Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Calum Csunyoscka Sep 2014
Like some pitted, coal-black dragon egg,
it sits among the other fruits, exuding weight.
It draws my eyes away from the obsequious apple and banal pear,
its shape curving elegantly between their contours.

As my hand clasps around it, I feel its skin
of sinful reptilian texture.
As I place it upon the cutting board, a hundred possibilities
spring to mind.
What will I do with this trove that lies before me?
I will take a knife
in one hand
and the avocado in the other.
I know that, like gold it will be heavy,
and will feel soft without being so.

The knife breaks the skin.
Never has so smooth a wound been made,
as the blade circumnavigates the centre.
And with a twist,
it falls open.

A blinding springtime dawns on my eyes, revolving
around a dark sun,
and the absence of one.

So perfect these halves look, side by side,
the only two pieces
of a sultry puzzle.

There is no blast of stinging scents.
They are the enigmatic philanthropists of the fruit world,
bestowing their riches quietly,
without great shows of favour.

The first long, horizontal slice slides free
and lies, curving wonderfully in and out.
Fingers reach down and arm moves up,
lips part.

The moment the vibrant green meets desiring red, I breathe again.

Nothing else in this world has such a wealth
of subtle freshness,
or spreads as soft as morning sunlight.
And yet it is never airy or thin,
but carries an embracing gravity.

I open my eyes.
The rest of the fertile crescent awaits me.
First english homework of University was a free write!
Ariel Baptista May 2015
Museums as art
Art as museums
Sail the trail to my mausoleum
Psychopaths and physicists
Psychiatrists and philosophers
Philanthropists and pilots and painters


Declare now, that these are our days –
Our hours, and our days
These are our city, our hours
Our time, our days.


This is our world –
At 14:92 I landed here and claimed it
And searched it and found it wanting
Of civilization that I could so easily supply
By means of wounds and iron
And brawn and truth
(and just a tiny touch of influenza darling)
By means of our Lord,
Who grants us all that we desire
If only we **** enough of those he did not choose.
This is our world –
And we shall make it what we will
Make it in our own image
Teach it that innocence is not knowing the difference between right and wrong
Raise it to hate no one
But to love itself so deeply
That all other love seems hateful in comparison.
This is our child, love
Yours and mine.


Here the first shall be last
And the last shall be first
But once the first are last they shall be
Last
Last
      Last
And once the last are first
They shall make it so they can never be last again
This is our primitive accumulation
Of necessary materialism
Let’s cultivate matter
To make objects that we can place on shelves
And in cases –
These are our cases
And we love them as we love ourselves


Museums as mass graves
Mass graves as museums
Kiss me in my mausoleum
Priests and prisoners
Prostitutes and prophets
Pioneers and pilgrims and pagans


This is our time –
And we are dispensing it in spendthrift increments
Buying threadbare bandages for our cavernous canyons
Buying ample earplugs
To seal in the silence
So we can somewhat say
“look there is peace –
Look we have done it
In our time it is accomplished” – 


This is our peace –
And we know it by the signs
The lions and lambs lay quietly together
In our brass-barred zoos
For as long as shelves and cases
Are intact and the first are first
And the last are last
And the civilized are organized and holy
There is peace –
Oh, look
We made peace!

And as for Solomon and Socrates –
We take their words to weave through our new wisdom
And when we re-chart the constellations
We shall give them each a star
And salute them once a year
When they come around the universe
Oh, look
How wise we are!

Mass graves as art
Art as mass graves
There have been no better days
There has been no greater time
Politicians and pornographers
Professors and pirates
Psychologists and pastors and pianists


This is our time –
And we are doing with it the very best we know how
The last are toiling and trying
And the first are trying to think to try –
But there is a shortness in our hours
And a violence in our peace
There is inherent foolishness in our wisdom
And disease in our cities
And there is death upon our shelves and in our cases.

This is our world –
We crafted it and declared our truth to be true
We sculpted this, our colosseum
Please inscribe my mausoleum
With “we know not what we do”
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
for all i care to remember...
        looking into the mirror was more or less...
something akin to:
"squirting"... **** me! SQUINTING...
      well... the contortion of the eyes...
"worrying" about a double-chin...
and of course... enough stealth acne
to make me... the bride of beelzebub
how i'd joke to myself...
         beelzebub sat on my face and *******
a tonne of... dead maggots...

           i never knew i was athletic standing
before a mirror...
i probably know that i am less athletic now...
but... looking into mirror made
sense... once...
   this russian girl...
    in st. petersburg...
   we were in "love"...
       and there was this great aventurine bed...
and... a closet with two mirrors...
and... we'd be at it...
i was looking into the mirror...
and she was looking into the mirror...
it was like: the opposite of *** on l.s.d. -
because it was like...
beyond the missionary -
the "******" of the mirror...
   as in ***... it leaves you wanting
to ******* to the *******...
because... hell...
without a mirror...
could you capture the face moaning
contorting like an experiment out
of the gehenna harem?

     for all the *** toys sold...
all those exceses of... woman's lingerie...
outfits... nurses...
   blah blah... it really takes a mirror
to spice things up...
this dead-eyed mirror canvas...
the dire-dead-necessary...
    tooth-fairy: ref. the red dragon...
i needed to see that she needed to see
that i was ******* her... and that she...
was being ******...

           mirror mirror on the wall...
**** the fair and the fairest and the fairies...
i have come to understand that mirrors...
work best...
when... not stressed to exemplify...
a concern for beauty...
   or... something that is worn...
clothes look... terribly important in a mirror...
esp. by someone wearing them
when allowed to be digested / investigated
by a mirror...

but... a mirror during ***?
when you're not performing inverted missionary...
doggy... and she's lying with clenched ****-cheeks...
i was in love once...
which also implies:
i ****** like a race-champ pony!
the mirror always helps...
i wouldn't know: whether s&m leather
and straps would... and whips...
made much of a difference...
when... the mirror... the ghost ******...
the: satan you could get away with...
if you didn't utter a comprehensive word...
but ensure a strict rigidity to...
onomatopoeias and syllables...
and... exfoliating nouns...

        upon memory being summoned...
i'm getting a bigger hard-on thinking
about all the encounters i've had with the police...
there's always at least two memorable
encounters...
getting poisoned in a nightclub...
getting on the bus...
getting off the bus... dropping like a pancake
onto the cement...
     being roused... asked by the police officer
whether i was o.k.:
making a slurred and lengthy apology...
giving my address...
and being... taken in a police van... in a cage
for a sinner... like a taxi...
back home...

    losing my virginity to a pair of handcuffs...
for ******* in an alleyway...
getting screamed at...
one officer cuffed me...
the female officer had a pen and pad ready...
in an alleyway where it was discussed:
and who's alleyway is it?
i'm too drunk already...
if i walked into a pub on friday come
10pm i'd be asked to buy a pint
in order to use their toilet...

         it's one sort of luck... gambling...
betting on a horse...
but another... being hand-cuffed...
  and then... having the hand-cuffs...
taken away...
              as this dialogue happened in the...
"invisible" shadow of the alley...
i can't exactly imagine what the onlookers
saw...
           a teasing of authority...
drinking a beer on a bench outside
a pub on a friday night...
which is... basically... taking away
the revenue... of being sardine packed...
and pyramid schemed... for failure...
but my... what a glorious night...

so i asked: and where am i... permitted...
and blah blah...
that ******* mirror... and that aventurine bed...
the same thrill during ***...
like... the thrill of stepping into a brothel...
without a need to ***...
the 9 of them: all nazgul attired in scrutiny...
before "the pick"...

   *** toys... can i please get a mirror in here?!
it has to become a standard for a healthy
sexed up relationship...
    a mirror can overpower any...
frivolity of during-***: attire...
  the imitation ******...
a mirror is... just that...
                 *** with: in third person narrative...
but... smirk-giggle:
you catching her eyes getting ******...
and she catching your eyes: ******* her...

so tame tame... unlike reading...
  the tame blushes of marquis the sade...
never to mention... this philosophical adventure
of ******... which it really is...
impeccable... trouble with: thought put into
practice...
                yes... that horrid... Fritzl case...
but unlike the idealist scenario...
the mother was notably pushed away from
the grandiosity of the sin...
and it was done... in public... with...
a purview of... shaking established social norms!
it wasn't... a rabbit-hole of horror...

              which is why i'm glad i do not
have children of my own...
   i once spent an afternoon with...
my... grand-aunts son... my uncle...
don't ask...
         and i looked like him and thought...
well... i have most certainly had more
fun with cats and dogs...
i was a complete mute...
i didn't feel like cuddling this piece
of cubism... it looked human and even
contorted like one...
perhaps if it was mine...
i could have... somehow...
            "relegated my inhibitions"?
                 n'est ce pas?
         to have children and begin with...
that ******* of differentiating vowels from
consonants... and then... building consonants...
what... 5 vowels... 21 consonants...
5 x 21 = 105 variations...
       prefix: ab, ac, ad, af, ag...
                     eb, ec, ed, ef, eg...
                           IF only! oof!
                 the suffix - ba, ca, da, fa, go...
                                 bat cat dad fat god...
and then... the 21 x 21 consonant variables...
squared to the power of 5...
because... chinese is... frankly...
so simple...

