O indiginous tuber to Peru,
Now in nations' daily stews,
From the Polar South to Timbuktu,
Ranked with rice, wheat and maize,
Oh staple potatoe
You grace our table.

We plant seed spuds,
Red, yellow or brown,
Harvest the new ones,
The remainder mound
To thrive in leisure,
As buried treasure.

Heel the spud *****,
Unearth your trove,
A gatherer's surprise
To woo true love.

We slice, dice and mash,
Roast, deep-fry and bake.
It's not an egg,
It'll never break.

     Medium-rare, please.
     And make mine a baked.
     Oh, and don't forget the butter,
     Oh, and sour-cream, just in case.”

It hasn't got *** appeal,
What you see is true,
But make no mistake,
I swear by what's holy in taste,
It only has eyes for you.

Pharmaceutically,
It soothes,
Burns, itches, puffy eyes,
Migraines and headaches.

Make a stamp,
Make silver shine,
Clean your windows with its brine.
And potatoe muffins are simply divine.

When blight strikes,
When crops don't thrive,
Many starve,
Many have died.

So, I raise this toast
To the lofty Tuber,
And I dedicate this Ode,
To the one,
The only:
*Mr. Potatoe,
This bud's for you.

Dear Poet Friends, over the last few years I have seen some of our poets make passing remarks about Van Gog, thereby displaying their interest about this talented painter, who had died unrecognised!  Vincent gained full recognition posthumously, for which his brother Theo’s wife was greatly responsible. Hope you like this short and concise true story in verse. Best wishes, - Raj

   A TRIBUTE TO VINCENT VAN GOG’S
                      SUNFLOWERS
                        B­y Raj Nandy
  
”One may have a blazing hearth in one’s soul
  and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passerby
  see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and
  continue on the way.” – Vincent Van Gogh(1853-1890)

A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY :
Though during his brief life-span of 37 years he had
remained almost wholly unknown;
His artistic talents began to exhibit itself during his
early years, -
To become a colossus amongst post-impressionist
painters in his later years!
The son of a Dutch clergyman, he had worked in
various capacities, -
In his uncle’s art gallery, in a bookstore, and pursued
theological studies in Amsterdam University.
Also followed by a short stint in Belgium’s coal-mining
district as a lay missionary!
At the age of 27 years took to painting with financial
help from elder brother Theo,
Who encouraged and helped him for the next ten years
or so.
This was the most creative period of Vincent’s life,
Followed by an attack of dementia when he cut his
own ear lobe risking his life!
On 27th July 1890, he shot himself, bringing his
great artistic career to a tragic end!

SERIES OF ELEVEN SUNFLOWER PAINTINGS:
Vincent commenced his famous sunflower series
to decorate his house in Arles, France,
While anticipating his friend Paul Gaugin’s visit in
advance.
His first four canvases had paintings of cut sun -
flowers in bunches of twos and fours;
Painted in Paris during Aug-Sep 1887, which the
world still adores.
But his later Arles series of seven still life canvases
are better known to us;
And this series of paintings had made Vincent
internationally famous!
The most valued of these seven is a vase containing
a bunch of 15 sunflowers, -
Now displayed at the Art Museum in the city of Tokyo;
A Japanese firm had paid 40 million dollars at an
auction for this masterpiece to show!

                    A SHORT CONCLUSION
Vincent brought his passion for sunflowers from his
homeland in Holland.
Which became synonymous with him like those ‘water
lilies’ with his contemporary painter Claude Monet.
Vincent painted the various stages of the flowers in bloom;
From its budding stage till it wilted and swooned!
Chrome yellow and yellow ochre made them look fresh;
And arid brown and somber shades showed its wilted stage!
Thus his paintings covered all angles of spectrum of life
itself;
In turn reaching a deeper understanding of how all living
things are tied together and made !
His explosive energy was displayed through his vibrant
shades of yellow.
Using red for passion, and green for conflict to show.
Grey shades were used for life’s inevitable surrender,
with blue symbolising infinity;
Thus this Dutch Impressionist painter harnessed a
moment of time in eternity!

Foot Notes:-
Dr Jan Hulsker, a foremost scholar on Van Gogh, had said that this Sunflower series of paintings brought Vincent eternal acclaim & fame! During his short life span he made 700 paintings, 1600 drawings, 9 lithographs & one etching. His ‘Potatoe Eaters’, ‘Red Vineyard’, ‘Starry Night’, - are all famous paintings. Paul Gaugin, & Claude Monet, were his other ‘Impressionist’ contemporaries. Impressionism  emphasised changing qualities of light & colour, visible brush strokes, open composition,  creating an impression of a moment of time! Derives its name from Claude Monet’s harbour painting titled “Impressions & Sunrise”. This art form became popular in 1880s and 1890s.
*ALL COPY RIGHTS RESERVED BY RAJ NANDY

sometimes i like to think of nonsense
i guess if you know me it's not a surprise
did you know that potatoe almost rhymes with tomato?
does potatoe even have an 'e' at the end?
i honestly do not think it does
but who am i to judge the spelling of potatoe?
it can be whatever the hell it wants
or whatever i wish for it to be

maybe my head is really messed up
or maybe i just don't have anything else to say
because sometimes i mix up my words
("what do you mean i said the wrong thing?
i am pretty sure 'no' and 'ship'
mean the exact same thing.")

but i may also be completely normal
at least in the way my brain is set up
and maybe i just like to mix things up
because it takes a break from
my so exhaustingly uneventful life
so i guess i will just continue on
with thinking these random thoughts

because it's better than the pain
better than the memories
better than the words
that no one wants to say

it's better than those dreams
and the images in my head
because no one really wants
to think of those all the time
especially not me

after all
i'm just that girl
the one that sits alone
or that people sit with
just to laugh at
since she always says the wrong thing

i'm never anyone's second choice
maybe eighth or tenth or sixteenth
because who would want me?
the girl who ***** everything up
the girl who likes to speak her mind
(oh no, haven't you heard?
you can't have an opinion.)

Inside my ears, away from the moving mouth, jolly potatoes in sprout.
they sing and sway in my golden fertile valley of wax,
and when the moving mouth outside  is talking of her dead cat,
they sing merry tunes that make me smile and laugh,
but then they hear the mountain thunder which is her slap.
The village elder potatoe watches for the wind and hail,
and the fire in sky which is her red polished nail.
This wise potato's beard protects his flock,
She trims his beard when she cuts my ear hair off,
And when her eye stares inside,
The bravest potatoes go fight and die,
" You need to clean out your ears, you haven't heard a word I said..."
Hundred potaytets safe, ten hero potatoes dead,
There is no crying for the Spartan spud,
Who the Cyclops had smooshed to mud,
For their bodies dry up into chips,
That crunch out the sound of an angry ditz,
They never stop,
Ever since I was six,
And my wedges, singing me a ditty,
Most charming and beautiful in all my city,
I giggled to " hey hoo ***** boy, let's roll in the wax"
And everyone at the funeral stared at me aghast.
Oh well, maybe they are right, and I a fool,
For educating myself within my golden school,
But I know first came my laugh, and it was alive,
graves it could not attach, so it reversed within to survive,
They sing and sway in my fertile valley of wax,
The village elder potato plods on with his staff,
Giving thanks to the wax builder,
And like a maestro, directs the valley to give the builder back his laugh,
And a young potato stick in a long dress,
And a sleeveless shirt,
Sings the solo in golden concert,
" they hate me baby, they make me baby, and I'm gold and they are dirt,
It is they my baby that are absurd,
Oooh oh, boss me around my king, your laughter makes me sing."

