's the 2 litres of ***...
   well... i'm pretty sure one of the litres is for tomorrow.

Now It Clearly Is TRUE... !!!
  
That You Have To Be SHREWD...
In The Things You PURSUE... !!!
  
Because Many Will Take You...
Down DANGEROUS Routes... !!!
  
That Can Take You To Places...
Where You Can Get Traded...
By... Devious DUKES... !!!
  
So You Cannot Confuse...
The Things That You View...
As Being Cool Moves...
As Those That’ll Bear Fruits...
That’ll Make Your Life Cool...
  
Because Pursuing Money...
Makes People Act FUNNY... !!!
  
And Things Can Turn UGLY...
And Make You Feel BLUE... !!!
  
BEFORE You Get CLUES  ...
That You’re Just Being USED...
By Guys Who AREN’T Buddies...  
  
Like Those In The Game...
Where Fame Is What Makes...
These Heads Try To Play...
Your Pursuits Like Your Name...
Can Be Taken In Vain... !!!
  
Once They Have Been Paid...
At... EXTORTIONATE Rates... !!!
  
From Acting To Music...
Pursuits Can Be NEUTERED...
BEFORE They Take Shape... !!!
  
So DON’T You Be FOOLED...
By These Dudes Who Seem Cool...
And Women Who Will Choose...
To Be... QUICK To ABUSE...
  
When It Comes To Pursuits...
of Cash Flow That Is HUGE... !!!
  
You Should Know It’s Called LOOT...  
Because Moves That Are Pulled...
Can Lead Some Heads To Shoot...
More Than Drug Addicts Do... !!!
  
Pursuits Can Be CRUEL...
And Be ARDUOUS Gruels... !!!
  
And I DON’T Mean The Food... !!!
  
What I’m Meaning Is Gruelling...
As In YES... HARD TO DO... !!!
  
Like It Is To Pursue...
Being One Who Is Viewed...
  
As A Gangster Whose Crew...
Will Put BULLETS IN YOU...
Just For Giving Bad Looks... !!!
  
That’s Right I Mean CROOKS...
Who Police Should Pursue...
Who DEFINE The Word CRUEL...
  
Who’ll Pursue Til’ Your END... !!!
If You Show DISRESPECT...
Or... EVER ATTEMPT...
To Take Money From Them...
  
These Are DANGEROUS Heads...
Yes Both Women And Men...  
As Well As Some... Feds’... !!!!!!!!
  
Whose Pursuits Lead To Deaths...
And A Lot of NONSENSE... !!!
  
Like... Shooting For JOKES... ?!?
Cos’ They’re NOT Funny Folks...
Just Like Joe Pesci Quotes... !!!
  
So... What About **’s... ?!?
  
Now I DON’T Pursue Those... !!!
Cos They Leave Brothers BROKE...
  
Because of The Coc’...
That Some Want Up Their Nose...
Just Ask... Al Pacino... !!!
  
And That Is Not A JOKE... !!!
  
Now Pursuing Good Women...
Is What Can Bring Children...
And Family Living...
That’s Allied To GIVING...
And LOVING... NOT Killing... !!!
  
Pursuit of Religion...
Is NOT Far From Sinning...
So Don’t You Be Thinking...
That It Is... Forgiving... !!!
  
Pursue Your Own Lessons...
Before Your Confessing...
To Someone Whose Blessings...
Are... CLEARLY DEFECTIVE... !!!
  
Because Their Connected...
To... EVIL Collectives... !!!
  
Pursue BETTER Headings...
Than Those They’re Selecting... !!!
  
Which Leads To The Ending...
of This Mental Session...
  
of... Pursuing Letters...
That Give Good Directions...
As Well As Progressions...
  
To The Message It’s Sending... !!!
  
Which Has Left A Few Clues...
About Making SMART Moves...
  
That Simply... Say To You...
To Mostly PURSUE TRUTH... !!!
  
Because It’s GOOD To Do...
And Can Help You To FUEL...
  
... A Life That Is COOL... !!!
  
But DON'T You Be FOOLED...
There Are Dangerous Routes...
That Can Darken Your Mood...
As Well As Your... World View...
  
If You... Choose To REFUSE...
To Embrace Being SHREWD...
  
In The Things You.....
  
...... “ Pursue “.......

Now Dealing In Truth Speaking’s...
NOT Something For Weaklings... !!!
  
You’ve Got To Be STRONG...
When What You Speak Upon...
Are Subjects Where Truth...
Tend To Upset The Crews...
Who Like To Make Claims...
That They Aren’t Afraid...
To Hear Talk That’s Straight... !!!
  
So Yes That Means FAKES...
Who’ll QUICKLY FORSAKE...
The Truth To Make GAINS...
In... DEVIOUS Ways... !!!
  
Just Like These Females...
Who’d Rather Hear FABLES...
That DO NOT Unstable...
And Make Them Feel STALE... !!!
  
Because They NO LONGER...
Are Told That They’re HOTTER...
Then... Suicide Bombers... !!!
  
That Line Was A SHOCKER... !!!
  
Like TRUTH That Hits Heads...
Who Just CANNOT ACCEPT...
  
The TRUTH About How...
Their Actions Are FOUL... !!!
  
So... Resort To SCOWLS...
And Acting Like Hounds...
When LIES Are What’s Found...
To Come Out of Their Mouths... !!!
  
TRUTH SPEAKING RESOUNDS...
So HURTS Modern Day Clowns... !!!
  
And Causes Their Brains...
To REACT In Ways...
That Cause Them To Make...
Statements That Are Lame...
  
Then Suddenly HATE...
Is What They Display... !!!
  
Because The TRUTH HURTS...  
And DISTURBS Their Nerves... !!!
  
Truth Speaking CONCERNS...
These People Like Verse...
That Comes From Big Virge... !!!
  
Because I DON’T Deal...
In Words That Conceal...
The Way That I Feel... !!!
  
It’s Caused Me To Lose...
Some ***** And Tunes...
That Really Were COOL... !!!
  
But Speaking The TRUTH...
Is Just What I DO... !!!
  
And Sometimes Has Proved...
To Protect Me From Fools...
And Idiots... TOO... !!!
  
Truth Speaking Is GOOD...
Don’t Get It Confused... !!!
  
It QUICKLY Gives PROOF...
of Who’s... REALLY Who... !!!
  
Cos' LIARS For HIRE...
Will QUICKLY RETIRE...
When Truth Speaking FIRES...
At Them Like Gunfighters...
  
Who Take DEADLY AIM... !!!
  
That OPENS The Veins...
of The LIES They Maintain... !!!
  
You See I’m Like SHANE... !!!
  
I Leave LIARS PLEADING...
Cos’ My Weapon’s Truth Speaking... !!!
  
NO Time For Deceiving...
Or Falsified Teachings...
In My Spoken Word Readings...
That Deal In REVEALING...
  
The TRUTH To These WEAKLINGS...
Who Quickly Catch FEELINGS... !!!
  
When Their FALLACIES...
And... HYPOCRISY...
Are QUICKLY EXPOSED...
In TRUTH SPEAKING Zones... !!!
  
These LIARS Claim Thrones...
Until TRUTHFUL Quotes...
Do MORE Than Rock Domes... !!!
  
They SHATTER Their Bones...
And Quickly Take Hold...
of Their POOR Broken Souls... !!!
  
