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WS Warner Sep 2011
Verdant eyes, translucent pearls
speak in silent witness,
wounds unfurl
meaning revealed,
interrupted girl.
Safe in solidarity
prolific eccentricity,
the scandal of particularity.
Pouting mouth
grief - filled lips
alluring, set sail a thousand ships;
tempt me to leave harbor.

Arousing euphoria as such,
resistance, amity and distance
amour sans touch
her sense of humor transcends,
appeasing the mind’s thirst
a vogue sultana,
seasoned swagger
hair resplendent flame,
alternating cool, black
asymmetrical coiffure;
nonconforming demure
the renegade metaphor -
singular for sure, no cure.

Muted vanity, bathos piercing
the jaded circumference of banality;
pale protagonist servitude
the sapient palaver of the urbane,
covered patina of pretense,
induced coercion,
the commodity self
appearing abased
wearing lesions of lassitude.
Artistic chattel - eminent domain
preempting genius,
subsidiary of consuming narcissism
external locus of control;
surrender to the tentative,
fettered pendant, Venus in chains
arrested visionary bane
sterile savant, edifice of pain.

The soubrette, dubious incarnation
gravid ingénue of prevarication
imperceptible venue -
theatre of the absurd;
withdrawn siren,
solitude of necessity -
skin - slender veil of shame,
nearness loitering redemption;
moments envisage
the appointment with the soul;
ambiguity eschews clarity
awareness; ineluctable anxiety,
imago - centric confession
sacred pardon, seraphic venation
intravenous textures presume,
the tactile margins of liberty.

Therapeutic retrieval,
Sanguine,
beneath the portico of
individuation;
Your smile I hear,
recovered autonomy
blessed emancipation,
The scandal of particularity;
peculiar treasure
ironically captured
film, canvas,
prose profundity.

Ciphering as an ambling book,
I peruse you,
rendered captive
hypnotic avant-garde fiction,
spectator of denuded opacity
analogous reflection, I Mirror you.
A modest proposal - pontificate the imperative,
forgo the disposal, adapt your narrative,
the scandal of particularity -
resonate the echo, cogitate our propinquity
Love, imagination and destiny.

©2008 & 2011 W.S Warner
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
.i. if Kant could have his von Kleist... well... who else to juggle juggernauts if not me? as a task of redeeming that poor soul who succumbed to the terminator of all poetic ambitions, with his systematisation off-the-page, as eccentric and punctual as a sunset on a sundial at 16:11... and in case either the spring of sunrise, or the autumn of sunset... but so many hours after exacting a sunset... that gluttony of the eyes to stare at it... 16:11 is the zenith of a sunset in november the 15th... much prolonged when warmer... supersized sun when setting in summer, and all that whiskey-copper wiring for the eyes to stare at it: oh for goodness sake, who really cares for Ikea likened assembling of words... we're not putting together a coffee table, we're looking for Darwinistic entrapment, we're scared of the aeons and yawns... we're trying to create a Darwinistic entrapment saying what segregates us from apes! that's how anti-Darwinism works - if they can easily call you a poet and a technophobe... then that hardly makes you a merchant with a Quran... to encapsulate the language of our modernity we're doing everything against writing the onomatopoeia of our beginning... monkey ooo! monkey ooo ah ah! or a gorilla grunting and then snorkeling... we're encapsulating our language more and more... because beginning with ape and then looking at history, and then looking at the consensus of the contemporary: Darwinism's greatest enemy is not theology... it's history... Darwinism and history are not compatible... oddly enough Darwinism and theology are compatible, simply because they are dynamically equal for the case of furthering both arguments in debate... but Darwinism is an odd starting point to argue, given that physicists argue from the perspective of prior to dinosaurs, prior to all things formed.

how can i begin this? it will leave me having to
write it for two days,
the anti-narrative sketch first, then filling in
the gaps sober... just to get second opinions...
i might have to cook a quasi-Hungarian borscht
and fry up a few potato flattenings to a crispy
yum... first the narrator comes in to describe what's
in store, a bit like a translator comes in and says
of Joyce: that's Irish... well, yeah.
               hence the italic preface...
as some would say, the person who wrote these
sketches worked quicker that an algorithm in asking
and also quicker to copy & paste the required
atomic encoding... e.g. ч and ch
                   э and euro and epsilon...
      once upon a time there was nothing prior
to Copernicus, then the somersaults came,
    h ч y        what coordinates where?
    well of course perfecting the encoding of something,
if things weren't stated awry there would be
no optometrists either...
                  it's not hard to read, it's hard to
remember how to read, given that being literate reached
the omnipresent velocity, the new powers had to
include some new power struggle...
mingling Latin and Runes, Greek and Cyrillic...
     and the proto-Latin of additional diacritical marks...
they exposed the entirety of humanity to literacy
within the framework of post-industrial society,
after hitchhiking a ride on the 19th century donkeys
they suddenly had to reveal their power-secret of
being literate, and by the account of women:
corset bound and bored in salons...
      but something else appeared that didn't really fascinate
them: that over-complication of Latin with
punctuation marks above letters: or diacritical
distinction, crowns over letters, subatomic particularisation
of once favoured: universal applicability...
as a narrator? i have to make a complicated
introduction, the sketch lends itself to do so,
it suggests that not all writing can be as simple as
a nursery rhyme, not all writing can actually
    **** memory, not all writing desires being remembered,
not all writing can be remembered,
                in the mediation of the two chiral opposites
there's fiction, which is suspended in an armchair of
pleasurability... but on the opposite side of a nursery rhyme
or a well versed poem? writing akin to arithmetic...
  something truly painful for those competent with
lettering, but not really competent with ten digits...
      as a narrator who has already read the sketch,
i'm trying to not write a "filling in the gaps" to the sketch
like an art-critic might do to a painting deviating from:
brushstrokes were employed. well... d'uh!
variation of italics as in transcending the pause that
implies a condescending variation of taking a pause,
also excluded are: dot, comma, hyphen, semicolon
and colon.                         dot-dot-dot is not joining up
the dots: it implies a variation of how to anticipate
a punchline: drummed: tu-dum wet snare!
     i am actually a narrator who is trying to find
that other part of me that might digest this sketch properly,
     and return fully competent to pick up another
sketch... if ever there was a narrator in this sketch,
it has to be me, after the sketch has been scripted,
and i am left to suggest a need for a dot-dot-dot connectivity
of the strokes of the pen...
i warned myself: do not overdo the introduction in italics,
you know how picky people are...
whether pickled pineapple of cucumber...
i swear Turks invented pickling chillies...
         oh look! an inflatable gazebo filled with helium!
no one's laughing: only because i didn't mention vegina.
narrative puritanism? you get distracted a lot...
but this sketch is really a thesis for narration,
all i have to do is find the antithesis of narration in it:
an actual narrative!          it stretches for ~30 pages...
   well that's me turned archaeologist with a Grecian urn
with a snap of the finger... because that's how this
sketch looks like: ancient -
                         but understandably modern.
              so .  ,  - and ;
        were racing... out came the world record
             9.58(0)         the full-stop is the bracket-bound
0... i.e. it actually happened: hence the pinpoint...
or in Formula 1 a timed nonsense of ave. m/ph
     noted to three decimal points: 130.703...
                                    or chicane cha chicane cha cha!
as said, this is an actual representation of a narrator
encountering this sketch: so before you lose your head...
i've lost mine!
  look at the correlation though!
we've gone way past atoms with the atomic bomb
and encountered subatomic particles...
    we're not going to get beyond subatomic particles
because we're going to encounter the already apparent
reality of obatomic particle: namely our bodies,
   the perceived ******* (ob- is the antonym
                                                  prefixation of sub-):
             that's were the microscope adventure ends,
    and this is parallel to cutting up a second with
three decimal points, as the safetynet suggests:
                                                              π / 3.14;
yep, the obstructive - hence we can't spontaneously
combust... but then again Goethe's Werther did:
  out of love... down the spiral: you sweet little *******.

~ii. i'm actually too lazy to write the sketch and fill
in the blanks... so i'm going to fill in the blanks as i go along,
  or that's what's called the rebellious stance of narrator: mmm,
work in progress, could you see that coming?


ii. a beer in between glugs of whiskey - runes
combined in the ******* / sigma, variant of agliz or
the rune-zeta extended toward a dark shadow of the rebirth
of Ishrael: zoological enclosure; sigma *******
sigma ******* sigma *******, sigma *******...
rune-zeta... we cannot say there are ******
mathematicians and poets akin,
not then one optic encoding states
     a b c d e
         another states f u þ a r
yet another а б (ρ) в г
  α β γ δ:
for worth of gamma into a trill only because of
   a wave, that's ~ approx. on the side of the letter
   e.g. г & r.
   or rho upside down? what the ****?
did Voltaire write this? reading Candide,
i hope he ****** did!
you the problem is pixelated paper? if you know
how you enter a deciphering mode...
                    but you require a personal library to boot,
all that dos formatting,
                       well there's formatting in the humanity
outstretch of this white medium too...
after it isn't all ******* white when all the psychiatric
pills are white too... i have really found something better
than the Bermuda Δ...
       Greek, Latin, Cyrillic and Runes...
i could say neo or proto otherwise,
but i still haven't unearthed the sketch, that
is probably puzzling the Danes, with Cnut on the forefront...
                    but the arrangement of numbers is universal,
but it's not universal, given the particularity of
how language is encoded and why some people are
richer than others...
            but it's still a beer between glugs of whiskey that
makes more sense...
i said, retype the sketch and go to bed...
and i figured: that's probably the wisest of all possible
events stemming from this...
    that's ~27 pages of notes to retype... and i'm already
in a disclosure mode as to expect what's to be jargoned...


p. 1        cкεтч       /      σкεтχ
   necessity of                        (acute
a-       -the           (ism)
is that of language structure,
          only from the use of one's language does
a deity present itself: from within the noumenon
ground work, not the reverse, as in from
(pp. 2, 3)
                 a phenomenological exercise in
the use of language: Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, (etc.)...
       e.g. Islam is a phenomenon,
  it's not a noumenon: or a thing-in-itself...
  for the Islamic god to emerge from Islam's-in-itself
Islam will have to prevent itself from being-outside-itself...
or overpowering other in-itself contentions
but still: to no apparent success narrative of true intention
as satisfactory appropriation and hence lending itself
to a widespread nod of approval.
  challenging space: word compounding, or the space
between conjunctional deficiencies: nod-of-approval (e.g.).

p. 2    concussion (great film, Alec and Will, 2015, NFL)
concussion... Blitzkrieg Alzheimer's....
brain is fat.... dementia = attacking proteins...
  steroids... the noumenological use of language:
e.g. that ****** is an enigma,
therefore his views will not go viral,
and he'll not become fashion trendy...
it's not individualistic idealism, it's reality.
as will die sonne satan - orbis reach more than 5K
views... so... clap clap... clap, clap.
           what i meant about the a-     and -the
and the ism is following a sentence that sort of
does away with conjunctional fluidity,
apart from the big words, i treat all minor words as
categorically conunctional... and, the, a, is, to, too...
given the sentence: brain fatty *****,
brian organic giraffe wall... ******* hieroglyphic...
           stood above the rest, rest assured.
  dementia: invading protein cells
   (bulging prune of the opportune: purely
digestion?) no thought to eat or eat itself like,
cannibalistically. the brain is fatty...
not fat in muscle for mmm, schmile and flex
for the selfie. how about a protein inhibitor?
(by now, rewriting the sketch, i've lost the page count,
it's actually p. 5 of note paged toward 27).
how about the explanation that we're living in
times of post-industrialisation and thanksgiving
feminism? to me post-industrialisation has created
a class of meaningless white-collar workers
and no blues... it's what the Chinese blues call
the Amazonian nomads: ******* happy...
no amount of crosswords or sudoku will exert
your body to do things for others...
   no amount of mind games will actually tell your
brain to be equipped with: a bunch of hyenas... run!
dementia is a result of creating too many
white-collar jobs (thanks to feminism)
and exporting the blues to China (thanks to feminism
and: oh i broke a nail, can i get a Ching plumber to
fix my heating while i get a ****** to **** me up my
****?!) - maybe i'm just dreaming...
it's great to censor dreaming, i mean: you stop dreaming,
you get to see reality, and you don't even need to
read Proust on a ricochet.
  - so we have brain as fat, and invader cells as protein...
protein digests fat... and creates cucumbers out
of people... where do the carbohydrates come into play?
it can't be at the point of a.d.h.d., can it?
     i'm blaming post-industrialisation, the complete
disappearance of the blues (formerly known as the reds,
in the east) for the whites...
or that old chestnut of: my god you're goon'ah luv it!
   to till for worth from the sweat of yer brow -
funny funny funny... to earn your loaf of bread
you will toil...
                   and toil until you are physically assured
that not ghostly / mental life can enter your world /
books... that went well... didn't it?
   i should be tilling a potato plateau rather than
be bound to be writing this epic (by modern standards)
poem...
             but that's the curse of exporting all the blue
collar jobs to China, then importing mindless
white collar jobs to the west, what the hell do you think
would happen, not the pandemic of dementia?
if you do not exert the body, and then you do not
exert / exhaust the mind... do you think
you can secure a narrative with a post-industrial
westerner on the premise of that person simply being
able to solve a crossword? well... i believe in santa
claus too... but i don't believe in him giving out
presents... because to me, in my oh-so-called maturity
that's called an anagram of satan's clause: which is a legal
term for: i can turn civilisation into shrapnel
of what's said and what's to be said: and what's not to be
said. people can't expect to turn honest labour
for the recreational run on the treadmill in a gym...
and they can't expect photocopying in an office space
to replace Newton's curiosity, and then compensate
all this distraction with mind-games...
          can they? well... they did!

poets are gagged by writers of prose,
no wonder they write so sparingly,
      they are gagged in the sense that they write
as if asphyxiated: they need breathing room.


well sure, if he can revive the Polish steel industry
and i can go back to steel plates and pillars,
then the rust belt will get a polishing also.

or what's called: shrapnel before the waterfall of
narration: darting eyes, and poncy **** all the way through...

     muse... muse...

        well, how about we take the fluidity out of language?
declassify certain words into one grammatical broth,
say words like i and they
                              a  and the    are all conjunctions?
how about that? let's strip it bare, after all: what categories
of words exist for us to primarily speak (let alone think)?
     nouns, verbs, adjectives... adverbs?
       but all those words in between are so jungly classified
into a tangle that i'm about to sprout a handshake
          of a Japanese vine grip: and never let go...

an actual extract from the sketch:

      https that doesn't recognise UCS
                   and insists on IPA cannot be deemed
       encyclopaedic


              i need runes for this! i need runes for this idea!
i don't need transliteration right now...
                but hey! that's an idea, etymological transliteration...
bugly term, sure, but the previous night i was thinking
  of transcendental etymology, as you do, likened to
carbohydrates... so it was transliteration after all...
but a dead end when it comes to geometry and Pythagoras...
      
    three words... and they are computerised (i guess you
have to buy a decent book to decode this), a bit like
buying paint in a d.i.y. shop...
       16DE (dagaz / d) 16DC (ingwaz / ŋ / grapheme of n & j)
                  16DF (ōþala / Valhalla / o / ō = oo),
in total d'njoo / d'nyoo - even i concede the fact that this
is a ******* mind-******... it's a ****** congregation of
four optic encodings of phonos... i moved away from
the ancient greek fetish for the logos... i'm looking at
the phonos... not the logos with Heraclitus et al.
               φº θ þ фª f

ªgreek
  ºcyrillic                ever see a prettier pentagram?
                      i haven't.

