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Loveless Wraith Mar 2012
Donuts, o donuts,
Wheat Flour Enriched
Soybean,
Palm and Cottonseed Oil Hydrogenated
Vegetable Oil Partially Hydrogenated
Cocoa Processed with Alkali,
Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate
Sodium Aluminum Phosphate
Aluminum Sulfate
Salt, Dextrose, Soy Lecithin,
Guar Gum, Cellulose Gum, Tapioca Dextrin,
Corn Dextrins, Mono Diglycerides,
Citric Acid, Enzymes,
Natural & Artificial colors & flavors
Sorbic Acid and Sodium Propionate
and Potassium Sorbate
To Retain Freshness:
Eat 'em up yum.
CA Guilfoyle Aug 2012
Chemicals - hexafluorosilicic acid and sodium fluorosilicate
Derived from the phosphate mining industry,
both considered highly toxic by the EPA
These hazardous wastes are dumped into drinking water
LIES ... Fluoride - it's so good for your teeth
lies the dentist, lies the doctor, lies the politician
Lies the dead fish
in the water
This is more of a rant, than a poem - I am quite upset, as I have just learned that some morons are trying to get fluoride put in our pristine water here in Portland, OR. If you care to educate yourself about most drinking water around the country and where fluoride is derived from, here is one bit of info.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEZ15m-D_n8
Jami Samson Jun 2013
Electrons, making me feel like a *****.
Where the heck did ADP come from?
I don't even want to wonder why there suddenly is a phosphate group.
How come G3P wasn't a nickname when I was a sophomore?
Glycolysis was not a crisis,
And I understood Miss Minnie's drawings.
Now I have a book with 3D figures,
But cellular respiration was not who it was four years ago,
And I swear I've encountered all of them before,
But where did they all go?
I know their names but not who they are.
Honestly, I'd rather think fermentation occurs in a bar.
June.27.13, 11AM
Lora Lee Sep 2018
there is a tree
growing in this
womb
its roots cracking
from fissured earth
the trunk, in layers
                    unwrapping
sprouting solid
from ancient rebirth
Breathing light
into branches,
unfurling -
not always
with ease, yet
always in a rising,
not always in comfort
but in the end
a widening,
        lit horizon
of past blood lining shed
of crimson cycles renewed
of old patterns,
            gone and dead
of mosaic seedlings strewn
and now before
sacred eyes
a photosynthesis occurs
revealing leaflets, tender
reaching into
grounded universe
I am a star-system
a stellar orbit landscape
a singing cosmic rune
a ring of phosphate fire
under tourmaline moon
rubies, garnets, onyx
all pouring from this
innermost, feminine cavern
liquid gold, in lava form
precious metals,
a righteous storm
wild dancers
around the blaze
swaying magic
in midnight haze
and here I stand,
in uterine gleam
the fruit of my soul
the queen
          of my
dream
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BxWl-O19i-I
Rashmitha Rao Mar 2012
I grow old when I have to,
young, when I want to.
I go to reality school with Sandman,
Cupid and Tooth Fairy.
I spin spiderwebs when I’m bored
and sell them off to art houses.
I run a theater in my attic
and put the actors away when I’ve guests.
I deliver single mothers’ babies on Sundays
and name them after my lost lovers.
I trap sunlight in a fishing net, powder it,
mix it with rock phosphate, alfalfa
and feed it to plants in the cities.
I read moods through people’s lips
and tune the piece of sky overhead
to shades of blue, and seldom white.
I put salt in tears, sugar in kisses,
and pepper…to make you sneeze.
I run into the atmosphere to dig out
precious little oddities lost in time
- like dainty coins dropt out of butter fingers,
gift-wrapped kisses flown towards heedless lovers,
paper rockets cut out of vintage tabloids,
and words – all made of gold.
I send them by post to girls with broken hearts,
with a charming story attached to each curio,
as **things lost and found
have a way of restoring faith.
a ***** bus
a faded road
a song that everybody knows

a text hello
a dying phone
a daydream of distant snow

a cloudless sky
a phosphate mine
an estimated travel time

an orange sunset
a melody line
a moment that's completely mine
Cassidy Claire Johnson © 2012.
Written on a very long bus trip.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
and as the western slavs took to roman calibration and the eastern slavs took to reinterpreting greek with cyrillic, both the eastern and the western slavs lost sight of their pagan "ordeal" by forgetting their once fabled fathers in the stately category of gods, so while the eastern slavs continued to cling so desperately to woman kneeling in shawls by the altar of "innocent" sacrifice, the western slavs experienced a pagan revival on calton hill - so within all this being done, roman lettering had to undue the theological plagiarism of turning zeus into jupiter and jesus into jehovah on that mighty trident of poseidon. (oh... is it really that desperate and annoying and childish to use these nouns? i'd like to see you replace zeus et al. with: hydroxypropyl starch phosphate... or sodium lauroamphoacetate, although i admit, there's one rational and scientific concession to this, zeus et al. are all imaginary nouns, a bit like √-1ª.)*

on the shore of loch lomond
i was seduced by zeus to revive
polytheism in earnest with a stern gazing eye,
for zeus heard of the satisfaction of yahweh(ª although
this noun isn't... because why would rabbis
pain over yhwh with ha ha he he hi hi hu hu ** **
disambiguations, while the greeks
didn't ze ze za za is is us us es es os os zi zi zu zu
but instead allowed aristotelian musings?)
at the establishment of the state of israel,
(ah ****... had the pictures once...
but words are better than pictures
since pictures are a blockage of memory’s revival
while words penetrate -
although the damnable thing is,
i don’t remember what i said)
then too i saw hades seal the revival having turned
himself into cerberus in the forest of my resentments
unnamed just above bedford’s forest.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
with him included? the devil's dozen, or
the 13 -
             then the hours of Horus:
noon - Simon Peter -
later with covenant
of the hour: holy spirit,
and the minute hand: son
                       and the second hand: the father
oh quiet the trinity handful,
given year zero -
            hours 12 through to 1
Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew,
Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas

                                    s / p.
                    s.                                 a.
                   θ.                                      j.
                  j.                     Δ                     j.  
                         m.                                  p.
                                             b.

look at the ******* clock! something's awry!
Simon peter 12
     Andrew 13
        James 14
                   John 15 (3 a.m. / p.m.)
       Philip 16
         Bartholomew 17 (5 p.m.)
        Thomas 18 (six)
                         Matthew 19 (seven)
                James (ibn Alφaeus) 20 (eight)
     "θ" (nine),
                  Simon K9'ite - ten
          Iscariot - eleven     - clocks are wrong...
the year 0 a.d. is based on this,
               twelve disciples, twelve hours a.m. / a.d.
and                                              v.  
                                                 p.m. / b.c.,
   hence the trinity / Δ -
an hour for the holy spirit to catch on,
son monetises the minutes
and the father being omnipresent understands within
seconds...
                       but i was aiming to do justice to the harvest missed
last year, i was intending to make wine;
hence the list of ingredients,
a) wine yeast;
             b) yeast nutrient:
                                diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid, magnesium carbonate,
   thiamine hydrochloride, zinc sulphate, ferrous
ammonium sulphate, biotin;
   c) pectolase:
                    pectinase enzyme, dextrose monohydrate;
d) bruclens cleaner / steriliser:
                   sodium percarbonate;
  e) fine fining A: silica sol,
                  "      B: chitosan (derived from crab and shrimp
shells, contains sodium metabisulphite)
                 f) two months' worth of patience.
it's that time of the year where you make wine
(just a little bush, enough for 12 bottles) -
and gestapo a curry -
                                   a tarka dhal
and a kheralan chicken with coconut milk...
i love when **** decays, it tastes better than
when **** blossoms and isn't exactly edible
but merely colourful.
West of a mutilated day, wormwood salts are scattered for some wild-chinned Controllers on a high pinnacle with viva vox in the Mandrake, Vernarth's house of Orion:

Saint John the Apostle says the proverbial Psalm: “In the lofty Cage, Gregorian sylphs, with skillful gestures and mania for cheering, are graced for coming to the Way of the cheap and venerable souls that are made up of the bodies of the evil-born on their railing. , in quagmire of swallowing spittle where the cold winter is banished, to jump from the cold oriental, having to walk with the elbows, and with the daring screams of the Sylphs that shake themselves among the foggy and fleshy tangle with rags and fur cloths flying smoothly through the tops of the oak trees in smoke to purge for Vernarth! Gospel, gospel in the barn of the delicate humus was felt, and that it was refracted in the refined forest with philosophical sacred love. Lord, all of us who are because we are, are you Lord ..., all in my exercises of loving gaze, are channeled by the indexes of my thumb to the little finger at the bottom of the sea, and float again from the little finger to the bottom of the surface. Waving in the transience of the world and holding back, Father God thunder, this with laryngitis when he outlines himself with the vast earthly sight, he covers with his right hand, the phlegm of ***** that made him drive an empty tremor, in my lack of security he testified by singing thousands and millions of choirs at this auction. The first ring of the profile will be carried by Jesus light, rubbing his back with some eyelashes of a drunk beetle, while the beetle will collect water between its extensions that will wail real needs of every morning albi - rosaceous that will travel in a circle towards the auditory of the Last auctioned saying: "As I have not to be where I was and was ..., if at night my beloved morning row impulsively and goes against it so as not to stumble into the night ...". Each cut piece of the dermis will have to be auctioned, I had Faith and the screenplay, encapsulated and embedded in each hope of the ramshackle flock, the impiety-weary ogre needed to stow his empty viscera with the cloth of the celestial kingdom, which at auction was beginning to squeeze and vanish when regurgitating smoothies and disintegrated spaces of belonging of the devotees of Vernarth. The writing is signed with lupus, this Lucia emanated from the morning resentment of skin envy, and from the massif drenched in anarchy and city archeology, lying hesitantly ..., as if the forest gave it some indication of rebirth, under the shadow of twinkling doubt, from the high front where they were nuanced over the engendered banners of truth, elucidating the forbidden and true matrix.

Adelimpia, Vernarth's grandmother, was squatting cutting the drool from the dwarf tree that lost a forage, at around 6:30 p.m. on the 39.9th day of a supposed 14th month of another dimension, almost winding up in a tangled series of productive hesitations and rituals, taking her victorious chariot in Lent where the teacher without felt traction, weave sprinkles of forgiveness on her distributor, starting her shaft and not her running engine, she already knew herself as a commoner with the wake of a ship without knowing where to go. Those who did not see themselves more backward intrigued to be part of the central bar of the rocker of the nymphs in their stadium, with a yawning lip where no one was invited. Mega-watt snitches go to the sacristan, breaking speeds of intangible entities that abide by her law, as a sage vilified in her secular realm, even in nowhere, the atmospheric larynx hissed widening through the flakes of the auctioned field, Joshua leaping with her. Cranky black horse Equus, with his anthropomorphic hooves, accelerated with action that put him among the lost belongings of the plateau, whose east limited him to two half-quarters of each other, and two-thirds slowing the sunset from ruby to ruby, brightening in the shades of green and green. Vernarth  Bernardolipo's father swallowed crops, from whose movements were born out of place gestures of residence, parturient fairies appeared emerging at once, or perhaps not emerging, the afternoon crushes the unplayable sun, Hugh and Anne covered their supra orbital eye areas, more towards a hillside where thousands of repertoires were being knocked down, and copious tableware with caked sugar, which seemed to reduce the acoustics from the beginning in what seemed solidly to fade to postulate in new shades of the weary rubbed rainbow, like thousands of shades doing the times of zascandil  in a curled comb, re-sprouting certain storm deities in the natural bow of the wind entangled in each stratus, sprinkling on the hectares of Possessions, standard deeds, sales orders, mutual funds, bonds ... the coffers and the earthly decomposed. Before each onslaught, a highly dense fog arose, highly ignored, anti-critical, and more disparaging of amassing a high scarcity with a local, in his quintals of his last bread for the flock. Lashes that exceed the grammage, foliage from leaf to leaf, from today until tomorrow, in a traveling satyr of dry leaves, "The Sphincter of the World will need Purgative ...".

Marathon of poisonings,… Lord, you have looked me in the eye; with your boat I will follow you, to your privileged perspiring cinnamon dock with various vociferous songs. What fared more than seven zeros, now they will be eaten by rodents, Lord attend my prayers, the pink mast has been sailing at several knots from the north, and it is rapidly losing its polar location, between verbs never traveled or driven, I dared to show off that the path of the gospel in small distant fragments will abound in infinite space, only the one that predominates will glide over my forehead with an accumulation of everything seen and that today in this sale; where everyone you own and care for, like a baby in front of a dissimilar kinship of good adventure and progeny that will leave your hands. "  

