Capricorn is unsure of his place in the world
Virgo is a tease
Libra is world weary
Scorpio is barbed
Aries is a dreamer and an anarchist wishing for a world
of liberty and love
Leo is moody
Aqaurius looks on bemused seeing the world not as a rock
but as an oyster
Cancer likes ice cream
Gemini walks the streets at night at odds with the world
searching, searching for something missing
Sagittarius does too many drugs as does
Taurus who drinks excessively too but lives by the maxim
you’re a long time dead
Pisces practises Zen and just
Is.

The people have endured hardships for a while now. They have prayed and fasted for a better day but none has come. Prophesy has been given but has not been fulfilled. There have been moaning and groaning in every heart, in every home and in all the streets. Tyranny and misrule have become the trademark of the Mugabe rule. Finally our hope is at an end and our patience faded. It is time for a new Zimbabwean renaissance!
Zimbabwe does not belong to a few, it is not an aristocratic organisation. No one inherited the birth right to the white house. No one person is entitled to the presidency alone. It is the people who make Zimbabwe and it is they who rule. The president is nothing but a glorified civil servant. He or she works for the people and not against them. The people are the masses and they have the ultimate power. The Police and Army are mandated to serve and protect the interests of the people and not to fight them. The government should be for the people. Governments are nothing without the people!
Mugabe is the most shameful of African leaders. He was a beacon of light that turned into an apocalyptic darkness. He was the colourful and joyous son of Africa now turned into a ruthless dictator. The unlikely and even undeserving candidate who now imposes himself to be the king for life. The incorruptible one who has now become the father and a haven for the **** of corruption. Mugabe is a man disillusioned by his own grandiose imaginations that have been brewed by his over-prolonged stay on the seat of power. He has become the educated man who turned into the most foolish amongst us. Lost all sense of morality and cannot distinguish between what is right and wrong. This icon of a man has ****** on his own legacy. He has torn down his own statues. No longer shall he be remembered as a great revolutionary, he shall forever be vilified for the political villain that he is. The angel sent by God to redeem us has become the devil to us.
Mugabe is a testament that education and wisdom can be parallel. Maybe he has succumbed to the vices of old age and lost his original senses. Or maybe he is now just a stooge and stage puppet controlled by others behind the scenes. It could be that he suffers from dementia or some form of schizophrenic condition. He has a deranged personality void of all manner of reason and decency. Maybe he has become blinded and cannot see the reality of the Zimbabwean condition.
I am neither Zanu PF nor MDC or any other sham. I am red, white, black, green and yellow. I am a Zimbabwean. I cannot believe how I supported this madman and his cronies blindly for a time. I was once deluded and believed in the sovereignty dogma and the right for Zimbabwe to influence its own politics. All the time the country was deteriorating as the Zanu PF cancer was spreading across all corners of this beautiful nation. Those in power were busy abusing it and looting wealth for themselves. They looted farms, properties, companies, gold, platinum and diamonds. Everything they touched was stained with failure.
Some of the most educated people in Africa have now become nomads and sojourners in this world. The beauty and grace that distinguished Zimbabwe from the rest has been greatly compromised and diminished.  Zimbabwe has become nothing to write home about. Our previously less prominent neighbours have outgrown us.
The people go hungry, the banks have no money, industry has lost its footing, unemployment at its highest, crime and discord rampant, nothing but lawlessness and disorder. No electricity everywhere and  water supply is erratic. The roads are in dire condition. The industries of Bulawayo have suffocated to death. White collar workers have been reduced to vending. We are now a nation of scavengers and families grow hungry. Exports are a thing of the past and the Zimbabwean dollar is nowhere to be seen. The whole economy is in a constant state of illness and misery. The health sector has been hit hard. Zimbabwean youth have become jobless and confused. The working class goes on without receiving wages and salaries. In the meantime the police has become more corrupt and draconian, ZIMRA keeps squeezing the little money the poor have and there is mass censorship everywhere. The man who was tasked to manage this country has failed and must step down. These are more than enough reasons for change.
Mugabe and his government have turned the reputation of Zimbabweans to nothing. Zimbabweans are now seen as weak and destitute people all across the world. In certain places they have become pariahs who survive by hustling, robbing and conning. We are scattered all over and it is not by choice.
The pride and dignity of the Zimbabwean flag has been tainted by this man. As heinous and evil was the Ian Smith regime and his supremacist government, Mugabe is worse. We will never wish to go back to white rule but we wish for a black competent government that is effective. We just want things to work in Zimbabwe. We want to restore the beauty of our glorious nation. We want Zimbabwe to be better than it was ever before. One thing is clear, Mugabe has done his part and has run out of ideas. His time is done! We need fresh thinkers in the white house. We need real change in Zimbabwe. A new dispensation with none of the failed old guard. They have served their role and it is time to resign and retire.
Mugabe is not a uniting force anymore. He has become a symbol for division pretty much like Adolf ******. He is just an old man hiding behind a suit and his hordes of security men and puppeteers. Even the great Fidel Castro relinquished power! South Africa has seen more democracy than Zimbabwe. Change has swept across most of Africa and it is now knocking on the door in Harare.
We the Zimbabweans across the globe unite and in one great voice we shout, “Enough is enough, No more Mugabe and his regime, No more suffering, we want a new and better Zimbabwe! We want a government for the people! We want jobs! We want local industries! We want agricultural growth! We want a country that works!”
My recommendation to Mr. Mugabe is that he researches about the Seppuku ("stomach- or abdomen-cutting") or harakiri (“cutting the belly") and practises it. This is a form of Japanese ritual suicide by disembowelment. It was originally reserved for samurai. Part of the samurai bushido honour code, seppuku was used either voluntarily by samurai to die with honour rather than fall into the hands of their enemies (and likely suffer torture) or as a form of capital punishment for samurai who had committed serious offenses, or performed because they had brought shame to themselves.
Change is coming to Zimbabwe whether the old guard want it or not. The police black boots will not able able to intimidate this away. No oration or rhetoric will sweep this change under the carpet. This is different from the attempted changed introduced by the MDC a few years back. This change is not sponsored by the British or Americans. This change is motivated by the gross incompetence of the sitting government and it is empowered by the resolve of every true Zimbabwean to see a better and healthier Zimbabwe that offers a lucrative future for our children. This change is 100% Zimbabwean and is not about colour, creed or background.

