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lovers

dreamt you said forever yours your lips opened and I was here now

perfectly still she listens to falling cherry blossom music the mournful sky and I envious a witness to evening in her hair

midnight thighs talk wine song dance dawn on railroad earth laughter lovely tears lovely

the stained glass of her mouth my soul gladdened by the rosary of her body

awake pray to the Almighty or roll over and kiss her

roadside she squats ****** I love listening to her the stars

a headring of dead posies on the pillow after all night dancing at first light she picks tea roses

behind kind walls we make love sleep then dream of each other

I wake still inside you rose petals fallen around the porcelain vase by our bed

night hiking with friends thinking about her ***** I forget about the full moon

she arranges roses she speaks with pain about her art God me

sometimes I can't tell if I'm you like last night I you bathing my your feet

I think about it then cut one and another all my roses for her

she eats what I don't I finish her sentences people despise us for laughing her parents don't approve friends whine I neglect them

she inhales the yang in me undresses her soul so I belong to no one else

she pulled my pants down while I ironed said it turned her on

skin to skin and the blossom of your whisper closer come closer my darling we're on our way to where we've never been before

when you hurt my love turns soldier against all biblical stones I'd even marry death if hurled toward you

full of the world I retreat sighing dark between her thighs I know I'm fooling myself
night wraps us in darkness we dream drift long for our cage of light to rise

**** tears poems kids with you feverish with you broke what more do you want

******* and hurt I let the phone ring

for weeks my lover ******* about money kids the house getting free last night she ****** my brains out

sad wildflowers lovely braided in the graying hair of my once and only love

Pfeiffer's waterfall the rocky waves at sunset better when we held hands here

once I decided poetry is it she never came back

wake alone with night inside me your perfume still on the pillow how long 'til morning?

I wait all night outside your house the wind blowing through me

dancing in cities quiet in the redwoods I wander worry wish and unwish carry on with a lock of her hair

hope woke when the door creaked open but it was the cat come in  from a night of love making

up all night writing my better gone kids asleep knowing it's only paper song

I was okay until morning doves started cooing at each other

she's long gone even so thought I saw her today

no longer a ring on her hand a song in her sorrow I am gone

years of wind whistle about gravestones one by one carries away her favorite violets
SE Reimer Jan 2016
~

gold-encrusted jewels dance
on sun-drenched ocean stacks,
his rugged rocks etched deep
by her waves from far beneath,
and Pacific’s gusty breath;
his wind-swept islets burn,
aflame in sunset's dying embers,
like a lover's siren call.
his chiseled keyholes waiting
for the ciphered piercing rays
to collide in rushing tidal spray.
unlocking sunset's golden hour...
surging forth then quickly fades,
as sunbeam fingers slowly slip,
beneath horizon's sultry lip;
dusk unfolds in magic hues,
molten rose turns scarlet blues,
night descends as one by one,
we raptured star-kissed lovers
disembark this ferris wheel;
the curtain falls again,
with sea and rocks
rehearsing lines
to play again another day.
this their theatre
of the night,
performed by two alone,
beneath the moon
and starry sky.

~

*post script.

our last time through in 2004 was a blur on our way through to San Diego, an exhilarating ride for certain, with all of its bends and curves experienced top down in a convertible, but hardly doing justice to Big Sur’s stunning scene in mere hours; we told ourselves we simply had to return.  

it took eleven years, and this time we spent a full five days and nights along Highway 1, towing a camper and slow-driving south from Monterrey all the curves to Morro Bay, exploring just about every hike and lookout in between; and in so doing, validating our return in a most satisfying way.  Big Sur is officially off our bucket list!  her sunsets were particularly rewarding, especially two... one enjoyed at sea level, from the sand and keyholes at Pfeiffer Beach day use area, the other delighted us from high above the ocean waves, seated at the picnic table of our cliff-side camp site at Kirk Creek Campground.

a most refreshing time to recuperate and recharge our spirits; five glorious days of disconnection, reconnecting to nature, each other and best of all, life at the speed of sunsets and star gazing; evenings spent round the campfire with no cell, no i-pad, no laptop, only the light of the fire, the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes!
my profile cover collage shows from left to right- Pfeiffer Beach - "golden spray", Pfeiffer Beach - "keyhole at sunset"  Kirk Creek - "sunset from our picnic table"
Arcassin B Jan 2015
By Arcassin Burnham

La la la la la ,
As the song played,
She use to make it hard to stare at the test that was displayed,
Played tricks on my mind,
No one could make me feel the colors you were so divine,
La la la la la,
Pretty green eyes to make you have a seizure,
She knew how to take control of her ****** features,
Model type like Michelle Pfeiffer,
She's a cat hear her roar,
Smoking hot like cigarettes and lighters,

Loving you is more than just a dream come true.