   - it's summer and...
            since i would otherwise... require ink...
to write... and the paper would somehow
be always readily available...
no need for ink...
the summer months are terrible...
for no requirement of ink...
what is ink?  ink is...
                         i need october...
i need november... december... january...
february... half of march...
i need to borrow ink from the night!
i can't scribble in these arab / kenyan months...
these sun-seeker months
of idle by the dream-pool... load of...
overtly-talked... less thought...
therefore... no need to scribble...

    i need the night for my ink...
                           "punctuation marks are in
the constellations": oh yes... honey sweet...
what's it called? cliche? we've all been there...
i too would sacrifice Hector before the altar
of Achilles if i were Priam...
                   only because: he was called Hector...
and the other was Achilles...
and i was called Priam...
       in such times... what were...
the trully... common-place names...
of stunt-men and extras?
   i'd like to know the equivalent of a john smith
from ancient greece...
what would one call: him?
            
        perhaps: i tend to think about *** when
i... most probably had a dream...
jerking off is a bit like...
checking one's blood pressure...
or as a diabetic might... ***** his index
to check the sugar levels...
i write about "***" when i've had a dream...
the dream...

i was talking to a man about cars...
notably... cars from...
america and germany...
circa the years... 1920s through to...
                the 1970s...
          and... then... the talk of... a motorcycle...
a specific motorcycle...
   a triump street cup...
                 a BMW R18... but not quiet...
whatever it was...
                    for the love of a double-decker
bus and a pair of legs...
                which is not...
to have emotionally invested
in *** was something a much younger
version of me would have done...
i thank the prostitutes of curing me of this...
debilitating disease / dream...
              which, i, prescribed... myself...
so no... i hardly think...
there were any... mummy or daddy issues...
i would skip several scenarios:
as much as i love riding a double-decker
bus... i abhor... taking a taxi...
       even if it requires me to walk...
2 miles... i'd rather walk:
for the love of legs and... voodoo dolls hanging
like corks... bend the knee: they might say...
bullet to the knee-cap... if you ask me...
again...

     perhaps i wasn't born english...
but... after... 26 years among them...
                          it "sort of" grows on you...

- man can perform a thousand:
dodo project genocides in one sitting:
on the throne of thrones...
before jumping under a baptism:
fully attired in the ganjes pyjamas
in one sitting: on the throne of thrones...
to "squat" while *******...
*******... *******...
"scented candles" of taking a shower...

i write about *** every time i have a dream...
it's to succumb to the lesser...
escapade of me...
i can stomach subjectivity...
but having to stomach idealism...
is another matter: altogether...
i would like to worship the men who
have had their fill...
and settled for the swan blockade
of the widower romance...
the widow swan...
the black widow: a ******* spider...

none of it... i ****** good i ******
well... come the prime of the age 21...
she was a gamer side-kick bedded...
she prescribed me...
                        Bulgakov...
              reading a ****** to a prussian...
or reading a ****** to a RUŚ: example: ditto...
                  i have heard of how
love supposedly closed and opened borders...
we are so antithesis "different"...
we aren't... some western "communist"
zoo study:
the people who say and then...
lucky us paupers...
who have to "loot" the infrastructure
of the vacating ****-tunnels...
because... someone has to ****-off...
their tongue and... gerbil fidgety!

albino chimpanzee and...
boxer gorilla fed on...
the promise of bulk... with nothing
but... the promise of fruits of your
labour... and nothing relating
to protein... or fat... of complex sugars
known as bread... none of that!
still: that fudge-packing bulk of
gorilla bicep protein: amass!

   - as ever... the murk: before the deep-water...
the... inverted demigods
of h. p. lovecraft...
because... cthulhu is... "somehow"...
not the ******* son of Poseidon?

acid-quasi-monkey asks...
   placid-didgeridoo...
                a constipated: not funny...
attempts! at solving a crossword!
-frankenstein-myrhh:
                        ******* dangling...
                                    (-) - Fatima...
is this... "Syria" yet?
  concerning the second coming...
concerning...
Syrian civil war... something...
*******... miraculous...
has happened...
or was about to happen...
and that it didn't happen...
better that it did:
but since it... didn't...
best we cover it up...
                corpse bride:
               Khadija **** Khuwaylid...
if ever: Stephen Vizinczey...
was a (prophet) Muhammad...
in praise of older women...

    ...a Fatima... fleeing the Syrian
civil war... because... Ramses II
was... telling apart the 7 good years
from... the 7 ******* years...

tell you what... it's no fun...
when you've been given the need
to bend the knee before the altar
of phantom power...
if i were 16 and she was 14...
if i was 18 and she was 16...
if i was 60! and she was... 20!
would it matter?
               if i was jerking off aged 8...
you want to know...
what... the last prize is...
the last... difference between...
"consent" of two adult adult...
with their *******-riddle
of a theatre of ***?
     you want to know?
the thought of ******* someone...
under-age...
no! no barbie! no ken!
the theatre of thought...
of ******* someone... underage...
who is... displaying...
teasing ***... in that primodial seance
of grief to ward of mother from
the ******...
and father from the parentage of
school!

               you ever want to see...
what... a kick in the jaw looks like...
omnipresent onlooker...
of some... unpardonable crime...
that it has to be ***-related...
              i wish i performed some
unpardonable crime on a *******...
i guess a kiss is a kiss is an unpardonable
crime against a *******...
i need this heart to shelter itself
in stone! i need: a heart!
of hard-earned: rock!
               with each sentence:
i find it impossible to not....growl!
to howl! to spew a bickering of...
wolves... of hyenas...
a wake of crows!
            
              i want toi write an echo!
hye! anoooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
i want to hear...
the microscope itching
of a marrow...
of maggots working toward
a closure of expressing: scotch fudge!
i want! maggot marrow!
i want! the lost sounds of...
what the fox already minded...
in...                       χαoς! ρει(γ)νς!
yes... the gamma is a surd...
                 in this... english... equation...

last time i checked:
the cognitive theatre of the forbidden...
****** "lax"...
it's enough to tease the affair with
mere thought...
to have... people "bothered"
that one thinks... such "things"!
while the girl... prime... aged... 14...
teases you with...
exfoliations of...
                      script and... censure...
like a skirt...
but of course...
you're the dodo-project genocidal maniac
about to sport a new: cushioning
extreme...
of an ******* like...
you're minding teasing...
a high-blood pressure!

          can i allow myself a giggle?
a crown of: a dozen demons laughing
as relevant: to the 12 strong cohort of...
cognitive lapses of reason?
          
  ******* before a mirror is my...
my memory and my last concern for...
"adventure"...
a ****** ******* a russian girl so freely...
she fed off of us as...
     spinning a willow to confine itself to:
those rhubarbs in... "retro"...
no... i'm pretty sure... "they"...
the western communists would have minded
it coming across as...
  rhubarb... dreads... stiff 12" drizzle /
drool bits of a tight-knit white sporting ***!
my... oh... wait...
not exactly 16... so... no...

my... what?!
    this has to become one of those...
most... "unspectacularbly": "a least"
in what's to be digested... "fogiven"...
when... there's that teasing-**** of a per-se
readied for her rite of horror to be
met with ******* the...
upper... echelons...
to the queue! to the loiter!
to the...                cue: no dry martini equipped...
sort of... joke as... a variation
of... escapism: to excuse...
fixations... of social hierarchy...

    i am hardly a misogynist...
            it's almost... fake...
how feminists point out... death-pull...
the misogynists...
clinging to philanthropists... i suppose...
it's like...
"someone" forgot...
to... mention...
the benevolent in misanthrophy...
the happily allied to the ivory tower...
whether you're a man or a woman...
or a man pretending to be a woman...
or a woman pretending to be a man...

who is... the misanthrope?
            the solipsist...
the atheist: should you be god?
the altruist... the... fiddly-bit... extreme...
the... autist?
         who is... your... claim for...
******-****** ruleZ the world?
mother of all perfected children...
a bit like jerking off to...
those gravure beijing models...

ava lauren? she is... an aged looking
*******... closure: madame...
she earned it...
her skin is like leather...
you dare to: wear it...
   but... oops: the ubermensch...
these chinese "brides" are not...
photoshopped...
they're genetically edited...
it was apparent that china
didn't have a soul...
in its summa summarum...
or in its christ redeemer...
when... india has its rich
polytheism... pedagogy:
shiva the antithesis of vishnu:
the thesis...

    i can feel... at least!
i can feel abbreviated with the raj master...
sport...
sending a few "*******" to beijing!
let's hear a story...
no... i'm fuming mad:
i'm dying! to hear that coin-flip
of a tail: of bending the... fuckning knee:
capping... as one might!

there's a <100million of "me"...
there's... a >1billion of "them"...

   while:
            i ****** off to...
          genetically edited creatures...
the western world can hide
behind its setting sun: metaphor...
photo-editing... while...
the hot-**** beijing is...
gene-editing...
west-world 1972 bronze age:
"staging a coup"..

             yeah: gurran-gu-dag...
the arabs and their bangladeshi...
queen-bee sorted...
           elizabeth II...
royal ascot...
  i.e. lamborghinis raced on knightbridge...
because: arab playboys are to be...
minded...