Life in Duality and Non-Duality

Birth is the first gate.
Death is the second gate.
Between these two gates lies the path of life
travelled by all sentient beings.
All are born.
All will die.
Between death and rebirth lies the unameable state
where the next life is chosen, determined by the individual Isnesses
stockpile of accumulated Karmas,
Good and Bad.
All human beings,due to their accumulated Karmas,
both Good and Bad,
must pass through this unameable state
and be reborn into their next life.
All beings accumulated Karmas,Good and Bad,
are assessed in that state and that assessment determines the next life they are  reborn into.
There are NO exceptions to this process ever.
Karmas,Good and Bad,are accumulated in each life.
Karmas ,Good and Bad,are the result of the morality
of each individuals actions.
Karma is of three types.
Good Karma which ties each individual
to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Bad Karma which ties each individual
to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Neutral Karma is the only way that each individual
to can free themselves from
the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Both Good and Bad Karmas tie each and every human being
to the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth as a human being.
Only Neutral Karma can free each individual from
the endless cycle of birth,life ,death and rebirth as a human being.
Neutral Karma is only realisable through the practise
of the Six Fundamental Yogas.
Neutral Karma is the only way to erase both Good and Bad Karmas.
The practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas increases the BrainBloodVolume to the level of that of  Foetus in the Womb,which causes the Mind and Conditioned Identity
to dissolve,temporarily or permanently.
Those individuals,female and male equally,
whose practises of the Six Fundamental Yogas cause
the Mind and Conditioned Identity to dissolve temporarily or permanently will enter into union with the Isness of the Universe
as an equal,temporarily or permanently.
Those individual human beings who  pass their lives accumulating Good and Bad Karmas are unable to escape from the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth.
For the overwhelming majority of human beings who refuse to generate Neutral Karma,by practising the Six Fundamental Yogas,life can only be lived, in the state of
Mind created Duality and  Non-Duality.
They are unable to enter into the state of union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
The permanent feature of such a life lived in either Duality or Non-Duality is the ceaseless deep suffering of being separated from the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
For those very few human beings who,through the practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas,have dissolved Mind and Conditioned Identity,permanently,life is lived in union with
the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
Life is lived in the state of Experiential Knowingness
which is called Separate and Merged.
They live out their last lives in this realm in union with Isness of the Universe as an equal.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk

.

reinventing the resurrection of the Roman Empire with
a pseudo-Christ in tow will prove fatal -
or simply propelled to an established
norm for all the wrong reasons
other than a quasi-Narcissism fully embracing
fetishes beyond the standardised
practises of human evolutionary concerns -
see how Darwinism is incubator
of fatalist vocabulary? too much arrogance -
they're nothing more than Spanish
Inquisition leeches - because when was
atheism intended as a fashion statement
with mismatched socks and matching
loafers? probably never.
we already sought to put atheistic economics
on the guillotine tablature -
the temple named: all men are born equal
was always Samson's prize for demolition's
just escapade, in or anywhere outside of
a Glasgow housing estate -
a Scot making a joke about Scots:
how was copper wire invented?
two Scots arguing over a 2 pence coin...
a stretch Armstrong moment i'd like to see.
all we need is Hillary for the unholy alliance
to materialise - the birth of horse racing
and womanised politics -
and are you the baby tarantula on the back
of mama tarantula? no? oh... don't
expect much from mama tarantula
if you're not part of her family and genetic vector.
the resurrection of the Roman empire as cited
by Divine John has a major fault...
the original intention prior to the authority of
Augustus was based on republicanism -
not democracy - the autocracy evolved from
republicanism, not democracy -
and if this be the McDonald model of work
ethic and success, it will be hard finding a few wise
old men to quench a rise in despotism -
the naive-expectation will over-power them -
we could see America as our safety laboratory once -
where the fates of Greek democracy and Roman
republicanism were played out -
rule of the many v. rule of the informed worthy few -
if elections came about the former would
have a lot of numbers anonymously signed X -
while the latter a few numbers but identified with
articulate signatures - democracy is basically
a stab in the dark, that precipitates to a vote of
no confidence - and an immediate imitation of
Pontius Pilate's quest for conscience and washing his
hands in pseudo-Dostoyevsky's the machinist,
with bleach - ****** courtroom -
when older poets recite their republicanism knowing how,
the newer ones recite their democracy knowing neither
how or why - thus the resurrection of Rome built
around democracy and not republicanism -
the washing of the hands and loss of conscience -
this prophesied resurrection of Rome was not based
on republicanism but on democracy, for the simple
fact that democracy had its martyr - a republican member
should another be fixed to compete with him -
no Platonic notation of the idea behind the republic
was ever established - but indeed a lot was noted
concerning democracy - which in practice wasn't
a practice in dialectics, but in dichotomy -
the polarisation of opinions in the simplest terms:
man v. woman, old v. young...
the republicans only had one dialectics ruining them:
the dichotomy between one man and the many -
is man to be as automated as insect or Satanically
rebellious and in his own sway "himself"?
there need not be a conjuring of biblical myths with
this concern - man was not temped for insight
into the disparity of good and evil and subsequent
confusion of attributing each its invested share
of expression in the world of choice -
but man was made an ontological alliance with
the famous villain (i too, akin to Milton's sympathy
a pledged allegiance do make an oath to consummate
a rival marriage, kindred of celibacy shared
by truth or perception, royal, named Elizabeth I) -
for if not by rebellion Satanic not make elemental conquests
or at least improve on them?
Francis Bacon died attempting to conjure up
a refrigerator with a dead chicken - dying from
hypothermia, or a really bad cold; never mind that,
if the resurrection of a united pseudo-Rome is to be
established it cannot take root in democracy -
but it already has, and is doomed to fail
given one of its former provinces risked all to exit -
it has to be rooted in the origin, in republicanism -
but it can't take root there, given the lost vitality of ancient
old age and modern old age leaving behind
only disparity - audacity of youth in every sphere
of life - and the blatantly over-stretched comforts of
old age - the American experiment of having
democracy v. republicanism staged failed -
that was the intention - to see which one was more the success
story of the revival - i appears neither or precisely both -
in that democracy has fuelled the city-states once again:
globalisation and the city-states: London, Paris, Germany...
they exist as separate entities in a web segregating
themselves from national politics and associating themselves
in global politics with only their counterparts -
the Greek city states have been revived by such dynamic;
so if democracy fuelled that, then surely republicanism
has fuelled what happened in the British exit from the union?
coup d'état in Turkey (on the waiting list, joining in
2020 along with Serbia and Albania etc.) - if you can't see
xenophobia and a choice of politically correct vocabulary
you don't see the naivety of Polish pensioners and English
pensioners - Turks at home in Germany - but let's revitalise
the memory the Iraqis share with Mongols and the sacking
of Baghdad and the Siege of Vienna between Turks and Poles -
i've assimilated into British society i don't identify with
such ethnic historicity - i was taught history including Roman
conquests; do i think the Scots will break from the Union?
i think they'll break for ethnic moral - that's
the other member of the unholy alliance, a real cat fight,
2nd Ms. Thatcher in Downing Street? the youth voted
in - the old voted out - when they were concentrating
on the gender gap a milieu gap was convening -
outside of London the impression of the family environment
suggested the youth didn't vote, in the urban environment
youth mingled with youth, to later hear their parents
or grandparents were dying ****-stained in care-homes...
strange: you always seem to wish to be part of a Mongolian
horde in such times for the oddest but the most blatant
reasons... oh yeah, and i read 5 books today...
well, i told you, once you read enough books of your
own choice you end up reading poems and reviews to
give yourself some slack...
- les parisiennes by Anne Sebba (review by Daisy Goodwin)
  (always women reading books by women,
   and men reading books by men... what sexism
   in this post-sexist culture of FEMININE EQUAL)
- Paper: passing through history by Mark Kurlansky
    (review by John Sutherland) p.s. best citations
    from this review... maybe some other time...
-  The Age of Bowie: how david bowie made a world of
     difference by Paul Morley (review by Will Hodgkinson)
-  the Girl who Beat Isis: my story by Farida K(h)alaf with
    Andrea C. Hoffman trans. by Jamie Bulloch (review by
    Catherine Philp)
-  Pinpoint: how GPS is changing our World by Greg Milner
    (review by Damian Whitworth)
and finally...
- All things made New: writing on the Reformation by
    Diarmaid MacCulloch (review by Robert Tombs)...
                                indeed,
                                 the terrible has
                                 already happened;
never leverage on
a positive thought when
working from Pompeii -
as the lessons of failure
from the past magnify -
there is nothing
but hindsight and pessimism
in the past to unearth -
while uncertainty and optimism
toward the future readying
itself for the burial rites
of the already unearthed artefacts
in continuum imito (in a continuum of imitation).

