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Julian Mar 2019
Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.
Liam C Calhoun Jun 2015
I remember the restaurant,
The one Grandpa
Had brought us to –
Window panes in patriotism
And pancakes atop, “America,”
The world revolved,
“America,”
And how we’d made it
“Home” –
So came the syrup, destiny
And fervor caked powder plate.

He knew of my toil, ills, and tolls
Pandered atop horizons
Hindered Mao and red
As we sat near dawn over coffee
And something south of
Conspiracy – opposite my dream
And collusion to **** said
Destiny,
But it was still, “his
America,” not mine and he’d
Sleep when I wouldn’t.

So it pained me, resonant a twitch
Within this small inch of
Remnant family, to tell him,
“We’re going back,
We’re leaving tomorrow,”
And, “I don’t know when I’ll be
Home,” gramps,
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be home,”
And he’d say prior ever’d silent –
“Good luck sleeping on that one,
Son,” I just know he would.
in a stand
your ground
open carry
libertarian
paradise

Miami Gardens,
the capitol of
stop and frisk
looms as the
shape of things
to come

it doesn't
happen
all at once

it stealthily
creeps into
once wholesome
homesteads

it arrives
emaciated
always starved
for more

stark stiletto eyes
suspiciously stare
piercing
confused
frowns
worn by
flummoxed
citizens
unable to
gaze away the
maleficent days

seemingly
beginning in
innocuous
ways

they
build walls
to keep
"the other"
out

firming
conformity
to the ways
within

deep
foundations
of rigid status
quo pillars
sacrosanct

differentiation
verboten

diversity breeds
suspicion

conversations
eavesdropped

big data ears
ever listening
to between
the lines words

small talk
meta data
indexed and
algoed

down beat
utterances
classified
state secrets

certain books
are forbidden

artists condemned
art destroyed

ideas censored
shut down by
corporate
governance
social network
posting rules
and best practice
marketing
metrics

dissent
shouted down
by xenophobic
#ammosexual
group think
yahoos

in blind allegiance
to commands
of Citizen Inc
politicians
enable
a juggernaut
to roll across
the globe
fracking
to bits
anything
obstructing
its path

science is
false

history
suspicious

revisionism erases
biographical memory
we forgot how
we arrived
at this place

The History Channel
flickers cartoons
of multicolored
allegories onto
the dark walls
of our video
addicted minds
offering sweet
relief of a new
commercial fix

pandered opinion
is trafficked
as fact

inculcating
confirmation of a
stasis affirming
echo chamber

real time news
rubber stamps
the prevailing
zeitgeist of
the daily dread
a visceral
confirmation
of the World
Series Hunger
Games

communities
compel
residents
to swear
allegiance
to tribal creeds
that debase
humanity

religious precepts
shutters spirituality
with sanctioned
indoctrination
designed to
undermine an
ability to reason

ethical discernment
is arrested by moral
bifurcation

the marginalized
are criminalized

land of
the free prisons
promoted
as growth
industries
auction off
bill of rights
on low bid
altars of
profitability

a perpetual
state of warfare
marshals frenzied
legions of fear

as casualties
mount the
march of
militarization is
the only known balm
to salve the terror
welling deep within
afflicted hearts

the sun rises
on another day
in Miami Gardens
as the next shift
of police roll
through this
kingdom
of perps

Music Selection;
Dizzy Gillespie
Things to Come

6/5/14
Oakland
jbm


Miami Gardens;
Capitol of Stop and Frisk
http://www.ebony.com/black-listed/news-views/miami-gardens-the-stop-and-frisk-capital-of-the-country-981#axzz33mbFDN6P
Gabriel Jan 2014
The noble may be naughty, when the moon is shown intensely
For a woman is like life, and I crave her soul immensely
Longing to be captivated by visionary delights
For her to be my tender reveries on ever restless nights    
Imagining ****** moments with her until they disappear
Thoughts of looking into her eyes wishing she were near
Exploring her minds desires and the fears, she holds inside
To the breaking of her defenses, releasing emotional tides
Of happiness and elation at the beauty of it all
Even forcing me to level, my emotional wall
Still I always sense destruction, just off the new horizon
Like two, unsteady chemicals, exploding from within
Yet I cannot step away from the bursting of my heart
But to spend time with her, I would risk being blown apart.
Julian Aug 2015
The oceans’ froth betrothed to lunatic scoff
The sublunary elegance of a subdued earthen cough
Infectious pulchritude conjures snow-globe turpitude
Defiant humility professes to know the rudeness of the crude
Distilled casually in a leery trance
Terpsichorean choreography of a hallowed prance
Callow scowls affix the hebetude of anger to the sauciness of banter
Gallant cavalries court the cult of she and enamor and enchant her
Foretold calamities proceed like clockwork from God’s destructive jaundice
Death deployed as a sententious homily of wraiths that taunt us
At every turn fatidic inspirations work to cement a known outcome
Averted gaze away from rampant gays and fire-and-brimstone bunkum
We cherish a world where the stodgy and outmoded monopolize choice considerations
Where hedonism abreast of asceticism are internecine intimidations
Suffer like Christ and buffer like tenacious poverty sustained by rice
Dare to glower with menacing insistence at the known outcome of errant dice
Soothsayers soothe prayers but cataclysm still dares
To pulverize innocent insouciance and become the cynosure of trepidation and stares
Heaven blares a deafening “obey” while hell stays silent to lure the prey
Hobnob with hobgoblins and expect opprobrium to park and stay
Gentility and class-divisions orchestrate a frozen system of tenacious prisons
Stalking the lifeblood of mainlined ecstasies and surgical incisions
Minority Report within the grasp of the majority uproar
Dalliance with a self-fulfilling time means there will always be a bout between Bush and Gore
Lecherous eyes prize a hedged bush and irascible lies seek copious gore
But because the bush ensconces the ****** in bed with China the twin towers imploded for common core
Mondegreens serenade a mistaken flirtation with a time traversed and mastered
Swelling tides hearken the moon to make a hypothetical bonanza out of disaster
Enumerated infinity within esoteric grasp and pandered sequester
Bedazzled of foreknowledge  it charters the uncharted exploitation faster and faster
Burgeoning funds entertain a mind cloistered by infamy and oppressed by indecency
Burbling puns ecstatic about the perpetuity of guns hector the province of a token leniency
Squander the day and indulge the night by knowing exactly the demise of every shooting star
Knowing the origin and legacy of every single scar
Knowing the path creates the path known
Every single stock you know you should with alacrity own
Prosperous kinship and insubordinate brinksmanship win the prejudiced award
Fencing with lethal intent the specter of death devolves into irenic accord
Envy the impregnable corporate machine and its unassailable pipe dream
Hunt the Wolfs of Wall Street until panic evolves into cacophony of screams
Democratization of prophecy will cue the most titanic robbery
Shills looking for upstart thrills will pretend an unwarranted snobbery
Paradox is impossible because every moment elapsed is indelible and irrevocable
Every frisson of love is fertile and impregnable
So rejoice that the masters of the clock invest in select stocks
And hope that parcels of secrecy tumble from the 1919 White Sox
Emerald Street knows When the Music ‘s Over
Brandished crumbs adorned with sportive panache clothed in a lucky clover
Deprived of snide tithes and the confessions of millions protest a catholic cabal of universalism draped in quaint overalls
Mock the hegemony of the sailing class and their brisk and copious squalls
Opulent scions vouch for the failsafe prerogatives of Zion
Sleeping awake we indulge the oneiromancies of Orion
Cinematic wonders regale glorified eavesdropped blunders
Until the secrecy of the machine is so conspicuously in sight it tears the elected pantheon asunder
A master race of an intelligent nepotism in denial of its own disgrace
Exploits the argosy of secrets of the flying-disked race
But one day a challenger like a rooster will orient the demotic vogue towards the treasure trove
And pirates will prosper in burgeoning droves
Myths foisted will debunk themselves as eternity preens its chosen wealth
Even the most furtive endeavors will have to equip even more stealth
That day will prompt an arms race and a worms race
To burrow beneath the chasms of malcontent and adopt and insular embrace
They billow now with toxicity and malignancy
Even death will have alternative contingencies
The resplendent future will capture the common heart
For the accumulated wisdom of words will make us infinitely more smart
Zani Jun 2017
Welcome to the feast
We all come here for the hunger
Come and take a seat a while
Lets talk of friends
Lets talk of style


Elizabeth Squires
She is one to admire
Connecting the dots
So that love may transpire

Kim Johanna Baker
By God’s blessings and grace
Makes this portal
A magical welcoming place

Then there’s Temporal Fugue
Who’s magic awakens
With his humour
Much of my time he has taken

TSPoetry is a royalty
With his noble voice honours me
How much sense that I make
From the words that you’ve choiced

Donna Jones
The three line queen
Pure joy through her literature
Now I’m forever dreaming Haikus

Ouise Godsent Abode
He knows
With five lines he unravels
Then tickles your bones

z-blossom your stanzas
Are so pleasing to the eye
How the vivid words ring
To my ears as sublime

CGY Your haikus
They have blown my mind
To collide with Benji’s
Beautifully long, flowing write

Ghostwriter and Mykayla shea
Even though I rarely see ye
I’ve read through most your poetry
And hope that there’s loads more to read!

As for Clark Dave Hitchens
I just read him in my kitchen
This way I found a witty rhyme
But not to undermine his brilliance

Janae you are on it
Red Flag, Daydream,
Magic Kiss, Invisibility,
Brain *****

Vlassis I will quote you
When I need to charm a woman
Otherwordly Wanderer
When some hope I need to summon

God bless to Tyler Mathews
He is posting every day
I hope the universe conspires
For us to carry on that way!

To learn of freeform prose I can
Take a scroll to SR Millan
And if I want a treat dessert
Ellie Graves has tonnes and tonnes of work!

Zhanuary Arielle
So much passion your words tell
I feel I understand them
Natural imagery does us well!

Marie James Alexander
I pandered to the thought of you
When I put Ramen in my soup
I chuckle at some words you choose

Daniel Steven Moskowitz
Your poetry endless
Your writing is phenomenal
Your arguments relentless

Camiliamhd I wish that I
Could read what you are saying
When I read your pretty poetry
I feel like I am praying!

Vanessa Gonzales
She has got the attitude
With Fredrick Njoroge block style
They push onto higher altitudes!

Kesha You have peirced me
With your double barrel stanzas
I had to go read SoulSurvivor
To practice on my Mantras

Now that the round is over
It is time for us to feast
I thought that I'd invite you
So that we'd have a chance to meet

Thank you all for being
Thank you all for caring
Thank you all for sharing
Thank you all for reading

<3
Bon Apetit!
To be defined as
Conforming to standard
To be just like any other *******
This is what is to be pandered
The good name ‘Unique’ is slandered
To be gerrymandered,
Nonstandard, and substandard

To be normal?

Referring to the common type
To understand ordinary hype
To be stereotyped
To have a good reason to gripe

To be normal?

To be defined as only average
To live in societies cage
To suffer such rage
Looking for love on an empty page
Missing out on a golden age

To be normal?

Bound in law isn’t free
Conforming to minor guarantee
To pay life’s admission fee
If I were you, the joke is on me
Normal isn’t what you should be
Within his paw
smeared bloodied red
by a deliberately mocking thorn
sat a
blanched ripple-y
guarachera strip of cloth
confined narrowly
between the love and the life lines.

TWO ROADS!

what remained of her
remained of the underthings
beneath

fluffing rows of silk
the heavy skirt had been raised
above the ankles
the creases no longer hidden in shadow,
one leg hoisted over the back,
the reigns held expertly.

Hey Beauty!
As it happens, the card numbered Eight is
Strength (also Lust)

She had surely fled
She has surely flown
through the trees and away
Not on foot at-all
while the three saw her pass.
great speed.
The two sisters
with that prince vulgaris looking on
curiously
Three daemon goblins watching from a distance
a disturbance
a smallish crashing
and afterwards
a scrap, sleepy and unfurled, relaxed
within the leaves that shudder
and give up the delicacy, slyly
into stubby fingers

Lovely
Dark
Deep
The Woods are Laughing!
Did you notice any scent?
Did it linger between
the thumb and the ring?
the remnant of her flowers,
Petals flouncing, swirling
in odorous potentiality.
a scrap, yes
a deep seated souvenir
Can we re-fabricate the whole from this little thing, you think?

we want her.
there are things that we want to do with her.

dangerous, they lean in close, nostrils flaring slightly
searching for the ambergris or the sticky  jasmine
sweet,
settling instead to gaze upon
the still clutched
still a little springy
sprightly, o! the remnants of her liveliness
and ***** and yet
No memories

3: at least let us show you the stage that we’ve built
with a clean sheet for the curtain,
paper cut-outs
and some sticks.
it’s called acting.
the wine and the wafer.
hidden in the trees’ darkening
‘the mattress’ lays where
the leaves will crumple

meanwhile, he’s petulant:
- why, if you’d just get off of that high horse!
- how long are you going to resist?
- are you STILL angry?
- why won’t you just let me stick it in you?

she telegraphs her response, cough:
‘you do know that in this
particular scenario
(fingers pointing downward and across
as if to suggest
that the scenario
had a specific location)
You are the wolf, right?
The wolf...

I, the girl,
am in the forest with my basket and
I have got a
cute little
blood red
crushed velvet
swing coat
With matching hood and a single task
And YOU
(with those other two *******) have decided
to bore ME with this ****?
Daresay slow ME down?
Of course I will get rid of YOU.
Wait, who am I talking to?

Let me also add that
there never has been any
high-stepping on my part,
nor ankle twirling,
no mandate to impress a stale balcony,
no sign of gaslit
illuminated
pink bows
that lay down flat
perfectly upon the straps
that snap
perfectly at the thigh,
NOT to be slid off a buttock (mine)
NOR crumpled into a dubious ball, ripped and torn
and yet I know that
that determined creature,
a hairy monster
more faithful than Argos,
is prepared
to wait a lazy eight
at grannie’s cozy house
in a sickly corner
over-eager and overwrought with
pandered fantasies
and explosions of once sort or another, irrelevant to me.

What I WILL admit to is
that the touch of those grubby fingers
transubstantiated at my waist
invisible
approach
as usual from behind
impatient and
impractical,
always too quick to make himself a beast
to rid himself of being a man

knowing how way
leads onto way
but I doubt if I should ever come back’
In shape and life more like a monster, than a man. - Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queen
Julian Feb 2019
12/30/2018

The eloquence of listless years is lost on heady overweening heels that submerge reality in a cavernous of oblique light shrouding the dark mysteries to come. Axiomatic but refractory we swim and tread danger and peril because the unsaid screams for awakening as the roosters outfox the owls and completely change history based on evil skullduggery that awaits the gainsay of titans compromised in security but elevated over the doldrums of quotidian thought. It is my solemn forbearance and consistent steadfast prayer for alacrity and industry to conquer the dudgeons of incurred opprobrium to clinch a beatific convivial festivity for a time-informed claque of leaders that delight in simplicity but dissemble their true disguise in open shark-infested waters. Salvage the impositions of the many and cull the best to anoint their favor on uncertainties improbable but likely as the discerning will master reality rather than be the dross of yesteryear. We swarm with importunate guilds of serfdom to surrender their edifice to the chiselers that operate and extravagate beyond bounds established by parochial priggishness that is a flagging patriotic insistence on drenched graft dank with the mildew of balkanization but not entirely as reproachable as some relics of the ancient law detest with misguided guile and paranoiac sophistry that is a precarious canker of otiose tastes drawling on with misinformed skepticism. The hounding gray in the pallor of alpenglow light ennobles the concatenations of wistful dread but at the same time esoteric flavor that enriches the emblazoned gallantry of the few to become the mainstay of all relevant considerations. Wish upon a coruscating menagerie of miscegenated aboriginal languages that have always abided in the shadows but exist in brevity among the elite coteries that coddle the world in its infancy away from the artifice of exegesis and the importunate placations of swarthy umbrageous shadows that exist apart from the factitious apartheid of race and gender. We must stand united as brethren enduring the tribulations of human vicissitude to abhor the diseased rhetoric of pandered puritanism amalgamated with aleatory financial alarmism calculated to swindle the dilapidation of penury that burns as a smoldering conflagration of concerted ignorance leading to ochlocratic determinism rather than a whispered percolated pedigree that drowns sorrows but simultaneously strands the pariahs of time in insular self-reflection unbecoming of an age that demands an importunate, ubiquitous and outspoken corporate altruism not superintended by a bloviated and tumescent dysnomy of congregated botched bureaucracies that encroach with a daunting donkey commandeered by headless horsemen who are only known by pennames and cognomens that flinch at the demise of their undeserved anonymity. We use valor as an instrument to prevent a scuttled vessel of a seaworthy humanity slinking along a very balmy coast as we await future instructions at the apropos time for a simpatico relegation of commercial collectivism. We expect instead a demassified world to enliven the dialectic of epistemology itself and renew covenants long ago moribund in their ragged and wretched desuetude that they may be vanquished as vestigial habiliments to the tatters of sloppy abnegation leading to a swollen piety that dares not to pretend but simultaneously believes so much in its pilloried hubris that it provides erasure for the secular enlightenment of a messianic time. Squalor and riddled eccentricity drive a brackish but saccharine attempt to homogenize the pastures that we graze upon but look no further than a bequeathed divine providence of smirks rather than the jibes of sneering ostentation. Whisper you fame rather than declaim against the arraignments of a scuttled pettifoggery of miscegenated justice that embroils foreign wineskins for domestic turmoil rather than the demotic enlightenment of the abrogation of inequitable laws that preserve the totemic dissolution of society rather than the prized ameliorative enlightenment of science informed by faith and faith beckoning the clerisy to seek supernal wisdom and furtive swank to reconnoiter the righteous and jettison renegades imploring for a piebald blinkered apostasy on a rudimentary subconscious level but never realizing their effrontery is gravid in a heedless ignorance interpolated by menacing secular hobgoblins that ransack barren treasure and cherish it as a trinket for a chrysocracy that is specious rather than veridical. Barnstorm for justice but appoint the abeyance of foolhardy prescience so that the enigmas of time can beckon their own deliverance through a culmination of waggish flickers rather than the kowtowed toadies of a quidnunc reality divorced from proper temperance outmoded but thriving among those that disavow newfangled foudroyant spectacles. Always and with alacrity indulge the gladiatorial sportsmanship of a zeitgeist beyond contention as the paragon for livid dreams and lurid imaginations to drive the mutiny against plebeian ears and purblind eyes. Live for the eternal present with providence and forswear the vestigial fossils of flippant eras domineered by dragooning fictitious sentiments buttressed by castles built against the encroachment of the imaginary foes of vassal states that submerged the world in a fideism that rejects too many axioms of modernity to vie for preponderance. The government is not irreproachable, but it is a primeval reflection of the propensities of an aggregated society flippant against choice wisdom of the ageless Constitution that is peremptory proof of the divine providence of sempiternal liberty. People that chide against liberty because they fear precarious cankers that endanger from a distance because of their swollen specters need to uphold a commitment to a wistful remembrance of tragedy but a sturdy ruddy optimism to perdure and prosper on this greenest of worlds for both the greenhorn and the expert alike. Never kowtow before the altar of avarice and always pilfer resourceful contemplation in the respite of quiet times that engage our best faculties to awaken rather than slumber. Recruit the collective imagination to superintend chaos and the leviathan becomes tamed because it requires human synergy in both prosperous times and desperate measures to foment the earth with the brontides of due warning simultaneously murky and misleading but always reflective of an irenic pasture of withering sheep and abundant shepherds. Regal promises have always loitered in the penumbras of the elite but now is the time for absolution rather than scattershot contumely. We believe in the federal way and the state farm system and we don’t believe in foreign monoliths becoming the pasquinade of slippery hebetude that ensnares the immobilized futilitarianism of ignorant creeds and divisive claptrap. Barnstorm together for God and liberty as those two principles-however squandered they might be by listless speculation that doesn’t hinge upon the concerted subaudition of the deeply fathomed sources glistening with profundity- will clinch a victory for the beatific future of a guided humanity rather than the guileless intemperance of choleric fools who wage conflagration against only their own plodding ignorance rather than reaching with outstretched hands and tenacious grasps to invent the future according to the helical perfection of the past. May God rule forever on earth! A prosperous earth! An Earth filled with pleasure and an Earth that approximates heaven more closely every day. Amen  