And when my name was wrong in the obituary of my father I began to laugh,
And at me everyone was mad,
My ear potatoes sing and dance,
In the golden valley of wax,
And the village elder potato plods on with his beard and staff.
And there is no more mountain thunder, no more slap,
No more Cyclops's eye,
The Spartan spuds are farmers now and don't have to die.
And my laughter flows out like a river from the  golden canal inside.

I'm giving my heart to you,
Knowing you will destroy it.
That's a chance I'm willing to take.
I don't give too many people the opportunity to demolish me
But I'm giving it to you.
Preparing for the worst,
Hoping for the best,
All along knowing
Its not my heart you want.
And I'm still offering it to you.
I'll give my all to you,
Just to see you smile.
That gorgeous smile is seared into my memory.
Its like seeing the sun for the first time.
So warm and bright.
I'd sell my soul to the devil,
Just to wake up to your smile everyday.
That smile, that I know will be the death of me.

There's an elephant with a fire poker on a magic carpet.  There was something about this typical scene that made me not want to part it.  I jumped aboard, he put his trunk around me, laughed and said, "Hello friend!"  I was bewildered as to would become of this journey, but I already wished it'd never end.  
         I asked the 'phant where we were going, and if there was a fire to poke.  He told me, "Ryno, we're to save a sacred city before it all goes up in smoke.  My name's Vishwah, and the city of Ramthew has been my home since birth for many many years.  Unfortunately this thriving place seems to now be consumed by tears.  LaChunga's an evil man that's recently taken over; a vicious tool with relentless rule.  He's hurting all with no discrimination, and that just isn't cool.  This is why I've been searching for someone to come to our city's aid.  I just fear there's not much time before the hope starts to completely fade."  Inspired I jumped up, he yelled, "Sit down!  You surely don't want to fall!"  I obliged and said, "We'll talk about seat belts later, either way I'll risk it all."
         He sensed that the time was right and swooped down into the town.  After seeing the drained expressions on various faces I couldn't wait to face the clown!  I said that I wanted a weapon to teach him a lesson, 'cuz I'm not much of a choker.  Immediately he said, "This is for you," and presented a different fire poker.  I've never felt more prepared to fight a battle for a city, and serve up some similar medicine to the man that knows no pity.
        I gathered some locals together to share the plan I had.  Vishwah & I were to break into the palace that night, though normally I'd consider that bad.  Thankfully they had an elephant entrance in the back of the structure.  Inside we were confronted by a captivating woman, who said she'd help, but I wasn't sure if I could trust her.  Nearby guards, were alarmed, and the girl ran out of the room.  Rear to rear it was the elephant and I, seemingly left to our doom.  Wildly flailing our fire pokers, against the mob we began to push.  Before we knew it we had beaten our adversaries and put an end to the ambush.  
        What followed was a series of hallways and locked doors with uncertainty on where to go.  Then after catching a glimpse of a fire in the distance it seemed,* now we know.  *Just beyond it was a huge circular room with the ruler at his desk.  He stood up as if he knew we were there and said, "This is your final test."  He spoke of knowing all of our plans and capturing almost all involved.  Despite every word he said we knew our plans had not dissolved.  
        He pulled a lever as we grew closer and the floor in front of us had dropped!  He then let out a hearty laugh thinking we've been stopped.  Vishwah and I looked at each other and nodded as he grabbed me with his trunk.  Vish threw me across the gap in the floor and I flew with a lot of *****.  I looked into LaChunga's eyes and he looked as though he didn't know what to feel.   Gazing back into mine I know he could tell **** just got real.  
        Reaching at his side he grabbed out his sword as I charged at him with much discord and we both felt the surge of vibrations as our metals clashed.  I told him, "Punk you can consider yourself a potatoe, 'cuz you're gonna get mashed!"  I swung and whapped him across the face, which seemed to put him in a daze.  But before falling over he splashed my face with a powder and my world had vanished in a haze.
         I eventually came to, to LaChunga's screaming and the girl's beauty in my face.  He was screaming to be let out for she put him in a chain-like embrace.  The floor was back, Vishwah was there, as I was surrounded by a crowd of stares.  The people were free & overcame the strife.  All of the hope had come back to life.  I said, "For now, LaChunga should live out his days getting pies thrown at him at the peoples' discretion.  He will be faced with nothing left to taste and know the true meaning of oppression."
The people were joyous and excited, but wanted me as their king.  I turned to the girl and said, "If you were my queen it'd make my heart sing!"  She blushed and accepted, but I said I'd only rule if all the people were by my side.  After all the cheers and emotions that were felt I said, "Let's all go on a celebratory magic carpet ride, now with seat belts!"

My grandfather could barely make
Out the blond boy's head
Lost, if only just slightly|frightened
Enough still|amidst
Waves of green potatoe field.
An old man's single arm held my
Weight; I was that small.
A strand of grass to his oak.

Old ladies with veins on the outsides
Of still strong hands,
Who worked those same fields with
Him sixty years before,
Would look at me with unwitheld
Bewilderment:
You look just like him when he
Was your age...

How alien now, the idea: Someone
Knew that old man as a child,
Remembering well enough
To compare us.

And I still find myself there at times.
Lost|but not quite|yet
Worried that I am.
Waiting in the potatoe field.
Smaller than then, now that
I've grown;

Knowing that nobody's coming.

Deep in the cupboard,
hiding in the dark,
there silently,
but still,
27 eyes staring,
waiting...waiting,
skin,
damp,
cold,
arms extending,
creeping outwards,
but only slight movement,
as it leans against the wall,
hiding...hiding,
waiting for the time,
to go out,
creeping...creeping,
opening the door,
awaiting its enemy,
hiding from being,
chopped,
boiled,
skinned,
poor...poor,
POTATOE!!!

Young Ston..,Uhh..
(Put yo lighters in the air2),wave them, stand up & rejoice, (Yeah2),(put yo lighters in the air2),wave them..stand up & let's be together, (Yeah2),..(put yo lighters, in the air3)..stand up & let's fight back Yeah..let's fight together, Yeah, let's fight together man..(put yo lighters up in the air3)..wave them,stand up my ****** & let's fight for the truth...Yeah..Uhh..Yeah
Put yo lighters up & wave them..

Have no fear my *****, the more that we are together than against each other we are stronger, & smater & we can defeat this evil sadistic system, why y'all so scared for, don't be man...
Cuhz,they are more afraid of us than we are actually are of them, we can win together, yeah..(put yo lighters in the air3)..& wave them,Uhh,my *****..Where the peace at, where the love went..man...
They got us so distracted, I'm so tired of being lied to , I had enough of it,..my *****, We keep going to war for nothing,.. So much Bloodshed cause for no good reason, America is the real terrorists,..**** my ****** in the hood keep destroying themselves..man, the government ain't really for we the people, they selfish, they only care about the money & that's it, put yo lighters up Yeah..put yo lighters in the air man & let's revolt, Rebel & rejoice now my nigg..Uhh

So much **** **** & ******* they been feeding our minds for years & years, is about to stop..Cuhz, God don't like ugly..Uhh..
Imma OFTR Soulja, death can't even stop me Naw, it won't mane..Uhh, untill I meet my Heavenly Father, Imma keep on fighting, ryhming, preaching, & fulfilling my destiny, my ***** this is real hip hop, I'm bringing awareness like a Aids convention,Ayo, nothing can be above Jesus Christ,..that's why I worship & praise him, hes my idol, no man is, I'm above these ******* because of him, Aye mane..

