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Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
/notably concerning graduate education at the university of Edinburgh: why do these doctors think they can teach, who made them so, well, what's the word, useless, demeaned at having to teach? every time a doctor of chemistry was asked to teach it was like watching someone being tortured in an iron maiden... sure, a professor of chemistry could teach, just like every single post-graduate, PhD student should have taught, a doctor of chemistry didn't teach, unless he taught as Americans are prone to speaking in acronyms, and they say the Scots speak an undecipherable english... like **** they do, understood them like I might understand the zest pinch of a hobskotch chili! after all, the chemistry doctor doesn't exactly make use of his PhD students, but since they were the sheep first to the slaughter before the guillotine of knowledge, they could translate the higher tier chemistry to the undergraduates... no one sane enough would want to learn chemistry from a doctor of chemistry... those men and women are lost to their own enterprises, to their own Faustian romance, to teach chemistry at university, it would be best to be taught by those inclined to further adhere to advanced pedagogy... post-graduates ought to replace doctors in teaching undergraduate material... balanced out by the fact that the said doctors would not require the help of PhD students in research, with what already is time wasted on lecturing, what to them is, the ****** obvious... but then again... the supply and demand isn't there... even though PhD students could teach, they don't, smug chemistry doctors lecture in the guise of solipsism... theyd rather be engrossed in their research than give lectures... but since those trained PhD monkeys do all the trial and error, wasted time, which the doctors themselves could do... they waste their time on giving undergraduate lectures... because these recent protests at universities, where students complained about not having enough time spent with doctors in the field... I'd start by bemoaning not being given enough post-graduate time... after all, the people who closest to jumping over the waiting benchmark.../

in vino veritas:
due proof that snobbery
and that indie collection
of the smiths' reissue
only goes so far,
    comparatively,
Miles Davis' kind of blue
isn't overrated nor is
it overplayed,
notably a conversation
with Boris, the Russian
in Edinburgh,
who had to pick sketches
of spain
as his favourite...
pop music versus ******
fetishes... people will be
ashamed of pop song guilty
pleasures than any bedroom
"deviances",
the boat the boat, whatever floats
yours...  
mine? seven years late,
Britney spears' criminal...
because John Coltrane'
a love supreme is easier
to digest than ******* brew?
fudged packed *******
and a perpetuated crescendo...
Boris could have took to
Porgy and Bess...
         or the birth of cool...
whatever it was,
high above Steppenwolf
   desiring the immortality
of a Bach... still:
       there's Händel...
but let's face it,
both sides lost something,
whatever the iron curtain
was, there was also
something akin to the,
jazz window...
                  because can you
even imagine jazz being learned
at a music liceum?
       i still don't know why
the Japanese love classical music,
or why it's Chopin rather than
List embedded in their heads,
not the gentle fingers of Satie
or Debussy...
         two Portuguese jesuits did
little to spread Christianity,
but music written by Chopin
found its atom, its universality
of translation...
                  even withe the Higgs...
something that is non-divisible,
not atomic, not sub-atomic,
                               über-atomar...
supra-atomic, which includes
the sub-atomic spectrum...
         a perpetuated ad continuum
     of ad per se, in addition to:
an addition, an addition,
        a void brimful of a lost
paraphrasing...
                          in the name of...
in the direction of (the) ortho-
   and of (the) meta-
    and of (the) para-...
                  amen.
                       the upright,
rigidness of: jump off a building,
see pancakes at the bottom...
the desire for a hier-und-nach...
well.. telegram cipher from 1930s
**** Germany,  in response
to heidegger's da-sein...
     da-nach...
                 no need to explore
the paragraph, just enough tease
to block out images of, "paradise"...
       para or besides norms,
    a phenomenon and
      an anomaly that's a res per se,
Kantian for: noumenon...
          a proposition without a school,
or tree of logic, which,
Husserl did manifest...
    in phenomenology...
              I can't help but notice
that classical music is only
relevant today because of movies...
listen to any classical music chart,
7/10 times it's music accompanying
a movie...
               comparing
kind of blue to midnight sonata?
yep, the later is overplayed...
   it's no longer a piece of music,
but a literary cliché...
      even in such wonderful books
like geek love by Katherine Dunn...
jazz is the only genre of music
that comes close to prog. rock,
    id est, no song: an album...
      even though I admit
king crimson's in the court...
     with children of men
      as a backdrop...
once upon a time the iron curtain
and the jazz window...
    rap, shmap, shpindle me dingo...
and the old man still lectures me
on work, born in 1939,
who still remembrance the Soviet army
of boy-soldiers and black-clad SS-men...
oh there was work just after the war,
given what Aries took with
the harvest just years prior...
                       woe to the aspiring poets
born in a cocoon of a father
who laboured by perfecting a trade
that, apparently,  no future Englishman
would take up! or if they did...
only via the trickling down
of the plutocratic, extended family...
and a ****** job they did too...
         well... if everyone is willing
to be and only be, a pop star entertainer...
I'd hate to imagine this piece
to be an instruction manual,
   a cohrent: whip and stirrup
demanding a gallop...
                       perhaps less cabaret voltaire,
and more jackson *******,
because why should painters be
allowed all the excuses under the sun?
and when will I see a poetry anthology
written solely by critics?
          oddly enough:
or rather, the pitfall...
     reading a poem never manifests
itself in a drive to write one myself...
an enzyme of a blank,
      a substrate of a butcher's novel...
or rather... a meaty novel, preferably
historical, notably one
that serves as an answer to Muslims
with regards to:
   remembering the Crusades,
forgotten the Golden Horde...
           and never really bothering
to look into the other crusades
against the Prussians, Lithuanians,
Kashubians et al.
                   such feral lands...
perhaps if you speak the language
as well as Norman Davies...
  you might, just might, not stand out
like a sore thumb in these parts.
tread Sep 2011
I am a Province, a State, a Municipality, and a Region.
I am a Soldier, a Pilot, a Minister, and a Legion;
I am a black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman,
A French man, American, Canadian, and Roman.