12/31/2018

Riddled by bewildering supernal designs of an ineffable splendor that drapes reality in iridescent cloaks of rigorous and strenuous limber we trounce through the effigies of a profaned pasquinade to gallop through the doldrums of time for the allocated investment in the refined human condition to exacerbate the declension of foes but link the Abrahamic faiths with taciturn reflections and wizened countenances beckoning a newfangled harmonious destiny. Livid are the naysayers who proffer gainsay with insouciance and flippant sorcery to denigrate sacrosanct axioms with persnickety maxims that are only auriferous when viewed through a refracted entropy of disdainful speculative mutiny against propriety in values and stances. I sidle through a refractory zeitgeist despised for my aureate temerities against the chided condemnation of those who flout so-called gobbledygook because they lack stringent acuity and pale to the polish of ennobled grace that anoints favor and felicity on the laurels of an age very intransigent against latitudinarian capriciousness that will one day ransack the world of its flickered graft and its paltry obsessions with quondam gaucheries. A house divided against itself will flounder because of titanic pressures of oblique balkanization that is opaque only to the hounded ignorance of wishful but labile people who wage acerbic gambles against the delegated authors of an aborning covenant for irenic reconciliation in a blinkered piebald world. I like to saunter in private with my insistent lucubrations because I know the majestic gestures of jest are more bountiful in their fecund harvest than any circumlocution of blunt poetasters who calumniate the verve of self-made upstart grandeur that I brandish at every opportune occasion to pilfer my due inheritance from the coffers of a self-fulfilling fatalism divorced from solipsistic monisms and the denigrations of the futilitarian quest to deprive sustenance in the exercise of deft skepticism disempowering the perspicacity of miserly mendicants who treasure their science but pale in their trepidatious momentary twinges of faith that are insincere and unctuous abominations against a steadfast God that wallops our misery with the lurched progress of human amelioration wrought by the succor of alien wizardry beyond even the most quixotic imaginations of people who in their prolixity miss the pithy glib sacraments of a terse and burlesque pragmatism. I simper because I know about carbon emissions statistics with hearty gusto and a convivial banquet of amalgamated personalities and wraiths that emanate from the ether of the 12th dimension of reality: transdimensional interspecies sentience. I wrangle on the outskirts of a bustled city embroiled in a relegated civil war entangling plebeians and plutocrats but not engorging any coffers in a zugzwang destined for pejorative scuffles rather than synergistic revivals of the human fraternity, a consensus about intellectual meliorism that will fossick with due efficiency cognitive resources frittered away in the respite of laziness and the abeyance of prospective diligence to conquer rather than waylay with furtive gambits of appeasement. Everyone need to leapfrog beyond the quotidian plane by indulging the oneiromancies of self-efficacy aggrandized by presidential favors and collective efforts to unite the 16th version of reality with the penultimate version of reality. For the ultimate version of reality is corporeal death upon which we are transplanted unto an ethereal dimension beyond contemplation without the horological diminishment of wizened age.  We trudge in the miserly conditions imposed by pharaohs of pettifoggery that swindles with blustery graft and strident intimidation of the audacity of hopes and dreams to foment the requisite fin de seicle zeitgeist that deserves more of a heyday with the revivalism of nostalgic entertainment against the opprobrium of inferior tastes facile in formulaic conformity but deficient in its nutritive enrichment of beatific festivities that traverse the earth at lightspeed because of the vehement energy of foudroyant amazement is beyond contagious when conveyed through the dexterous vehicles of more centralized rather than skeletonized organization. The bonhomie of a copacetic future demands the interpolation of scrupulous adherence to authoritative dictums but the laissez-faire demagoguery of titans trouncing the ragamuffins of cacestogenous upbringing in a miserly husbandry that stunts the stilted imaginations of formalism rather than bequeathing a seminal insemination of a future hybridized race mechanized but humanized simultaneously to accomplish what would once seem impossible that now looms considerable with the democratization of the furtive at a faucet’s trickling pace to empower the future to heed the past and the pastors to revere the eschatology of final conditions rather than a favoritism for aboriginal barbarisms created by the snare of hobgoblin phantasms that exist only to make us tremulous rather than swanky. May God bless this great green earth with many decades of prosperity to come and heap plaudits on the intellectuals fighting the fight against simpleton groupthink. Have a very festive New Year!
Flexing a 155-160 Verbal Expressive IQ
I walked or sauntered or dashed or stumbled, no...
staggered! or swaggered, or was it stepped, no...
I jogged or, bolted, no stomped or slid no...
hopped! or was it skipped no hop skipped and jumped...
or sauntered! no i said that one, it was swaggered! no....
I stampeded or dogged or shlepped no bounced or was it...
I stamped or ed or rolled? no strolled! haha yes Strolled! no...
I stalked that was it or was it followed no no it was sojourned
sojourned! sojourn? no it was galumphed or marched, no charged...
aha sauntered! no! ******! it was ambled or slogged, trounced? or tromped, no rambled, yes I rambled on! no no thats not right, I plodded, trod no tread! no strided, thats not even a word, sloped, no...
govereetted, or persnicketied, or skreed, or preened, no no no none of that is right....
I sauntered! no no, swaggered! no was it promenade? prowl. no patrolled, parolled, no no thats way off...
I trekked, trudged, no fudged, no dogged! like george! he dogged it all the time, no I said that one, slogged or sashayed no trooped, no perambulated, or moseyed? or hoofed it? no it was definitely sauntered, no no it wasn't sauntered it was a dawdle, no lurched, or hawked, no stopped,
no no it was definitely movement, thats it! it was a movement! no no no that can't be right I paced, yes i paced back and forth and thought about life for a awhile....

no no that wasn't it either it was really more of a strut, or a saunter, yes saunter! no swaggered! no no
**** you words....

I wandered or was it roamed, no limped, gimped! no...

minced.... or no yes! minced... wait.... no it was a hike, yes I hiked up a mountain with  friend of mine, or was it climbed, no no thats not right...
I slandered, no.... pandered! no... I meandered, haha actually no i think  it was a peruse, or no a beat! no.... I cut a rug! or actually i think it was more of a stumble no....

ah yes it was walked, I walked about sixty blocks today
neth jones Mar 2022
gods out of the night                                            
out of the nights unnavigable light
luding rosy from the underworld
                 broaching
how you push through my faces
           the posings
  hooking behind the dense furs
     poaching out the peppish reasoning   
            dissolving its obstructive code

you rap me faint between the eyes
     every failure drapes away
           in chronicle and uttered hurt
     all so familiar                                            
            ­        seeming foreignly a warm tutting family
         all volatile material is subdued

       i am voidable soldier                        
          but you hold me in keep
            you are truthfully inclusive
     i feel beloved in animal and otherly
          pandered into the pattern
      all beyond belonging
                      and yet traceable with my many uses

a healing visit and now to business                        
footage provided to make a mood-less operation
i'm kept swaddled throughout my information sift
silt is taken and exchange given                            
                                 for a heady ****** charge

   i've been amazed in the dreams
                                     you provided
       suspended in a solving liquor of theatre
i hope my report was a good one
i woke well rested                          
        with a light feeling of reassignment
A Simillacrum Jun 2018
Human existence
Is a story
Accident or miracle?
An accident, for sure,
But could it not be both?
We
Are alive
And so am
I
Something from nothing,
Is that not miraculous?
People talk a lot
About Human nature
As if We are The Stone
When We are The Mountain
Of The Earth and Our
Image in The Lake
Reveals The Truth of Gods
Our Dominion is the
Consciousness We give away
To get back when We
Know
So for sure
It does not
Work
Not at all like that
I will explain it
All for my child
Under the light of day
Make no mistake
We have Made this place
Where
Currency determines
Which of Us will ascend
And it has been
For me all my life
That's when I look at you
And see you for the first time
A piece of The Soul
Welcomed to an entrance
Among Our every new
Where Our Elders sit
In circles of no clarity
Selling songs, selling food,
Selling news, selling views,
Selling Us modes of Life
Pandered to preselected groups
Test and Market approved
And Selling it as soon as through
Our parents who Would
Paper Our deepest wombs
?????????????????????????

?????????????????????????

. . .

. . .

LOADING FILE. . .

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Ryan Michał Aug 2013
It was not pretty, or that is what some would say,
but these four walls pandered to those who find beauty
in what is imperfect.
While it did not have a fountain,
granite and grand,
it had a well, with history and many seasons to speak of.
One would not make a grand entrance walking into this house,
pushing aside heavy double doors with windows and precision paint.
Your entry would be humble, knocking on the aging red wood,
and the house would make you feel warm and at home.
The inside was country; couldn't be called anything else, nor would it
choose to be, because this house could never be anything else.
The stairs may have creaked, the cabinets didn't shut perfectly,
and on a rainy night there may have been a leak or two,
but this house never tried to be anything it wasn't.
It was what it was,
and that was something special.
And on a warm summer afternoon, with a cold drink in hand,
the house would honor us, and provide us with a front row seat
to the beauty of God's great work.

I returned to the house many years later to find that it was no longer there.
Just an empty clearing in the trees.
But without hesitation, I grabbed a folding chair out of my car,
a cold drink, and set up where the deck once stood,
looking out at the same view I had so many times before.
I felt energy behind me.
So many people breathed life into that house,
with all the laughs, cries, and years growing up or growing old.
I knew then that a house is more than four walls and a roof.
Much like a person, when we pass on, and move from our bodies,
we continue to live in the minds and hearts of those we left behind,
and just the energy alone that we spent at any given time or place,
it never dies.
I lifted my cold drink, looked to the sky, and made a toast,
celebrating everlasting life.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
Dennis Willis
Dude I love your **** but I can only read the shorter stuff because of the drugs

Mateuš Conrad  57m
i have no problem with that, i'm not going to be your pusher, don't worry, i know that i write long pieces and that they're not for everyone, to be honest, i sometimes find myself exhausted writing the longer ones... talking about drugs... i write drunk, most of the time... so what are you into on this topic? evidently you don't have to reply, but, if i drink, and find the energy to concentrate and write... what the hell are you taking that's so... well... as you put it... again: it's just a curiosity question... then again: i hope you're not taking that drug SPICE that has gripped England like an epidemic... if you haven't heard of it... look up SPICE: a drug epidemic in England... they call it the 'zombie' drug... if someone offers it to you: STAY AWAY... England already experienced a laughing gas epidemic in the past 5 years... but yeah... SPICE... the photographs are sad as a three-legged puppy... look into it, but please, wherever you are, avoid this drug.

Mateuš Conrad  40m
p.s. you have to give yourself some credit, for admitting: 'because of the drugs', mind you... you did take enough time for honesty, and the fact that something, beside the drugs made you focused, or rather, something made you focused enough to acknowledge yourself, being strapped to an honest observation. i sometimes can't write short pieces, i have "too many" (there are never too many) notches on my reading list belt... how else can i compensate having invested a month's worth in a book, if i don't write something outside the haiku? i hope we can keep this skirmish up... i just like honesty, and... you're a rare experience of honesty in a long time, behind this masquerade of faking things... so... i guess... a thank you is in order.

Dennis Willis  25m
Mateus are you high? If not, get there dude. ;-).
Be real squared. Mostly I'm just very fast paced. Keep writing! Throw a bone to the ADD crowd periodically. LOL. Wine and maybe a **** eh!

Mateuš Conrad  1m
do you want to be pandered to? if i am about to pander to someone, leave me a less obvious clue to latch onto like a leech.. i don't smoke ****... i stopped smoking **** the minute i heard that, the English G.M. **** was making ****-smokers carve off their testicles, and **** their mothers, in psychotic fits of rage... so... are YOU... high? the attention deficit disorder crowd? you one of them? let's look at it this way... i hate emoji language... guess what happens next... i like humor, rhetorical humor...something akin to: back and forth... but this? you're as much into drugs as i am into ensuring myself formulating a, **** to an expectation of being relieved... so yeah... bye... because of the drugs... ha ha! you seem pretty alert writing such coherency!

suddenly the dope heads
have a moral authority
over drunks...
                      well... you try honesty...
after your honesty is exhausted...
you just take out the whip;
there's just no point
reasoning with these people!

why am i expected to digest
said, "humor"?
what, the ****, is humorous about it?
if i'm drunk, strapped
to a polygraph machine...
what am i missing?
i'm sensing the obvious though,
ridicule...
i hate, ridicule...
  
      being paid compliments
is one thing...
genuine compliments...
but what i just received...
can anyone see what's being
nuanced?
  then again... i'm either autistic...
or completely out-"there"
*******...
    
   supposed language,
of a drug "addict"...
ha!
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
.get to a million get to a million...
it's no dickens or a shakepeare... but...
get to a million get to a million...
it's not your everyday tabloid column...
but... get to a million get to a million...

all words outside of the italics...
said... really... real... slowly...
         Eeyore: sore...
                           i like how...
sodden sad i am with... a spike
milligan rendition of...
by the barrel of the rhyme -
this nonsense has to... be gloated...
float... 'ted...
             ballloons and buzzing... etc.

and those italics?
   gerbil on asteroids... and on steroids...
and... on amphetamines...
basics: on a cocktail...
   nibbling ferociously...
so ferociously that...
                      the tongue disappears...

i already have a: tomorrow will be...
"good"...
i don't like being pandered...
and this is that story of
a princess sleeping on twenty matresses...
agitated by an uncooked pea...

needle in the haystack for me...
this most perfect day...

   i'm using this old post-soviet
piece of equipment and...
it works brand new...
none of the samsung cheap ***** made
in china...
if i'll have my may...
and the garden needs no imporvement:
a new shed... blah...
it already looks like a building site...
i managed to tranfer a tonne of
birdseye pebbles from
the service road into the garden...

imagine the fate... of those...
sentenced to: kamieniołomy...
a quarry... i'm not exactly deluding myself
in the act already deluding me...
a hammer... perfecting what was
a farmers' suntan just below the elbows...
so i rolled my sleeves up...
for compensation...

   imagine sentencing a man to work
among stones... friko! gratis!
for... the "blessing"...
       but if i take the walk...
this, walk... i'm keeping up appearances
up to a point... then the masquerade is over...
nothing to hear but ***** horses...
magpies... woodland pigeons and crows...
nothing of assorted competing
propaganda placentas...
no cushions: no bed: count sheep...
that, tiresome, task?
how about making out: complex
"geometry" from clouds...
see castles? see swans?
see devils charging into battle
having donned the men-yoroi?!

the past... and so much for the romance...
the vikings should be known as:
the warlike gypsies... ******* pikeys and all!
sword for a harmonica...
a longboat for a... heap of castanets...
and... that... accordion? no?
the new... "napels"?
the violin... the new sax...
new: yo! ollie!
    *******...
  
         - i said i'd ******* walk it!
i did it once come sunset...
i said... i did it once in reverse: got lost:
feet became muddied...
i returned...

             this is where we'd part...
i'd ******* from the B175...
parallel to the orange tree pub...
next to the bower house...
   when walking? no point taking
the B175 up to A113... no... seriously...
there isn't...

into the havering country park...
how many times...
did i walk this "short" and "narrow"...
letting off the body known
that the breath is bound
to a duality of soul...
and "more lungs to uncover...
major major"...

       exercise: gym: pristine **** film
perfect... swimming is fun...
riding a bicycle is fun...
the rest remains a vanity project...

         i might as well be hoarding...
so from having made an exit via
B175... i end up coming back into
contact with traffic... at...
via hainnault forest of course...
at... A1112...
          
when it was especially crisp...
and winter was the *****...
watching the widow and widower swans...
at moonlight...
that's the only:
that's the best time to appreciate swans...
come a fullmoon... come the trickling
of mercury into the details of:
ghostly white: for the worth of swans...
and none other...

  and if i meet a Wordsworth on the way?
i'll strangle him with a shoelace...
hell... i'll hang him by one...
tell 'im to sniff a boot on the way out...
and a soggy sock: for practice...

from what i read:
so much for the countryside while at the same
time having... to entertain...
the garden prior to the fall:
a ****-buddy of a sister...
the foreboding mid-west...
televangelists and a-o.k. ******:
   like that physicist... who said:
brother and sister have a get together:
as long as: rubbers included...

caricature on the simpsons...
google-whacking won't even allow me
search results...
then again: sloppy seconds...
    'ere we go: lawrence krauss...
simpsons guy...
  
robinson crusoe ahoy! quick!
sink... this... ******* ship!
let's me it look like a melodrama
for environ... mentalists...
let's make it look like a beached
whale... rather than a ghost wreck
holding lost secrets of lineage:
among the arabs? muhammad ibin...
         ibin...
among the jews? yeshua ben...
   ben... blah: ibin! blah ben!

