You can not get angry right now. everyone is looking.
exhale
focus on the
exhale
        inhale
**** colored popcorn diesel tobacco
place two feet ten toes on red dirt
swing
no paws
you are not a dog
no one is asking you to sit
spin your phlegm past your uvula
Loogie perpetrates surprised face
this is much more effective than fisticuffs
disgust.
disgust them as much as they are disgusted by you
see
your tastes are mutual

why is everyone so ******* sensitive these days? Brine Kaiser? die Norden Kaiser? well, Tsar and Fuhrer taught them well... the Brits want to smoke the Poles out in providing a narrative... the empire is gone... gone gone gone... i'm just curious... why is everyone so sensitive these days? personally? i obstruct any point of monotheistic orthodoxy with the Malachi heresy of the concept of reincarnation... Christianity doesn't and Islam doesn't really bother me... Harry Enfield said enough to counter: said as much; if ever you were looking for the perfect cloning mechanics, i'd look at Christianity and Islam... god... using these words in any rational discussion can make anyone and everyone seem so ****** barbaric.

you already heard of the Hebraic version
of democracy *ecce **** - in Christ, and thus said:
in the outer-Roman conquerors or Yiddish
and Holocaust -
the twisted Hindu doctrine -
thus the crowd bellowed -
and thus, the crowd, received -
to what waking hour are
we to be woken to in fear?
as this fear, perpetrates to be
heard and resound in profoundness?
or hath no Jew a clue
as to weave an answer?
                       except that concerning
Palestine?! then so be said: as
it would be done -
                         or keeping
to a polytheistic doctrine
at its centre Malachi's reincarnation mantra -
then too spat on,
rejected,               admonished -
             then by equal cure: also
done unto by equating measure;
for i have no cherry to cherish
in the suburbs of Jerusalem,
as i have no figs to break Ramadan with
to suit a Muslim -
            both to me both are deservedly walled in -
and inclined to take each other's lives -
                 and should be entombed
in their jealousy of heated dispute -
both are worth the wall,
with one wall the Jews built to encode
an exclusion of Arabs, then i, with a second,
exclude the Jew with Arab,
and a second wall, beginning with
the Ottoman and ending with the Saudi -
there: each rat to eat his own...
and learn monotheism as if he were learning
cannibalism;
anyone with other lessons reside here: and the future
of that region is spared in retaining the present...
leave 'em to it, like rat eating rat in
a tomb of awaited death...
                  leave them, to it:
just so i can hear the peasant eat the rabbis
of quickened-tongues when they start dressing-up
    to a spectacle: authority of dress from imam
and rabbi... authority of dressing up,
never, never, the learning curvatures of what
expansion: in the beginning was the word: reason -
   or the one who didn't dress-up
              in fancy dress, but made eloquent
his reasons, and the impersonal god -
                       the pepper in the arses of the crowd:
as said: ants in my pants and i was about to say: termites:
'cos i was woody Allen and a full-bloodied ****...
        come north, come north,
they came north... what attacked the Romans
they thought wouldn't attack them; oh gee... it did.
brick them up together, them along with the Palestinians,
i want the Saudi reaction... they're rich enough
to give me one; if they don't? i'll ask the Bangladeshi
slaves who built the Dubai tower about how one fares
in the desert.

Every left aligned string of words produced by me has been tainted
Chiseled at and infiltrated by a pain i cannot describe without these words
The syllables that cling to my soul trying to preserve my long lost innocence

My only way of coping with the sadness and the hatred
That run like blood so deep in my veins it's impossible to separate from me
Is to tie together letter after letter in order to try to forget

I've always had the urge to run so far away from my problems they can't find me
Instead as an adversary of my only works of art and of my sanity
You push me

Like a mirror cracked and broken in all of the vital places you reflect me
Reminding me that I'm not the only one broken in this world
And giving me another reason to cling to whats left of my reason to live and hold on to my life

One that I so badly needed as I watched the time tick by
Lost in this cloud of darkness that surrounded me
With no way to feel my way out nor find a glimmer of light to guide me

You taught me that I didn't need a light to see
Instead you took my hand and guided me by touch
Feeling my way out of the darkest of tunnels until a light far away was visible again

If only faint, it was there for me to see after so long of pure blackness
My eyes couldn't fathom what you had shown me
So like an old habit popping up my walls came burrowing up from the ground

Like they always do in dire situations yet for once
I fought to keep them down
For in you I know I have found something I was doubting the existence of

Care, love, and passion a friendship unexplainable even in my poetry
I fight now for words to describe the debt my heart owes to you for keeping me alive
One i will never be able to repay, not that you would allow me to if i tried