(false original title:
škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic - pending)

looking at the phonos is painful, actually painful,
it's like reading a book with a myopic pair of glasses:
a ******* aquarium blurry right there, befor...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

'e'? were you: was i, looking for an 'e'?

i can say this much...
what do you get when you mix a shot
of whiskey with a shot of bourbon:
i'm moving between bottles...
it's nearing christmas eve and i'm a ripe
taoist... i.e. i better this world:
by not having the world mind me...
on the odd occasion: oh... you're still here?!

yeah... i'm still here... i have glued-to-fascination
with my shadow... i'm just waiting
for the atom bomb to relieve me of a body
but ensuring my shadow is kept intact...
as if it were a Monet signature on a wall...

but i lament... the momentum has vanished...
i don't even know why i'm so idiotic as
to presume that: from the hour 22:00GMT
to the hours 00:00 circa 00:30GMT...
something will land into my lap,
my lisp... my cranium the oyster shell
my tongue the oyster...

it will not... i can't simply **** anything into
an existence that doesn't want to exist...
perhaps lurking in a canvas of:
"lost luggage" in an airport...
perhaps "there"...
i could be excused my... lethargy...

when was this written? back in 2018?
so i was thinking about teasing cyrillic even then?
wasn't i?
sketch cкэтч or?

what do you get when you mix a shot of whiskey
with some bourbon?
a Burguandian whisker...
i am not going to sound witty...
Ron's key...

that's still a cyrillic "or"... isn't it?
шкиц: škic...

i'm... deflated... nothing "new" has come my way...
i would have thought that...
reading some Knausgård would have /
could have... invigorated me:
reading him was supposed to be my:
dialysis my transfusion!
my zombie-go-to-literature...
it has proven an exhaustive enterprise
to begin writing again:
i became too comfortable
in reading - i almost forgot
the agony of writing...

alas... a contemporary of mine...
and someone well adjusted to prose...

notably: who would have thought
that death in june - the calling (MK II)
was something to be recorded in 1985...
for one: i wouldn't...

but i did begin: back in november 2016...
begin what? to tickle the cyrillic alphabet...
which is way before i discovered my reply
to the runes... to the ancient greek...
and this... "ancient", ahem... still in use...
latin script...

that script that went into the molloch couldron
of being invested in to code...
pristine as the hebrews cited:
how many holes in it?
to write onto a canvas of 0?
q Q R O o p P A a D d g b B...
which leaves...
W E T Y U I S F H J K L
Z X C V N and M "out of the equation"...

škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic (pending):
i better rename it as... circa 2016...
that's way before i even acknowledged
the cyrillic text applying diacritical markers...
i thought them too crude at the time...

beside borrowing outright from greek...
the already at hand oddities of glagolitic,
notably: Ⱎ...Ⱋ...

it's only a single word i'm using...
i have abandoned all notions of metaphysics
in favor for orthography...
i'm not going to burden myself
with: what's after the physics...
i'm after: what's now...
in the respective tongues...
2 tongue deviations from
the original latin and greek...

what came with the runes and what
came with the glagolitic scripts...
what was ****** and had to succumb
to inter-breeding...

come 2020... i will have one clarification
to base my existence on...
pronouncing the growth of my ****** hair...
i will hope to aim at a length of beard
that will forever hide the neck...
i will aim at... somewhere to the level
of my heart... when i will then manage
to turn my beard into an orchestra's
nieche of violins when i procrastinate with it...

since 2016...
i have identified russian in ******...
i've seen it... finally!
зъaрт... i.e. żart
and the "hard sign" becoming a "soft sign"
in źrenica: зьрeницa...

i still think the russian orthography
is... as... primitive as the western slavic...

after all... зъ = ż...
зь = ź...
the balkan slavs have a caron...
which is neither a hard or a soft sign / acute...

their caron is... ч (č) or cz...
CHeaper in english...
and their caron is ш (š) or sz...
SHeep...
or the two together...
and always шч (šč): szczekam...
i'm barking...

pu-shch-air... a rare example in english
of the puщair...
but then lookie lookie 'ere:

CZACHA... skull...
ЧAХA...

perhaps this is my "revenge ****" on russia?
hey! boris the kremlin mascoot...
come and 'ave a look...
with how i disect your orthography
on the / with the language that asks
too many metaphysical questions and no
orthographic curiosities!

i'll meet you in Warsaw... given that you're
probably moving from Novosibirsk...
and i'm either in Stockholm...
Edinburgh or the outskirts of London:
Warsaw will be halfway for both of us...
you don't have to like Warsaw...
i only like it when the Ukrainian smugglers
and the Mongols appear
in the West Warsaw coach station...

smart as who? i am discovering this for
the first time myself...
i was only teasing it back in 2016...
way before i found the right sort of accents
in mother russian...

i do know that that crescent oddity:
above the ja: йa... is what it is...
if you only cut off the head in english... ȷ...
again: it's я given that most russians
are pulled toward an anglophile world-view...
they all see the window to europe...
the baltic and st. petersburg is somehow...
London... and the atlantic...
like hell it is...

i guess i feel it was a waste of time to
have re(a)d Kant, simply because:
i'm not here for the schematics...
i want to know how my thought my labyrinth
building architecture is coming along...
but with no one to talk to about it?

i found the categorical imperative most
dissatisfying... i didn't want to abide by universal laws...
poetry is already shoved out of waiting room
of the republic...
if my "poetry" is not a categorical imperative...
and it's not quiet a a hypothetical imperative...
it needs to be sharpened on a thesaurus
and some grammar...

categorical (adjective)... imperative (adjective)...
well two adjectives never imply much
if there's no noun involved...
and i'm pretty sure that... if i sharpen
the next word i'll compound with categorical-
in that hyphen construct that's only
allowed in oxford dictionary english:
since it's not: propergermannonhyphenfaustian:
i.e. carboxylic (carbo-xylic) acidity...

poetry doesn't belong in either
the categorical imperative focus...
nor the hypothetical imperative focus...

i.e. i must write a poem... to feel better...
i must write a poem... to organise my thoughts...
no! a poem is not a maxim is not a categorical
imperative! a language of poetry is not
a language of morality: it's a language
of experience - or a lack / a lackey's "sentiment"...

i need a... categorical: impetus!
it's not enough to have read kant's critique of pure
reason... it must also involved
having re(a)d the: groundwork of
the metaphysics of morals...
but i'm a democratic reader...
i need to hear the other voices...
i can't be a kantian scholar...
a snippet 'ere, a snippet v'ere (funny how
THETA disappears when making the posit:
THERE - ver!)

who needs metaphysical absolutes...
when orthography (or a lack of it)
in english... spreads open its legs...
and the tongue remembers its tongue-brain-phallus
stage of co-existence in the oyster?!

i'm pretty sure that a categorical imperative
is by no means a categorical impetus...
this had to be written,
but it had to be written in order to disregard
anything a priori... prior to it...
a poem is a shady concern for action or inaction...
it's a deviation from the cartesian crux:
res cogitans (thinking thing)...
into the cartesian levy (res extensa)...
it's an action of inactivity...
as much as it's an inactive activity...
"the rest"...

impetus is not an imperative...
an impetus sources its meaning in a per se
investement... of itself - in itself - for itself...
an imperative?
in pronouns... impetus: i want... i will...
imperative? you want... you will...

an impetus is self-dictative...
an imperative is: indicative...
someone would rightly claim...
those that mourn indicatively...
will don the right garments for the process
of mourning...
which is indicative and devoid of
the per se manifestation of mourning...
it is an imperative when compared to
the impetus to mourn -
which is self-dictative...
which does now shallow itself in
grief by making a socially agreed to fiasco
of a very specific choice of wardrobe...

basically: however you like it...
an IMPERATIVE ≠ IMPETUS...
the year is almost over and i want to break-off
the dust from the thoughts that fudge-packed themselves
as worthy of occupying the minor instance
of having to count a depth of:
not dead within the year of being written.
David Barr Nov 2013
So, what are the options, my distant companion of presumption?
A blade of grass may stand with confidence between gravestones, but lichen yields her established presence over the course of history.
Grey hair, spectacles, and naïveté were encapsulated by marital convictions of questionable integrity.
Thank you, Mr. Jones, as you confidently spread butter over the surface of a slice of toast.
We truly have an anchor which keeps the soul, steadfast and sure while the billows role. It is an early 1980s destination, where the staunch sound of patriotic sectarianism prevails.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
i don't know why i found redemption in the tetragrammaton, sure, my mother cared for two elderly jewish ladies, one escaped the Holocaust (surname Roßhandler) and the other of established English rooting (surname Rockman... thanks to her, upon completing my g.c.s.e. exams i got a complete collection of Bernard Shaw's plays) - but i find it there, ping-pong salvation every time, translating it akin to arithmetic: 1 + 1 = 2 is very much akin to Y              H            W          H, which i started calling the perfect chirality - chiral meaning non-superimposable:
                                       A                      &                  E, i too ventured to call the double H dualism a déjà vu - but i know see them as vantage points, more electrons and quantum physics than protons and neutrons - well, it ****** well fits the schematic: sine (M) and cosine (W) - sure, crude, but i'm not looking at the geometry of the mouth... language on the base of pure optics... and no, not necessarily adjective noun compounds for emphasis to argue a point, just easily an easily accessed point of reference...     so quantum physics calls it the non-independent ontology of electrons: a. particles (Y, centre 0 on the x, y, z graphs - apart from the heliocentric and the geocentric models, here's another one of similar causality)... and b. waves (W, the formerly stated trigonometry suggestion) - and hence the two vantage points bound to H... apart from Adam and Eve lodged in between... which suggests that the geocentric analogy of electrons is bound to electrons behaving like waves... while the heliocentric analogy of electrons is bound to electrons behaving like particles: microcosm Copernicus blah blah; well, more like pseudo-Aristarchus of Samos.