- so so much for solo...
  solo violin, solo piano...
solo... rubbing chicken with carribean
**** sauce... slaughtering a lamb,
kosher, also solo...
    ham solo... solo: project undertaken
with concern for...
no concerns except for: solo...
soloist... soliloquy... solipsism...
bored mushroom head: kanughonzagi
shimoto hiroshimmyshimmy oops...
bulldozer... machine 'ed on... 'ed off...
a party twick: don't look so surprised...

that's: "not me in your third person"
gemoetry...
well... within the trinity, secular...
of the son, ego, the father, superego...
and the holy spirit of id...
jerking off is on the same platitude
of performing *******...
in verse of reverse: eating an oyster
or a floral "pattern"...

here's to not having to find strangers:
notsably pakistani men willing
to convert...
thank be for the jews: at least they can't
convert you: ****** in them the concept
of being chosen...
like this mirage of static...
perhaps the wind does disturb this
equilibrium... then again... does it?

upon the altar of the sky before me...
a curious "star"...
that it isn't...
it has to be a planet...
i'm guessing that it's either
Venus or Jupiter...
and if my naked eyes were able to
decipher the experience...
from what the postcard of
Saturn looks like: truly:
flesh, blood and eyesight to
compensate:
why do almost all alien lifeforms concern
me with microscopic items?
i had to wrestle a mammoth
i had to overcome a tiger...
i didn't exactly find myself:
finding *****...
champagne and l.s.d. but not
mushrooms...
the fungus hitchhiker of 1960s
psychadelic intelligenstia...

i need to only die this once...
there is no god: there is no god...
"god"...
this is a house... that requires
a breath to deem it: an abode...
a home is a foreign concept in the mouth
of a mongolian horde...
crimea if a capital...

      a tartare steak... a raw herring
in yogurt sauce with apples and gherkins...
a spice for the palette...
if tomorrow is supposedly a day...
i will sacrifice a dream: all dreams!
for a day like i plan for tomorrow...
to come into contact with reality...

no love is ideal... even that of a madman...
or a gisberg... homosexual latex gimp
plaything... savvy?!
two to a rucksack
of the tow of beers i need to give birth
to a quasimodo...

"broken": to have broke - sober -
then drunk... the barking of a drop load
of ******* of an alsatian...

   we so tire... we all must tire so...
such: we! sire: i! oh... but i'm not bargained
to don a crown!
pontius pilate... the escapade
of the thief... of the coward...
or the status quo tactician...

by now... does it... would it...
even... even ******... *******... matter
to parade in all that pomp and desires
for a spontaneity of... ahem...
"spontenity"?!

better worded: i agree: genius to genius...
one would never curse...
etiquette! my boor and bore...
one must be well fashioned
to stage the pirouette of "proper"
knife and fork handling...
as... the napkin is to supposed to be bound
to never find any better use!

the air i want to breathe...
              is it... really...
the complications of chemistry...
curb... no new: every old...
           one always has to find it necessary
to fall in love with paris...
and grow perptually boring
within the confines of london;
apparently all else... vivo per se...
is supposed to "happen" & "here"!
Julian Mar 2020
In the most precise terms accessible to the vast repository of considered lexicon, this passage describes the finifugal destiny of infectious myopia that, when dredged through the rabble and bugaboo of sensationalism that outmodes the modular gravity of vogue chicaneries belonging to the catchpole of the watchtowers that sink into a hibernal abyss by the crafty subversive elegance of the magnetic pull predicated on the prolific disposition of the serenity of nature to overpower the lust for civilization and thereby provide the calm equipoise of the confident desert,even when famished, to overtake those inclined to urbane bustle with the eventual drought of a ****** kitsch world inured to pollution reverting because of an exaggerated hubris embalmed by a composite nurture into the freedom of a leveled compass of moral dignity found in nature, ultimately astounds itself because of peremptory pulchritude. This prophesies a tip-toed dance with extravagance that ultimately humbles even upright civilizations with the magnetism of the elementally pristine to bequeath a licentious freedom of extravagation that philanders on maidan territory--beyond the ******* of the reprisal of peevish cavils of recalcitrant cognomens and the despotic inclinations of civilized but brutish incursion upon the warped reversion of priorities that enthrones serenity above bustle of latitude over the prerogative to jostle the crowded quagmire of inventive but abortive spectacles of tributary happenstances of the newfangled ochlocracy--because the immediate convenience of civilization is destined to crumple by clockwork flaws inherent in machination what nature can carve effortlessly through inseminated rejuvenation.
    It is not because of the rantipole revelry of the noisy cacophony that we are starkly indifferent to the hum of the melliferous agency that leads to ecocentric governance, it is rather because the conflagrations of the crowded humdingers of our times have lapsed into the crevasse of unbounded lewdness of wretched ambsace that purports alienation more fundamental than civilization and thereby provokes a cutthroat collapse predicated on the creamy pettifoggery of saccharine sentiment that creates the rot of urbanity and goads participation in the renewal of the bionomic imperative to cherish the serenity and peace and freedom granted by nature that always conquers nurture by axiomatic consequence because to prepone filigrees of cosmopolitan bravery is contrary to the crass nature of the demur of deferred gravitas accorded not just by ceremony but by rehearsed gallantry that outlasts the sardonic reprisals of flayed anticipation.
      To the reader less lettered than enamored, I intend to remark as a pivotal linchpin of my rudimentary model of the universe that the epigenetic configuration of disorder inherent to the entelechy of physically mandated entropy is an overriding force that, through permutations of our sanitized history ,we discover as the direct autarky of the innate to trounce the willful volition of the artificial because the precedence of nature undermines the imperatives of a filipendulous swing of nurture to destroy itself because the clockwork upbraided thorns of society are more evident and incumbent than the circular irony of the circuitous wiredrawn windlass of feral proclivity to overwhelm the devices of one tragically supererogatory species that undercuts its own virility by sterilizing the future with the noisy cacophony of the epiphenomenal excess of profligate carnality accorded by Original Sin and later expounded and exploited into a titanic hubris that might eventually sink the prerogatives of the metropolis and favor the malingering peace of the remote frontier. I wonder often why aliens congregate in insular proximity to Native American tribes and propinquity to their shibboleths rather than abide by an enigmatic skullduggery to infiltrate lucrative metropolitan tracts and, with delicate entryism, seek to propitiate the inane aspects of population with the delicate poise of interposition and, when I ponder this deeply lugubrious question, I realize it is probably because the aliens themselves are byproducts of an overpolluted society famished eventually by its own adolescent excesses that eventually redound in the fulminations of subsequent dearth and therefore it cherishes the arid propinquity between the natural balance of nature with the composite symmetry of the evolved soluble valence of recycled treasuries of provincial benedictions rather than a global ploy of takeover and turnover because they fear the ultimate destiny of the thronging clangor and obviously prefer the surreptitious entrenchment in tribal allegiance rather than pushful attempts to proselytize an imperious solidarity geared for heroic redhibitions of human defect for ulterior conquest that vouchsafes a degree of ineradicable dominion. Ironically, in the fitful throes of sickness I have convalesced into a singular desultory equipoise with the serenity of pause rather than the drygulch of overmilked tactless celerity that taxes the limitations of even the petty simplicity of the most rudimentary concepts and, through deliberative subroutines, I conquer the articles of subaudition that lurk in remote corridors waiting for the marauding curiosity of unique proclivity to traverse a bypass of directional contingency and summit the immeasurable lengths of the incalculable by measured and sly blettonisms of profound wealth but dramatic appraisal of the rudimentary vineyard for both a pronounced variegation of hypostasized supersolid vagrancies and a selectively culled culinary harvest of slow piggybacks upon even the simplest countenance of endeavor rather than the unkempt rigid sustenance of the formal inculcation and the liberated bailiwick of how an unsung sorrow can elevate the fanfare of the loudest enchantments above the pother of kitsch debauchery.
  On a more relevant note, instinct is often the realm of finicky depredation and libidinous tabanids to oleaginous gimcracks exerted primarily by the geotaxis of regnant pedigree but fathomed more by imperative glorified brawn rather than a self-aware truculence of unalloyed volition exerted by the primitive kinship to violent boorish self-advancement that debases us because of the lurid savagery inherent to many evolved chicaneries ,that remains hidden to even the most glorified ommateum distorted by the glare of distant tantalization, distorts the invictive goals of the ergasia of intrepid lollops of the enantiodromia of entropy. And, because ambition convolutes and flanges the instinctual into importunate articulations that bypass necessity by gouging consequence into redoubled countenance--upon which we all abide to some degree in the maintenance of labile stature that often gets dredged by external impediments to pushful accomplishment to grace--is the stagecraft by histrionic leverage that is a direct byproduct of the ulterior composite of circumstance and precarious fluctuations of character. Essentially, genius manifests when the gluttony of metaphorical siderism that is sejungible from the seismic jostle of the ordinary outweighs the restraint of the ******* to immediacy to traipse above bamboozled tripwires and surmount the restive jealousy of common noemas of subtle verbigerations to heave from a recessive slumber of foothot dreams into the alchemy of inconspicuous levity beyond the admittedly aggrandized and glazed angular momentum of rhetoric to simmer with radiant efflorescence to pay homage to sedimentary notions rather than truckle to the imperial ambitions of predictable leaps to the great fanfare of the proper sabbatical from celerity for the conventicle of the extraordinary plane of the supersensible entelechy of all creation.
        In profound contemplation, what manifests relatively clearly is that the ruinous hesitation provoked by the incumbent din of uproar leads to the whiplash of warbled subliminal tilts in the axis of the chryselephantine machinations--even of the inquisitive--into the free-for-all of the acerbic displacement of the acquisitive to a scalding shipwreck that defies the cordial gravity of demarches of extenuation and further incites a dislodged frenzy of exacerbated priorities becoming jumbled to such a quizzical extent that the dash for jewels becomes the hegira from either afflicted incarcerations of panic or the conflagration of malignant opportunism. In these uncertain financial times, we henpeck—sometimes with extraordinary dalliance and otherwise with bodged exercises in profane self-sabotage—the surface endeavor by the agitprop that congeals, even in the most strident resourcefulness waged against it, to the folly of fulgurant pride in the fruitful bets against prosperity or the ennobled forbearance of the slumbered toil and toll of the taxation of capitalism upon itself that overhangs every specter or prospect for mammon without the overweening clarity of the disclaimer of labile liability because of lapsed conscientiousness. The spread of wizened ripples of the Jehus that dart with provident alacrity towards the myth of catalyzed proliferation without incidental pollution, endanger themselves by the fumes of their own arrogation of mercantile swoopstakes rather than by the contrary coexistence of debased timidity of the rigid priggishness of reluctance which is by far a greater enemy to the financial ecosystem than the outrecuidance of financial temerity because toxicity through accident leads to windfall by precedent because it is a primary mover rather than a flagitious inertia and therefore we should dwell on the immanent accessible treasury of the composite good for invictive truth. Returning to Isaiah, it is proclaimed that justice will dwell in the desert while the fruits of prosperity lurk both in vineyards of conquest and foreign forests of the unknown fertility of grace..because in a sense the vapid lifeless drawl of the beazed comportment of the husbandry of complacent but arid contentment is fashioned in a manner that relies on provident self-containment rather than the industrious bulldozer of calamity that besets dominions of heralded opportunity even when ripe times are precluded by the zeal of the epicurean demands of harvest that eventually famish rather than appease the diet of profane luxuriousness rather than a balance that leans on the notion of balance itself to predicate sustainability that laments its own dearth but never foments the outrage of volatile fortunes won or lost in the casino of opportunism.
    On a highly irrelevant note, the checkered figments of otosis are the ironic endearment of the expected to their expectancy and yet because of wrinkles of iterative doubts roaming the widely spelunked cavern of redoubled demerits subsuming self-contempt, the dregs of the self-important eventually sour into a cynicism that barks loudly at the locked corridor of pride but eventually trespass into the coherence of the incidental that spark the volitions of a self-gaslighted endeavor that creeps incumbent upon most scrutiny but less salient to the otiose obtuseness of the rankled hamshackle of perseverance in sublunary clarity.
   In the etiology of reiterative and normative catastrophe, the morale that severs the parturition of spunky audacity in favor of complacent staples of buoyant regimented alacrity vitiate the trim slaver of the luxuriant grovel into the alcoves of restive libido into the hegiras that hurdle over the conflations between necessity and want and transmute the furor of fitful windlass into a transcendent indelible ethos of ineradicable and endangered regalia of the swamp that, with bricolages of vigor, resorts to lopsided scrutiny of outcroppings of the profane rather than the self-aware poise of scacchic prevenance of ulterior action to the proper congruence of action to the composite reaction of the synectically impaired. In this vein, we must concede that a foundering vessel is often scuttled by self-infliction but ultimately salvaged by the modesty of resistance to plenipotentiary fictions of noisome crotaline tabanids and the recognition of the ramshackle facts of tentative triage in a wilderness vitiated by the alarming abundance of careworn exercises in hubris and overstated alacrity to the dimples of regress ultimately scars the geopolitics of specter and prospect to the extent that pernicious anomalies dart into prominence without castigation or that tremendous serendipities sink beneath the RADAR of the otherwise sturdy panopticon
   Thus, the polity of interwoven statesmanship by prospectus leads eventually to a culminated crux that is retrofugal more than finifugal and, in the absenteeism to the precedent that eventually provokes the unprecedented, we witness the folly of irrevocable design that, when sufficiently abridged by compendium, leads to a swift clarity that ponders vague traces of the superficially coherent into a suboptimal engrenage with contingent stipulations that often backfire because of the crude boorishness of statesmanship ratcheting into a vertiginous dance with instinctual donnism rather than appointing dignified salience the proctor of uncertain but sizable dubiety acknowledged and commanded into clairvoyant action rather than resigned acatalepsy.
  In the resulting vacuum of moral conundrum, it is not enough to predicate our bedrock on flourishing jackals in the wild nor the often lambasted sematic entrenchment of fixated designs of the impending perfidy inherent to every quagmire of bugaboo or foofaraw livid by smoldering embers of combustible and often deliberate begrudgement because the thriving industry of constative vacillations of pandered controversy are in itself ribald albatrosses of coarse conformity that derelicts the penumbra of consensus because of the firebrands of invictive bulldozing vigor to solve rather than to acknowledge the unsolvable to the extent that gridlock becomes an ayurnamat. This is why we witness a floundered perspective of slugabed deliberation contending with peremptory decisiveness verging on a saturnalia of syntax of cotqueans borrowing odium from plucky viragos because the snailed uncial crackjaw dynamics of the unfettered cyanotype for the dashpots of brittle absolution of the slowpoke substance of elevated debate provoke the ornery miscegenation of a hyped fluidity that stagnates rather than prolongs the integral linchpins of the maieutic capacity rather than the redress of incontinence only valorous by the ommateum of the owners of folly. So if outpaced by the cyprian flourish of cursory rhetoric carping on melodies of transparent rapture personified in an intellectual composite, I retain the art of flayed delamination clavigerous--only because of the heist of smoldered efflorescence—because the centered pivot of demegorics is a travesty of monument men relaying variable scaldabancos against modish artifice itself (often without even realizing the circular irony of such endeavors) because the fervor of snappy sizzle disembrangles the intorted ego from reckoning the drollery of the obtuse only to the mutiny of superlative acuity by surgical strokes to convalesce on dittology to reprove even the deftest articulations because of the prerogatives of the uncharted game that is never the behest of lifeless taxidermies of regelation.
    Ultimately the summit of the calculus of all human endeavor is outfoxed by the rapacity of erratic successive spurts of upheaval which can be forestalled by degrees of institutional prescience formed by cryptodynamic enigmas lurking in the troves of myth but the financial calamities we are witnessing are but the byproduct  of rabid scavengers feasting on restive panic rather than the inevitable degringolade of swollen tribunes steamy with an upbeat verve becoming vitiated by programmed incontinence. So what should we do with this crafty rejoinder to a variety of modern checkered quandaries and the skeumorphs of speculation? We should inquire to the utmost capacity to outlast the overhang of aleatory vicissitude and await optimal conditions stipulated by the constellation of veridical information rather than lean on inclement windlass of instinctive gambles predicated on specious fatalism or the contingent backfire of the ruinous roulette of exotic fanfare that shepherds the purblind into mundane degrees of perdition while the chary parlay their Ten Minas into a bonanza by decisive grit.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2022
I. Yesterday's scraps: many more happy beginnings

i didn't travel to the brothel for revenge:
tonight, of all nights...
no... i travelled to the brothel for a lesson...
a lesson in creating a jealous woman...
a miniature Frankenstein... monster...
after all: what is a male monster?
one denied love...
and what is a female monster?
one denied feeling jealous!
a man might long for love...
but a woman? she longs for jealousy!

i'm still learning...
i was promised an entire night with Khadra?
Khedra? Khadija last night...
if she works a 0-hour contract:
she can choose! she chose otherwise...
obviously i was going to pamper myself:
extra-special tonight:
who has the reins?! me, or you?

and? i was going to choose her "competition"
to boot! because there's one way of making
promises: keeping them...
and there's another... being a whining demand
of self-sabotage...

no! i didn't go to the brothel to enact revenge!
of course i wasn't going to sleep with her:
she promised me that she would give herself
up for the night!
she didn't! ergo? i'm going to sleep with
her competition, her "competition"...

she actually can't have anyone competing with
her... since all the others are "Irish"
i.e. double-sure... pills and  ******...
but i have to admit...
it was the first time that i've been with a girl
who wanted the lights turned down: low...
low... low... almost ******* in the dark...
she asked me for permission
to snort a line of *******: she asked me...
would i want some? no... sorry...

she brought a glass of ***** with her
and a nervous laugh...
a cigarette too... and the most precious
peaches' worth of *******...
and an *** the worth and size
of a watermelon...

i didn't go to the brothel to ******...
climaxing is sometimes pointless:
esp. when you're trying to send a nagging message
of biting someone else's neck:
negging...

i knew i was going to fail the test
of both hard-on and *******...
i drank too much cider...
too much weak cider...
my **** started yawning:
i had to return to the public toilet:
****-break from American Pie:
i did have to lay a membrane of toilet
paper around the rim of the toilet seat...
before sitting down...

i squeezed out a decent loaf befitting an
Anne the Anorexic...
just after stopping by some Pakistani stoners...
asking them for a drag of their doofie...

i need to ****.....