For being the broken and helpless person I am somehow I helped you too
The two of us fumbling for words and life couldn't be more thankful to have found each other
Where our two worlds coincide is where we will now be lost forever

That hand in the darkness saved me, now those eyes in the light
Push me forward when every fiber of my being wants to retreat
To forget about promises I've made and run back into trying to forget

To turn back into a person I was long ago where death was my only friend
Where love was a syllable only uttered with lost and my heart was always breaking
Now instead I've found reason for it to heal

Remembering all of the past I fought so hard to forget it
Has made moving forward much easier
Now every shuffled step I take is toward the light instead of away from it

Because now I am viable to admit that it is there
For once in my life I have hope that everything is going to be okay
Yet my tendency to act like everything already is okay

Still perpetrates my bones
I'm an actress at heart and the world is my stage
Feelings and emotions are my lines to be portrayed

I would win an award for best actress if they judged on this kind of show
But still you fight to keep me alive even as I try to hide and lie
Somehow I think you see the truth inside of me

For I must admit
Any person who would guide my through the darks and depths of my tunnel of death
Knows more about me then I do about myself some days

So I guess these words are trying to utter thank you
For saving me in ways that no one else has ever tried nor been able to
These three lined verses are no stranger to hatred or sadness or love

But they have never seen the likes of a poem of pure friendship
A different kind of love that has never entered the strings of lines
I tend to write, so scared to share or even press enter

I have nothing left to give or say
For everything these words have said say it all
You saved me from something I wouldn't have survived otherwise

Thank you.

If there's doubt it's probably wrong
If it burns it's because it's hot

If it breaks it was never strong
If it's real it can't be bought

If it rains it's bound to pour
If it makes you crazy you should run

If it truly sees you it won't ignore
If it's intended there's probably a pun

If it's perfect it's definitely flawed
If there's no proof then it's not legit

If it perpetrates it's a bonafide fraud
If it's not the right size it's not a good fit

If it meets you halfway that's not enough
If it hurts it can't possibly be true love