20th century literature is, quiet literally
something akin to the cave paintings at
Lascaux - big brother isn't watching -
nor is the publishing old guard -
i just find it unreal that so much rests upon
the internet these days, the people have no
idea what power has been granted them,
they petty the use of the internet with
their earthly squabbles of a marketplace,
while, running parallel: the lost infatuation
with democracy as necessary organisation -
turns out it's unnecessary organisation:
because we ain't go anything better -
hence political disillusionment - rampant in
what western society deems the pinnacle
and the Libra of a fine balancing act -
religiously? that famous: "mystery of lawlessness"?
that's the internet - imagine a time when you
could bypass some publisher, some adherent
to a state doctrine, when you could turn poetry
into physics, not the waffle of metaphysical Keats
waiting for a kettle to turn into a volcano
or a whistling horse, but to turn the dial to
point at the reality of things:
quantum physics (derived from quanta,
a variation of datum: particularity of input
energy) gave poets breathing space,
metaphysics became shadowy, Hades like
learning, obscure and all the more necessary
to build-up its strength while puritan physicists
lost their sway of power with the fears of
the atom bomb and all things quantum -
so while the physicists became dazzled with
all things quantum, the metaphysics took off...
entombed in an apathetic (without pathos)
subjectivity: a calm heart, much more than an
embracing heart - yes, i am aware that i have my
wacko moments of feeling, but this ticker is
made of stone - and that usually means a chaotic
thinking process, spontaneity being the key
in involving yourself with real-life narratives
then never suppose a character study: what you see,
is what you get: my sanity plateau?
talk about music rather than make poetry musical,
it's a pale shade of red or blue when you
have guitars and orchestras and the poet,
a voice in the wilderness - nothing but pins dropping
to exemplify the talk... i don't understand
the need for poetry being a kindred of musicology,
i don't understand rhyme, i don't understand
being conscious of poetic prescriptions of technique
very much akin to language's artefact minded
grammar: noun
                                v. poetry's pun
grammar's verb
                                       poetry's metaphor... etc.
my deviation? being an adherent toward music,
and returning poetry back to its true purpose:
puritan narrations - not conscious of what's
expected, or what defines the art,
very much the beginning of cubism and later
innovations in art, i just can't stand rhyming poetry -
it's too conscious of itself by what it's defined by,
we have learned of a new subjectivity:
the unconscious - we might as well exploit it
while objectivity gets crushed into bewilderment
by quantum physics -
thus said: i feel like i'm a dervish spinning
counter-clockwise in a chaos of tornadoes spinning
clockwise while listening to two songs:
tool's *right in two
- and muse's stockholm syndrome:
i can't be bothered translating the feelings
entombed in these two songs with a rhyme...
poetry should be less stuffy than it already is...
it should be a statement of the supreme effort: freedom.
all of this? spurred on by rereading passages from
Jung's gegenwart und zukunft (1957), alter:
          the undiscovered self (1958) -
it's seemingly odd (but not too odd) that books
written by psychiatrists are more popular than
philosophy books in the anglophile culture -
as already stated, i can't read philosophy in english -
maybe this is why psychiatric literature is so easily
accessible in this tongue, what with the self-help
movement, it the grandest prescription that no pill
(unless it's a sleeping pill) can be prescribed -
i'd say, if you want to read philosophy in english,
i'd start off by reading a book from psychiatry -
Jung is by far more adaptable than Freud
(Freud's for the rich people who have ***
written on their foreheads in permanent ink -
        and: daddy didn't care, mama was
                                     struggling feminist who
     forgot to breastfeed me) -
       but of course the 1960s Scottish superstar
(who drank, rightly so) from Glasgow: Laing.
well, sure, the Hungarian Szasz (shash, not sas,
or zaz... shish kebab... it ain't the difficult) -
impromptu deviation: what's funny about Heidegger?
he says: you need to study Aristotle for 15 years
to get him... and that's very much true for him also...
two years... TWO YEARS it took me to read his book.
that's what's interesting about this book,
a literary anorexic, in at 79 grams (pages) -
the interesting point? in physics, there are things
that are not independent of observation -
i like that conundrum, the mere idea of it is titillating -
running joke for the past two years: ***** ***** tat for tat
months later -
                          well... i'm not the one trying to
dress you up in a straitjacket with a label: this is poetry...
can't see **** for miles with how i write.
so there's a purpose, some things are depending on
being observed - which is a good thing, which means
that this world could not be independently sustainable -
its dependency on existing lies akin to our
desire to be independent of it - so all the religious
blah blah means something - even after 3 years
of rigorous studies in chemistry i come back into
humanism with a furore of agitating religious paraphernalia -
mind you, i do have a scientific approach toward
language - grammar and algebra combined -
meaning? certain words have become post-grammatical,
i.e. algebraic - not categorised as nouns or otherwise,
but as algebraic signatures: primarily because no one
really knows what to do with them, apart from
church yoga, standardised: e.g. x = god,
            i = y                  and the                  world = z,
predictably transcending the casual use of language
when shopping for cheese in a Parisian grocery store...
err... je ma'pel gorgon, avoir vous fromage?
nope, took to English too much - i was learning French
in primary school, but i had an existential crisis
aged 9 or 10... my brain refused to learn another language
after having just learned one from scratch -
                               the mute in class soon turned into
an avaricious reader... so parallel to my life, i now hear
stories about children being diagnosed with depression...
try being thrown into the deep-end of the pool
with your former development using a language
automatically, into having to learn the language without
no major influence of a teaching authority...
                                  no wonder the accent game
   sort of imploded and i started speaking sometimes tosh,
sometimes posh, and sometimes east London oh'rite?
                             ale casem tes jak rolnik -
                            owszem, czasem jak mieszczanin też.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
to me, the Cartesian saying had to be relegated to shrapnel,
i treat the cogito
                                           ergo                       sum
like i'd treat atoms, brushing and
signaturing each other with
a stabilised unification
under the name: helium, or hydrogen.
evidently that's also a term
for three dimensional space
and the cohorts of chaos that come
from it.
           but something worries me,
intrinsically it's what i would simply
term: the automation of thinking.
basically? it's blood hard to stop thinking,
to do yoga to intricate being
in nothingness,
    as Heidegger suggested:
non-being is a tier below nothing,
      and i guess automated thinking
comes from non-being,
because there's this intrinsic manifestation
of instinct found in all sport activities
that doesn't allow thinking to take place,
no footballer thinks about his exertion
on the football pitch, no golfer maps
out a system of thought to *** the hole
in one...
                some would even say
that thinking is a form of laziness,
          i find that the whole notions turns
out to be a **** up affair of concern,
the mere notion that thought is automated
    and cannot be barricaded against
its relentless battering our very being
is due to the fact that so many of us
do not attain the all that glitters is gold
particularity of fame...
             it's not that we are doubtful,
but that we are mindful / thoughtful,
a few of us make it to the top of the sardine
can, but so many of us are minding
our own business on this placebo earthenware:
yes, i call this a placebo urn of things
needed (people always rave about nouns
anyway, call it slang, or whatever,
it trends, hashtags and the outdated
forms of phone numbers - calling big brother
eeny, meeny, miny, moe) - i could
swear it's so, but then again, maybe not so.
still (what a crass digression),
coming back to the Cartesian shrapnel...
           basing in on weights and measures -
it's so tiny, that expression,
                      we can think the realistic
and only express a centimetre of the world,
we can be the realistic and only
express a centimetre of the world,
  and then we can think the illusionary
and express a mile of the world,
        and we can be the illusionary and express
   a kilometre of the world:
toward the basis of fame and contentment of
  the shadows...
       yes, we have achieved a "death" of history,
by simply stating our recreational pursuits
being more important than our
need for historical eventuality and crisis, and change...
we have stated a "death" of history
via our population size, our ability to combat
diseases (whether infantile or of a certain maturity),
yes, we have established a congested world,
which facilitates nothing quite like a herd
(cattle mentality): hence the modern concern
for alienation... we're created a collective manifestation
of insects, or as one might suggest
  this is yet another geocentric and heliocentric
concern for us... although relegated to
egocentric and the collective ethos of comrades -
but given the former has been eradicated
as it was previous known: communism -
      in economic vocabulary it's all but gone,
but still exists in the sports: yet again,
the re-surfacing of abolishing automated thinking,
namely, automated collision with the daily
activity - either competitive or mundane,
    as we all soon realised: if automated thinking
is not eradicated by automated doing
     we end up mentally distraught -
our own thinking alienates us and even progresses
to symptoms that have no viability
       concerning a drowning man, nonetheless
we're actually drowning.
i can hardly think that nothing is an abyss -
       to me thought is an abyss (cat meows,
i write, the fermentation of wine goes on in
four jars to my left, bob, pop, bob, pop,
and daniel licht is playing to the fatty *****
that's my brain) -
                     i knew that ponderings ii - vi
would get my creative juices flowing:
finally! a book on philosophy that i can comprehend
within that bilingual complex i've established!
or: this much can be said upon
giving a supermarket cashier a signed copy of
my actually printed works
     and hearing a compliment with eyes
waxed with glee (Tarah);
           now i have 100 copies to push,
become akin to a drug dealer with poetry,
           and that's not going to be easy
without p.r. and all that jingly marketing qualms.
still, what's there to be done
        if not that there is something to be done,
even if it's nothing, or a pebble on a mountain:
which is why there is so much
   potential in individuality, but also so much
angst - instead of doing crosswords we have
other riddles to be bothersome about,
   but so few even get a ?         to be concerned with.
again the Cartesian shrapnel equation,
              so much is staged on it in terms
of how thinking becomes automated, robotic
to the point of making children succumb to
    premature depression -
      back when premature dementia was the hit
on Broadway or in an Estonian lunatic asylum
in the 19th century,
when we first received our psychiatric vocabulary,
now it's the young who are odd
   and it is premature depression,
          a bit like the black plague, against
all hopes, a single identifiable folly.
             and where the best rewards?
solitude, where else?
                          for all that swindling of the talk of species
and competition within / without,
        always one ******* says:
                           i am the zeitgeist - always one:
are there really benefits to realising that
****** equation? are there? to feel alive, to feel
conscious, or the madness of Nietzsche's reversal
stating that he's a thing that simply, exfoliates
necessary thought?
           thought is primarily a moral ought -
the should i or shouldn't i?
        it's intrinsic, inherent and simply: just there...
or in the unlikely event, a step into the abyss
   and subsequent pathologies of the enabling of
   a destruction of the soul: as manifestation
of a transgressively transcendent embodiment
of pure body.
                 so, against all duality, i simply fathom
that ****** thing as shrapnel,
     curiously via (as i already might have said):
so much thinking doesn't precipitate into being,
     and so much being doesn't precipitate into thinking -
or of those who adorn mental silk fabrics and Solomon rings,
         and those who have to pay for elocution
lessons due to their ****** endeavours -
      yet again, alignment with Thesaurus Rex,
cue: down Synonymous Avenue
                     because how many times are we sharpening
our narrative trying to feels less inclined
                 to exfoliate in the exotica of what's
the necessary verbiage, and escape into single
identifiable meanings, without poker, without politics,
without sexualised ambiguity?
for me language should work, not be desecrated
to fun: it, should, work;
                     or here i rest my ambitions,
without any poetic dogma - or to make poetry unrecognisable
when stated, for no reason to discredit
   the systematics of poetry: but for reason
                        Kraken wrangler on language -
as much as Nietzsche might have said about
      philosophical systems and their errors and lack of
honesty: i say as much about poetry careful to
be identified as such: metaphors, imagery blah blah -
all things that make people conscious of what
they're reading is actually what they're reading and say
it's poetry - as i said to the supermarket cashier:
enso (Japanese,
marcon purposively missing) - to write while standing up,
and so the reader is standing up,
         not a novel you take to bed,
                     and read for months on end,
dozing off, or sneering at "uneducated" people
on the train...
                         i might as well be writing instruction
manuals for the sadistic training of ballerinas -
              one cut, one incision, and get the **** out;
or at least that's the idea -
      learn to spell, work on punctuation variations,
    learn to tie your shoelaces... and don't believe in
the word edit.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2019
A transfer of energy
e=
ye know, in the higgs,
do we still honor the guy
that idea had? Capital letters confer honor,
in my literary culture.
Honor is not always due.
Higgs did the math, so H is honoring
his attention to detail, there for duty to honor
knowns predicted by men augmented
with reason, conlogique, mit prehensile
minds capable of accounting for believable unseeables.

Despise not the day of small things,
the boson thinglet, math says those ef
fect, in fact, make
mass, any thing that ever matters
at all.
'Justathought.

( A syllable at a time saves stitches,
don't run with scissors, beware
the concise)

Whet the Mobius edge,
Ping, inside, outside, one side, one edge, light
glint, bent gravitasish, bouncing,
crissing and crossing at every vector in time from this
particularity, a dimensional dialectic duality,

whys and hows dancing

that's the field at work, maybe,
whence things making matter matter rise up,
may be not.
Real quick decicisions happen
in that field idea.

Nur Herr Doctors, Master Professors of
Sophia's Sacred Secreted Truths may enact the
Matriculate's escape from dominion of higgsian rules
by endowing
hidden treasure, for baksheesh,  in power spells
and chants and cheers and degrees of
blood sworn oathz.

E pluribus unem is one of 'em, I learned.
Too spiritual a' idea to be allowed
but to them whose cogitatin'
warn't troubled, them
secret keepers,
the civilizeers'ad vizeers in Teflon tenured towers
overlooked some honorable ideas,
Higgs, so what? We all know
Things be that we can only imagine seeing.

Which reminded me, not all bubbles are spherical.

You know. You have seen big long stretchy
silicon re-enforced detergent
bubbles, on TV.

The higgs field of reality is such a bubble,

to my mind. Can you imagine that?
to my mind away

we went as if we were wind, whispers
in the storm.

Settle down. All that can be de
constructed can be de
solved, dis
cerned, de
fined,
As re-al ways made where no way was.
Riddle or rhyme, which is easier to remember?
Riddle locks to keywords
Ryhme locks to a sound and sound locks to
tune
tones, frequency
found, perfect peaks and troughs then
keywords unlock the channel
where living and life are wave and particle,
medium and message sent.
=========
If there were shame on your nation,
was that shame on you, like an extension,
or like a pro jected ob jection...

juxt aposit just a point in the field upon which

the story you know is no lie, it mattered and
may rise,

knave to wizard, if you

tell it funny.
funny only hurts when evil people do it.

Be the clown, bounce into the spot,
"Gotdim, gotdimimim, fuggafuggagubbledy boo"

Magi fool, lies about the futil-if-ity of sisting,
in the world, he will eat you alive, lest you know
the word. Or the riddle.

Inspire, expire, that sort of thing, but
spiritual. A trans fer of con
served en
ergy, via demiurge, per
hapmayhap and
magi transisters

regularizing the flow
through the locks, in
formation
for ward
flow, that's all they know.
Our servants who motivate us,
all they do is use our breath and our blood
to charge up the ATP batteries by the billions,
until we cannot withstand the pressure.

A fugettin' consarnation story teller,
who then lies, and sows discord among bretheren,
by adding to and taking from the story,
pre suming knowns unknown are
mere myth the magi invented
mit wit and subtle twisting.

Novices, apprentices,
those ain't allowed to eat pearls 'til they wisdom
teeth come in,
that penultimate major marker, of maturation,
in the gut
brain input-putout exchange system,

once those have changed the way
vortices of taste
swirl words down the eustacion
spiral, then

The frontal cortex kicks in and God only knows
the tune we sing in ryth'm
with the snow flake rhymes framing my window pane.

If there were shame on my nation, like a ***** snow... then a flood,,,
dark, near no light, shame, shame shame... thick, glacial
filth filtering frozen
liar shame, bully shame, lover of twisted rights shame;
war would never melt it.

Thus global warming. Just in time.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
oh right, she's the *** "slave" that gets kissed on the lips after being given oral ***, getting paid £110 AN HOUR... i'm i'm just a free-radical floating about on an income of £120 A WEEK waiting for charity of food and roof? well then... i hope that translates when i speak with a *******'s tongue stolen while having licked all the former ***** out of her **** and said: only i was in there... oh for ****'s sake! take the ****** out, i can feel the mouse tail on the tip of it! so who's the ***** now? the only oil i apply to my brain to ease the pressure after going 30 odd hours sober without sleep is alcohol, i imitate a axe action on my neck feeling my third tonsil turning into a throbbing muscle.

the split apart grapheme in greek!
θ                      and                        φ!
the lost grapheme!
thermometer                                           the
                                                             ­     v'eh or d'eh?
imagine saying     θarmacology
and imagine saying φermometer! imagine!
the english empire... shushed in a second in Dublin,
god knows why Yeats was read by
Clint Eastwood, and to my surprise,
a toothache or a broken nose readjusted is
more painful than what i managed to spot
in the greatest boxing movie: million dollar baby...
some pains are greater, the pains of the past
the past not rekindled are greater than
those of the present, the present can be overcome,
the indestructible element, what with
fire, water, earth, air, electricity, the seventh being
soul - all the others are preserved in continuum,
why can't the soul be kindred of the others,
is it to forever remain a ******* from the *****
bank of Louis XIV, huh?! the soul is equally elemental,
all modern science can tell me a that it's
worth walking in a library rather than a forest,
that all trees will eventually be treated as
toothpicks, matchsticks or pencils,
but i am not bound to exist in the mind
of another person, i am not to be the host eternal,
for all the science, we've become less
individualistic and more prone to parasites
of theory... personally i'd prefer the membrane
of phobias to keep me safe rather than
transcend these little millimetre irrationality
segments to be captured by a frigate of the grand
theorists...

please tell me it's just a horror case of aesthetics,
please! but no, you won't...
i know the overbearing particularity of English
due to missing diacritic,
i know the significance of significant syllable
cutting-up due to diacritical application -
the Greeks had a premature ******* starting
to use them... they shouldn't have...
THE ENTIRE WORLD WAS WAITING
FOR THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE TO BEGIN USING
DIACRITICAL MARKS! why did the Greeks
jump too early into the whirlpool? look at English
culture, they're gagging, rather than laughing,
we were all waiting for them to catch-up to the aesthetic,
they didn't, the Greeks made a falsetto on the 100m sprint,
they should have waited, and waited, until
the English applied diacritical distinction to the print,
in order that they might deal with programming,
encoding, computer language, no wonder
English once so eloquent disintegrated into emoticons
and acronyms! look at it! there's no point feeling
a nostalgia for only one man, there's no point
keeping Shakespeare when there's an entire
century to decipher, Marlowe et al. (i preferred
his Faust to Goethe's - one breath reading session
in Dover) - with nostalgia come the many merry men
of Southampton, not one, you can't do nostalgia
primum uno, you need a species, can we find the
required shrapnel in the Caribbean or in the
Venice of the Indian ocean, namely the Maldives?
you can't do nostalgia like that,
you need at least one other, otherwise future literature
extravagance will be as short-lived as
the Counter-Reformation given Martin Luther,
he isn't god, never was, but imagine the feeling
of disgrace that even poor Charles Dickens couldn't
match up to!

indeed the Greek created the consonant grapheme,
and many other twins separated at birth,
to fuel an orthographic aesthetic -
a bypass necessity of the opposites and lacking
colour - false stance of defeat written on white,
but geometrically written in the *******-out of colour,
therefore mutating, deliberate encoding due to
how to write like an Impressionist or how to write
like a Surrealist...

but as i remember, the riff to Black Sabbath's
black sabbath* written in tabulation:

e ||                                                  (boo tome)
b ||
g ||
d ||
a ||
E ||                                                   (top um)

opening riff sounds like this:

d ||                    3
a ||                                      2
E ||    1    

                 for the trembling effect, quickly
                 interchange with

a ||                                      2             /            3.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
only a scouse inhabitant could have pointed it out (merseyside english / liverpool) to no better comparison.

i'd love to have the salt & pepper dilemma
between low alcohol sessions and
high ******* session, just did the low
alcohol sessions and laughed, after having
become equipped with marijuana "abuse"
starving / fasting, never gearing for chips
and munchies...
the streets of london look a lot different
walking about high & hungry
rather than jokey and as a jockey of an
imaginary horse...
god made sanity and soberness an ivory tower
that was not worth defending
unless for manual tasks... all other tasks
were never ready for the multipliers of human presence,
not all of us would hammer a nail
for all the scratches of a vinyl disk if all were able.
indeed the scouse lad knew it,
languages that clung to latin were left historically
naked, without diacritical marks,
instead they delved deep as to upkeep the latin
they forced the closure of grammar schools
along with coal mines...
and what they earned was not a sense of categorisation,
english slosh tongue said the 18th century
happened akin to the abhorrence of moral relativism
by socrates to make stab in the eye a ******,
to thus say bronze age was but a hundred years...
keeping latin naked as it was by the abhorred
conquered land of the romans due to its bad weather
may have made a milton or a shakespeare arable...
but because of a certain type of censoring not ever used,
what became beautiful in other european tongues
became the ugly spelling of the english tongue,
what became stress marks of "accent" for the french,
and german, romanian and polish,
there was none of that in english, instead
we became accustomed to aesthetic "marks", that
were "marks" because there were no actual examples
for a clear rubric... instead we received too many examples,
the particulars of why we wrote the and said a sharpened v
in written form v'eh off veer...
there are no unitary aesthetics marks other that words
themselves... rather than what we have in terms
of unitary diacritical marks of akin umlaut...
there's no where else to go... the Minotaur has caught
up with us and our shadow! there's no labyrinth to further
our heaving lung to cheat both silence and breath! there's isn't!
it's the end... not using diacritical marks on units
only creates aesthetics of multiplying units
where they are multiplied: riddle... mirror...
                 keep, kettle, leer, pass, throttle, amiss.