I am a rap artist, a singer, a slam poet and guitarist;
I dabble in the dark arts accompanied by a Marxist.

I'm a barista, a gas man, a secretary, and Tsarina,
A King and a Queen and a janitorial cleaner.

I am a "lover," a "hater," a "here now" and "there later,"
I am Luke Skywalker, yet at the same time, Lord Vader.
I am a driver, a walker, a rider, a stalker,
A conservative liberal and a well-learned straight-talker.

I am a salesman and clerk,
A criminal and a serf,
The proud owner of a weapon that, while it kills, saves the Earth.

I am a drinker and smoker,
A consumer and broker,
A bomb-maker, con-artist, Priest, and interloper.

I am a Citizen.

Religious and secular,
Macrocosmic, molecular,
Suit wearing, uncaring, emphatic, irregular,
A "packie," a ****, a Scrabble fan playing Yahtzee;

A Jihadist, sadistic, addicted to Herodotus,
History is repeated by the philosopher that thought of us.
The eroticist literature towards which we've all lusted;
It looks like the bullets machine-gun is busted.

Indifferent, ecstatic, illicett, erratic,
An infant, a senior, a young man with bad-lip,
A black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman,
A Jew and a Christian, a Muslim musician,
A monarch, elitist, pro-abortion defeatist,
An anarchist, Black Panther, and a rich plutocratic;
I am a citizen,
And as one,

I'm elastic.
Jude Duane Mar 2018
I was born under great open skies,
Brought up with the smell of coal-black smoke
Hovering over the family farm.
I grew as distant sounds of whooping
Echoed like thunder across the land
And I was raised on bias, which clung
To the white men of the Black Hills like
Their guns, their religion, and their homesteads.

Those Hills are no place for me.
Look at my multi-colored dress, the
Multi-million-dollar stage, the
Multi-colored lights hanging over me.
This is my home. I thrive in this place.

Gone are the chiefs and their headdresses.
Gone are the dream-catchers and stories
Of battles between Unkthei, the
Serpant, and Wakinyan, the eagle.
Gone is Crazy Horse, always wily
Like the winter fox.
All cast off for a new life of bias.

I make the formula that nurtures
Bias in every little kid’s mind.
Every day’s the same. I spew my words,
My angry, petrol-soaked vitriol,
Which deludes their minds. They’ll be
“pigs” in the not-too-distant future.

In a way, this life disappoints me.
The trailer homes of Indians were
Run-down and forgotten about.
They lived lives of quiet desperation. No
Spotlights shined on their struggles.
The men who killed their kin were immortal.