They’re Just Like Star Wars Clones...
Who Will LIE Til' Their Told...
To TURN On... Their OWN... !!!
  
So Truth Speakers... NO... !!!
  
They’re The WORST Kind of Foe...
Because What They Hold...
Is The Truth Like A DEVIL...
Who ADVOCATES Levels...
of LYING For DOUGH...
And Power That Brokes'...
Just Like... AL PACINO... !!!
  
Keanu Reeves Knows... !!!
  
That When You’re Deceiving...
Your Soul Becomes Weakened...
Just Like Cheating DEMONS... !!!
  
Who TRULY Are WEAKLINGS... !!!
  
UNLIKE Those Whose Dealings...
And Movements Are STEEPED In...
  
The STRENGTH And The POWER...
That Comes From....
  
.... “ TRUTH SPEAKING “....

Okay It's Time To Say … " Hi " … !!!
To The … " Rhyming Bad Guy " … !!!!!
  
NO Bats or Gats or Violent Raps ... !!!!!
  
Just Poetic Words That CLEARLY HURT … !!!  
Those Who Like Fables And Dishing Out Labels …  
  
I DON'T Sit At Tables Where Knights Are UNSTABLE … !!!!!
  
The Cliques Who Believe Themselves To YES … " BE " … !!!
Some kind of ELITE As If They're … " Bourgeoisie " … !!!!!  
  
See I Just Do …. " ME " …. !!!
While They Choose NOT TO SEE …  
That My Poetry Seams DON'T Feed Fallacies ... !!!!!  
  
The TRUTH Seems To HURT … ?!?
Like Verse From … " Big Virge " … !!!
  
Because It's STRAIGHT UP … !!!
And Leaves Mothers … STUNNED … !!!!!  
  
Uckers' And Brothers ...  
KNOW How My Words Run … !!!
  
THEY Run Them and Their Friends ...
To Where There's … " NO DEFENCE " … !!!!!!
  
Defence of Their ... NONSENSE ...  !!!!!!!!
And Foolish Involvement In Sense That's NOT Common … !!!!!  
Which For Them ... Causes PROBLEMS … !!!!!  
  
But I'm The ... " BAD GUY " … ?!?
Well I've Got To Ask … WHY … ???
  
Because I Drop Lines WITHOUT… " ******* Highs " … !!!!!
I Also Drop Heads Who LIE Like The … " FEDS' " ... !!!
Or YES The Po Po ... When I Start To Flow …
  
Spoken Or Read ... My Poems Make SENSE ... !!!  
And FEED Off These Cliques Whose Rhetoric's WEAK … !!!!!  
  
My Style Is UNIQUE ... NO BAD GUY In Me … !!!!!
I Just Use FREE SPEECH To Flush OUT … The Sheep ... !!!
  
Who NEED To … "Fit In" …  
With Those Who … DON'T SIN … !!!!!
  
Well That's What They CLAIM When They Try To Defame ...  
The BAD GUY Whose Name Owns The … Big Virge Domain … !!!  
  
So Let's Get This STRAIGHT … !!!  
I'm Simply A Poet Who Flows It And Knows It … !!!!!  
  
My Gifts Are Displayed …  
Whenever My Wordplay And Pen Meets With Page … !!!  
  
So THAT Makes A ... " BAD GUY " … ?!?
Once Again I Ask ….. " WHY " ..… ?!?
  
I'm No Al Pacino And Have NO Scarred Face …  
My Peeps On Kamino' Would Tell You The SAME … !!!!!
  
These GOOD GUYS Bring SHAME …  
To GOODNESS In Ways That Prove They Are LAME …  
From Things That They Say In Words That They Relate … !!!  
  
It Seems That Their Brains Have FAR TOO MUCH Space ...
In Which They Betray WHERE Their Anger Lays … !!!!!  
  
The ANGER They HOLD That They ...
NEED TO LET LET GO … !!!!!
  
That's Why They Call NAMES .....
Because They Feel PAIN From Words That EXCLAIM … !!!!!
  
A LACK of INTEGRITY …  
Cos' They're Their ... WORST ENEMY … !!!!!
  
Consciences HURTING … !!!
Because They Keep Skirting With What's DISCONCERTING … !!!
  
NO LOVE For THEMSELVES … !!!!!
  
It's NOT Hard To Tell That They NEED TO Quell …  
That STENCH That They Smell …. !!!!!!!!!!!!!
  
Whenever Their Actions Start Causing REACTIONS ... !!!  
That They Cannot Manage Because of The DAMAGE ...  
It Brings To Their Psyche Both Daily And Nightly … !!!!!
  
RESTLESS … Most Likely … ?!?
Because What They Dream Make Nightmares Seem Clean  … ?!?
  
But I'm The …. " Bad Guy " …. ?!?
  
Something ……
Just Don't Seem RIGHT … ?!?!?
  
When Words That I Write Are Quick To Shed Light …  
On DARKNESS They Try To Hide From Bright Eyes ... !!!  
  
Who Simply Relate How Lies They INFLATE ...
DO NOT Make The Grade Because They're SO FAKE … !!!  
That CLAIMS That They Make Are … NOT EVEN BAD … !!!!!
  
They're Really … Quite SAD … !!!!!  
  
Their Mirrors Are BROKEN Because They Be Quoting …  
Words That Are SOAKED IN All Types of WRONG Potions … !!!
  
And NO … I'm Not Joking … !!!!!
  
Like Joe I Be …. " Smokin' " ... !!!
These Fools With STRAIGHT RHYMES ...
That HURT Their Insides …. !!!!!!!!!
  
So I'm … " The BAD GUY " … ?!?
For … NOT Telling LIES … ?!?
  
It Is What It Is When My Lyrics HIT …  
No Need To Decipher Cos' I'm NOT A Liar … !!!!!
  
My Mind State Is HIGHER Than Trying To Light FIRES …  
To Prove I'm The MAN Cos' I Already AM … !!!!!!!
  
I Did RIGHT By My Fam' … !!!
While GOOD GUYS Just … " RAN  " … !!!!!
  
I Thought It Was TRUTH …
That Defined What Is … GOOD … !!?!!
  
NOT Lying For FUN … ?!?
To … Daughters And Sons …
  
Some Fathers And Mums ...
NEED TO CUT OUT That Stuff … !!!
  
It Saddens My Soul To See These … " A-Holes " … !!!!!
CLAIM To Be RIGHTEOUS When They Are The LIARS … !!!
  
Who've Caused Human Nature …  
To Lack Natural Flavours That … DENY The Haters …  
A Chance To Express The Lies They ACCEPT ...
As Being THE TRUTH  … Cos' That ISN'T COOL !!!
  
They'll Try To CONVINCE ...  
YES ... YOU And THEMSELVES ...
That You Are NOT WELL !!!!!
While They're ABOVE … "sins" … ?!?
  
That's Where They'll Begin …
So Here's Where I'll END … !!!
  
If They Are … " THE GOOD " … ?!?
And Live …. " HAPPY LIVES " … !!?!!
  