II. The Proper Verse

i adore nights such as this one about to unfold,
i have taken only a few sips of my whiskey and i already
know what i'm going to write:
usually it's the opposite, i have to drink enough
for a cognitive blitzkrieg in the vein of how Nietzsche
described it: that a thought or an idea
comes somewhere from "elsewhere" from outside
is conjured out of thin air: a spontaneous combustion...
it implodes then explodes into writing
whereby even listening to music is not necessary...
although: i'm sort of nostalgic-happy when it comes
to my choice in younger years...
i.e. either collect the oeuvre of Led Zeppelin or
Black Sabbath... obviously i chose the former
and regretted it when i listened to Vol. 4 and heard
Solitude for the first time and only regretted it
because it was so cool to play that song on guitar
in my ex-girlfriend's parents' house when it was only
me and her younger sister...
yep... my secret crush: love at first sight...
when it was all wrong: i was 17 and she was 14...
when it was all wrong... but not as wrong if i were
to say: i was 36 and she was 14...
     i get the whole ****** element but then again
i don't: i mean... i inherited a large stamp collection
from my late grandfather... so that would make me
a philatelist rather than a lepidopterist...
ergo... it's a teenage thing, there aren't as many
restrictions of taboo when you're that young...
    and i don't think there's anything remotely allied
to an "evil thought": there's just thought...
but anyway i was playing Solitude on her father's guitar
and... believe... that song... on the guitar alone...
in a large house that's usually mental (ex-girlfriend,
mom, dad, two brothers and Priya and some guests round)
this song on guitar where there's only you
and your former secret crush... it's haunting...
   she thought i was playing some blues...
i should have corrected her by playing some blues...
but i didn't... the kitchen was in a mess from the previous
night so i told her i'd help her out:
i cleaned the dishes while she dried them...
     after that i left... keeping my secret love a persisted
secrecy... so much so... that after several years
and several ****** women later... it vanished...
as did my idiotic youth...
                   but what the hell am i saying?!
i didn't sit down to write about that, then again:
digression is a very cool instrument of narration...
i learned it from my English teacher: Syr Tomas BOONCE!

last night... i ate too much during the day...
i rarely do... but recently i've had this unstoppable urge
for dairy foodstuffs... cheese... kefir...
yoghurt... milk.... cheese... kefir...
backwards and forwards... i know i'm actually craving water
(well, "me", i.e. my body)
but instead i want dairy foodstuffs...
mind you: all dairy products have more protein
in them than actual meat... i could never be a vegetarian...
proteins from beans is not the same...
another mind you: i don't know why
In the Evening didn't make to Led Zeppelin's greatest
hits album (well, at least the one i had
back in the day) but D'yer Mak'er did...
i owned the album the song's on...
but it only came to my attention after watching
Sharp Objects starring Amy Adams...
that show was a BELTER...

so i traded in my "emergency" €90 for...
ah ****... the Indian on Villiers St would have
given me £72... but i wanted to double check...
went to the currency exchange in Romford's Liberty
Shopping Mall... **** it... i'm not going back
to Charing Cross so i can get the 72 quid...
i settled for being 8 quid short...

and as i was sitting there in the garden after dinner
with a bottle of cider in my hand...
should i go today? should i?
only yesterday Khedra dismissed her wild plan of
inviting me to her house for a night of Trojan
fun of me pretending to be the 300 and "gang ******"
her solo... well... hence the "...":
     because it would be ******* her brains out for
the whole night, as it once happened with Ilona
in St. Petersburg all those years ago...
     i miss that night... i remember asking her...
so... how many contractions of O-spasms have you
been through? 7? each for every of my heads...
a nice rounded number: doesn't mean that an even number
would be any better than the 7ΓL
(eh! who the hell said that our modern numbers
came from either India and are morphed Arabic numerals)...
**** me... the Romans used letters as numbers
IX + XI = **... we already had letters in the form
of our letters... whether Greek or Roman...
Bb = 86... P = 9 I = 1 S = 5, 2 = Z...
sure thing: with "hindsight"... well whatever history
dictates: i'm not going to bother regurgitating...
with fake news and propaganda: there must be...
NEW TRUTHS... self-made truths to bring some sanity
to the individual not swayed by any external *******...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea...
but i went anyway...
i knew i would come across (i need the German in
naming this noun compound, i.e. state of being)
nebeldenken: fog thinking... nebligdenken:
foggy thinking...
and oddly enough... or rather: hardly oddly... i did...
foggy thinking is what some "experts" would enter
the scene and prescribe a man some chemical solutions
concerning a man's phallus not working...
well... rising... and only lasting for a few minutes...
i don't call it an erectile dysfunction...
it's more complicated than that...
******* oversimplified ***... oversimplified and
made it crude and rude...
i sometimes watch some vintage Italian movies
that would have been broadcast in erotica cinemas...
my god... back then people used to be so classy when
it came to ***... and gentler... none of this modern
trash... yeah... modern ******* is trash...
it feels infiltrated by homosexual acceptance...
         too much **** and not enough sensual *******...
on both sides of the *** "debate"...
i'm so happy that no one has asked me to penetrate
them anally... either man or woman...
because, honestly? if i think about the joys of having
a fire-******* from sitting on the toilet oozing out
durchfall... thoughts of waterfalls... everything coming
out: but certainly nothing going in...
(and the German spelling is easier...
that H-surd is awfully off-putting in the English spelling)

****: that Black Sabbath song Solitude wasn't on
Vol 4 but on Master of Reality... d'uh!

i should have waited for some other day...
i get paid on the 1st of each month and thanks to ol' Lizzie
dying... i'm looking at a "spontaneous" extra
£500 to boot... thank you Lizzie...
i know there was the whole black armband affair
and what not... but this time round i was thinking
about the money: although i love crowd-control,
esp. if i'm a supervisor and i have at least 4 licensed
security guards under my control and 5 unlicensed
stewards and a TfL worker from the tube station
and some police officers to manage the crowd...
i have to admit: Wednesday 14th was a ****-show
on Villiers St... people were so ******* annoying
that Charing Cross St. put in place what they use
during New Year's Eve... not straight down Villiers St.
but up to Adam St and full circle:
half the crowd heading to the Embankment St.
half to Charing Cross... thankfully i only had one
guy jump the barriers... a complete ****-show:
the wrong B plan... thankfully... come the actually
event of the state funeral...
       19th of September went: think of a warm slice
of toast and some butter... think of silk...
the two teams of my fellow supervisors in that one-way
traffic system only had one burst of people...
about 40 of them... they did **** all throughout the whole
day... i managed all the traffic... it was splendid...
basically: 40+ people were not needed...
i supervised the whole affair of people getting home
safely with... about 10 people: that's me included...
and a few barriers...

oh to hell with being felt loved by a woman!
there's no greater curse on a man than a woman's love...
puppy love... yuck...
a man needs to feel useful! used!
useful! a man needs to feed off and feed responsibility:
authority... man thrives on competence...
not complacence...
a woman's love is no more for me that me
adoring the first bloom of Magnolia come the earliest
telltale signs of Spring...
a woman's love is sickly-sweet... it wears a Thespian's
mask and with that comes the whole entourage of
disappoints and hell's furies...
i would swap a woman's love for a cat's love
every single time...
just like the story of Esau and Jacob...
a bowl of porridge chosen by Esau instead of a birthright...
then again: them two being twins...
is a woman's love for a man a bowl of lentils
or is it a birthright? from what i've heard and seen:
men are not given a birthright to be loved by a woman...
a woman is very much Esau's choice:
i'll take the broth... have my tummy full...
instead of striving for the role of patriarch...
i don't believe in the love of women:
i do believe in a love for women...
like i believe there isn't a vegetarian diet and the like...
there is only the seasonal diet...
fruits during summer... vegetables in the wintry months...
like the elders used to eat...
but love from a woman is a curse, not a blessing...
it's a jealous irrational love... it's Pandora's quest for:
suppose woman were to be endowed with a Faustian
thirst for knowledge... Pandora is the antithesis of Faust...
a Faustian curiosity is not akin to Pandora's curiosity...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea to go the brothel...
everything was wrong (but believe me....
that evened out sooner rather than later)...
usually i need to be a complete donkey of exhaustion
having finished a 12 hour shift before i can stomach
more physical strain of pleasing a woman...
i know my body better than i know my self...
i do know my reflexive: myself...
but the reflective: my self is still an ongoing project...
it all depends on how my thinking mingles
with that fickle creature of memory...
let's face it: who chooses what you can and cannot
remember? i don't mean that erosive substance
we are all subjected to via pedagogy, i.e. schooling:
whether it be 2 + 2 = 4 or a, b, c, d, e, f, g...
or the Battle of Hastings, the year 1066...

what man in his right mind would be appeased by
monogamy, that sacred egalitarian model conjured
up by man for fellow man,
so that all might have their fill, where is it now?!
there are no traces of it... the same men than conjured
up this model have passed away and gave
any if not all authority to the whims of women!
now? women are toying with the affairs of what
was once a noble admiration for the spectacular
consistency of swans...
so we've been told: don't admire the swans...
don't look up at swans: look down on monkey!
for me there are only two basic maxims that can
be extracted from Darwinism:

a. nature abhors a vacuum...
b. everything is useful / used...

nature doesn't provide either excess or a less...
well... it does: those 7 lean years
and those 7 years of excess... but nature is no mother...
it's not feminine: nature is asexual in that
it's an equilibrium... (7/7? Joseph's interpretation
of the Pharaoh's dream)...

i know my body: i will never know my self
in so far as i also know myself...

mein gott! it's only half past ten and i'll be finished
by around 12am... i'll have at least half an hour
of enjoying drinking and listening to music
and i'll switch off my workaholic-alcoholic
modus operandi and just drink and smoke and think
about having ***...

i knew it was a bad idea... i started drinking too early:
i was rested...
the bladder was going to be a massive obstacle...
a full bladder and an ******* are always in conflict...
i should know: ******* with my still intact
******* is a bit like a woman *******
using a shower head to trickle-up-a-tease of water
into her ******* regions... i still don't understand
why non-Jews are circumcised in North America:
it's barbarism... MGM...
male genital mutilation: a sword has a sheath...
that sheath is used for *******...
you take the sword out of its sheath... i.e. you pull
the ******* back... hey presto!
you're circumcised: no need for a kippah...
or a monk's tonsure... or for that matter...
a promise from a woman with her ******* NIQAB...
that should be white in colour... at least!
and be made from linen! breathable material...
"breathable": material that might allow air through...

i don't care if they keep wearing those
NINJA-PARACHUTES (better than Boris calling
them postbox attire)... right now girls in Iran
as shaving their heads and growing moustaches...
something is clearly up in the world of Islam...
like i mentioned already... i need a second schism in Islam...
i need it to happen in the Turkish "quarter"...
how else to fight all the prior years of terrorism?
attack Islam with ideas of reform...
that's the only attack... oh two-*****-shaken
while dropped into a ******* Mojito...
sure... a **** that gives off whiffs of mint-scentedness
is fair enough by me... but you're not going
to deter ZEE MUZLIMS by going after the Hydra
of chopping one head and waiting for another to sprout!
you go to the source!
you try to improve on: "PBUM" Muhammad's first try...
revision: not revolution... Islam can be revised...
but not with the Saudis and the ******* Pakistanis...
you aim for the fringes... the cosmopolitan Islam
with a richer past than the one dictated by
the conquests of the Arabs...
Turks are a fine example... the Persians another...
****'ite Islam allows for more... ah crap...
too many vowels... i always have a problem spelling this word:
just like the Anglo-Sphere speaks of ****** words
having too many consonants the same is true for
this word: too many vowels... i'm not even going
to try... i'll "cheat", use a search engine...
man-u-vre-ah-bi-lity...
                        maneuve­rability! ah... that's the one!

on a side note...
    it's true what "they" say...
bragging rights... and consistency...
some people amass a great following...
a great following breeds many comments...
i'm pretty sure that's an indicator of low quality content...
why is it low quality content?
it amasses many comments...
me? i don't have a fervent crowd... neither did
Pythagoras or Hey-Zeus... what could 13 men do
in order for a sight like that of St. Paul's Cathedral
take? competence? fervor? determination?
certainly not mediocracy...
                i still don't understand the Pythagorean
fetish for beans... high fibre high protein...
i mean... can you imagine to sit through one of his
TRIANGLE LECTURES having to stay silent,
but unable: filled with the dread of irritable bowel movements
(due to the fibre) trying to keep in a **** / farts?!
i like my audience, they must like me...
since... they hardly ever bother me...
and as long as i spew regular material...
i might as well leave a disclaimer:
hey bro! her sis! buy a book! try getting to the author
directly! you think that writing a comment
on a copy of a book you just bought
will help?
   not since the advent of the printing press has
there been a chance for the atomised man to bypass
certain restrictions... back then it was the Churches
and the solo-book project for the illiterate man...
now? editors of printing houses have: **** all on me...
i'm bypassing them... i'm not looking at the sales:
i'm looking for hungry minds... curious / sceptical
minds... why would i think, ****: dare me "think" about
this prospect of waiting for some acceptance of an editor
of low or no TASTE?! ha ha... ah ha ha!

i love nights like this... you get caught up in many surprises:
on the one hand by your own mind,
but at times by nature itself: it has "suddenly"
started trickling the most gentle rain...
if there could be a rain song: a most soothing song
of praise for the night... rain always makes more sense
during the night than during the day...
just as the horror movie genre:
the horror movie genre abused the night...
a proper horror movie?
oh... it happens during the daytime...
   Carnage Park (2016): please don't disturb the night
with all of night's allure... people are sleeping,
foxes are roaming: shh!
sha shtil, makh nit keyn gerider
der rebe geyt shoyn tantsn vider
...

**** me: so much already written and i'm yet to make
my most truthful testimony!
release me! make me make it! i'll give you all
the oaths and still not utter your name!
lodge me between the combat between
King David and King Solomon...
i would gladly pay to see that combat of cognitive
ability!
each and every man will sing a psalm...
but live up to the wise expectations of what a king
observes?! and make them categorical imperatives
like a shopping list for turnips and carrots?
hardly any...
thank god i'm not a lyricist...
i prefer words to be dealt with in the medium
of the digestive process of thought:
than a life-experience enacting:
let's face it... most: if not some... of these supposed
"wisdoms" are false by the nature of the person
uttering them...
a king's choosiest appetites
are not on a pauper's menu...
back in Victorian times oysters used to be the food
of / for the poor... look how oysters have
been elevated...
but oysters are not my Aphrodisiac... nor is chocolate...
physical exertion is... as is tiredness...
as is cider... as is tobacco... as is a little glug glug
of whiskey...

i think long gone are the days of keeping aa woman's
integrity in place for curbing a man's desires
and unfiltered "having"...

i think i'm reaching some variation of a crescendo...
i must be... if i switched "moods" with my song of choice...

i didn't go to the brothel to punish Khedra...
she promised me a one night SPECTACULAR...
i didn't get it...
i was simply lashing out against her to
disappointing me...
i was like: weren't you supposed to spend
this night with me?
her "best" excuse was: the brothel was missing
women....
right... fair enough...
E-NUFF... don't ask me how English language:
that globalist witch of a tongue works:
of all the Empires in the world...
only two imploded: the English Imperium
and the Soviet... the latter... less gradually
than the formerly...
you do know that there were plenty of peoples
living in between the Germans and the Russians
on the "event horizon" of the geographic "debate"...
i was forever CYNICAL about
a story akin to the "****** birth":
let's just pretend fostering a ******* was
much less an adventurous route for a woman to
keep...
ugh! you peoples keep too many vowel en-routes!
too many vowels!
no wonder your people are still scribbling
graffiti on brick walls:
you are half-literate!

      insult me: expect an insult back!
what's that "*******" in Shakesperean?
you bite your thumb at me, sir?
what does it look like?
if you have a rabbit's worth of front teeth on the ready...
you lodge them between the fingernail
of the thumb and the thumb itself...
then you pretend you bite down...
while flicking your thumb forward...
until you hear a "click"...
yes... i am biting my "thumb down" on you sir....
the mediocracy of lost expectations...

oh, but the event? i knew i shouldn't have...
i was drinking too much before it even started...
12 hour shift... one bottle of cider... a walkabout...
a glug or two of either whiskey or brandy...
i'm dehydrated enough to have my ****
lubricated by the glorious spat-spit-on of a woman's
mouth...
i was going to be deflated balloon of a man
tonight... i'd get a ****-blocker...
given my adventures with Khedra if i didn't
chose her...

prior to i was wandering trying to empty my vowels...
sorry... my bowels...
it's always that affair with the little *****...
ugh... i'm nervous... i know she's nervous...
cider... moon.... cigarettes...
the echo of footsteps...
but i drank too much...
i was out of place to perform....
i stumbled across two Pakistanis smoking marijuana...
walked past them... walked back...
i implored them: who's your seller?
they wouldn't disclose... can i try some?
more than willing: it's good to make "friends" in the night...
i took one ****... i told them: don't worry...
i'm not some undercover copper...
i did hope they might think i'm some MAFIA
quality-tester...
that my role was aligned to the MAFIA:
walking around testing the stuff being sold...
like i told them... 10 years ago...
these Vietnamese punks were selling the herb
lined with fibreglass!

i told them: make sure you get your "herb" from an Afghan...
i took one poke at the joint to see if it was
alright... they offered to give me the whole "thing"
up... i was like... n'ah mate...
i just want to **** on the quality:
nothing has changed since my marijuana-psychosis
over 10 years ago... it was still the same concentrated
potency... it made me caffeine high for a while
from an alcohol stupor... but nothing
per usual transcendental magnimonity...
basically ****: basically trying to sniff wet toilet paper
crap of "green"...
regurgitating snot...
mind you... they were playing pirates...
with a green light that might blind airline pilots....
as you do... smoking the herb and not thinking much...

but i wasn't an undercover police officer testing them...
i was a quality surveyor of what's being sold...
high minds think high "things"...

oh, but once in the brothel? i knew i was walking with
a limp ****! i knew that once i showered her
gifts of lingerie i'd ha ve a ****-blocker in place!
hey presto! a ****-blocker!

imagine sitting opposite three women.....
funny "thing"... being:
YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
now... CHOOOSE A "FAVOURITE"...
pardon the Judgement if Paris!
me in a brothel:
of all the women...
among the ****** it is the hardest to chose from!

i didn't terribly punish her...
not by whip or a scalding tongue...
i love her...
chocolate.... i hate chocolate....
by this brazen tinge of brown...

choke on TATE- CHICKEN
Britain my LAST ***...
with the Lilies dies my bride...
             aren't we equal to serve the crown
she was such a beautiful *** to ****,,,
lest we don't remember...
she was a granny "second to last"...
first... first comes the state...
somehow the latter affairs of  familial ties.

- imagine... sitting across a room with three women
you already ******...
choose! huh?!
choose! you have but one favorite....
and two "left-behinds"....

leave a woman sweating all over her body...
sweating...
pass on a *******...
three women: all of whom you ******...
choose...
sweat all over her body:
her pretending to ride
you on the corner of the bed... OTT...

but there's also something equally satisfying...
it's only shared between men...
working with Emmie at the Ice Rink...
i'd say we're on par... looks wise, dimension wise...
she must be a stunning 5ft11
me being a 6ft2 220pounder
and she too is a... HEALTHY specimen...
she's not obese or anything... she just reminds me
of Alison Taylor... she's a big girl for a big... boy...
i have to admit... i couldn't stop eyeing her up...
and i'm guessing these two guys i know: knew: know...
whatever... started chatting with me...
but kept on looking at Emmie as if we weren't
simply working together: but we were dating...
there was no jealousy in their eyes
there was more... a natural state of affairs...
they gave off vibes akin to: wow! nature has balanced
itself out! this guy has found someone compatible
with him!...