But pow-wows in South Dakota were
*****, dingy, and dark, yet they were
Attended by many a native.
The farms were barren and gray,
Stockpiles of grain long gone, given to
The plutocratic hands of Washington.
Aunt Ida clung to this world.
Aunt Ida is dead and forgotten.

I was raised on bias in the Black
Hills, and I will stay biased for the rest
Of my days. Why would I give it up?
Joseph, the great Chief, never know
Such a life.
I thought about Tomi Lahren one day, and I came up with a theory on her beliefs that satisfied me. This is a fictionalized version of that theory.
When their ears fell in love with the Orthoptera or Grylloideas before Joshua, the night was restless, abandoning them from their shelters, they brushed the seeds of the thistle that trembled with the new millennium of the Duoverso.  Levitating their ailerons in the tenors of their birth and dilettante sounds, before an ovipositing candor of the remains of the abdomen that remained in their jaws, always being from one of the Beams, for the largest Ensiferas that hung from their antennas in search of Joshua's telepathic messages in the manger. Sappho of Mytilene, also known as Sappho of ****** or simply Sappho, pretended to be a marigold proliferating in the twenty corridors of the Greek poet, and also as the tenth poet in the other ten that was reflected with transparent wings of the dew that stuck physical phenomena -Saphonic, and in the relent rain of wind and condensed air, in the form of drops due to the sudden decrease in temperature in contact with cold surfaces. Sappho dew was spoken of in Kafersuseh, usually when it comes to condensation on a Poetic Grylloidae surface, naturally on the ground cover or artificially on a dull foggy crystalline, in the amount of supernatural tradition, heroes, superheroes, and anti-heroes conspiring with the territorialities of the hexagonality and the brutish wings of the Cricket that were preparing to take root in the manger to combat the demons of Ashera, sniffing with their antennae in trills of physical-ethereal bronze wings, under intra-caudal grazing of the manger, under the aligned conjunction of the parapets and the Crickets that were preparing to take root in the dismembered arms, speaking with their trill antennas and physical-ethereal bronze wings, under an infra-caudal pastoral of Kafersuseh and under the aligned set of the barbicans.

The Aramaic message comes forward with vigor from the orthopterans and birds that piled up on the journey, going back and forth. The Beams shone from the celestial kingdom holding onto the Cherubim and the Archangels, through the paths of conversion and the support of the bizarre Christian time, in implacable hegemony for the propaedeutic of phylogeny, but more than a perfumerist chemistry and the same creation. carrying Lepidoptera winged tetra and Sand Crickets, on the interlocking and obfuscated pheromones from a nascent-elemental child, in his own evangelical philosophy, from a winged dimensionality and in the gloom of Manger shouted and aligned, before the compendiums of double pyramidal landmarks and of inflection, of his word in the Grylloids and panaceas created in the affinity of the world and of Animalia, stylizing muleteers carriers, phrasing acronyms and parabolizing the polygonic nomenclature of the child made territorial man on the wings of a Cricket, already being it! but depicting himself as a lifeless man in the fullness of a canon advantageous child, from a sudden two-dimensional grillionality. A great Zohar light was gathered all towards a whole in those errors of advantageous terrestrial columns and orthopterans that Joshua felt in advance in his resined ears, as irreversible entropy giving back his wise existence to prepare them for the day of his holocaust. Pre Existing in catharsis and substantive busilis of divinity connected with the Grylloid phylogenetic species, classifying until the Aramaic crackle, pontifying pheromones settled in the lithosphere site of Gethsemane, in a biological sense and in close coincidence in the fording of a big book period, or in the phenomenological simultaneity of Eukaryota and Glaucophyta until late Animalia, giving parental relationship in the characters of the vibrational timbre of the Beams and the atavistic pedestal, readjusting themselves in the evolutionary elliptical of winged tetra species, allowing to change the ancestral linguistic accouterments in processes of the redesign of the genetic historical tree ..., divine and increasing.

Inter-Duoverse, in the demography of space it has been frequented since today in a nuptiality between the Sun and the Earth, wrapping the inter-generational homes that have prostrated themselves to the One-Dimensional Beams, evolving millions of years with between links of northern angels and the south, for each year between the years and lustrums that the ancestors are passionate about, unleashing their youths and eternal ideals as they aged, as an atom not guaranteed in families that did not get to know their Duoverse. When they walk through the urbanized farm of their parents they go in their shoes and from the parental sun to interparental barefoot. The children travel far from the monographic patriarchy, declaring themselves among psychic families in unstable networks of trunk conformity and procreation, dismissing family industrialism towards industrial cemeteries highly emanating from dioxides.