R.I.p M.R
R.I.p Minnie

Coming out with a Minnie riperton ep sooner :)
Arcassin B Jan 2015
By Arcassin Burnham

La la la la la ,
As the song played,
She use to make it hard to stare at the test that was displayed,
Played tricks on my mind,
No one could make me feel the colors you were so divine,
La la la la la,
Pretty green eyes to make you have a seizure,
She knew how to take control of her ****** features,
Model type like Michelle Pfeiffer,
She's a cat hear her roar,
Smoking hot like cigarettes and lighters,

Loving you is more than just a dream come true.
R.I.p Minnie Riperton
Jessica Pfeiffer Jul 2014
Name in which I hid behind.
Lucy a girl who had daddy issues and like me stood to fight.
Guy a boy who saw the future was undefined.
Jessica Pfeiffer the person no longer afraid to hide what she wrote and is ready to take flight.
I wrote this a while ago and I am finally read to share. Hello everyone my name is Jessica. :)
Sophia Gaffney Apr 2015
Sitting amidst a world of beauty,
Of rolling mountains, winding rivers, roaring oceans,
Of crystal blues and emerald greens,
You are still the only thing on my mind.
Capturing my thoughts.
Constraining my ideas.
Because the Pfeiffer
Only reminds me of you yet
It doesn’t even compare to the striking blue
of your eyes.
And the entirety of the scene I sit in is incomparable to your splendor.
Oh how I wish you were here.
Beside me,
Gazing upon these sights
As I gaze upon you.
And if I could stay here,
In all of this wondrous creation,
Forever,
But that forever was without you,
Than I would chose to leave,
To storm out of the absurdity.
If this place is breathtaking than you have suffocated me,
Stealing more air from my lungs than this world ever could.
I crave you.
I crave your laugh and the smile that follows,
I crave your grasp and your warmth,
I crave the words that pour from your lips.
Oh your lips.
May I feel their kiss that floods my body from head to toe?
It is limerence with you.
Why do you have the hold on me that you do?
Even your flaws,
They drive me insane,
The insane where nothing else can be done because you
Are all that I am on.
You upstage these cliffs and outshine these stars.
The glow radiating from this sunset takes me back to the glow of your skin,
That first roped me in, and has since refused to let go.
And as these sand fleas hop from grain to grain
Your image hops around in my brain
And I cannot wait to sleep,
For morning will bring a new day and that new day may carry your voice with it
And place it in my ever-craving ear.
Hurting to hear your beauty that is triumphant
Over the sound of these slow rolling waves.
As cheesy as this may be,
The cheesiness you deem to hate,
I write all of this,
Which your eyes may never see,
Your ears never hear,
Your hands never touch,
Simply to say…
I miss you.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
it's not exactly cymande's dove -
    it's mytho's dreamlab (1975) -
  a dedication to wernher von braun -
on the odd occasion
the youtube algorithm feeds
me a nostalgia of suggestions
like it used to: and i forage for
new music...
nucleus' alleycat from the same year...
well:
i'm no bukowski and this is not
one of those moments to
test my strengths of patience
for mahler's: how i will die
with this deafness -
    i know what's lacking in my life
is having listened to the oeuvre...
or have read melville's moby ****...
somehow horizons of
new complete: upon a arrival with
a nudge from charon -
i will come against myself:
rather than upon myself...
by chance...
  that this is not high-brow literature
by any stretch of the imagination:
but i believe myself to be
endowed within the confines
of the democratic process -
a quiver a trembling...
i had to do several impossible
things today...
i laughed from conjuring
a memory while
painting some "chess board"
darkened oak of a makeshift
for the climbing rose to aspire to
with a cling...
i scratched my teeth -
i pretended to play
a violin by fiddling
with my beard:
no exactly de profundis:
but god... how i miss my chin...
i patted myself on the head
while pretending to vortex
imitation over my tummy -
this new man needs to
imagine the process of
caricature of insemination -
i am not the same willing
***** that gave me: you...
   pronoun baggage -
it's so tender in this english:
all english that can be
completely missing in: mutterzunge...
miles davis' ******* brew...
a composition
to imitate the crashing of
piano...
        as i drink i keep a tally...
once i fed an rainbow trout's eye
to a cat...
once i fed a female mosquito to
a cat...
once i had a dog and...
i couldn't possibly rob myself
of a memory of childhood by owning
a dog now...
i am quasi-jealous of people
who have dogs...
it's enough that i tow along
a shadow when i "expatriate"
beyond my day-to-day
trajectory - when
i want to experience an automatic
thinking - pointless memory
weathering -
i sometimes want this completeness
of the incomplete...
no higher sentiments...
new music: not something that
could cradle youth and
the stadium anthem -
something -
even now: one can become
tired of drinking and the occasional
smoke...
           i wouldn't want
to find myself returning to
a paragraph or a novel -
when reading: yes...
    but i couldn't stand the agony
of... not without this impromptu...
sedated into a comfort
looking upon the oeuvre of
jack spicer...
   my grandfather owns
the whole lot of alexander dumas...
i'm petrified of this
microcosm of a forest stashed
on a shelf...
         grand baron apostrophe in
english is so amazing...
i mean: the pedant's treat:
a pedantic treat -
            you can be allowed so many
deviations from orthodoxy -
you can almost wriggle your
way into an imitation jonah -
anglophile i am:
but i see no london burning -
teasing from the outskirts -
flute come to the party...
accent of impressionism -
   diacritical markers -
         i know that i am not writing
for money for excavating purposes:
i can make these little purposes
of fail all the time...
i want to own this language
as if i were born within its confines:
such that i am: "late" arrival:
thrown into the deep end come
me ate: eight - better - eating...