Put yo lighters up , blaze one..(Yeah2)...Aye, let's Unite as one & peace it dawg..everybody get a piece of the pie, not apple, sweet potatoe with whip cream on the top..Aye
Yeah I might say the same thing in all of my songs, but peace is the only thing that stay flowing in my mind, Yeah peace is all I want,..Lets go..Uhh..

I said put yo lighters up in the air, Yeah put yo lighters up high my *****..(Yeah, put yo lighters up,man3)..,let's fight back..together & stop Being so afraid,..(Yeah2)..Aye,..We need more musicians telling people what's real man, my ***** Imma Villian to society,, **** The government, I know they already got assassins out here looking for me, but I don't fear death,..The elitist can burn in hell, I live forever Yeah, **** America..(They can *******2)..man..Cuhz,
Heaven is my country, *****,..&
(Imma be who I wanna be2)..

Yeah mane, Uhh,..(Put yo lighters up2)..in the air wave em back n forth Yeah, let's rejoice & uplift each other instead of killing each other..Yeah..(put yo lighters up2)..roll up & let us be as one man..Yeah, put yo lighters up in thee air, & wave them..(Put yo lighters up man,put yo lighters up, Yeah*3)..Yeah...Uhh, put them lighters up..high..& wave them.. Yeah,yeah..Aye

EG TEN /V.S/ BLitZ3D

ROUND 1

EG TEN
For the second time around, I won't be too gentle.// You turds can't rhyme for *****, soft as a noodle.// Get rid of that shirt, Wordman, do us a favor.// It ain't bad at all, its just, one size too little.// Ill break you fools in half, straw snapping like a scarecrow// Cowardly lion come out, Monster Smashed you innuendo.// The reason why you got passed by the first time around// Like a girl post some pix up, cut my **** in half, now u goin down// You and Wordman teams up, who cares! a pair of freakin clowns//

BLitZ3D
let um start off first, either way ur a representation of a man in a hearse /hurt um real bad n rubbed his face in the dirt/the pics that I posted was just a ***** in a skirt/sskkirrt! on this *****, like who you ****** with nerd?/ that's a ****** sweater what u talkin bout shirt?/ an what exactly do you think you rhymed off ****?/ ******* from the start, pulled out and drove straight into the curb/ Asian drivers man, they'll never ****** learn/ a coward vs a lion I guess my warning wasn't herd/ why'd you delete the first battle? you coulda reread my words/ then you'd probly remember to go again would be absurd/ but everyone loves a under dog, makes emotion go reverse/ cause then when you go under dog , the wears not even worse/ an no one teamed up on you,/ I tagged in and hulk Hogan lumped a few/ American Dream, elbow jumped at you,/ then to your defense, in ran gorilla monsoon/ the way I see it, the joker popped both of you,/ a heist on ur thread but that's just my point of view./ sights locked retical red, not a sound with the front mount/ knights drop, clown with a crown, and a jester in bed./ leave um slumped out/ /roar/ I messed with his head/ take my advice and this cypher ...just jump out

Round 2

EG TEN
Let um start off first? Now what the **** was that?// Your no king of the jungle, but a little ***** cat!// A blissful of zits in your face a sign disgusting// BlitZed does not show off his face an ugly duckling// My rhyme is in verse, so fresh with multiple gears on my Hearse// You can't spit for *****, so your *** be going in reverse// A fan of hulkamania? That **** ain't real brotha!.// I bet your next line would be "Hakuna Matata!// You ain't no **** Mufasa, your like that fool Scar hangin out With them ugly *** Hyena// I laugh at you BlitZed, I ******, I flip the script with my skills// Your elbow dropped not fast enough a straight kick up your chest!// This is SPARTA!!!! So jump on out! off to the next round// Welcome to the Writer's Creed, A true MC battleground!//

BLitZ3D
if this is Sparta then ***** I'm Gannicus,/ two swords in my hand while u attack with some shallow ****/ your **** right I'm scar and ull still bow down to this/ u wont get to far hyenas surround in the mist/ Hakuna Matata but theres reason to worry kid/ shoot um point blank an laugh as he say the dots are blury miss/ from his stomach out leaks guts an curry strips/ no lines to connect, his souls in a hurry, drips,/ out his mouth like his mom as she dines in nutty bliss/ bust um quick like his dad, his sister we both miss/ a cute little thing, deaf dumb n blind, snitch/ I think not, i broke her fingers, a tight grip/ dropped her leg and screamed Hogan wins/ layed on top of her and counted to three/ donkey punched that ***** in the head an continued to proceed/ so ask her how much I give a **** about writers creed //

ROUND 3

EG TEN
You claim to be a Marvel-Super-Villain-God-Like / If you are Galactus" I'm Lactose - Bacilli / Fermented like Lactic Acids what I spit!/ A genus of original but your just a make belief/ BlitZed please! step it ^ up a bit higher/ Your dealing with an oldskool underground ****** / None of that Kindergarten *****' of entry level / My words may be shallow but yet sharp as a Razor / Your write- wrist slice the veins blood burst just like a geyser / My word plays undefeated so try a little Monster / I sMashed your Baked Potatoe with chives a little butter / On side some bits of bacon a Cub is now a Lion / If you don't understand, im at work im eating Lunch / Im on break and wasted half of my time you little punk/ But its cool It's all in fun and that's what its all about / In a place full of infected A cesspool full of talent / Respect to my opponent a true Warrior of Poets / A Monster Mash Creator, A Master of Salvation / The bad *** Mr. BlitZed, Will continue this ***** later-/ Here at Writer's Creed, or where ever else you pleased/

BLitZ3D
A mutant, a radioactive contusion./My ***, gave it gas, now im ******* moving./Onto the end, the finish line, a ******* shoe in./Im new an, your old news, news i knew and /screws im loosing, as we pretend this battle im loosing, wrap it up with a few loose ends, /confusing, a thriving city, up an left it in ruins./Black cloaked, hooded druid, IV fluids, /Gat broke, firing pin, out i chewed it, trigger squeezed now, told you id do it./Ten teeth marks on the barrel, yea EG blew it./Face on some blue ****, stiff Elmers glue tip, /sticky grip, stick um up, Richy Rich, Jackson upper cuts, a Rampage, no *****./Bomb on the stage, chickens with no cluck./Took a bomb on stage, chicken heads, my ***** well ******./Salmonella poisoning, chocked the chicken, she likes it real rough. /In an out, left and right, my blade keeps the feathers well plucked. /Goose and a swan, I recognize no duck, bad luck, body covered up in the back of the truck./One G, no UN, i see, just me..no pun./Mission complete, no fun, grey skies, trust me, no sun.. rains not done. /Bars run from bars, bring the heavens down from the stars, impacts bombard/even from behind bars locked cars explode far, gorilla tactics, no holds bared, reload the AR/Re-roll a new cigar, as i retold, another page from Scar/12 bubbles Gage the contents of this unmarked mason jar./I know your popping some corny something, but i wasn't listening./Busy kicking it with Popcorn Sutton, drinking an smoking **** in the kitchen./These lines must be glitching, space-time the fabrics ripping./Physics are ******, i need a new physician./Watch as my feet move, roots grew planted in a quantum position./Like Groot, stomp um like a twig, raging tunnel vision./A ton of incisions, a gun mixed with questionable decisions. /A life for a life, changes nothing, for both sides the death penalty still glistens./the only difference is the same as this blunt. *****, BLitZ3D is still hitting. /Next time i roar a warning make sure you ******* listen... /
battle?
Im already bored with you
.....
I pulled a gun
And a sword you drew