Etréstles says: "Soft and mellifluous presumptions ..., where do I have to look if nothing is heard? What is proposed and permeates the law of possessing and not, perhaps the strap reaches an infinite house, where the sun breaks down ..., the spout of my minimal rebirth slowly turned it into my reoriented defined cell. My grandfather Joshua fertilizes the new sales every day with his hooves bandaged with hemp, the sebum stones since they were so are already spirited circles, the hand of the maker is being compared with his tactile sense, Kaitelka's lungs, full of phosphate residues and sulphated, for the first time they milk in medium drops on their udders, although saying and what they prefer to assert of a worthy Down! If it were not, for his regal model of cetacean ostentation, he would not be in the Horcondising taking from today, towards the end of the curtain in the regular blushes, to create the great detachment, so necessary for the pulsating plain and purge his master Vernarth . The night covers it with sulfur oceanic satin, with the spauto of its jet and a magical moving game. Everyone was distracted when she circled over the routines of well-magnetized charms. More than two subjects were deprived of their well-placed jaw, when the overtime ran not crossing in the entire field in which she lived. It was time to unmask the interveners, the boatswain of the alfalfa field had been eating almonds with oil from the sole of a Joshua bototo shoe, she folded her wings at halftime to take a modest breath, to resume weak paths, deprived of confidence and not. To know who they would obey and to whom they would yield the fruit of their old and stock market work in the garden. Chaos for them, light of Lights, for those affiliated with the ruler who is Joshua, who will live behind a makeshift Patagua tree, erecting  aquisus tents and the dogmas of tomorrow. The magnificent concessions in the Horcondising massif continued to fall precipitously; some rummaged through their accounting almanacs, distanced and squandered their exquisite profits. The stagecoach is moving away, and the barrels of water were scarce, the aroma and tastes of roasted beef comes out over the bushes, the stores sway in a naive wind of blooming daisies, the sales were coming against the owners themselves, the taste of the laughter degraded their own present absence, the paraphernalia of the little birds on the carpet of the mountain plateau were, they began to do mercy of the tip in the exposed beams, the hundred feet with calluses came down from the semi-incinerated poles. Nothing smelled of pride anymore, just the last shadow of Joshua's Chief Sheriff; Vinicius, who thinned out the spotlights of the semi-strongmen still trying to collect his heavy wealth, now that among clouds of heavy cargo they went to give him only one habit to try to fit his body, just to wear his outfit. They looked, looked and kept looking at his octogenarian tearful sapro- genito dream, where the first dream ends, and his exile begins. Vinicius, locks the door, and starts drinking mate tea; while screams of those bad jackals were heard fighting for their inherited evils, in manners of not conquering those who lose a dream of their patriarchal courting-love, under the shadow of the most powerful bush for the rest of their lives in groves. Crumbs come off the beards of Joshua, his galvanized knife cuts multiform slices, to feed everyone equally and continue the purge of Vernarth "

The most desolate deity came; he walked in full sun, shelled and unattached, full of elongated bridles and with haste in his eyes. But not in its strides, thousands of years passed, and it brushed with my lost zeal in the quarrels of the Argolica, in the salinized and rotten feces of Eurymedousa, with its snowy and tricolor feet, hooded with its goods! , therefore, unable to sustain its own air from its nasal socket, dropping it likes brave foam that fell in the fired distance. Bad cooked fruit, with the flavor of a sleeping cinnamon stick, mitigating in its kind balsam, frayed wind yielding 360 and so many more suns, before the last one that I carry on my limbs ends. The end of the End began, in the seven ends adorning my steps. The obscene deities came, with their rebuilding geo music, breaking endometriums of goddess’s mobs and their almost massacred Pillan Mapu, among thousands that were, thousands of nowhere they are ..., in a today already anesthetized. He lies in the stench of the corrugated floor, in the wooden handles and rods stacked on the floor gesturing; the god Pillan Mapuche, under a generic vault of sleep falls into lethargy on the faces, leaving his unintelligible hollow free; and its unbalanced environment, crossing the basaltic moraine that circulated one day from the placenta of the fatigued cemetery. Dreams in kilos everywhere of pressed ducks, with dense covering and grasses on the hooves of bucephalos, crucible, living trident and extraordinary flowers ***** in floating skirmish, with dosing globules, thirst that is born from the whiteness of the first day in confessional liberation, cell of white with a looted look, shields of osculation, like icy air that transpires his ninth life and that is born from his ninth death, splinted in the face of death that mutilates his fingers when crossing his genes of perfidious and monkish plot of a life bypass. I sing or I do not sing, I lack my throne from where I observe the glances with time and impudence, possessing everything behind the back of the macabre time in counter-steps of tender golden plague, in foreign skin growing on my right blanket, from so much passing lights with cracked night outings, walking towards me, between roads and between Monday nights with faces of long and sinuous unctuous branches, with great step and size. Now I have to draw the curtain, on light lying in the shadow of an opening scattered in warm beets. With sincerity ..., and mistake there is no will to germinate in them, I will be born without being with them, to be meaningless without them ..., and that it is above other absences, with great eloquent and numerical weight on absent.

They are still plastered, washed out and with the frizzy pigments of a parnassus Paradise, where it has been intervening over its bloodless headers. Joshua walks thousands of steps on with his Equus skull, like a meridian slipping off certain rods of decay. Thus they all floated in the cephalous porous airs, with great airs of Cain collapsing on Abel recomposed in reserves of a millennium that fell twisted and stunned, captivated by an ominous word. Sendal covered themselves in bandurrias that covered the melodious icebergs of exulting individuals and swollen with passion, with their rummaging and thunderous noises going along with their flowers to the sea dissipated. My paternal grandmother was delimited; she paraded from the openings with cough-covered mounds of the frozen volcano, growing reflective slits of dense gradation in the nervousness of the overhang and angry sighing heat, in all the vertiginous and venerable spirits numbed by the darkness of so many sorrows on their bluish heads. Eurymedousa, already ill-fated to continue in Rhodes, appeared on stilts and with agonizing lights and yielding to the crossbows of the centaurs gagged by the Beauties; they consisted of their seesaws before the agreement with the Master, who gave us her Hellenic manifestos, and no less to others. My uncle King Arthur carried news of the locked consonants of his string and with a riding crop for his steed, tangled in rows that tore his face into small abscesses on his face, which were superimposed on those capillaries of the sweat of Heaven. Blessed Lord, the knee had grafts of golden steel, the horns of the radio sol brego that were broken in its metaphysical pregnancy, and its food collector that had solid gold baths towards a tabernacle fussing through its mucous orifices of alfalfa with the a flavours of irradiated cattle . He paraded with his loving mount flying down his track and kept clueless, at times he ran so swiftly that he crossed evil omens with Joshua, he was seen as weak and white in insulting slanders, Tamayo; his friend, who was a Talamite native, followed him on horseback, his son rode the sheep every summer, passing wool of pure holy insignia of a healthy man.
Along the banks of the reeds, he came riding on a donkey, Edward my paternal uncle, the third of Adelimpia, came three steps before his donkey, and he counted three times before riding him with provisions for good waters, wrapped in an energetic fire of Saturday tobacco in his mouth in mourning, who lovingly watching over himself, looking at today towards a peak for his sheep, looking at them for a manger of borders and tiny hunching phrases of black song about legends of the offender, which tempted to show off invading their fields. He is to the right of his mother Adelimpia, and under the rib of his father Bernardolipo overflowing, giving sugar to the colt Dolly in the sunsets, bequeathing affection with syrup, and a thousand compliments in December of 9,900 AD, Joshua, I remained in shreds of pageantry and endless lives, I always said, my lady, here I bring you a peasant's soup in flower of primed twisted canvas, in this three-year period I must call them to dinner in past lands with sweet potatoes to eat and candlesticks of flying seeds, with eager candies of a crack and their thirsty mouths. Gentlemen, I am Edward, their son, I want to sleep in your arms, after escaping from my worst perfidious toothless bite that still hurts inside. After eating great cholesterols from all over the world, amidst the tools of my children I am, always putting a tobacco leaf caught in the scrawled pieces and in great coinciding strokes, in circles dancing to throw away the bad and broken places badly thought and done. When I get to the end I will cling to the Joshua habit and shout not to leave me alone in the middle of this world, without toasted flour, cheese and tobacco. I am not a malignant man, I am only like those of us who are far below, feeling footprints on my spine, and I do not tell my wife Molly, so that she does not lack chickpea flour for our children wrapped in regrets and ***** with hunger and light blue in goodness, like saints and media, but in the end with clear blue water in my glasses. I invite everyone to my table to dine on oceans and worlds of clear celestial light, because with this hand I break this piece; I am the Son of Adelimpia and the supplier. They brought me in anemone branches when the Lord's headache invaded him, when he felt nails in his hands, to the east of Eden, without steps or turgid edges and a rough runaway palfrey”