         gladly... because i arrived to it...
it wasn't dictated from "above"
like german or russian might have...
even though: ich muss necken
           alt vater:
              deutschespreschen...
for posterity... ahem... glum looking
joke...
not because i want to champion
the affair of: ****** the private individual...
beside the stage and oration:
yes... clearly he wasn't cut for painting...
i need to fail on writing
this nibbling from the exterior
with an ulterior purpose of tao -

zen my ****'s last worth...
conundrum: a really decent bicycle or...
two hours in a brothel...
hell... perhaps three...
but the bicycle and the return to
the days of drooling over
traffic and nibbling at essex...
i know that i don't know this
over-sexing is me being caged...

well... if you're going to be over-sexed:
pulverised toward status: neuter -
i sometimes mind: not minding...
the genetic argument doesn't really work
on me... given...
i could pass on... hardly the usain bolt
genes...
i could really pass on the most
severe indignation:
i like to call this...
the self-realisation that those
gene-power-proof german doctors
of the ***** had some sense:
in staging such grotesque arguments...

    for the purpose of a pleasure that
i can exhaust...
i don't even need to summon
frankenstein's monster argument:
it's not pivotal -
  when the hormones raged -
fair enough...
                   i can exhaust the argument
with all the readily available *******
and: i will not have to look out
for...                 the trojan dye-d'oh...
or...        ms. dill, ms. dough...

                       from the mother tongue
i couldn't possibly write such
nuances of sounds...
i would be left ******* with crisp cut...
orthographical measures -
   i'd be arguing over: pedantic subject
matters... none of this "poetry" /
graffiti...

                     scratching something vinyl:
elongating some liquorice...
detailing the zenith of england
prior to the dissolution
of the empire...
                  
   in all god given honesty i feel inclined
to be... living here...
it's supposedly not much
but i sense a becoming warmth
as to how...
   it would sometimes take
great care for me to not put on
my "sociopathic" chameleon disguise
of burdening accents:
from the original take:
we're all gammon and himalayan
salt indistinguishable sometimes...

but the affairs of the copperskins...
the camel jockeys, the choccies...
well... at least i'm not colour blind...
i forget to see white...
i forget to nudge some black...
black? you mean: cardamom
with that smokiness -
or nigella seeds?
                 that's black... coal is black...
frank zappa's ****** hair is
black... ***** likewise...
i forgot to be colour blind...

     give me hues!
          give be bold bulging gargoyle-esque
****** features to scare the demons
away...
no?
it has to be a variation
on a new sort of: "racism"...
if we're going to survive the basic lesson...
leave me in the grey humpty-dumpty
area of omelette...
            this be here: the dozen
of eggs that became...
a feast for serpents that didn't become
leather boots... or purses...

leave me to this little cul de sac
of imitation jazz...
  
        synchronised: coincidentally -
but more: a sigma purpose:
  an in totalis - a variation of polyphony -
new jargon - elevated new jargon...
an australian concept of
a savoury-esque dessert -
a beetroot ice-cream...

   pause: syllable cutter:
    not co-in-cidentally -
               a... variation of: ex similis:
but not simultaneously -
too many ******* vowels!
hear it one way: write another...
english is as bad as fwench...
grr...

           well yeah: i'm doing something
more than my supposed democratic
obligation:
i am not voting because i will
write for: the purpose of writing...
english democracy is looked upon
by russian strategists as something
that extends to allow transvestites
and other magpie exotica...

         this current life: this private
adventure...
      would i gladly summon these letters
in such a manner that i...
oh don't bother:
gladly "expatriate": gladly exile...
come to think of it...
if i were to argue about orthography
for so much time as i were
to be alive in...
        english adjusts and makes
pardonable the nuances of grammar...

little can be said: of the already
little given...
                      i want to jump high...
the caged ******* sonnet...
i planned sleep prior to writing this...
that's about it...
once... no... now:
i want to rekindle a fetish for
toying with going full commando
in denim...
  and... to twist the plot...
a ******* will always be nibbled
by the zipper...

it's: the evening i discovered ian carr's nucleus...
the original title simply read as: it's...
then some grandiosity appeared
with a mountain being towed...
and a fairytale...

this grand composure of
the bass routine... ***-ar...
drums on one side...
and solo projects on the other...
something so pristine without
lyrics - which is something i hoped
to exploit... not necessarily make synch...
i'm not a beat poet and i will
not read my words over a jazz:
as some refrigerator humming:
dulling these already pronounced
accents of sound:

a moth twice the size of my thumb
makes attempts to posit a selfie
with its: my eyes' scrutiny:

the jazz quintet is hardly an orchestral
testament of polyphony -
but... teasing at an earl grey in
inconveniences of "lacking"...

a dull moth the size of two thumbs
pressing against each other:
my little loitering project of future:
in eternity from bypassing:
on the the behalf of over punctuation:
as that clarity in the future of words...
or a lack of it...
with etymology...