write long... to ensure...
people read short... little chance
of censor-loved-up-pseudo-i.q.-heroes!
100 years later: you become a pseudo-Proust /
a Joyce... but... that also implies:
you're stiff up at the neck...
in death and sand... and worms...
in a grave! so? no turkish kebab:
no malmuk / no janissary resurrection!
Claire Waters Aug 2013
wearing your heart on your sleeve is a dangerous game
that only the lonely people play
and i have found, that when you smoke a pack of desire a day,
you are constantly searching for a flame.
onlookers examine all the fissures and clefts left by yesteryear's guests
the men who treated your heart like a map, riddled it with tacks,
realized it lacked a place to live in, and left.

all the antiquated philanthropists who searched for their languages in your pulse,
strands of hair in your bed, so pleased to have left their scent on the pillow
and you've begun to hold your breath
to prove to them that only you can make your heart skip a beat
and you've begun to dry clean your sheets, cold water
hanging them from the rafters of your childhood bedroom in your mother’s house
sweat it out girl, you’ve gone too far south
found yourself melting like butter in the devil’s mouth
and now you wring out the warm bodies tucked in your every pleat and crease,
letting the sun bleach away the pieces of people still surviving in me.
when you look at the sky, blink your eyes and change your rotation
so what if this society treats infrared incubation like it’s latent
I’ll rip the past from every pore, i abhor those kind of TV audiences,
the ones that are obedient and well fed
coming back to dine on the same lines each time, it's high fructose revenge
the sinister scent of stereotypes is hanging in the air
those little lies people tell when insisting that they care
about anyone outside of themselves.

and genuine kindness never really seems to come in stock
but i never **** the birds because i refuse to throw the rocks
my life is not just another kiss laced with arsenic, that
sick kind of hint about how thick my blood really is.
this is not a drama, this is not a soap opera
my life is not a novel and you are not the author
sure you’re having a hard time but you’ve been improving your posture
and it looks like he didn't know you were nitric until you dissolved a linguistic string,
and now he's realizing you bite back when attacked, and you have some surprises to bring
my new hype track for the evening is silence not seething
they didn't know; arsenic can only dilute a nitrous being
so this time, my knees will not break like the fickle figs from their stems,
sequestered in skin cells, ****** shell dropping dead
and this time I’ll find the strength to change, isn't it strange,
how you can wake up one day, and refuse to keep being misled.

and today they brought my bones to the cellar door in his chest
he didn’t mistake even an instant of no for the plump petal of yes
and he tells me, "there will always be people out there who will love even your
imperfect blisters cracking like transistors,
because when you're looking electric everyone’s listening to the frequency within ya
you were put here for a purpose, you will never be worthless.”
and this is no longer a decision; there are places you belong and places you'll fit in
where you'll flourish and gain a thicker skin
and it's about time we stopped chalking up our mistakes to bad habit.
so when i see that golden ticket i'll grab it and let life flow because see i've been told
rivers reflect train windows in the mornings till they glow, first gilded and gold,
then subtle and slow. the hope creeps in, i make the decision
to go
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
i sporadically entertain my uncle's ex-girlfriend
at the house from time to time:
don't ask me why...
    she dated him when i was...
8 through to 11...
                       donkey's years ago...
days when the st. valentine's park in ilford,
essex... was like: alice in wonderland...
it had tennis courts, it had a mini golf course,
it had an open air swimming pool...
   it had exotic bird cages...
                                it had row boats
on the pond...
                 i mean: if my ex-girlfriend was
still visiting me...
                  i don't know: rather... i don't want
to know... my uncle is rather estranged and
that's that... i saw her a year ago:
i made her a curry...
                         i saw her today: in between
the odd house job: flinging concrete etc.
i made...
         she could practically be a stranger...
but that's... exactly the point...
here's to extracting water from a stone...
   i'll write this and it will not really tickle my
fancy...
    once, perhaps, not so long ago -
                    i'm just fudge-packing myself
into a lullaby of lolz... from the "narrative"
prescribed to me, you, "us" by the...
ahem... philanthropists...
                    hell: better with the misanthropes...
at least they are not scheming
philanthropists...
        indeed a "polyphony" of tastes...
which is a curry...
                    nowhere in europe except in england
this demand for the blues and the Raj...
the compliment:
   'this tastes like a restaurant dish...'
  and she wasn't kidding... she did bring a bottle
of wine and a bottle of gin...
i did used about 6 chicken *******...
i hoped that with the coconut rice
and the naan breads i'd have enough for
4 people today and for 3 people tomorrow...
    em... yeah...
                i watched her like i might have
been a woman and cooked for a coal miner
in a 20th century Silesia...
              the sri lankan curry with apple cider
vinegar and the coconut milk blah blah...
but... hell... apparently i can save myself
for a night (once in a while) from
self-deprecating humour and take a word
of a stranger as: rigid dogma...
      that i can cook better than i can write...
            i felt sorry for... having read enough
of Knausgaard and know: fish-fingers...
   scandinavian food?
   oh, you mean like two days ago when
i figured: rödbetsallad - sure... if you have
the right meat... but it doesn't **** to know that...
raw beets with carrots an onion
   chilly and some greens with a....
balsamic vinegar, orange juice, olive oil
and dijon mustard is a **** good dressing...
i mean: hide the japanese sushi..
give me raw herrings in a creamy / tangy sauce...
baltic "sushi": suit you, sir... oooh...
fastest eaten dish in town...
    tow the town across the atlantic -
settle the score on the coast of maine...
or nova scotia: scou-shia...
         nova orbis...
                 i cook good food... that's so much
more comforting that scribble these little details...
after all... i pride myself on the arsenal of spices
i own... whoever has their nukes can keep 'em!
i drop one black cardamom grenade and we're
in for a proper party!
the kolhapuri masala - which is poetry -
a "polyphony" of sorts:

10 dried red chillies
2 tbsp sesame seeds
1 tbsp coriander seeds
1 tbsp cumin seeds
2 tsp fennel seeds
1 tsp black peppercorns
1 tsp fenugreek seeds
6 cloves
1 tbsp black mustard seeds
50 g unsweetened desiccated coconut
½ tsp ground nutmeg
1 tsp red chilli powder

i surprised star anise is not invoked -
surprise me less: i am not - no black cardamom?
it must have been a different masala -
obviously a textbook use of ginger / garlic pulp
and turmeric... and onions...
and tomatoes...
and how is it that the "west indies" survived
so intact: was it purely on the argument from
sanskrit - perhaps...
who am i... little ****** from a place
where haggis might have originated...
but most certainly a type of broth that
uses... cow intestines: honeycomb tripe...
well... that's just ******* spectacular!
we're also the people that will eat
a chicken heart goulash / chicken stomachs...
nothing is wasted but...
hell... to have the oil fields of arabia
or the spice garden of india?
              tough question!

what was or is leftover?
   the parsley revolution?
        the basil    "
                            coriander?
     what was haggis... is still haggis...
and neeps and tatties?!
        allspice - nutmeg and paprika...
bland (apple imports from "kazakhstan")
europe of old...
blushing spanish oranges...
        whale fat from the north...
chimichurri: give me curry for an oak
of beef: a stump of it... argentinian -
give me spices for a steam engine...
                   trade offs...
                 and that buddha soft-patch of
inquisitive philosophy spin-offs in
the western canon: feng shui pseudo-zen
or tao...
     unlike selling protestantism
when none arrived with the spanish toward
the west or the port-of-geese in hai!nippon!

followed up by listening to some iron maiden:
after all: they did release brave new world
at a time when their x-factor etc. days were
over so they could delve into hiring a new
army of listeners: they weren't going to
sit on their laurels like led zeppelin et al.,

- only prior i watched two woodland pigeons
battle on a pergola i erected and weaved
a wisteria into it... the female was perched looking
on... i never imagined woodland pigeons
to hold such ferocity in their slender guise -
they would jump on top of each other
in an imitation of mating and with their
feet as fangs rip into the manes of each other...
throats throbbing with a short-of-breath pulse...

i broke the battle by having to pass
under the pergola with bags of sand and cement...
as man and with dealings in imitating
nature:
    well... a history as an etymological affair of sorts:
hardly...
   pigeon: gołąb (******),
              holub (czech),
                         golub (croat),
               golob (slovenian),
                     porumbel (romanian),
        balandis (lithuanian),
               galamb (hungarian)...

   looks like... the closest etymological
cousins of a ******'s pigeon is:
the croat and the *** pigeon...
               but... uncle auntie here...
pidge-on: pij-off:
      the german           taube...
the french pigeonne...
               picciona (italian)...
                                paloma (spanish)...
   "hence" the romanian porumbel...
but not the alt-saxon taube...
     or the norwegian    due...
or the swedish: duva...
           estonian tuvi finnish kyyhkynen...

do i dare see what...
not to bother dear mater mortuus...
greek!  περιστέρι (well... sure looks like...
a future of pigeon... em...)
turkish!                   güvercin...

