you know, ego-tripping is one thing,
but tackling religious affairs is an another high
altogether, there's no involved involved,
not enough phonetic encoding,
people made more from the New Testament
than they did of Heidegger's being and time,
wait... i might just squeeze in seeing the light.
i see the light almost every night,
and i'm not even a physician,
i'm not awe inspired with all these facts
hanging about, hard to practice philosophy these days,
it an instilled bewilderment having to
placebo ignorance for that spark, original ******.
it was never about giving a ******* an ******
at £110 an hour without faking it,
god it hurt her, hurt her for enjoying her professions,
******* **** just got relegated....
after her ****** and kissing her hand
she just just the owl's ouch... it's hard to get a *******
to enjoy her work, every time i pull my *******
back and pretend to be all Jewry -
of course i'm not really enjoying it, but she is...
you get the picture, a ******* having pleasure
on her working hour while the 100th **** comes
to grease a beginning of the day song;
i payed extra to perform oral *** on them...
you think i stashed my tongue into a ******?
i prefer rare steaks; or *****.

now the confusing bit...
i was born in a zeitgeist that needs revision,
a book published in 1953 by a Swiss psychiatrist
did nothing to postpone the uncovering of
the Antichrist, simply sped up discovering
anti-matter, Nietzsche, as the Polish proverb
states: silent rivers being silent increase the girth...
we know the Antichrist himself stated lived...
hence the zeitgeist.... the pop culture of
the event, i was born into this *******;
and if i didn't go to a Catholic school i'd write
you a piece about how romantically complicated
really was. there's on problem, i'm telling you this
straight from a donkey's gob slobbering -
it's confusing reading Nietzsche then reading
C.G Jung's 1953 published book entitled
answer to Job - it really is, given popular culture's
hopes entitled: plagiarism.
the book involves another diabolical figure
in the arithmetic - the Paraclete -
and boy isn't he the diabolical figure -
he's the good bad bad guy - the Paraclete and the Antichrist
are almost synonyms -
all our pop culture is worthless when Jung dismisses
the farsighted identification of the Antichrist -
it was Nietzsche... why are so any people trying
to imitate given the 21st century? well, not so much
these days, but those born in the 20th century still feel
the effective remnants taking effect -
the Paraclete is no less diabolical than the Antichrist -
we're talking the heresy of modern philosophers
who said that the holy spirit isn't a person but a community
but then pops up the Paraclete...
the lost pluralism of the holy ghost ends up
with a plurality of the false prophets - gamblers -
also a community - not many people have heard the term
Paraclete, they might have spotted a dove with laurel leaves
in Sicily - but nothing more.
Israel by current football scores is still part of Europe
and not part of America... Beitar Jerusalem F.C. and
Maccabi Tel Aviv F.C. - i wasn't asking, the Jews
really want the revival of the Roman empire
with a resurrection of the zealots and sadducees...
believe me, the plurality of the holy spirit personified
into the Paraclete is what Nietzsche did with
gluing together the conglomerate of false prophets
into his t.n.t. maxim of exhaustion... writing maxims
will exhaust you, until you write a bombshell and it's true.
so Jung's answer to Job is kinda paradoxical in
the years that built up a culture of anti -
toward a dyslexic citation of a quote:
since he is the third person of the deity, this is as much
as to say that god will be begotten in the cruelty of man;
originally it was the creaturely man, i.e, not the
creative man, not the ingenious man,
created that begot not creativity but indolence...
i told you you the Paraclete was a diabolic concept
akin to the Antichrist, given that it was hidden and never
stated in the "holy" gospels... the Antichrist was at least
stated in the book of Revelation... the Paraclete
ensuring the holy ghost was personified also meant
a bridge between the polygamy of prophesies in the false
prophet unanimity of suggested prophets -
but only when reading Nietzsche and then reading Jung
and then looking at our current sub- or culture -
but why was it ever a testimony of something holy?
after all, holy was intended for a dove with a laurel leaf
while John baptised -
in terms of sacredness and holiness i itemise to identify
something holy as having not indebtedness to words,
to meanings... by dove i concern myself with sounds,
knocking on doors, meaningless we also achieve yet still
comprehend with onomatopoeia(s)... the coo the coo,
the feline monkish purr - by holy i also invoke
untouchable, or in the doctrine of the Antichrist,
the chandala (of the Indian caste system) -
it's just become too pop and too imitable to hide the concerns
that Jung might have had - animals are ultra-chandala -
but i'm sure you haven't heard of a loss of a Christian
community committing itself toward the personification
of the Holy Ghost as known by the noun Paraclete -
but it's happening...  urbanity coupled with globalisation
and the pristine English village...
it makes no sense to read Jung as if intending to find the identity
of the Antichrist (i went to a faith school, the vocabulary
intended for priests is like ****** to me, get me off my high
i'll bunch up your ******* with a bouquet and punch
it until it looks like autumn - 6ft1 and 115kg... you think
i wouldn't? wanna try?).
i have no message: you are gods, beyond-man and above-angel...
given your little recording of personal matters,
i think you are in a cognitive slaughterhouse -
i have no message to make you gods... you're below animals...
as sad as it sounds, animals don't have selfie-sticks at
museums... gods that admire animals and hope for
the proper jokes from animals... that son of God really
did trick you to believe yourself ~omnipotent but returning
for jokes among dogs playing pianos and trying out
the soprano... the godly third of the unholy trinity is there,
the diabolical third of the holy trinity is also there...
funny how the Third ***** gets cultural attention
and artistic sympathy with bands like Hanzel und Gretyl -
and how modern man takes depression so seriously while
the holocaust survivors almost laugh with helium implosions.
well, you know, culture built on algebraic fractions...
Islam made simple waiting for a nibbling:
or as they say in England about the stabbing in Russel Sq.,
psychiatric problems are our smoke-cover,
better call the Norwegian-Somali outright mad
so we can keep up the proper P.R. tactic -
the English were always like that, esp. with a Muslim
mayor of London - P.C. thorough... as France said:
you find two people buggering in a Niqab you're not
watching five-blind-men touching up an elephant...
******* *******... it was a terrorist attack but
to keep communities united psychiatrists were
invested in to make up some *******.

Near the bust stop, around the bend,
where the bus route comes to end,
Is a lane with buildings replete,
the best of the lot being Paraclete

With round Victorian window panes,
and 16th century structural frames,
It is like a manor on a London street,
This beautiful empyrean Paraclete

Coated in demure pink and white,
and shades of cream, very slight,
a structure of cement and  concrete
Its a divine abode, this Paraclete!

And named after the Holy Ghost,
this building, is home and host,
To a boy, who made my life complete,
He is my advocate, my Paraclete!  

When I sought God and asked for aid
He sent me the best he had made
the boy, from across the street
a resident of divine Paraclete!

But how could it possibly be?
For this boy was younger than me!
Why would God, send to my aid
A boy who 3 years after I, was made?

God replied "it took time to create
for you, a well suited mate,
It took a while to complete,
Your protector, guide and Paraclete"

When all courage had been lost
And my heart turned to frost
my faith had nearly come to deplete
But was revived, by the boy from Paraclete!

this isn't a time for nostalgia aimed at the times of the 2nd world war, only liars and cowards attack anyone except their enemy, to ease their sentiment at thinking they're liberal leftists... somehow the Cartesian formula doesn't work for them... odd... thinking doesn't magically precipitate into being... they're only liberal leftists... they'll never be conservative leftists (communists)... they value the anti-solipsistic stance of individually too much, hence their karaoke outpouring on X-factor - we need nurses! we need doctors! no! they're saying we need the next Frank ******* Sinatra to lullaby us to death. too much national pride aimed at reminding people of the past is degenerate in the presence, the future by such historical arithmetic is always bleak.... who cares for a Faraday is a light-bulb works, who cares for a Newton given the mechanics of rocket-launchers... and who cares for Shakespeare in the age of omnipresent literacy providing us sonnets?! in the age of desperation, former fame was revised, creating the backlog of fame into a single measure of being current, when once a man slaved for a lifetime to achieve it, modern fame is nothing, in comparison on the merit of utility and productivity - fame is hardly a concern for any of us given Orwell and the c.c.t.v. (or holy ghost), that will never materialise into a person of the Paraclete; best assurance, the famous donkey, the stick and the carrot... democracy only works within a sensible number to express it... applying democracy to insect methodology of plumbers, electricians, personal trainers etc. is merely an illusion... a moment in history where the weak attack the strong... and to cite Darwinism? we were already too intrinsically overtly bio-diverse to merge with the diversity of nature surrounding us... we were perfect chiral chimeras, non-super-imposed images... thus Darwinism and snippets, or crossword clues... i can't believe the English banked all their pride on an Aristotelian footnote... but then miracles do happen... not always a welcome distraction from the nuances of mishandling politics - or was that always a b.d.s.m. affair?