The Horcondising massif turned into a great mountain, Edward was in the limestone of some potters and followers of Joshua molding him, they began to bait the rope that merges the mountain range, with the valley at the foot of all the mapus, mud flowing from the monastic floods , here they polisonated in the stony atonement of each lamentable trunk. They say;… faramalla  demonion, would be with a Silfife facing the mass of the vital obstacle, with faded coffee fiber, smeared in wine and bread, with eternal vintage vine. Luccica, Vernarth's mother, tackles familiar corners, with anointed frames of fiction in irrational ergonomics…; in numerous steps that will reach your distinguished heart. An ocean of doubts has fallen due to the inheritance that has precarious injuries, of battered egos and scrubbed by undue ignorance. Mountain delusions and manias, which run through the fibrillated vigils of some soft ropes and their abundant bristles like the choppy of an echidna escaping as it tingles by my twisted temples ”. The Horcondising  tam tam modulates through its crater and its pale face of a perpetual cell. Towards the forgiveness of the primordial ones and the commiseration of the orb burying itself in creation, this sacred and over the pale Sudpichian region will rest, in the roots growling in capillaries of the carbonated earths and in its badly wounded footprints. Horcondising is in quarantine, the elevation of the constellations are hyperillusionible, they migrate Along with Albalalhue and Carnivorous, the succeeded nymph that extracts exudation from a flushed match in the palm of some ideas on rollers, higher up and on angular from other right angles. Toiling with her hands, and rubbing possessions with her mazote and her patronage full of rakes.

Etréstles says: “Beyond all metal of hatred of every god not heard, beyond all evil of timid hatred I have not heard. I hold the playful phrasing of Edenic song, which calls us in voices full of long journeys, especially on this day fading. Through the hollow, belts and picket rings breaking the timid lights of the last sunset.  Cardinals in envelopes of fragile strengths, mountains with borders and deposits in the last voluminous plagues on the mason's eye.  Binding themselves in a pile, with saffron nails in their ears, with moths that run through the unforgivable morphologies. Do not lose life, abandon all noisy fight in coalition with the uninhabited *** of coins, there are forty days left to say goodbye to the god Faramalla, who lies with closed tec, limps to his lost pupils, and the sky swirls over his day when nothing not fit for any drinkable air with light bulb. Horcodising loses millimeters within minutes and rising, towards harvests to harvests, they lose merged schedule of a time without a past, reviling themselves from a present of consanguineous evil with an abstinent future. Luccica; Vernarth's mother, she is a sylph dragged by the tempest moraines, being detached to a contemplation and intake of life. The membranes of the accordion burst, and between brittle passageways crying without union, succumb to the teachings of foolish fate, Luccica as a portion owes its origin to the sea, taking its physiognomic bark from a seal specimen of aqueous flattery, to frize it on a similar surface umlauts on the "u", with phosphorescent and indeclinable forges, making it a beautiful maternal nymph, like the beautiful female picking up a moon in her arms, clinging to a new hallucinatory satellite to engender. "Live and talk with your peer, her dazzling sneaks in and laughs at this prominent queen, to exhale on those who observe her."

End Ellipsis Chapter XXXI
Horcondising  Castle Reign - Sudpichian
Transversal Valley  the Ferments - Parapsychological Regression
Mandrake, the Wild Auction
Fish The Pig May 2014
I was brought into this world by that not of my own choosing.
I was given a face and a name I cannot come to terms with.
I was raised by beings I've had too little time to observe and thus, do not understand them.
I was garbed in itchy fabrics that play too much of an important role in this society.
I was raised up and told to go forward on these stilts I can hardly maneuver-toddling as I go.
I was built from links of mineral, calcium phosphate, and collagen which was fitted with a skin prison,
then drowned in blood and excess organs
and told to live.
I was born to buy and sell and work and love
and to force offspring into these bone brackets and tell them
to do what I have done- for the sake of what?
After many years I cannot work the stilts
or understand my name
and the pollution they injest so heartily does not agree with my lungs
nor the gravity that keeps them barely grounded
keeps me barely able to lift a finger from it.
It seems they all learn to live in their own way
and do and don't with purpose
and exist as they should
carrying on like their parents-
but I watch from the diagonal,
evermore obstructed from their ways.
too little time
yes too little time I've had to study-
I wasn't ready when I was brought here
and by all that is orphic I was brought by mistake.

I'm a stranger in human skin
an alien in a person's world
a broken cog mixed in with upside-down and backwards instructions
devastatingly incompatible with all my fuzzy eyes can see.

I wasn't meant to be here
and I didn't come by choice.
I was forced in
and I must force my way out.
Razors
Ropes
Water
Gas
Guns
Cyanide
Bleach
and Pills
are all good methods of forcing your way out-
that is, if you feel like I do,
and am not built nor ready nor in want of residing in this much too complicated world.
Pearson Bolt Feb 2017
you set my neurons firing
like an arsonist in the foyer
of the old abandoned church
built within the synaptic gaps
of my brain matter.

burning bridges was the only way
to keep from sinking with the anchors
chained to my feet.
i find myself, instead, adrift
inside your bloodstream.

so scrape the match and watch phosphate
sputter like the final gasp of a dying sun.
let the shaft of wood tumble end-over-
end into the kerosene amassed at my feet.
raze what's left of me. set me free.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2019
This year near now later as I slide into safe for

the feeling,
never once in real life as they call the experience of
mortal ripening misspellts
corrected asgoodas
magigic
tstsefly sleepy sick o hno this is that book

louis said it sounds like science fiction --- but
you init lou
look
it's that guy who married your mom and rescued your from the
cult,
fundamentally,
with no regard for the damage

I just knew. Okeh, we were caught in a net we did not know exists.