Her stomach grumbles
There's food in the fridge but
Nothing to her preference
He walks around, filling his belly with all that he finds
Coffee, milk, water, potatoe chips and crackers
Warmed up tortillas and cereal
They will make it through the week,
They always have

We are the fine cut...line cut..
..potatoe face on Irish lace.
We are the here..we are the place.
And just in case
You fail to understand.
We have become the wall art..the new start..
..the baby grand has grown.
We are the music you've never known but you know it now.
The anyway we can be anyhow.
This is the step that walks out on the street
Get out and meet it...it's something you cannot ignore
Not something you buy in a la de da store
But the free in your ears and the world in your eyes.

Prise yourself away from the dusty thoughts of yesterday and look
This is today and a new kind of book has evolved.
That talks as it turns and revolves as it burns and the ash of the script..
..strips layers off your skin..and should you want to dive in..
..Go ahead.
The start of a thread of whatever you've ever read disappears
And the years drip away.
This here is the place and today it's your face on the pack
Get up on the stage and attack..
Lay them flat on their back with a salvo of sound
Bring it down to the ground.

A penny buys a pound..we'll be outlawed
They'll call us flawed characters..
..embarrassing chapters.

But let's capture that thought..write stuff and not like you've been taught..
..but be brazen and ***** to the 'Man' who tells you.."OH NO"
He just ain't got the rollocks to be in the show.
Let it go and you're lost
You'll be reading shinola that you bought at cost from the stall in the mall.

Be a pal..break the mould..don't do as you're told but do as you do
Look inside of the you..and bang it out..put it down on a sheet
Spill out your words to those people you meet..you've got one chance..
..which is no chance if you don't take it.
Get out there and
Make it
Happen.

Betty spaghetti loved Billy beans
Sat upon a hot potatoe
It's all she could dream
Mixed in a sauce of love and suprise
Betty spaghetti had passion in her eyes

Now Billy beans was so mean
With his flick knife and biker chain
Hair slicked back
And a bottle of jack
He was a salads dream

Betty spaghetti didn't care
So long as she was near
And with Billy she knew
Safety would ensue
And the salad shook in fear

But alas just like life
Betty was cut by a knife
And Billy beaten with a spoon

I have this crush
Who is refreshing as cascading waters falling off a steep cliff giving me an invigorating rush.
Making me blush, Just from every gentle touch.

I got him thinking his brain must have a leak because I hear and understand the words he doesn't speak.
He holds me closely to him like Im his favorite guitar
As he plays powerfully singing heavenly giving off frequencies and vibrations of how strong our love is as it travels distances near and far.
My heart is is hiding a secret its complled to tell.
As if he has it under a spell
He is the sweetest taboo
Possessing stronger power and better magic than the African's voodoo
Its a divine kinda of love from Man who is Hebrew
Its Authentic, Pure and True.
Like A yo yo I unwind as I plunge endlessly into the endeavours of his wonderous mind.
This place in his mind was beautifully unconfined.
I almost went blind after being exposed to that radient light inside that shined.
It sparkled like galactic milky way.
He had me intoxicated as if I was sipping on Chardonnay.
He really had me feeling some type of way.
My soul was lit by a flame that I myself couldnt tame everytime his voice would uttered my name.
Its ashame how it drove me insane.
He waters me as the Earths summer time rain.
The temperature swealters like the Summer's blaze with every single, "I Love You" Pharse that potrays his passionate praise.
The affectionate chocolate kisses puts my mind at ease like the light wind blowing on my skin during the summers breeze
He makes my thoughts freeze like the chill of winter that nature's nose sneeze.
His fragrance smells like Hawaiian Febreeze
Like calgon he take me away like a plane flying overseas.
I escape off to my fantasy land
Where I am holding on to his hand
As I listen to the rhythm of his heart's beat and with him I slowly dance.
We become stuck in a trance of romance
Star gazing at one another looking starry eyed
Feeling the pits of our stomachs full of butterflies
Eating each others vibes like my mama's homemade sweet potatoe pie
The atmosphere shifts quickly like the autumn wind blowing ever so swift
The ambiance is amplied as our intense feelings electrifies as if we were the fireworks on the 4th of July
The sparks fly
Lifting our spirits as they acsend Toward the blanket of soft white cotton filled clouds in the sky.
The rapid beating pulse in our sweaty palms tells me that the engery doesnt lie.

The Fire has been kindled.
We have by passed the physical
Entered into the mental
To explore the Church's scared temple
Submerging One another in the pool of love as if its a ceremony for our own secret baptismal
Letting love take contol
Getting lost in each others soul as we close our eyes willingly letting go.

are those your feet? are you hovering with mad toes made of dirt?
i can’t say. but are you someone else? are you nothing but the fumes of YOU?
are you lovely when it counts?
do you sleep with ghosts that have no Fury.... but lay awake in your nonsense?
are you an expert when Nobody cares?

And where are you Now?

Sad news today
After 57 years of marriage
Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head
are getting a divorce

(Or is that "potatoe" as George W. would say.  I never pass up an oppertunity to make fun of that ridiculous *******)

Anyway

Divorce must be ******* a kid

I skipped that part
having never met my bio-dad

My mom was a trooper though
I was a mischevious handful

I remember when i was 4
my mom was going to paint my room
Well i had a different time table than her
So when she was unaware
i tried my hand at interior decorating

Apparently she didn't want the room
carpet and all
painted in blue and red
splashes and handprints
I got an E for effort though

Having never had a father til that point
I never knew the feeling of losing one

In those days the kid automaticaly went to the mom

Having to decide
is an awful thing for a child to have to do
And basically they have to

I love you my little pawn
Says mommy
I love you my little pawn
Says daddy

It must leave all 3 emotionally scarred

Sometimes marraiges just don't work out
What can you do?

I can only hope they draw
on their initial spark of love
to handle the situation
with the care that it needs

Stay together for the kids?
Ultimately i think that just leads to bigger scars

Respect your loved ones
Former, present and future

And for Gods sake
remember to keep your childs innocence intact

Like a sack of potatoes
So are the days of our lives

Summer is gone and soon the leaves and grass will be turning brown
Falls chill in the air has folks putting on coats all over town
And before you know it summer's traces will be buried under the falling Snow wish I could hang on to summer but each season comes and goes
In summer you can picnic by a running water fall birds are singing
Sweet new songs trees are green and tall with lovers getting married
In June beach days building sand castles are ended way too soon
Summer is the time to eat ice cream piled high sweet potatoe  salad corn
On the cob hot dogs hamburgers root beer what a solid treat
Sitting on the beach house porch watching fire flies light up
The summer  night but just like summer they die

Before I start this

Thank you,

I used to be so helpful

I need to call my momma

I think I need a girlfriend

Time to talk to papa

I used be so different

Now I know the problem

Maybe I should love her

But where's the issue

Maybe I should bleed

But I am not a cutter

I love the pleasure sensation

But not the feeling of slicing my skin like butter

On a summer day

A wonderful day

Through my skin with an iron dagger like a tragic story

I need to get my ****

All together probably

I need to stop my procrastination

Well maybe I'll start tomorrow

Where are all my virtues

Behind the sins I follow

This is not the issue even the though rhe consequence follows in sequential order
Bordered on my persons if the action do more than my conciousness can fathom i shall falter with this ******* world

That's why papa said my **** is int he dirt

But I do not like cabbage

Maybe a couch potatoe

why does it even matter

Before you go to the next step

Please read the disclaimer

In this day and age of digital things

I got everything I really should need????