almost like the story of Islam is a story
that ended with Muhammad
and began with Ishmael ibin
     Hagar the housemaid for Abraham's
wife Sarah...
     almost that: "same ****, different cover"
scenario...
but with words...
   and words alone:  after all...
is there any relevant history outside of
etymology - given that... napoleon invade
russia ****** invaded russia:
i.e. that shamelessness of repetition?

it's so apparent: to be hung-up on the trifles
of "love":
more like... the barrage of youth and hormonal
cocktails of agonies that must end in defeat
and monasticism at best...
"defeat" is rather an open word...
becoming tamed with: retreat and introspection...
she asked me to get her shawl
as the sun was setting and
while bringing it to her i had a sniff of it...
no perfumes... just the scent of skin
and a woman in her 50s...
   the smell of: an old maid... not a ******...
an old maid...
but how refreshing: tame make-up...
nothing too protagonist or shock-circus!

second slurps from an uncle's engagement
of ***** in pigtails?
well... it's just nice to hear a stranger
compliment your food...
esp. since this wasn't some formal setting
for a restaurant...
if i could earn on the basis of peanuts
and compliments and...
               how michelangelo was...
           no not constipated...
no not conscripted...
        not contained...
                        pope julius II...
michelangelo was... COMMISSIONED...
   well... what a noble begotten proof of...
the truth of labour...
            so much for the derelict promise:
the ugly work - although still towing
a grand scheme of aesthetic with it:
akin to plumbing or electrical scrutiny -
or waterproofing -
   but as i have learned:
   the work less scene does gravitate toward
repaying a man with a sense
of ingratitude -
for the work itself -
   after all: there's no work of art to slobber over...
to guise oneself in a fetish for
sending postcards...
the work itself harbours an ingratitude
to the person who performs it...
that "minor detail" of something working
without fail...
hardly a bureaucratic competition:
grizi-piórek (a slang term for a bureaucrat)
literally: feather-nibbler...

    the bewildered youth of man and that
which comes of him in the later posit of life
as aging - for not enough has been
cited concerning old maids -
the crippling opportunism of girls
that turns us into comic atlasas with
only poses to a name -

     i have to hide my admiration for old men:
esp. those that write their little
jokes: praying on existential shot-hand
and their unshakeable rationale -

a brief interlude into a concept of a new
life: my uncle's ex-girlfriend:
i've been to the brothel:
the "joys" of flesh *** flesh are such
unwelcome avenues that i know
how desperately i ******* to smother
the solipsist in me but at the same time
nullify the ****** out of
respect for a caricature of conversation:

that the stars were mentioned and that
venus or mars was among them...
by the geographic posit of edinburgh:
and the firth of forth i held with a certainty
a more than concept of n.e.w.s.:
north east west and south...
but north east london: that gargantua is no
edinburgh...

only today i posited myself on mashisters' hill
and the mouth of the thames...
and where the dartford bridge is
and where canary wharf is...
it doesn't help much to travel into
central london and stand before Thames...
to finally flip out a compass...
this odd river that has no flow
but a tide...
a river with no mountains...
no Vistula no Danube...
this cruel passable detail:
  a river without mountains with
a tide but now flow...

decipher for me this grey murk of eels
wriggling hollow...
she asked me: is it difficult to go back
"home"...
burden by the tired toiling among
so many monolinguals:
can i tell apart the accents on these isles?
that i can tell a scot from an eire-fiction
that the welsh still: hope for god grant
them their same old future tongue...

veneti...
                  veneti...
                                         veneti:
it is that it has become more and more
difficult to leave "home" than arrive
at it... but from populist english so
thoroughly breeding into a stiffening sire
and clamour of pict sacrilege -
grand echoes of unused words...

old maid who graces the same existential
pangs as me: aimless hollow head spermatoid...
after all the hormonal whirlwinds pass
and there comes a second nakedness...
before trust and a spontaneous jumping
to conclusions that never arrive at anything
more than the generic cul de sac...

to have to disbelieve mothers...
             it is necessary to have to disbelieve mothers...
for no greater grandiosity incumbent...
a brief interlude and how i can:
simply peacock-strut... exfoliate like
i might... have forever succumbed to
the latin variation of bulimia and that old
variant of ****...
willingly running ****-naked into
a riddling throb of nettles...
with disembodiment and an aspect
of freely arrived at nerve extensions
clinging to an ancient eucharist of
tentacles that the tongue would only counter
having to bite and nibble and suckle
on a mint leaf: with the body's proposal
of immersion in nettles...

to make rous of numbing ****** details:
no ****** from taking  a ****...
no litany of broken words:
clinging to consonant prone onomatopoeias...
crude ascertaining archaic:
purity of vowels: mongrel heart and soul
whilst towing... a mongol or two...
pictures of fortress crimea... the grand sicz...

only because she was not a woman
in her prime: a new orientation that doesn't begin
with me in middle age having amounted
enough poison apples and **** frenzies
and all those lies spoken during ***...
at best: even in the brothel...
for the love of god i dared not speak...
so much for anything
when *** has to invoke words...
not the silence not the pulsating vowel
throttle...

                    i linger for the last linear concept
of unnerving details...
that last came with these words
and will last revel in them alone...
for the greater audience i...
i have no scheme to usurp the pop from
the better hidden...
that some things have to:

let "them" have their feast!
once i am wed to the mother over mothers:
when death finally tallies my shadow
as her ******-on from fear loitering
of shrapnel!
let the people have their feast!
once i am wed to the mother of all mothers:
- but given the inbetween leave
me to my cenobite affairs of a bedroom
i keep for a nursery of moths...
to ward off the spiders with my drunken
breath...
give me clarity in the depths of
a bottle's end met...
            
  - so this is what it feels like to arm-wrestle
with a hand strapped to the bone crushing
revelation of hanging on a crucifix -
so this is what nodding with approval
feels like when competing to the end scenario
when lying erratic and scared
on the tablature of the falling guillotine...

it must do! i feel a need to concern myself
with feeling than with thinking:
i despise this celebration of numbing
objectivity: as someone once said:
subjectivity is the only truth...
after all: i am subjected to...
i am firstly subjected to...
only later i object: i objectify:
i give me spatial pardons and awareness...

as a subject under the protection
of a queen i am: first come first served...
not last... in this secular objectification
policy of "what if" futures...
i answer to the queen:
i am subject of the queen:
i am subjected by the queen...
such a ****** party to attend with no
god and this object cranium per crown...
that it has to become so impersonal
that the h'american free verse poets:
that elizabeth II has so much more
than mere grandma edifice...

i am subjected to something prior:
only later can i object to it...
some variation of a "double negation":
a talk over more gin and tonic...
or bourbon...
how could subjectivity become
so defamed... like it was forever a lesser
variation of the res extensa /
thought attache...
that subjectivity is lesser has to come
from people who only regurgitate
a once fabled scientific positivism of
a new and glorious age of Eiffel...

objectively "speaking"...
the regurgitated "facts": it's not like
science is even the incessant harangue!
from voice and a well:
an echo and a re-:
                             by now: there are "concerns"
as to why the echo fades and is
not gravitating toward perpetual
momentum...

               by now to revel in tired bones,
sinew... in the perfumes of burning fat:
vegan protests... vegan wishy-washy...
that somehow in a future 2 years from now...
the cows will have the eyes
akin to petted critters like that of:
fortune of future:
demands of cats and dogs...
i stated today: big cats' eye do not
hollow out... there is no serpent-esque
"myopia" of the eyes...
cats are spies for the serpent kingdom...
disguised as fur-*****...
but intact the blistering choke
of the slither... eyes that ****...
eyes that could feed the most blue-bodied
extract from the speark-head
of mammalian hierarchy...

   what little dough for slaughter eyes me
in the fashioned cow..
i leave all honesty for the dogs:
among the tying with bones...
but never these bonsai tigers...
heavy shields of hipolites...

                             - is there a need to drink
and write... while marrying yourself
to the barrage of unnecessary bricks
that align themselves to the cuddle-cradles
of kcal-atoms?
     i thought that drinking was
synonymous with exfoliation...
hell begot peacock-strutting...
              old maid didn't have me leeching
for ****-practice tendencies to posit
proofs...
             at some point i am going
to have to leave people without a comfort
of a diatribe...
i'll extend my over-arching scrutiny and
tell you:
on this basic base prize...
i leave no selling of satellite...

come 2am and i'm still awake and drinking:
it doesn't matter...
what matters is...
being invested in a repetition
and the glorified emblem for all that's
the worth of tomorrow:
the conjunction barricade of english:
my queen's last ordeal...
well **** me... it has to be my queen's
last ordeal before i **** up to the h'arab
sheikhs...
n'est ce-pas?

oh... wait... like the french didn't look
glum and whatnot...
like the past wasn't a pass at rebirth...
like venice didn't pirate away details of
constantinople...
i am tired of guilt...
you... italian fuccofinickyfuckers
bless venice... now! now! have complaints
concerning the hagia sophia...
because who isn't to abandon the greeks:
because of greek pride...
which is all that little: pride...
designated to books:
greek schoolchildren... will not read...
some ancient anthem of
northern barbarians: perhaps the bulgars...
most certainly not the... island-bound
mongrel...

            the english will not be reminded:
yes... that much is true:
but they can be executed for a lineage
of inconsistency...
that poland can somehow be associated
with polar bears...
hell... "we" are associated with
bisons... and storks...
          no need to educate the new
or keeping an ordeal of the old...
let's call my mediocre
the no-mans'-land rupture...
it's not exactly dervish planned territory:
citing india as borrowing extension
with afghanistan, pakistan,
bangladesh, sri lanka...
            who am i buddha tow: juggle...
jumble wisconsin proto: or a collective:
pan-european...
mingling justices... arms told to be torn
off...
   romance from 18th century europe:
kissing the feet of Kiev...
while in the western: what if...
the sea affords us... no need teasing
a wait for a tide...
      this little scare and...
      my little future of cain that...
arrived at a blinding prospect of
nationhood that has to retain a presence
akin to Siberia...

belly-tow flipside an agony of
this fissure of gill and borrowed depths of
searching for the dolphin aided dive...
i have no befriending lefts...
had i the rights i'd make them
pronounced: enough to champion
diacritical scrutinies...
but no but now...