Evil in its e-sense, virtual balnce factor intended to keep good
in constant chessish cheshirish grin
cheque,
en garde, to point a fault in the plan… ellipses suffice for a minor
re
spect to authors admitting un belief of most

order quired fixt ac-counting tual vir-beginning ever
things, with no
withdrawal date, the riches pile up so hitchenslipped in the bull
Creflo Dollar, props, brohawny black ****** mofoe than fren
in the end,

y'did your proper whatever you knew in your self right right
it just feels wrong

jets, ball'n'f'Jeesus, risen above the fray,

in Beulah Land,
c'mon childrens, t'all join me walk wit jesus hear me say
ain't another way I know and you know,
I cain't lie

nonono chile my heart be fixt
fixt means, ain broke
no joke, blowin hard hard har on that deep left end
blue bleu sacre bleu

I best rest and find mind gone a wander why you hear?
Both, heare, here and hear, oft stretched to cover
to means of leaking wwwwu.

we may, as we the corpus hoct to pay some debt
somebody never owed,
an oath to believe a lie is true,

I absolve you. You are free to no longer bher
the burden of eventually accounting
for every, every, every ever
sworn idle word
lock for
ever int the con fused wicks match lock candles,

we did not know if this went to now,
when we have these
magic pens and broad bands of reading minds finding
threads
we
share, ideas at bare word level, down to actual
jots, breath commas, some call them

but readers of many [paradigms of mind] novels,
realize their roles
with shame,

venting noxious fumes for [that verted joy fools floods of
test-toss-or be owned}}}protein trigger me a fu
ture
sure thing ding
Those genes that code for proteins are composed of tri-nucleotide units
called codons, each coding for a single amino acid.
Each nucleotide sub-unit consists of a phosphate,
deoxyribose sugar and one of the 4
nitrogenous nucleotide bases.
The purine bases adenine (A) and guanine (G) are larger and consist
of two aromatic rings.
The pyrimidine bases cytosine (C) and thymine (T) are smaller and consist
of only one aromatic ring.
In the double-helix configuration,
two strands of DNA are joined to each other by hydrogen
bonds
in an arrangement known as
base pairing.

From <https://www.sciencedaily.com/terms/genetic_code.htm#:~:targetText=The%20genome%20of%20an%20organism,­for%20a%20single%20amino%20acid.>

Can we stand up right balanced, okeh. This ain't anybodies idea of hell,

except the one Mormon guy who told me Morman worst ell, tellestial kingdom,
was so much better than now that if god let you see it,
you would die to get there.

Time will tell.
Keep the pressure on, high speed chase scarios are not torture,
they only feel like

lift off, oh shitunexpected floatin ches above

the idea of enjoyment as an occupation.
Peacemaking, as an occupation, occupying until now we

gather, at the river and laugh
laugh laugh alladem rules and reg ulah stuff, gwa n on ol woids wise
womb man know gnosticious suspicious
auspicity
perspicacity capacity to tttalk sit no stutification evacuation of
I can't
remember. But grandpa, remember, Siri knows, ask her.

2019 wandering away from the ol'fo'khome ain't the
adventure it once was
past the edges of all the known in the world. My 8 yr old
grand daughter put a locater spell on my

converged network node
if I manifest in odd realms she has Siri steer me to bed.
The future is as good as I imagined,

but I'm not the guy about to die while wondering what he missed
that everyone else knew from the womb.
In the book this has no title, it follows some line I posted here last year. The intention is light hearted offence to friends who doubt i'm dying right, many years in the future.
That,
Christ we gain,
the pill that guards against the pain
is here today,
The only way to make it go is
praying to the anti pill dot.co.

I,
who stretched out on the cross
could have tossed some codeine phosphate down
never had to wear a crown
no thorns to hide the blood inside
just left it as it flows.

Heaven knows but I do not
what
pharmaceuticals have got,
it must be in the chemistry
a reaction that goes on
inside of me.

That chameleon may linger on
a lot longer than I will
and
another pill
thank Christ for those, but
Heaven knows
that may be wrong.
vega Jul 2020
clumsy
i’m so clumsy
i’m so full of
gasoline, and
stupider still as
i let you in
i let you win
and i let the
phosphate feel
like loving
when you sing
when you sting
i found it too
fascinating
one more strike
before you begin
and you’re clumsy
oh, so clumsy
you’re so full of
broken things
and when i burned
i never knew
that i’d also become
a part of them.
Inspired by the song Clumsy by All Time Low.
L T Winter Nov 2016
I've been existing,
Co-existing
And non-existing.

Theres a smell of blood I get when eating pieces of myself.
Savouring them for later.
Unable to begin or end I cannot stay or leave as always-

Intended because my skin crawls abnormally.
Though anti-gravity possesed each piece in essence
Theres a sickness in that I do agree.

But benevolence is seldomn here
Anymore, and sanity is long bereaved
I am merely stone holding onto fragments of thinner things.

Breathing phosphate, I apologise for the wings
That were sewn together out of spite.
I've cracked legs to be here.
Listening to those sounds that connect my emotions to my understanding became relief becomes...
More angry than you know, like a whisper in the snow
I drift--
Starlight Jul 2018
Addiction,
Oh how she longed for addiction,
that she could understand,
Like a gentle tap on the door,
A little ring in her head,
A buzzing in the back of her throat,
Reminding her it was time to sink lower,
Down into the pits of her own damnation.

Addiction,
She would prosper compared to this,
She would fly,
Wings out like telescopes cataloguing the night skies,
Pain was only a replacement,
A repression of her bottled sins,
A soul deep binding that kept her Outer Her from going nuclear.

Addiction,
If only she could let herself go back,
Take steps back down the staircase and away from heaven,
Climb down into the well and huddle in the bone deep chill of that water,
Iced veins, burning under her skin,
That peculiar smile on her face..

The distraction,
Like triple rainbows from a school bus seat,
All the children turn their heads in wonder,
Eyes wide in innocence and joy,
Sweeping away from their little lives to witness that majesty,
And her,
Lying,
Crying,
Dying,
Drowning,
In that bed of hers,
Sheets seeping into her skin and biting cramps at her limbs,
And her fingernails,
Sharp enough to hurt and pull her mind away from dark alleys and harsh truths.

It was not a world of infinity,
Not a world she could escape by regular means,
And it pained her everyday to be reminded,
It ached in the pit of that tomb of snakes, writhing around in her stomach,
Smelt of ash and soon-to-be-lit matchsticks,
Phosphate, red, burning, like the sun,
And her, with skin, as soft and white as the curtains going up in flames,
Eyes wide and begging for something else to look at,
A summer snowstorm out the window perhaps,
Anything but the digging thorns of truth that tightened around her throat like a noose.

Anything but those thoughts,
Of how sharp her fingernails are,
And how locked her door is,
And how small she is compared to the majesty of the world,
Glorious and frightening.

Anything but how easy it could be.
*could trigger, please don't read if it hurts you
Mike Hulstrom Jul 2017
The charcoal dust settles
Building bombs from rusty metals
Crafting threats to mayors: I'll blow up hospitals
It’s simple how I’m giving them lost face
Burn it with a wick of aluminium phosphate
Lexie Oct 2021
Do you change shape to
Slipping through these days
Liquid dreamer
Faulty against lines in the sand
You have eight faces on a round head
Only irony would permit
Octagon facets of your expression
To reflect one another
If the earth could talk
Oh the stories she would spew
Perhaps she is the only true triumphant
Yet we press against her
Resisting the way she would show us
All the love she has given
Yet, race to the moon
Love to the blue stars in the black skies
Will we tarnish them too
When we reach where their light touches
Paying no respects, giving no courtesy
To light beyond our own
We are never satisfied, never happy
With where we are
We hate the journey, fear the end
Desire to burn so bright
Pushing the super in supernova past our thermosphere
When no one in this solar system cares
And as if any creature, animal, or vegetable
In the next solar system can see your flares
When nothing matters
What do you do
How will you burn
When the exosphere will one day pull to earth
Every atom we are composed of splits
Phosphate and nitrogen sin against each other
As if it was their first day in the garden
Knowing, time is our only true forbidden fruit
Mateuš Conrad May 2021
at what point that the sense of taste before
subjectively exclusionary
to the point of teasing itself as being
synonymous with objectivity?

beside: taste as subjectively inclusionary
is somehow a: bias
for example in two statements

(a) the Indian-subcontinent cuisine
is superior to the rest of the world...
  