The strains of supra healthy cerebral, born from Beams of deforested family trees and treasured in the Trunk of the seventh ascending generation, towards a nefarious tribal of industrious and vegetating regressive parapsychology, bringing zombie societies, to great lethargy that disorganizes the parallel emotion of the Being a descendant of a Messiah, with the prophetic organization. There in the Koumeterium of Messolonghi, in past generations, the "I-O" were omitted to limit them from the paragraphs as Ghost Cemetery lost in other lost sacramental ancestors. The inappropriate location of our ancestral duties has oriented us in the axis of the pabulum, before the second coming of the Messiah to continue the re-sprouting foliage of the Universal theological tree. The children of the seven intergeneration generations will be those of the beloved of a patriarchal family, and those of the Exo family lineage that will be outside the non-generational family, where everything flourishes according to the requirements of ******-domestic economies, and in the new Chimera from new shudders and reconcomments, the Sun and the Earth being spouses after being divorced from a deluge of immolations and inter-millennia and rotations, further than those of any prophet wandering without advancing or rotating, enrolling and expiring in generations succumbed and prehistoric from other prehistoric ones. Pre and post Flood; not presenting itself as an object to link a thousand decades where not even a holy chirp from the Thrush, praises on the windows of the world bringing us babies that are born without past or future quantum generations. Ready at the glimpse of Duality and its nuptiality with the Sun and the Earth, they will make us magical and creditors of increasing demographics and unions that will marry in inter generations, not seeing passions in exhaustion, under the lawn of the allegory of love defeated. Giving ourselves conjugal virtuosity, but of immanent dogma for the purpose of multi-figurative coexistence, under the Yoke of an individualized Faith, in the passing of millennia, we continue to crawl on the floor of the nebulae, and we do not rise to establish ourselves as masters of the ecstasy of the pendulum of the stars, creating us more egalitarian and orthogonal in the cosmos and its Verthian architecture, of poly productivity, of Sun-Earth and its post-genetics, of high-grade clay, expanding with halberds on the highly caloriferous self-insolated and inherited Suns, towards a rupture of Solar freedom, abandoning us in the horizontal, adapting to pluralism and plutocratic sunsets.

Here is the classic verse-parental liberation from stripping oneself from the rows of the socio-political womb, re-institutionalizing archaic and pro-archaic forms of life and the cessation of intergenerational trepanations, in the residence of the breath that feeds the others, living together in the evolved transformation that does not ascribe the morality and presumption of a thinking individuality, rather destitute of the link of its uninhabited corporality, from the beginning umbraloid in the One-dimensional Beam of Kafersesuh and beyond the framework of pollution that does not configure settlements of superfamilies nomads, without scented crowns, not of feminine conjunctural and ontological presences in the new world of an awakening of an Adam, censured for being chosen and sentenced to be a Human rickety from his descendants, not having ascendants of sin and of illicit chromosomal enrichment.  Made beast, from the inertia of a paradise full of hidden public and private exchanges, but not secular, for those who pay tributes of ecstasy in a reborn and weakened state. Here is how Diogiversality is verticalized (Diogenes's anthological action), concluding the variants that weaken the nexus of the denatured society of its atavistic social nuclear concomitant, extending eco-life gaps, but eco-destructured and of intergenerational cruciality, being of arbitrary passion and of seismological doctrines, of haughty morality and of woven sociologies without body or motor, with an intersection of castes and generations evolved in a retrograde and elemental psychic sense, but biologically and reversibly to its boomerang lineage. Everything that depends on a third life is verticalized homologous to the third age of the ascending seventh generation and all cyclical third life separated from other evolutions, greening one-dimensional in time, for times of past polyarchic potential and abdicated beings, but with spirits and bodies of young people uniting between generations that twist into pivots that are reorganized in intra-human relationships, renewing themselves from the trunk, with a mechanism of sepulchral silence and resilient behavior in the unbreakable tri-generational spike of “ Beam and Dimension, for three who advance in their integers, and not in their fractions ..., born of three and four generations in between "
One-dimensional Beams II

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