I am wheat
I cry, I cry
Again
You leave your dead
At my feet
Oh why, oh why

At Gettysburg
We cried
Again, again
They rose and died
Below our stalks
They lie, they lie

From Stalingrad
To Leningrad
One million dead, one million dead
The Panzers came
Wheat fields aflame
They burned, they burned

And once again
You leave your dead
Ukraine, Ukraine
Oh, Putin's shame
The innocent lie
In wheat, in wheat.

r ~ 7/19/14

.ah here comes england with its eccentricities, ah hier kommt polen mit seine christentum: where anyone can be a messiah, as stressed by the byzantines.

my first love was the love of the english grey,
(in honesty mentioned it was
the double-decker first, since
i fancied myself the great bus-driver of
the no. 5 bus back home)
earl grey came and said: ‘i can’t look
at these skies without sunglasses!’
and so it was, mid-autumn with sunglasses
at loss the sun-worshiper
enter the moon idiot,
looking for accents, looking for anything.
in england they called him das deutsche -
for reasons believable enough;
the luftwaffe eagerly anticipating the tunnelling
centipede that is the euro-star train-tunnel:
the panzers are rolling in!
the panzers are rolling in!
strange he never minded the coal-miners as useful
as minded by edvard gierek von silesia -
to the dispute of silesians not ex-patriated to saxony
(oh wait... texan boy doesn't sound as
nationalistic as minnesota boy?).
ooh pokey poo... writing about germany
became so **** so recently, i forget that i started it:
here’s to the english language’s chirality of s and z,
actually being superimposable:

from words in the socratic sense as encoded by plato
i don't get a bunch of ideas... virtue
does not make me ponder it with meaning or definition,
i only see the kabbalistic sensibility
of anti-alphabetical sequencing as v
i                   r               t               u          e...
otherwise              e      i    u             r         t         v;
almost sounds like s.t.d.

i've been in a prison of my own making...
it's kinda perfect, i get to read books
rather than watch television...
the blind flamethrower albino ******
is on the stats -
i end the night with a self-gratifying
exercise - the main sub article concerns
itself with **** and male *******...
never mind the ***** cut off for ******...
and never mind the Madonna-***** complex...
why, the problem is sorted:
if you don't get a hard-on with prostitutes
then you can blame it on ****...
otherwise? well, you'll hardly be the one to blame...
i see you using your ******.... the blue diamonds...
the litmus test is quicker done...
go to a brothel... once you get an *******
with a ******* all forms of feminism prescribing
masochism to men will disappear...
this erectile dysfunction will become a hoax...
it will become basis for the other thing
Freud is famous for, putting it nicely
the the Medusa-Madonna complex...
you can't be Oedipal with economic stresses...
someone has to take the blame...
******* is one strand of attitudes exercised...
we will have no Mozart, no Shakespeare when
we censor **** and bargain hunting celibates...
you basically censored the freedom of language
like you did undermining the European Union,
and European doctors giving way to an exodus
due to your cheap xenophobia...
X-factor contestants as doctors? i'll gladly wait and see,
you congest life into suffering akin to animals
in slaughterhouses... boy, i'll wait.
your Vermin will be your death angels... you'll
want to die, you'll be gagging for death when i'm
through... and yes, i remember my great-grandmother,
who remembered the 2nd world war...
as i said: ****** was gassed... due repayment of equal
measure... the Ypres guise of suburban Warsaw in
the trenches, in the ghetto; harsh, isn't it?
humanising something human when the soldiery
artefact is brought up? it must be harsh...
too much faith in the Luftwaffe, i'd dig under the channel
and let the Panzers roll in... this is my method
of appetising grievances to be rid off...
my grandfather asked SS-men for candy,
my great grandmother escaped the Nazis...
this is a healing process... i've taken the *******
and applied it to the star of David, ******* with it...
so it looks like reading a book on a prayer mat...
but that's not the bothersome triad -
people forget the success of Freud in the other department,
you can't pinpoint the influence of *******
without having to recognise the influence of
the Madonna-***** complex -
which would explain much more than scapegoat ****
is privileged by... why would i get an *******,
drunk (well yeah, at every opportunity a ******,
Virgos' tear) with prostitutes, and not be bothered
by *******... abstinence won't help...
it's enough to be governed by a psychiatric conundrum
of the fabled case of ******* your mother...
why all the blame on man? typical feminism...
Platonic feminism, Darwinism's feminism -
have they bothered to subscribe to the idea that it's not
simply a male affair? having professional pornographers
is the problem... a bit like at the Olympics...
the professional high jumpers are one thing...
you jumping into bed to frolic is another...
it's hardly a mono-****** affair ascribed to only one
gentrification - when you're a ******* decathlon
enthusiast, *******, working, cooking, raising the ids
of kids... you're supposed to be there,
specialised in the erectile business, and nothing more...
the hammer to a nail... redundancy following suit.
and what man will succumb to this?
perhaps he's talking Swahili or he's Somalian...
because, believe me, that's where you'r herding the flock
girl... i don't really care where the whites end up...
this Islamic attack on western culture is nothing,
nothing, compared to the apathy western women
implanted into western men's psyche...
a few terrorist attacks are nothing in comparison...
as said the once parallel now intersecting
conversation between King Solomon and Sheba...
these terrorist attacks are nothing compared to what's
coming... i blame Darwinism partly for having staged
a coup d'vie, meaning? i really can't be bothered!
usurp my indolence in the affairs of mind and body,
make me into your ideal dietary requirement checklist...
this thing we're experiencing is worse than
terrorism... feminism has made us indolent,
non-responsive... non-competitive...
we're basically trapped in a hamster wheel where
women fancied themselves to champion ethnic defence
strategies.... ruby ***** of all hues go round...
i was never a saint, but i wanted to be a sinner...
try that like winning the lottery...
if the white man dies, i won't even care to cry...
i'd be clapping... clap clap... clap clap...
i'll just know that i left the ideal hue of ***** behind;
what?! i liked to **** too! but obviously i
was given the poker hand of angling a repertoire
akin to a monk like Martin Luther.