   (b) Baltic "sushi" is superior sushi-sushi...
sushi-proper... Japanese "mushy" - no shy-moo
in sight...

well... question is... what can be objective
about taste...
perfect example... pasta al dente...
no one can argue with that one...
pasta is either just underdone and therefore
perfect or it's overdone and it's
only worth to put in some chemo-tomato
soup canned...

you can also overcook rice...
objectively you cook without salt...
which implies that if you don't cook with salt...
you're not exactly cooking at all:
as i once heard: food without salt isn't food...
it's produce...

it's not subjective to say: under-seasoned...
but still... the statement -
the Indian subcontinent cuisine is superior
to all the rest...
since there would be an argument for
south-east Asian cuisine... Chinese cuisine...
Italian...

there would be but...

(b) raw herring with gherkin, apple and dill
in a creamy sauce on a slice of toasted rye bread
is... well... what's the alternative...
a slice of raw salmon on a cushion of mushy
rice dipped with soya sauce / a green horseradish...

(a) a curry is... in all fairness... a gravy...
a stew...
   yes... but what over gravy / stew has an arsenal
of spices that could match you
to the Soviet stockpile of atomic warheads?
even yesterday as i was recovering from (a propos,
more on that later)

i came about a curry base recipe...
most other recipes involved merely
throwing some Kali dust mindlessly at tinned
tomatoes with the usual suspects
of onion, garlic and ginger...
however many times i did make this
recipe: turns out there's a difference between
a korma and a pasanda
        and since i was defrosting some lamb...

- but that i have a korma powder in my arsenal...
it's never enough to just... use a "swiss army knife"
when cooking...
i can't stress it enough, for the base:
onions, garlic, ginger... carrots... a green pepper,
a red pepper, chopped tomatoes,
say... madras curry powder, cumin, coriander,
turmeric, SMOKED paprika...
and of "course": ground fenugreek!

there's only an exclamation mark
after fenugreek since once i followed a recipe
that said to use seeds...
the first time i used fenugreek... like the first
time you use... Szechuan pepper...
or a black cardamom...

and then obviously... some sugar...
sultanas, ground almonds... coconut milk...
the best ****** sauce i ever tasted:
but there was more to it... you can't just
throw Kali dust at a can of tinned tomatoes...
or restrain yourself to merely onions, garlic, ginger...
what if i were a priest and i'd frown
at garlic? well... that i know:
                 asafoetida (a fennel like the scent
of rotting garlic)...       anyway...

am i being objective or subjective?
          for me the Italians can't just cut it with...
rosemary, oregano, fennel, thyme, marjoram...
plus... the health benefits of turmeric
and ginger?
it's essentially a stew... a gravy...
but no other cooking allows you to play
chemist once more...
  and i sometimes do miss those organic chemistry
experiments at Edinburgh
that could sometimes last for weeks...

subjectively this... objectively: under-seasoned,
not al dente, overcooked, too salty...
too spicy... bland... but there will always be some
h'american comedian who'd say:
burgers and frankfurters make the world
go round...
yeah... and in Russia you have this
pancake fast-food outlet that serve you...
well pancakes... with caviar...
because you can drive a car and eat a hot dog...
apparently...

the Indian-subcontinent cuisine...
give me that... and i can forget the rest of the world...
with one exception: Baltic "sushi"...
that food is ingrained in me like bone
or a croak-and-gargle to a crow...

- but if taste cannot be subjective to be a "respected"
opinion...
then it's back into the robotic, objective:
edible... inedible...
and the minor-objective cues of... al dente...
spicy... salty...
   this whole "superiority" statement...
                                  even though the amount of spices
& the kaleidoscope of nuances
of say: merely fennel...
                          a tulip is not a tulip is a rose
isn't a rose is a blimmin' buttercup...
nonetheless, elsewhere: a tomato is a tomatoe
is toad-matted-o... hiccup...

which brings me to... the toothache...
this close to a second astra-zeneca jab and
i might be on course for a second round of health
tourism...
it's not like i haven't tried...
over a year ago... visiting my local NHS
dentist...

- can i register? i was registered elsewhere
but i neglected that practice
plus i moved from the Ilford vicinity...
no i haven't been to a dentist in over a decade...
but now this 15+ year old filling has come loose
and...
- we are currently not accepting any new
NHS registrations...

well sure, with the pandemic and "pandemic"...
so i called the emergency number
and managed to squeeze in a visit for
a makeshift filling that... if i wouldn't bit into hard
toffee could last me well into 4 months...
apparently...
but when an opportunity arose circa June of last
year i hopped on the chance to travel abroad
to see a dentist...
well... it's been almost a year & that one hiccup
when that tooth hurt again:
why have we lost out intuitively-superstitious
grasp of sensations? it hurt to the bone...
when my grandfather died and... what... nothing?
here it is... at it again...
a year later and i still can't register...
i'm guessing... another year to wait for registration
and then... maybe 5 years to see a dentist proper:
for the root-canal treatment!
or... get that second jab... ******* to Poland
to see a dentist... privately...
well... even if I saw one privately in England
based on the quality of the temporary filling?

well... the filling is still intact...
what came across as a toothache might have actually been
a gum infection...
but since any sort of acute pain first disorientates...
antibiotics all that painkiller sobriety:
mr. zombie dr. sleep...
after the feud with the brain passes...
after your mind has opened up to nonsensical dreams...
the alleviation of acute pain brings back focus...
tooth-tip below the berg of gums...
rat's a labyrinth clearly i don't care much
for the jab to meat-head through a moshpit at some
festival, or turn into a copperneck on some beach
in Greece...

elsewhere: simultaneously... a cacophony from the news
outlets...
when Christine Chubbuck shot herself in the head
because her toe was too small...
and a movie was made about her...
with the end scene of her being strapped
to a hospital bed... because... well...
she didn't use a cockcroach buster of a shotgun...
a Shasha Johnson... and her litany of race-baiting...
it's like that butterfly effect:
one man's toothache is another man's bullet in the head...
or a woman's in this case...
Christine Chubbuck wouldn't die from
that urban myth surrouning headless cockroaches
dying from starvation...

the list though:
      CLINDAMYCIN-mip (clindamycinym) 600 μγ-
the antibiotic...
    codeine phosphate hemihydrate / paracetamol 15 / 500μγ
      CO-CODAMOL...
and since this painkiller is prone to give
you constipation...
   something for your stomach-lining:
    OMEPRAZOLE 20μγ...
    
but of course... a curry would help... to get your
digestion up to speed...
3 days of constipation and a mere thought of an Indian
arsenral of spices... a whiff of them...
charge of the **** brigade!