OK I get it, you hate it when I write
but relax I have a surprise more like a super prize
throw the axe at the bull's eye, straight to the point I'll give no lies
I'm just lying on the floor, I'm not lying to you, telling the sore truth till my soul dies
_ why would I dye the facts, I'm not gambling but I threw all of my die, maybe this will help me rise
from the dead, instead of being dead alive, falling apart as I strive for mercy from the heavens above the skies
there's levels for evilness I'm at the middle that's what the needle on the meter says, I'm far from the devil's, but I hide in disguise
_ it's Valentine's Day, oh yay, oh my god what do I have to say, umm **** it, that **** is not mine, it's full of gold diggers though I guess it's a mine, they are all minors, all the kids I can't believe my eyes
_ it's a relief to know some of you don't buy this ****, if you buy  a flower you'll be called a coward, I think you can buy potatoe and make a Beautiful thing like French fries
maybe I'm a hate king because as the hate grow you start to get that feeling the one you get when you hurt a toe, when you hear someone talk about their pitiful life, tear up then cries
so here's an advice to all of my allies we need to arise to create a franchise to criticize those who emphasize the need of this day or anyone who thinks likewise, it's time to sanitize this world, so harmonize then synchronize with me, I'd do it myself if my ***** had a bigger size  you can't destroy a tank with a paintball ( I didn't apologize), but don't worry I'll give you my word you'll get lyrical supplies, this whole world is mine to demonize

*so why I'm standing here for,
Right there by your front door
Place a box is it a flower, a bear, dare to come near and that **** will blow and melt your face to the floor*

you know what I don't bear, the ******* red bare bear, who had the right to declare that it's right to compare an animal you catch with a snare to compassion love and care, I can't see the match right there, but **** it if I care, I'd rather watch a soccer match rather than burning my heart on this Love's flare, what destroyed my resort is the flair for a long lasting affair, it's ain't fair ! But forget it it's not about me, my match is no longer lit and I can't go anywhere, but I know non of you give a **** or care, man **** it if she wants a bear, there's a zoo take her there, push her too, down the  stairs, little advice tell her not to stare, the case will be rare if didn't **** her underwear with despair, the craze is  you might not stay a pair but you'll have a great story to share
but I have to say, that there once a day where I had a feeling that helped me not decay and held me up to stay on my way and not go away, and removed the strap off my ability to rap and say what I wanna say up till to day, if I'd to be Eminem she'd be doctor Dre, but know I'm moving from place to place on a dray it's hard to keep your **** in place when there's no side rails, she's a blue Jay and I feel blue everyday,I don't want a part to play in this play called my life ,if I can glue all the parts of my family back I wouldn't feel this way, but on my phone there's pictures of violet bruises that'll stay in my head I can't forget no way, it was a violent day, now I'm trying to burn my heart on this ashtray, I shot but I missed the trey
a fallen angel maybe a devil I didn't care about the danger, I just saw that she's quite clever, I'd just pretend to be a post, tend to be a ghost summon a demon and be his host, whatever it takes I'll pay the cost, just to have a look, said nothing I'd be shook, but satisfied my innermost thoughts, because those were almost burning, roasted like toast, but it's okay now those are buried or lost

so what am I doing here I'm an introvert
Not looking to look up your skirt
I'm a creep but not a pervert
But I have a heart too, just saying to alert

ney I'm not done yet, someone understand what did I say by the way, right attssini, when you see your high school crush u feel the  blood rush and you get that chill that you can't take off, you need to chill and seal the blush, that's nearly love, but I had enough from chasing feelings, cause I'm ain't enough, that's no bluff, if I'd give a stuffed bear I'd use my guts as stuffing to stuff the animal you love , he'd be a coward but still he'll rip your guts, so you won't have the guts to touch, you'll say I'm nuts and leave in a rush. To hell with the love that gave me my blood, I never thought dad was a stud,  that feeling was always the hub of survival, now it's not, I'm here for money but even that is out of my reach , what a luck, so dear love I try not to give a ****, convince myself that I **** even if a had a million bucks, I'm not that buff, and this life is rough I'm not that tough,
So I can't do this I'm just....
But wait it's always me against the odds, even if we're even I'm still odd, you can't be like everyone and be number one on top, I know you don't understand but just nod in agreement, no ones knows me but god, still I'm evil like a demon