(the syllables are not perfectly connected,
therefore much of "coining the phrase"
with prefixes anti- con- un- sub-
being endeared into your vocabulary,
then again clearly, accenting and aesthetics
compare to reach a parallel,
never leave it naked i say, never leave it naked,
for fear of reprisal of that which ought
be buried still alive, and with clear
acuteness for certain letters appropriating
there is no originality in the british tongue
for origins of the a - z under virgil
who originated the letters to the plagiarism
of grecian theology with the trojans
moving from turkey to italy -
therefore you become akin to other european
nations enacting a parasitic semblance
for the simple reason of ease coupled
with the many "loop holes" of the tongue,
or you reach absolution with the missing diacritic
as reasons for the modern acronyms: l8r, o.m.g.,
b.a.e., i.r.l.... all of this crap is a byproduct.)

but to say latin is dead, you must recreate the latin
alphabet with an ethnic particularity of a modulation
that might be compared to the migration of goths /
huns / vandals... to say 'latin is dead' and keep the
latin a without a modulation to craft an ą,
is a darwinian heresy that demands counter-evolution;
there's hardly one coliseum in london, although
i admit plenty of football stadiums;
still the evolutionary need is still necessary
and consistent, because it's not the case of the three
wise monkeys seeing, hearing saying no evil...
if this phonetic geometric is to survive and the crucifix
not be a vanity shield of artists due to the wrathful lamb,
it will need to specify whether it's gaelic english,
welsh, australian, london based, come home county based,
arizona or texas draw.
To focus oneself on an aspect can be of use;
The singularity, the particularity. However,
To concentrate so singularly is also to be obtuse.

We shall not forget the how and the why,
Of which we must philosophize;
Else we lose the power of the mind
Unravel consciousness, modify perception,
We dare warp the existential to assure our protection.

We shall endeavour to remember such an Application Of The Psyche.
Thesis: Tangible/Applicable
Antithesis: Intangible/Inapplicable
Synthesis: Meta-tangible/Replicable

Strive to apply yourself.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
upon the universal statement:
once upon a time...
and subsequently to end with a universal
statement: they lived happily ever after.

well poet ought to shatter the narrator,
he should never allow the narrator
a narrative so well consistent
as to remember a character's standstill
psychology from one writing session
to the next, in between living his very
eventful life (i don't know how irony
is noted, italics or en-dittoed?),
but moving words about is high treason
against materialism, encapsulated by
the merchants' motto: move a stone
make a penny, move a mountain,
make a fortune. so beautifying language
is so horrid? really? we are all going
to be satiated by a dull numbed expression
like adding numbers, while the birds sing?
poetry is just hushed opera, to appreciate
the birds, and on the odd chance,
a raised human verse sung;
so when i give you examples, i wonder,
will you agree or wilt beside me,
from the italicised introduction,
four examples to invoke particularity / chirality
rather than universalism / parallelism:
a. *breakfast at tiffany's (truman capote)

    'i am always drawn back to places where i have lived,
     the houses and their neighbourhoods.
    "african hut or whatever, i hope holly has, too.
b. the catcher in the rye (j. d. salinger)
     'if you really want to hear about it, the first thing
      you'll probably want to know is where i was born,
      and what my lousy childhood was like, and how
      my parents were occupied and all before they had me,
      and all that david copperfield kind of crap, but i don't
      feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
     "don't ever tell anybody anything; if you do, you
       start missing everybody.
c. steppenwolf (hermann hesse)
     'this book contains the records left us by a man whom
      we called the steppenwolf, an expression he often used
      himself.
     "pablo was waiting for me, and mozart too.
d. don quixote (cervantes)
      'somewhere in la mancha, in a place whose name
       i do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago,
       one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on
       a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.
       "vale.
the ninth gate is truly a film about bibliophiles,
and the alley where i popped open a beer bottle
while two lovers kissed waiting for me to
craft a scene as if a forbidden love was revealed to me,
and indeed it was: no dread of jealousy at not
being coupled, but all the same, hatred
invokes apathy, it cannot claim platonic pathologies
of lovers (first), poets (second) and sibyls / prophets
(third)... hatred is tiresome, it walks no thirteenth mile
the same day, and when hatred exposes apathy
it is assured: apathy breeds no pathology,
love on the other hand breeds a lacerated maggot pit
of pathology; whereas atheism just breeds factual
reevaluation and constant reinterpretation
without proofs, theism plagiarises, and wants
to prove... really really prove... and get *******,
or at least roman catholic castrato songs to boot...
pure narration? just now, you spotted it?
poetic digression is the only way a poet can
become akin to a narrator in the medium of fiction,
poets digress... fictional narrators are all bound
to the titanic... on course for unchangeable history...
poets digress to create their own narrative.
so to begin with (need to ***, need to ***, will
i survive the wording to the end?)...
the generic and easily analogous once upon
a time
is akin to an open field... many directions,
much open space, many congregational opportunities...
in the end few books of fiction are finished,
too much inanimate details and symbols,
not enough images, books without pictures
are stupid, as alice would have said...
slowly but surely the readers drop off,
a bound book with a thread of silk that acts
as a bookmark end halfway through the thickening:
undercooked pasta, raw tomatoes...
but the process from the beginning to the end
makes the acre of gold-simmering wheat
turn into a pinhead...
writers forget the element they're writing
parallel to is claustrophobia, i know,
how can a phobia become elemental?
people get killed, that's the foremost proof for me...
narration in grand novels is a bit like
a growing bulging claustrophobia...
the acre of a wheat field becomes a box-room...
and as this happens the paradox emerges:
we all wish to embark upon a and they
lived happily ever after
, but we're given
a once upon a time, in reality we begin
with they lived happily once,
and end with it was once the case...
i figured i did the worded arithmetic better
in my head a few minutes prior...
but then i became bothered by julien torma's
words. who was julien torma,
he was a would-be-poet on the fringes of the Dada
movement: Dada being like black panthers
and big lebowski movements against the war in
vietnam, although more to do with world war i,
let me cite him just so you get a feel...
lyricism: a venereal disease.
             a poet who is preoccupied with
poetry is a shopkeeper.

on the second point... i think he's more of an antique
dealer, but never mind that,
i get the point, and i don't mind what he minds,
i find any if all poetic endeavours a futility,
but i rather write a poem to be discrete and actually
read fully / contently / due course to express
the way a poem is written with ensō fluid
spontaneity: than oblige myself to write a novel:
better a stack of stones dismantled from a pyramid
shape than a mountain never climbed;
as i told you, poets can't narrate, they can digress,
and poets aren't like writers of fiction,
they can't latch themselves to the narrowing
from acre of field to a box, or a room,
they can't grasp claustrophobia as the drive
for that perfected the end, it's impossible...
they're always shrapnel narrators, a free moment,
a guess; as the paradox of writing dramas,
they're written because they're intended
for what the populace expresses: an uneventful
life to the limit of the total of all predictability:
death - dare not tire of boredom, keep it
like a constantly stretching rubber band, and then
death comes... SNAP! cushion cosy on that morphine
are we?
Tempestuous angels shape
Inner angels
Laid as
transposition
design of one lovely lovely
being who once saw heavens
and a hand of God there
partially enjoying
This sacred intimacy of
Organic Puffy
lambs repose to mortem ipsum
measuring meandres of butterflies
in my mind tummy's mimicry of moral
cathegories only to those who perceived
something as such
Body is a body yet we think
distinctive difference
when subject or a predicat
are in mind~ heart~thoughts
sublime
Onenness
and particularity:
proportions to Antecedens to Consequetias  
lovely etapes of young yet
real old life
cyclone
on a bycicle
of wrath and wonders
neverending
Neverland aware of It-Self
by cosmic serpent   wave pattern  anouncing it's
cycle of pointing nowhere else el Elysium dispersing
the mirrors reflection just to Gather it together
in a cusp of life's elixir sweet and sour
to humans only not to immortal vine
veins where salmon jumps
willingly to open
grizzlys lust for
energy
divine
knowing their
love debt pays
off as in-carnation
Incarnatio
Integrity
Mayas
Aeons
Aions
Reeling
shape­ Shifts streams of consciousness
Emerging as
A fabulous
Omnipresent finger of Faith
fulfiled with alive clouds
Heartfelt colourful Cedar essences
and a spectrum of sharp larch tree leaves
tender transient orchestra nature of many faces
passsing by as facets of magnolias pollen
were
the insight
sounds were Revealed as
Eternal
Love
for
Music Divine
Rainbow wariors drawn over the horizon
of the known Universe to love the primordial
Void Emanating Odes of Big Bangs
A bow of light's harphiscord
Protective Madam
Madonna Prima et Ultima
Palpitations of Pondering Pieta
Of Our World
Swayed in hands
I
of swines we revrewinding our wake-up walk
dissolving black wars of unconsciousness to bow to Beauty
I
Embraced we approach
as affirmative pat on a back
Graceful caress on womanly cheek,
bare *******, bodies by bones rattlled
touched marching peacefully
toward the seats of an old caffe
where lotus flowers grow
within beautiful little lake
I
within the core of a
Lovely capital city Our city of dreams
There is a park
I
on our
right
there is
o' de naturel
library under
the tree crowns
free leisure for kids
on the swings and slides
over there where our love
was heading
spinning
the wheel
of fortune
Peripatheticos
never stand above their nails
but were using softest sandals
to touch firm grasp of grasses and white
Sands
♥ mon amour ♥
~
Imagined by
Impeccable space
love Poet

~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QfJHmDhLVRc
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
i
Who is I?
In the Now. I am of true boi essence.
A writer, a recluse, abandoned only of fate: Destiny ever alluring in the palm of my hand.
Limited only by my own inabilty to be present in only one consciousness.
I am split between reality strings.
A permeant spectre, caught betwixt parallel dimensions.
At times incoherrant, lost in esoteric translation.
I am physic(al) - I of breath + flesh, perception being my holster, corruption my armoury.
Intuitively, i am harmonious, sanctonious, welcoming of illuminations and the darker side of each unfettered moon.
Awareness sleeps by my side. Each waking minute guarded. of commonality.
I am enlightened.
I am bouyant.
mobile, fluid-like in kinesis.
Conventional existense being the foundation over which i fly.
Arms outstretched, willing risk to be my pull.
Enticing Love to be my drag.
balance, mediums, equilibrium.
Lifted high amidst winds roaring with possibility.
I am stark in naked complication, although often prone to cover up in cynical, self critical analysis.
I am given of self; being the taker a refreshing discourse to which i stray accordingly.

Of culture i am a liar.
By nature i tend towards honesty only straying when survivalistic path need tread.
I am of blood,
private yet optimistically open to scarring.
By custom i am trained, civil, content.
Of instinct; native raw tongue, i am rampant, rapid in force, compelled to grow then emerge.
Only.
To submerge
is to take full scope.
i am telescopic
in view of A/all else to which i drown my vision.
I am unsure if i am young,
Although certain that my passage is still being lit by the glow of its entrance, dark passageways luring with their shadows and cavernous corners.
I am liberal, random in speculatory silence. I am idle, often motivated by industrial desire.
Mechanical in process, structured of cerebreal architecture, yet somewhat discombobulated in particularity.
Sporadic be my strain, its think tank choking always on the weeds of sorrow.
Essentially i am nothing: yet overwhelmingly everything.
I was
I am
I will
therefore i
Exist
to i as
A/all and nothing.
As yesterday is to tommorrow, and visa versa, i am a window, a door, a channel:
as closed as i am open.
Dependant only on my own deliverence of influence and potential.
Driven by the promise of future and the demands of my past.
I am a vehicle in time, my presence, my motion, my journey
is I.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
i'm not here to joke about the stance of creationism, i know that secular society admits to the pillar of atheism, a- i.e. without theology, but i mind to not be concerned with the bishop's mitre or the pope's ironic kippah - i just look at my library and think of aeroplanes, the creative process was there, these books are stones you can enter and stretch your feet up, the person in question is now a persona non grata, out of natural constraints, namely mortality and death; creationism is not so much about originating into what i call a limited readers' digest - you can hardly be creative citing only one book, why just one? is this trampoline worth jumping on? why not bungee jump with some other book into the abyss? aeroplanes, books, you see the **** thing stacked on a shelf, and you have to play the role: in the end there was sound, and the sound was with man, the only currency of rubric coherency among animal instincts and lack of insight to digress from seasonal stimuli like the grizzly bear nearing the end of spring preparing for hibernation, hence our insomnia; look, the book is like an aeroplane, and you're the delayed sound feedback, but the magic is the fact that there is no authority holding you back, you interpret it as you feel constrained by an idiosyncrasy when brushing your teeth, writing is the foremost expression of something about you being dispossessed, you write from the standpoint / angle of particular, but you write to reach the plateau of universality: obviously you will feel disgruntled should your particularity leave no tsunami or earthquake or an atom bomb of influence (you think i don't?) on the plateau of universality; and to sound ironically even more biblical than necessary: i will walk on the plateau of universality and i will only fear myself... let death take the valley and god with it... i'm talking about the deity of solipsism, akin to Sisyphus, namely Solipssus (Σoλιπφυς) - you're the delay and with origin (0, 0) coordinating what creativity once was, regressed and shut in the cemetery of Tartarus that the library is, the aeroplane in plain sight... whistle a tornado with your book of choice!