- and for someone who loves food... chewing more than
yapping with a red-hot poaker of a propaganda juice toong'...
however est. or anti-est.
   one brain-wash less either side of the fence...
but i know which side is a rhetorical cascade
and which side is a mantra machine...
which side is grizzly-arghh and which side is...
boistrously waspish...

but that's not all of it... you'd have to be familiar
with the Marathon Man...
Dustin Hoffman, Laurence Olivier...
   whoever said all nazis were evil?
   Christian Schell...
               well... it's a joke...
EUGENIA CARYOPHYLLUS...
              syzygium aromaticum... if you've seen
the movie... aromatherapy? clove oil?
em... sure thing... yeah... it's primarily aromatic...
sure, the bottle reads: only for external use...
insufficient evidence to suggest analgesic properties...
hello mr. rat... hello mr. chimp...
hello mr. southpaw chubby-jab brigade...

time's for experiments... anyone and everyone to their
scepticism: what works best for you...
chance of me getting root canal treatment...
a drowning man will grab a razor's edge...
a drowning man wilbb grab a razor's edge...
because all medicine is beyond rancid beyond
chalky... i wasn't expecting the clove bud oil
to be... syrupy sweet mind you...
but as someone who wants to return to evenings with
ms. amber whiskers and the basic point
of the mouth and teeth: to ol' chew-chew...

lessons learned... waiting in line -
       to bypass the waiting game with placebo scepticism
of the otherwise effective painkillers and
antibiotics... but as a man who's irresistable
to any sort of agitation & momentum...
the immediately available: whatever proof or lack
of it there is...

in the back of my mind: it's hardly arsenic;
for now it's just me, the tooth and Christian Schell
and a song: 'if i had teeth made from diamonds,
             if i had teeth made from diamonds,
             i'd be on a diet of milkshakes!'
          
p.s.

original title: by
original "work":

bitter sweet
myopic
glutton

    anything to push through Eugenia & Herr Schell.
Ryan O'Leary Jan 11
Rabbi Burns, just blessed,

the phosphate, and bombs


Aimed at, but all missing,

the Ham'as catacombs


Joe Biden is blinkered

  as Gaza is splintered


  But America, never has,

       had any qualms
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
i acknowledge that some of this is a delusion, but if it's only inscribed in thinking: and hurting never hurt anyone... if thinking doesn't translate into action... it can come: it can go as it pleases... as long as that feral creature: ego... can be tamed awhile... i'm all for it... then at least i know some of its needs are met... i guess the feral creature: ego... is best fed delusions...

the time of year has finally come to make wine...
this year's harvest has been terrible...
my vines seem to be stricken with a disease:
a botanical parasite of sorts...
it's not exactly the cancerous growth of mistletoe...
but the vine started to outreach with its sickness
to a nearby plum tree: and the plum tree grew
sick...
it wasn't the same sickness when "translated"
but at least the plum tree came out with
a good yield...
beside all the usual garden requirements
i managed to render in... circa 10kg of grape pulp...
which equates subsequently to:
circa 2.5 gallons of worthy juice...
finally! autumn! and finally! winter i'm itching
for! have come...

i've lived in her vicinity for almost 20 years...
but i've only learned her name today...
Sophie...
                  which i learned from my mother...
who learned it from the father of Jack...
who's she's dating...
i've seen her grow... become a woman...
then again: i didn't really see her grow:
now that she is a woman...
one memory most piquant...
seeing her seeing me sitting at the desk
proclaiming a presence in the window
with last night's circus freak Halloween
make-up... less hangover and more...
recovering from having drank a spiked drink...
some ****-art at best... it almost made me fall:
i had to pick up a slab to balance to get home...
but she saw me in my clown make-up...
and that smile... hmm...
or that time when... her older sister
would parade in the bedroom mermaid naked...
plump *******... then the mother would walk
in... likewise... such mature forms of those "things"...
and the added flab of the torso...
mermaid... half-naked...
then she walked in... how old was she then?
still in her teenage years...
   she just lived across the street...
circa 20 years... she has seen me...
aloof creature...
             still pretty much the most pristine form
of single...
if only i started using those dating apps...
i wouldn't be the one
spending £120 at half a decade's stretch
when prompted by .......
                              a female cat... no... no pandering!
ah! grooming... with her raised ****...
i had to revisit the brothel...
would i be using those dating apps...
isn't social media already: cancerous?!
it's a profile outgrowth of a parasitical nature...
it might be an investment for the future: at best...
at worst... it's a meta-mirror...

another muse... i've had a few...
now she's moving away...
from across the street... to... two doors down...
her boyfriend's father is a builder
and work is underway to recover the structure
from the previous occupant:
a single mother with an autistic boy
who would sometimes take 5 minutes to cross
the street...
a proper carousel lady...
sometimes there might have been
         a man every single week in that house:
but did he fix anything?
no... apparently it will take... 3 weeks to revamp
that house of horrors...
******* beta orbiters...
  would any of them fix anything...
beside probably abusing the kid
and ******* his mother... the boy beefed up...
stopped barking... now they're far away
about to start a new life in... Chelmsford...
somewhere in Essex...
         at least in the brothel you have a sense
of a working environment...
am i living with savages, for, ****'s sake?!
in a brothel you're... well...
there for only an hour...
there's the hour's keep...
         it's not like you can: eat where you take a ****...
i'd summon the moon to the forest
and **** there than keep my house in disarray...
where i might: read... a... ha ha! a book...
eat a meal...
it sounds even more demeaning when
listening to some medieval chants...

oh dear Sophie... she's moving away...
from across the street: two doors down...
this is where the delusional part of me says...
it's because she wants to be close to
her mother... and her boyfriend Jack is doing
the white-flight left available: from East Ham...
to Romford... not much longer...
soon there will be a white-flight from
Romford too... but not yet...

i have experienced women strangely though...
they're still a phenomenon...
i was walking out from my ex-girlfriends house
in Hackney when a "bearded lady":
a woman dressed in a niqab went past
and... unveiled herself...
perhaps i have a bad memory...
but i saw what would be best described as:
too little butter... spread over too much bread...
she looked mutilated...
i stood still and... follow her?
round up all the white knights in the area
and save her?!
eh... then this little quickie... cycling down
oxford street... this one oriental girl flashed herself
on the junction been oxford st. and reagent st.
again: perhaps i need glasses or my memory is
all lies: did she have knickers on...
or... were her ***** trimmed as... imitation
of knickers?!

to borrow from a people that gave names
to their letters: whether the greeks,
the northern men...
hebrews... or the arabs...
perhaps when a people give names
to their letters: something can become of them...
all the greek letters that became
scientifically-mathematical constant:
but not in Latin: as one might /
be expected to sing... or to write with greater
fluidity...

aleph: mim: shin...
    A: M : SH...
mind you... shin is a "doubled" consonant...
since it asks an Islam...
a harsh "Islam" of a consonant H...
to be submissive to S...
when... when coupled with A...
is the genesis of laughter...
-leph -im -in
                   Sophie could have moved far far away...
meta-relationships: investing
in the uncertain future of: from death do us part:
                Jack...

all that's happening is para... phrasing...
sense & sensibility...
pomp & circumstance...
              
  dearest Sophie is moving away...
the day Jack saw me rooted walking back
with two bottle of cider i sort of knew...
i wish i could lend you a cushion to sleep
on... Jack...
but... hey... a woman's fickle mind...
if she's not ensnared and made comfortable
to even adorn the niqab...
i'm your lucky loser... Jack...
if she is allowed old again: and i'm allowed old
age... even in my presence
she'll turn into a budgie:
reading Harlequin novels...

        i'd play a tugging game: i too want
to relieve myself of this life...
on the other hand...
it is SUB-LIME...
ha ha... not sub... lemon?
ha ha...            how words are conjured...
from... prefixes and nouns...
later arrived at...