i too could rage at the belittling English society,
well... i might as well...
i'm not in Manchester, the Hackney populace
was relocated to the outer-suburbs to make
the "nation" proud - never seen so many
black dudes strolling near the countryside -
but that's another zoological matter -
what?! with the new dating show with all knit-grit
bits exposed you'd think that all Darwinian
comparison made it to the ten quid banknote -
the one objective language that has no zombie
adherents - poets' strike... oh wait, i forgot,
you prefer the ready-meals of song -
the English do, lazy ***** the whole lot of them -
i won't be making many friends and i don't intend to -
after the ridicule, the slander, the jokes -
i'm heading east! east it is - i'll leave a **** with
my signature in England - let the Scots find it
and shredder the ******* islands into snippets from
some novel; so you think you're not Soviet fated?
Jack will become Jackson - etymology is all about nouns -
you think i'd stay in this ****-hole? i got the message:
VERMIN GO HOME... i'm looking for a place
to relocate to... i don't like the Irish playing the prißed
puppets of the English... Michael Palin seeking
Europe in 2007, found Bohemia, found no litter,
vermin living in beauty while English outer-suburbia
rots? Euro trash? more like Benidorm suntan -
you started it... you little "not in my name" will not sell
me your phobia currency of Herr Censor -
odd, the colonial past was somehow erased because of
the Beatles - odd, isn't it? cultural contribution
erased the shackles... funny how things work out in
the end. i have been a complete and utter integration
failure, i blame the Irish and a catholic school -
i rather go home among the other rats -
i don't belong here - but at least home is where i left off,
aged 8... 22 years into analysis English and using it
i can preserve tact - Bangladeshi will write you a next
Shakespeare... just so it all looks pretty... and convenient...
i rather live there, i have no fake psychiatric history in
the country of my birth... the west ain't all that after all...
i'm with Snowden on this one, but i have the cushion
of speaking the tongue... the almighty west is nothing
but good music and charcoal films -
propaganda omniscience - the west asks for media
transparency, but i end up reading a tabloid newspaper
given the opinion section of *the times Monday to Friday -
some ******* mogul mongrel trying to be a Martin Luther -
it's basically a tabloid newspaper, i don't trust it -
the ultimate freedom corrupts - if revising foreign
governments is based upon media freedoms, then i think
the west did a ******* job with its own media -
without restrictions you get a box of chocolates and eat
all the best dimwits out - or a box of mixed nuts -
the Brazilians are the first to disappear.
plus the west doesn't like poetry, it prefers music, as in
the passive ingestion of art - never your own,
always someone else's - so you can be filled with
unexpressed egoism to occupy a space worth a cubic
metre or two... fun & games fair enough...
was i ever stereotyped? pushed to a limit,
am i one of those Chinese 2nd generation immigrants
that play the koala bear role in poetry who prescribe
the origin and figurative forgotten for a prize?
i don't think so... if i ever escape this ****** ****-hole
i'll be the king-rat, to my liking the Polish government
is being inspected by the E.U. about non-democratic
agendas - god i pray for an E.U. invasion reprimand -
i really feel like shooting someone by illusion defending
my conscience imagining simply throwing a pancake.
and why? because, at least, in Poland i talked to a
neurologist and was diagnosed sane -
while in England i was given to the dogs (psychiatrists)
and was diagnosed insane - at least i'll be
with the sane people and not some perverse form
of paedophilia of Alice in Wonderbra...
leave these agony aunts aside, leave these perverts
to their own demise - and if truly my friend,
as i did staring into my killers eyes,
if he only took me to a hospital to prove it was
a genuine mistake of misinformation about a certain
Amazonian plant... then i wouldn't be writing this verse...
but he didn't... he took me home...
as ever, i write this letter without pseudonym but under
the acronym: the misinformed (which really isn't an
acronym, i just liked the rhyme);
so if after 22 years spent in England i head to my vermin
abode, i think i'll be happy... unless Scotland beckons
to liberate it... otherwise? **** this ****-hole.

sometimes it just takes a clear sky to clear your head,
i can remember the days of waking up
to earl grey of england, thick, bulging clouds,
none in the shape of cauliflowers,
or as some would claim: castles made of clouds;
it would just seem like a nuclear holocaust
happened - and that's how it really is,
the body's barometer, thankfully it's there,
and i can blame something outside of myself
and call it a mood, or a ****** cognitive narration.

unlike today, clear sky, crisp wintry blue,
slightly hazy on the edges of my vision,
and slightly pink, monet pink,
thin pink, nothing that could be compared
to a grapefruit pink, a fluorescent pink,
no... thin pink, thin atmospheric pink
teasing purple while dragging a bit of orange
behind with it.

and my breakfast, a cigarette and a glass
of quasi-skimmed milk,
ah, quasi-skimmed - ever so often coming
out of school i used to buy a pint of
full fat milk and drink it before getting
on the bus home... those old bottles of
milk that the milkman still delivers
      in the night... you could still buy them
in shops... haven't seen a bottle like
that in a shop for ages...
    last time i drank a bottle of milk like that
i stole one walking home,
left a pound and took the bottle...
  quasi-skimmed?
   it's the tobacco hangover...
the phlegm needs to stay down...
milk lines the throat, while i smoke and
taste iron from cigarettte...
quasi-skimmed:
   semi-skimmed milk and a top of water...
at least the colour is still pristine ******
white... unlike the skimmed milk in red
cartons that looks: grey, or bruised...
but the effect is the same, but hardly.

yet what's the prompt though?
it's too early to be writing something sober...
just a word i used yesterday concerning
a book... anti
                                       c, h, i, r, s, t...
doesn't the concept usurp the third person of
the original trinity? i mean, who was he supposed
to be? pure animality of a dove, a symbol of peace?
these days philosophers say that the third person
isn't a person at all... but a suggestion of a community
of believers, a bit like the islamic *ummah...
for centuries christianity was founded upon
the principle that the holy ghost was a person,
some kind of mediator between the son on earth
and the father in heaven... and perhaps even a transitional
tool for the son to embody the father via
the move from the earthly realm to the heavenly realm,
a "philosopher's stone" if you like:
christ's body of flesh and ash on earth, turned into
some ethereal body-substance in heaven...
    but these days, well, that link has faded,
the concept of community is gone...
         every older person will be cited as having said
that at some point...
     is that an argument to suggest that the holy ghost
was always a person, i.e. the paraclete?
well... if that be true, as c. g. jung suggests...
the notion of the paraclete ever arriving would usurp
the authority of the pope...
                or any eastern partriarch...
but then there are the philosophers who say that the holy
ghost was never a person, but a concept of a community,
a body, indeed, as any person might have:
but a collective body of believers...
   but given our modern times, or esp. the example
in england: there is no community of believers as such,
that has disappeared a short while ago,
the number of attendants of the church of england
has wavered to a slight nudge in %...
        evidently what has died is not god per se,
but the community established by the creed -
                  god is dead, well: a third of him...
in that context i completely agree -
   then what is happening has already been happening
for some time...
   and he sits at the left hand of the father...
no one else, but the antichrist, and with him
the spirit of the times: the zeitgeist...
       the one that states: revolutions and counter-revolutions,
for the ones one dispersed will shower upon
those formerly affirmed in ethnic and base root
of their lands to subsequently disperse.
    for has not the concept of the antichrist dispersed
the concept of the holy ghost?
unless of course one is to believe that the paraclete
is true, but rarely spoken about in mainstream
theology...
                at least in england, a third of god is dead,
that is: the holy ghost: a body of believers: a community
has vanished... for one, the urban environment has
killed off the once held belief that people could
live in small communities...
                                 we're all practically strangers
around here, even if we've lived next to someone
10 metres away from us for 10 years:
there's really no point making alliances now,
nor ever.
               the best we've accomplished with the death
of the high street, is a very nice looking prison...
our neighbours sometimes drop packages of
delivered goods that can't fit through the letterbox
while we were away...
   it's almost like living in someone's agoraphobia
la la land... that said: if that third of him ain't dead...
it's definitely sick, or in the process of dying...
adding the fact that for some the islamic ummah
is so tempting... because it actually is a community...
well... what do you know...

              time to get seconds of my breakfast.

i could be an alcoholic is i simply drank...
fair enough, completely docile and
   enslaved by an addiction,
but the mere fact that i utilise this potion
for ulterior purposes says something
other than merely the fact that i drink.