******* into the sink...
simultaneously flushing the toilet
while washing your hands:
new age of multitasking...

by way of talking to cats:
herr mimic something akin to: ćć..
which is not the english CH - tugging along
the tetragrammaton...
or the full crown of the czech: caron...
                            č...
it's more slush-puppy piquant...
the sort of "thing" that defies
imitation with ny borrow of
meow or bark...

on my bookshelf:
madame bovary in a single tomme -
and... that opening line
of tolstoy's anna...
that misery is unique: particular -
to borrow the old greek dichotomy -
while happiness is ubiquitous -
generic -
             therefore universal...
indistinguishable from
a buddha to a screwdriver
from a jesus christ or a christening
of the next new plotline of
psychopathy...

           halves the hour: in that such
an album is half an hour's worth...
sooner a route relay
with the royal mile and cow gate
towing for any tourist come
edinburgh...

             beside myself:
i will not ever... torture myself
with a novel or a paragraph...
it either comes... or it doesn't...
it's not exactly courting a used to:
coherency...
and you are the reader...
club of exclusivity -
i have written by never bothered
to read back what it is
that i spewed out...

okokamona from roots (1973)...
cow bell... teasing nazareth's:
hair of a dog...
led zeppelin's dyer maker: "jamaica"...
yes... *****'s heaving
a son...
                     some variation of
abortions galore -
that i eat plenty of them in a poultry
feast come morning -
that i'm later scratching
the least of a possible pride:

white gold rubric:
michael pfeiffer...
sharon stone...
              a grizzly with a snub
at an alias: Tobias...
         next leftover project of expansive
"thinking": this little detail of moi too...
come again?
come again?
   *** ah'dzin: eh? gin...
it's not a giggle: it's not a girdle...
it's mr. dzin / jinn... tow the tonics
yourself..
some variation of fripp
is nothing near a hendrix -
some variation is all we heave
to have to topple...

lazy whitey jazz like some
interlude in rainy towing
scaffolds of seattle -
   settled peaches or... thereby plums
to the pulp of the excavations
made mad by pristine...
this feeble work-around
of flesh... in fruit or via
pork with offal... sequences
of bible bashing and that up-kept year
of langid promise echoes...

oh ******* of the most pristine
bluebottle types of flies
congregating:
there's no pawn broker of
klansman in sight...
to wed bed-sheets to a scrutiny of
ghosts...
that such a word
is still scrutinised with a hyphen
"interlude" and that it
can't be... classically: deutsche...
compounded into
a juggling act of syllables?
m'eh!

it has to be a variation of elitism...
   not because it actually is...
but that there's a necessary niche biped
wanting:
to have this kept sacrificial
lamb and a sacrilege of it's purpose
to make grief (grieve, slightly)
(of) a lack of demands
for the impossible task...
english can't be consolidated:
england can be bent to forward
a cosmopolitan rot of an idea...
england can be anything the rodney plonkers
want it to: Clapham want it to
burrow...

english and the universal rubrics
of grammar...
yes no right yore sire...
my missing sir... my drum solo project...
my mobias **** -
my amore amore amore! dulce primo:
linguo - kaff et normandy: genesis...

for the exertion of a patience...
that could never come bu was nonetheless
expected:
by dog races in the abandoned
stadium: of a looted womfowd tool fow
exhauted torn...
  maybe vels - or velsh...
or really? this is not scripted teasing
dubliner gaelic?!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
.   alexa fischer...

  so she's not

michelle pfeiffer?!

             gobsmacked!