by my account the 20th century is still asleep,
what with the outdated publishing world,
thanks, i can buy toilet paper, cheaper, elsewhere.
i take the: you will regret it if you don't
route with five beers -
the usual: a rich neighbourhood,
great houses, **** me, love to live in one
of those, but wouldn't love to pay the electricity bill...
and doubly usual, a colt rummaging in his
emotions in a park, atypical of affluent neighbourhoods,
the young males doing the Werther: sad o me
impression... violins aplenty...
it's a sinister choke (rather than a joke)
for the reality... so he's in the park,
i'm on the pavement admiring the rich folk:
nice barns... very nice barns... shame that no one
really lives in them... forgive me, it's Saturday:
the noblemen and noblewomen are
the lesser tourists in London...
the point of ensō? to write as if holding your
breath with a thumb-up-yer-****...
all very much *** pistol worded: god give
the queen a pension... and the nutcracker
the eat end.. for some ******* and brawling...
cheeky little ****... but you walk down these streets
and think: economy squat, or squatting standing up?
or, perhaps... you keep those Victorian street lamps
and i get a good view of what pyramids multiplied
looks life? but serious, i walk enough outside of
experiment königsberg i get visual
inspiration, i forget encoding sounds in order
to do the blatant of: making people, visualise things
that aren't there...modern fiction...
or alias for schizophrenic diagnostics type A...
******* never go away... ****-poor in writing the
**** book, needs a film to give it a compound
of steroid-amphetamines...
two books... two!
high fidelity & the scarlet and the black that
encouraged me reading the books after seeing the film...
i too wish lord of the rings came out later
so i had the chance... **** reading them now...
they're like a two volume edition of Proust...
chance meeting with the meat-heads at the gym...
i'd rather be found pumping iron that reading
a two volume edition... plus... i chose a class
of associated writers... Joyce the Proust,
and Pound the lampshade....
yes, i too wish i was lefty and liberal minded...
but i'm odiously right and liberal minded:
meaning i like a drink and a joke...
we all wish to be lefty liberals -
                                   we all do...
it's what called: the key to the hole concerning
entering a playhouse where everything
is minded without political lingo -
or what Einstein did to physics -
   the butterfly and tornado...
                       the biggest croquet heap of *******
i have ever heard...
             given enough light-years... the universe
just, sorta, becomes, two-dimensional...
      so this rich kid depressed walking alone in
the park... finished my can of beer and started to
**** about with the fence...
   rattling the beer can against the fence...
for a xylophone impromptu -
  **** me, those houses grand but nothing to say
about them except for: barns...
                      scarecrow personalities and
puff here, puff gone the next lives...
who's children could enter a quiz show and tell you
more brands then countries...
    Angola is probably a mountain,
                    Trinidad is a term for lake in Swahili...
and Nike is neither a goddess nor a parasite but
    a new pair of trainers...
so under a street lamp i crushed the can of beer
and tried to aim it at the nearby trash can -
missed, waved my hand in a downward spiral
and felt nothing about keep park aesthetics pristine...
  walk a bit further... ****** on someone's garage door...
no, really, it's asleep... it's too early for those
  who are published to realise there's a modification
going on... a bit like Napster... sorta like it...
   we're bypassing clerics and censors...
****'s for free, obviously... but to actually, experience,
the ultimate freedom, wouldn't you want to do
it, even if it's for free?         the capacity to experience
    full freedom, without a profit margin,
without even caring if the thing sells, or doesn't...
with paper priced at about 30 quid per month
and unlimited ink?
                                     always... at the turn of any
given century... there are those still recycling
the previous century's ideas in order to simply
buy televisions... no wonder the television
is a hypnotic eye of shadows according to
Plato's puppets' experiment -
       rich house, poor house...
                         it's all the same.
sure, i published a book, but the drugs are in
instant access - it's the only true reality of what
was once deemed the Schengen principle -
obviously that doesn't include people, but ideas...
as once, travelling to Glencoe, in a Scottish fish shop
a three layered tier of importance:
  c. the people who talk about other people (gossip)
   are < b. the people who talk about
                    events (journalism), who in turn
   are < a. the people who talk about ideas...
         Scotland... a village chip shop... and that as a
"bumper"sticker in the window... i must be in heaven.
but those people in journalism and the publishing
industry forgot, or quiet simply undermined
the privilege of being able to exploit an environment
so adamantly - they forgot that the internet is
not about making a buck - who would want to make
money in a completely free environment?
               bypassing the many rules and regulations
  of creativity's fatalism, and the author's right to
buy a kettle or a washing machine?
                               if you were to ask me:
where can i get clean mineral quality water?
          i'd tell you where, i know where to find it,
takes about three miles to get to the source,
but i could show you were to find mineral quality water.
i'm giving them 50 years... 50 years before
the now free movement of ideas entices the authorities
to introduce censorship of some kind...
                    at the moment it's all true and really
Schengen... in principle, as in practice -
         because, there's, no, desire, for, making, a, profit...
is that noble? well, n'ah... it's more or less:
         for the love of something that, with due hope,
will **** you con. all expectations for seeing the summer
solstice for the 70th count-to-remember summer -
    and all that arthritis handshakes with shadows -
as ever: the turtle reached his 100th birthday  -
  synthesising nothing -
            man reached his 70th birthday having analysed
all the potentials to prolong his life,
        synthesised the 70th year,
          without really analysing the allocated 30...
and for all that science, and hope for celebrating an
achievement of the total human endeavour -
left the rotten wrinkly ******* in their own faeces
and ****... because, well... not analysing the world
with only 30 years to spare... wisdom, suddenly appeared
at the age of 60... but this sort of analysis was
a bit like saying: just be happy with your synthetically
prolonged life...
                                because how many people, these days,
can claim to have acquired the analytically prolonged
life of the ancient Greeks? null.
                   as it stands: people live up to
a prolonged age... with the ***** avalanche pulverising
them to die as soon as possible...
               almost like the fruit of knowing good
and evil... the conjunction already plays the narrative joke:
                  not: good from evil...
   but: good and evil...                                so are we to
expect a differentiation? no!            we will do both
simultaneously -
                                   **** seeking justice in the mouth
of another human with a justice whip -
            i want to experience theocracy in the intended
format - i.e. hearing it from the horse's mouth -
               and since the horse isn't here...
   i'll just watch the theocratic cinema of Syria for
the moment... and see how democracy perpetrates
idea worship - for what's left of the twilight engulfed idols.

Please know that I am proud to suffer with you, to sup of this with you: all of the parasites and pestilence that time perpetrates. I share the surprise that simmers in your widening sunshine eyes, which right now brim with tears at the dawn of life. You aren't ready to know this yet, as I hold your hand, but you have many moments ahead of you where this sympathy is all you will have.

Others chatter at the edges of our vision and ask whether you could ever understand. Yet your first response is to ask if she is gone forever, and there is no better definition of what has happened. You understand everything. It is just that, where we talk of the evils done by people, you have monsters that prey on the innocent for no reason. Where we have injustice, you have bullies. And if they are not the same, then you do not understand; and if you do not understand, then it is because you do not suffer. Yet I am here with you now, and I know you do, and I know you will. You will hold its bright little ball tight in your hands and halt it as long as you can, until you burst.