There it sits
Waiting
Watching

It's a Yamaha
With a Union-Jack back
The last of it's
Kind

It's been a faithful companion
It came to me
When I was six
Not brand new
But second hand

Through all the tears
All the humiliation
All the pain
All the scoldings
All the belittlings
It stuck through with me
With sweat and blood
Shed on the keys
It didn't complain
When I threw
My tantrums
Banging the keys
Even kicking it once
Or twice
It just waited
And watched me
Till I calmed down
And felt
Stupid
After
I practised
Everyday
And not once
Did it
Complain

It has a really bright
Crystal clear
Sound
With this certain
Energy
And depth

I took great pride
In taking care of it
Polishing it
Every other day
Till it shone
Like a mirror

As time went by
One grade after the other
The practises became
Less and
Less
I didn't care for it
As much as I did
Before
A year passed
Then another

Now I'm fourteen
It's twenty eight
Or more
I've had my share
Of performing
On stage
With all types of pianos
But there was this
One thing
That was different
With my piano
Something it
Lacked

The sound is there
The energy is there
But somehow
When I compare the recordings
My dear piano
Just sounds
Tired...
The touch stickier
The keys start failing
On some days
It sounds
Muted
Always slightly off key
No matter how many times
The piano man comes
This is one patient
The doctor can't treat

Is it possible
That emotions
Can be transferred
To objects?
Has my raging
Over the keyboard
Tired it out
By having to
Express
What I play
And what I
Put
Into the pieces?