just peeled
an...
                    avocado.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
today, what was today? oh, right,  Sunday...
a proper Sabbath at that, started drinking at around 4pm...
there was this great movie on in the garden...
something akin to: well... not akin to...
it was the movie: Seine at Argenteuil -
the one where Monet finds something akin to vanilla
in the sky... i was looking for demonic faces
in the clouds... one hour passed... another hour passed...
i sort of tried to pretend to wake up:
being wide awake... ****... i missed this football
match i was really eager to watch...
i was looking at clouds and thinking about ***...
later i managed to watch some of Batman Returns
for kicks concerning Michelle Pfeiffer in latex...
first or second, after nylon? or just bare skin...
that's the thing... when i get a taste for something...
it burns my Brian of a brain...
it's a hot ******* bagel... i'm still thinking about
doing it ******* in front of the mirror
while she allows me to slap her *** and even likes it...
in the morning i closed my eyes and tried
to find the best parts of the body to pinch...
and... find the best parts of the body to tease with
a bite...
but i didn't do much of anything today...
felt sick... like... vomiting sick: couldn't keep the food
down... cycled for a bottle of scotch...
then... some leftover tomato soup...
i need vegetables! that's why i couldn't keep the breakfast
down... it was a sausage and egg sandwich...
that's never going to stay down...
fried some bacon... used mayo instead of butter...
some ketchup... sliced a tomato, a cucumber...
a tame green chilly... salad... drank the soup
on the side... ah... much better... i needed those vegetables...
took out the trash... yesterday i was busy...
waved my parents a: bye bye... made them a full English
breakfast... told them... i'm not coming with you...
no chance in hell am i going to fight for
either Ukraine or LGBTQ+ rights...
               in my mind i was like: have to see Khedra again...
it's the best *** i've ever had...
i'm not going to just give that up... on a whim of a...
whimsical war... i mean... you come across
a woman and she tells you to look at the *******
in the mirror while she's giving you oral ***?
and... the most fun part of it being: she's unabashed
about it? she lets you perform *** with her
without a ******?
after... there was this girl Jeminah you fancied...
who started working with you...
she dated some petty alcoholics in the past...
i know how it works... women who have been in relationships
with alcoholics... they build up this "sixth sense"
that tells them: you've been drinking...
trying to get a guy fired while you're working
with him on your first shift...
   blah blah... i told the other girls: don't tell her i know...
liars don't walk on stilts...
lies have short legs... charm offensive... flowers for Valentine's
day, a banana loaf... homemade wine...
ooh... you have a vinyl player?
let me come round next time with a record...
Wooden Shjips V... i think you might like it...
GHOSTED...
3 ******* days of stomach cramps, butterflies...
i'm really into this girl...
wow... she had a kid, too? let me play Ancient Roman
nobleman and be the ideal surrogate father...
3 days of cramps in the stomach...
as much as i must have liked her:
i think my body was telling me... n'ah ah... don't get
involved... she already tried to get you fired
by spreading rumours...
all that in-fighting: because this other girl complimented
me on how i smelt like a warm bath...
blah blah... ever since she ghosted me:
persona non grata: she hasn't been to a single shift...
cowering little doe... understandable...
on our first shift she talked about this date she was
supposed to go on... the guy bailed out...
he was waiting for 20 years to let his emotions known...
i think i made it pretty ******* obvious on
our first encounter that i was inclined to romance
her... she obviously had too much therapy-talk-fog
in her head to see me...
and if women are into woman-beaters...
not men who want to pander them... if they want drama
queens for boyfriends...
no wonder i retaliated by revisiting the brothel...
**** it... i'm not waiting around...
and for a while i thought i'd be the toxic male...
come to the fore speaking about past relationships...
all i told her: it would be a bad idea to date
a Russian girl these days... even i thought Ilona was
the best **** i ever got, not until i met Khedra...
as much of a cliche as it is... my Turkish Surprise...
ol' Raven Hair... with a tongue that has a mind of its
own... i even told her: i could swear you name
was the name of Muhammad's first wife...
Khadijah... eh... Khedra... Khadijah...
   then she sends me this photograph with a fellow
******* in the background...
it took me about several hours to realise something...
a bump... she's sitting there all pretty and...
PREGNANT...
i swear the last time i was at the brothel was...
eh... 5 months ago? maybe 6?
    i know i'm jumping to conclusions, unfounded...
but these days... who says red is red
to anyone? a square is a square?
   it's either insinuated or not said at all...
i do remember climaxing...
you know... in the way that women always prefer...
you ****** but she just keeps on going...
you're going limp just she's still at it...
because... that's when a man can pass the threshold
of pleasure into the territory of pain:
which is a doubling of pleasure...
helped having discovered ******* aged 8
and Marquis de Sade aged 14...
now? time to invest in life, in my zenith...
     have i become a secret ***** donor?
did i come across that perfect? tall... toned...
kissing prostitutes hands... the one that i didn't ****** with:
her forehead...
oh my head... there's absolutely nothing more
to love in this world than a woman...
esp. if she's a *******... how she makes herself
so easily available... she could **** a Quasimodo...
that's the whole point: she doesn't discriminate....