lifes in meshes with inherent leashes
liars in messes riveted with stresses in tresses
hearts full of Prosecco and bile from blinded Unesco

Looking for selves on shelves dancing with pansies in panzers
make-believers left-overs waging war in peace and pieces in ******
drenched in lives unknown and wares unearned in mires renowned

Owning miseries internal and pushing external for redress maternal
empty dreamers on steamers loving sad idlers with no water for later
eating stories without histories, crying tears with fears and no worries

Ways of their worlds, no molds for holds only emptiness for pettiness
and they race for pace to face the lace that grace an ace with no traces
citations of vacuosity of the sagacity of the mediocrity in their paucity

Mealy motion could have gruel in her veins
I've abstained from all forward action
Because it's my heart that she reigns.

Coolness sent shiver down a pain killed nervous column
Section of spine dealt with ***** and filler
To **** would send spiller space messages
out to help in order to assuage
all the speculation and guesses.
So now it would seem better, much better,
much better in deed
Much better indeed to **** my fire with greed.

Then there is time,
remorseless as Panzers
on the steppe-
killing everything it meets.

There will be no
renegotiation,
the deal is done,
was done so long ago.

All of us
little victims
of the clock.

Hidden
Call me The Baron. My full name is Nicholas Arthur Armbrister. I ****** hate that name! Do you know how I feel? My first name used when I’m naughty. “Nicholas, you’ve had a new tattoo!”

You must be part German with a name like that. Say it slowly out loud:

A-R-M-B-R-I-S-T-E-R.

They got images of ******’s panzers and Blitzkreig, Stukas and goose steps. No denying my heritage, I’m part German, on my dad’s side. Armbrister.

He was in the British Army in World War 2, a Tommie. None of his mates guessed he was part German. Doing his bit for King and Country. His name is Arthur. The middle name I don’t tell anyone. Even today, I’m unsure why? Makes me eccentric – Nicholas Arthur Atmbrister – The Baron!

My dad is my best mate. His stories of seeing Manchester in flames, December 1940, when he was in his dad’s car going from Ashton to Oldham, fascinated me. When he was conscripted, I knew he was no German. He saw his army mates die and became a man. How can I compare? Arthur, the name I never use. Known only to me and my family.

Some things are hidden, for hidden reasons. Others are an open book, for me to decide. What would you think if I told you my middle name is Arthur? After my dad. He saw **** bombers high over Coppice. A silver speck against the blue. Our gunfire missed by miles. If these same planes had bombed my dad, I’d never be born or called Arthur.