i was working in greenwich once, never mind what
i was doing: the view was great -
the bursts of air and i had myself imagining being
strapped to a longboat all the way to harvest
knowledge of iceland and greenland...
and bring back a vision of a snowman...
   but at the greenwich waterstones i came across
a rare find...
i still don't know why i didn't buy the whole
trilogy... it was there for the taking...
why i didn't buy the whole lot i will never know...
unless there's some alternative universe for me
to visit after i tot this one...
j.-k. huysmans' Durtal trilogy...
then again... perhaps là-bas is not the en route,
the cathedral, the oblate...
what did i pick up?
something better than a hardback edition...
an aubrey beardsley's 'of neophyte and how
the black Black Art was revealed to him by the fiend
Asomuel' (from the Pall Mall magazine...
june 1893) - so much for... Urotsukidōji:
legend of the overfiend...
that... castrating ***** anime from
the depths of the bedroom tax from
                   soy-sauce-tokyo...
but a Durtal will never become a Julien Sorel...
the first love, that of Stendhal's the scarlet & the black
when it was only a movie...
with rachel weisz and ewan mcgreggor...
no... Durtal would never become a Sorel...
but i had the entire trilogy in my hands...
whether là-bas is called en route...
it's a dream... come to think of it... there's a...
thinning of a 10 year gap...
the day when memories start behaving like
dreams: on the current day...
so i didn't have the trilogy in my hands...
i can remember the covers just as well:
                               la cathédrale and l'oblat;
perhaps en route wasn't included...
on the shelf... i wouldn't dare mingle
jean des esseintes from À rebours into...
salt mine comparison of... what Durtal...
                      what Julien Sorel would never...
this quest for the hafiz...
perhaps i did see four books next to each
other... in the greenwich waterstones...
no... come to think of it...
there's no need to it as such...
whether there were four books or three...
À rebours wasn't on the list...
i've heard of comradery in the world war one
trenches near Ypres...
i hardly need to hear of it in a marriage...
****-wit hard-on of a would be "dictator":
just like me... with a personal library...
and some music stashed in 80s quicksilver
discoball disks...
and some liquorice vinyl: mostly jazz...
for the love of books:
roman polanski's: the ninth gate...
it's a book it's not a mirror: nor is it a puddle
or a lake... but most importantly...
it is the ever present cat...
how will i ever sleep in a bed...
that isn't... that isn't prior to me sleeping in it:
warmed by a *****?
oh that's bad... as i was in love was:
which was oh so terrible as...
god... to have to fall asleep on my worst side
of the body... till it was numb...
how it was necessary to siamese ourselves
to sleep... the slit neck and the breaking
of the cucifix under a... heavier burden
than after the passing... it started to rain...
that apparent: no **** sherlock moment...
of glass eating mirror... how...
but narcissus only saw a ghost being reflected
in the primitive mirror -
he would have to wait until night to see
a reflection in glass... or at least banish his shadow
from the confines of noon to peer at his face
within the ripe hours of his testament...
prior to the mirror prior to the mirror...
there was only the ***** and:
let's pretend i look my best...
just pretend... there was no "divination"
of the visage... i sometimes forget that i can look
at myself, in these vampiric insults of a reflection...
what i crave is for someone to objectify me...
will a cat ever caste an "evil eye" into your scrutiny...
extend the hand... show the cat all your fingers...
to express the bounty, the gift,
the emptiness in the chore of the mandible thumb...
and will it not look elsewhere?
darting squint to and fro...
as much as i could love women...
there was only one...  ms. amber that kept me...
toe-tied but at the same time dancing
to an exhausting effort to... clinging to:
the death shall resound with praise...
and this body of mine...
should my shadow accept it...
stand in the orchestrated hall of a kitchen...
candle-lit whereby a rose will tun from
red to purple when enough candle flame
is looted for the purpose...
as all... not all: but me... grit their teeth...
grit their teeth until a shrapnel bite is gritted of
with a sublime fashion to conclude
a wake...
*****: that pensive spirit added to
a lemonade... which is such a burden that...
i almost wish to have written a chapter of
a scandinavian harlequins novel...
what good is a mirror...
when the only good ever came from how
others perceived me...
this... acrid slab of bone and flesh...
this blood this flush of quasi-flesh and blood
in the confines of marrow...
to borrow but also to break
the rims and the canvas skeleton...
to lord over mr. sponge-brains...
and all these, other... details...
piquant palettes of taste...
a cat doesn't know that:
one doesn't eat where one take a ****?
perhaps from the same gob...
one doesn't ****... but sure as *****...
one eats with...
peculiar wormholes into what's best
advanced as: well a cat is not equivalent
to keeping a turnip lucky...
as a cat is not a dog...
i always welcome forgetting the leash...
and if it was an alsatian... i keep forgetting
the muzzle...
cats... solipsistic bonsai tigers...
no: but every other mercury rising...
it's hard to come across an immediate affection...
notably among animals...
once i tried it with a herd of horses...
pretending to be holding a sugar cube
in my hand... i was almost hoofed in the head
dead... the moon was singing...
while the horse retorted:
there's no sugar cube, or apple in your hand...
i'm merely nibbling on your fingertips!
hoof! just missed my 'ed...
perhaps i was lying...
but what isn't a lie when walking through
a forest at night?
the moon has to be a lie...
your shadow has to be a lie...
i might have dared to take a mirror with
me on my nocturnal promenades into the forest...
but then again...
that would be akin to...
taking a candle-lit into a market square come
noon... when no shadow is ever made
available...
for the love of books...
it's hard to want animals to like you...
let alone love you so that they are necessarily
inclined to sleep in the bed you're about
to sleep in, interrupt you while you're typing for
some tickles and giggles...
cat's life...

as i was most "pressured" to peer at...
taking a shower while pouring water on the back
of my cranium for a simulated
******... at the moment / point where
the neck ends and the skull begins...
the crux of the occipital bone: less protruding -
or so i'm told...
i tend to forget the genitals or *******
at this point of extracting pleasure...

who is to be loved,
who is unloved, who is better loved...
who's just a ******* fern, with a bias,
to begin with? isn't that the usual poetic
rat-fest of this and every other current
output / outpouring?
who's love is the madman's love?

i write: and then i recoil...
i wish that i might always recoil
into braille: ⠞⠕
                                          ⠎⠑⠑

oh but i am bothersome... if china explored...
every other one child state policy...
i would always be at odds
come the measured sentiments...
otherwise the cats...
without the leash or the muzzle...
left to their own device...
sleeping in the bed i will
sleep in twists and turns
of... snow white and the sulking dwarfs...
of which there was a count to mind:
notably a 7 fold...

when drinking is a "problem"
while you're too preoccupied with writing...
then there's no point
of making a Friday night an adventure
with a limping boast for:
how much anyone might,
at any time... ever... drink...

i call it a sharpened syringe intake
of both violins and harps...
when the time comes:
there's that... breaking of glass
crescendo... the shock & awe
biltzkrieg "innuendo"...
there's that high pitch...
hanging knot of the noose vowel
"sigh"... elongating itself into
a measure of: the length of a serpent...
  
i fall asleep listening to horror movie soundtracks...
that cats are exposed to seeing ghost
from behind, having to peer at walls...
perhaps cats do not see shadows:
they only see ghosts...
bonsai tigers and demigod sphinxes...
blind-dating Artemis with
the bunnyman...

               a lazy hook: no advice...
refining the "concept" or a rock...
even if equipped with a chisel...
come, frankly, a rock is still not a mountain...

"one" calls it an escape from both darwinism
and feminism...
in the same one defines a piano:
it's not a pineapple...
it's not an apple... it's not a pear
or an afghani altar of the dowry...
some feudal **** load and *******...
it's not quite a lobotomy...
it's a safe haven of tax + a niqab...
because riddled brian is the half-cheese
chess piece soup steward and...
the bus links need to be left open...

a potato ≠ a bottle of *****...
oh but it does... it does it does...
i forget the moment i drink...
when i start to drink...
solo does the soul best...
      so little or so much of the unnecessary "talk"
surrounding alcoholics anonymous...
i will grieve the bibliophile woo woo
clan...
they take a photograph...
but then they might just stand
before your body beside
a coffin...
and... "eureka"!...
                   john wayne wins an oscar
for: true grit...
he finally made it!
- way say loan'g gone Sally! way why with
tht spaghetti drool of y'ers!

i dare you: to daft punk me...
i watch a cloud with as many
instructions as must be assembled
for.... the cloud will **** rain...
and i... shaman primo...
will juggle knee-caps
and rubber-***** and... the better fold
of an elbow waiting for a riddle...
otherwise:
it's called a sour-cherry tree /
seasonal dieting... honey bear
poo'k ch'oop... luvvie bit by two bears
honey dew... ms. housewife 1950s...
selling compliments
as household burdens...

of which none are to be "had"...
the love of books...
otherwise known as the chopin nocturnes...
the better "half" of islam
was written by... khadijah **** khuwaylid...
first wife surahs...
the rest is... camle jockeys rummaging
in the hill-top confines of spain...
bruising french cargo ego...

i love cats, i love books...
god please me to endear a love for dogs
when not having to use both
leash and muzzle... to pet a dobberman...
is enough: most enough...
i will love a book more than a woman...
beside some "added on"...
some romanian folklore...
a mongol invasion will set you back
200 years...
who were the mamluks...
who were the janissaries...
the brain-washed few...
what's best: is what has to be borrowed...
enslaved...
otherwise i call "her": timid Timothy...