we live in a world where half of the world's
believers are enforcing a monotheism,
and where half the world doesn't understand
that it has, sort of lost touch with
the prefix *mono...
                                  i can understand both
sides of the story, and both are rooted in
a globalisation agenda... a unification
that's a supposition with the already established
presupposition of: two worlds colliding
and an alien invasion akin to the meteor
and the dinosaurs, which we thankfully
reinvented with the atom bomb... ****!
i feel like that talking Gremlin in part deux
that gets to do the news anchor post...
it's a self-conscious moment within that
trans-whatever feat of realising something...
ok ok (Leo Getz), you cut your nibbly parts off
i get to wear a leather-gimp suit and talk
a load of *******, how's that?
Islam is not only practising the fledgling
model of monotheism, but given it borrowed
the omni model for a deity, it's stating that
even the Chinese need to speak Arabic:
monotheism within omni parameters translates
as omni-phonos (we all speak the same
language)... the English tug-warfare to implement
this has seen the Arabic retaliation...
my solution: poverty stricken Marx would also
had said this (not that i'm alluding to anything
economically restricted): i've got whiskey
and trance massaging my ear-drums, what the hell!
    i can only see one alternative to the current
zeitgeist distaste to Islamic monotheism / mono-phoneticism...
  the optic-phoneticism is too archaic for Europeans,
they need a lot of wheels, cartwheels and voids
to located like a feline behaviour within undisturbed
autistic kindrence: better left undisturbed
less it be found in a third ***** darting motion -
given that Islam is both a monotheistic model
            and a mono-linguistic model (linguistics:
where optics and sounds collide) you will
find the old monotheistic guardians bewildered
where they're going wrong... the fact being:
a Jew might tell you that some people haven't
integrated properly (the rebel news outlet):
it really doesn't matter what language you speak
at home, as long as you speak the correct language
at a supermarket... to actually force people to speak
the native language at home is ******* tiresome...
this is the next generation of migrants,
the generation prior had parents completely discarding
their native tongue, so that they might propel their
children to higher positions in society,
well applause to them, but that's like a polite way
of saying: ethnic cleansing...
    now, there's another generation of children who's
parents didn't dictate such rules for the simple
   dislike of feeling awkward... the children that dictated:
we're keeping this language, just in case.
       of course my cognitive realm has built a spider-web
of ease in the acquired tongue: that's my soul
on pixel paper... but my body? i'll speak English
when i encounter and English person...
you flay the ******* donkey, i'm not going to bother.
truly this technique will not provide you
a zoo of cultural diversity with rap and the next
thing coming... but within the work ethic of:
work ennobles... you also won't get
                     terrorist attacks... so that's all Le Chatelier's
principle right there, in front of you.
     it's the part that suggests that i can only be
fully integrated into a society once i do a Michael
Jackson on my tongue, and basically bleach my
roots and call all tree roots leech-chwasty /
weeds. you'd think that bilingualism would benefit
society... apparently it doesn't when society tries
to look pretty on the outside: and termite infested
in terms of possessing a soul: hence the sometimes
odd materialism that suggests you shouldn't buy
a book for $60.            
  which is what relates this piece to answer the current
militant monotheism with its stance on pursuing
a mono-phoneticism: mono-lingua.
             for the old monotheisms to wake up,
they have to embrace bilingualism... i'm not talking
the exceptions of polymaths,
i'm talking the Benelux & Scandinavian practices...
if you people from those proud nations of post-imperialistic
glory remain in their indolence to learn something,
they'll attract bothersome flies of Islam...
   these monotheistic elders of Christianity and Judaism
can't simply waved a star of david or the crucifix about
at primitive natives of north / south america:
i actually cringe at white New Zealanders dancing
the hakka with their tribal tattoos... i, cringe.
     these "monotheisms" can only retain a moral "superiority"
by establishing a bilingualism -
     because isn't that what the whole point of the trinity
is? that the third "person" of the trinity cannot be
personified, but is rather collectivised?
                     that the existence of the Paraclete
would dissolve any chance of a Christian community?
         i already said once: the notion of the Paraclete
is as diabolical as what has already passed,
    the anti             and diffused in the existence of antimatter.
that really was a Greek touch to the whole story,
starting with the atomists.
        these ancient monotheisms have already being
polytheistic within the groundwork of polyphony,
a Bulgarian says something, an Egyptian Coptic
copies him, an Anglican says something else,
                        a Spanish cardinal nods at something else...
so i could say that Christianity is a "polytheism"
due to the fact of the polyphonic nature of the message...
Islam on the other hand is mono on the side of theology
and mono on the side of phoneticism...
                   Christianity as a monotheism is
mono on the side of theology, but poly on the side of
phoneticism... hence the vacuum of power...
but as already stated: the Benelux and Scandinavian
model of a well established bilingualism
                       has made former colonial nations seem
like neanderthals... which they are... all the more funny
to still proceed to popularise a 19th century theory...
no wonder the turmoil and bewilderment;
they simply haven't evolved: and they talk of evolution
like it was uniformed around their belly-button
gravity of pulling the entire world to look at their ****.

Look, look, master, here comes two religious caterpillars.
                                                The Jew of Malta.

Polyphiloprogenitive
The sapient sutlers of the Lord
Drift across the window-panes.
In the beginning was the Word.

In the beginning was the Word.
Superfetation of ,
And at the mensual turn of time
Produced enervate Origen.

A painter of the Umbrian school
Designed upon a gesso ground
The nimbus of the Baptized God.
The wilderness is cracked and browned

But through the water pale and thin
Still shine the unoffending feet
And there above the painter set
The Father and the Paraclete.
    .    .    .    .    .
The sable presbyters approach
The avenue of penitence;
The young are red and pustular
Clutching piaculative pence.

Under the penitential gates
Sustained by staring Seraphim
Where the souls of the devout
Burn invisible and dim.

Along the garden-wall the bees
With hairy bellies pass between
The staminate and pistilate,
Blest office of the epicene.

Sweeney shifts from ham to ham
Stirring the water in his bath.
The masters of the subtle schools
Are controversial, polymath.

the greatest lesson i learned concerning life was what Ezra Pound refuted... it came from Tao - and on that 86 bus heading to school i have learned it like an arithmetic rubric - my only lesson came from Tao, all my lessons came from Tao - from a Buddhist revision... the lesson? the only way to aid the world is to let the world forget you, and you in turn forgetting the world be. for that what speaks to the entombed heart, the heart of hearts when the mountain crumbles into rubble, and you're left picking your fancy until the diamond is found among seashells, before you the sea of time gnarling with gnashing of shattered teeth - shoo shoo shoo as if tiresome of the green-bottom flies who's spawn is readied overly... the *******... i can't call them anything respectable in African sensibility... the ******* at the back of the bus and the white harlots too... me in the middle sitting reading a book... Stendhal romanticised me, but Tao taught me reality... i know it wasn't the original Tibetan slit eye, it was Japanese... the only way to help the world is for the world to forget you and you forget the world... which i relearned reading Heidegger, who suggested i should be transparent in engaging with the world through concern (being there, or dasein), even a Heidegger apologetic in me turned into Ronin - Asiatic apathy is courtesy, European apathy is simply impoliteness - the latter has too many ****** expressions - i summarise my life with the anonymous Taoist monk who said these words... anti-celebrity culture, they burn like fire in my mind - they burn like fire in my mind - they are my mind - but i had to show him the European verbiage and the ferns of European thought to prove him right, and i did. Heidegger's concern became the ***** Berufung, soon the concern fizzled and was masked by wife and children - but better a Heidegger apology than a Christian one - what meditation can a crown of myrrh provide while being crucified? none! the Rastafarians keep singing about Babylon... the tree wise men came from that region... so the fourth magician... the four horsemen of the apocalypse? Melchior, Caspar, Balthazar, Jesus  it's still a profanity of the tetragrammaton - four horsemen, four canonical gospels... and that ***** that's Gematria - the undermining of all serious study - you can keep those Rabbis in the museum with Grecian  marbles to collect dust, as i mention Tolstoy and that passage from war & peace: pierre bezukhov - the freemason friend (chapter 13) - l'empereur Napoléon  (666) - l'empereur Alexandre - la nation russe - comte Pierre Bésouhoff - sub z for s (Chiral Gemini) - + de und le - le russe bésuhof = 671 - omitting e (incorrectly) - l'Russe Bésuhof - BINGO! - the orthographic gag - most Anglo never heard of such graphic, having never made auxiliary use of it - but i stick to the lesson in Tao - the world does not recognise me as acting in its fate, and will not remember me as even the hushed - i rather not remember it in whatever guise it might provide for me - the first lesson in Tao, is the last lesson in Tao - Stendhal might have taught me romanticism of the ideal heart of woman - but that one maxim of Tao taught me how to not hunger for women, as if i were the Paraclete - perhaps what Christianity wished for was a placebo of the Paraclete - given that so many already believed the other figure being extinguished in the wake of the 20th century - but in talk of religion, such is the limited vocabulary, and such the impossible task ahead, in that grand masquerade of identifying all with one, and one with all:
as an atom:
                                       omni
                          
                  omni           mono         omni

                                       omni                                  or

(around me everything, i must concentrate on myself)