**** me... she's already updated her profile picture
on WhatsApp like 3 times already...
fickle creature that's memory: snd finicker creature
that's woman to boot!

she's a gorgeous Dagenham exemplification of
what an English girl ought to be...

then again: Marie... sure limp **** and all...
but i only had a limp biscuit of a hard-on after i refused
Khedra a bedding... well: i thought i was punishing
her for refusing my Spartan night of frolicking...
instead... i switched off when she brought in
a random punter into the room next to us...
in the way she started "moaning" i knew she wasn't
getting her usual pleasures...
that's when i switched off, shut down...
Marie had already dimmed the lights so **** low
she even called it a phantom illumination...
that's the first time i rekindled the time i slept
with that Spanish wild-one Tamara...
all that cocoon *** steaming under the bedsheets
afraid of beauty and nakedness:
her living arrangements didn't help either...
i was turned off by her living with three homosexuals...

there are only two ways a woman can get
bad dating advice:
1. from other women...
2. from homosexuals...
mind you, i have nothing against buggery...
i've kissed several men in my passing this mortal
wound of flesh... tonguing etc.
but...

we weren't actually engaged in much backwards
and forwards piston action's worth of
lubrication... i was sitting on the edge of the bed
and i just tucked her in into my arm's girth...

i just chose the right sort of music...
OTT... Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
bingo! i was caressing her thoroughly... inner thighs...
outer thigs... tickling behind the ears...
kissing the back of her neck... biting her shoulders...
massaging her *******... esp. around the *******...
poking and pinching her *******...
waiting for them to become *****... plagiarising
her hands... horribly since they were three-quarters
of my size... detailing the curvatures of both
knees and elbows...
      i knew she was nervous... she was like a tiny little
mouse unable to contract pleasure vocally...
with onomatopoeias...
a nervous giggle... here and there...
plus she had to sniff a line of ******* and down
a shot of ***** to get over her inhibitions....
the dimmed lights... which: to be honest...
exfoliated her nakedness into a lily's tease of attempted
suicide...
oh **** me... my father bought some lilies for
my mother the other day...
to the agony of her discomfort...
that's when i decided: they die... which they will...
and seeing them as they are...
they'll stage me a Philip contra Elizabeth timeline...
if one goes... the other will soon follow...

how will i dictate my fate against fate itself?
well... i won't to a Curt Kobain shotgun stunt...
i'll but loads and loads of lilies...
i'll shut the windows and the doors...
insulate myself in a limited amount of oxygen...
place the lilies near me...
loads and loads of lilies...
i'll smoke some marijuana... i'll drink plenty
of whiskey... and then... i'll... i'll fall asleep...
and never wake up! hey presto! problem solved!
mortality best cared for!

i still can't forget how she sweat all over...
she even asked me: am i hot or is it hot in here?
i replied: no... it's only you...
even with a limp ******* **** i could make a woman
sweat from all her pores...
that's almost better than giving a woman
an ******... that's me and that itchy-numbing
on my fingertips whenever i shared my property
with neighbours letting them play my Nintendo...
itchy-numbing of the fingertips... itchy-*******-numbing!

come to think of it... if i'm serious about becoming
a teacher... this was by far the best way to start:
crowd-control, public security...
if i can deal with a bunch of drunk RETARDS
then i could harness the same sense of authority
over children... better still: i have an inquisitive mind...
i'd just be doubly inquisitive about them
being either not inquisitive or stale...

maybe that'a why i enjoy PAREIDOLIA so much...
esp. come the night and the moon
and the clouds... i revel in this "****"...
perhaps that's why i abhor crossword puzzles
and that's the reason why i write with wry intent
on morphing nouns into misnomers...
i'll deliberately call a table a chair and a chair a table...
for gimmicks' sake to craft an antithesis
of Descartes sitting at his desk
pretending not to do some telepathy...

Herr ******* Cogito... Zbigniew Herbert to boot!
i drink because i'm enough of sound mind
and have tasted insanity to know:
when the great wrath of the godly wind comes:
you just **** back...
****: that's a cunning word in my mother tongue:
it's not burping via your ****...
it actually means: LUCK... you have ****...
you have luck...

Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
and how she insinuated ***... sweating... sweating
through all her pores...
i'm ******* losing my mind all over again:
but at least this time round it's not to something
abstract: a priori... this is all a posteriori
fervour...
i've been here before...
   i'm sure of it...
the mammal that came from an amphibian form
to this gesticulating skeleton...
i admired forg: ha ha... frog tadpoles...
their wriggling ways gave me insight into
how my handwriting would turn out...

like my grandfather said: chicken-scratching...
i'd tatoo his words onto my body if i had
the audacity to give sacrilege of body
as a gift to the gods...

how she sweated... my god... i've seen plenty
of *******... but none of the flicks compared
to that, THAT experience...
******* is ****... *** is too personal to be
exploited in such a way as to turn man
into thinking he's a ******* Duracell Bunny...
switch on... switch off...
you need to be in a "mood" to get a hard-on...
and just as quickly you can turn-off...

i know why i turned off...
but i also turned on a second gear...
i turned off because i declined Khedra...
and i turned off because i heard Khedra in the next
room not being pleasured in the way i would
have pleasured her...
and this... and that... and the "other"...
plus she's a petite creature and i wanted
to feel someone compatible to: my, SIZE...
i wanted a big girl with big floral patterns of *******
that i could massage...
i gave away my hands for her sweating
all over her body doing the bare minimum
of listening to the song of my choosing...
as we shared a cigarette...
as i kneeled before her...
because... let's face it...
i'll **** on the cross before i kneel before it...
it's the antithesis of the inborn ontology of man...
the first anti-Christian lesson i taught myself?
the cheek "thing"... reek!
someone slaps you? you slap them back!

ROSJA SIĘ MOBILIZUJE: JAM ZA!
and so they should be...
this infernal cognitive-parasite "creature" of western
conjuring is not ******* welcome in either Russia
or the Orient... it's not a serpent...
it's a ******* tapeworm!

me? i'll be ******* Eastern Women till the sun
never ******* comes... Romanian,
Bulgarian, Turkish...
sure... i'll make it a personal fetish of mine
to think of any fuckable English girls...
once they're done playing victim and succumbing
to the "egalitarian anti-racism" while
getting soaked in gasoline by Pakistani ****-gangs...
maybe then...
until then... no, thank, you!

well... brutal times require brutal measures...
and a kind, heart...
a heart the size of a pebble... and just as tough...
what?! just because the VESTERN VOLD
had a hard-on while failing in both Irq... I-RAQ...
Afgantisan... lobbied the indefinite migration
via the collapse of Libya... that... Russia... RUSSIA!
would ******* bow down to these *******
loony tunes?!

Dear Uncle (Ras)Putin... blah blah...
France's testing of their nukes in the Polynesia...
GOD-ZILLA!
   GOD... ZILLA!
                    i don't care whether or not i'm on
the right side of history: sure as **** i'm on the right
side of *******... and i like to ****:
which is why i'm not a train-spotter or a stamp-collector...
or someone who dabbles in LEGO and putting
together a replica of Optimus Prime...
just give me **** and i'll be happy-camper like
it might be a bowel of oysters...
oysters... mmm hmmm... oysters & ****...
i love oysters... i love ****...
i love naked sweating bodies...

i love the smell of hair... esp. unwashed hair...
it's so solipsistic... like farting in a crowded space...
the taste of keratin borrowed from biting nails...

you that feeling when you smell: weakness?!
i'm guessing the Islamists have had enough scent of it...
they figured out: what's the point?!
they're already implosive... they'll destroy themselves...
there's absolutely no need to attack them...
Muhammad asked Ahmed:
want to throw this tennis ball against a brick wall?
i throw, you catch... you throw... i catch...
how's that? Ahmed replied to Muhammad...
sounds... dandy... let's play.

because, that's, what, it, *******, is...
all that's "western" is RIPE for the taking...
i won't even blink when i see it desecrated...
i'll be the Poet of the Coliseum...
watching it all unfold...
i mean: i was scolded for not being confident in my
youth... now that i've aged:
oh... lucky me... guess who's also lacking
in confidence... all of the women...
will i go out of my way to try and...
no no... i don't have a car... i don't have a fixed hour
paid work contract... i don't have a house...
no no no, no no no, no... exactly!
so if i don't have x, y & z... why bother?

to the promised land of the brothel!
and even there, there are some without the slightest dignity
of being pleasured: of having confidence...
but... i've already paid: so i can work with that...
i'll gladly unravel those timid beauties into
******* floral killers of a Lily!

oh well... c'est la vie... comme ci comme ça...
some people learn to live with
a ******* hernia... or athritis...
i can live with this... i know why i'm single...
most women could not handle me...
actually: i don't think even my mother believes
she can handle me... i know why i'm single...
i'm the selfless ****-wit that wants
too many women... and occasionally... on a sly...
a man... i can live with that...
sure... from time to time i reopen an old wound
from my teenage days or romanticism and idealism...
oh! wouldn't it be great! to have a sole woman for one's
"solipsism" to destroy?! yeah...
that would be grand!                          in theory.

dearest mistress of memory: leave me be!
stop youe hanging around: let me get on with my life!
just you and only you... one faceless woman
after another...
i have plenty! i have about at least 10 on the go...
i'm deciding which one is warmer than
the others... and which is more jelous than the other...
i'll talk to one... i'll tease another...
i'll **** the third proper silly...
i'll settle for the one with the child
to not think of womanhood to begin with:
rather than behind...

i still can't escape the feeling of gratification
making her sweat all over her body by simply
having learned the geography of a woman's body...
made of ice: apparently...
mein gott... what a wonder to behold...
in my hands oranges... in her hands watermelons...
a spider of a hand crawling atop another spider
of a hand that was hers...
such tender aspects of the FLESH...
like stripped culminations of the pig rediscovered
on a woman's body...
i forgot who i was...
a butcher?! a sadist?! a wizard?!
i must have exemplified myself as "someone"
if she still felt nervous
after snorting a line of ******* and downing
a decent glug of *****... pretending to laugh: nervously...

i should have been told much earlier on
that most women have a very limited sense of self and space...
for that natter time too:
most women have zero to no self-esteem...
if you asked a 20 year old me what the "problem" was...
i'd tell you: oh! all these girls! hive minded high-brow
they're pompous *******... finicky...
walking a a pair of ******* on a leash without either ****
or dog!
but now?! mein gott!
strange... how things change...
they are so... limited...
they have become so timid... so... fresh...
they're the fresh flesh on a leash...
and still: they don't think they are...
i don't like suspect packages....
these women aren't...

i don't want to end writing this poem...
today is the 23rd... i get paid on the 1st...
i'm already practicing my plumbing with take-two!
take-three! sessions of a hard-on...
lucky a man with very little hobbies...
all i think about it *******...
even ******* turns me off: finally!
it's unrealistic! far from ever it being so...

the mind sometimes overpowers
the body in the same way that the body sometimes
overpowers the mind...
i switched off... this time round...
but it's hard... you sit down in the ante-chamber
with three women...
problem being: YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
and there's one favourite among them...
she promised you a Spartan Cohort Night with her...
so you try to punish her:
by NOT picking her...
well... that will never go down well...
since she already allowed no ****** usage...

maybe i should think about... building a play-toy-thing
train-set or... **** knows what...
i just love women too much...
i love seeing how many mistakes they make...
i'm not saying i'm perfect...
but it's  gleeful pleasure seeing a woman
make a mistake... it's a bit like... seeing yourself
being born...

upon the great ***** of time...
   a figment of your own imagining... neither conjured
up by the mere spontaneity of thought...
hardly an affair of imagining(s)...
never mind the byproduct of memorising
one iota's worth of: iota, omicron, tau, alpha...
by the dim blue glare of the iris...
no... my iris are greeeen...

each and every day the everyday happens
and i feel obliged to borrow
all the necessary talents from the Thespians...
i am "i"...
                there is still massive heed of the grand
moving parts... some stall... some arrive with
no conscience with gravity's whim...
who, are, you? peering into my disclosures?!
my soliloquy supposing
the dead have no ears?!

  have no stomach the food to digest?!
a truly be-spotten sort of: awaiting feed...
time for the freezing of the tides...
liberate the Arab from his self-induced
indulgence!
fancies of fanaticism....
              of worded "things" worth "digestion"...
a tongue of youth
as precursor for the unfathomable futures
to come! old men have: not dictate
in my life! they reek of stinking socks
not since the times when old men claimed a superior
notion among the the youth...
i have nothing! nothing! to learn from the people
i should be learning from!

old men die... that's what they were
supposed to do in the first place...
old... men... die...
i too will die... but not before them!
but at least they could have ushered in a few
decent maxims... instead?!
instead?! i have no maxim conjurers!

these pandered to old FOOLS!
i sometimes wish i were a cannibal!
then again: the prospect of eating these
"leather chairs" is pristinely:
disgusting!

                        i am: ******* livid: i am abhor!
ABHOR!
                 i will shout that word...
**** it.... no mountain near me...
i will, climb, up... a ******* hill..
and extend my tongue and mouth into a shout
and i will clarify: I ABHOR!
best we burry you *******...
you think... us... youth...
will sit back while, you had all your, fun?

it's only one coin-flip away...
i want my fun too!
you're going to tell me, no?!
are you going to tell me, no?!
you... frail... old... man?!
you're going to tell me, no?!
what did you tell your elders?!
the same **** i'm telling you?!

ooh... what a telling!
i'm 36 years old... i'm going to have all
the prostitutes in the world and more!
i've, had, enough!
no! i haven't! had! enough!
i need... more!
i need more!
        i'm going to create the reality
that Darwinism subscribed to!
                         i want, more!

i'm hungry... i'm vengeful...
i'm... oopsy-turvy... i'm...
baron of Emeralds... green Irises...
                
just like the prostitutes suggested: why are you
looking at me with so much ferocity,
with so much intent?!
why?! i'm eating your soul...
******* it out from your eyes...
you, are, mine!
the eyes disappear when the eyes roll back
into a canvas of sclera...
but not until then...

why am i so intent on peering into your self?
if it bothers you so much:
why, why... why don't you close them?!
are you afraid of being unable to see what's
worth being seen?!
tender doe... why... why... oh why so...
scared? life didn't get back to you with
its revisions of adequacy?!
too bad... maybe next time.

finish this, Matthew, finish this!
yes: we know already...
you had trouble keeping up a hard-on because
you thought you would be punishing
a ******* who's wild idea
of inviting you back to her home for free
*** backfired: as you know it would...
****-locked after you chose another
and then broke down limp
       hearing her walk into the next room with
another man and not hearing the sort
of moans you heard when she was with you...

i can't forget the dimmed lights...
contorts... archaic precusor-Cubism...
   the body sweating all other without much exertion
being applied...
if only the moon could drool moonlight
like a dog in Pavlov's experiment might drool
for the reply to a ringing of a bell...
my hands turned into spiders...
my hands turned into eyes...
but i wasn't angry or ashamed at my predicment
of under-performing...
if she was sweating all over her body
and i wasn't impaling her bur rather caressing her...
*** is... complicated...
it's not even close to the pornographic depictions...
i switched from a performance artists
to looking for something deeper...
a bit like...
well... what's within wheat?
   the category of carhohydrates... fibre...
it's the same with ***...
                                simply squeezing juice from a lemon
is not even about the point of squeezing
or the lemon...
    sometimes lethargy kicks in when you're trying
to switch ****** partners...
esp. difficult if you already have three sitting opposite
you whom you all have bedded...

Monday... i'm going to have to revise my liquid intake...
i already know that it requires me to juice up
with one strong cider... and drink some whiskey
on the side...
while kneeling before her naked body...
or sharing her cigarette...
then again: maybe her nervousness made me nervous...
after all: she had to snort a line of *******...
she had to drink half a cup of *****...
and still that nervous laugh as if Khedra was going
to **** her...
i have recently found that women are...
terribly nervous...
it's so unforgiving to find oneself in the company of a nervous
woman...
then again: maybe this should be a thrill for me?
oh, Marie is going to take me a while
to unravel... she's too petrified for any penetrative
***... she's pretty content with performing
only oral ***...
    i wonder... why...
  she's the first girl who wants to do it completely in the dark...
she feels insecure or rather: wounded...

whatever the reasons are...
    this tiny: heaviest of hearts i frown at and with.

p.s. 4/4

e|-------------------------------------------------12---
B|---­------------3--------------------------------12---
G|---------3--­---------5----- 2h3h2-----------12---
D|----5------------------------------------­3-----------
A|--------------------------------------------------­-----
E|-------------------------------------------------------

­and then my usual blues...
Julian Apr 2023
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/l8njruxa73yee9b0jzmhd/The-Ultimate-Unabridged-Guide-to-Esoteric-Working-English-2.docx?­rlkey=kunoar7ghpfkb7fjk5xkdgx95&st=i84ornny&dl=0