whatever the father intended for the son,
ex *ecce ****
of pilate
and the washing of hands at the mosque
to fulfil the temptation prior to prayer -
Hemingway spoke of the centurion's
act of pity with the spear piercing the lung
in a chapter from the book men without women;
whatever the father intended for the son
came to pass, hence the inquisitions and
the sheep-herding conglomerate of the holy
populace, not a person, but a gathering,
the membrane of these church-going folks
required a blind Samson to shake things up -
bring the temple of petulant whims into
a standstill saying: enjoy the weekends and
the theme parks.
i could never become a performer,
we deem universality of the shades for each man,
i know entertainers have a immunity
like ambassadors when on stage -
the bass line from the new paul simon's
L.P. wristband is gratifying, minimalistic,
the way i like to claim all music
to imitate strippers, feng shui hits in the basket,
maybe... maybe... maybe.
and should poetry create an imitable orchestration
of all the musical instruments in a band
or orchestra through the onomatopoeia flute
sometimes adding a definite meaning
with words, so be it, but still, a voice to match
to an army of instruments coordinated,
it will be hard to create a concert hall audience
for encore and deafening applause -
you see the plot now, don't you -
poetry for the shy punching bags, poetry
neither for heroism or gambling, both
shared a womb and both shared a tomb;
but this auxiliary trinity i'm speaking of,
never mind the father or the son, we're trying
to encapsulate the holy spirit, or should
i say the zeitgeist - for it is a zeitgeist of
switching the years around at spring for harvest,
an hour forward, when a strange anomaly to
change dates - and the kingdom of china
didn't bow, nor india - even though satan
promised all kingdoms - these two didn't
bow and i am thankful for their stance -
so if the holy are to be left holy and unimpressed
by a lack of dialectical stimuli - holiness is primarily
a non-engagement with dialectics,
secondary to that the horrid synonymous approach
of treating the concept of sin as both immoral
and criminal... well... it can't be both,
i can understand forgiving immorality,
but forgiving criminality would only translate
as the unnatural collapse of the profession of law,
all the lawyers and judges would end up as hobos...
so watching a music program (on t.v. it starts well
near the midnight mark, so you want to be hip
stay up late, foraging on the internet solo will
not necessarily give you a wide range of chinese whispers
to gather new influences, stuck in the grunge rut of
the early 1990s, e.g.) - and it came to me,
creativity now a stasis, nothing is really changing
in terms of what's new, unless it be primarily in art,
new art and abandoned auditoriums of former trends,
digging themselves out of and into a cemetery -
so this zeitgeist has to be accounted for -
out of holy must come something destructive:
δημιουργικoς ψυχη (alt. πνευμα) -
             the creative soul (alt. spirit) -
the artistic community is in shambles over-reacting
to a lack of creativity in this world,
their atheism repressed, unimpressed, reveals
a hope for every new big bang a minute by minute contrast
of the whole inertia surrounding them -
but never did a single man provoke a question
that tailored all the answers - no theory of everything
could be a chauffeur for the ride -
so indeed when half the potential is asserted by deviations
in the obstructions via holiness and lack of
argument to represent a clarity, another half is lodged
in a constant strife to overladen immovable mountains
and inert stones with a spirit of creativity -
it's not a holy spirit, it's a spirit of desecration,
or constant creation with subsequent equal constant
destruction - i find this spirit of more interest -
this zeitgeist to be perpetuated, esp. since it existed
prior to a.d. in the realm b.c., and continues to be pursued,
more ardently, given the declining number of
worshippers in Anglican churches - the final abandonment,
which create a strange picture with Evangelical
ardency in what is deemed the most progressive country
on earth.
K Mae Oct 2014
oh yes I am come to see me
locking on
engaged recognition
tasting this crazed particularity
and give it up for laughter
deep from bellies
catching breath as if we can
look again and laugh from deeper
no explanation
we are mirrors on this wavelength
who know at last it is pointless to judge
my friend, who also cuts her hair at midnight, steps out of her car to greet me....
k-s-h Sep 2013
If someday your fascinating eyes grow playful
And you turn your assassins knife to my heart...
Held in frightening play,
Yet not to tear me apart.

If someday you wonder if my inners are pretty,
(Like you claim my outer frame to be.)
And you decide to peel back my skin,
And peer into the rest of me..
If someday you decide it could be fun to **** me?

I will not be sorry
I will not be sad
Instead? I will be happy of the times we've had.

I'll remember how long your words held me
And the shivers given by your touch.
The degrees of sharpness in your teeth
And yet how you weren't too rough.

I'll remember Winter days.
And how they passed in a daze.
I'll remember saying everything to you twice,
And you never seeming to mind.

I'll recall the promises you made
And the sanity we resisted so well.
I'll dream of every second spent with you,
And being caught under your spell.

You'll seriously hold the blade
And speak quiet words to me.
And I'll think it rather charming,
Such particularity.

You'll grin as you trace it along
that grin I love to see.
You'll tell me it's a joke,
As if you'd ever dispose of me!

And lost in my memories,
I'll forget to be terrified.
I will look into your eyes,
and then I shall smile.

You'd allow the knife to fall
and you'd remain all mine.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
it was announced, rolling stones and the beatles,
michael jackson verus prince,
while a classic song by prince was in an ****
of famishing spreading with direct contact with
google, i dare say english requires phonetic
pointers... like ħ... in exampled when,
ah and hatch... it's in need of deciphering
particularity.... it's a surd symbol...
it's not a clear methodological approach to
tonguing it... it's whimsical, very daring...
i too could hate phil collins...
but the 80s were defined by bankers
trading property values with no straitjacket required...
and that's the pop *** we all wanted:
loss of violins and cellos, gain of drum machines...
i'd pick prince any day, for the gems that can't be heard
on the major channels...
or like lao che's gusła or róże europy / roses of europe's
1989 blood of marilyn monroe song:
kości czerwone, kości czarne
(red bones, black bones), what remained of the
band was just a song: jedwab (silk):
she told him high society drank cognac with a slice
of lemon like the slavic way of drinking tea...
he preferred the beer and dried out russian sushi
that gave way to gurgling thirst...
no, i mean it... ħ should be introduced,
a strike of usage erased, like when, like
the excess trill of the r in slavic, and the excess
mitigating harking of the h in germanic.
David Hilburn Oct 2023
Understand the name
Ushered with soliloquy
Urged and formed with particularity's same
Utterly and heralded if decency...

Us, words to live by...
Totals of uniqueness, a use for today
Simple replies to vestige, the way we live...
And the example, of a question to winds of strange...

Changes, the toward in the capricious deed, a harmony
To look beyond the overt, the escapism and the mayhem
We favored for a legend of the everyday, a breaking testimony
Ready to live in the times, a comparison to lend and whim

The this of thus, a lovers blessing, still a richer lessoning?
To which we never knew, a hap in the meager throe of light
That said the more, the news of sincerity for its guessing?
Was a marvel of unction, to let a reach of bests, become might?

That somber need
Enabled with the calm of a noble friend
Poise is us once again, a promise amid the heed
Of causes said for, sated with and a salt to the end

Privilege, do we remember your silent approach?
To the truth, a vanity we share to know a callous sorts of, you
Taken with a harrowed moment, to these we will know
The taint and the tender, asking in platonic voice, is ought too; soon?
Understood with a time for a tact, a providence is ours until facts are let, until we are fed the truth...
Kiprotich vinny Nov 2017
Daisy you held my heart
My sole was your invisible captive
My mind was your unknown territory
The fault of me and ladies as"learns" would put it

Time has gone, the glory is lost
I ran out of cash, my age couldn't stand the wave,
I was blinded by lies but now I know better,
The league was out of my reach,

001 mastermind stole your heart  and thoughts,
Though my being is aching,
I can't belittle him, who knows?
Perhaps he is the right jemosi,
The preferred candidate.

Though am suffering from lack of focus and particularity
I accept the overwhelming defeat,
As i collapse under the weight of reality,
I pray that my current fate can change my state,

Though I think of you often
I stay confused about my feelings
It seems I will ever want what I can't have,
That's what bind us and keep us apart.

*When Mohammed refuse to go to the mountain, the mountain will gladly move to Mohammed... Bindu bichenjanga daisy,
With axiomatic prominences, the God Spílaiaus hung from the Virola from Ibic Three in the elevations of the Kantillana at three thousand meters high in the Transversal valleys, individualized Pichi, Chile. Millions of flying masses of Chiropterans unfolded, anticipating Vernarth's visit to the Celestial Regency of these Deities by accidental and hybrid Hellenic prophecy; coming from the Protocol of Transylvania with the Eternity of the Submythological god of Vernarth Aiónius from Ibic 1. These deities came etherealized by the heights of the Nothofagus Obliqua that was bent at forty-five degrees by the lift singing the melisma of Antiphon Benedictus that this time made the bastion and garrison of the Mikhve or Kathartyrium of Vernarth possessing souls with scabrous megalomaniacs boiling internally through the Underworld bringing Hades Speleothemes, such a tow pulls the Kosmous and humanity into the bowels of the Kardiá of the purified Agoge and the Mikveh or Purification of Vernarth in later Hypnosis Existential hanging on the halberds of the Dorus, Áspis Koilé and Kantabroi waving in the intensity of the conifers before the hegira began at Tel Gómel. Vernarth approaches Spílaiaus and proffers: “My Lord, I had an illusion…, I said that I had to fly over the Palace of Arbela at the expense of the followed “Paraps or Othónes” or Parapsychology screens that took me to wastelands full of Ungulates that rested barren in calcined silica **** covered with Hoplites and Achaemenides cries imploring to escape from disastrous dawn of Dark Angels, safe from other Angels Shvil, Almas de Kalidona, Hellenika, Armas Christi and Almas de Trouvere. Essentially all of them would beg for the circumcision of the open field and also openings of thousands of soldiers when It was arranged by all this heavenly light to crack the heels of every Hoplite. Thus leaving the hollow opening of my soul Mikveh, Kassotides, and Lynothorax that invaded with satiety to get out of itself and become the destination of all oppressed compassion on the way to the Empyrium. The curtain persists that helps beatific concerns of submitology inherent in cultural realities where it subjugates the digressive persist of specimens that recover life from their own exhaustion exercising truthfulness in those that are strengthened by their own incapacity "Vernarth" is a product of Spílaiaus' concern , and this at the same time knowing and having everything given in its analogy and terminology protruding the same root, except that submitology is roots that subordinate the inorganic and inanimate for such an effect that legacies of myths take on a leading reality that does not consider true what is not or it is part of a myth rooted in mythology, but rather of what is subtracted from its own inertia or wear and tear that does not take on a reality present in all things that are not virtuous, much less express it from a Gnostic perspective; where everything is reborn and progresses in paradisiacal cycles and messages of the Merkabah..., They are of an infinite cohesion of that celestial if it had to appear in the astral journey without taking into account what the same time in question allows to appreciate how long it has to last or persist to know that you are rooted in this process itself!

The subsequent stage will be governed by fertile beings or deities. The Genre of Itheoi Deities arises from magnificent submithological gods since they are present in events of an immortal nature doomed to micro spaces that will be configured with Paraps or Othón forming multidimensional links in each episode. The scenographic movement is represented in this work, in such a way to personify a heterogeneous reality shared by some of these gods and others from Olympus. In the case of Spílaiaus, it is specifically an augmented reality nexus of ibicos that are instantiated in this Trilogy from confraternal words where Vernarth Says: “Give me a little Gála and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not an everything I never thought of…!” Here is that Gála is dairy juice where a speleological factor intervenes from Chauvet, Valdaine - Nyons Region - France. This is more than saying that the triggering factor is Mikveh or Purification leads from the premiere of the journey to associate with the underworld of the Kathartyrium or stationary Purgation that will take him through sequences in chapters or Paraps to meet again with Virolas or Anillares composing Medrones, crimping and growth. Later Wonthelimar from the Boedromion would bring The Arrows that Zefian will bring in the Second Trilogy bringing sleeping bodies of winter to the lap of the spring Boedromion crossing lines from spring to winter in the cycle that went directly to the Cinnabar Mercurial Ambrosia. They were discreet detached arrows that he had launched into the sky and they did not return but in the rooms, and in stages of Animalia towards the duty of rejoicing at the ****** of the Telesterion. Wonthelimar, being once again relocated before starting the works on the temple of Megaron Áullos Kósmos, was returning to the Chauvet-Wonthelimar cavern. He distanced himself from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree originating from Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points of the zenith starting with the first two arrows that are placed on the bowstring away from the Quiver, each one crossing north-south trajectories and another two that were violated again with the bow of the stormy East, to launch arrows from east-west with limits of southern magnetism. He carried in his belongings "Ibic Rings" that would be transmigration towards cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth would be exactly, arguing that Zefian's phalanges would be ordered in Sintropia and organic chaos in Patmos, making Pythagorean proportions in essences of numbers that idly advanced in temporary passages of Wonthelimar that were movably made of religious Saetas and Mercurial Ambrosia of Cinnabar, to contribute with insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus. Zefian's tendency was evident to delight after being pulled from the bowstring to ghostly existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the gales that would originate the Áullos Kósmos or Megarón, a late pro of some courts imposed from the Ouranos or Cielo that was going determined in his will seized by a dubious Vestal god advocating associating with hospitable Canephores as conjectured Virgins Vestals of Roman bilocation that were resting in their hands..., and quantum parapsychology of the feared live between-tale that boils over in the arrows that have not yet fallen, not knowing their whereabouts? As sheets or serial wafers that were evoked where the origin of the Universe was broken to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burned contravened Duoverse including the divine celestial origin as a *****-ovular parameter, rather eons and instances in Hestia's chimney running in pertinacious towards vast volumes of light-years. The connectivity of the Itheoi gods will make the quantum mobility machination operable between seasonal dimensions that will have to pass through periods, stages, feats and famous moments since it is initialized from here in the stone of lance with its Etruscan horses in Tel Gómel, for later in the Eleusinian mysteries themselves co-participate in eras of connection, as it appears here after the saga of Judah composing their respective seven chapters until breaking down at the end of the Conclusive Meshuva. The Boedromión will be an essential part of Trilogy II, waking up in all the winters of the world as a shelter flowered directly to the component of the Mercurial Ambrosia, a valuable element of Cinnabar or high-grade Vernarthian Sulfur for the Vas Auric or Sacred Medallion of Limassol that overflows decanted at the end of the Mikveh growing in arid deserts.

Cardinal Spilaiaus

- North: Vóreios (Zefian Boreal)
- South: Nótos (Austral de Borker)
- West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak)
- East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial)

From Medrones that grow in massive ibix antlers in Nyons, Seven Ibics Rings were taking hold, a Viroliferous process was progressing, or exercise of rotation mechanics of Quantum Rings in the same thesis work that speaks further of a replacement Universe as the anticipatory Duoverse, and the gifted Codex Raedus as a complement or annexation baggage of the Profitis Ilias in Patmos thus generating that pre-Christian annal have a leading role in new construction by presenting a virtual situation or Genius Loci. The Semi Itheoi will have roles in leading each cardinal so that the Gestation of the Fourth Arrow of Zefian is finally re-established, reordering the universe predisposed to receive the one approaching the Duoverse. What happens in Tel Gomel and Persepolis is relevant to the Psiloi Phalanxes and crowds that would face militarized personalities, totally ignoring the origin of the Hoplite as a worshiper of Hera's Wastelands and eternal stables that supported Vernarth just like Etruscan horses and Steeds of Sudpichi summoned Alikanto or ALikantus. His mother Luccica and father Bernardólipo endorsed all contained belligerence if he were not a repentant warrior in the gloomy night of the Horcondising Castle where Spilaiaus would give warlike foreshortenings right there to abduct him at great speed to Gaugamela. Vernarth would go to these latitudes, and then he would be exposed to governorships of Aionius to consolidate and channel this hybrid submithology that would bring together the ancient Hellenic Mythology. The vertiginous passage of time will conceive harsh characterizations and qualitative Paraps or Parapsychologies, possessing the largest arsenal of quantum and historiographical data ever counted and interpreted by characterizations, more than personalized blocks in particular characters, being the support vehicle or generational stem of the summary of understanding more facts and qualities that own characteristics of interlocutors. The vast collection of Submythological gods will be strongly entrenched in identifications of Semi Itheoi or deities that are intertwined directly with the human fictional world. ! Successive Paraps are concealed and accompanied by connectivity screens called Othones, these are a fundamental part of the audio-graphic syntax, managing to structure gods and then decode the final concretion of the conclusive in each Paraps, which is nothing more than a consequence of this imperceptible quantum axon, which does not end or start!