Where Do They Find Time … ???
To … ASSUME In Their Mind …  
That They Have The Right …  
  
To Define …  
  
........... " The Bad Guy " …….…

Expressive as onomatopoeia,
Come in with that boom, bang, clash.
That assalamualakum ****.
A dismissive villain with mad ideas,
Make these bad divas act up like Madea.
Rebel and find out *****!
When I lay this piece upon ya sis!
Nobody ruthless as this!
So dark and faceless, ya would think…
I was made in the abyss.
Made something out nothing,
Big bang up in this!
I sustain, pull the clip.
Like Rick James, I’m the ****!
Cold blooded, **** the simp.
Yes I made it, I admit!

Coked out chollos,
Cringe when I hear em say yolo,
Sirens ring out,
Uh oh here come the popo,
The supposed superheroes,
That is till they be tempted by dinero,
Eating out the hands of monsters,
Whose the real bad guy? Al Pacino.
Want protection pay the mobsters.
Wondering the difference between that and our tax dollars?
Don’t kid yourself brother!
Politicians are the real Godfathers!
Where God is replaced by the almighty dollar.
That could turn a scholar,
To a Rottweiler.
A sharped dressed deviant that wears a white collar,
But instead of being arrested they are honoured.
Left feeling sick to my stomach,
Watching this union between cops and robbers.

Living in a reality where dark knights get annihilated.
Matched the profile,
So, better prepare to be violated!
Don’t matter if all your life you’ve been docile.
That **** don’t matter when it comes to hatred!
Where tragedies like the green mile,
Happen every other day!
Justice is dead,
If it ever really lived in the first place!

Four times a week
Matinee Evening or Night.
A trip to the movies .
Was a guarantee
As I call to mind.
A bijou of a place
Standing in queue
Counting the heads ahead.
Fervently praying for a seat
Looking at the marquee.
Stars name Starring in.
Ticket in hand
Was Disneyland.
Next stop was the poster
Mammoth in size
In awe would analyze.
Eyes sharp as laser.
Focus on the credits
Memorizing the artists.
Row didn't matter
Insistent but on an aisle seat.
The view seemed better
A quirk I never got over.
Always early and looking at the watch
Eagerly waiting for the curtains to part.
Commercials and Government Propaganda.
Enduring the two was hard.
Trailer was theaters choice.
If shown there was no greater joy.
Censor certificate would flash.
Number of reels had to be scrutinized.
The length of the film it indicated.
All I learnt ,I learned from the movies.
Escapism it wasn't.
It reflected reality.
In the darkness surrounding the walls.
Existence outside seemed like a dream.
Rays from the projector
Made life look brighter.
Certain things leave.
Others Stay.
Ellicits an emotional response
Feeling being the outcome.
Inscribed seldom witherd.
Thinking and Feeling paradoxical.
Contradiction within the hall.
70 s the greatest era since existence.
Movies made were no exception.
Never came out disappointed
Magicians were the makers.
Collaboration amongst masters
Craft at its zenith
Skill never scarce
Epitome of brilliance
Audience addiction but natural

Charles Bronson Death Wish.
Audience manipulation at its zenith
Body count lost count
Bronson being cheered and worshipped
Everytime shot a man dead.

Clint Eastwood ***** Harry.
Iconoclastic cop full of Fury.
Crowds swelling
Superstar by defenition
4 more sequels held our attention.

Sean & Roger.
Nobody did it better
Bond and Beyond
License to ****
Gadgets and Puns
Q & M
Made it fun
Gun Barrel and theme.
Made the audience scream.
Entertainment only motive
All 13 adorable.

Steve McQueen,The Thomas Crown Affair.
The King of Cool
Monet missing .
McQueen present.
Played Chess with Faye
Held the crowds in sway

Burt Reynolds
Smokey and the Bandit
Chased across the South ,Sally in tow
Taxied on the freeway
In a Pontiac Trans am
Surround sound.
Made ears drown
Train wrecks ,Car chases , Sheriff's Department and the FBI
Know you're in for a Reynolds fare.

Yul Brynner stylish and bald.
Unique walk idolised by all.
Leader of the Seven.
Oscar for King and I
Ramses to Moses
Endearingly Popular
Baritone voice
People s Choice.





Lee Marvin headed The ***** Dozen.
Nunnally Johnson had it written.
Every time it had a run
Fans enjoyed the fun.

Paul Newman The Macintosh Man
Most famous blue eyes
Directed by Huston
Enjoyed a good run
Butch and Sundance
The Sting
Made a great pair with Redford
Male Bonding never looked more stylish




Gene Hackman  The French Connection
Pedal to the metal.
Pontiac Le Mans.
Chasing an El train
Greatest chase sequence ever filmed
Hackman Actor and Superstar
Twice won the Oscar.

Warren  Beatty **** Tracy
Appeared on screen scarcely.
Multifaceted and handsome.
More Oscars than films acted
Is an old Hollywood joke which hasn't dated.

Jack Nicholson Chinatown.
Mentored by Roger Corman.
Some are Stars .
Some are Actors.
Star and Actor
A rare Combination,
He achieved by dedication.
Multifaceted man
Everybody is a fan
Oscar for every decade
Inmate ,Astronaut ,Writer
Whatever the character
The Academy did honour.
Also watched him play Joker, drifter murderer
Turned down The Godfather
Independent Republic of Jack Nicholson
Is the name of the abode for his fans.
Given by none other than Mike Nichols.


Amitabh Bachchan and Dharamendra.
Two greatest superstars of India.
3 films together
Outcome couldn't be bigger.
Chupke Chupke a comedy classic.
Sholay praised even by Satyajit Ray.
Ram Balram with Vijay Anand
You can't go wrong.
Sold out for weeks in advance.
Black Market was the only chance.
Inflated prices ,they built houses
The legend goes.
Sea of humanity
A regular sight
Where their movies played .
Cash registers ringing
Never missed the opening screening.

Marlon Brando The Godfather
You can't refuse the offer
Refused the Oscar.
Method Acting mentor
Generations of Actors, will always remember.

George Scott ,Patton
Sagebrush portrayal
Of the 4 Star General
Opening monologue
Inspiration to all
Great Actor who went beneath the skin of the character.

Al Pacino Scarface
Portrayal in your face
Theater , Television and Movies.
Performed with equal intensity.
Tony ,Emmy and Oscar
Would be proud to be in his roster.

Robert De Niro Godfather 2
He portrayed Vito too
Created history
Won the Oscar for Supporting Actor
To Brando a worthy successor.

Robert Redford Brubaker
A name given to every reformer
Adored by Women
Imitated by Men.
Superstar of the decade
Turned director
Won the Oscar
Sundance Festival
Platform provided
Filmmakers flocked
Many talents unlocked.