DIDDICOYS OF CACHALOT CAMARADERIE SCAFFOLDED BY A VYGOTSKIAN SUNRISE OF SAFFRON SAGINATION OF A PINGUEFIED SLENDER DAMSEL OF STAR-CROSSED AFFLICTIONS BEMOANING THE GRUELING TAXIDERMY OF LIVID TRIUMPHS FOR SPRINGBOKS IN THE SPANDRELS OF JAMDANI RARELY DEFINED BY THE ZEAL OF THROTTLEBOTTOMS TO USE DELITESCENT MALCONTENT TO FOMENT THE FLARES OF REVOLUTIONARY GRIPES OF GRIM SUMPTERS ARRAYED BY THE PLENARY INHABITANTS OF DENEHOLES OF THE AGES OF ARBALESK GAUNT AND DECIMATED BY VINEYARDS OF FOISONS OF UPAS IN ANTINOMIAN HARVEST THAT DECRIES WITH THE CLENCHED DECLENSION OF MISCARRIED JUSTICE THAT OVERLAYS THE MAGNATES OF OUR TIMES WITH SELECTIVE IMMUNITY THAT WE MIGHT FIND STATOLITH GRADGRINDS OF IATROMATHEMATICS IN PORTFIRE THAT THE CHRONOMANCY OF DIKEPHOBIA ROAMS REGNANT IN NEBBICH PATAVINITY BECAUSE THE PASILALY UNLEASHED HEREBY IRRADICATES A MYTHOS UNLEASHED BY VEESES OF VESUVIATION FOR VARSAL PICTURES OF PIXELLATED SALVATION THAT EVEN IN JASPERATED GOMPHIASIS AGAINST GONFALONIERS BRAZEN WITH BRAINTRUST AURILAVE AUTHORITARIANISM THAT MIGHT THE HACHURE IMPREGNATE A STERILIZED TIME THAT BLUEPETERS OF MULIEBRITY MIGHT EXORCISE THE MISANDRY OF THEIR TRIBULATIONS INCULCATING  THEM TO BELIEVE SUCH HARRIDANS AND SCARAMOUCHES OF SACRILEGE THAT AN INVENTED PARSEC OF FARCICAL FATIDICAL LIES OF ****** PELARGIC DENOUEMENT THAT EVENTUALLY THE CULPRITS DISMISSIVE OF ACCOLENT CULTURES OF HEYDAY BECOMING THE CENTERPIECE OF TOMES OF AFFLICTION THAT THE PROPER COMPROMISE BECOMES A BETTER AVIZANDUM THAN SHOW-TRIAL BUFFOONERY BY BABIRUSA NOMENCLATURE OF JUGGINS JUDOGI ENFORCED BY CABRILLA THAT USES CADRES OF CABRES TO OUTFOX ALL GENTILITY IN THE SUPERSTITIOUS FLICTION OF FAVELAS SQUIRMING AROUND JAWHOLE SENSITIVITY IN SIMULTAGNOSIA TO BROWBEAT ELEUTHERPOMANIA EVEN WHEN ITS RECOURSE IS A BONANZA FOR HUMAN FRUITION BECAUSE IN BOUNDLESS BELIEF AND COUNTLESS DRACULIAN DRAPERY OF THE POSTCENNIUM OF HEBENON LIES TRYING TO TREACLE AN INVETERATE REGARD FOR SACRILEGE RATHER THAN PROMOTING A SACROSANCT REVOLUTION OF PROPRIETY MIXED WITH APOLAUSTIC FUROR MIGHT WE THEN SEE TIME CULMINATE IN THE RICHES OF LAVISH INGLUVIES RATHER THAN SUBORNED FAGINS AGAINST NEOVITALISM IN THEIR CASUALISM OF ACCIDENTAL PROAIRESIS WHICH OFTEN NEGLECTS THE WONDERWORK OR THE WUNDERKIND BECAUSE THE KUNDLESROMAN PROFFERED BY CLOYING LIMITROPHES OF ASCENDANCY IN DECEIT FINDS A SUBTERNATURAL HAVEN AMONG OBSEQUIOUS OBEQUITATION BECAUSE OF AMENDES NEEDING REFORM AND PUNCTILLIOUS REGARD NEEDING A HONED INSTRUMENTALISM OF UNIVERSAL SALVATION AFFORDED EVEN TO THE PHARISEE GENTILES CLOUDY IN HAZES OF PHAROAHS OF ICEBLINK VERGLAS HAUGHTY AND SUPERIOR ONLY BY THEIR OWN BARAGNOSIS OF WEIGHAGE BY THE STEVEDORES OF VANGERMYTE VAMPIRES WHO FLAUNT CARELESS CAUSALITY AS THE ADVENT OF AN IRREVERENT NIHILISM ALREADY DEBUNKED BY THE CLERISY WHICH SEES HOW INCULCATION CREATED BY IMBREVIATED MYTHOS MIGHT BECOME A BENTHIC TRAP OF NIDAMENTAL FUROR AGAINST THE WIREWOVEN TAPESTRIES THAT BORROW FROM STATE FARM TURBINATED TOURBILLONS OF CONTORTION A WIELDED SENTRY OF MECHANIZED CONVENIENCE BY AGENTS OF CONSUMERIST MASKIROVKA TO THE BENEFIT OF ENTIRE SOCIETIES OF LARGESSE ONLY TO THE EXTENT THAT THE FUNNEL OF SIFFLEURS REMAINS IMMUNE TO PROCRYPSIS IN INVAGINATION PRIOR TO THE INITIATION OF THE BARNSTORM HEYDAYS THAT YIELD FROM THE FULGURANT TWANG AND TWISTLE OF TWIRES OF TYMPANY A MOUNTENANCE OF SHARED GROWTH THAT STANDPIPES ***** TO IMMUNIZE AGAINST ENCAUSTIC MEANS OF ARTIFICIAL DEBASEMENT IN AN UPCOMING ERA OF THE LAZIEST BELLETRIST EVER AUTHORED BY CYBERNETIC HANDS RATHER THAN PURIFIED HUMAN INGENUITY. WE MUST FOREWARN, THEREFORE, THAT A SOCIETY THAT JUST GLOMS AND TWADDLES AROUND LIKE A LAZARET WHEN ELASTANE SIMPLICITIES COMPOUNDED BY AN INVETERATE NIVELLATION OF HUMAN AMBITION BORNE BY ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE MIGHT WE SEE THE DANGERS OF PROSTHESIS AS INCLEMENT BUT INTEGRAL SIMULTANEOUSLY TO A FASTIDIOUS LUCRE OF AUTOMATION LEADING PAST THE STRICKLES OF MODERN CAKEWALKS OF A WALKING STALKING MUGIENCE THAT LAMENTS WITH THE GREATEST INSISTENCE THE ERA PRIOR TO THE OVERTURES OF ARCEATED ECONOMIES INSULATED FROM THE BRUNT OF BRUTAL PANGS OF KNELLS SOUNDING HOUR BY HOUR BETOKENING INEVITABLE DEMISE TO THE AUBADES OF DAWNING ABORIGINAL SUFFRAGE TOWARDS A SOCIETY WHICH MOURNS MACROPICIDE OF YARAKS TO THE EXTENT IT IS A SUFFRAGE TO MERIT CONSTRAINED BY ABDERVINE STRICTURES HEEDED BY EVERY PEJORATIVE JAWHOLE DESCRYING THE DENOUEMENT OF EUPHEMISM THAT THEIR JATO REFORMATION IS BOUNDLESSLY A YESTERTEMPEST OF AMELIORATION BOTCHED BY QUIDDITIES OF QUIXOTIC ATHENAEUM THAT ARE ANTEPONED IN STRIFE AND DELIVERANCE TO THE TIROCINIUM OF A CASEMATE STOKEHOLD BRITSKA WHO HERALDS WITH THE GREATEST CAUTION THE CASUALTIES AND DEGREDATION OF MAN INTO CARNAL LUSTS RATHER THAN SORBEFACIENT MORALISM WHICH WILL SUCCEED IN TRIMMING THE HEDGES OF BANGTAIL ATTEMPTS OF EMICATED CONTROVERSIES YET FETCHED BY DOGGED DOGGEREL OF PERSISTENCE. WE REQUIRE A MASSIVE TIMMYNOGGY TO STREAMLINE THE EDUCATIONAL BEDROCK OF AMERICAN AND WORLD SOCIETIES TO THE SENSE THAT BEDIZENED SUFFICIENCY GLARING WITH GLOWERING AMARANTHINE CADASTERS OF THE SQUAMATION MEASURED BY EUDIOMETERS MEASURING SERICULTURE THAT THE YUAN AND JAPAN OF TIME CAN FORESEE A SITUATION WHERE A SWOLLEN INDUSTRIALIZED APPROACH TO EDUCATIONAL REFORM SIZZLES WITH SEETHING IMPERATIVES TO ENSURE THAT GRIDLOCK RESULTS IN FEWER STATISTS ENTHYMEMES OF CAIMANS TRYING TO COERCE CREANCERS TO BELONG TO A VESTIGIAL COVVENGER PALLOR ETCHED ON THE CHALKBOARDS OF REGRESS RATHER THAN GALLOPING TIDES OF HEADLESS HORSEMEN REVERENT OF REVERENCE ITSELF IN NEVER A BLASPHEMY OF ABARTICULAR INCOGNIZANCE THAT THE FUTURE MOBILIZES EVERY FORCE CAPABLE OF REVIVING A ZEITGEIST OF DISTRACTION FROM THE NETHERWORLD TWINGES OF SUBSTRATOSE AFFLICTION BECAUSE THE TRUER GLEBE AND POTAGER OF A BALIZED RHEOTAXIS OF MISGUIDED TOP-DOWN UTILITARIAN UTOPIANISM WHICH SCALDED THE PAST WITH INDOCTRINATION RATHER THAN SYNTHESIS THAT WE MIGHT ENGORGE EDUCATIONAL BUDGETS SO THAT WE CAN ENSURE THE ANGLOPHONIC POLITY OF DEMARCHE CAN CLAMBER FASTER TOWARDS THE PINNACLE RATHER THAN DESCENDING INTO WHISTLERRS OF NOTOREITY FOR A WORLD PREPOSSESSED WITH FAKE LANGUOR AMONG WHITTAWERS AS THEY BROWBEAT THE ICEBLINK OF RESONANCE BECAUSE OF A PROTERVITY OF SELF-INTEREST THAT ALL SALVATION HINGES UPON THE DOCIMASY AND THE DOCTRINE THAT THE INSUFFERABLE PAST WAS A NECESSARY PREDICATE AND PARAGON FOR THE FUTURE ENLIGHTENMENT AND ALL CONTRARIAN MOVEMENTS TRYING POTICHOMANIA—THE GREATEST FOLLY KNOWN TO THE MANDARIN MANDARISM OF POORLY STEWARDED CABOOSES OF A TIM COOKED WORLD—THAT THEY ARE IN FACT ICONOCLASTS OF THE WRONG ARTIFACTS BECAUSE OF A JAUNDICED AGENDA THAT PRETENDS TO BE AGAINST JAUNDICE ITSELF BUT SUFFERS FROM A MARIVAUDAGE OF BLUEPETER ORTHOPTEROLOGY WHICH INCENSES BY REDEFINING MULIEBRITY AND VIRILITY ON UNEQUAL PLAYING FIELDS TO PLEASE OPPOSITIVE INTERESTS OF WHERRETING WREPOLIS AND GUARDED WRIKPONDS AS THE VANGERMYTES CHOMP FUTURE GAINSAY WITH GUARDED OPINIONATION BECAUSE OF URCEOLATE AVARICE PREDICATED ON THORNY IMBROGLIOS THAT TRY TO EVADE TRIBULOID NECESSITIES TO THEIR OWN PERIL THAT WE CANNOT IGNORE THE STOCKINETTE BECAUSE A COLORBLIND WORLD IS ESSENTIALLY BLIND TO WAYS TO SOLVE THE ISSUES OF COLOR AND COLORATION SUCH THAT DOLOROUS CRITICASTERS CAN LAMENT THEIR HEAD OVER HEELS OBSESSION WITH ****** AND GARISH HUMAN SEXUALITY TO THEIR GREATER PERIL RATHER THAN THEIR LURCHES TOWARDS SALVATION. THERE IS NOTHING INHERENTLY WRONG WITH A WORLD THAT EMPHASIZES A MAXIMALISM IN THE DOGMATIC ACCORD THAT PROMOTES THE FAIR WAGES OF THE OPPRESSED BUT THERE IS SOMETHING GRAVELY GRAVID ABOUT THE WAYSPAY OF STERILIZED MERCURIAL DESIGNS OF PSYCHOGONY TOWARDS NEPIONIC ENLISTMENT INTO RADICALISM THAT EXISTS ON BOTH FRINGES ONE PRESUPPOSING THAT THE WORLD IS A SOURDINE SORBILE DISGRACE UNWORTHY TO CREATE A NOTITIA AND THE OTHER JUST AS DELIRIFACIENT THAT THE RENEWED WORLD MUST BOW DOWN TO A SACCHARINE JOLLY RANCHER ECONOMY THAT ETIOLATES ALL FORMS OF INITIATIVE AND INITIALISM BECAUSE THE BROCKFACED AGENTIC FORCE AT THE BRONTEUM OF FASHION TRIES WITH PEREMPTORY REGARD TO NORMALIZE THE NOMOTHETIC LIVES OF ELITISM AS THE COMMON GONFALONIER WHEN IN FACT IT STRANDS IN ZALKENGUR OF HALKENDS A DEPRIVED WORLD THAT DOESN’T DARE TO ACCOMMODATE A WORLD THAT NECESSARILY DEPENDS ON PIECEMEAL BOWLDERIZATION BECAUSE OF  THE DERANGEMENT OF UPBRINGING IN NIDIFUGOUS HOMES THAT ARE OFTEN SUBSIDIARY AND PANDERED TO WIDELY LIKE A ****** HARASSMENT PANDA TRYING TO ACCELERATE THE DOOMSTERS OF RIP VAN WINKLE IGNORANCE THAT THE SCARLET LETTER BECOMES A SCALARIFORM CORDWAINER MARKET WHICH IS A DISEASED OPINION OF THE SOCIOGENESIS OF THE HUMAN FRONTIERS BECAUSE OF ITS VERY FINIFUGAL ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT HOW THE SCAFFOLDS OF REDSHORT BRITTLE SUBHASTATION OF HUMAN DOGMA TO SERVILE SKITTLES AND SCARAMOUCH RUFFIAN RAFFISH INCOGNITO DELIRIFACIENCE OF A DISHEVELED BARAGNOSIS CAN PARALYZE A PARASELENIC TIME WITH A TORPID WOKISM THAT REMANDS INTO CUSTODY TOO MANY KEY ARTIFACTS OF AMERICAN HISTORY DELIBERATELY CONSTRUCTED PERDURABLE BECAUSE OF THE VALENCE OF THEIR STOICHOMETRY FOR NEW WORLD NUCLEOTIDES AGAINST THE GAVEL OF DIKEPHOBIA. THERE ARE BALISAURS OF BALUSTRADE RUSHING TO THE EXITS OF NAZE AND MURENGER WHO GUARD THEIR PRIVILEGES ZEALOUSLY TO SUCH A GRAVE REGARD SOME REMAIN INSURMOUNTABLE IN CAGOULE WHIGGARCHY OF CALVOUS SERVITUDE TO THE BRICOLAGE OF TRUCAGE IN ENTERTAINED DIVERSIONS OF STRIFE AGAINST STRIFE ITSELF BLACKGUARDING THE SPATHODEA BECAUSE SOME PEOPLE IN SUNBITTERN TIMES IGNORE THE SUNDOG REPUTE OF THOSE WHO BARNSTORM FOR THE CREDENDA AND VISIBILIA OF REASON OVER THE PUNDITOCRACY OF REMEDIAL PINGUEFIED STANDARDS OF A BLOVIATING FATIDICAL SHALLOP OF  SILKALINE IMPLEMENTS BRUISED BY THE WICK AND WHICKER OF THE NEIGHS OF CAMELOPARDS GALLIVANTING WITH ARGALI BECAUSE OF THEIR PRECISION OF ALMAGEST IN ARENOID ARANEIDAN COVERT SOCIETIES DESIGNED TO FORBID THE PREROGATIVES OF TOMORROW BASED ON THE GLOSSOLALIA OF THE INCHOATE CELSITUDE OF STADIOMETERS OF THE MOST PRECISE ENTELECHY IN STRADOMETRICAL REFORMS. ESSENTIALLY IF WE ASK FOR LARGESSE IN A COUNTRY PLAGIARIZING PLAGUES TO GAIN EMERGENCY POWERS WE SHOULD QUESTION THEIR DRAGOONS TO THE EXTENT THAT FUTURE CALAMITY IS FORESTALLED BY EARWIGS MAKING THEIR SUBSIDIARY WALLETEER SKIRMISHES PALATABLE TO WHELKIES THAT THEY MIGHT IN TIME BELIEVE FINALLY IN CAVERNILOQUYS OF A GREATER REFORM FOR A SOCIETY OF DEMASSIFICATION THAT LEADS EVENTUALLY TO MUTUALISM IN HARMONIZED SYNCOPATION THAT THE HERALD OF TOMORROW MIRRORS THE VALOR OF THE PAST RATHER THAN GLORIFYING THE PILLORY OF HESTER PRYNNE BECAUSE OF THE PRESBYTERY JUST BECAUSE IT REMAINS AN INVETERATE IMBROGLIO OF SPECIOUS FREUDIAN PSYCHOBABBLE THE MISCEGENATION OF SO MANY DELETERIOUS FICTIONS OF FINALISM RATHER THAN A VALIANT BELIEF IN NEOVITALISM PREDICATING GOD BASED UPON THE UMBRILS OF A SALVATION UPCOMING AND A BLOCKBUSTER TWISTER TRIAGE OF THE PAST UNDERSTANDING THE CHRONOMANCY OF THE PRESENT. THE ASSUEFACTION IGNORANT OF THE CELLARERS WARNING ON THE STYROFOAM OF CABOTAGE UNDERSTANDING THE GLEBES OF POST-MODERN HUES OF REFORMATION IN AGGIORNAMENTO LEADS US TO A CULMINATED PROWESS WIDELY MANUFACTURED TO ENLIST PEOPLE COGNIZANT OF LESSONS OF NOVERNARY WANCHANCY AND THE RUDENTURE OF THE CURRENT PALLOR OF NEBBICH STEM ISOLATIONISM THAT IS TURBINATED UPON INTRORSE SATISFACTIONS IN AN INTERRAMIFIED  WORLD MIGHT THEY FIND THE POWER OF THE BAILIWICK WITHIN THEM TO DECRY THE NEPHROLITHS OF CASUAL STOCKINETTE AND FIND THE GROWTH OF RESURGENT HARMONY A BETTER PARABLE TO GUIDE THE RESURRECTION OF A SOCIETY GOVERNED BY A MORALITY ATTEMPERED BY THIS ZEITGEIST TO ENSURE THAT SO-CALLED VIRILITY REMAINS STRONG AND STOLID AND MULIEBRITY REMAINS INSURGENT BUT RESPECTFUL OF THE PREROGATIVES THAT GROOM THE ESTABLISHMENT PRISM THROUGH WHICH THE CLEPSYDRA OF ECONOMETRIC REFORMATORY CONSERVATION OF COACERVATION SUCH THAT THE RACKRENT NEVER BECOMES AN ONEROUS RHABDOMANIA NOR A SEDERUNT OF ALGEDONIC TILTS INDIRECT TO ALL COBBLESTONE PATHWAYS TOWARDS THE MANUFACTURE OF SALVATION IN INVEIGLED ACCORD BECAUSE OF GREATER CAENOGENESIS AND ORTHOTROPISM IN INTELLECTUAL AMBITION BECAUSE THE BROCKFACED VENTRAD LATERIGRADE SYMPHONIES OF IMBREVIATION LEAD US TOWARDS CATHEDRALS OF ALABASTER LIGHT GLOAMING ABOVE TWILIGHT HOUR RESIDUE SUCH THAT THE FENESTRAL WORLD REMAINS A EUDIOMETER OF TYPESET MUGIENCE BUT BECAUSE OF A BRICOLAGE OF INCITEMENT TOWARDS CROTALINE OPHILIOPHILIST REFORMS MIGHT WE BRAVE A NEWER CENTURY WITH A BOLD BRONTEUM THAT NEVER RELEGATES AFFLICTION OR IGNORES THE GAUNTLET OF FUTURE  SUFFRAGE TOWARDS SYNCOPATED HARMONIZATION BUT ULTIMATELY THAT THE CAVERN ENCOMPASSES ALL BREADTH AND DEPTH OF THE RIGOR OF PRAGMATIC LURCHES OF REFORM.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
.so, you wanted me fully integrated? integrated implying, integrated, but without the local prejudices, nuances, biases? em... how was that going to ever "happen"?! so you, wanted me, to learn your language... but not alleviate from the täuschung... of the original migratory allure... the: ****** problems? and, i was going to learn the language, and at the same time, "ignore" the inherent biases? wow... that's something... i was supposed to learn english, but hold no english biases against the welsh, the scots, the irish, the americans, the australians... **** on me... let's talk about parting the red sea, that, i hope, will become easier, over time; hotel transylvannia 2? when frank buckles horns with murray / the mummy? what then, what will, appease, my pandered to bee keepers of the english language? this won't do? expect the next suicide bombing by some afghan refugee? the next 7/7 scenario? i'm done, done doing this ******* integration, immigration, pandering play-date *******... if i want to head-****, lock horns with some irish man... i'll do that! whimsical tea-party ******* of sterile quasi-vikings... *******! you know... getting someone *******, as you managed... to do, so far... q lazarus, yes, led zeppelin, goyete, and then some roxette... and abba... me, i want to head-**** with an Eire-man, and then watch the Titanic sink... because? hell, i just feel like it, savvy? funny... how once "the people" wanted integration, but then, didn't want it, when it came to "the affair", of somethingm akin to the pakistani "couter"... so, what's so bad, with me, head-butting an Eiremann? to disclose an form of affection, gravitated to, with a kiss? oh, sure, sure, that's the whole integration bomb-shell "problem"... well... ******* too, i guess? the british grenadiers, fife & drums... look... if it will be any way made, easier... i'll just whistle... f f f f f f f... fickle farmer ****** over a fickle friend and, gained a ******* farm; no rhythm, no rhyme, but plenty of flutes... ***** too true, for the waited for marching orders... congress! aye! right! stretch! march! squandron! aye! left! man up, strut! hey presto... a magic trick, once dilated, not exactly a magic trick... two cues worth of a welshman's V to that sordid crap of a national anthem... V... up yours! some irish converts wished for a russian bride... i'd **** for a cockney bride... fowl mouthed speaking in slang... i'd **** for a ***** of that sort... it would almost feel like, reinventing a cat, with a necessity of prescribing it, with the petting "advice" of a leash... no... i wish i could... i can't sing you: god save the queen / king... what i will do... is whistle the british grenadier march...you wanted a pledge of allegiance... **** the anthem... i'll die by the whistling marching orders... whistle... whistle... union jacky... not exactly navy, but not too sure of purple, either! well said, ticks the 5, well done.