Thermometers say you are wrong
But you believe greedy businessmen
Seismographs say you were wrong
But you believe religious charlatans
Electrocardiograms say you're wrong
But you believe the words of bigots
Encephalograms tell you you're wrong
Geiger counters tell you you're wrong
Microscopes tell you you're wrong
Yet you believe the Big Oil propaganda
Telescopes tell you you're wrong
Yet you believe the lies of Big Pharma

It is such an unforgiving task to talk
And know there is nobody in there.
Inside your head, soul or heart;
It’s pathetic to know under your hair
There is the kind of sad mentality
That rejects reality if it disagrees
With something another fool has taught
And though you ought to learn reality
You keep looking for more crazies
To say things that match your philosophy
And that perpetrates the tragedy of today
Which may take decades to go away.
It did the last time.

Objectified manifest's dimensional delineations are totally tangential to trajectory extant.  Infinite possibility's exponentially extemporaneous eidetic prospectus perpetrates incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology.  It's sheer omnificent ubiquity.   Manumission's vicarious recalcitrance to epistemological entelechy's maieutic had an exogamous homogeny with spatiotemporal telemetry's exigence.  The basic fecundity of cosmic continuum's radix repartee's mesomerism becomes corporeally preternatural's impetus intrigue to intuitional intrepid. 
       Livid lucid lambent loquacious emanations that presage synergy's retrospectively retroactive to nuance fulgurous fulham's fulcrum.  Cognizance categorical imperative's cognitive, clairaudience clairvoyance, omniscient omnipotent omnipresence.  Unary's unbridled aorist actuator's ethology's entelechy.  Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities to demagoguery.  Hegira to Xanadu ne plus ultra exodus.  Elan Vital's apotheosis.  Hectic duty deontological probity.  Noumenal sentience's irrefragably inevitable semantics.  Pandemically phatic futurity fatidics to kitsch kithe.  Chicanery dynamism's fealty! 

I'm sorry Melan but I don't believe that we must lose track of our corporeal being's identity to experience the true essence of love.  We should enhance each other's  cognizance constituency.

Purely noumenal or epistemologically maieutic?   Existentially transcendental transmogrification, transmute, transude, transubstantiate.  Spiritual apercu’s incarnate.  Infinite possibilities eidetic prospectus perpetrates incorporeity ideology’s perfectible ontology.  Elan vital’s entelechy’s apotheosis.  Psychic clarity’s evolutional ascension.  Perpetuity’s adamant tenacity.  Sentience’s inevitably irrefragable logistical tactician.  Preternatural’s ostensibly immortal fecund.  

Yes, lie with me and I will indeed proceed to exceed the parameters of your mind with mesmerizingly enrapturing ecstatic euphoria.  Sublimely surreal futurity fatidic and  decadently arrogant blatant flagrancy.  Incorrigible atrociously impetuous impudence,  pusillanimous no.  Enthrallingly endearing sensually demonstrative flirtatious flamboyance.  What’s to extravagant exorbitance portray……… exserted protuberance’s indefatigably indomitable.  Sexuality’s infrangibly latent virilities, erotica erectile errantry’s hubris!  Feral phrenic frenzied ****’s salaciously seductive.

i could have had siblings,
and turned out less... quirky...
but then Chernobyl happened...
and it was like...
either we keep one,
or we breed another,
     hapless limb-McKenzie;
i.e.?
   i'm not a solipsist by nature,
or choice,
  rather...
             a scare...
                  given that atheism
already knows that god,
or, "god", has solipsism ingrained
in "its" ontological architecture....
   and...
       wasn't Kant who revitalißed
the concern for dialectics?
why pin down Hegel as originator?
     i've moved past conversational
english in compositional parameters...
       alles ist abstrakt...
     there's conversational english,
which i retain...
   but compositional english?
  sorry...
                        there's an automated
hindering herr zensor in place...
                      conversational english
is for english people...
     my english?
           they don't teach in the native
high-schools;
also known as
     schattenzungepuppenspiel...
and i know how the ancient Saxons
love their compounding of words,
   how they loath the French deviance
from diacritical markers -
how they eat up consonant syllables,
and how they loath,
English shrapnel,
  and the hyphenation, intra-words...
guess this sort of ontology,
perpetrates, a central european
bias against the outliers -
Mc for the catholic in scotland...
Mac for the protestant
           under the guise of Knox.
so look, at the Chinese predicament of
the weight of my predicament
behind me... wavering and counter-instigating
a perspective...
of being a mono- guise of
reproductive structuring...
        if only Chernobyl didn't happen...
i'm sure that my mother
would have been more ballsy to
allow me a younger brother, or sister...
        i guess...
   i managed to figure out the solo...
more than, those forced to play
out the siblings orchestration...
oh i compete, to the death,
with my first acquired sibling...
mein schatten.