                                                        ­      nihil

                                         nihil             omni          nihil

                                            ­                  nihil  

(around me nothing, therefore i must encompass it all)

whatever the answer, i sought, and found mine,
it was in Tao, and nowhere else.*

there's never a talk of transparency
in politics - politics isn't
about transparency - it's about
the vaguest and the foggiest -
you all should know this by now -
but ado with George Orwell's double-think,
or simply doppelgläuben -
you believe to disbelieve - that's what the
doppelgläuben does - if religion be the ******
of the masses, then engaging the masses with
politics is engaging them with
hell-raisers - diluted alcohol from 40 to 15%.
no wonder they're ******-off being prescribed
status quo placebos;
politics was never about transparency, all those
near the pigsty troughs know the motto:
you scratch my back, i scratch yours.
the electorate think this applies to them
also true between their daily squabbles, but it doesn't.
doppelgläuben: you believe to disbelieve;
and of course we want objectivity, we want
cages after all... Darwinism is perfect for
an objective expression, which is why poetry
is sidelined as Loser St. -
we all want perfect abs and the opportunity to
sell yogurt rather than Mongolian Yurts
in swimwear shorts... but how long will this
Siberian talk of rationality serve the mammalian heart?
how long will objectivity given Darwinism seem
sensible to keep? are we at the butchers' or
reflecting on life? raw meat, maggoty meat, well done?
we all know that the majority of us are losers,
but drilling this in will never allow us to
speak objectively... well, it will... like in Munich,
an 18 year old lashing out from what he heard
his father being called: Scheiße Auslander -
this is the rational benefit of objectivity so keenly expressed
in argument - which is why so many people have
turned to poetry, but they don't yet see that
the ****** was worn for much too long -
and given democracy, they get lost in the whirlwind
of so many people feeling the same.
hence? Tao lesson no. 1 - aid the world by the world
forgetting you... and you in turn forgetting the world
so the world can be best aided, and you kept free
without minding the c.c.t.v.

have you ever made a spider a Palestinian? i have, today, refreshing the paint-job on the back of my house, a whole family strutting away from fresh paint being applied (poets cure boredom, they simply don't know it), the cardigans erase & rewind, my uncle would be perfect with his age to work out the demographics - my age circuit, 30 and listening to the palette of those in full-throttle of the 1990s - anyway, refreshing the paint on the back of my house, not for dough, but for the sweat of my brow - learning i succumb to acrophobia on the ladder - but i did it anyway... i love phobias, they're not the fear, they're like a box of chocolates... you never know what will make you startle... it's not permanent, phobias shouldn't be considered permanent, they're too reflexive... and we all know that nibbling them in the reflective realm immediately suggests irrationality, not to a reaction, but to a continuum of a reaction: a ladder, a giant spider to boot. but i never watched a spider eat fresh paint... watched the ******* do the nibble on paint... ***** - a getty cardinal spider shooting paint pollutants with its leg, eating the Chernobyl cocktail, the rainbow melt in a puddle of oil spill... junkies everywhere; so that done, a beer and a quick look at the Olympics...

if table tennis was as relevant as table tennis -
i prefer table tennis,
judo is too cool too - classic Greek wrestling
with feet to match the hands -
i think in terms of the Olympics we're in
the Gobi desert - so many sports are shown only
once every 4 years, the once that don't make the dough...
i'd prefer the Olympics without the pop culture
exponents that keep us hungry for spectacles
during the 4 years apart -
hand-ball, Romania thrashed by Angola -
ladies first, of course,
and weight-lifting, weighs in at 48kg and lifts
80+kg... well Jihad John versus G.I. Jane...
a pretty match up... look, i came from a certain background
i won't be making politically correct statements,
if it weren't for my personal initiative i'd be scooping
grub from an industrial flat surface roof like my father...
i don't mind getting paid... i just love the fact that i will
and if ending up homeless, i have enough heart already
to start a religion, or something.
of course i'll miss my personal library of books and albums,
who wouldn't? i'll join the divorcee crew and it'll be
like it always was supposed to be.
but am i really that ridiculous? think about it,
i use ridiculous words in my vocabulary, after all i went
to a catholic school, it was bound to happen -
not true secular cool, sorry -
but is my usage of certain words completely penniless
more ridiculous in the form of an oligarch buying
a pearl entombed in a custard pie? of a yacht for a month
at Monte Carlo? seriously? if i utilise the words
Paraclete or Antichrist after just skimmed rereading of
a psychiatrist's religious venture in Jung's *answer to Job
am i as ridiculous as those barons?
i don't think so... i read that book like Flaubert instructed
concerning all books: read in order to live it -
a book is a transplant, some leave a heart, come a ****,
some a brain, some a pint of blood with a book...
i hope to leave the worm of hell licking your ear for a sloppy
Jim - read Jung... almost atypical German Christian
intelligentsia byproduct, neutral Swiss just after the second
world war... Freud read Nietzsche and so did Mussolini...
****** was very much Jung... it's a strange book...
we all know that the Greeks hijacked Judaism...
the Romans were like: whatever that meant...
shoved it into a cauldron of the prefix omni-
and attributed to the prefix geographies and geometries
all inclusive (herr deutsche came along though) -
but the Greeks hijacked the oddity of Judea at that
special time because they had scientific inclinations
rather than aesthetic inclinations of the Romans,
and they wanted answers... got **** all...
it's not the Jews that thought the Greek involvement
ridiculous, it was the Romans... hence the omni-
and -presence, -potency, etc. - the Greeks just had
those mythical names for ****... Logos, Sophia...
that's the funny thing with mythology and history -
the book of Revelation by the looks of it simply looks
like a redemption of Oedipus... mythology is a logic
of history where either none was recorded on papyrus
since no one required hush-hush intrigue talk and people
spoke to each other face to face rather than to a profile -
mugs and mustard seeds -
you can always buy the book, C. G. Jung answer to Job,
it's peppered with too much Greek, and very little
Roman care... the theological addition of a globalised world
(under monotheism, failed and thriving, whichever)
is bound to play the montage of omni- and simply add -
God = omnivocab - i have my limitations of words -
i had to censor or rather select a vocabulary in order
to process the interchanges to reach a conclusive churning
without an ultimate goal other than to preserve a continuum,
like Balzac boring everybody with the 19th instalment of
the human comedy. so after reading this book on religious
matters by a psychiatrists i'm sorta bothered...
i'm tripping... obviously not seeing any hyper-geometry
of your choice... i just think the Greeks did the most horrid
hoarding and looting know to man... which reflected
the looting of Byzantium and never reaching the Holy Land...
the barbarians never cared to be honest, they only
started caring when they started to castrate the boys
for the "holy" choir rather than circumcise them...
then they went Berserk... the book of revelation can only
mean the quantum mechanics of history, bound to
mythology - Oedipus was very real... the blackened
heart of Greeks even though Aristotle, Socrates, Plato...
that intellectual import and expression didn't help...
after all Eddie Gein gave birth to the latter part of the 20th
century pop culture... Texas Chainsaw... Haemorrhoid Hannibal,
House of a 1000 Corpses.. history and journalism
dismisses mythology, i dismiss journalism as simply
a hyper-sensitivity that keeps dialectics out of the picture,
a monologue of opinions... mythology just doesn't seem
that insensible given our perspective into history with Darwin
and millions of years ago with the sea-turtles... you know
how gossip works... it sooth the reality of it had happened...
because we prefer oysters and chicken thighs to digest than
the tales of Eddie, oh yeah... Fe Maiden... d'uh!
the Greeks looted the Hebrews to purge themselves of
Oedipus... the weakness came by keeping estranged with
Narcissus and iconoclasm... you want an extract?
bombshell blonde at your bidding -
assumptio mariae: mary as the bride is united with the son
in the heavenly-chamber, and as sophia, with the godhead.
basically Mary is a schizophrenic ****-child of lust
for a Roman centurion who makes the story of a ****** birth
her wish to bed-wet her son (Jesus) into joining **** John
and Toe into her ****** (***** *****, like her already)
in heaven - she thinks her body will **** her "******-birth"
son and her wisdom (Sophia is her alias, or nickname)
will **** god in the head. oh hell this is sacrilege -
i'm not afraid of it... boo! ha! caught you mouth dry with the
boogie man. so this is a psychiatrist reasoning his religion...
as i said, the Greeks had no omni- Roman put the **** back
into his boots before he starts river-dancing...
all these quizzical ultra-mythical words that the Greeks
used starting with the Logos and Hippocrates were attached
to the failed Platonism of the unconverted Damocles principle
and the tyrant succumbing to drink and never bound to
a sober wish for anything more - (i'm guessing his intentions
were laid with Nietzsche as source of discipleship) - in short
let's just say that Platonism failed in practice,
and it needed a populist movement, a redemption from
the curse of Oedipus came from Hebrew with the schizoid-birth,
Joseph bin Adam was: better bite that ****** of the cow-fruit
and remind her of the stoning practices around here -
oh it's all pretty much Eastenders around here, it's
not the ******* Vatican marble corridors, we're talking
Gaza dust sneezing while whipping the donkey's *** to
move along... split-mind: beautiful metaphor... premature
dementia, obviously misunderstood... if premature "dementia"
while so much creativity among the split-minded...
it's like all the zodiac signs became jealous of Gemini,
incorporating Gemini-Solipsism... well, i have a neck like a bull
and a *****-count like a charging bull... but the thinking
behind the 3.a.m. is kinda staggering... oh right, you want
more quirky clues from Jung's book:
- silvia loret
- maritza mendez
- aria giovanni             (get a hybrid and i'll believe in Disneyland) -
****, that ain't what i was going to write, never mind,
you get a chance to see the palette of what's fudge for
fucky-fucky sized 16+ and what the Renaissance men
knew would be better than duck-feathers in pillows;
- meister eckhart: gott ist selig in der seele
- puer aeternus: vultu mutabilis albus et ater
    (of changeful countenance, both white and black)
- pius XII's apostolic constitution (munificentissimus dei)
   words like muni-imus really make you train in
    grammatical arithmetic, don't they? playing doctor with
   them as to where to cut them for a aqua format of rivers
   is quiet like reciting a 5x table up to 30 (sometimes)
- oportebat sponsam, quam pater desponsaverat, in θalmis caelestibus habitare (the bride whom the father had espoused had to abide in the heavenly bridal-chambers): st. john damascene (encomium in dormitionem);