the best of my life is a tomb...
the books and the stale air of flicking through pages...
the interludes of a harpsichord...
being played... becauae i know the difference...
if it is a piano... but it isn't...
there's a demand for citing Venice...
and the manufacture of glass...
and...
            
a bottle of ***** is an unbaked potatoe...
while ms. amber is a squared mile of
timid autumnal green... in that it's something
extracted from concentrated wheat...
and barley and rye...
and... this... figment of my imagination...
the hungarian tokaj -
i could almost, most assured... cry...
after each and every other single word
i write...

the violin shrill coupled with the escaping
vocals beside having to stratum guise themselves
into an opera: opera least welcome!
let us entertain the circus primo!

for the love of books...
the lesser case scenario of:
what does it take to barrage oneself
with a to mistake a cushion for a goose...
most certainly not the post-mortem
of the 72 virgins as promised...

why wouldn't i call
muhammad the little solomon?
i'll reiterate...
muhammad is the quasi
small ibn solomon...

queasy: first comes first...
muhammad whittle solomon....
not so great...
not akin loitering... surrounding
average shlomo greeting his dues...
his davish'am... psalms are not
to be questioned by sonnets
or jazz improv.
            
                    the gargoyles: novem portis...
dead-blank stares of
stone on wilting welcome, via hubris...
borrowed from the confines
of swedish cinema...

begotten by berries...
the Bergman in all of us...
it's time to make ammends...
bid the readers goodnight..
than the all-encompassing compact...
a mother due,
a grandmother due...
and say...
i arrived... but i am most certain:
to leave without any darwinistic burdens...
because: as much as i loved women
as ******...
women would never adorn the stale
perfumery...
that's better "lisped" by,
by books;
a clarinet of suspense is...
always the bounty of an escaped presence
to mind.
in the old narrative:
to love a ***** is to able to love all
women...
look toward a book... toward a piano!
better you sift through dust
and shadows! lick a gravestone:
if you're lucky!

Edie, i failed miserably... thinking that ms amber and mr hector whiskers would get something profound out of me... no returns policy here... on writing like i used to (that is)

waking up to a choking sensation of hanging over
the gloom of societal ergonomics:

    even the historiological miasma
in the cinematic chain of the story of the Israelites
in Egypt:

   i worked in the construction industry
and i can vouch that: there was no clear, generational
misery attached to building towers:

i can't imagine the same attachment of grief
correlating to pyramids, although this is well
documented in movies...

zdrowie na budowie: health in a construction site...
no immediate misery from the strands
of sayings: more misery in the gym on a treadmill
than laying brick on brick...
a monstrous adventure of standing still
and erecting a noon shadow
upon time (of the desert)
          only to wait until the Eiffel tower to topple
such heights...

just like Big Ben (named after Benjamin Disraeli
i presume) was renamed the Elizabeth tower,
not Pugin's tower (the old ***** dragged everyone
into her gloriously inglorious age
of dismantling an empire)
the Eiffel tower should be renamed:
Napoleon's Giraffe!

the pale shade on the face of Oppenheimer's guilt,
rereading gregory corso like it's nothing...

at least the bomb H and bomb N (hiroshima, nagasaki)
dropped on a people with fathers mothers
children and the elders...

what pale comparison is the fear of the bomb
when, as they said about the Holocaust,
the terrible has already happened...

drop another! drop another!
what does it mean to the atomised recluse
and the crab bucket,

what is the Manhattan project Oppenheimer
et al
when simultaneously there was also
Goodwin Pincus!

the bomb the pill the bomb the pill the bomb the pill
the clown the mime the clown the mime
the wolf the wolf in sheeps' wool the wolf
the carcass - the mountains of carcasses:
a hubballoo of crustaceans on a beach

this bittersweet hangover of history and
the present day

the fear of touch instigated from grandmother
to a granddaughter when
a non-biological male has carousel fun ***
with the mother -
dearest of touches, through simply wearing
a gifted t-shirt

37 and childless is also like saying:
jeez... i'm surprised "we" shot ourselves in the foot
and there are no surprises that we're limping
with dyslexic pastors in new advent churches
prior to highly literate priests
with dyslexic pastors where once stood
proud literate priests
gatekeeping what, i ask? being persuaded
doubly dutch-blind?

reimagining a church where the pastors know
the 2nd literacy of coding in html,
>give /i
                  >>?/;?        $ banner
                                               like a melting igloo...
later... no rudeness implied by the native english
native european - i wonder what nickname they
have for us... if aboriginal and indian were
nicknames for the indigenous peoples of a people
in a land before and after no exodus...

Joropes - maybe i'll think of a nickname for
us ******* Yobropes who did some touristy stuff
in the 16th through to the 19th century
like the Silk Road was not an asiatic "thing"
like the white self-loathing is not something
born out of the pill rather than the bomb...

i need to salvage this energy of a hangover -
like i might care to not care or
to not care about caring...

a month spent on Kauai in what i dreamed of
ages ago with my mother's pedicurist
whenever she would come over with her toddler
and i would babysit for an hour or two...
but this was a month's worth of fatherhood
simulation with a 12 soon to be a 13 year old...

the joy i had from baking a cake with her mother
(my hot tub lover)
and all the tantrums and all the confusion
and all the arguments a teenager might have
with a mother and grandmother
and i was the one who somehow managed
to get the teen to sleep in her own bedroom
and not in her mother's bed...
i would too craving touch...
    
                     my ego should be my anchor
my thoughts: shoulders to lean on, no!
my thinking or unthinking should be a ship
the id the sea
and who said that creating the superego
would be a better cage to god
in the secular trinity

to write truths in science is one thing
but to write uncomfortable truths on matters
of being human
is another
theological crevices and humanistic escapades
to doodle over and dive into

a game in a swimming pool
playing dive and seek underwater
with a 13 year old girl,
this the least, no biological attachment,
no "self investment" in perpetuity, continuity,
no eyes of my own
no ears of my own
no nose of my own

but...

          the way i speak, my mannerisms,
my behaviour trans-translatable,
everywhere i go this trans- prefix...
trans-racial, trans-gender... trannies
and mommies and somewhat-daddies...
metaphysics should become meta-reality...
there is a meta-reality, given so many people
chose exodus from... reality...
in the trans-dimension...
creating a rift in reality
to create a meta-reality...
a metamorphosis of demonic smiles-allure...
Dante's Elysium or at least the telekinetic
spasm of thoughts-uplifting yet
words like blunder.... bubble blunder
with a pop... carousel...

daft grey... humpty dumpty on a fence
with a white sun and a black sky,
basically the night...
and come day... fake yellow fading white
if peered into, not at, the sun
is a vibration of ultra-violet dynamic
in my eye... a pulsating eye
compared to the stone-eye of moon...
a monstrous soul eating and illuminating
fascination...

we are heaving a woman a heaven in pregnancy,
Napoleon! Napoleon!
calls out Homer, anewed,
a time when tyrants didn't have telecommunication
and from bottom to top to bottom
like Napoleon, rising up,
rather than like ******: levelling:
from bottom to top to bottom to middle...
grey monsters grey hollow cause
hallow cause, holocaust,

building the pyramids like a dream-memory
compared to the concentration camp
conscious-reality... a pinch-thought...
because only Yids... Hebs... affected?
the nth, only people in existence...
you'd think Poland would be
the 2nd America... German genius spirited
on to the lazy *** Hebs?

ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha

probably...

new to making movies, hell is with me: i laughed
postmen brawling outside my window
how manic and evil
a laugh is without concept of body
in an empty hoѦ
   ** ** Halloween and Satan's Clause...
from the decrepit Mediterranean (my dyslexia too,
some words are an arithmetic impasse)

not to say the Ummah is 100 % sure..
0 topple 0 and how A gave birth to B
or E...
   how 0 came last
but was born first with the wheel,
the moon... no... the sun....
0 was the last number written down
wheel to 0
wheel to 0       Texan minus...
I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
where is the zero?

        billions of souls resisting the waves of
death, but relentless..
death like was and earth like life
crumbing morphic, yet sea de-morphic,
neutrality of a loaf of a deity in
the dynamic of space, vacuum...
time... immemory-demented-dyslexia
and self-closure discovered in old age
proof in protein, cannibalistic protein:
self-deletion... for a people
of mediocre morals and lived experiences...

people who invested in short term rewards
supposed extrovert opportunists...
Edie: me to you... depth of a craving
soul, FBI, CGSIE... those sounds of individual
letters comfort me, CGSIE...
I O         I O

       ю

    ya U
      Y Δ

branches of a tree, the tongue of a serpent,
twins on a Siamese road,
apart yet together bound-       +      -less
like nothing with a cushion
a bubble and a tongue twist
and a marrow afternoon of grey and
England is this bearable...
ugly colour disruptor until
summer and cricket in rugby in football
base bull...        ****...
oh my gloom in the chaos
of a sea of id with a thinking rattled by thought
and not thinking
and ego an anchor in shrapnel
like vikings and the crows they brought
with their ships because crows
used to be petted like dogs and cats

borrowing from myths...
a cat and dog fight
islam the cat heb-dogs...
not my world... not a world on Kauai...
volcano riffs in drum          kit
ODETARI SUX
                       depeche mode groove... growl, even...

barricades of secular pop, clown bars,
prosecco gluttons
and journalistic amputees of the guillotine...
humanism at the highest...
newspapers like what is a rock
to barricade the tides... of passing...
happening... DASEIN...
newspapers became worse than bibles...
violation of animalistic privacy...
auto-suggestive insomnia

best lost in the mundane labour and the spontaneity
of thinking about thinking
pixy... thinking about thought... pin-point... exit...
exit... samuel beckett...
******* Irish literati.....

         funny... i want to be a father more than
i want to be a lover...
but i also want to be a lover...
fatherhood and the crucifix...
but i'm also a son... and that's ample
detail to remain a lover...
i... the birthday massacre - under your spell...
her freezing up in McDonald's more
aware to interacting with a computer
than an actual person...

it's cold... very cold...
the sun dies in winter... a seasaw...
the concrete of underground stations of Warsaw...
the house is a mess by my mother's
constraining standards...
i watched the Whale on my flights
from LAX to LHR...
i loved los angeles... at the airport...
funny... though... on the way to see you...
Seattle was... ha ha... indigenous...
i saw the wolves of the Twilight Saga...

i liked Seattle Airport... so welcoming...
day dream day out fly by...
Los Angeles was... Los Angeles...
i want to touch you like i touched you...
forgot to wander by myself, since now there's also you,
and your daughter and my sexuality
paradigm... paradox... a fatherhood-sexuality...
that's relieved released from the ****** TABOO!
which was once very French...
there's no incestual taboo in me!
thank 14 year old finding out about the Marquis...
sure... well... to be frank...
*******-accusation is a novelty....

what if i were to add that your mother is fuackble to?   O
forgot: too...            ?

zombie glutton... necrophilia to boot?
but there's no ******...
the fear of me waiting and somehow
outliving the present you and mother
and what? getting it on with Reyla?
what if i was simply conjuring a father-sexuality?
born of *** and not creation
or imagination: christ was imagined...
he wasn't ever born...
lived, experienced... sensed...
muhammad thought he would end
Chinese whispers... story-telling fallacies...
dream-fusions...
which is why i don't dream with images...
i can't allow any cinema in...
why i talk in my sleep...

jeez... Edie... i talk in my sleep!

not my life but the collective unconscious
flashed before my eyes
history
i'm not dead yet
but this is what it feels like having a daughter
feels like... a son would be easy,
that's what i meant by:
if you had a son... i wouldn't be talking to you...
i see my mother in your daughter
i apologised to the plumber
he's not coming today,
don't earn money at Caesar's
earn peanuts under God's roof with family,


i have cats,i don't have children,
but we both share having elders,
elf you
knew...
                       ᛖᛚᚠ:

elf... Miranda, Myrian, mirage,
     malicious, malevolent, sea born
not mountain or quake born
primo madonna... artifact of Samoan Siamese
          Conquistador
replenished "conqueror"

       better toys, better boys....
like you said... about not being attracted to island boys
and like me treating all girls on the island
like Filipino *****...

started eating chocolate, once bitter,
like onion and coriander,
then sweet.... like the potatoe vine that's a tomato....
knives and fingernails in the same
frying pan
added to the spices toasted... cumin seeds....
fennel... finicky inglorious she... thir-      + -teen

mother dearest, what are your concerns?
the clouds becoming foggiest?

i loved her belly funnily filled...
that steak sandwich with her yummy mummy
finger licking... ******..
i know she's asexual... but i've had *** with you...
that's a Chimpanzee crazy...
i tried to have *** in the Pacific...
pacific... pacifier
i forgot you don't have seas...
you have an ocean...

Edie... smooches....
i want to feel like this, open,
as if you're in public, on a train with me
for Agatha Christie to listen in on....
i forgot about writing...
i know i am, still....
but right now, i'm trying to recreate your smile
snapped for detail...
then made dynamic in agitated circumstances:

of circas... the measurement of life...
of approximations,
6ft2 vs 6ft3
             6ft2 vs 6ft3

perfect example... relativity...
   1h 1sex
    = half and approx
         a crc: circa... which is a new unit... of...
non-measurement... i'm painting... *******
not Beckett but the butler... holmes....
no Sherlock... Dionysus of watercolour...
the frustrations of lacklustre...
all **** and all that khaki diarrhoea
mustard acid spread
additionally meat-sour spread of
not-aging beef... cowering death chicken typos...
          
it was fleeting, yet i want the stones
and gravity to return...

              i love you Edie, Reyla, Lydia...
        i'm sort of... calling out McFardy
             and you snooze 3pm.......
          McReady... target autistic snub
of a health prof
     my McSure theatre of hips
and wild tight ***....

Sir Andrew **** & The **** Crust Crew


the sweat of the variation in a dream eating frozen ice cream,
carry on with a tender song help keep you go along,
he walked with shoulders back as a demon he over acts,
tender moments reach out with chemistry below the knees
eats pasta with a greasy spoon in the month of June
sleep...sleep...although whispers in the park,
potatoe with a slice of Key Lime Pie
wired for fantastic goals

tender hours in which still blows colors up your nose
built on the magnificance of your goals...,
he rose to power on a handsome throne
had a crew that was nothing new
with tender means above all that was new...,
saturated sense of call
all to impress the know it all

feelings...
felt the score
amidst whats in the drawer
they got together to help even the score..,

slow to speak...upon my stairs...a loaded gun,
we keep the score lest we are triumphant
blanket me below the breeze swith to freeze