If I'm told I have only a few hours to live.
Can we go and watch a movie

after rereading some of Nietzsche, not that i was some
little miss sunshine American teenage rebel when
i started reading him to begin with,
he came much later - and i never really liked him:
not disliked him, just never liked him:
even though i read his Thus Spoke Zarathustra in
one sitting... rather lying in bed all night...
             but i just never managed to come to grips
with his use of adjectives / nouns - genius... greatness...
vanity... blah blah... an inferiority complex was
my reading of him - even though some crucial points
can be salvaged -
come to think of it, here's my attempt at an
"imitation" - it's not some outright propositional
aphorism of sorts -
    it's not necessarily - unconditionally true...
this is mostly a "prepositional" a posteriori -
                                     necessarily but... at the same time:
conditionally true... and yet... at the same time:
it's not at all true...
   it happens when...
           a man is no longer a boy...
the man is still living with his parents...
alternative? rent a room with a bunch of strangers...
flatmates... in my vicinity? how many men
have the same living arrangement as i?
oh... i'm not an Ed Gein type... there's plenty more...
i can count at least 6...
i'm not the only odd-child freak...
poetry doesn't pay...
                but at least i'm the custodian...
chores... cooking, gardening... i'm visible compared
to the others...
chances of my parents growing old
and in the western fashion of throwing them
into an old people's home? little or outright none...
point being... i've been looking at this
for a long long time...
concerning mothers and sons...
i don't think i'm going to write this in third person
ooh ah: Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman...
   i think i'm going to write this, more, personally...
a man's satisfaction with life,
increases, exponentially,
   when he sees... that his mother...
                      is dissatisfied with her son's life...
oh ****... that's not personal at all...
           it's sort of counter-intuitive... but it's true...
when a mother can't boast about her son's life...
career... etc. - when she goes to the gym...
has her little social events... a bunch of menopause
hens get together and talk crap over coffee...
her son this, her son that...
   some are grandmothers... some have to take care
of their grandchildren...
some hen's son is married a third time... blah blah...
DJ... earns £X,000,000...
                           and there's me...
poet? philosopher? i don't even have to crop up
into the conversation... ******* tree-shepherd...
i ******* into the night for a walk into
a forest... i ******* in general...
                 most parents would bundle up together
some money for a wedding...
did i, ask for one? did i ask for help getting
a mortgage? i guess not...
                do i pay my share for the monthly
food bill? sure...
    but it's odd... when a mother can't boast about
her son's achievements...
or for that matter: she can't even mention him...
in the company of other women...
because... she has no grandchildren out of wedlock...
or other issues...
and that's when the joy of life comes in...
if a mother can't boast about her son,
or... she can't really say anything bad about him either...
when she doesn't really have an idea
what to say... it's like... he's sort of a fern...
a plant... he's there... but he's not really there...
he's... "da-sein"... he's an abstraction...
            that's when i know that my quality of life has
reached a zenith...
            dumbfounded...
oh long are the days of the 19th century
with jack the ripper woman haters who would
"teach" frigid women lessons of giving it up
on prostitutes... these days... men like me just go
directly to the source...
    i love prostitutes... love them to bits...
at least they don't create a limp-**** Madonna-*****
complex... enough white wine aphrodisiac...
enough exercise aphrodisiac and i'm good to go...
no poker games no dates...
there: flesh meets flesh... no games...
   but that's how i find it...
                                there's a lot my mother pretends
to not know about me...
  how i champion solitude...
            how i'm not bothered about:
even at work... how many of these girls ganged up
on me, when i took interest in one of them...
another hasn't showed up to work for weeks...
how would i take, rejection? like so...
to the brothel with me... done...
                       when a mother can't boast about her
son's life... that's when...
the son lives a most satisfying life...
  since she can't boast... she can't also say anything
negative... because the life is staged in:
neutral... oh he drinks blah blah... who doesn't?!
yes - the greatest satisfaction a man can attain from life
is, when, his mother is most dissatisfied with his life,
how freeing it becomes: to know that you are living
on the bare minimum: how satisfying that you
have the bare minimum of ambition -
that you are content with merely the antithesis of
Frankenstein's drive - vivo per se: life in itself -
that somehow you're more of a freak than Frankenstein:
only in the imagination of a woman couldn't
the monster become a philosopher: perhaps the philosopher
is more of a monster to a woman than
the monster itself: with whatever prods and temptations
that might befall the usual man...
to seek some sort of existential redemption when
coupled with a woman...
that somehow... a reproductive outlet would solve
all his woes... if only: to give thought a death:
an ultimatum of (th)ought i dead end...
           it is most necessary to have at least a mother
in one's life that might cherish the simplicity of life
from a perspective of a son who:
really... doesn't really care much for hierarchies...
for... grand-standing... for vanity...
it's welcome to have a woman in one's life that
is dissatisfied with the life you're living with full
satisfaction... with striving for an almost ascetic aesthetic...
but at the time: no, not really...
on a whimsical winding-up...
                  frivolously meeting expectations...
frivolously not meeting them...
being a man who a woman can't boast of...
            so much is needed to find oneself with life...
esp. when da-sein (concern) is replaced with:
hier-sein... the simplicity of a merely the coordination
of hier, ich bin... that sort of translates as
a spontaneity of thought... narrative...
           a whirlwind of memory...
                   April 1st... snow... overcast skies...
then spring and sun and a trickle of honey...
then one woman ****** you off: off to the brothel with
you for some luvvy-dubby-juicing-up...
problem solved...
                   hell... i can imitate women too...
i can be as fickle as they allow themselves to be...
i don't need to be a proud-ridden
Menelaus... women... i can share...
the real problem comes with shoes...
      i couldn't possibly walk in someone else's shoes...
but when it comes to women...
sure... she can have gone through a cohort of Roman
legionnaires... but i will not walk in someone
else's shoes... quiet impossible...
but isn't that what most modern women craved?
for pain to be pleasure and for pleasure to be pain?
ha ha... "ownership"... protection...
last time i checked this woman in the supermarket
asked me... if i could... put a large bag of dog food
into her trolley... and i replied...
   and... am i wearing... supermarket staff clothing?
chop chop...
                 well... no... that's not what really happened...
i actually did help her out...
because... i'm still a man and i like weaklings...
esp. of the opposite ***...
  it gives me... cotton-candy sensations when i help
weaklings... but what gives me even more
cotton-candy sensations is the potential...
of being able to abuse my power...
         it's always in the back of my mind...
               that's the true thrill... i can seriously just
retract my help and pursue the threat of *******...
that's the true pleasure... sure... helping out is nice...
just... plain Jane... nice...
but... having in the back of my mind this *******
is... like: ooh! ha! wait... wait... retract...
keep him hidden... wait for the right moment...
and then... pounce!
                - but it's worthwhile...
keeping at least woman in your life dissatisfied with
your life... because: you're not "somewhere"
where you're supposedly, apparently supposed
to "be"... unless we're talking ******* heart-surgeon
and not some, random... x-ray analyst...
we're talking plateaus... unless i was born into a family
of pig farmers... from a lineage of undertakers...
oh hell... women always want more...
more of everything that life has to offer...
i'm glad of the stock of man...
    the least is always the most impressive...
          man in love with frugality...
                      good music, good whiskey...
one good meal a day... clean socks... clean underwear...
ironed white shirts... ironed trousers...
hey, i'm good to go... i once planned a trip to India...
didn't go... stunned myself by discovering
a lot more of London and the Essex countryside...
that... ******* Paolo Coelho quote from the Alchemist...
about... finding what you've been seeking
within yourself rather than... at the foot of the pyramids
of Giza... blah blah...
          women just complicate matters...
so many ******* complications...
who is to say to me that i ought not to gain the most pleasure
from life by... simply walking?
or cycling? or... whatever out of the fading blue, blue?
from waking up in the late morning...
brushing my teeth, harking up last night's phlegm from
having smoked too much? from vacuuming
the house, from washing the floors
with antiseptic juice?
   who is to dictate rules that would entice if not outright
force me to a pair-bonding?
i have always been alone... the seclusion born out
of being an only-child, sure...
the company of animals "helps" a little...
but i hate the ******* fur...
          it implies i have to vacuum the house
almost twice... but aww... looks so sweet sleeping in
my bed... ****, get real Matthew...
he's shedding more fur than a ******* sheep at
a christening of come spring...
   ugh... but it's not like you're going to make
a ******* cat-burger out of him...
little ******... little 10kg cat *******...
     prostitutes: yes... a big yes...
                  i wish i could want to have a relationship,
i sometimes wish i could desire to have friends...
friends... a big disappointment...
i once tried to share my woes with one...
apparently my woes were worth zilch...
since his woes were apparently greater...
but it's not like he was able to share them with me...
friendship on a superficial: glance level...
so i was like: **** it...
            i can always bash the keyboard into an aside...
keep this blank canvas thirsty for more skeletal
lettering... by the time he might come back
i will have moved on... with plenty more juice...
friends... b'ah! always the same type of...
disappointment... just like women...
       perhaps someone always very mediocre gets
lucky... pairs up...
           oh - and then the anguish...
when their pair-bonder dies...
                 broken heart...
                            dies from a broken heart...
dies from a lack of will to live...
                   it's so much more, profitable, emotionally,
to succeed in the pursuit of a solo project...
no one is going to miss me,
and i won't be the one missing anyone...
hence? allowing the flow of souls through this
conundrum of: is fact, is existence....
is life...
                           i must be coming across as if filled
with spite... no... i'm filled with repose more than
spite... i'm joyously malicious...
i like myself best: when i project
being: unavailable...
   not that i could offer anything to a woman...
i have allowed myself to be freed...
from the superficiality of woman...
                     oh... what a... relief...
                    i can't help to think...
stoic feminism?! i thought it was simply...
a mono-cultural thought experiment?
feminism and that's that...
but... cynic feminism?! the cognitive diversity
of male thinking... compared to the...
narrow stream of female thought...
              no match... clearly...
                               what a waste of time... if everything
has to be sieved through the sieve of
feminism... what a massive... YAWN...
women have always came across as boring
when they tried to intellectualise themselves
and weren't... readily-giddy in the bedroom...
a ******* waste of time...
    women who'd have to talk to rather than ****;
a bit like... drinking olive oil
rather than frying **** in it;
                                absolutely senseless;
sorry... but if women are given allowances
via tic-toc to spread **** about men...
                 oh sure, sure...
i'm just going to sit back and take it...
        like **** i am.