calling out: a body
                   without a shadow,
and then, "calling out"
a shadow, without a body...
                     xenomorph...
the secret satantic hierarchy...
               of all the pleasures,
pain,
   have ever gripped me,
to sustain the experience
of fathoming the brilliance
of, pleasure...
              tier 1, go,
    tier 2, go,
tier 3: go...
                 and how will i
structure behave:
if find the game of chess,
within the confines
of the current, political climate?

how will,
we ever,
refine the finding of chess,
by having to redefine it
in terms of game
counter-game?

always, forever always,
with the culmination
of counter-culture against
               "collateral" damage...        
schicksal, und mann...
              ausbeute:
              mann contra mann...
before me,
not a mere thought,
but, the countless submerged
to the confines of death,
       came by,
the ones,
at the flattened pyramid
         table...
          lord of silence,
of supreme desolation,
                          only man
would have governed the
plague of fate,
that man, unto man,
would have,
or could have,
ever experience...
                these halls,
of the hoarded itches
of the horde to come,
to give it the ****,
for...
                a believence to
be scuttling imitation
of rats...
  my grand:
sinking ship....

          i learned the inverted
way...
i can't be welcome,
plateau citizen...
   "british"...
given that some irish, ******...
expect me,
to treat him,
peasant,
       as something akin
to a king...
           see, you had me,
when, my fellow,
treated me as his own fellow...
it became...
"problematic"...
                  when my fellow,
bound himself to be of status:
king...
and i? a ******* mechanical
variety of dishwasher...

           nope...
              i'll sooner **** you,
than, succumb to this...
sort, of, irish *******...
"simply" because...
it couldn't be translated into
english...
you,
   dying, irish, ****!

now please excuse me,
while i punch myself,
and nibble on my knuckles...
and pray...

         for a translation from
the worth of knuckle itching!
i hope i fail...
but i just pray for...
the chance to
              experiment
with an outlet!
      give me a chance to express
my grievances
against an outlet
of a worth of a canvas...
i'll give you one source
of grievance...
               i wanna head-****
     an irish man...
as much as i want
to circumcise semi-irish mongrels...

like i said:
i'm fully integrated...
i've learned the locals'
     prejudices.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
oh yeah, thanks...
pandering to the new loonies...
thanks...
you trying to heat up
the PSTD loon about to strike?!
seriously?
  old loonies don't buy into
the new loonies' *******...
we're the medicated ones...
back in the day,
p.s. the asylum...
we were the ones experimented
on, with drugs
that were supposed to
sedate the un-****** women,
and the men who
were under pharmacological
castration procedures...
look at you, ******* say-knees...
i have to write say-knees
because writing sanies comes
out as a spelling mistake...
so... your pharmacological
"solution" to the old crazies
is pharmacological
implementation...
keep them sedated, keep them calm...
but... with the new loonies?!
you're prescribing...
pandering?!
   seriously?!
for ****'s sake!
      your big pharmacological
explanation is...
the drug known as: pandering?!
great timing...
no, really, great timing...
i'm starting to consider the sane
as mad, and the mad as sane...
the new loonies are playing
game...
  with the advent of closing
asylums, the supposed society
of our time, is... the rejuvenation
of the asylum...
   you're all ******* mad...
so psychotropic drugs
for the schizophrenics...
but...
    pandering to the trans-gender...
pseudo-metaphysical
"gymnasts"...
     ******* applause... when necessary!
and by now...
it's ******* necessary!
i thought... maybe i should pity
these anglophone liberal
****-tards... lock them up with
lemon meringue ****,
allowing them the time to:
figure who was who,
and who was Napoleon...
but no... oh no no...
             once, a fine fine quote,
but Bukowski read:
the jews and the gays are running the show...
the jews are long gone
concerned about Israel...
the gays have their once covert
secret lives shattered by laws
that allow gay marriage...
ola the new crazies!
      you know... i know when i'm
being lied... but when i lied
so blatantly, and with no imagination...
do i have to nod in agreement?
i can't believe how the new loonies
gripped the sanity of
the centric balloon of a Behemoth's
worth of the populace...
so you feed the old loonies
their big pharmacological cocktail...
but prescribe the new loons...
the"drug"... pandering?
**** it... the melancholic,
the hyperbolic, the hypochondriac,
the schizophrenic,
           the... psychotic...
we'll send a few PTSD sufferers
to Blitzkrieg their attention...
       **** it... i'm doing
  the nigel farage... i'm bailing out...
this model of society is a sinking
ship... sinking, not sailing...
  i'm doing the one thing
high-profile politicians do best...
imitate rats...
they bail out...
                  i'm doing the nigel farage...
the david cameron magic trick...
which isn't exactly magic...
you just pander to the new
crazies...
you know how the old crazies
will react to your, "sane society"
pandering of ******* up grammar?!
   the old crazies, on their pharmacological
cocktails, not being pandered,
Chamberlain appeased with a flimsy
piece of paper from ******, like...
there's a song...
the remix...
   (audio bullies, feat. nancy sinatra) -

i was five and he was six
we rode on horses made of sticks
he wore black and i wore white
he would always win the fight
bang bang
   'e shot me down
bang bang
i hit the ground
bang bang...
     that awful sound
bang bang
                       my baby shot me down


pandering to these new crazies
will not get rid of the old crazies...
and the old crazies...
the old crazies...
       ah... such a beautiful impulsive
nature to exact an injustice
with a justification for,
what in their eyes... is the only
justice available.

so... when will you start medicating
the new loons like
you medicated, made a pharmacological-ly
attested a "necessary" intervention...
you see how the new loonies
are controlling the language
            of... hive-"individuals"?

but it's not fair... give them
the big pharmacological castration...
  sell them: the male the walking abortion...
the glorification of woman
as some Moloch deposit of "furthering"
life via an Arabic harem...

         god... put me on the Titanic...
i want to wave... wave...
                                            bye bye!
i simply do not possess
the desire for an existential imperative;
because i don't find
procreation to be the argument
to further this... bollocking of...
an example... that stretches into
similis *** ****,
the big bang...
      boiling water for tea in a kettle...
journalistic insomnia,
the study of history...
    the argument of state and taxes...
the remaining aristocracy in hiding,
and the emerging technocracy...
the passing on genes argument
(my mother ****** my
grandfathers genes)...
          
i am... doing the second Pontius Pilate
reminder...
             you find the purpose
to follow through...
i've already found enough reasons,
to bow out.
Sheila Haskins Jun 2021
There’s always a threat to be pandered to
Always a cloud in the sky
Always the ones who are doomed to die
A drug, a panacea is yours you can take
There’s always hope if you buy it
Beware of the choices you make
Your fear will help you grow old
If you have the coin, give them all that you’ve got
You may be here, though others may not
You are part and parcel, a cog in the wheel
They will teach you to think, teach you to feel
Remember that threat will always be here
The shadows they show you will fill you with fear
There’s always a cloud in the sky......

Ask yourself why
S Smoothie Apr 2020
It seems they own us already... Well played... Well played... Thanks to all the fuckwits with out integrity or vision... **** all the dimwits placated with social justice bs and not on choices and moral values caring for life and living. We are all well and truly ******. Virus take me, this **** is laying out a painful future I don't want to be a part of. Stay safe. You're never safe.  It's immunity or strength. We're still part of a conspiracy we all didn't want to see coming...

Oh, where are you Orwell when we need you? What a prophet, wondrous genius labelled it fantasy so that those who could see may lead the blind...

War machine no1 mkultra on steroids social and cultural shift media. Blurry lines, smaller tribes are overcome much easier with global propaganda. Watching the sun's role in global warming. It is omnipotent and we are in its fancy, but as we destroy ourselves we lament and continue our diet of convienence truths and lies.

Where are you Orwell when we need you? What a prophet, wondrous genius labelled it fantasy so that those who could see may lead the blind...

Our youth dumber and more pandered and selfish than ever
The road to communism was never straight
Our identities once given now traded into the thin air of whimsy only to be handed them again.

As we destroy ourselves we lament and continue our diet of convienent truths and lies.

The Beast the bible foretold, is ourselves and what the elements we have created as the four horse men...


never a truer wiser book was there written than the humble of the humblessed... yeah I know you see what I did there... or do you? Best blessings SS **
Be who you want but don't destroy who you were and who loved you there in the beginning when you were helpless but no less devine.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
title: charter
body: himling (502 bad gateway bypass).


but in earnest, i hate giving advice to begin with, that's one of the pillars that was passed down to me from Alexander Dumas... watch the Shawshank Redemption enough times... Alexandre Dumb-***... never figured out why... well... English would look very, very ugly without certain surd (silent) letters in its spelling... like... dumb... where's the ******* 'B'?! or... Gnostic... where's the 'G'? you can't exactly reform English by saying... let's replace the surd letters with an apostrophe... 'nostic... dum'... even though? English writes itself along the lines of cannot via can't... will not via won't... it must hurt... you mentioned troubles with a girl you're seeing and she's ******* (she is) ******* this other guy... in my writing i mention the 3Ps... priests, psychiatrists, prostitutes... i should invoke a 4th P... poets... see a *******... honest hand on an honest heart... you'll see women differently... a lot differently... when you pay one for merely ***... after said experience... you will turn the power-*** dynamic on its head... you will not longer see women in the same way... i.e. ideally... i was a sucker for looking at women ideally... all that You Got Mail... High Fidelity crap... no... after an hour with a *******... you sober up... you start seeing the game... not of the pick-up artist... but of women... you end up paying for what you exactly want... you're not paying for a date... talk?! what talk? some of the women i recently met have nothing to say about movies, music... or books... they might have pandered themselves on showcasing a decalogue of too long nails... even they say that they can't properly use a touch screen because of their "disability"... don't waste your feelings on this broad... go to a *******... sober ub... stop being so idealistic... such a mollusk favouring romance... i tried it... it doesn't work... it's counterfeit.... seriously...  with a priest all you'll get is a confession... talk... with a psychiatrist... more talk... but at least with a ******* you'll... you're the type that requires to talk during ***? i don't... i just use eye-contact and the power of touch... CARPE DIEM the **** out of this situation... forget her... she's already ******* herself... for thrills... not for pay...wait till she starts doing it for pay... she's bound to revel in degrading herself as a free commodity into a: pay into dynamic... get ahead of her... see a *******... build up a ****** "diet"... learn to fast... get into swimming... get into cycling...  and whenever something prompts you to have someone ******* you... well... wait there and then... for the moment to come... or do nothing at all... once i managed a decade being overweight... once i got a scare from my doctor: you're too fat... you have two options... lose weight... or... we'll put you on high blood pressure tablets... so i started to walk marathons and cycle... but then... after a decade's worth of a period of being invisible... what will you know... single mothers started crawling out of the woodworks like cockroaches... you leave one homemade wine, banana loaf, flowers on Valentine's Day... and? she ends up behaving like a SPASTIC... ugh... ugh... dunno what to do! a boy likes me! i'm transgender! i don't know what a girl is supposed to behave! ******* SPAZ... of course i'm going to retaliate by going to my favoured source of: mann ist mann... Kadın dır-dir Kadın... i'm never sure how the Turks cut off the head off the iota... how it morphs when it's cut off... one Turk explained it to me... AYE becomes merely E... never mind... to reiterate... once you pay a woman for ***? your feeling dynamic is changed, it becomes more focused, you can appreciate rejection a lot more freely...  afterwards you're like: **** it... sure... let her do what she wants... plus? you don't really get a chance to glow and wallow in the up-keep of her realising that she ****** up... you'll be more like: don't worry girl, everyone ***** up once in a while... there will be no hint of schadenfreude in your secret malice coming to fruition... it, merely, "somehow"... ahem... "happened"... you'll walk with a glee of: oops(?)... well... at least that's how i'm walking... and i'm not making it a secret... it's out in the open... don't bother with priests... don't bother with psychiatrists... they'll only prescribe you pills that will fatten you up... or... sinner prayers... see a *******... find one that's from the East though... Romanian... Bulgarian... Turkish... i wish you all the best in your plight.
David Hilburn Nov 2018
Life, taught by a key
Seeking it's lock, misery for a pandered doling
****, have you seen the better of me?
Since we are all made, to seek knowing...

Might we be frank?
Soul's in a freedom that save the can
Have the sense of when eyes suggest anger
To be the lid to the problem, and...

A silent mistake
Known to keep, in the brutality of the wind
Simple news for a shadow to take
A future in the steps of those wiser, and sinning

Poor, potential and patience
Together for a name to rise above the land
And seem the pressure of ancient men, that sought ages
Of river's and cities, that did soul, with a bugs challenge...

Patterned after six, the moment of dinge's
Presumption in love, with anything but a door
Taken for a fool, or the shine of a gift in wings
Can you save heathen from the whistles we make for war...
if you think this one is good, try it with a little lemon
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
from the depths of a drunkenness that's melancholy:
the most sobering truths...

co to jest: świadomość -
to jest... narodziny pamięci...
i nie-pamięci tzn.: akt zapominiania...
w tym że człowiek się rodzi
w stanie pierworodnym:
a pierworodna świadomość
to "jedynie" najczystrza imaginacja:
co potem staje się:
zagmatwana, jako taka "druga"
za pomocą zmysłów:
nie jako ta piersza:
          czerpioną z świadomoś ci
samej-w-sobie...

nonwendigkeit:

not wrtten... but how a German might say it...
non-vendish-kyte...
or... sharpening the caron of the invisible S
entrapped in the G...
to a... nonwendiśkeit...
non-wendiś-kajt...

like... ich is also isch... which is also:
iść: to go... to walk...

NOT WHEN DIG KITE...
digging for kites?
or... Keats?
    
   no one serious, no matter of seriousness...
just sounds... encoding of sounds...
Hangul or hieroglyphics...
most certainly too much drinking...
oh: and a translation...

ha! if i were a Milan Kundera and wrote in Czech...
right... even if i wrote in German...
how many years later would
a translation arrive?
writing in ******...
ugh... the etymology... Slav...
the English imply the origin of Slav...
is labouring under a "lost" E...
hmm... should i start calling the Russians
for clarifications?
let's see...
   Slav has an etymological root in Turkic...
which Slavs? the Yugols?
the southern... Slavs?
you're all ******* Franks?!
Swabians?! are you? last time i heard we
ref. to ourselves as the remnants of
the Sarmatian inquisitiveness...
some... Iranian tribe... Aryans...
  
******* sputnik historians...
makes my blood boil...
little things... always the little things make one
into a ******...
punctuation marks... displaced...
i'm a pedantic beast...
Slav is derived from Slave for Turkic...
really?!
Słowianin... word-smith...
słowo: word...
     ANIN: you want to know the meaning?
having no master...
word without a master...
slav(e)... the English approach...
let's suppose...
secretly i'm rubbing my hands waiting
for the Scots & the Welshmen...
why? why... because i can...
because i will not be subjugated to
etymological dunces!

******* Western sling-shot targets...
Bristolians...
Devonshire pompous *******...
what are you... some ******* proto-German
with ambitions to make a history with
Anglo-Swabians?
the winged hussars of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth: no... didn't... no... n'ah...
didn't come to aid Vienna...
well... i was told to learn the history
of the Norman invasion...
& the life of Edward the Confessor...
whom i very much adored...
i can't bring my history to these isles...
my "tattooes"?
in the script it states:
black-African... black-Carribean...
but not anglo-slav...
sorry... ha ha! i "feel" discriminated!