i'm just there for the carnal body eating body...
to hell with all the "nuns" of England...
           i don't have time for stuck-up girls who think
too much of themselves...
up north... the saying... ha ha... the practice is...
you bribe them with drugs and alcohol
then... pour gasoline on them telling them:
if you don't do a ******* with 20 Pakistani men...
down south? Turkish girls give you samples
of *******... i'm pretty sure i'd get more pleasure
sniffing toothpaste... no high...
she's going to surprise me... she'll bring out some
marijuana... i'm sure of it...
esp. when i told her:
                       when i smoke it:
a second becomes a minute...
a minute becomes an hour...
and hour becomes...           dare i say? a day?
it's good... this is where i wanted to be...
tomorrow will be a custodian's day...
i'll call my doctor for a repeat prescription of
Phenergan... to ease my sleep...
my debility check... i'll cycle into town to see
if there's a stream of money coming in...
i'll vacuum the house... clean the toilet... shower...
blah blah... then i'll text Khedra and ask her if she's available...
then... i'll cycle for our meeting....
£120 for an hour... hmm...
that's not enough... add half an hour on top of that...
£10 for the entrance...
£180... sure... **** it... here's to the hope of being
hit by a bus the day after: fat chance of that...
but... a sucker for pop music...
and whiskey...
                   i'm tired of waiting....
apparently 20 minutes of vigorous exercise prior
to the *** act... does marvelous "things"... hence me cycling
to the brothel... i won't be drinking...
and i already started prepping today...
****** off... almost reaching a ******:
but not actually *******...
    ugh... why am i listening to Madonna's La Isla Bonita...
oh... right... all those Hispanic stereotypes...
WASPS have... blonde girls...
tall... dark... handsome suitors...
even i had an archetype in my head:
once... once upon a time she too was blonde...
things, change...
now she's Turkic and she has raven hair...
         weird... i noticed grey hairs on my chest...
sure... around the sideburn region... in the beard...
but on my chest?
i'm getting old... ha ha...
   it's such a boring subject to write about...
it's not the Iliad or... Ulysses...
   i repeat myself... i think i repeated myself... 10 times...
but it's close to the heart and the closer it is
to the heart: the closer the heart is to life...
to actually live it...
        esp. after a ****** rejection
from an English "nun"... on no grounds other than
the ones she already instigated prior...
****'s sake... she was so much of my type...
first shift together and we spent a good 20 minutes
in a cemetery... looking at the dates on graves
from the early 18th century...
felt perfect... take a girl to a cemetery on your first
"date"... technically we were working...
but you know... plus... ginger... roots in Scotland...
and everyone knows how the ginger rule works:
****-*******-ugly or... i'm having an heart-attack
and an asthma-attack simultaneously...
and also falling off a cliff into a mouth of a Dune
worm... you get the idea? the sort of cougar
level we're talking about?
- but at the same time.... i don't want the feelings
and feel of an English woman that pretends to
be a nun... i want transparency...
eye-opening... i thought i'd be the sort of man
who'd talk about past relationships
and work... and having a child...
i just wanted to talk about vinyl, music,
movies... Sunset Boulevard... Bell, Book & Candle...
the 7 year itch... some like it hot...
vertigo...
how can you even get a word in?
i want to learn German with your son...
******* incense... hair made up all for the occasion...
no earring, nor rings on her fingers:
as if she knew... i wasn't into the human body
being equipped with those memorabilia
from the clutches of Hades...
oh... oh... what a waste of my precious time...
it felt like... looking at an unopened bottle of
whiskey... so... em... who's going to drink that
pool of Aphrodite's amber **** juice?!
not me?!
i own an original... from the 1970s... vinyl of
Deep Purple's in Rock album...
i own a gramophone... the vinyl itself...
am i just going to look at it? keep it, mint?!
deny myself... listening to Child in Time?
                       ha ha...
           i'm tired of English girls faking it... pretending like
they're not up to it...
and i love women too much...
if i have to venture into the territory of
prostitutes... and they... in turn... see my worth...
no dating apps... not now... not ever... never!
only recently i walked into Havering County Park
and found myself a... shashka...
шашка... a sort of... imitation... well...
   i was big into hoarding... ahem... collecting...
swords... my god... this branch is a beauty...
i only sharpened the tip... some of the edges...
peeled off some bark in terms of the handle-piece...
but it's pristine... i rested it... dried it...
applied some wood chemicals...
now it's hanging on my wall... a would-be Cossack
sabre...
     i waited, once or twice...
i don't mind waiting for a bus... or a train...
but for a woman? now i have found the perfect outlet...
i'm not waiting... i don't have the mortal beta-backstory
to have to fiddle with to make it: seriously:
non-predictable...
while Jimmy Page did what?! what?!
with fan-girls?
i'll do much worse with prostitutes... i'll kiss their hands...
slap their *****...
******* a day prior... but not *******...
then they do what? scrape off the ***** from
the ****** and inject themselves with it?
is that how it's going to go?
clearly a ******* bump in the "road"...
nothing ever happens by coincidence...
20 minute bicycle ride to get the blood pumping...
some absistence...
             how wrong was i...
talking about my exes... i thought i'd be the one doing
it... i don't even think she would or could tell me
who she "lost" her virginity to...
i could... Isabella of Grenoble...
            and what a sucker-punch of when eyes meet
lips proper she was...
  