in an athenian *******:
what a ****** h'american export...
*******...
  ****** idea...
      watch, but don't touch,
   this whole devil's advocate
al pacino monologue...
at least visiting
a brothel you get
a sing-along
akin to tina turner's
what's love got to
do with it...
   and i don't need to worry
about contraception,
and the traps,
the claustrophobia of
eating anything but
poached sushi of ****...
thank god i made
my exit early...
before apps like tinder
started to sprout like
fungus...
   i just wanted
to pet a dog,
   without having
to refrain to attaching
a leash to it
when taking it for a walk
in public...
   strip clubs...
athenian...
   unlike the brothels
that give off a whiff
of a bourbon perfurmery /
brewery...
           i can't be bragging
when i say:
  just give me a dog,
and a chance to not exact
a leash on it...
    a sort of, hades
            meets cerberus...
then you can have
all your sentiments
for donning
the ring on a finger
and...
  glorifying...
   whatever it is,
that requires glorification.

Serpico

limit tree eye
a passing passerby
with tulips that fly
into the eye we shall see
burning with fire
a gun for hire

Serpico as Al Pacino
go with the flow
came out years ago
carry on then let go
elect new members
place, spaces & traces

Live it up
As if the light of a skunk
braided by the mere notion of goals
barren sea onto remember me
falling down on my knees
love, hate & sweat

so sorry that we met
not so easy to forget...
Atica ! Atica ! Atica !
beat one with a baseball bat
live at each attempt
porcelain tape some call it fate

There’s ALWAYS...  
MUCH To CONSIDER...  

When It Comes To...  
... FAMOUS Figures...  

Who Are QUICKER To Pull Triggers...  
Than The Best Olympic Sprinters... !!!  
  
Cos' There Are Always...  
... BIGGER PICTURES...  
  
Where There’s ALWAYS...  
... Someone QUICKER...  
Who Wants To Prove They’re SINNERS...  
  
BIGGER Than New Escobars’...  
And Guys Like Nicky Barnes... !!!  
  
TRUE ORIGINAL Gangstas’...  
  
Who Like Jeru' Are REAL DAMAGERS...  
of Crews of Dudes Whose Managers...  
Employ The BADDEST Characters... !!!  
  
Like Bikers Who...  
Are Sent From HELL...  
To BLAZE With RAGE...  
To Make Heads SWELL... !!!  
  
Like ALI When He DANCED...  
Around Fighters With NO CHANCE... !!!  
  
To Counter How He’d BLISTER...  
With Punches That Were SLICKER...  
Than ANY GQ Mister...  
Or BEAUTIFUL... HOT Sista'... !!!  
  
So DON'T Be QUICK...  
To Be A FOOL And RUSH IN...  !!!  
  
Because Some of These Chicks...  
...... Act SICK...... !!!  
  
When It Comes To ****... !!!  
That They CAN'T RESIST...  
That They Want To Fit...  
In Between Those Lips... !!!  
  
Because The Next Thing Is...  
The ARRIVAL of... Kids... !!!
  
So It’s Best To THINK...  
And CONSIDER Things...  
BEFORE You Get Tricked...  
And Start To SINK...
  
Because Your Ship...  
... TITANICALLY Drifts.....  
Until You're... DROWNED...  
Cos Your Thoughts WEREN'T Sound... !!!  
  
Like A GREEDY ****...  
Whose Business STINKS... !!!  
  
Because of Links...  
Who Are QUICK To Bring...  
... Bullets That HIT...  
HARDER Than Drug Liks’...  
That Make Man SNIFF...  
Just Like SCARFACE Did... !!!  
  
WITHOUT Acting In A Pacino Flick... !!!  
  
It’s Best To CONSIDER...  
Before You Pull Triggers...  
If You AIN'T John Wick... !!!  
  
See I’m A LYRICIST...  
Whose Lyrical Gifts...  
Are Those That Enlist...  
The Type of Lyrics...  
  
That Are Those That Show...  
... Which Way To Go...  
  
When It Comes To Dark Roads...  
That Lead To Black Holes... !!!  
  
YES The... Types of Zones...  
That Can Cut TOO CLOSE...  
To The Bones of Those...  
Who Follow FOOLS Gold... !?!  
  
I Consider The TOLL...  
That Goes With Cargos...  
That Get EXPOSED...  
Within Ships Holds...  
That Face Embargo’s...  
Because of Coc’...  
And Dopes Who Roll...  
  
Into The... "GRIP"...  
of Police Well Equipped...  
To END A Mans' Wish...  
To Be A Drug Kingpin... !!!  
  
Who NEVER Considered...  
Being Cornered Like Tigger...  
WITHOUT Winnie Or Pooh... !!!!!  
  
Because I THINK Things Through...  
And Try To Be Shrewd...  
As Well As... COOL...  
In The Face of BAD News...  
That Can Lead To FEUDS... !!!  
  
With CARTELS Who Pull Moves...  
Like... COLOMBIANS Do... !!!!!!  
  
Who Are Quick To Collude...  
With Informants Who...  
Want To See You LOSE...  
So Will HAPPILY SHOOT... !!!
  