Submythology is an etymological derivation of later stages of mythology that deprives of granting subsistence and comparative biology to cultural, urban, fabulous components or inheritance of great ancient and medieval epic periods. Contributing great accumulations of proposals to such a generation in channeling with original playwrights reinventing their theses, also giving a breath of expectation to mythical beings so that they come to life in a hybrid interpretive horizon, or with alternation of roles considering mysteries in the blink of an eye happening to postulated dissidence or vagueness, losing itself as a gendered practice but not of the real cultist who has been propagated in his gnosis to remote places of the infinite superior. In short, Submythology is an infinite tragedy where the characters represent the work in furtive omni canality, and three-dimensional presence in sharp contact with the thrones of deities that make it even more evident to relate past history through submithological exercises, which itself refers to the prefix Sub " from what precedes par excellence” and mythological suffix as a series of processes of experience where the active voice of the narrator counts, being rather an inspirational pre-constructive phase. What should be experienced when in front of us a Homeric god of Olympus is presented to us telling us that the Olympic archeology has secrets of the Myein revealing characters and successors Submythological Gods with histrionic deities looted in all ages of the Celestial Organic Subsistence.

Ibico 1: "The first was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and he brought purity, for all who needed him and went to visit him in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive if he was accepted." As the only presence of Wonthelimar is of Chauvet's present god ambivalence.

Ibico 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the center of the priesthood of his shelves with the chiropterans and in addition to the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the vapors of the Antiphon Benedictus”.

Ibico 3: "From the Eygues, the waters evaporated to heal the tormented initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron."

Ibico 4: "This ring was from the antler of Wonthelimar, here they wore the oikos or threads of Orphi Gold, for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean complement- Valdaine”.

Ibico 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's hyper neurological and Duoversal brain twinned with the Mashiach."

Ibico 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns from Kafersesuh, bringing pollination from the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti."

Ibico 7: “It is the deep voice of Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the hoarse voices that inquire of the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medium, up to the millimeter-sized shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron”


                             Gender of the Duoverse Itheoi
                                     Horcondising Deities

Previously Vernarth takes his head resting on the ceramic that supported him between the Hydor photo duct, rather bringing his hand closer to the Klismós that Saint John the Evangelist had given him when he passed through Ephesus. In such a way that when he makes the first impulse to get up from the chair he was already beginning to leave the conventional Universe for the first time, then when he sits down again in the chair inaugurating the crystalline body that was looming over himself, he continues to be the Duoverse as if outside the Klismós with its curved legs resembling supporting pilasters of the Megaron diverging to the conical ones that projected concavely supporting the hollowness of its pectoral, which was already transparent like its Invisible Eclectic Portal. Meanwhile he gets up again holding onto the Mashiach who came to take him in his arms and place him in the klismoi that interpreted the elevation of Hellenism to the Greater Heavens and the Itheoi of the Duoverse; that is to say spiritual deities of Vernarth in the classification of the rank of beginning and projection of the abandonment of the Golden Himation. In such a way that the Astragalus was integrated; a floral company that was rooted in the hands and roots that cooperatively took root in those of Kashmar. So Vernarth with the Ibic Rings would begin to syncretize the imperceptible quantum and hyper-accelerated mobilization of physics of sub-atomic particulars that would later second it, unleashing from Alef to Tav to Astragalus and Aiónius, beginning his omnipotence. The sidereal distance began to unlink towards the Calypso air that was twinned with large portions of the sea in the same enamel, making Patmos the union of chain reaction speed with the Dodecanese Valleys and Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi unifying Vernarth with Apollo, Esminteo or ephebeia; that is, three sketches of Apollo himself for the theological genealogy chart of the deity Scarabaeidae with species that multiplied together with Vernarth to become the metalloid Azophar as the main knowable guideline to the unknowable, being Apollo himself in Vernarth's corporeality before rising to the iridescence of the Moshiach.

Astragalus: His primary Itheoi or theological picture would be composed and forming part of his feet and the surroundings of his ex-voto to take to all the summits of the world in the essence and the gift of eternal life represented by the root of the madrigal curdled by his feet, with the root of the Astragalus in flower when it represented the zero-hours by getting rid of his Himation and meeting the Mashiach.

Scarabaeidae: God of the subsoil modality of wandering souls destined for the physical and spiritual decline, Scabaraeidae Aphodiinae as subtractors of all the waste of souls that have boiled in malignancy, and the Scabaraeidae Dynastinae as the righteous larvae that rise from the imaginary soil to feed on the roots of the Astragalus and all the flowers and leaves of the Dynastiae. Increased the taxonomic genus of the species that would have to remain in the underworld to aspire to a better one like these Dynastines or Heracles beetles in honor of this hero carrying the peg that Vernarth would place on all the gardens once he was in Aurion, leaving him in a larval state, before being sponsored by Hera's family for the life cycle of the Horco-Olímpico.

Nothofagus: God's phoneme-photon of divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron of the Ibex of Wonthelimar, to the millimetric assembly shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera of the Megaron, and the Iridescent Nimbus that percussed between the Áullos Kósmos and the Vas Auric ” in total synchrony with Patmos, at the same level of luminosity and growth revelation of the Scabaraeidae Dynastiae to transform inert matter into another fertile one compared to Poseidon.

Lepidoptera: Like The sixth piece of crowns by Kafersesuh bringing the fertilizations of the Lepidoptera in the Ibico Ring 6, for the central stage of investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti, where everything will be endowed with the greater Ibix called Wonthelimar” that together with Leiak they would transmute to Horcondising.

Azofar: This metalloid god and support of the bed will take and bring Vernarth again when sailing through the cosmos towards the fifth element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to extol him from the neurological hyper brain of the Duoversal of Vernarth twinned with the Mashiach, exemplifying duplicity of Apollo as Azofar device of new interstellar ships beyond all that is knowable.

Ibicus: god of Wonthelimar's antlers, here they will carry the oikos or Orphi Gold threads for the Himation and investiture to anoint Vernarth's body bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean-Valdaine complement, thus they were inaugurating the solemnity and honorability. Here the quadrature will be the perfect Heliacal Ortho of the fourth Ibico with the quadrature of Aurion commanded by Leiak in the cardinal Dyticá.

Vélus: from Ibico 4, from where the goddess Artemis will evaporate in the waters for the healing of the tormented in initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron as if they were surrounding a Castalia for such solemnity.

Spílaiaus: from Ibico 3 in the center of the ministry with the bats, and others from the mercurial ambrosia invoking the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus”. Here is one more bastion of Hades' underworld dressing for the Speleothemes that will take you to the heart of all the dens of the Faith.

Aiónius: from Ibico 1 Wonthelimar who brought purity to all who needed him and went to visit in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive” here Kaitelka and Borker, in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia. Bringing them from the labyrinths with the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth wandering through infinity.

                                       Semi  I theoi

Semi-deities and great autobiographies of the Itheoi world derived from the denotation that would be reformulated from the Apoinandros that would be displaced by spikes of the didactic Ego or teaching of the authentic apostles that crystallized with Zefian, Borker, Leiak, Kaitelka, and Ezpatkul. Zefian: Reformer of the Universe-Duoverse, possessor of the four Arrows that will illuminate Heaven and all of earthly Greece every time Vernarth circulates linearly through the seas of the Vóreios of the Aegean. Ruled North: Vóreios (Boreal of Zefian) Borker: Demiurge and guardian of the Duoverse. Warden of the Forests of the World and of the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi. Ruled South by: Nótos (Austral de Borker) Leiak: Omnipresent demiurge, the vague spirit of the docile water dancer who lives on the water with his slimy Chin, his playful back is seen breaking lines of wells between flesh and silhouettes. Before the First station, the first of the three remaining nights before reaching the crater of Joshua de Pétra” ruled West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak) Kaitelka: Down Whale ruling the Psychic Trisomy of the Duoverse and seas surrounding Patmos of the Apokálypsis ruled to the East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial) Ezpatkul: Dóntiakul or Augrum teeth or prominent Gold will rotate through the Scarabaeidae demarcating the Vóreios Vóreios in the Horcondising region, bilocating it in Patmos Encinas borers, with such frenzy…!, that of Right there they would extract the strength of the Mapuche north winds from the Meli Witran Mapu, beginning with the Pikún-kürüf.

A great revolution was conceived with the imprint codified in stars that would begin to appear in Alto Kanthillana after the awakening semblance under the Nothofagus bottoms; being a god who would free Ninfuceanicus. This was a Sylph that millions of years had been inert in the space or radius of Spilaiaus very close to events of the new awakening. This Sylph would be the main stolon of the Nothofagus and would provide residual inactive matter from it so that Vernarth could secretly rebel from the stages of darkness and desolation of the species, having been dragged by decanted augers since time immemorial from what is currently on Patmos. This would consecrate extensive recycling, accelerating the characterizations of each organic personality and not, tending to an essential role in Vernarth's plot; because it will be this depression to make of its awakening a multicellular set that would grant the disappeared species of the behavioral axis to be restructured in all the ex-karstic zones of the subsoil of Patmos, up to the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi endowed with a great mineralogical bijective mass to supply powers with signs of substance and later mineralogical dimensions. Ninfuceanicus will be its Exo muscular mineral part that will provide proteins to Vernarth directly from this Sylph, in addition to recreating with her the necromancy attached to Gods Itheoi with Tsambika, Kímolos, and Patmos.The Paraps are nothing more or less than depressions of these liberations of great old geological masses that were biasedly unified under the subsoil of Hades Speleothemes, not exemplifying the stationary world of the relay but rather the Omnipresent Sphere of Spílaiaus together with Aónius and Azofar in the rescue of this Sylph, then Vélus, Ibicus, Lepidoptera, Scarabaeidae, and Astragalus will assign them the predominant rule. In silent and prominent escalations of events, they would intrigue themselves in the Submythological Epic, recomposing themselves in recapitulations that would indicate that Ulysses, Heracles, Hector, Leonidas, and the Great Alexander the Great would come to life from this thermo-geological concoction that would manifest itself by Vernarth's upper pectoral hollow "Called Thunder Kassotides” of which the conversion into tremendous events franked by ancient Greek Mythology would be destined to Vernarth's own and expeditious Hellenic life. This assumes that the overloaded physiognomic muscular exoskeleton of the Hellenic environment will be redirected with the power of natural phenomena beginning in original symptoms of multi gnosis reborn from the sub sphere of thought that intermediates with the interior ones, after the incitement of Vernarth and being part of the gnosis that would lead him to clear everything that is with him and what will be. The Animalia as fierce representatives flow by attempts and at the same time are inhibited from a tacit presence with animals that would conform to Spílaiaus stereotypes; an out-of-phase ventral turbinate of the God of Speleothemes, who is Wonthelimar or ventral turbinate, would propitiate any incidence in manifestations of the noosphere, given the serial appendix of instantaneous analogical relation in the disturbing and super mobility of the Constellation Capricornus, the Belt of Aurion and Betelgeuse. Right there radiating particularity the ontogenesis of Vernarth, already resigning himself from the intimate existential point to focus on the complementarity of other existences on the way to the Empyrium or Resident Ouranos, brewing universals in all unlimitedly comparative when alluding to as being diligent among beings who are not, and reciprocally be revivers of those who will be. Here is the synonymy of Vlad Strigoi that could be supra-spiritual historical omnichannel considering that he is an integral part of a Mythology and a real liberating hero of Transylvania. It still is, but under the exclamatory context that is born of avidity that requires and must collect fungus vines from Canephore and Hellenic delicacies in the prompt presence of gods when it is not enough or there is no legacy of servants or servants under the hindrance of its metaphysics with its empty entrails. Here prevails what dictates a dogma that differs for those who are touched by the edge of the Speleothemes of Spilaiaus to survive in the Sphere of inorganic life of the same god and Ninfuceanicus. This legend narrates the real and non-fictional lived history of Vernarth, that time that in absolute darkness and solitude he met the deity of the Ibico three in the crowded population of the Nothofagus is a totally prehensile approving gesture of a vegetable that authorized him to address Him …, Spílaiaus was such a reference when he listened to him for long hours transforming himself into a real therapist who worthy would bilocate in the original from Piacenza-Italy, when in rare cases of parapsychology he declared himself ineffective to be able to continue the endless sessions. “Gaugamela is the great battle that must be wielded with iron temper as a stalking of a heart that did not scold for another that did not pulsate”

Great raids will be composed of others that will speak of a strong hero having committed superiors, of others that will be based on eloquent vivacity that nothing takes long when it is necessary to induce the cut of Una Xiphos; whose function is dissuasive if the blacksmith is not a god that shows no mercy, but if he is from a job that can be resistant to deliberate him in another that has nothing, nor will he sustain him. The goal is essential in all weakness if a hero is consumed by his stoic bravery, rather it could perfectly reside in his coat of arms as indicated by Hephaestus in the glitter of a forge when the seasoned worshiper of his forges spills liquid steel and not blessed blood of a royal warrior from Laodicea. What Vernarth forges of Hephaestus himself will sound on his lyre descended from precognition of the god Spilaiaus, affirming that blacksmiths of Athens would be decoys that adhere to carcinogenic generations of opprobrious fires, if it were not for one who could carry in his hands a sword certainly jammed by Hephaestus, and that the diluted steel that really falls would make future generations authentic sedated drops in them for the true Spartan or Greek that strengthens it with verve and abulence.
Preface
David Hilburn Aug 10
Sweet opus, sweeter hope
Anger in the same, of a friends stare?
Sent from here to eternity, a chastity's cope
Through the eyes of friendship, we know a care...

Sentiment of challenges, asked to contain
A laugh of days long austerity
The grace or the cramp of resolve, to maintain
A hopeful live and let it be known, the choice of a vanity

Sweet hope, sweeter opus
Set to livid forces, we sake a chance meeting
With advancing judgment, of a seemingly national cause
Set to living days, a blow of wind with time for a friend?

Prayers are said
Patience be a column of repose, livid even as tears stream
Plied eyes should, a careful need for what was lead
Persuasion of a courtesy, that has become a pet demon...

Pretty invaders, in particularity's cloth, seconds of dress
That are formal, that are fiendish?
To make no mistake about a hateful lip, heard in the God bless
Of the moment partaken, where a silent mention of a wish...

Is a brazen cough, of psyche and dismay...
Taken to reality; for a simpler have, and orchestration
How is a waiting hour, the only way to seek a smile from a stranger?
Answering the question, a priest indicates if hell to pay, is our destination...