even if it has to be among women society
despises... of course... not wife material: blah blah...
but... the counter?
having to court pretend would-be nuns?!
i'd honestly much prefer the 2-dimensionality of
honesty... esp. if her tongue has a mind
of its own... waggling... sort of spermatoid...
blind... seeking... a mouth... and fellow tongue...
i can stomach that... point being:
i don't think i'm even sharing her with one...
why? she's willing to have unprotected *** with me...
checking for any...
what are STDs? blisters on the genitals?!
spots? what are they? blemishes?
see... i don't even think i'm sharing her with
anyone... why would she allow me to have
unprotected *** with her?

                     she watched me wash myself before our
engagement... ergo?
   what a sensible creature of pleasure...
of hope... of managing to regurgitate the everyday
phantoms of routine...
but, please... no superficial nunnery...
once upon a time i'd give a name to a guitar
i'd play on...
             n'ah... oh... but this branch i found...
and treated... so she can hang on my wall...
no point changing her name...
                                                     шашка....
perfect... not SASHA... or... NIKITA... close enough, though.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
buying three litres of jack daniels...
at... £20 a a litre -
which is £12 short from the original
selling price...
  (so i've saved a total of
£36... which, at the current selling
price is... £4 short
of two bottles for free)...

   that i would love to believe in
dr. strangelove - and a very real fear &
potential of an atom bomb...

the spectacle of awer...
        how the 20th century could be
a casper -
             but not now...
   i could ask for a blissful sentence of
an asylum - but this current: society
of sociopaths...

  i just can't: beside the don't...
        that there is some fledgling will:
otherwise the negation of want...

well yes... bourbon is whiskey with
some maple syrup...
        i get it now...
                   maybe flashing a u-boat
on the drive...
perhaps taking time to cling
to a bucket list and parachute ****-naked...
buy and subsequently heave
20 years for petting a labrador...

there was a trickling uncertainty
when jerking off and there was....
shyla stylez...
                 born 1982... oh...
found unresponsive in her bed by
her mother... aged 35... in 2017...

it's such a pity to have such a...
monstrous high-blood pressure in
the constraints of the phallus...
i forget the puritan...
if i get away with pursuing
the orthodox guillotine
of a missing *******...
     then again:
     it would be impossible to *******
without any *******...
i guess i'm playing the joker hand...
on the toilet...
**** like a tease...
mrs. no. 1 & 2... subsequently no. 3...
it's not spectacular...
no satans are being deployed
into the air... no scented candles...

it's like a spectacle of inverting
the time it would take for wood to rot...
or ****** on mushy peas...

      oh sure... i could write of
the blue pill platonism...
                   but it's so impossible
to lie... let alone believe in lies self-generated...
from the hiding place
of the obscure... when...
people behaved like people...
had their lives and had their...
           soul crushing competitive streaks...
it was paradise to scribble...

now is no time to come to the fore...
could i encompass staging
a transcendence...
or merely this: a scuttling into the shadow...
not out of fear...
but for the sheer desire to spectate...
i mean: this requires an audience
this... this world this... whatever "this"
actually is...

the neighbour put up a new fence...
i've had over half a year of work
in perfecting the garden...
       there was putting up the pergola
with a wisteria
weaving: now blooming with tender
bishop hues...
    i'm still working on digging
an arcane concept of a trench
and flooding it self-made:
3 parts sand 1 part cement...
so the weeds from my neighbour's
garden do not sprout from beneath
the ornamental bark i laid...

if i were some evil genius:
tinged with a psychology of a soviet
past... or a mandarin current -
i wouldn't wish this militarised democracy
upon anyone...
          
           the original fear:
the oppenheimer crucible is beside
the ******* point...
                    when there was an awe inspiring
fear... a citation from the upanishads:
now i have become death...
who is to be cited in the current
climate of events...
are we experiencing a blitzkrieg
of anger from the elements...

           could it be possible that even
the gods are stricken with
a wake of the titans -
and their first riddled tier 0:
elemental forebears...

              coming to the cauldron...
if i were an evil genius:
i would want to work in the confines
of staging coups with atom bombs...
a period of paranoia and a history
that could make... 50 years a breezy
postcard nonchalance...
i'd pride myself on a parody of
a marathon... by turning up...
with 10 years of experience as a...
postman...

                   this whirling and sedating
prospect of tamed angers and
angered hopes... and docile happiness:
in the plural -nesses
       having exacted a limbo score
of stones stashed in socks...
and then flickering... like an imitation
slingshot...

     the classical period of hebrews writing
a history that would later become
incorporated into the labyrinth of the gentiles...
that London once aspired to
be a reinvention of Jerusalem...
in the 19th century's zenith...

                         that Paris transcended this
ambition...
                      what a mystery...
this new club of intellectuals...
when one tunes in to at least
a bare minimum of 2 hours in the morning
of BBC radio 3...
by comparison i tune into classic.fm
and... the same old... the same mundane...
repetition jargon...
carl orff's o fortuna...

there's no joke: it's just a platitude of
bad taste... it's bad because it's
pop repetitive... pop repetitive:
which is saying much... about classical music
being staged to a palette...

people are supposed to possess limbs...
apparently...
but i doubt that...
one can dislike the piquancy of blue cheese...
or beef honeycomb tripe...
esp. if one has...
tiramisu for dessert...
              
      i listen in on the BBC radio 3 broadcast
and i tease myself with words like...
the seclusive parody... no...
the non-inclusive... i.q. like a pH test...
one is either "intellectually" acidic or
alkaline...

old darwin can't exactly rewrite this
fork... in the lineages of history making...
what is out-dated about the english
is clinging to darwin...
by now this should be
a well reserved fact...
and loiter in the subconscious...
it should not have the capacity
to have the propensity of words...
to still have to be expressed as
a reiteration...
                    the automation
of the heart...
                                   i am beyond
the caricature of this amnesty of
"grief"...
               beyond: with a sense temporal...
only...
              