NO MATTER What Cost...  
It Takes To Be The BOSS...  
WITHOUT James Brown Songs...  
  
Or... HEAVY DUTY FUNK...  
Or The Type of Drums...  
That Made His Funk BUMP... !!!  
  
Like The Type of CHUMPS...  
Who Are... IGNORANT... !!!!!!!  
  
So Will Pull DUMB Stunts...  
That STINK Like A SKUNK...  
That Is CLEARLY FRIGHTENED... !!!  
  
So Is QUICK To Let Off...  
Something SO PUNGENT... !!!  
  
That It Makes You ILL...  
And Makes You Wanna ****...  
Like Uma' Did... BILL...  
In A Way That CHILLS... !!!  
  
And Makes You More BITTER...  
Than A CORNERED KILLER...  
In AN... MJ Thriller... !!!  
  
So I Hope That This Piece..  
of CONSIDERED Poetry...  
Has Helped You Young Guns See...  
  
That To Be A Smooth Criminal...  
You Need To Be An Individual...  
Who Has STRONG PRINCIPLES...  
That PROVE That You’re A THINKER...  
  
Who Recognises... THIS...  
VERY IMPORTANT THING... !!!  
  
To Be The Type of Figure...  
Who Inspires Clever Scripture...  
  
Cos’ You're COLDER Than A Blizzard...  
In The Midst of An Arctic Winter...  
  
You MUST SEE The...  
... BIGGER PICTURE... !!!  
  
Cos’ There Will ALWAYS Be...  

“ Things That You Need To Consider ! “

i remember when we broke up...

          chasm of melodies or something along
those lines:

a leftover of a roach
come 2pm
and the Ladies final at Wimbledon
is just happening:

as is the Tour de France
so i too did my little tour the Havering:
halfpenny would be nice
just to stand a bit taller

well: rarely does it happen but apparently
it sometimes does:
a blind-spot poem from last evening
left me waking up thinking:
what the hell happened last night?
autopilot on: apparently...

i first came to England as a semi-legal
but technically an illegal immigrant
back in 1994 when you still had a high street
in Ilford on Cranbrook Rd
with Blockbusters and Quick Save
and the likes
and it was nothing like Bangladesh
but oh well:
by 1997 we were visited by two Home Office
officers and about five police officers
i remember that burning sensation
even now:
grandfather was visiting on a visa
the previous day we went to a fanfare
and i won a massive cuddly toy for mum
by sliding ***** into holes
while the camel atop was running ahead
i remember i was on fire that day
i just started year 7 at Canon Palmer Catholic School
and was ready to make new friends
so my father jumped the fences of
the garden
i recently bought a cat and was mingling
getting to know him
1960s Batman movie was on t.v.
and we were eating breakfast
and as my father said:
the Home Office makes raids on Sundays
when no one really works
even the illegal immigrants
so when these two shadows were waiting
outside the house:
it was about a day or a week shy
of the Law
   since by 1997 my father was living up
to 7 years there
and by Law if he made it that far
he couldn't have been DEPORTED...

clue: i found it hard to support the English
football team... ever... ever: like never ever:
but 2nd time coming:
i'm becoming slowly converted:
never say never, ever...
i found it hard to support the English football
team three lions on the shirt:
yes: and three cheetahs on a tree...
so...   but i always had been a fan of English Values:
especially the stance on anti-racism
being a part-time question of authority
before finding my own ontology aligned with:
well i work with blacks Muslims and kinks
so we have racist banter from time to time
between the guys
like one Somali chuckling with:
'i'm a confused racist...'
whenever the same Indian Brigade would come
along and cluck cluck Bengal but but
Muhammad jihad...

1997 we were asked politely to leave
rather than being deported but it was a sort of:
deported at your own discretion:
i don't think they expected a child to be present
so we had about 2 weeks to pack our ****
but you couldn't explain to a boy
of 11 about politics of geography and ethnicity
or whatever
maybe they shouldn't have allowed
the Polish War Government residence in London
but only yesterday i learned
and i honestly didn't know
that it was: **** Germany, Soviet Russia
and the ******* Slovaks who also invaded:

das ist neu! das is neu!

                  ha ha Alfred Tennyson's charge
of the light brigade:
Iron Maiden with The Trooper...
   ha ha: Charge of the Krojanty...
or: like: ever:       the Winged Hussars at Vienna:

as much as i am a contemporary by being
a fan of sport... not particular about factions:
i leave that to the primal man:
funny sort of giggly not funny as in sneering
and devilish but funny-giggly
i'm also a fan of history:

    no i wasn't there but i can still ride a horse
i first learned to bicycle:
peddle: not push: what the ****'s a push-bicycle?
peddling is now pushing?
the **** am i pushing?!
this counter-intuitive working with and against
gravity to capture motion...

well for Bruce Springsteen and at least two
Taylor Swift shifts
i asked to be demoted...
**** the authority and **** the climbing ladders
of "career":
i was like: once upon a time: here:
i'll be there:
like LESTER BURNHAM:
who was actually my Julien Sorel of the screen:
hero... anti-hero...
my two major influences that captivated
the youth and half-beauty in me
were LESTER BURNHAM on screen
and Julien Sorel in books...

           but seriously: i woke up to some unsavory sounds
coming from the garden:
circa 8:30am...
i looked at my phone: did i really call Edie
drunk around 2am?
maybe: looks like it... did i even talk or pretend
to talk?
not unusual:
then i peered from behind the blinds:
Alphonso (Alfons denotes
****, the cat brute of the area:
i'm starting to think about getting an air rifle
and start shooting at the ******)
was there getting nervy:
Quarus in the background trying to
pacify the situation...
but then i see Veroniya
all geared up: seconds later i just see this
Tasmanian devil whirling tornado of needles
of teeth and claws and a pillow emerging
from the roughing up:

Alphonso starts to do cat-wrestling with
my Veroniya...
boy vs girl: this is not play-fighting:
this is going to be:
i think that castration creates very aggresive
female cats
and pacified male cats...
i think the castrated male cats are rather
content
while there's something evil about castrating
female cats:
they, become, vile... tender and vile...
but i wasn't having none of it!

o.k.: when i was younger i tried to intervene
in nature
mostly when i heard a woman
talk about the beauty of a lion hunting blah
blah and oh: so so cruel
the poor Bambi:
yeah: same ******* "Bambi" could knock
your lights out with the buckle of the hoofs
and give you a second brain plum proof
of: itchy-itchy signature oof! terrible headache
i did a skim reading of that scenario
once with seven horses lining up on a hill
in a field at night...
as once i spared a dying bee the agony:
i poured some honey into my palm
picked up the poor ******
and let him O.D. from the honey:
watched the ****** pull out it's long mouth-tongue
and start drinking the pure nectar...
a peaceful death: of a bee...
         by honey O.D.