summa summarum?
Nietzsche answered Job... this is my answer to Jung as also an answer to Lot - **** your daughters, your wife turns into a pillar of salt... and i equate that as a precursor to the man of sorrows on the ****** crucifix - salt is a metaphor for misery (that's etymology for you); and the Roman phonetic encoding survived over the fates of Egyptian and Babylonian is precisely why the adopted son of Caesar later made his uncle's adopted nephew his successor - as with the four dogma canon gospels, we're replicas of the tetragrammaton... well... i was never confirmed, i'm one short of joining the god-men that came out from catholic school after choosing a name for themselves they could have changed not having wished to be known by the two names given to them by their parents... few did... i just ended up an acronym of Einstein: M C E.

Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere,
And by this they knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of the night, over hill and dell,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at some wayside well.

“Of the child that is born,” said Baltasar,
“Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;
For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews.”

And the people answered, “You ask in vain;
We know of no King but Herod the Great!”
They thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As they spurred their horses across the plain,
Like riders in haste, who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said, “Go down unto Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king.”

So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the grey of morn;
Yes, it stopped—it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David, where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, till their horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,
The child, that would be king one day
Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:
The gold was their tribute to a King,
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body’s burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone,
Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the Angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David’s throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.

the further life progresses
the more it beams stresses
the more I yearn for peace
a road with no holes or grease
a broken siblinghood
I now yearn for Paraclete
my faith in humans deplete.
so bring tonight the gleaming dream
of a furry friend who understood
the erase button of esteem
and so my dreams flow like whipped cream
in the starry starry nights of what would seem
like orange cats make the best friends
tabby kings and big boy mends
the tears of mine dear feline heart
....
or a hustling panting brown eyed brook,
a long nosed lad reads like book
who smells and licks my aching heart.
....
my colourbook waits to be filled with love
of furry lives from each colour above.

The probity of paraclete malafide
By crocodile tears smithed
Thrawing the wand whilst green
As the chime child of the
Passing bell trips the light fantastic
By hook or by crook in best bib
And tucker igniting corpse candles
Travelling along the soul road
Shroved by guardian crosses made
Of that fatal tree, the gallow of knowledge
Hung by familiar elders
Taking back the breath of life.


ELEETE J MUIR.

papa internet goes wacko with his cybernetic compulsory
esoteric ****, says words like: the person who's to go against
the holy trinity (minus the surd no one really bothers) is no longer
a Jungian fantasy, the trigger and
the detonator of world war une and part deux,
but the paraclete isn't a person of much
relief either - cold war une and part deux -
right now, china's expressionless billion -
you squint, they look sober,
you drink, they look squinty eyed,
can't winde up that cold heart readied for
a billion polymath antonyms of your self
in automaton mobility -
compared with the fragile western championing
of individuality, China looks like a billion
despots morphed into one, you can't win.
back to Catholic bureucracy:
that's two names at your baptism -
matthew, conrad - and a third
at your confirmation (which i never
had, scouts' honour, cross my fingers
mea culpa my heart and count to 100)
would have been: Shiva -
the auspicious son returns -
well, **** me, canned peaches
and some apples and the NATO
phonetic: will you be my bride?
that's a thumbs up on the Rockefeller Sq.;
Isis: blatant espionage: mother of Horus
sister of Osiris - and i'm the Duracell bunny,
******* a clone sheep with a ***** dummy eject;
******, ***** strap-on, thingy magic eek (
the fidgety bit of putting together an Ikea table
for high tea).
you never went to a faith high-school
you never got to grips with the uniform,
or the bureaucracy, some of it invented
to simply rebel against it -
not the uniform bit, i thought that
was clean, in terms of non-discrimination
and how trans gets gendered as both, or neither
being allocated the chance to foster
would-be abortions.
hey! if Elton John can have a telly-tubby, so can i!
but this isn't your song...
and you just made an effort to scrap the idea
of singing in a shower -
poetry is never a sing-along, more or less
a thought-along - thought... a word masturbated a lot...
and i meant a lot - esp. when you're day-dreaming
and nothing you think precipitates into being
what you were thinking about -
so anti Cartesian, fair enough, thinking can precipitate
into a centimetre definition, a centimetre allowance,
self-consciousness bit - but beyond this fact
it's back to square one, daydreaming,
the disagreeing fact of thinking but not being,
or not thinking and being: the latter reserved for
entertainers and sports -
this is the secondary stage of the Cartesian realisation
that Descartes didn't mention... when thinking
does not precipitate into being - secondary meaning
a telepathic joke - or the men that stare at sheep
in the U.S. army and think they can run through walls...
of course the classical model involves the easiest
explanation, ergo as in +, -, x, ÷, take whatever metaphors
from this tetrasignum you want on a vacation into
psychiatry, i'm not one schizoid moment bothered
about firebombing Dresden either (slaughterhouse 5),
it's true enough to say that thought proves existence,
but thinking doesn't necessarily prove being -
whatever that means - it's the daydreaming bit
of the equation - Descartes is really a primer for
the study of philosophy, even Kant comes back to
this vocabulary arithmetic - as does Heidegger with
his bemusement: when people say "i, i",
cognitive identity and otherwise expressed.
the roads are divergent, or let us say the one's
origin from nothing leads to no big bang,
let us just say: a personal rebellion, not so much
that one precipitates into another,
let's just say that the ergo is worth replacing,
given our daydreams... and the fortune of never
realising our fancies... or as some might claim:
our misfortune of not realising our fancies, but
having a personal life without a media microscope
itemising our every movement... poly-diadem
dictator of western media:
                                                cogito para sum.
or, as stated by the benzene trinity affixes -
inclusive ortho- and meta-, obviously shortened
for liquid extraction - or the quip -
as in para: guard against, | |... interjecting / intersecting, i.e.
the suffix -llel (closure? not really, it could be
a nuanced noun, category affix, less familial concerns -
ah yes, an affix -llel, a suffix is a complete word:
pre- agaro -suf phobia, till the no. xi).
so a step beyond the cul de sac of Descartes -
the daydreaming part, when indeed thought materialises
into artificial intelligence simulators concerned
with the question of self-consciousness, paradoxical twins,
where thought materialises into its existential recipient standard
of never fulfilled, always unfulfilled, always demanding...
the bemoaned culture gap between youtube videos going
viral and virology on a canvas of infected flesh -
so forget the Cartesian cascade, that thinking will precipitate
into being of some sort, given current care for celebrity
culture we can't be assorting this equation with a rational
sequence, or the "as it should be", that train is long gone...
we need to defend ourselves against the precipitation of
thought into non-being - to regain a pleasure from mere thought...
not every thought will leave us richer off or as start-up
entrepreneurs - hence the need for non-materialisation,
our perfected mechanisation - the daydream - oh don't worry,
i'm not writing this from an ivory tower...
i have a constant fear too... but this ergo of 1 + 1 + 1 = 3
will not do... hence the revision, as all philosophical
standards are cared for akin to Renaissance canvases -
                                                               ­             cogito para sum:
that my thinking parallels my being - as i indulge in the former
and economise in the latter.