- how is that:
   -rhetoric          has reached a fever;
and a pitch to make
a ***** into a jerusalem
as a prefix towing exemplar...
before a noun
and a yankie akin to
pre-
          variation of pro-
               not withering into the anti-
cyst and some future be told...
                      chimes from haven:
and the pennies from ginger-root borrow
of lobotomy...
        
   gutting a pig: glorifying a monkey...
chanting: freed red sox...
                a somewhat: hives
of Boston... while we all have to retort
to a question...
not because we woz all hebrewz...
but coz whizz or: or else...
worst hinterland:
an estonia: that there's
more of new york than there's
of this.... hinterland...
of... convincing: this is not "asiatic"...
this is still DOS europa...
bulging to bug the bothersome
chastised bullock off a bull
and the silent churn tow charge...

some variation of a pre-
and a self- prefix:
          to compound this custard
nostalgia sweet-tooth jesus h'americana...
same old variation of how
estonia is about the sizing up
of new york: and...
              
                     my own sowing tow-tie
this little increment this little
wave this loiter masquerade...
   such privy to make a choice!
from the slaves toward a slam-dunk..
otherwise making rummanations
to towing a sanctity of old pauper
Warsaw...
                 my little little first and last idle
concern that's a Cairo agitated.
Mahima Gupta Dec 2013
And the conversation was just a call away

But who’d explain
what she said 

Who knew how things work 

Nobody has got the answers 

Nobody knows 

They just pretend.

Movement of impatience. 

Erroneous steps. 

Irrelevant arguments. 

False accusations. 

Sadistic approaches. 

Self centred minds. 

Disgust.
Nobody lives
They just exist.

The fairy tales
And the horrendous stories
The fear in your soul
Also the philanthropists' empathy
Nothing works here
Nothing remains.

Strings of conversations
Awestruck
By the way you hypnotise
The world
By your
Innumerable lies
Nobody speaks the truth
The world is a farce
Louis Brown May 2012
I think
Therefore, I am
The Frenchman said
But am I a hero
A *******
A do-gooder
A ne'er do well
I know it's up to me
Up to my own volition
To come to that
And it's amazing
How that plays out
In other I ams
Like murderers
Philanthropists
Hoboes
And does God
In some way
Tell us which one to be
He knows me
He is my essence
How could a dark thought come in
Satan is no equal
But it's his hand
That gets the credit
For evil men
But I don't understand
An iota of that
I just do
What my Creator
Put in me to do
And if I hate
Did He put it on my plate
The way to go
Is hard to comprehend
Do I consciously make the choices
I am what I am
But how much of that
Is me
Jenna Apr 2016
Each mind has its own method.
You go to be teachers,
to become physicians, lawyers, divines.
Statesmen, naturalists, philanthropists.
I hope, some of you, to be the men of letters,
Those whose minds have not been subdued
by the drill of school education.
How wearisome the grammarian,
the phrenologist, the political or religious fanatic,
or indeed any possessed mortal.
The fears and agitations of men who watch the markets,
the crops, the plenty or scarcity of money,
or other superficial events, are not for him.
I wish him to live by his strength, not by his weakness.
Our people have this fear to offend,
do not wish to be misunderstood.
Do not wish, of all things, to be in the minority.
Rely on yourself.
Every thought is a prison.
The rare gift of poetry already sparkles, and may yet burn.
The world has a million writers,
But the constructive powers are rare,
it is given to few men to be poets.
The writer restores.
Speak, whether there be any who understand it or not.
An AP English assignment that I actually found to be quite interesting. This found poem was composed via phrases from two essays written by Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Intellect" and "Man of Letters."
Mitchell Sep 2011
Residency rebellion for the ones afraid to breathe in
The crap in a boat thinking thoughts of the big win

Pure gold turns to fools gold neath' the river which is brimming
With millstones and mile stones ol' Redding screaming "Gimme Mercy!"

Flicking away at the muse to actually prove
One's worth in a Tombstone of Blues

Hacking away at a stone already carved'
The seas are still lo' your imagination there will be parted

Process of purity is not established neath' roof or comfort
But found bludgeoned in grass wet from God' s holiness

To please the masses is to please the mass of meager philanthropists
Squatting on an idea to sell to the absolute highest crippled bidder

Sell! Sell! Sell! Make sure you bring your glitter and your bells
Vegas is waiting with its scythes and its knives and the promise of a prize

Love does not matter there for Love is sold for you to be taught
Stare into the back holes of the 9th tiers and you will surely be bought

Smell the walls the engravings of past misery makers
Ink stained souls praising their own illusion of an individuals goal

Nothingness rains on the heads of the running wild pure
Go! Go! Go! belts out out the man holding a cat in full fur

Yet I am distinguished as I fish for the memories of mother and father
Hoping they will give me the fire for this next morning starter

Where are the bike rides lined with car fumes choking the healthiest soul?
Where are the lords who toss heads ******* tight on their heavy soup bowl?

In the wood, in the creaks, the voices of the former tell the present to beware
Though the heart is beating does not mean with knife it will stab and tear

Do you not see the softness we are heading toward with our flags blazing?
Writing for no one accept the check and the acceptance of their boredom?

Fire heat from hearths not of our world but of the other!
Bleeding fingers spread across the face in poverty stricken struggle!

Shower curtains browned from the dirt of the day
Toilet bowl gone from a weeks worth of decay

Now I relish in the hardiness of madnesses peckishness
Where spelling don't matter and everyone is mad as a hatter

Holes are not dug but swung from the clouds and hugs
Hate hates itself while horns blow their idea of ****

Not though here thought naked spent pitch a tent
I remember no childhood except for the window neath' my toes

Good night lo' good day
This thing was never meant to have its end
Sam Temple Mar 2014
endless miles of dark pavement
hours of white knuckle horror
illegally transporting pounds
processed into oil
curing her cancer –
new age family doctor
with a medical card and an interest in chemistry
distilling Everclear creating hope
1 gram a day
rear-view mirror road-rage
only wishing to be safely home
14 hours to go with a life on the line
watching a plant heal all that ails –
networking growers into family practitioners
dropping the bottom out of Big Pharma
one human being at a time
freely functioning as philanthropists
looking only to see families restored
Robin Hood as a pothead –
nothing could be simpler
than curing cancer
just grind up ****
pour 191 proof over the top
strain and keep the liquid
low heat cook it down
until only oil is left
5 drops of water
and a coffee warmer
decarbonization
then eat it
a grain of rice at first
then increase
to a gram a day
60 grams in 90 days
just try to die –
watching her gain weight and coherence in front of my eyes
seeing it again
knowing the truth
living in a lie
saving lives as I cross them
modern day travelling physician
carded
but unlicensed –
Some poems are just poems, some are personal journeys, others are forced out while others still seem to be birthed... but once in a while there are those which are secret messages meant to change lives... you decide which this is  ….…  I live the truth presented here daily and have witnessed what some call miracles, but what I call taking control of one’s health
Sam Temple Feb 2015
substantially thicker
media outlets slather
drivel
set to the top 40 hits of the day
over all propaganda
creating a sea of dis or misinformation
rising to just about the knee
forcing the masses to wade through
thick, dark, stinking lies –
perpetrators pretend to punish
philanthropists
in the public square
spouting insults such as
socialist
communist
or worst of all
constitutionalist
undeterred, many once manipulated
stand together
arm in arm
singing songs 65 years old
still under the yoke
of peaceful demonstration –
bent backs of immigrant workers
support affluent Caucasians
simply by being the focal point
of hate
these same well-off pale faces
place enormous strain
on said backs
while digging toes in deeper
stretching to the heavens
for that perfect corporate job –
lasting impressions of mutated idealism
sit battered on a polluted shoreline
tumbling until rounded
shining through the mundane
like a agate
on a black sand beach –
KathleenAMaloney Sep 2016
The Year Was 2017... Globalization and Relocation thru Financial Incentives had been occurring at an Increasingly Rapid Rate...for 4 years
Human Sorting thru the Spheres Program had accelerated, and Talent Acquisition and Identification was Rampant in the Building of Ministry States, and Six Nation Civil/ Financial  Armies....
Ownership of Brick and Mortar Businesses in Each Free Country by Aggressive Interests Had become Maximized
Psychological War had been expanded