Secrets of watches, of the teary night
None to lay, and become a knight of persuasion asking ways
Of a reason beyond silence, the order of dread to a wishful right
Right about now, a marriage has looked, and seen times bell mays

Power of the named
And the cursing of prowess, to understate the privilege
Will a careful lip understand the notion, of a particular shame?
Setting love before justice, is a reality of gestures for life, or a ******?
and two these, I think whetted appetites should, another flower...
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
i'm just about to make a chicken madras-vindaloo, i.e. i really need to take-a-****-really-quick-curry-and-follow-up-with-a-mango-lassi.­

let's face it, you need a "flat earth" schematic
to get from (a) to (b) -
            a 3D earth doesn't really help,
you need a 2D earth ("flat") to coordinate
a vector (you) from point (a) to point (b)...
there's not point highbrowing the fact
when the applicability is an avalanche of
pointless: told you sos (soes).
        
          the earth is "flat" so you can avoid
believing the g.p.s.
  it's not really a sorry, more an: oops.

so, up in space, how's that copernican working
out for you?
     can you tell me where i might find east,
or west, north / south?
  me neither, tried finding the directions
to a proper maxim, couldn't find any...
but i didn't bypass the blind watchmaker
(as ever, atheists love the imagery of
biblical standards, never actually attaining
the analogue desire) -

        something happened -
nietzsche clarified the german echo-chamber -
poor nietzsche thought he was a
polaczek* (polachek) - diminutive of
pollack -
                    but the echo chamber closed with
heidegger -
     rarely a german being honest,
and in being honest: introspective...
thank you, much appreciated.

   hell, if we're so aerodynamic i thought
of a counter-compass...

      i call them pockets of quantum expression,
these days all history is focused upon
the quantum representation -
      universally replicable,
otherwise particularly "particular"...
             there is no originality in
the universality of affairs,
as there is particularity in a "particular"...
hence the new compass:

                             when
                                 |
                    why - "is" - how
                                 |
                            where

the reason why the (0, 0) coordinate is
an "is", is because: nothing ever lasts..
    the negation is a doubled up framing
of the fact that, if a third negation ever
existed, it could not, since a third tier of
negation, could only be a confirmation...

this is my compass from now on...
             yes, my ex-g.f.'s father asked me:
name me a famous pole...
                  marie curie, copernicus?
****, arrived too late...
  once more:
    memory, the only type of cinematic
endeavour than can beat
                    CGI, any day, of the week;
believe me when i tell you
that they really want to erode your faculty
to remember, by teaching you
pythagoras theorem...
        you're not getting educated,
       you're having your memory eroded.

p.s.
   there are too many pockets of exemplified
is - to (counter) contemplate (much easier to deny,
less of a thrill to doubt though) an isn't -
        with what is a doubt / ambiguity of an "is",
"concerned" with an outright denial of
was "isn't"...
                   how do we find this reality
so agreeable in both being fathomable
and unfathomable?
                          i'm starting to
deem the perpetuated placebo effect of
   perpetuation of awe with a cloud of suspicion;
for the advances of man,
     to advance beyond being awe stricken is
most demanding,
then again: one cannot erase the former child
that brought this body into manhood.
From Lower Normandy Marie came barefoot, still, Agios Andreas but this time to be reborn in Coutances with everyone embraced and revived by reconstituting Saint-Sauver Lendelin. From here in this parish similar to the electromagnetic ubiquity of the Beit Hamikdash, all walking girt only for a few leagues in the transit of conversion and silence that was only interrupted by the shutters on the coast of the islet. Her humble appearance of a farmer from the meadows of Carentan, cheered her healing hands that would add another servant without letters and numbers that represent the wisdom of a holy woman, who loved her neighbor, going back from the Porta de Betania to revive with the return. of his blessed drizzle of holy water from the stigma of the Lord. It illustrated their faculties by presenting them in a new beneficent world free of transpersonal, rather it was linked to the guarantee of extremes and their evil debaucheries that would abound in humanity now and always, showing mercy that made any living being confuse by being in the middle of the heavenly sprinkles of holy waters. The fields of salvation for the lacerated ranged from extremes, and points that babbled to the Olympian gods, giving them the abandonment for some time the apostasy that raged their disgraceful powers, Ignoring the subjectivity of ancient poverty with the young woman who was from the same roots inherited from archaeological substrates, which did not allow it to find its roots, redirecting what the pilgrims do not know that illumination takes without return and that great works were the participle of a verb that would never be reborn again. That the examples touched the bottom of the ionic crowded with icons that were left infertile there because they could not dive into polluted waters. That the Sirens shrunk in the salt of Aphrodite, not being able to temporize in the indecision to grant them plenipotentiary powers to make man a being with gills in the tender flesh, and of the great works that save the man who prostrates himself anointed from his defects in not granting themselves extraordinary early days, with directions to save themselves from the catastrophe and sinister ones that speak of the same thing; of the Man who breathes and does not make an effort to breathe, so that when at the end he is boiled in the apnea of ​​his stubbornness, he can make sure that he needs clean and pure air, to see millions of kilometers in his three hundred and sixty degrees, and also can that sub mythology makes of mythology; seeing in millions of lustrums without ending more lines that support it, nor who closes the doors to you from a first second or third degree of evolution of itself, renouncing other points of those like Marie de Vallées and Bernardette de
de Soubirous the visible particularity of the good of doing his Will. The Lord instructed them for herself from childhood as it is led to the Lapse, The earth, and The Universe decreasing chronologically so that she would be Logos of Christian Virtues. That what was accomplished will certainly be accomplished even though they suffer pain from the wars on their backs, and lead them to the most adorably perplexed fidelity of God.

Marie Des Vallées speaks to everyone: “I Kyrié Mou, oh my Lord, I am your medium and the grace to do it in what makes it available in a few minutes to stay alive! I am your obstacle so that you do not disenfranchise me from the Horror Vacui ..., disturbing the emptiness that puts bands on my idle eyes by validating and embellishing more your work and its mathematical fools, in the dense wastelands that lie in the static of the ship that can never help to Prometheus! Or the late morning that the martyrdom of Good Friday changed to rescue you! Oh, what ostentatious luxury is argued by the evergreen of your olive, lanceolate in some like sacred stingers and green glabrous, which stand multi-floral and become scaly by my arid and fatal mouth. What a wave of the myrtle will be thrown by the wild olive that is ignored like the thistle! or that a black hawthorn for a thousand years will be flashing the iris of my paternal sets, like bushy palms in soft and hard mothers, like the sawdust of man's discernment, whose rusticity becomes sensitive in what he lived, and does not live in Bethany! Except for the one who is just in the hands of death and who receives a mastic or seedling that closes the lips of the frozen morning. Just as in the tripled auroras where the pomegranates will continue to find the apse with Ruthwell's cross "
I Kyrié Mou
Ken Pepiton Feb 2019
wisdom is the principle thing

we are pulled into the future
not pushed from the past

all things are possible, in re-al
life, as we know it.

fast yes slow fast
yes
slow fast

big loop, rogue wave

rogue hole
how could this happen
--
time umph bump

each of us is making waves
all o'us, right, all the
wees where your bubble inter
sects connects
===
touch touch touch touch touch
tictictictictic
tip

pass that, past that's this

wave forms in Higgs or whatever
we've us a particularity
clapotis, real word
lapping waves it means,

t's a phenomenon related to walls,
not all waves pass
some splash at the surface
while undermining the
wall below

eventually such waves eat walls
WHy is there anything? Inter-restin thought.
Maria Williams Mar 2016
I'm writing this now, at this present moment in time, on the fly.
A million thoughts rushing through my mind.
I had a plan to do things today, that obviously didn't get done.
I took my dog out and noticed the sun.
So I pulled my hood up, and when he was done I just came right back in.
I did, however, take notice to the passing of cars and my delusional mind just hoped that you'd be in one.
That you'd feel my presence dying.
I couldn't help but look down each time, because I spent the night crying and I don't like being noticed when my eyes are shining.
Rescue me.
The thoughts I have are drowning me.
I've got myself, and a throne I've built inside a castle of ******* thorns.
Keeping everyone that tries to get close held back by my bull horns.
My difficulties, and particularity.
My drinking problem that Im trying to acknowledge as an actual problem.
I have a diagnosis, a long one at that, but I don't like to be defined by it.
I don't like to let it hold me back.
I guess if all I have for myself is to say that hey, I'm breathing today, then that should make the day okay.
But today, I'm suffocating on my sadness.
Asphyxiating thoughts are keeping me from steady breaths and it's hard to just be.
I need some ******* sleep.
It's been two days of trying.
I don't like the feeling of flying.
Dozing off feeling like I'm free falling has hindered my eyes from staying shut.
It's taking a toll.
Enough is enough.
When will this weakness stop?
Why is there a line between need and want?
Ive never wanted anything more than for someone to just walk through my door.
Presence provokes persistence.
Pull through, keep pushing.
Saint John the Apostle says: "Zephian, the computer of the Duoverse of the Verthian world, signals the order of his creation of the world according to the transcendental vegetable living matter in the interstices of time itself that exists within sidereal time. Pointing out that matter and time are governed by mythological beings in a compartment with monotheism defined by atavistic laws, which are the omnipotence of the intense hiding place of procreation, super-providing large contextual residences, for habitat and a world on the scales of non-resident elders who go from passers-by between lines and cosmological phenomena in the Duoverse, facing the vicissitudes of stars and physicality added to the arcs of the reminiscence of emotions. Thus the main task and how the structure of the experience surpasses wisdom, making the orthogonal movement of the Universe fictitious, but Verthian with great explorations of matter that is absolutely quantified and volatilized to the field of incorporeal existence. The laws will be governed by its demiurge organizer Zefián, describing codes that will verify pivotal performances in the reactions of the mutant universe. His refractions when reasoning of the consummated phenomenon start from here in the distinguished biological one, which will surpass the laws of physics, since its ratio-value is above the limits allowed by the brave line of gravity that bounces off the lines and their distances, promoting more criteria to resist the threats of a possible tiring case, a product of some relative dominance not included in all the worlds among themselves or in some judgment that does not rescue us from the loss of links of a certain omitted coordinate, attracting us to a universe ruled towards hemicycles of merely material and non-biological-existential particles. The dimensions range from the beginning of the universe itself, more delayed than the interval of the second limit of space that rests to inaugurate the next one. It will be the orbit of translation twice rotating to the sun, but nth times turning on itself to go out to another stellar dimension not present. Its geometry will be the administration of the resumption of cinnabar in Tsambika and Helleniká, to annul each other by making and integrating it in Patmos, on the shores of Skalá, with curvatures that validate the nullity of successive factions of material lives, among spiritual victims if alive. The oblation and concavity of the Duoverse will be of universal contact in excessive proximity in a few radios to support the equidistant gravity between both atmospheres, adopting the subsequent consequences with a shared micro-existence in both universal Astro units, as a dense but fractal particularity fragmented to changes coercive in the conception of creation, of the original true world, gestated in a pristine Kosmous and resistance modeling of high intermediate masses of temperatures, expanding above what surrounds, under a flexible world that opposes resisting, but that unfolds to relocate to its origins of integrity and adaptable physical material. Duoverso is born and will reappear every time the years are subject to the devastation of everything quantifiable and not, under the dim light that will light up all the darkness, Zefián being in paronymy in what is missing to appropriate sustenance and merit of having it adsorbed. in the tabernacle of the Vas Auric and its namesake Medayllon, in the privilege of appearance itself, adding in what is preserved from physical support without a doubt right there. A fair sidereal speed will have to travel on its own axis of rotating time in the paradoxical gear of the One-Dimensional Beams with the same reconverted into vital angelic luminance, creating orbits of optics in the visions of Christian profanity. It empowers them to enable them in overexcited that derive from disorders of intermittence and physics of time, to reinsert themselves in the sequence that inhabits the residual velocity of the Beam, as a Theo-Philosophical entity, and of the cellular multiplicity in seasonal cells. of the retrograde lapses frozen in Qumram, so as not to depend on its Kabbalah sustained by the regime of a compound past, and of the inconcrete yesterday. The immediacy was surpassed, preserved in the conviction of the One-Dimensional Beams (Kafersesuh), observing itself more densely when all revolutionary extinction admits to being in the proper place to integrate and ponder peremptorily, attracting organic and inorganic matter suspended in the richness of a world of scientific but unique Faith. , and Single incessant prayer, more anti-gregarious and dilapidated than what is supported by vain walls, which do not exist in Verthian emotional matter. Its movement and translation are always advanced, even before we coexist, already being domains of being transposed of what was, is, and will be transposed and floating in its abrogated form!

The movements, being physical, take us over conjectured layers to discern their magnitude by percentage the rigor of their measurement on us, in exchange for Zefián's ambivalence, delivered both chromatics of the Dark and White Duoverse, with the reference of the behavioral alternations of the Diospyros, spring of the arboreal, for the procreation granted in the hands of Leiak. Sustaining from this equational exercise, with less time to design for its genealogy, but rather in its apocalypse reinstalled in null primary unknown spaces, to have it again in the light of consciousness, recognized as an inert matter of the past, and more alive of the immanent eternity of nebulae that personalize the Abrojo earring, taking temporality but null as it does not ****** any hand to tear it from its own. Every divided and subdivided elementary particle of the Duoverse will gravitate under what is speculated, rising in total harmony through the accommodating compressions of a whole material accessory, especially in sudden death processes, which occurred illustrated and not compressed in the percentage eternity of materiality of the dark. (current) and luminous (happened), being those who govern it will manifest anticipations of everything dark (present) and luminous (past-future), for the energetic alternation succumbed so many times, like a uniform cross in the center of the world after so many times having fallen in past-future.

Says Vernarth : "in the rhetoric of the Universe-Duoverse theorem, it is worth noting the topic of the past with a present and future entity as well but atopic or out of place Hellenic, connected to the time of Verthian inspiration, Holderlin-Heidegger indefinite in terms of habitability physical, as a complement to the entity that anticipates the present/future in the vicinity of death in the topical past and future, but tangentially with lively whims of atopic mortal-existentialism, being a way of renting virtual death, and as a way of being dwelling in death itself and its act of embodiment, then having existed but with its own edict after having rented it. The Verthian World appears in this stereotype, prolonging existences from the atopic non-existence, granting it a complementarity of more past scientific romantic life, after an uninhabited death. Ontologically, this theory is born from the One-Dimensional Beams of Kafersesuh, in Ein Karem. Essentially paleo-Christian, as the matrix of existence between Ein Karem (Manger of the Messiah) and Gethsemane, inter nexus of the materiality of metaphysical inflections product of the immaterial purpose of unlived and hypothetical life, as an urgent sacrilegious decline, anticipated of the dimension of the life-death-life process of Comparative Christian Messianism.