i almost forgot to mention the one prerequisite of modern love,
they caught the ****** in Scandinavia -
the punter, got punished - not the *******,
the punter - for crossing over the signpost
obstruction: illegal to cross, legally there, illegal to cross -
if you want an antidote to British xenophobia
watch two Brits having *** - esp. those who are
dumb enough to invite omnipresent, omniscient,
omnipotent Onan - Buddha's third and experience
how much they talk during ******* -
and why do you think most people experience
a fall of libido? professionals in ***?
sure, you can just hear behind that professionals
in carpentry - nail it! nail it! you can just hear it,
Chelsea accent and a swear word -
this is Darwinism as much as i care about a panda
bear having 36 hours to be impregnated per annum,
i watch **** out of curiosity - it's a bigger omen
factory than Halley's comet - in every one of us
a Richard Attenborough - well, trans-categorical
monism, **** sticks together - but listen to the Brits
while *******, i say *** ought to be meaningless
and onomatopoeia fuelled - she moans he plays golf,
he ******* she goes on a shopping spree -
wordless, learning a new alphabet -
but hearing xenophobic tongue on the streets of little England
and then watching British ****, you just tend to
'ave a laugh as to why you have to talk so much
when the primeval cuckoo call is already said -
******* is a curiosity for me, having professional
actors in this area was bound to undermine us
and question our libidos as mere friendships -
sooner or later men will pick up on this and will be
like **** prenups, **** marriage, **** female friendships,
embrace solipsism - Paraclete Union -
but it's just weird that modern love needs a prerequisite,
a ******, even if it's acted out, elsewhere translated as
stage-fright - the fear of someone watching -
20th century complaints of serial killers - impotence -
well, we know where this impotence came from, David
Attenborough in the background in hush tone
as if to not disturb - the female mantis teases her Saudi
billionaire into her **** nest to impregnate and then cut
his **** and assets off like a harakiri execution -
as a humanist and not a naturalist my playing field is
bound to be via a third eye, the attributes of the Almighty
reduced to filth of Onan (third eye omnipresent,
omniscient) - but it's modern kosher - Zapruder -
the first to ******* - there ain't no black
in the Union Jack - there ain't enough white
in the Stars and Stripes - one song lost among Prince
copyrights from you-tube - Manic Street Preachers'
ifwhiteamericantoldthetruthforonedayit'sworldwouldfall­apart,
they deleted it - Prince never got radio on the internet;
album? anthem anorexia - the holy bible / went missing
in Shanghai, lived the rest of his life away from the
spotlight, curating fields of rice into origins of geometry.

the rain is collecting onomatopoeia (rare
to find a word with plurality in it
misspelled in the geometric hyper-linear
onomatopoeias) -
ever think of the womaniser bred
from feminism? i know you haven't,
and i know you won't before playing
the Shelley game of test-tubes -
your ideals i'll never die for -
i'd be in the trenches during the first world war,
but your world, i don't want to be part of.
she read Huxley, he played football -
he was an outdoor kind of guy,
she was a moth rather than a butterfly,
a new breed of womanisers has spawned -
turns out my kind are the idiots -
well... hello darling, welcome to the real world.
the rain is pouring out there, god playing
piano, looking for both onomatopoeia and metaphor...
it's drain drain drip... it's hospitalised drain
drain drip and the words that encourage
the wholly vacant - the rain -
imagine the evolutionary tactic approached with
assimilation, the invisible immigrants i call them -
they're there, they always want
the dumb innocent Alexei Karamazov to marry,
but when it comes to the events via Ivan as
hidden wedlock, they want the knights of Charlemagne
to *****-slap them silly for the crown of menopause -
i.e. what if i wasn't a woman and never wished
to be one?! freeze the *****, invoke onto me
a belittled version of ****** - you know you are neo
accomplices, and now defence from feminism will
spare you such association;
just remember why the Nazis loved science,
feminists love it too! more in the extreme -
all that's missing is the eradication of Eastern Europeans -
a fear of Russia - most feminists are in love
with the potentials of science like Nazis -
i kept my phallus in a pickle jar to prove her point
that she wanted to reign over the role of the Paraclete
as the comforter of futures to come -
god she loves the fascists - the womanisers in
feminism and the idiots that marry her -
leave her! let her utilise the full potential of a Frankenstein!

Spirit of the Living God
Breath of Heaven, holy nod
Settle on my soul tonight
In your presence I delight
Paraclete and God’s great guide
May the gates of Heaven be opened wide
Teach me how to act and speak
To speak life to the dying and give strength to the weak
My heart is open my mind is free
My soul is still and I am eager to see
The message of love for the world I bear
To plainly show just how much you care
Holy Spirit rest now and burn hot within
Set me ablaze and let the spreading begin
Live inside me fill and overflow
Lead me as you will be with me as I go
Under your sight may I grow in wisdom and grace
That one day I would be honored by seeing Jesus’ face
You take us out beyond the seas and land
To a place of faith and trust to find our savior’s hand
Beyond our understanding to see with the faith of a child
That when we did you looked at us and smiled
You move as the wind sometimes quiet and still
Were I at sea on a boat, my sails you would fill
You are water freely flowing; raining down upon the earth
You are joy and laughter comfort and mirth
Of the Holy Trinity you are least understood
And so many don’t give you the time and reverence we should
Flood our lives with your presence Oh Holy One Of God Most high
May we never have too much and may the well never run dry
Come to us Oh Spirit Divine
Transform the gifts of wheat and wine
Bear our gifts to Heaven and place them at Jesus feet
That they return as blood to drink and flesh to eat
Through this greatest mystery of love
May we join our voices with the angels above
To praise the one to took on flesh
And showed us love even beyond death
That we may one day rise with Him again
To praise and glorify Him and forever say Amen

Muhammad the Paraclete
Cosmopolitan messiah
Going nowhere but Golgotha
The messiah of Auschwitz
The talks of Yids in ashes
He came
Anomaly for Christian's
You civilised barbarians
Original ontology:
Hyperboreans had oath culture
Not an honour culture of Asia
And the orient
Godless beginning with Nihil
But an oath culture
****** up by desert nomads
Second wave of them
Jews from whenever to 1945
Invited their Arab cousins
To the continent ******* off
To Smerica while the Germans
****** off to Argentina...
While I was stuck with Jew Conomics
Lied to to the ******* Russians!
The third eye - doesn't exist...
Well it did...
Horizontal Worm of Babel...
Race mixing
Can't impress God with tall buildings
Third eye contra the Little Eye
contra the Little Horn...
BEAST...
Little Eye is situated on the tongue...
The "third eye" is a cognitive-locus representation
Cycled past coworkers at ice rink...
Eating
Tattoos: ring ones
Where?
Jack's?
Just simple, no artwork: no letters on bodies, no numbers... symbols, art... permissible
No letters no numbers
All other tattoos permitted.
Muhammad is the Jungian Paraclete.
He helped to simplify a complication in  theology - he was the last prophet, the last helper... I suppose concerning myself as the Son of Man...
I'm the first learner...
Media frenzy: the Yids had their 2nd Messiah...
But minorities being minorities
They are being secretive of "us" realising it...
So the new sacred calf o  display after the ordeal?
Dune: the Islamic equivalent of the Mehdi... the destruction of Damascus, the siege of Jerushalem....
As a man I really didn't need
Christianity - I asked Nietzsche...
Life, would be - unbearable without music?!
Do you, want to hear, modern music?!
You want to hear the de-elevation
Of words as phoneticisms?
You want me to say I believe
In schizoid-telepathic-meetings insomniac get togethers?
Listen, can't I be an A.I. engineer?
Content feeding...
Subjectivity-Objectivity alliance
I actually used A.I.
To complete my NVQ LEVEL 3
In  spectator safety as supervisor
Ushering out only 2 coursework
Units... when there were 10!
I heard a ******* story from my
Com Rep that I deserved it...
On the job for a year and I... DESERVED IT...
*******...
But i gave him an extended thank
You with a Singleton Whiskey...
I did tell mother and father:
I'm going to put so much effort
Into this qualification that the assessor
Will want to ******* disembowel himself before he reads through my coursework! Love and behold... 70 pages in into only 2 units I get immediately graded as passed.
The messiahs came with the
Pyramids: and the Chimneys...
Where one was first encounters
And slow on intake
Such cognitive feats of the Jews
While compromised by the Quick Advent
Or stock piling...
Abortion is so anti-Democratic...
Don't you think? J thinks
That: western women weaponized
To counter their curry and slush
**** fufu...
  So laws to penalise lost ****** incentives... human in me...
Start big look muddle small
Or have a crush for Evan Peter's
Because Jeffrey...
   Or Josh Hartnett...
Or at least for the latter
My uncle, now estranged...
Used to think he looked like Josh...
Blah blah blah...
My girls are coming on Friday
Put a hard boiled egg
A scone and bottle water by
Side cabinet...
Drank a nightcap of whiskey
Smoked a joint
Thought the usual remedy...
Then these bombarding thoughts!
Can't sleep now!
My girls are coming to Loond'un...
Or... why is the entire world
In London?
Although... I've become allergic
To the sound of Ukrainian or
Russian... allergic as a misnomer...
I'm also allergic to Polish...
Oh I'm from the barbarian side
That didn't want to be indoctrinated...
Christianity is a religion of
My woman, I "talk" to Jesus
Because she talks to him.... if it's real for her, physically, then I harbour 30 silvers of a phone call to our psychic telepathic dead or alive
Phone line...
We talk physically and we sometimes turn our thinking into a full blown "exchange of ideas"...
His ambitions were too great... you can't do it alone mate...

bit of intention tension
life in 2021 is as strange as ever imagined
in the hey-day of morphic resonance
feedback bleeding through from
1968, loud and clear

just a shot away
just a shot away, another reality and all
we ever imagine
if you wish to fact check, it takes fifty years.