He told me how he collected warm bomb shrapnel, when the Germans did bomb. Memories of an old man, passed down to me. When I’m in Manchester tonight with her, I’ll think, What is it like to see a city burn at night while under enemy air attack?

the perks of living with someone you care about...
as it stands...
where else would i live with my private library?
would i really need to rent a whole place all
for myself: have indoor plants for company
and give up shared "custody" of two maine *****?
in order for what?
bring some girl back on a Friday evening or
a Saturday night?
sure... it's not perfect...
                      but in eastern cultures: multi-generational
living arrangements are a norm...
at the end of her life:
my great-grandmother lived with her daughter
and her son-in-law...
a true stoic... she would pray for the pain
to go away rather than sometimes take painkillers...
she never drank coffee...
nor smoked... nor drank alcohol...
even she said that she ought to have been a nun...
hey presto: two generations later: et moi...
perhaps eastern cultures really do begin
in Europe where the Ottomans and the Mongols
did a knock-knock: who's there line of jokes...
perhaps England was: or even is:
too insulated from the outside world:
the turmoil of the continent...
hell... what's that quote from the famous poet-librarian?
this be the verse:
your parents ******* up...
sure... it's not perfect...
   i had to be an opportunist when it came to ***
outside of going to the brothel...
one Thai surprise done in the garden...
the house was empty though:
but still...
thank god i can tame my libido and ask it to come
out when... oddly enough:
last time a 5 year period of abstinence ended
when i was grooming the female of the two maine *****...
the way she raised her backside:
i had to find an outlet...
otherwise i'd be thinking about: goat-******* or something...
anyway... of course they'r not perfect people:
but i'm no angel either...
it's beside the point: but at least i don't have
to think about forking out on payment for an old people's home...
like today: my father gets a cold...
takes the usual medication to combat the cold
but i also make him an archaic medicine
that consists of:
a raw egg yolk beaten to a state of 'kogiel-mogiel'
with some aspen honey...
this is subsequently drenched in 50g of butter melted
in heated up milk...
apparently it works miracles:
some would say that a prime symptom of a cold
is the excess build up of phlegm...
he'll sweat it out... cough it up...
writing this in English seems rather absurd...
the individual... the individual...
i still feel a stigma associated with this sort of a living
arrangement...
but i see one Nigerian household next to mine...
another Sikh household: two siblings in each...
across the street an English household still houses
one of their daughters...
but they'll be moving across the street two doors down...
why was there ever this stigma of having
parents? esp. as the west is known for being
this solace of the solipsistic singletons?
"solipsistic": which is halfway autistic...
it's just a nicer term...
i care that i can care:
i can write my little doodles while also playing the fiddle
of: if there is any medieval movie adaptation:
**** the knight: i'm the inn-keeper...
i'll take care of the household and i'll do the cooking:
thank you, very much...
there is no culinary tradition running in my veins...
my grandmother always managed to roast
the chicken to the point where it almost felt
like eating chalk...
so no... no great: tradition in terms of culinary lineage...
i'v already settled my score when it comes
to eating curry... except for breakfast:
i could eat that **** all day...
but lucky for some: to have been born in a geographic
region as rich as it is with: RIDDLED with spices!
too bad when it comes to baking bread...
well... with the exception of the na'an bread:
but i'm pretty sure the Europeans must have introduced
the concept of using yeast for dough to rise...
what was prior? oh... right...
the Peruvian... Aztec-esque japati flat-bread...
nothing exactly fancy akin to a French croissant...
qwa-sont... yeah... looks pretty ugly when stressed
phonetically...
also: phonetically...
voy-yack... v'oh-yack...woe-jack?! seriously
well it's not exactly a ckwa-sont... is it?
psychiatry and the art of implanting false
memories: otherwise known as regression...
even in the Freudian schematic:
rich girls having dreams...
look at me... i rarely dream...
i sit at this well of an imposing void:
which harvests a vastness of sigma:
the totality that's also equate to animation
of the body and...
therapy doesn't solve much...
"talking about it": doesn't help if you're reading Kant...
what will talking do...
if thinking about it does much less
when not thinking about it does much
more?
what was once the Cartesian res cogitans
model... with doubt...
has now become my own version..
the res vanus (the empty thing)
with doubt being replaced by negation:
perhaps in bad faith... but with good intentions...
as the saying goes:
the way towards hell is paved with good
intentions...
it's also paved with a sadness
that's stimulating... i leech off of my sadness...
every time i'm close to tears
i'm usually attested to by a croaking of a crow...
i find more empathy for animals than
i do for fellow human beings...
because i understand that they understand:
how dumb they actually are...
hell: i understand that they don't understand
what dumbness even is: to begin with!
but when it comes to me
in reverse "courtesy": of when it comes to minding
traffic: being part of traffic...
i find certain traits in humans...
simply... unforgiveable...
pretending to be ghost when stepping
into a designated bicycle lane...
driving a VW Golf thinking it's a ******* tank:
stalking drivers that act al timid when
attempting to pass you by...
it will always come down to this sort
of scrutiny...
it's not as banal as when the whole world
laughed when the Polacks charged against
Third ***** Panzers on horseback:
but it's relatively close...
i speak a western language: it is infused with me:
i'm not a westerner...
i have historical tattoos...
i mind the hour...
perhaps it's true what a Norwegian writer
wrote about the Swedes...
perhaps these people haven't been invaded
for a long time... that they end up:
procrastinating their lives...
fair-play if they invent games with that time: given....
but perhaps they haven't been invaded in
a long while... rancid loitering...
procrastinating...
they weren't given the dialectical break-a-bone
sort of treatment...
of a people who decided to speak about
orthography: without employing
a single diacritical marker of distinction...
you begin to wonder...
is it really "orthography" and not merely a spelling
mistake if you: take out one of the ELs
from speling?
          obviously aesthetically dis-pleasurable...
but... wrong?