       it's not like the copernican
heliocentric model was...
but it was... something for a wittgeinstein...
it's not like he was some
william burroughs who negated
the copernican interlude...
searching for ghosts and proofs
saying: the ancient egyptians knew
of the heliocentric model all along!

one person is somehow compounded
to lie...
whether it is true... or false...
it's beside the posit and the will for
the focus of narrative...
the will to power is...
an -esque variation of...
the submerging focus for the masses...
a will to power concerns the elite...

but what concerns all of us?
the narrative of subversion...
               it's not so much a hierarchy of
glistening parodies of giggling...
at the exchange...

the will to power can be compensated...
the ordeal of a narrative...
right now! it's not necessarily true
or false...
     you can strobe light as many scientific
facts... uncertainties...
quack doctors will still sprout!

there was once a will to power...
a progress fabric / template for exceptional
men... the en masse is only now:
the last reigning exception...
what was once )will( is now )narration(...
what was once )power(... is now...
                   a "leisure" of a lie...

                  such the current world has
become so: new and in being so new:
so new-demanding...
                the old quest of a predicament
of the individual... some beckett-esque
oasis is but a half-heaved
borrowing of ancient greek monstrosity
of myth: this now new
pathology...

                   history - mythology -
journalism - temporal relativism -
all kept... within... the confines... of...
a spatial "integrity":
but i very much like... the lost butterfly
wings of "         " (odd)...

when: oh god... and if there wasn't
this propaganda machine...
but only now... you can see it speeding
up... and it's like... trailblazing
and you're wishing for some repose
with a tumbleweed
and how there could be
a cancan moment in h'americana...
when the old soviets would be
at it...

         but shyla stylez is still 35...
and dying of "reprieve"...
but i'm still gorging on beef honeycomb
tribe... and eating an italian classic
minutes later...

            because i might eat...
the livers of oinks...
the stomachs of chickens...
and the hearts...
i am barbaric...
                but i like...
the nova scotia compass...
or where it's "heading"...
i have a dutch lisp tantrum that's
beside a kiss of a tarantula...
that these people gravitated
toward a flattening of concerns...
this bicycle had to replace
towing a tonne of beef:
and milking it...

           hindering the limbo for
the worth of caviar, oysters...
and... scrutiny limbo tall...
a caribbean **** muster-pace...
because mustard is a european
masterpiece... along with
the "jelly" of the horse:
subjected to the readied dish of:
                      radical-conservatism...

calls "us" radishes on the
harsh... told to talk tall bone
with grit of bone...
     i hide my rhymes
with a... most secure... are we'iz'e'kid?
hoods to clamour for a:
"safen und testez"?

the bull-whipped testimony
of the tried and tested..
pair of guggenheim's "dropped off"....
my ordeal at the opera!
stiletto baron... a piercing sort
of "shoe"...
         the elephant's trunk is
a bad metaphor for a jazz fuelled trumpet...
concerning the otherwise
3 blind mend teasing the braille
of carpenter's 1 hour posit for:
no instagram, no fan-boyoh...
this variation of choking joke of junk...

the "rhyme" come first..
a prefix junction...
because executing memory with
suffixes... is... like... "no"... and "new"...
once upon a time some alexnder
the great...
count my concerns...
the balkans are the size of texas..
the ottoman turks were and are...
merely the pronounced presence
of barbery... on the demand
of the english... plumbers...

well... everything in english...
is steroid riddled: shakespearean or not...
macbeth or death...
it's not even dickensian...
it's: school the children or: death's
parrot and the *** riddled quack...
it's that the pillar is... heavier than its
shadow...
the... zunge ein walgrundieren...
              neckerei...
                          ein augenbinde hängend...

not that this is some Latvian
excavation project:
who! is to spreschen richtig....
german-philia or a russo-phobia...
bible blessed nuance
of... ol' david & delylah....
samson & goliath...

      my own pretty azure ice cradle topic...

a lobotomy of wooling
the cushion of an aversion
towards the heave! a grand heave!
prototype of nuance normie...
which is like gradation the arab project...
and he-he! softy-pie y first catering
for cancer last: croatian lobotomy *******
cue:

lumbering at a grief of a sedation..
to chop a tree...
to heave a concept of table
or a toothpick from it...
to give birth for a cherry fruit...
to delight a hindering of
             i aim...
                     the teeth and
the prosthetic... looking pristine...
prime gum:  excavating "leisure"...
it's that....

jaw-abiding:
sharon stone contra...
michelle pfeiffer...
        kim cattrall: godzilla ***
casablanca?!
    shyla stylez izzzzzzzzzzz
zoom?!
       jaw-gnashing teeth counting...
my leisure
of experimenting with
grace...
            my own: men-yoroi...
             licking a lisp...

this 3 bottles of jack a toll...
                       of this summa summarum;
these "croatian" shadow-people...
the lesser kind...
of the less celebrated...
after all: from california toward
the axis of elven-evil via texas...
the pristine people:
beside the primo escape plan
aiming at the moon!
what is the ol' muscovite affair...
that now... tinged with a beijing hindering...      

the soviets would bring a bomb...
the billionth man came
with a cinema of a ******* sneeze!

— The End —