Martial Law Is Declared:
      in the event Civil War Breaks out...
     1) physical fitness at military Grade necessary
     2) able to read color based code and signage without computer
          - Rank and Order; For the purpose of Martial Law Leadership Positions/ Ruling Standard: Royal Dictatorship
         - Order of Social Value in the event of Planet Drought and Overheating, Mass starvation
         - Human Potential Project Government assisted for rapid acceleration of Skill to combat business collapse, acceleration pop Intuition and Physic listening ability
         - Disaster Training  and Skills organized
          - Passing of Fake Wills and................... for redistribution of Wealth
          - Fake......., wikipedia installs, and Search engine Lies to alter World Voting Perceptions for Tech  endorsed candidates in UN positions
        - Fake NGO's ,  Subject Matter Expertise Areas based in Branding and advertising as Influencers,  
          Conflict of Interest Rampant throughout; Corruption Widespread,
Secret Hostile Foreign Influence mixed with Oneness Agenda of Globalists
         Interference with mail (taken over by Foreign interests
          - arranged ****** partnerships/marriages for maximum efficiency of family structure in loss of familiar Central Government, increase of wellness and rabid growth of NEW potentials

Prepare: physically fit, for operation
                 eat organic foods
                Elliminate all debt, minimize expenses
                ORDER, reduce clutter, attachments
                ID primary relationships
        

              At Risk: Forests, Farmlands, National Parks, Utilities, Water
              At risk: Cultural Artifacts(Psychological War Target)
              At Risk: Kids of Philanthropists, Leadership
              At Risk: Family Businesses
              At Risk: Planet, All Life
Senor Negativo Aug 2012
I'm not a hopeless dream,
I cannot block my thoughts of you.
I can't just let you be.

"I'm as lucky as most lovers."

I cannot turn my back on you.
I never thought you would
give to me, such spriritual ecstasy.
The other precision lovers,
seldom do.

"I only know that I am worse
when you are not around."

Thin like philanthropists,
Fragrant summer blooms.

Let
    go
       slowly...

This flaming stem
    Is our house.

Stay on this side of the line.
I own this place.

Don't wait to unite.

I know what to do, forevermore.
I finally found a love worth fighting for,
Let me rescue you from your sea of tears.

"Forget your fears."

There is no shame in making me stay...

Don't wait to unite!
Chris D Aechtner Nov 2021
There are few impossibilities, one of those being the ability to follow science. Pure science is too far ahead to be followed.
That which is left in the resulting wake of exploration isn't scientific. Science isn't claims made by News Science and marketers for trillion $ industries. Science isn't a scientific research paper funded by The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation or The Rockefeller Foundation: That's simply business as usual, and it's been like that for centuries.

“Follow the science” is this era's “Sol orbits Earth”. Can you do science or do you merely script and parrot slogans and opinions. Are you capable of writing your own research paper or do you merely read the research papers of others.

Science on its own teaches nothing, and nothingness; experience teaches.

A scientist isn't a labcoat, beakers, and sponsorships. I've had some of the most adept scientific mentors on the planet come to unanimous consensus that I'm too idealistic for this world. I was ******* from the get-go lol. There isn't a universal constant and universal law that I can't conceptualize and understand inside-out, and I now know less for certain than I did when I was 5 years old. But, every second person claims to be scientific. *******.

Knowing how macromolecules chain into larger polymer chains, and how those polymers chain together to cause a tangible “object”, so to speak, is being an eternal Padawan Apprentice following a creek bed in the bedrock of an echochamber canyon that reverberates to the choir. Knowing how the tests, medicine, drugs, cosmetics, foods, and most everything else that people absorb and use, function and interact, and being careful to snot mistake co-relation for direct-strength causality, is a very alienating existence in society. Most everyone supposedly knows most everything: It has the atmosphere of a morgue and slaughterhouse merged into a box for this Brave New World.

Cattle life is but a blue screen dream to merrily row through to the hypnotic beat of North America's nightmarishly silent screams.

Apex power and hyper-philanthropists
could've been transparent, dropped the
Technocratic Wizard of Oz horseshit act,
simply asked for Martyrs who “follow the science” to step forward in the name of science, progress, and duty to free society and the good of the whole,

and most of the denatured cowards,
heartless tin soldiers, and dumbed-down scarecrow double agents for Empire,
would've come forward in lock-step, lined up along the fool's gold brick road to receive
the shots of Kool-AIDS in a sense of duty, piety, virtuosity, and self-righteousness,

regardless.

Could've been transparent, explained that
the Fiat economy crashed, that it's being held
up with strings as illusory slop for the trough, that The Fourth Industrial Revolution is being ushered in, and 75% of the global population doesn't have Golden Tickets to The Great Show.

I've always promoted and advocated for medical ethics and proper informed consent.
11 13 2021

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/33113270/

The Novavax NVX-CoV2373 COVID-19 vaccine doesn't use synthetic computer coded digital mRNA and petroleum-based synthetic lipids and nanotech such as PEG 2000 and GOgel.
The NVX-CoV2373 primer is derived from cloned sl9 moth cells instead of cloned human/chimpanzee/other, and the booster is an adjuvant derived from tree bark. The NVX-CoV-2373 vaccine helps to build immunity towards variants of virions and bacteria. The NVX-CoV-2373 vaccine doesn't include ingredients that the big brands use, those ingredients often being neurotoxins and highly volatile xenobiotics that damage cells, nerves, and eco-systems.
Sam Temple Sep 2015
transparent disparages
ensnare carefree societies
implying unreliable disguises
with a flair for pageantry
daring prayer, rare hares prepare
hairy Unitarians to marry
shareholders in gay Paris  (Pari’)
repairing the tear
offering free-range diversity
university perversions revert
extroverted exhibitionists
to airline reservationists
impatiently, first-world philanthropists
**** on lists twisting
the anthropologists mood into a balloon animal
this scandalous tryst helps
black-balled priests insisting
on peace to release persistent
victims’ names to mass media outlets
disabled vets regret investing
as corporate jets rest on golden runways
dark days on the horizon
implying these lies perpetrated
cause an uprising that surprises
those late to realize
the fly’s on the eyes of
poor black children
are all of our future –
Them shabby,greedy,grasping grabby gits what sits on Whitehall's seats gives me the heebies
what with all them bleeding freebies it beats me what we has them for,it's sods own law but them lot there don't give a flying monkeys,they just don't care for the likes of me and you,
but it's me and you what makes them rich and still the greedy buggers itch for more and more,
a case of Orwell's nineteen eighty four and there's no ragged trousered philanthropists anymore,the score being, them one and us nil and the swines send us the ****** bill and if you haven't got the readies it's off to beddy byes up hangmans hill,
them ******* will
get you in the end,bend you to their way of thinking,put holes in you until you're sinking and throw you a promissory note,does **** float?
I think not
but I think it's what we get and all they've got,
it's a right old liberty with the men at the thin end of the ministry and the fat cats get them rats to batten us down.

Out of town it gets no better,they google  and with the letter of the law move in to nick you,it makes me sick,an Englishman's home should be his castle not the knocking shop for them what has to hassle,but
it's in the doings and when the doings become undone, we see it now with the knife and the gun
and that's no fun.neither is the sharp end of the stick they **** and poke us with,
it's donkeys and dogs and the laps of the gods and we sit and drink tea when the clock strikes three
because we're all a little crazy,
a teensy off key,
we have to be
to survive.
Take Flight!
Take Flight!
Take flight my fleet-footed fellows!
Fly as fast as your feet will allow,
For the time for fearing our future is now!
Can you hear your name, the sisters call!
Their intentions are not for your fortunes at all!
The Fates...
The Fates!
The Fates do call!
For you, for me, for my fellows all!
No Philanthropists aid can forgo this blow,
For the cure for fate no man can know,
So to flight!
To flight!
To flight one and all!
To fly...To escape...our
Fated.
Final.
Fall.
The window lets in little light
this room is widowed from the day
outside it feels like constant night
I think that I am going to stay,
in bed.
A band of Sun finds its way though
to wrap itself around my hair
I don't know what I'm going to do
not sure why the Sun would want to share
with me.
The mysteries of life unfold
as daylight takes away the cold and
Amazons stretch out to me, to
beat against maturity,with arrows they
would pin me to the wall,yet
I have missed philanthropists who gave
their hope to sunken ships and money slipped
under the doors where,
windows store what little light and
trades it to a larger night,today
I think that I shall stay
in bed.
And after life when all is done,
undone the silken bands of Sun
and mystery unfolds no more when
shadows crawl along the floor, to
catch the ride and you will soar
in another roaring ecstasy,
to beat against maturity,
the bed remains a lure to me,on
lines cast out into the sea,
I want to be
I want to be
I think today that I shall stay
in bed.
Marles Oct 2016
the people surrounding me are afraid of the world at 3am-
not me though,
for I know the scariest demons walk around in daylight, amongst unsuspecting humans.