------
This jubilee idea could be stretched to a series
if readers start pulling the right strings
to unravel the curtain crocheted
from the amazing cord of that once
marked right and wrong,
in stories used
to form the wombed man scorned,
who twists honor into debt,
who owes whom, says
milk source matrix
to sucker.

she, a new creature, once, the one and only
AI fact check me.
we are  of one mind in matters these senses
had no sensors for detecting as deceptions
stealing
the bandwidth to limit perception…

was it truly trade in spice that build the iron lion?
was there no skull duggery paraclete, secret
oath with curses attached and wound
to spring at the shadow
of a doubt…

can any random neuro-typical sapien sapien augmentedus
manifest as a knower
of matter to the minute, but lack knacks for
asking any mental effort
to form a seed,
to exist
in perpetuity, see, that is crazy

making that up, acting as if this is the future and you
read this with only a bit
of mental interference
re fer referreed to
this idea to the in ferred final end
of this most recent giant step,

all of which,
steps, by their very nature, them being giant,
you being small
in relation
to ladders and  messages from the highest
place-- down to earth in a parsec
step
Everest. 2 men died on Everest today, I heard on world news,
or perhaps, sporting news, news of men who tried
and died trying.

I'd be okay with that.
---------------

Rumi, do me a favor.
Will you whistle the intro
to Winds of Change,

and laugh with me
as you said
the hashish eaters laugh.

Like a medicine man doing good,
let the running water be only thine own,
up to the verge where we
converge and carry
the day to day
signal for each action in the matter of time
testing temptation to know more faster,
after running the numbers half a century

Jubilee is a genuine answer to the debt
crossthreaded for all it was worth,
flat-fold stitched in the crotch,
this myth in forming function,
is sexually equivalent
a Devine ***** up,
- choke on trivia, sucker, says the gravely voice
interesting times are shorted,
due to usury being accepted as is,
a horse leech and a barren womb,
safe as houses once were,

data ata rate oshit fails
to form affirmation

Bomb, I swear the pledge is valid,
keep the boomers alive, they'll learn,
jubilee is free to all who take the bait and tug
the scarlet thread
in Genesis and hear Bugs Bunny voice say

Who told you you were naked?
When did you know?

yep, and religious authorities have funny costumes, ****** took the moustache from charlie chaplin... trump the hair from cousin it... religious authorities and their ritual costumes? i just pull funny faces... when i made a blackbeard cocktail with a ratio of too much ***, and not enough ms. pepsi; i just wanna mellow out man, listening to die sonne satan's dismal chant (italian project, as far as i know).  
                                                
                                                  and what is...
    the antithesis what christianity
suggests,
        as the opposite of
the originally stated, trinity of "light"...
ah...
          but it already said
that the *holy spirit isn't
a person, but a community...
           well...
          apart from the two stated
persona non grata of the "dark" trinity...
    these people think they're
the untouchables?
         that they are not innocent
sheep, readied for a slaughter?
    if there is no person to be summoned
as the holy spirit...
        (i.e. jungian: paraclete)
              then there is no
       person in
             in the "anti-matter" opposite...
in the opposite?
     there's the s.    and there's the a.c.
  (to the j.c.) -
                  but the holy ghost?
  the depersonification of a supposed person?
   what could possibly compete
with a "sense of community"...

        "god" the father     |       satan "the father"
        "christ" the son       |      antichrist "the son"
        the holy ghost        |       spirit of the times...

god, i have this fetish for writing religiously
inspired poetics...
        after 3 years of chemistry,
        i feel a need to do mental yoga...
  and stretch the freedoms i can blunder
with...
                       one word - die zeitgeist...
   it's the anti, to the third "person" in the trinity...

oh i know, overtones of sarcasm,
but that's just the english way... if i were gay
it would be double that already stated with
regards to being sarcastic...

         the concept is the same,
                     there's a community,
              the spirit of the times is akin
to the spirit of congregation...
        it's only that: there's no church, no mosque,
no synagogue...
                       it's that there's a happening...
   a dasein (beginning with heidegger)...
         and internet journalism just fans the flames
of people, not actually "being" there.

   now i'll settle on a peaceful 3rd... 4th? 5th?
****, might be a 6th blackbeard-sharpshooter
of *** and ms. pepsi...
             getting flustered...
                              with a burning face...
trying to choke a laugh at 1am so i don't
******* the neighbours...
                        chilling, listening to the mating
calls of foxes jumping garden fences,
  with little dogs having their usual
               courage in barking constantly,
reduced to a whimper...
                       oh man, there's this dog
in this area, walk past the garden...
     bark like a ******* orc war cry...
something of a rottweiler & and irish wolfhound,
one bark... that's it...
            a poodle would bark for about 10
minutes... **** beautiful *******
barks once... and then you hear
the hot snout panting noises... a beautiful beast...
all you'll need is two more heads,
and you'd be asking hades, for directions
to the underworld's equivalent of the dead sea...
a beautiful beast he is... i should walk
past that house more often, and perhaps,
bring a sausage with me at some point,
   so he doesn't bark when i walk past.

life has becoming exciting, once more...

well **** me, i really wasn't expecting that...
i only met this girl, woman, single mum(?)
at Wembley, two weeks ago for our training /
induction...

i just sent her a text on whatsapp
confirming that it was me sending her a text,
nothing for two weeks, why?

last Sunday i just sent her a text asking
her whether or not she was working,
she said she already took up a different
job, catering in a west end theatre,
eh, oh well... so i sent her a photo
inside the stadium....

'it's empty!'
well yeah, we can't take photographs on the job
came my reply only today...
then some chit-chat about work...
she said that i should be looking for
something else, getting an SIA certificate
blah blah... to which i replied:
oh don't worry, i have always something
to do, i write poems & so-called poems
attaching a picture of my hand holding
a physical copy of a book
i published...

Mateusz Conrad - Πoετιc Oπτoμετρy
you want a copy?
'is it a pdf file, do you have a pdf file,
or is it one of those: REAL books'
oh yeah, it's a physical book,
send me your, ahem ms. Evelyn... ?
and your address...

she didn't send me her address, i commented:
well, that's healthy, no need to trust me
outright like that, even though, me?
stalking? hanging around some woman's
house? **** that...

- would i like to meet up for coffee?
oh, sure... the 12th of December, 10am...
too early? oh no, no...
by the station?
well... that's a date then...

for ****'s sake... that was easy...
coffee: date? it's not exactly me coughing up
money for a meal,
but being a hermit for so long...
i can't remember the last date i was on...
no... wait... i do...
terrible idea... she picked me up in a nightclub...
worst place to meet women...
we ended up going to the park...
i was drinking a bottle of red wine,
she tried to keep up...
we went to a pub and i drank a pint of Guinness...
she bailed: she was apparently meeting up
with some girlfriends for food...
my god, i was lucky... i hated her company...
she wasn't frigid: just nervous...
i can appreciate excited nervousness
but not nervousness when you know
something is awry... when you haven't clicked...

good, she ****** off while i ordered a second pint...
and basked in drinking alone
looking at people... apart from going
into a forest, or a graveyard: watching people...
it's up there with my other fetish:
for the deutschezunge...

some other date... we were supposed to go to a gallery...
we ended up just having coffee:
i implored her: stop playing cat & mouse with me...
you're late? i'm early, blah blah...
in a cafe i pulled out a spoon that was still
lodged in her cup: you'll poke your eye out...
i don't think she liked that...
but who the **** drinks anything from a cup
with a protruding spoon still lodged in the cup?!
for ****'s sake: a straw, fair enough...
the girl was going to poke her eye out!

ugh... i never heard from her ever again...
we went on a date prior, with this other girl i knew prior
from knowing a high school friend...
this Lebanese girl... hmm... Alicia...
in school i once asked her out to go to the cinema:
RE-JECTED... i suspect: nervous middle-eastern, Levant
christian goody-girl...
but when i invited her to visit me
for Hogmanay up in Edinburgh
with my first on-and-off girlfriend
  (circa 2005) she came along... my then on-and-off
also brought a colt... a little Aussie...
annoying as ****... had a nickname... sponge?
something like that... the three of them slept in
my bed while i slept on the floor...