last time i heard: Japanese living arrangements
were no up to "shape":
with couples booking hotel dates pretending
the rooms to be brothel lingering abodes...
as the standard of living has gone up...
so has our expectation to live it: likewise...
there... a road for concession...
why do i drink?
mein gott... being sober is such
bad weather...
such a timid "conversation"...
           nothing is ever metaphor or misnomer
worthy: everything simply
alligns with the cogs in the "machinery":
there's all the deus ex machina
but none of the **** in machina!

stating... bluntly that life is ****
isn't cutting it!
obviously... odiously... it's like there's a b'aaah...
bad smell around the carcass....
after a while even fat
starts to be tinged with whiffs
of acidity... did you know that?

Crawling through
Through trenches
Found my way with the fences
But trapped
By Panzers
Clicked their pictures
But didn't catch their
Canons
Anonymous

Always A Step Away

Had a second chance for love...
it's now I'm gonna show you another little trick
That's pain, it's a bunk serious, not above slab-
& skunk assesses book when it exists
The one answer for me and my chick
Could've magically- using type set applied
naïve pork chop for cooking of Italian reprise
Yet a good way to begin with new awards, all conceded,
is people deserved to be attacked, alas learned to lighten up

Oh hey, can Heaven not connect an assist?
Make sorcerers snag in and between it,
my embodiment as a king charles... does kiss
With giggles so clever, its on all the towne's mind,
as you wipe off a sweat of your total control
Be still- have no comprehension of the luscious war-
panzers that defined; a bid brown empires unbroken as a bid ,of corn,
your status climbs, the Matterhorn's threatening one's soul

Oh players oh puppets, interpret shall we,
the punished equivalent of the moments they bring
Oh stand and oh hopes wonder alive... of a person who
whined and then wished for any birds of nature to sing
Peculiar though the work and a perfected
society may be
All I've got to usurp the momentum
is the vehement speeding strike
of shallow stated
"mutual nicey"

the path lays trodden;
a milestone, leads to nowhere;
somewhere down, a leaf floats -
mid-air - to the whims of the cold breeze,
afraid to touch the bitter ground.
the soldiers are afoot;
marching to the sound
of static, broadcasted by their
unreliable leaders.
the innocent seek asylum -
flee from states of unrest;
the power seems absolute -
hardly dynamic;
pistols aim for the heads;  
warheads aim for the heads -
of nations - all trying to outperform  
each others’ retribution;
panzers guard the rogue bases,
like hellhounds, starved of souls.
mothers kiss their babes, ‘--night’,
then wipe their hapless tears;  
fathers beg for their sons’ lives,
and their daughters’ honour;
God exists only in afterthoughts;
ceremonies shroud in silence;
children become too self-aware
for their undemanding ages;
schools shut their gates -
push them further into the nightmare;
tell them they don’t belong;

one of them’s had enough…
pushes back.