            i had to run out: i stormed out:
i embodied fury:
naked apart from a bathrobe...
O TY SKURWYSYNIE!
SPIERDALAJ! WĄT!                  WĄT!
chased the ****** away with Veroniya chasing
after him...
Quarus distraught later crawled into my bed:
he's still there while i typo and make promises
to not typo:

               that sort of human intervention
in nature:
yes: with petted animals...
in the wild?
                well: i once caught a mosquito
and held it up to a spiderweb...
hey presto: mummification: because that's
how the Egyptians were inspired:
no?
but there is no homage to Spiders in Ancient
Egyptian culture: is there?
are there no spiders in Africa? not even in the desert?
but spiders are the gods of mummification:
not jackals... spiders are architects
like bees are architects hexagon:
hmm: lineage borrowed from Giant's Causeway?
maybe the scarab: rabbi scarab rabbi:
i'm just curious about spiders and mummification
in this instant...
                i mean: see it in nature then see it
in culture... so...

            but i'm slowly becoming a convert to
supporting the English football team:
because i have no affinity with the Spanish: unlike
Germany...
even this whole 1997 debacle and how:
it was so much easier to deport people not something
***** nilly: i can't complain:
i was about to lose my bilingualism
i was about to speak broken Polish...
it was nice to be reminded
of my heritage
for that year when "we" sorted our legality
and the job was done proper a second time
with lawyers etc
obviously a change of name
but first time my father was young and he was
hoping for the 7 year benefit
but obviously if i didn't go back to Poland:
i was home schooled: or rather i taught myself:
upon return i was in the top tier of mathematics
but obviously the education system
was ******* because they thought i spoke
bad english perhaps my written wasn't all good
but speaking:
not like the first time of hiding in toilets
strapped to a **** unable to speak
because i literally couldn't speak the language
and then that moment
i remember running up to my teacher
at St Augustine's (Barkingside)
                   with a book and exclaiming: eureka!
i can't understand what i'm reading!

which is weird listening to all the Banana boats
and 400 in one day in 6 of them
and no one has the ***** to deport...
but it was so much easier
perhaps white on white made more sense
but then why bother starting a war
against Germany just because Poland was invaded?
shouldn't have bothered:
so i don't understand why somehow
the Implosion of the Empire made it fair game
for the former Empire to come back
and haunt half Tory but never again
merry Tudor England...
                      and from a perspective of the continental
European: neighbor of the Germanic
and Turkic people somewhere slowly southernly
the weirdness that is the Italians
with the ancient Romans sort of ghostly Dasein
a there of a still standing and replica practicality
of the Coliseum... poet of the Coliseum:
sure: because i think that the work i do now
is kind of faking it, acting:
it's not like construction where you're producing
something a house, say...
which is why i don't understand ex-military
working in this industry:
getting all serious and trigger happy
demoted to a high viz otherwise standing pretty
in uniform doing my "work"
at Wimbledon...

             such became self-evident that with
Brexit in 2016 there would be a second
surge immigration to England
like that of 1997 with the Kosovo crew who
would sit all pretty in cafes outside
of Ilford train station
like now we have Albanians sitting pretty
and doing legal jurisdiction extensions of
"human rights" affairs in cafes not
100 meters from my house
and i get that people need to move in
semi-nomadic sporadic outburts

apparently the "eastern Europeans" were
too keen workers:
great! now we have sub-continent of India
lazy-pants working broken English
and fidgety on their smartphones
because the traffic and stench of Bombay
is lost
and even the Pakistani girls are like:
**** get me away get me away
that's the last thirst of Islam to conquer
India but alas: not, to, be...
those polytheists and their: AU NATUREL
ways of passing on water
better to throw ashes into the river:
maybe my body is ash
and my blood is rye
maybe that's my body: my blood...
some ash flicked off the end of a cigarette
into a shot of bourbon! yes! indeed: that's it!

i admit: not as prolific as the antics of
the Cosmopolitan Messiah:
not Moses the army tactician turned
plagiarist of Assyrians
i'm pretty sure he was too busy to have
bothered writing anything
and back when people wrote into stone
i hardly think
there's any concern for the relevance
of: by the spoken stubborn of Judaic
the Covenant of Journalistic writing on the wind
and speaking on paper...
but i can't exactly do one better
than Jose of Jerusalem: but i might have
implored him:
you can't lift the sins of the world:
alone...
you coming back with short-circuit the entire
logic of monotheism:
by a Second Coming you will actually destroy
the concept of: one life one death one god
that is my trinity:
one life one death one god

the Hebrews always faulted themselves
by imploring the second coming of Elijah...
this is a logical profanity of
the supposed superiority of monotheism
toward polytheism and within
the confines of polytheism there are many
universes and alternative routes
and only the Elect number of Souls
of authentic approach toward life
moving like ghost parasites in the composite
body of zombie-people...
sometimes taming the ego sometimes
not taming the ego
given a different status to say:
the former realization of being leprosy afflicted
or too rich or too crazy to handle
Damocles' and the Sphinx's authority
of the riddle...

   but mythology is never part of the Hebrew
history:
there are myths in other cultures
but the Hebrews just don't stand for mythology:
mythology is just like histriology:
there's the logic of: and how much time has
elapsed since we've seen something spectacular?
enough? well then:
we have to re-categorize our approach
to this story being kept in the collective consciousness:
no, not like the collective consciousness
of ants:
but one person alive, living next to another person:
also alive...
can attest that there doesn't have to be
any cryptic Jungian collective well-being spring
of COME FORTH the aliens demonic
humanoid angelic archetypes anti-plagiarism
unlike teens trying to compete for attention under
the guidance of peer-pressure...

reincarnation has not toast of clarification
in monotheism:
únus vita únus mortem únus deus!
depends how you punctuate:
****...
         U R AN OOSE
  goose: para- ditto: Dodd... instead of Tod...

              time to have fun in language and with it
and given no paper
is a carrier of: enough to bypass gatekeeping
with enough spacing
and hot bagels off right off off the bat
and who cares about money
i have Martin "Schumacher" Batuk in the background
half brain not dead
about to be airlifted from Poland
to a nursing home in England
since his calamity occurred doesn't mean
that he'll remain there:
and the ***** and giggles of my grandmother's
dementia is like: a cherry a cherry a cherry smiling
like my lover's buttocks:
i had to get a wake up call
took to smoking a cigarette with coffee
then did two angry masturbations
trying to find female ******* kinks of the teacher
and student... but once that was over
and i did my 3 times the *****
had a shower
and cycled to: African Christian Ladies
opening up a stall and singing and blasting bad
Nigerian Reggae at Collier Row
just outside the Tesco where i came in for
a supply of bourbon...

jeez: that Travis Scott demographic... hmm?
i was not expecting it...
we were all gearing up for the **** Kid
demographic from last year
where African Power and quasi-nationalism
was espoused and it was like a Malcolm X
rally:
but it's still funny watching the dynamic
of black on black
the former slaves: as caught and sold
to European merchants:
the idiots of the tribe...
       and it's not like slavery meant
that no Africans remained in Africa, right?
   it's not like every single African was enslaved:
there were those that stayed behind:
and it's not like picking cotton was:
compared to what the European *******
did coming from the east
and the Irish in the coalmines and construction?
oh: ugh! backbreaking work: picking cotton...
the sun so awful all that brain freeze
and suntan and: i had it once... what's the word...
sunstroke... yes...
not enough Afro curls on me heed to go ahead
and... somehow not sigh?