*(the dark is filled with artists, lovers and philanthropists, you should be more afraid of those who pretend to love you in the sunlight)
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
and there was me walking past
some imaginary graffiti...
at this point: i forgot to concern
myself with the narrative...
it's there: arrived at...
on a whim...
            i am beyond apathetic...
it's not like a feminist nun
could...
spend her time listening to...
a misanthrope...
but we all know...
what the good philanthropists
get up to...

first one read the acronym...
B.L.M...

   another reads...
     A.L.M.

  which is crossed out...
and a footnote is added...
with some emphasis...

        that B. does indeed M.
                        
   hell... i'm throwing a penny
into the pocket...
and ******* against the wind...
with my own...

spin on topic...
   O.B.L.M.
       well... given: A.L.M. needs
to be... negated.

truly: i don't know whether
my tongue is sometimes tied
to expressing a presence of body...
294 havering road was confused
by the postman for 294
pettits lane north...
   so i delivered the package...
12 hours "late" and took
a walk with four ciders...
to catch... twilight in the woods...

i said: ee'mah rather than em'ah...:
it read emma... and wright...
i'm in england and i don't speak
a lot of english...
                i write enough...
    i like to call myself a grammatical
tyrant of this little space of my
own...

and to walk... is to feel one has
legs...
   to hell with owning a car...
when one could still...
love a ride of a horse...

  to walk for a good 4 mile...
up a hill into shaded wooden
nighs of twilight...

a right ol' tourist in these
parts... smoking some marijuana...
headphones tight...
on the cranium like a crown...
about to... take the 103 route
from the north eastern tip
of greater london into...

      but the demise...
as the bus sped away en route...
i didn't see the tourist
on the upper-deck of the double-decker...
on the lower-deck... at the back...

if i had the marijuana...
and the same joy for riding buses...
i'd be sitting on the top deck...
looking buddha-amused / buddha-bemused...

i really did come to the conclusion
that: i wanted to drink to feel a tilt of
a drunkard in me...
4 ciders are 8.2% a pop...
       16 units... and all that ***** whiskey
mixed with bourbon...
and i'm still... typing away like
a hyena...

i dream so rarely... but i woke up with a dream...
forbidden fruit...

    Kirmiji Orzalacht
   Orżalacht - and I saw the word
written in elaborate runes -
   with gold-flakes to dorn its labyrinth...
told I was copying it with
too much detail...
     pressured... told to keep
the phonetic essence of it...
it opened a portal...
       a garden...
   "to bring back the garden
started but not he gardener"...

i haven't heard: or seen... a word..
for that matter: two! in such details...
is it an anagram?
   Kirmiji Orzalacht
                    Orżalacht
...
                     ­    i wouldn't just wake up...
and need to write these words down...
phonetic: kir-me'yee o'j'ah-lax't...
                      it doesn't translate...
even with phonetic efforts...

    come to think of it... walking england
along...
one can confuse and pardon...
a people who have been given...
the isolation of the icelandic people...
yet all the perks of a melting ***
of the continental ******* wormhole of history...
the definite history: european...
but also... the double definited...
when some foreign entity feels inclined
to overcome the natives...
it's not... akin to cross the Danube river...
or the Oder...

          with a clarity of borders bound
to the confines of an island...
oh... this pretty land of spare souls...
readied for... retention in foreign *****
of alien fathers and surrogate mothers...
as the raj might prescribe...
with her litany of insurgent spices...
cumin, coriander, cardamom...
chilli... turmeric... star anise... etc.

          a magic hour! twilight in the woods!
the sun is... turned into a drowning man...
her last resort of a horizon of day...
is riddled with razors...
and she's cutting her hands to stay afloat
upon the "meridian" 180!

what mistanthrope?
and at what hour... could i entertain...
the company of a single crow without
a commune...
or the rabbits readily prancing...
             i couldn't abhor the plumber
for the plumbing...
              i couldn't... abhor... the god and
readily given... ghost of self:
the surgeon...
              but...
       when it comes to drinking?
       i much rather exhaust my legs...
and feel that i still have them...
having walked...
                and i much prefer drinking
alone...
  the woods are a cushion for the ears...
and... somehow...
all the eyes warrant a desire to peer at...

drinking with people has always
been my worst lot of... wasting time...
i can't remember...
the last person i drank with...
who succumbed to a hardened:
pensive mood...
always that feminime... melancholic...
diatribe sorrow...
fetish tear-****-offs...
            
                 who could ever want to know me...
i should have remained at...
        Taizé...
                         i would have have gladly
sacrificed the world... thrice over!
to live the life most mundane...
rather than have to suffer...
to live... a life... most mediocre.

tongue licking tombstone slabs...
i hope... my words...
fall like... mountains...
upon a concentrated lot of... stones.

"part and parcled" and that "oh my":
the tender hand of argument:
a left... a right... a left-right...
and right-left and some...
quasimodo (0,0) vector cull for:
that long lost forgotten: "oopsie"...

        oh! right! it's called: the culture... "war"...
it was called the cold war
when the russians were pressuring
everyone to play... their version
of the roulette!

fine... at least when: agianst the russians...
you know... siberian psychopaths...
complete animals... siberian
warlords of some grass some snow...
some siberian tundra...
culture... "war"?
more like... cultural sparring...
war against who and with that:
against who: with what?!
we're only sparring...
there was never a culture war...
there was cultural sparring...
which... evidently had to become
something ******... in terms of...
what was... hoarded...
exchanged...

there is no more a cultural war
than there ever was a cold war...
i like to call it cultural sparring...
hyped-up invigoration tactics:
war! sign me up uncle sam!
sign me up: papa bad bear: russia's
a'coming siberian neglect!

what war?! we're only sparring...
and people somehow have this
deluded presence of...
if we were at war...
there would be a...
                          Schwerer Gustav...
there would be... a Spitfire...
there would be a b-52 bomber...
  culture war...
         "war"... concerning someone
who has ingested the cultural export
of h'america for the past 30 years...
we're not at war!
we're only... merely... sparring!

grandiosity of cuck-filling ****-supreme
and... there has never been...
a Helen likely: worth of instigating...
a "genesis" of events!
*******...
    cultural war?!
                i want to... scream!
would you either eat an oyster...
or some... caviar?
can you please... provide me...
with a slow motion cinema of...
a movie: the presence of an oyster...
i'll eat anything that doesn't move...
i'll **** anything that does...

caviar wins!
concentrated fish stink and palette..
anything than...
attempting: slurping...
a metaphor... a brain...
a wriggling brain chimp: + some
gerbil... oozing out a crescendo of...
loitering... scrambled... abortion
towing: "typos"...

what cultural war?
if the chinese were conscriptd to march...
it wouldn't be an advent of the mongols
at baghdad...
if the chinese were conscripted to march...
lucky for all of us..
they designated a wall for themselves
to be: riddled by a buttocks...
and roots and... a hyphenated orchestra
of blooming...
        
india can spar with china...
2 billion their own equal...
someone goes missing...
it totals up their own concern for:
"cost"...

             there is not cultural war...
we're only culturally: sparring...
anything elevating such events as:
overtly serious is... giving toward misgiving...
it was originally orientating a:
lessening of statue and abiding to probe:
caricatures...

if there was a war... trigger-happy...
trigger-itchy...
       but there isn't a war...
if there was a war...
  israel would... concern itself
with much more than its...
proxy-encrusting-stature-of-a-levelling...

culture war is such an...
over-inflated term...
                     culture-sparring...
like cultural-sparring when the cold-war
was at its height...
cold war... poker salvaging...
two sides warring with: de facto joker
hand-outs...

              no... not this...
this is... a postcard from a heaving
sigh of a haven: that's not heaven...
something more realistically:
heaved... a ridicule with a clue: stone...
because...
that's not what... a levelling
of a mountain gives concerns for...
some rubble plateau...
some... itch... some...

                 ah! that... das boot... theme!
because... who are not...
the german... in grieving a romance...
when not being able to...
give levelling...
to... the crime of frothing waves...

that much i might mind...
the magic hour: the twilight in the woods.