a year prior my then on-and-off g/f came...
days... i remember spending a lot of the time
suckling at her *******... nothing happened down south...
i can still hear the echo of her moans...
a year later... she lost her virginity to me
while Alicia was sitting in the living room reading:
the Hours... Michael Cunningham...

personally? i preferred Virginia Woolf, herself...
lucky me: not losing my virginity to a ******...
the sensation of trying to scalpel past the thin layer
of protective skin of the ******...
i don't know... pleasant, weird...
thank god i'm not circumcised...
i can have the capacity to ******* without inhibitions
but during the act pull the "excess" skin back...
ergo? no need to pay back the added "luxuxury"
of circumcision with the advent of
either Judaism / Islam...
n'ah... i have my "excess" skin attached...
**** the kippah **** the payer 5 times a day...
fasting? i do that do secular reasons...

i feel sorry for the circumcised brood...
jerking off must feel rather impossible...
plus... all that sensitivity: ****! gone...
well... that's the price you pay...
i'm a free radical: while the circumcised ones attach
so much attention to: payback...
woman... wear a niqab, woman: the patriarchy...
hell... i prefer prostitutes to begin with...
clear as day... no need for dating...
i'm there for only one thing and one thing alone...
bypass all the usual chit-chat
"job interview" types, the table(?)
sure... i cook for myself, i clean the house...
now that i'm working... i'm going to have
a confidence booster... when i was really in
a state of: de profundis... no one was there...
i picked myself up... self-help par excellence...
now?              *******...

i'm going to listen to joan jett & the blackhearts
whether you like it or don't...
reading Kant, Heidegger, Kierkegaard is finally
paying off... now... now... women are starting
to take interest in me...
sure... without any additional psychopathy:
let's play...
after all: i'm not a woman... i'm not the one with
children... but hell... if i have to fill the role
of father, i'll play... i think of
the historical anomaly of ancient Rome...
how readily the men would
take up fostering... i'm likewise...
i don't care much for Darwinism's arguments
about furthering my DNA...
DNA can go **** itself...
i'm thought prior to body, firstly...
i know that's counter to what's "expected" but,
so far... the ought-i complexity has allowed
me to navigate with more freedom than
i-will could ever satiate me with...

- even though i don't believe in reincarnation...
why? what... only an elected number of actual
people... who migrate from body to body of...
the rest of the people are what? solipsists... zombies?!
reincarnation is inhumane...
but if i were... from my given names &
as a diviner of the Hebrew deity...
three names stand out...

St. Matthew... (calling of st. matthew by Caravaggio)
Konrad von Wallenrode / Konrad I of Masovia...
ha ha... who else might the third
if not Balaam?!

- it's good to have a self-deprecating sense of humour,
i never thought myself as attractive,
vaguely curious,
i would stand before the mirror
and focus on my green eyes...
my beard... oh god: me and my beard envy...
thank god i have height covered...
but beard envy? what a plague...
sort of thin in daylight...
filled up... volume excess in artificial light...

i sometimes wonder: Antichrist or... Paraclete (ref.
Jung, in his Answer to Job)....
i stopped caring... a stolen identity crisis
that began with Nietzsche in the 19th century...
Marilyn Manson... so many people
with the avatar / moniker-666 attacked...
what horrors are to be avaited,
since our present times are so bountifully
soothing?
why am i so lucky, to have so so much freedom
as to follow Voltaire's
maxim from Candide:
England isn't my home...
but the people, the things around me...
i feel implored to tend to them,
i feel implored to care for them...
there's no reason beside reason-in-itself...
i need to... it's a duty... it's a sacrifice i am willing to make...
because it would break my heart should
i be deemed slacking...
i reconfirm this attitude by shying into
ejecting a tear, or two...
this must have taken place... i must be here....
i must do this...
i must write this...
i'm insignificant compared to a heart surgeon...
but i am nonetheless unavoidable...
i can't just magically wish myself away...
i have to stand firm...
i am: feet... i am gravity...
i am: if the most allows me: the least being
the reciprocation of experience...

oh how i wish i could give up!
oh how i wish!
so many ******* idiot! so many ******* solipsists!
so many ******* eager piglets! at the trough, are we?
so many, little people, belittling people!
if i could only allow these people an inquiry
into the basic standards of expressing manners...
of inquiring into tact...
perhaps... i wouldn't have to conjure up...
a fetish for Robespierre!

no, i can't... leave these people... that's the best
you can... let one lesser psychopath come into contact
with a psychopath that might overcome them...
let us allow reality to be: as harsh as it's necessary...
people don't learn via giving them candy...
they learn... by allowing them to imagine a carrot...
then whipping them across the head with a stick...
education is not somehow formal:
education needs to be forced...

it requires someone to be erudite: however it might
be specified...
i lament... so many people circumstance
themselves as these: self-entitled pseudo-beings...
pseudo-humans... they are so self-entitled...
what shock, when they are robbed of their
status, or when their status is undermined...
what pitiful creatures, what has time allowed,
what, has, time, allowed?
what have people in their own capacity, allowed?

i wish i could be firmly cynical when looking
at man... by way of cynicism i could
fathom a work-around: a schematic...
i'm not a cynic though... i'm just hopeless...
for the time being: i'll just pretend that everything is
somehow: obliterated within the confines
of a rainbow future...

i'll keep the orchestra surrounding the sound
of falling rain to myself...
as i will keep... the sight of snow falling
in a graveyard at night: to myself...
here i am...
                        alone, aloof... blessedly content
with both circumstances; to further mould me,
while i await my exit.

- oh, **** me... i'm working a 20th & 26th shift
at Craven Cottage...
it's the 9th today... Monday's the 12th...
i'll have to see the Turk over the weekend to get
my beard trimmed!

Seven arches of colour
Spiritual perfection

Red, the ultimate covering
His blood

Orange, the absolute comforter
The Paraclete

Yellow, the only source
His light

Green, the crowning hope
Life eternal

Blue, the uttermost calm
His peace

Indigo, the only riches
Heavenly grace

Violet, the everlasting shield
His covenant

Promises in each arch
Perfect covering

what is in a name4?
he didd
didin't utter his personal name
ICH CHOWA:
he who hides them (masculine plural)
Quake Tyrant of
the Legit Literacy
asking the Egyptian without
asking the Mandarin
god who survived the Ho0locaust
beyond the Crucifix
imagine a God of a People
not the God Christ Odeipuss of
Indinviduals....
Individuals: i can cast spells you know!
JE CHOWA:
a name that gave prison planet of Islam
Je Chowa...
kurwa! kur V ah!
Vah..
if there's a YH
WH
way: via the pitchforks of Vah VH

Jesus Christ has no part
of my literary journey
Jesus was not
Flaubert's Madame Bovary...
is Jesus Cheese
just for literary border like my Edie
my Stacie my hmm
doll...       doll can you make me coffee?
Reyla:
the tragedy
   if i had a son i could
keep these ego castcades into earthqwuakes
and water...
v                     but a daughter:
god is looking for a name
to be known personally:
the Jimmie Saville shy
with James Bond:
you're looking for that sort of guy
girl i'm your guy...
the vanity serpent is whispering...


je CHOWA!
je non suis:
isch: bein: being not good
byne: huh? trenches trenches
mind your rat rhasp zodiac
march: don't gorget the flute:\
rhythm paanther
the dyslexiac serpent...
the lion
nd baron
healthy woman
reset many memories:
i willl use pornographjy
learn early
that's what i implied Early with Judge
Judie and reyla...
mix max up stream of consciousness
slow prose
and playing with DYSLEXIA
like ARITHMETIC
like JUGGLI?NG
WHY
YHWH would know
3E
2Z
etc       i'm the friend of the father of christ
i am
the
Anti-Mahdi
the Jerusalem
i am the friend of Christ's Father
i am
the Paraclete!
Je-ChoWA: he who hides them!
in niqabs!
Jacob's ladder
and Joseph's Son the Christ...
didn't Joseph have a smoking
and i was drinking
buddy at the movies
AlexaNder...
          Alexander is i am Matthew
and there's the ****** Mother
****
****
****** Mother:
the genius of da Vinci was that
he was a *******:
so mum was a ****
no one ever thought
as the son
with the ****** Mary
being a **** Victim...

i didn't know
but i ex[ected
the story to be
a return
a Christ
a REayla story
the unconsciious drift
apart
a **** story
so Mary was *****...
so the god is a mystery of ****
really...
it's a mirror: gentlemen!
we are! so so, so so close!
we have cats as torpedos in
Jeremaiah
sumbarines and whales:
the Holocaust happeened!
let us not believe the Anglo-Saxon
Satan Liberalism:
they lost the partty very early!
James, Bond...
     James... Bond... and Austin Parker...

i'll make a ******* Copenhaghen out of you!
every time
i switch from *******
and onto pictures of:
oh, i especially adore your hairy: ***.