don't know what the constipation is all about:
politically:
the moment i started laughing at the President
of the United States
introducing Zelensky as Putin...
                      so i'm supposed to go and live
among these people?
hardly:
Hawaiian implores me to mingle with the Polynesians
and it's almost done:
getting those ******* out with enough
golf, golf-tourism and tourism...
but not quiet: quite:
ha ha... funny words... not so far apart:
a Dyslexic funfair that's like the opposite of Islam
but not much better
supposedly we're all literate but
evidently no: so if i can but try to come across
as intimidating:
it would very much coincide with one
observation from a Bengali arch-English anti-Bengali:
'why is it that when you talk
people listen to you?'
you know, fwend: i never really had enough
of an undermining ego-narrative in my head
to be bothered by that: or as Heidegger proposed:
beside the hammer...
i.e. laborers talking about philosophy on the job
rather than exchanging *** banter and banter:
Heidegger's Q: or: the proposed:
question-worthiness...

         there is such a "thing" as: question-worthiness...
i question sparingly:
myself? hardly: but not never...
if Socrates utilized: "nothing"...
then Heidegger utilized: question:
hence, from: all i know is that i know nothing
came:
well... Heidegger didn't actually put up a formulaic
simplification away from an aphorism...
he didn't suggest a succinct approach...
i'll try...

           what is best known is what
           is question-worthy...

best? or "best"? to the highest degree:
aesthetically... maybe...
ethically: definitely...
for the generalization of well-being: being well...
good... ergo best:
yes...

       what is best known is what
       is question-worthy...

if someone doesn't prompt a question:
it is best dissolved, absolved from one's concern...
it's mostly ego mash up and consciousness
debates...
but... find me a single thing in existence
and tell me it doesn't have the following expression(s):

                     ?               !
                             . .
                         .__.

look at the face... it's a pretty face: isn't it?!
i think that's my face:
the mountain screams with the eye of exclamation
while also withdraws with
the eye of questioning:
no smile no frown:
two nostrils i gather and two pairs of ears
funny how ears are unimportant in
the language of emoticons...

                    question-worthiness...
i'm so happy i wasted my 20s and early 30s
on reading philosophy
on being scrutinized by psychiatric professionals
being pilled
bloating up to 115kg
                 being ****** and whatnot
ah: the tyranny as espoused by Plato went away
so quickly and never came back
and i started to look at people in 3D...
i started reading people...
people slowly started to open up to me
from seeing a psychiatrist (not by choice)
to somehow being a psychiatrist not qualified
to dish out pharma cocktails of debilitating
side-effects:

          but that i learned from the private imperfections
of R. D. Laing...
a good portion of my literary diet was
orientated in the scared trinity
of philosophy, psychology and poetry...
that is a ******* juggernaut... a perfect cocktail:
and you have to sometimes juggle multiple
readings: the simultaneous approach
coincidences approach:
life feels eerie from not being or feeling
special: crab bucket mentality is sure to follow:
but just being alive:
somehow curtaining and curtailing
and even censoring
a need-to-have consciousness-as-narrative:
ego: flaky...
i have one but it's un-uniqueness
in that "we" share the commonality of someone
says Monday,
another someone says September 1st 1939 anno domini
dough-mini: instead: piquant:
scale: the backward version of
joy to the world the lord has come
not music in the slightest:
so thought inter-personal transit of ideas
like who discovered gravity
was Newton but not Newton's ego
that became recycled:
and only as such... "reincarnation" of the ego
happens all the time:
timeless plagiarism of being of a species
and having a tongue and relating to the same exemplum
gratis of a fellow man...

but i will not have a 20th century itch
of having to keep Shakespeare as a crutch
for verification stratification
of authority of the penned-whip:
i will lose no sensibility being under-appreciative
of Shakespeare:
besides... well... the movie adaptation
of Macbeth...the Justin Kurzel version...
primarily because of how hauntingly the language
was approached: perfectly fitting:
esp with the score Jed... oh! right! brothers at work!
lucky *******...
they had it with the Merchant of Venice:
up to a point but that's only thanks to Al Pacino
and Jeremy Irons...
the Romeo+Juliet adaptation was just
******* wonky: the language too obviously
sterile beyond everyday usage...
the music gave the adaptation of Macbeth the perfect
haunting eerie-.

The Scarface Pacino
And the Godfather Brando
Vegetarian pizza
Frances of Rome

Ms. Jennifer Botta
Providence, Rhode Island
Boston's Little Italy
Siena, far from home

I read The Name of the Rose
Crazy For You
Poppa Don't Preach
Pleasure dome

Jackie Graziano
Kissed her by the lockers
I think Judi saw
Om mane padme Om

   Wind in the Sandy loam ...

Concert on Jupiter



Hi everyone and welcome to Jupiter
For this great concert of great stuff

I was walking down the street ya know
Talking to all the girls ya know
Feeling in love with everyone ya met
Then I went to a party, dude
To say I was a party dude
I like to party everywhere
And make myself very happy too
You see life isn’t a bed of roses
People do have stresses ya know
But if you take those stresses
To make them less stressing
It will be fun oh yeah
Then you get a dollar
And spend it on something great
It is like counting your dollars
From 1-000 right up to eight
Come on dude come on mate
Let’s go out till really late
Maybe a night club
Maybe a casino
You can feel as cool as Al Pacino
One o’clock two o’clock
Your are a **** rock
Go out go out by the clock
And c’mon dudes let’s party

Next one

Hooray hooray
And see ya
Never want to meet up with you again
But if we must
It’ll be at a party
Where the limelight will hide your ugly face
Hooray hooray
To a paper which has a lot of news
From raiders getting cheered
For winning and if they lose they get booed
This is australia
Lucky land
But if you  believe that your insane
But it that in the land of the crazy drunks
Even if the girls all call them hunks
Just look them right in the eye and say
Hooray
Hooray hooray
Mate you understand
Nothing new to me
There are lots of phedaphilea
Going on and just one simple word
Instead of meeting them you say hooray
Hooray hooray
And goodbye
To my favourite life time friends
That this time will never end
Just say into their mighty eyes
And say hooray
Oh yeah, c’mon mate

Next one

It’s the badass christian devil
Who hates everyone who hates the word evil
You see he originally tried to
Bring music to heaven
But got kicked out for doing people wrong
So what you do
Is get rid of him
His future will be made to look so dim
He is badass, mate
And I don’t feel for him being kicked out of holy land
You need to get reformed mr devil
But people say that is an impossible thing
Reforming the devil is hard to do
Even if he says I am ready to change
You see this crazy faith
Believes in looking after our fellow man
But says the devil is unwelcome there
Oh yeah the devil said
I am here to change again
You let everyone out if they could change
But me oh me you leave me here
I am the devil and the devils advocate
And I want to say this
If you let out a man for
Killing his kids
Why don’t you let me out
For bringing music into heaven
The devil doesn’t bring bad things around
That is just looking for someone to blame

Next one

My my my Jesus
I want to become the messiah oh yeah
But if you understand this
That the messiah is a person
Jesus hates that idea
You see the messiah is Jewish
And are Christian man
You believe you are better
As you write me a letter
To become close to your father
And believe in the latter
You see when you are called
To build a temple in Israel mate
And walking through the golden gate
You bring people you hate with you mate
That will tempt your fate
You see he says he believes in peace
But he likes the way people ****
Some say he is the messiah
Others say he is a dill
And he needs a pill
Or two or three or four, maybe more
You see he isn’t very friendly
Except for the people he likes
He will buy heaps of shoes
Like new balance and our very own Nike
I am the Jewish messiah
And I believe in fighting the other
Faiths who ruin the Jews