Sophie is moving away... from across
the street to: two doors down...
might she want a better angle of me...
sometime... toiling in the garden...
psst... let's keep me and you...
a mystery for her...
otherwise... boredom...
expectation... recurrence...
same old... same in... let's become forever
"un-attainble"...
              but i hear whispers from the past...
how courting can happen in the modern
day almost unavoidably...
poor Jack... all the trades: beckon...

IF YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE...
YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE... MOVE...
YOU'RE NOT GOING TO MOVE
ACROSS THE STREET TO BE CLOSE
TO BE CLOSE TO YOUR MOTHER...
MOST DAUGHTERS ABHOR THEIR MOTHERS!

huh?!

i'm delusional! i'm even an adjective prone:
delusionaly 'appy!
poor Jack: he owns a car and works
the Docklands...
i own a bicycle and sometimes the night
and sometimes the forest...
because... i'll walk bare torso into it
and ask for the callings of the owl...
to sooth my drinking habit...

meta-relationships happen... when...
there's an invested hope in...
no death do us part...
         there's a rejuvenation process...

oh to hell! the self-proclaimed wine-making
process can wait...
there's all thought-exclusive...
thinking about the girl: woman
to be...

were diu werlt alle min...
i'm delusional.. of course... of course i am!
such tender lamb!
such impostor i!
                
we're here concerned about making wine.... whine(s)...
wine not whine...
and for that it would: most necessarily require....
a yeast compound:
dried yeast, bentonite...
yeast nutrients: diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid,
magnesium carbonate, thiamine hydrochloride,
zinc sulphate, ferrous ammonium,
sulphate, biotin...

to get things moving...
fermenting... eating itself to give new life...
i won't get into the stabiliser stage
where you'll need sodium metabisulphate
& potassium sorbate...

drink any bottle of alcohol...
it will contain a disclaimer as if vegans
are to be necessarily minded...
it contains... sulphites...
i think i'm excited about making my own
wine...
it only happens once a year...
and i think: if i were only allowed to
make... wine once a year...
i'd have a carnival!
i'd have an ****...
so much so that we wouldn't sip the ******
sip throughout the year:
faking it... seasonally!
we'd eat fruit in the summer...
apples and pears in the autumn...
get ****** mid-way through winter...
while the rest of the year would be:
could be: would be... spent... sobering up...
but only after that **** of drinking and *******!

how it is... so readily available...
for the lowest of man and the highest of man:
likewise... given the same circumstance of: now...
my heart is already broken:
my mind too... what else is there to throw
at the "unexpected"... "surprise" stampede...
boxing my liver into a cubist shape?!

                  i drink some cider: i feel... hungry...
i combat that with drinking some whiskey:
i'm full...
sober, sane, people... if not workaholics...
have so much time spent for / off of them...
i'm drinking hoping that someone
sane diagnosed me as insane...
but... there's little chance of that...

i walk in canoes: size shoe 10up... 11...
i have canoe feet...
people tend to stumble over my shoes
sometimes barricading the most shortened
space between stairs and the civil room...
the living room:
if the t.v. is to be implied as fireplace?
i'll pick up a book to find my eyes: burning!

picking up a book via someone who
wrote about: numeracy of... ******... not ******
partners... talking to someone on the phone
for an hour...
when was the last time i talked to someone
for an hour... wait... i can't remember...
last time i checked i was sending someone
the equivalence of braille...
not my first love... not her...
i was in love with her sister...
in this supposed heaven
there's not *****: no menopause...

so... i turn all crazy at the fold: this...
is... all... that... ever is... or will... be?!
post-science... post-news: fake...
adolescent acknowledgement of the rules of:
hide & seek... rekindled...
it's not like too many people know
how to play the game...
some of us made it so difficult that the rest
of them found it boring...
we turned the game into a war-game...
sharpshooting their presence...
climbing trees and roofs to aim with
imaginary rifles...
the game was lost... everyone lost
interest...
we were beginning to be snipers at
the battle of Stalingrad...
no fun in that... the world moved on...
bored... as ever...

Sophie... what a pretty name...
she's moving...
from across the street...
two doors down...
i just can't wait for the horrors...
it's not like i'm writing this from the perspective
of a perfect husband...
i'm a proper ****-up i never used
a hook-up bribe of app...
submerged myself into:

what came first... the chicken (consciousness)...
or the egg (sub-consciousness)?
i'm pretty sure h. h. holmes was
merely a con-artist...
with a few naive lambs to slaughter...
albert fish though?
needles pointing into his pevlis
while he died: ******* into an electric chair...
another: altogether...
do you mind?

the slaughter of world war I: for kin!
G... the son against the grandson!...
the Hebrews turned into... cattle...
come world war II... willingly they walked
into the slaughterhouses!
said quote: the Jew is what the Arab
now sow via...
a non-important quote...
why lever... thise Semite from a Semite...
such a kippah-tease-of-the-north...
              believe me when i say:
i have venom's worth of eyes for the niqab...
i'm yet to hear about the future
guided by... anti-usury...
i'm not going to hear much from
that "tabernacle"... am i?
                  forget it... you push along...
push forth... you settle down...
have your children...
Darwinism is... primarily applicable
in the anglo-sphere of the zunge...
i'll sleep...
                    Darwinism will never be
French or German equivalent of
existentialism... it... hasn't arrived yet...
it's still basic... form focus...
it wasn't fashionable in 19th century
continental Europe... it's still not fashionable
in 21st... continental Europe creeping in on
the islanders...
                  
the ancient Romans looked at the ape too!
and they too said: well... maybe...
similis!
                     there's nothing ******* new!
the WASP attack on Copernicus...
suggesting... the ancient Egyptians knew just
as much...
well then... given that Darwinism
is so ******* obvious...
the apes knew too!
so they allowed men to conjure up
their pyramids and their coliseums!
while they remained mute...
and via mute: giggle...
pity man...
pity that he might think himself
to remain.

how's that?! i hate Darwinism...
               i don't need to accept it...
it arrived in the mind of one man...
"originally"...
in my mind it arrived as either POP
or plagiarised...
otherwise... exhausted...
i still retain the observational luxury
of keeping: ape...
no? you revive Darwinism with keeping
a man in a cage...
i might respond... then.
mined in phosphate pits
mobile element in plants
P is phosphorous
Ryan O'Leary Jan 10
UNCLEAR

   Hydrogen and Helium

   Weedkiller and Sugar

Phosphate Agent Orange

  Ambiguous Confusion

   Of Nobel’s Evolution

   Extinction Extension

  Dinosaur to Dynamite

           NUCLEAR

— The End —