Vernarth says: "with the slaves, in my disparate hands I picked up what the other carried. With my right hand, I took the Duoverse, and with the other my bearer; that I had my commands on the maxims of Elpenor before falling to the cliff. One naughty day but with the worst pain in my chest I went to see him in his room, and I structured him as an immortal when it came to forming the world "not even knowing of being part of an identity" favoring him to be part of my deflagration convulsed by the friction of the Universe on the Duoverse. Such was that bravery and affordability, that he decorated me with some unexpected laments of belonging by imprisoning me with superfluous boasting. But his boldness will be mine, and he will have to anticipate it in the middle of a fight, such as in Gaugamela hurting my two spirits, one deleterious and the other not..., Says the Porter: "I have to accede to your mandate, my lord Vernarth, I have arranged my horse emetics to take him to the empyrean, more unusual at nightfall. I know that my own absence will also take her, because we are double lives loving her, falling into a night given over to the seventh Phalangist soldier. Between souls already diluted by the misfortune of the sap, in the figure of eternal death that refuses to receive us discouraged" Says Vernarth: "I don't know if I am or will be brave, therefore I have forgotten to take the herd, rather I don't I know what it is?, but in the midst of the horses and hosts of the block, from the Syntagma in Gaugamela that I have not felt again what it is to take my herd after feeling my hands and legs divided, but not feeling when appropriating some parabens amputated. I know that among the hypaspists we tricked umpteenth arrows in the mobilization of the war machine 665, but in a wasteful jump we gathered the delusion of the Phalangist command in the Seleucid 666 ringlera, rather detached from all men, substantially inclined to Alexandrian life, "Of course it was already in the hands of eternity, which hurts more than the tip of an arrow even if I perjured myself to its annihilation" Vernarth's act of intrepidity and daring would take him over the precipice that even skewed and declined the world as it sustained him, putting his fellow man face to face, as antagonist and protagonist at the same time with his chest flowing over the white linens that they spoke of certainties of a scaffold, still where others surrounded them with peace and Olympian protection, making him..., only today the pair of himself abstracted with contemptuous lineage..., even having to reinstitute himself as Vernarth most elusive of being alive and eternal, still having in its vocabulary the essence of knowing Being Heideggerian, with firsts of erudition, starting from the nova on excitation, having cognition and knowing oneself diligently about the entities alter evidences of the recent-present, and not in the tyrannized Universe, rather of its present-event of the new universe for itself negative, and towards a gift of neatness granting it recklessness that continues to disperse its entity, its dimension, the locus of it, the distances, the matter to welcome in its be. Vernarth besieges his cogitative discursive, raided in tides of tenements and scales of belatedly changing vibration with all the heroics of following and all the world ideologies of harassing technical acumen with the target in the necropolises that he speaks resurrected, not lying the chimera in the best districts to the leisure to revive, more immortal than a district..., and learned steps with constitutive slogans in "cities succumbed, without blemish..., with eternity", connoting after all transfer abolished, in the present infinity between two units of mortal rank, the Carrier and Vernarth, Vernarth and Heidegger, but here the last one bringing the closest radiogram between the herd and eternity with a significant dilemma (End and chaos) and eternity (creation), in the limbo-purgation ratio, as source and potion. The generality of success and affinity in Heidegger's dialectic, a moment signs his reincarnation in the raving of finite eternity, moving away from Verthian ontological and metaphysical reasoning. He magnetically juxtaposed the Universe, bordering on restless ambitions, such a substance of perpetual equanimity towards the unworthy survivor of Vernarthian theories. So far no resemblance that compares to whoever wants it or not is part of any estimate or conjecture sheet of a complex Duoverse, but rather dreaming as an active or vague star without anything or anyone knowing that it springs from it or that, abstracting from the nullity of a nihilistic kosmous of itself in the Necropolis of Hellenika. Within the emerging frontis of a progeny, there are ranges derived towards the first to form rows composed of shelters of the Giant Camels that from Jerusalem escorted them with their planting consciences to Ein Karem, then returning to Gethsemane to end up in the port of Jaffa. Originally arranged by the children of Israel and bastions; Vernarth, Saint John the Apostle, Eurydice, Raeder, and Petrobus with the animality, Etréstles, and Kanti, to finally cite King David and his velvety phylactery addressed to his edicule before they departed for Jaffa, to return west to Patmos. Of this primogeniture, the legatee is Vernarth, being presented as co-first-born by abnegating his portion to Saint John the Apostle for fiduciary assets for the benefit of a third party for both and granting the patriarchal reinstatement to each of his inheritances, the purpose being expedited in liberation from the world that sheltered them inauthentically in the midst of ascending ancestors. This prerogative will be decisive in defining the dimension of the Duoverse and One-Dimensional Beams, since a brotherhood of worldliness, nascent and simultaneous, will diverge them in the beams that support the universe, and from this, they will be transferred to the vision of Vréfos- (child-man) , Child-Cherub, for the purpose of specifying the Universe-Duoverse physically composed of four areas of consistency. Time, Being, Divinity and the Four Wings of the Cherub, as a concept of biodiversity in Lepidoptera, Bumblebees, Bees, Wasps, and Fireflies so that these tetra-winged animal entities cause warnings and impositions on the cardinals poles of its primogeniture, being born from chaos, until now as Duoverse constituting the alpha Vréfos, nascent of the Animalia and "Andres" intermediate perspectives in the heights that guide the material essences of the distributive physics and spiritual and imperishable elemental. The ineffable matter, the stars will prostrate themselves before each pause of advent and herds that carry Secundum Dictus Vivere, in pursuit of a gnoseological doctrine made a pledge of servile an instant rescinding in another, for the study of the sense of conceiving itself in diligent part of a new orb In the dividing lines of the unknown and the repelled nothingness, suspecting himself of a living arterial vile in the skeptical nothingness. We tend two of non-existence that ratifies it, or perhaps of a twin-univiteline Duoverse and of the chaos of non-fertilized nature..., rather empowered towards the first fiduciary by the jurisprudence of the district of the unattachable Messiah. Allow yourself thus, before this premise of history, to continue and be part of an establishing whole looking for Hashem in an unknown world and Kosmous too..., more so swaying before the appearance that sustains you, as cardinal knowledge of values and immobile Certainty. The centric lineage hypothesis will define the blood lineage, unifying the Duoverse.
Pealim Abba
NGANGO HONORÉ May 2022
Ils nous laissaient entre autres : 

Pour les Romains, leur art, leurs sculptures. 

Les Vikings nous ont laissé leur courage, leur Bravoure et ne cessent d'inspirer nos cinéastes. 

L'Afrique nous laisse avec sa culture riche, nous respirons son histoire, ses exploits, sa gloire , celle des premières civilisations,  et son influence bien que son peuple ne s'en souvient plus entièrement et que tous les jours ses fils naissent pour s'émerveiller d'une histoire qui n'est pas la leur.
L'Afrique nous laisse sa dessance.
Sa Paix bien que menacée, 
Son Unité bien qu'envahi 

Et ses valeurs bien que mourante , pour autant parmi les seules qui donnes encore signe de vie sur la planète. 
Elles nous laissent aussi ses dieux et ses multiples coutumes


Les amérindiens nous laissent leurs croyances sur le monde des esprits  ,
Les histoires fabuleuses du printemps et l'harmonie avec la nature et animaux . 


Je n'aurais pas assez de ligne pour parler de la Chine et ses empereurs
Du Japon impérial et sa particularité 
De la Grèce, son histoire ses dieux ( Les plus connus de l'antiquité ; si vous me permettez ) 
Du Pérou,  des Aztèques et des civilisations qui nous ont précédées.

Le monde ancien n'était pas parfait 
Mais au fils des âges, il ne s'est pas défini par ses démons 


Le péché, la violence, la cruauté, ne sont pas nouveaux à l'histoire de l'humanité. 
Le mal a laissé son empreinte partout dans l'histoire, les guerres ont décimé les civilisations, les pestes on récrit l'histoire des hommes. 


L'avidité humaine reste la plus destructrice de tous et fait de l'homme l'artisan qualifié de ces propes malheurs.

Aujourd'hui, la Nature a envoyé la fin toqué à notre porte  . Et j'ai une question :Que faire l'humanité ? 



Among other things, they left us with : 

For the Romans, their art, their sculptures. 

The Vikings left us with their courage, their bravery and they continue to inspire our film makers. 

Africa leaves us with its rich culture, we breathe in its history, its exploits, its glory, that of the first civilisations, and its influence even though its people no longer fully remember it and every day her sons are born to marvel at a history that is not theirs .
Africa leaves us its legacy.
Its Peace although threatened, 
Its Unity though invaded 

And its values, though dying, yet among the only ones still alive on the planet. 
They also leave us their gods and their multiple customs


The Amerindians leave us their beliefs about the spirit world,
The fabulous stories of spring and the harmony with nature and animals. 


I would not have enough lines to speak about China and its emperors
Imperial Japan and its particularity 
Greece, its history and its gods (the most famous of antiquity; if you allow me say so) 
Peru, the Aztecs and the civilizations that preceded us.

The ancient world was not perfect 
But through the ages, it was not defined by its demons 


Sin, violence, cruelty, are not new to human history. 
Evil has left its mark throughout history, wars have decimated civilisations, plagues have rewritten human history. 


Above all Human greed remains the most destructive of all and makes man the qualified artisan of his own misfortunes.

Today, Nature has sent the end knocking at our door  . And I have a question:What should we  humanity do?
Trop long , mais interessant, qu'en pensez vous ?
David Hilburn Oct 16
Likewise asked
A horn of plenty
A jaundiced look for facts
A storied gift, to overwhelm the method of rendering

Gaiety
And universal aplomb
For a rights spontaneity
Is courage ours, for what was first and them?

Today we see the truth
Immediate course to a pleasing craft
Taken as a true believer, the pace of couth
Is a willing host, the common curiosity to keep, hath?

Ready to acknowledge
A learned simplicity, in the heed of intellect
Is a waiting garden of composure, a deeds wage
Has sat and noticed the coming liberty we reflect

Speed to interim, the tale of beloved gains
Of resolve, to redress the stead we knew, is merit
The very voice of needful vanity, as it reigns
Is ours for a weight of the world, and its unique wit?

Shyness redeemed
Asking livid wishes of a smile, that seldom due
With particularity, a coping whim
That has seen the guidance of knowledge as it was, worthier love
knowing the best of forms and the last of worse, can a breed of simplicity sake a sharing sunshine, for realm and saviors of a lands mightiness?
My weakness is people who feel sorry for themselves
I don’t like to see it in me
Thus
It annoys me in others
I also dislike those
Who don’t appreciate their blessings
Particularly
When they are particularly
Blessed
The particularity
Of it all
Blessings are not overly
Particular
About who they visit
David Hilburn Nov 2020
Bent
****** a suggestion, we all remember
Terror is such, a universal call to whence
To see if you are who you say you are...

Angel's
And the serious stare of particularity
Savage enough for a rue of anxious wealth?
In these siring doors and amorphous rarity...

Hell
So sweet to a reaching friendship, is once if to be?
A secret, but is our finished repose, the austerity we find fell?
And will a charity of courage's woe, have the sense to anarchy?

Heaven
Silence realizes the world for us, beauty to claim?
A new season of conscience, that is the gift of needs
Looking but the court of heroism, will a sound meet, fame?

Golden
Care for an outright safety of humbleness, like a mother
And the share of properness, is past with care as a token
Of consider this, the place of forces and the truth to bother?

Gaits
So sour, the notion to deliver the resources of courtesy
Except; to remind a home of deliberate couth, we are many
And the crowd of won, is on our way to becoming fears irony

Siblings
Pain in each, an echo of what was a remorse on the move?
Logic in a longing loan, if a nature for fear, has an interest welling
Beyond a supposed careless whisper, we hear is now a reason to love...
sea shell's and wonder, together to lend society
what a title! silence! i'm not even listening to music
whilst composing this
such is the music of sunlight and of silence

it is as if i have been sleeping
in the dusty libraries of Europeans
and ventured
a little bit out

took a lick and eye to tease with Rumi
but then that author was introduced
to me via Promis my highschool "sweetheart"
in her home in Hackney
with two younger brothers and a sister
and a millionaire father
who profited from child-entertainment
exploitation
and it's not as if something isn't playing
on my mind like a movie
because it isn't in my mind
but on my mind
and there is a distinction with the use
of the preposition that
the ancients speakers of tongue
would have not known of
since they compacted prepositions
within the confines of nouns
so from example
from Europe
would be simpler to say European
-an if allowed:
attached to a noun
would conjure the equivalent of the Latin
ex-
               from, out of...

the stalemate of hearts
this is not a Romeo and Juliet
how many times did i face
the mirror today and think to myself:
without this beard i'm a pork chop
that fat neck that ICK of the gluttonous
not but that sort of neck:
genetically not fit for sport teams
not the army either
big fat octopus of a brain

the joke is we are lovers torn apart
by God benevolence
in that i'm 38
and she's 56... or 7...
can't remember and this is Romeo
as surrogate father wannabe

and then a break
- - - - - - - - - - - -
_ - - - - - __ - - - - - -;
- - - .. - . -. - . - . - . . . . -:

Sherbet...
all the way from America
candy packaged goods
it's finally covert-legal
and i need it
to process family
drama my
mother and father have
turned into my grandmother
and granfather
and i'm dating someone
who's my mother's age
could be
could be
if all ready at 18

i swear this is a Comedy of Errors
but there is no resentment
toward life
like that twisted fate-knife
of lovers, young,
tragic, plunging themselves
into the abyss or something
never to return forever them
together blah blah
blah
but what of the comedy of love?

her rigid "christianity"
her rigid knees
but save from kneeling
much more
like a sweetcorn cob juiced
or swiftly ****** off
i mean one genocide her second
upon ******* with
no transparency of materialization
i mean
******* breed holes that *****
fall in
with a yahoo **** of snot phlegm

but that diatribe and the gloves are off
i mean: maintain-check
i was actually given a price tag
maybe not the first but a first
to me: existential price tag
the fact that i was almost Cat-Fishes
Cat-fishing
something i mean by how i employ
AI to filter search engine results
because Google is by now a crude AI
schematic prototype
without: what do we, i, you want
and more about the with of:
if, of, yes, no: availability
scout AI
we lived through 20 years
of the brutal upheaval of Countering Encyclopedia
with Search Engine Winds...
20 years, solid...
but now individualized Search Engine
technology: personalized search engine
dynamics -
covert, underground stuff...
no dark web perversions required:
all clean...

like Sherbet packaged and flown over
from America
i mean this balloon is no peach no joke
no James no Holy Bible
i just feel this need for religious freedom
and the ability to just read
from a reed not ever used
to write
about all the words i should write:
but do, alas, but do,
but at least to clarify some void now pressing
i.e. i'm usually distracted by music
when writing
but this sunlight and this legal: perfectly legal
by packaging not something
a ****** might use like clingfilm
or well: i suppose those seal-up bags
of plastic
then those airtight bags that make the bug of the bud
shrink...

clearly i want the future wife to know
the future mother-in-law
like i know her in so much as i know
what the geriatric exponential mortality
curve looks like
and i'm thinking: before Romeo there
was also Romella: his daughter...
who would never be born but would remain
an intact schizoid personality disorder
for Romeo to battle with
with inflicted punishments not
circumcised not ******* with procreative
purpose into a pleasure **** circus
of now arguing about sneaking in
botox and like
there might be something against it
no...

                let's just say i became tired of
jewelry...
whether wooden rings
whether stainless steel rings
whether ******* CHAMRAS CHUNKIES
or JAHARAS
or whether Aztecan leather and more stainless
steel like
there's gold, silver and steel: equivalent
a comparative literature concerning alchemists...
and in that respect:
can we make a metal so pure to match
gold and silver... and yet with steel
there was no real question of
yes there was no there wasn't yes there was
of turning anything into gold:
by "anything" i am implying ore:
base metal - then imagine that like the folly
of religion
and how simple the Christian folly of religion
is when
it's so amazingly village mantra -
   nothing born from a cosmopolitan hustle
just this safe: works in the countryside:
but not in the big town type of security
but as far as relationships go
there is no denying sexuality
and all this nunnery-fuckery nonsense
this hyper-****** liberal all eternal female
and this hyphened-libual-sexeral

yes... the LIBUAL SEXERAL
my position:
although i do have a birthday
present in the range of: maybe i'll have
a quick 30 minute *******
and supposedly that's like:
the revelation of the psychology of Xerxes
but when little me knows of
little me no-no
and that's the basic proof of reality:
the universality of a toothache
counter the particularity of an apple pie

like the articles:
definitely i.e. nth to the point of closure
coupled with
the indefinitely i.e. nth of a point
                                                    off closure...

or the clucking arifs
yes: the grammarians - grammatician: no no...
but the passage is more relevant
than all the Ezra Pound and Olson
and all the poets put together
represent and i, now, were to be assigned
a bride with no apocryphal liberalism
as to what is perhaps good
reading material
because sanctimony or none
but there's still the case for humanity
and that doesn't necessarily
have to imply a demeaning hierarchy
of usher thus usher them usher versus

                            at least she signed off with:
the end
but no full stop but my i didn't
think she would be this argumentative
and i don't even have a drinking buddy
to talk this one over with so i'm going
to play stupid
and continue with:

well if you don't mind i wouldn't mind
converting to Islam if by thought alone
could salvage some:
whatever, of the remains of: whatever:
credibility
is imbuing me
to not drink the water sourced
in the graveyard so drinking arsenic
from the embalming procedure
i don't think most of those bodies
buried in that cemetery could afford...

— The End —