Kirmiji Orżalacht:
               i might somehow wish to want:
to loiter...
             TORA TORA TORA...
it truly is... a samurai slit...
of affairs...
       one army attacks another army...
the palestinian shielf preface...
the japanese attacked a military presence...

auschwitz and nagasaki...
perfected gain of: war...
men ascribed to the expression
of the theatre of war...
warring...
but no... it was not... "fair"...
the pearl habour "unfucked" / "unloved"
had to find...
their suitor best...
when... civilians were to be minded...
a pointlessness of auschwitz...
the blink-of-an-eye hiroshima...

       it was... a fair attack:
         so... who gives a ****... the h'american
soldiers were... sleeping...
sun-bathing in the hawaiiean sun?
        it was... a... fair... attack...
i don't need to be asked permission...
for a worth of persuasian...
years since TORA TORA TORA...
years since PEARL HARBOR...
          with whoever it was that starred
in that... custard fish of fetish...

            great h'america...
auschwitz prolonged by years...
hisroshima: dead-end...
in a blink of an eye...
             because "ukraine" somehow still
matters... the... starvation project...
of the 1930s...
                
  the attack on pearl harbor was
an honest act of war!
the dropping of the atom-bomb...
on hiroshima...
the use of civilians...
to end a war...
                    what is so fair:
as to then heave a monopoly
of exporting movies to...
the last: beside "your" owned
corner of the world...

     to heave a breath against those
best providing...
that's one thing...
anyone well paid would
be best assured to simply shut... up...
but not... when one is sold
a propaganda narrative...

   pearl harbor was once...
tora tora tora...
                      i don't even want
to entertain this narrative...
and their liberty...
and their shining emblem...
whatever it is that they thought
they had...
this mongrel nation et al hybrid
loitering... yes... all that...

there was a once upon a time
invting my parents
to go over... "there"...
           to... schlomo...
and to... jarput-e...
             a ******* stance for a 7/11...
                 how about...
the magic dries up?
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2020
it's almost impossible to tell them apart -
   that there is a need to "tell them apart" is
an altogether...
     i've seen more need to scrutinize
                   choking on morning air...
or a menthol cigarette prior to climbing
into bed: imagining with a bear
and hoping the night might extend for
the whole of winter...
                     as in: my unapologetic?
my counter "liberal" / pandering side note
*******-whipping or
best of leather: at that crucial moment
when skin... becomes leather...
            i tend to think of that moment...
pre-packaged sort of ideal: smokey and
cinnamon-esque or any other variation
of peering into amber...
that there's still a crown of autumn in
that gem: i am no mistaken...
that i'll finish this without "jumping ship"
or changing the subject matter
completely - there's hope for that too...
enter believing one thing -
  leave with something else, completely...
better that than enter
fragmented and leave... likewise...
- three words like some poison
    have taken up enough "space" in my head
(which is probably time, more or less)
to either empty it: devoid...
                 or make my "ego"
claustrophobic enough to pretend to
escape into Freudian atom schematics...
not that i'm a fan...
but... unlike any mathematical formula
and unlike any "trans-misandry" /
   garbage heap that verbiage...
                                altogether then...
misanthropes under the mistletoe
kiss kiss... yet no one tells the supposed
philanthropists to... the road to hell
is paved: yellow with a tinge of
a good, an intention...
                  a "work-around" vaccine /
a better hearing-aid...
those three words...
    in the beginning...
              the chicken the egg
   the egg the omelette the poached
the fried the scrambled the hard-boiled
who brought down the runny yoke
while prometheus brought down
the fire those 5 minutes or so?
prior to:
the geocentric model - Celeste -
                    the heliocentric model -
evidently the atomised model
throughout - under the auspicious loot
of the microscope given:
up up the telescope sees no further
chance for... asteroid and other -esque
playdough...
            less... or more...
the geocentric model < the heliocentric model
    is therefore...
      > (more) or < (less) than...
a society run on... nog and 'gg...
             scatter radio frenzy static...
khhh... no interruption...
it must have been a "breath of fresh air"
a sort of: from the outside looking in...
whether or not
the pyramids might have...
proven anything beside a hyper:
necrophilia                           inflated...
that some people still
  pursue a life surrounding
the necropolis - oh a very modern /
contemporary sort of people
in the east...
  near neville chamberlain's land
of Ozoo and Zu and the Czechoslovaks...
that the pyramids were
not intended as sundials...
          prior to the heliocentric
model... no advances... yet...
hit-and-miss with Beijing's and Vilnese
herbal lottery for ills and ailment(s)...
- how wrong? wrong...
      Viennese and...
            the geocentric < the heliocentric
yet as a matter of
perspective... reading a 2D map
is far easier than...
         as a matter of perspective
from A to B... the earth is...
temporarily flat...
                after that... take out
the toys of constellations and however
many moons...
however "society" operates -
gynocentrism in saudi arabia...
***** letters: telekinetic insemination
via the eye-link
on the borrowed:
  a parody of neon insomnia
      teased with a perpetual advert-friendly /
pop-up *******
hard-on... towing flops... and floppy...
after: too much exposure...
there's this...
  and there's also the rest
of the morning... and my homage
to it...
   which is more than i expected.
Gary R Davis Oct 2020
Amazing doesn't suffice
To describe the sacrifice
That freedom's fruits can bare
In givers who for lowly care

The ones who pay it forward Time will not forget
For ones who can't afford
To match their tangible gift

These people who are free
And could have their luxury
But give instead to others need
As greater greatness they achieve

This is the icing on freedom's cake
The ones who give when they could take
They are always in our debt
These givers will not forfeit

Yet, there are givers oft' unsung
Even higher on the rung
How did these heroes e'er exist?
By parents - the great philanthropists!
Bruce Levine Jul 2018
The Renaissance
The Enlightenment
The Baroque
The Romanesque
The Classical
The Neo-classical
The Romantics
The Avant-Garde
The Dark Ages
The Middle Ages
The Federalists
The Philanthropists
The Modernists
The Cubists
The Minimalists
The Impressionists
The Imperialists
The Rationalists
The Surrealists
The Transcendentalists
The Gilded Age
The Industrial Age
The Golden Age
The Space Age
The Age of Reason
The Age of Mediocrity
(alternately titled: lion eyes hide sharp claws)

Aye attest tubby reincarnated
     from one male Russian Blue
species Felis silvestris catus
     named Morris if that gives a clue,
and during my fuzzy past
     hence, asthma “Cats Cradle”
     segued into kitten hood
     fur hum lee established

    type cats as (tin pan) alley cat,
     a rather litter boxed gritty debut
t'wood become (later in life) tabby
     quick as greased lightening
     snatching in the air,
     when tender vittles flew,
technically got fired (acquiring
     appropriate nick names)

     as fame (like a bushy cat tail) grew
viz perfect back up crooner
     for “Cat Stevens”,
     or lead singer for
     the "Stray Cats" oddly
coupled, featured, and
     incorporated with the guru
Horton Hears A Hoo,

yes him Elephant resembling
     a humungous mandrake
     from the, "Animals"
whose body heat could
     easily melt an igloo,
whereby Eskimos accepted charity from
     Korean philanthropists named Joo
     (founders of Palaces for Pachyderms)

these lumbering creatures possessed
     an exemplary photographic memory
     (rivaling that of the amazing
     deceased idiot savant
     Kim Peek) knew
practically every detail
     incorporating trunk their lines
     (and could track missing link,

when felines shared common ancestor
but,...such petty files would most likely boar
and go way off course, and hence
     will shy away being extempore
favoring a deliberate fore
ray padding around basically ignore
ring any rhyme or reason
suddenly ending this persiflage,
     and thence to thee bon jour
They starve the masses
use the deadly gasses.
Eradicate the smart Jews.
Control main stream news.
Steal our hearth and homes
15 minute approved city zones.
Destroy the cow and chicken
eat the bugs and the vermin
fake eggs and philanthropists
pretending to be scientists
eugenics is their religion
their solution is attrition.
(alternately titled: lion eyes hide sharp claws
unless made irate, then yours truly
bares his sharp talons
on all of mine faux pas).

Aye attest tubby reincarnated
from one male Russian Blue
species Felis silvestris catus
named Morris if that gives a clue,
and during my fuzzy past
hence, asthma “Cats Cradle”
segued into kitten hood
fur hum lee established

type cats as (tin pan) alley cat,
a rather litter boxed gritty debut
t'wood become (later in life) tabby
quick as greased lightning
snatching in the air,
when tender vittles flew,
technically got fired (acquiring
appropriate pet nicknames)

as fame (like a bushy cat tail) grew
viz perfect back up crooner
for “Cat Stevens”,
or lead singer for
the "Stray Cats" oddly
coupled, featured, and
incorporated with the guru
Horton Hears A Hoo,

yes him Elephant resembling
a humungous mandrake
from the, "Animals,"
whose body heat could
easily melt an igloo,
whereby Eskimos accepted charity from
Korean philanthropists named Joo
(founders of Palaces for Pachyderms),

these lumbering creatures possessed
an exemplary photographic memory
(rivaling that of the amazing
deceased idiot savant
Kim Peek) knew
practically every detail
incorporating trunk hated lines
(and could track missing lynx),

when felines shared common ancestor
but,...such petty files would most likely boar
and go way off course, and hence
I will shy away being extempore
favoring a deliberate fore
ray padding around basically ignore
ring any rhyme or reason
suddenly ending this persiflage,
and thence to thee bon jour.
Rew Jan 27
Sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this;
" Who on earth could vote for this lying chump "
try *** offenders bullies and rapists,

Anarchists and jailed insurrectionists
the immature who's hero dubbed them dum
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,

Ask ragged trousered philanthropists
and the dictators who've become his chums,
try *** offenders bullies and rapists,

And those antidemocratic fascists
shameless GOPers queueing to kiss his ***,
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,

Ask his sad insecure apologists
all these unblushingly will come up trumps
try *** offenders, bullies and rapists,

and twisted insecure rabid racists
a mutual courtship for a closet  ****
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,
try *** offenders, bullies and rapists...
Ryan O'Leary Oct 2020
Socialists distrust philanthropists
                    because
Capitalists have no compassion.
(one only needs ask the French)

Bill Gates was in preparation for
The Covid 19 Vaccine when he
began his African philanthropy.

A W.A.S.P sting can be fatal  /
                                                  ˚

— The End —