******* English ***** thinking all Slavs were
slaves of the Turks... yeah... maybe...
the Serbs! the Balkan Slavs!
us western Slavs waged wars with the Ottomans...
now my barber is a Turk & i thank god no
ethnicity touches my ****** sprout...

see! the English stress their values...
i managed to call them: universal
on a ZOOM call...
sure... "universal"... but hardly without their own
fault... come... come one...
who's kidding who?
labouring under the strict obligation of discovering:
DISCOVERING... not learning...
history...  sure... up in Edinburgh...
the local are... ******* up in arms
with standardised Elizabethean English...
*****...
     pompous Derbyshire whittle boys!
toffs or wigs! either of them!
        i want to bark in a way that i might
spew a spare tooth!  ****'s sake... hark! hark!
i want to bite! i want to bark!
no... you don't spew etymological spoofs
and get away with it...
i'll just round up some Ukrainians...
some Russians...
Tartars & the Cossacks...

        it insults me... "thinking" that...
there's this clue of a... oh... "merely" a "missing" E...
to arrive at Slav from Slave...
blood... is... boiling... & i'm not even on the side
of the imbecile surrogates of marzipan C4
explosive vest quests...
my grievance is... eh... more personal...
no Iraq or Iran invoked...
    i like to watch...
i need to watch...

           i like... still life... decay...
     what once was fruit is now cider...
  you don't confuse etymology though...
i.e. where does the term German come from?
the man with the germs?
the sickly **** bring-along?
******* Anglo *****...
broken bonkers on their audacity...
always the prideful wankers...
they were & are... pandered prideful wankers!
i ****... but you couldn't tell...
these ******* stick of ***** wasted!
ugh!
  as much as i love them as much as i hate them!
hey! hey!

so... what's a windmill to a
pumpernickel?

pronoun neutrality in the plural...
what the **** happened to the ROYAL:
ONE & WE?
did that simply... "fizzly" put?
one might,
we were expected...
to hell with trans-gender grammatical rights!
what next?
trans-physics! then state it!
metaphysics & metaphor is a load
of *******,.. as is the thesaurus...
let's do... trans-physics...
i'm clueless as to how we'll begin...

i'll just check with the Russians...
the seem to be the most informed people...
i stopped looking at the setting sun...
when i started up a conversation
about... tortoises...
reiteration... between Tamil...
Hindi... you can speak perfect Hindi...
& Urdu is not some superiority zunge...

to the steppes with you!
tam! dalej! wio!
huca! tym rze! dawaj!
fio!

       pampered Englishman...
when were you last invaded?
ha ha... oh... right... your beginning of history...
so... Darwin was a... ahem.. a...
"mistake"?
ancient Rome knew of the **** similis...
they paid enough attention to it...
but not as much as might not be required...
sorry...
you might right: but only on the sly... with a slight...

i drink the DARK WATERS... the sharpshooter
liquid... whiskers without a cat! hey! you *******
meow i'll turn you into a ******* pear! face first! hey! hey
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
i've talked to arrogant thieves in the night...
one always stands out in particular...
bemoaning his fate as a short man
that he has a child with a woman and the woman
is playing double-jeopardy with her life
on his emotional violin...
she was this | | close to meeting her fate
of kissing death...
he told me about working in a Paris zoo...
we both loved Paris it seems...
i said i'd give my heart brains and at least
one ******* to be a painter in that city
come the turn of... the 19th century entering
the 20th...
i even asked him to stand a few steps above
me so we could speak as equals...
on the same day that i stood like marble
at my grandfather's funeral...
his own, my uncle... i drink... i drink irresponsibly...
but this spineless...
ah... forget it...
chewing gum while the coffin is lowered into...
too much detail...
me and ol' Joseph: the hyenas of the graveyard...
i don't know why we didn't bother walking
in parks...
we cycled together...
         went fishing...
we walked... talked... walked some more...
after all... while my actual father was elsewhere
for the labour-brain-drain in the Vest...
from the age of 4 through to 8...
there was this man...
the drunken... rationaliser of... metallurgy...
at a once... booming metallurgy plant
in a city in the satellite state of the soviet union...
at the end of it though...
crass poker on behalf of his son and his wife...
i felt the full brunt of it from his daughter...
my mother...
i'm almost thankful that my father is a...
quasi... no, wait... pseudo orphan...
he knew who his parents were...
they were still alive...
he was raised by his father's mother
and stepfather...
his mother... blah blah...
he doesn't go into details... i don't know them:
ergo i won't go in them either...
ol joseph though...
who remembered the SS-men stationed
in the city: who would run up to them and implore:
herr! bitte-bon-bon... on recount...
with his punctuation...
there really was a Herr Bittebonbon...
and the soviet soldiers who preferred to sleep
in barns with the animals...
don't ask me whether they also liked to ****
some hairy goat ****...
time will not tell...
came death: that impasse...
if i talked with thieves in the night...
outrageous as they are: thieves...
they tend to boast...
i suspect i've come across a murderer or two...
not that they would gloat in boasting about
their misdeeds...
after all... it's not that a thief is somehow stupid...
but a murderer has to be smart...
he can't just gloat about his deeds...
after all... "something": seriously, ******* "missing"...
no?
best with prostitutes...
if i had a wife and children...
and decided... eh... this one 20 year old will:
freshen me up...
i never use acronyms...               w.t.f.!
some agony aunt in the sunday times
column of the style magazine was replying
to... a "real life event" of a girl: god bless her...
only 20, 22, 24 springs into her gallop
and she's already...
doing this ******* swindling...
because you know that prostitutes have committed
all the impossibly: worst crimes of all...
most probably associated with...
short outbursts of loving someone...
making them feel... somehow... welcome...
unlike talking to a thief who needs
to stand two steps above to speak as equal...
of the 3Ps... priests, psychiatrists, prostitutes...
i'll second the last...
we can at least speak in body...
we can exchange the expected norm of
36.5°C...
             she will barely speak a word of English...
i'll barely speak a word of Romanian...
but... somehow... ochi and oczy match up...
to hell with dating... and the women of:
"expectation": and their decry of dried up attention...
of being... aargghh!
here you go... the barbarian: yawlp... or whatever word
is used in the dead poets society...
n'ah... that's not going to cut it...
O-DIN...
             it has to come from the realm of syllables...
it can't be a a single sound... aye for i...
GARAN-DU!
there must be a slingshot emphasis on some vowel
that might extend the breath!
DA-MI!
                         ergo is a terrible example...
added the fact that... well... katakana (which i will
use)... doesn't exactly use vowels as...
anchors... prefi-                 -xed...

(ha ha... said?)

ah mein gott:
                 what three years feels like without a woman...
not i'm thinking about cutting down
on my drinking and smoking just to give
that Turkish girl all her thrills...
in the company of 4 other prostitutes...
it's a lot easier to break a man down...
all the curves...
all... she had to tease with her *****, though...
although... she looked as much Turkish
as i look ******* Thai...
more... Indian subcontinent...
but to hell with it... anything that moves...
quisquam movet quad...

come to think of it... a "dysfunction of *******":
Sherlock! it was there for a minute...
then it passed... i wasn't in the mood...
i started to pretend to chop my head from
my torso imitating: i drank too much...
there was that: too much GOGA - *****:
in this case... too much ms. amber with whiskers...
or ms. amber nee bourbon...
because i was puking and *******
like mad being hijacked by... nervousness
of being naked and staging mime hands
reading braille of a body with someone
i wasn't intimate with...

   are men supposed to be these... *******...
duracell bunnies: ready on the word go?
all of a sudden... am i supposed to walk around
with a hard-on 24/7... i can... just... switch it on?
flick! hey presto! whittle richard sings his standard...
i checked... she wasn't exactly gooey
mozzarella in her department, either...
i was somewhat exhaust... she was clearly coming down
from a ******* binge...
a welcome break...
but why is it circumcision: fair...
but female genital mutilation...
i'll fold the sheath and...
i too was expecting a Trojan cohort to **** her brains
out...

but if she's not wet... salivated my middle and ring
finger while she attempted to coerce me to hard
for her to then sit on me wholly rodeo...
no... she wasn't in the mood either...
plus i drank too much...
enough excuses...

like the younger sister of an ex- i used to date
remarked: matthew... always dressed in
the colours of the earth...
to match up with the colours of my eyes...
give me the greens, the auburns... the ambers...
i'll walk around camouflaged
like the zebra hasn't seen anything
of man's writing ability...

that William Blake itching of a sketch that's probably
a painting of the ***** of Babylon
riding a torso with multiple splitting of the heads...
so much allure in metaphors...
who's who... nobody's due...

always with these women...
3 years sober from any major contact
and once it happens...
i'm ballistic prone to itch out...
i need more... i need...
to eat with my eyes and scrape with the tips of
my fingers... all these... seemingly...
inedible... body-parts...
thighs... that floral fleshy oysters of ****...
the grooves of collar-bone...
the piggish cartilage of the ears...
the lips like lying watermelons:
we're salty! we're salty!
eyes as labyrinths...

all that two bodies can becomes
in terms of metaphor akin to a bowl
of spaghetti...
**** me, double **** me i'm so "happy" i could
almost end it, right now...

if the yin is "somehow" the negative of what's:
essentially life...
while the yang is... also... "somehow" the positive of
what's: essentially life...
of the latter... the workers...
the farmers...
so much focus on...

HOW... the ying provides all the HOW...
you can be sure to know...
& "know"...
how to grow vegetables... how to...
maintain livestock...
how to construct buildings...
but for all that scary vacuous space in between
the constellation of stars...
the YIN and WHY...
most probably... cognitive-fudge-packaging...
or... dipping sardines in... fudge-packaging antics...

for all the HOW and most certainly
all the sense it makes...
that bollocking riddle of the YIN
and why... there's stalling and there's bureaucracy
and... i'm in the middle of it...

if only everything was Buddha-calls...
the shallowness of the WHY though...
why: a study in the meaning of life...
the meaning of life? live...
let's see what comes just before death
and that question of: after...

       democratically one will never really focus
on "reality"...
only snippets of: v.i.p. / solipsistic screening...
and that's always a long-shot:
someone else is always, always going to
come around with a... re-****-al...
phonetically, "properly":
       oh... look... i spelled it corrected...
to hell with the hyphens... rebuttal...

oculus per oculus...
               as much as i'd like to be a father...
mutter tod...
tender her embrace...
with her daughters...
she might have wrinkled her eye...
twitched... i was about to show her why
i'm the only son without ties
to the Chinese one-child state policy...
Cherry.. Cherry... noble... cherry nobly...
Chernobyl...
          
był: i was... (masculine)...
była: i was... (feminine)...

      and... these people who want a grammatical
revolution in this: dear language...
are facing...Trojan wall impasses?
english nouns do not encapsulate ***...
you can stretch it with: moon being an implication
of feline... feminine...
the sun being masculine...

for all the need of HOW...
stumbling on the shallow ground of WHY:
eat more cauliflower...
why... more of these... brusselsprouts?
how? after a while it has become automated...
complicated at first...
but once the complications are other...
the momentum of replication takes over...
there's still the how: our how, our why...
to compete with nature's
slumber come autumn, frolicking come spring...
****-festivity in summer...
a near-death like experience surrendering
under winter...
the tetragrammaton has only 4 letters...

a god of the hebrews... my allegiance is riddled
with biases...
because the Palestinians gave my mind
nothing to think of...
the 'ebrews most assuredly did...
have...

           if Spinoza was alive...
and knew about the existence of the state of Israel...
if i came across... that donkey-jockey that
was... Ba'laam...
diviner no diviner... blah-lah or: all? ah!
emirate money spun the monkey wheel to
no end... arabs entertained mythological blondes
while i took to raven haired bulgarian / romanian /
turkic  lasses...
because it suited me best...
if i were ever a father a figure in the making
on the basis of my own father:
no...

a a... punctuaction pause:
"so-called" diacritical markers...
"so-called" imitation latin pompousness
of having: none of them!
when i smile:
i like my teeth to... breathe!
happy? savvy?
to hell with all these high status...
"unfathoamble"...
"unattainable"... "holy grail":
if a mongol horde came between your
ego and your tight
(tightening of thighs)...
you wouldn't be singing this...
sweet... dirge... would you?

give me some Turkic ***...
some Bulgarian asset...
        
i will never pander to the most pandered
slot of crux counter remidee...
to show my teeth against the wind:
"against"...
    forward...
******* by reiteration ******...
in the pop culture of h'america...
no....
**** on this sort of ****... ******...
*******... whittle h'american niqab...

hell with you: Italiano: miss scab!
i waited and i waited...
now come those ******* tattoos of
good will hunting...
i: of the we: a people...
never allowed ourselves to congregate...
to solve: to dissolve "issues" via...
mafia...

******* spaghetti fiddlers...
Greek "tacos"...
Mediterranean...
one's superiority complex
thrice undermined...
gives me...
puncture wounds established...
piglet farm... rats...

o.k... bacon sizzled...
but you're still... Borgia *** antics:
disinhibited...
pope no pope... savvy?
my tongue is more liberal than that of Luther...
but you think you can...
trade ideas in these Hyperborean lands...
fricko? gratis?

perhaps the English don't mind:
then again: who doesn't mind
the English classical liberal... "mind"...
beside... an ***-**** of... the folding empire...
champion atheist...
champion darwinist...
       great Ben been locked...
for hours on end... since Edward:
it would seem...

don't **** with me when i'm hard-on
on defence: markers!...
i'm not suppose to: but i will...
although my fetish for deutsche-spreschen is overpowering...
King Sas...

the end... good night.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
let's just face the ******* music and dance
the hell out of this one
in hope of generating a tornado...

cross-census agreement between
us little internet people
and the big-shots of the media
press...

        rod liddle:
comment section, just prior to
the anonymous editorial pieces...
the sunday times... 11/11/18...
headline:

        i'm identifying as a young,
black, trans chihuahua,
   and the truth can go whistle...

we're privy then?
like i already said...
we left the old crazies in the gutter
imbued by a pharma-soup
making soup for brains...
while treating these new
crazies with a new brand
of medicine...
      pandering to their "eccentricities"...

exactly...
to an extent a psychotic might be
more in line with reality
than the pandering sane
individual...
  suddenly the sane pandering
squash of people give
out a statement:
   when you abolish reality,
the whole whole deluded
edifice begins to unravel...

what did i write only days prior?
this!
thanks, but no thanks...
good luck un-pandering
these pandered "souls"...
you're not dealing
with "millennial snowflakes"...
you think gen-Z will fare
any better when they leave
the education market?
really?!
again... good luck with that...
whoever the millennial "fellows"
are milking them into
a zombie of dialectics...
good luck putting hope into
them...

              try to reverse the ontology
of a cuckoo giving birth...
it's not like we evolved
biologically...
   zoologically... sure thing...
we can cage any animal we like
(with ourselves included)
and study their behavior,
and do the silly Billy English
thing of incorporating
the ontology of a plethora of
animals into your own ontology...

all we have in the Anglophone world
are post Darwinism zoological
explanations...
as to our ontology...
         if i was once considered
insane...
   please...
              i would abhor being
considered sane these days...
the SANEs
            are being cuddled to pamper
the new crazies,
emboldened by the progress in
medicine...

but thank **** the new crazy stink rose
as far as the comment section
of a center right newspaper
in England.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
a truly tiresome day:
namely - i was not labouring
to suit a fulfilling exploit
or either tongue
or arm...
   or leg, for that matter...

the table or the chair
  had a more eventful day,
in that it stood,
while i did nothing
more than anticipate
myself: furthering
a lounge position...

i went to the supermarket,
bought two italian beers
and a russian *****...
it snowed:
   i tried to block out
any romance with the falling
snow,
   everything metaphorical,
like: ballerinas &
whatever comes in
close association with snow...

i opened a beer,
put on pink floyd's 1977
animals album on original
black vinyl
  on the gramaphone...
had the france vs.
  wales rugby match
on mute on t.v.
and...

     how can you tell
an original vinyl
      from the 70s
         apart from a modern
vinyl?
      that subtle feed from
a coarse surface:
it's not scratching,
it's... a labouring
              crispness -
      a background noise
of some sort...

well: it wasn't much
of anything,
10 hours of me is hardly
a minute's worth of
Achilles...

        nirvana:
if only it were some form
of geometry,
or a colour...
      suffering in
the slightest:
   apathy is a subtle pain...
since no grand tooth-ache
is to be readily acquired:
a numbing effect
cannot be squandered...

unless of course
   there's that other nirvana...
(for some reason,
it was even remotely
enlightening
to listen to the opening
track from o.t.t.'s album
blumenkraft)
where...
     i'm not so much free
from suffering...
  but am, free,
from envious assimilations
of the current state...

how: to be free from the wants
that make others
their self-invigorating
hey presto!

       i am almost there
toward a nowhere whereby by:
even having to gloat
myself and ingest opinions
i will never hold
as convictions,
but only entertain them:
for a passing fancy
of mere tongue waggling...

lethargy is certain
a crux in all this...

                  but i am tired of
wanting what subsequently
becomes a vanity display
counter of that...
see? i have it, you don't! ha!

      that seriously sounds
too... infantile...
             well:
nothing grand about a life
of seclusion in an English
suburbia...
           many a bogus
worth of hours of thought
that, some time ago:
could not entertain
a piece of paper...

    so... a few poems by frank
o'hara
sitting on my folded
foot on a windowsill,
drinking the ***** and lemon...
i'm still not moved...
whatever apathy
   was in me has become
a physical side-project
of the foot being folded
and sat on,
namely a one-foot
  the other foot numb
and funny-pain i.e. numb
dance to replenish
the flow of blood to it...

                  it's not even that
i want the things that
some people have:
             comparison:
i am ******* hypnotized
by a spinning vinyl
and could do with as much
of similar entertainment
as a cat does away with
a discovery of its own
shadow...

only recently i finally
convinced myself
that animals could see
the 2-dimensional phenomenon
of the t.v.'s content...
over 30 years
with a delusion:
   animals can't see what's
on the t.v.,
imagine my disappointment...
so many years spent
being convinced that
animals do not
see 2-dimensional
objects...

         which is probably one of
those very necessary
observations disguised in
the maxim

     viz.: nature abhors vacuums...

to be free from wanting
to have what others wanted
and strived for,
        and then subsequently
gloated about...
   anything... but that...
          it doesn't change
the person,
it has to be innate -
                  an ability to hide
in being: humble...
                      
and to think: that this was bothering
me for an afternoon's worth
of a hour...
    maybe it was just that,
or being pandered to by
a persistent lie of:
   and the romans were so
******* dumb,
  that they executed a seemingly
innocent man...

sure: this isn't a 19th century
Nietzschean diatribe counter,
or a 20th century Marylin Manson
****...
    what is it then,
         being born into a lie?
even with the coincidental
archeological findings
circa 1945, in Egypt,
    the nag hammadi library...
these texts,
  and the contemporary texts
of josephus ben matthias...
associating the same man,
hey zeus!,
and a time shift to the time
of emperor Nero...
   the book of revelation
(which was probably the first
book, written,
for the new testament,
that:
judeo-greek propaganda
against the Romans)
        
       maybe that's what is
so tiresome...
                   it exhausts me...
and no one even mentions
this coincidence...
even if the mainstream media
does anything,
it's to cite
    the dead sea scrolls:
which have no relevance to
Christianity,
    but are intrinsic to Judaism,
notably: what they did
when they cut up the prophet
Isaiah in two...

        i hate waking up
into a lie...
                all prior to ambitions
for the good
are... like... *******
into champagne flutes
while holding a knife
    &
   hanging upside down
on a crystal chandelier
in a Viennese opera house
and titilating the idea of
singing nessun dorma
                     castrato!
Bob B 4d
Americans have made a decision.
Why did they decide
To put someone into office who
Will take them for a ride?

They elected a man so full
Of vengeance and desperation
That his campaign was principally
Lies and misinformation.

He pandered to the people's worries--
Worries that he created
By turning people against the folks
That he has deprecated.

He won't focus on key issues;
No, those he ignores.
He would rather perpetuate
Hateful culture wars.

Islamo-, trans-, and homophobia
Will now be on the rise
As players in Trump's administration
Begin to mobilize

Racist stooges surrounding him
Will always be in his ear,
Chipping away at human rights
And constantly stoking fear.

The deportation of immigrants
He says is first on his list
Of things to do, for he is such
A heartless nativist.

Loyalty above all else
Is what he always demands.
With autocrats all over the world,
He'll be shaking hands.

We’ve all seen that Trump's whole world
Is strictly quid pro quo.
With Elon Musk so tight with him,
Will Musk be running the show?

With no more guardrails to keep Trump in line,
He'll FURTHER disunite
Americans, and that will be
Much to Putin's delight.

I'm glad I wasn't complicit in choosing
One of the vilest of men
To take a seat in the Oval Office
And wreck the country again.

-by Bob B (11-13-24)

— The End —