It's a piano
Of memories
Of thoughts
Of an inexpressable phenomenon
Called feelings
"Where words fail, music speaks"
I salute you
Dear piano
For allowing me
To express myself
Through the written pieces
You help
Materialize

We have grown together
Walked this long journey together
And with all the memories
Sweat
Blood
Tears
That has made me today
I won't part with
Till the very end,
Dear piano

So shall we continue?

it's twenty past four,
i have spent the past hour watching
the Vierschanzentournee -
like someone in England might
have stayed up, watching
the n.f.l. or a boxing match...
i bought johnny walker black
at the airport and i sat there
watching history.
                        can there be a modernised
version of ecce ****?
             apart from dietery requirements
and angst against Wagner
and all that pompous rattle
invoked in the original by Herr N.?
i guess there can be...
    there i was, on my hiatus,
going to bed almost every single night
trying to sleep-palm a chess set
or a keyboard, but both seemed out
of reach...
                   this, again, a forceful
resignation toward the past day,
              it will never be perfect,
the first approach will always be
rusty, it has been three weeks
since i last entered this spiderweb,
of snappy convo and even snappier
overload of democratic practises;
and before me: endless sleepless
nights, and countless miniature
fürhers... and thus this fact:
  which i thought was worth avoiding...
but then i did buy a used laptop for
550zł, (given the exchange rate,
that's roughly £100... the downside?
everything is in paul-leash (no,
that's not an americanism of drawl
and draw and slobber and Houdini's
last trick) - hence i might actually
sport a cravat, moccasins and a
velvet dinner jacket...
                                   and when
Rodin employed his minions to
    chisel away at chapters from Dante,
Dumas (have you ever seen his
omni coprus?) like some pseudo-Pope
employed heavy-drinking monks
to write out his stories for salon bored
ladies until their hands were
playing shadow-arthritis games
         that children would applaud:
rabbit! rabbit! poor monks, exhausted
from having scribbled and
chicken scratched chicken blood into
papyrus wanted nothing more than
to grow their nails so they couldn't
hold a quill... no matter! Dumas would
say... we'll sharpen your nails,
vol. 25 of the comte bourbon &
the flamingo dance, and Rambo XVI
were both written by the unfortunate
monks...
              once again: there's
autobiography... and there's an autobiography...
  to write an autobiography
so that no biography is worth writing...
perhaps if i used paragraphs:
i could be considered: "serious".
      then there's that thought:
thought as origin of biographics -
           nothing to be preserved in
it having happened, returning from
Stansted in a taxi:
  only a thought:
   philosophy cannot claim anything
to be counter-intuitive in its foundation,
to me that conjures up an analogue:
the guillotine is the counter-intuitive
foundation of the french revolution...
Ivan the terrible threw dogs off the Kremlin
wall, and gauged out the eyes of the St. Basil's
architect... and since then
children in Poland loved to play:
throw a bunch of marbles into a little hole...
evidently ancient Egypt resounded
in capricious cappuccino Milan...
or: Míllánò! nurse! nurse! the syllable-scalpel!
herr doctor, is that defined by diacritical
marks? yes sister.
                  **** in boots to suit you toppling
too...  and may i add:
             how ever did i digress from
the mundane reality of: second-hand laptop,
Windows in Polish... every single word
in english: red tape, underlined...
if i have dyslexia, it'll show like a crow's
feather on a dove -
and when it does, you can start calling
me Chief Apache Pixie Jack...
or how you have black and white as
polar, the rainbow... and then
nights in grey satin by the bothersome blues.
this will be defined by lacklustre
and hopping along... then, vaguely:
a romance?
                        it was supposed to
be a hiatus... hiatus...
         3 weeks of what became defined by
anything but such hopes...
   some people span a literary career of
20 years... take 3 years to write a book...
         it takes me 3 years to keep
a single thought...
          can you really repress biographic
accounts these days?
                                 well... if written
par with the times, i guess it's as much
fun as questioning whether
     the following two are very much akin:
1 + 2 + 3 = 5 - 10 + 20 x 2 = 30
is the same sort of arithmetic as when
you do the "math"of writing out
a word like onomatopoeia...
the hanging vowels of babylon...
          if anything, then this -
             as it also could be: on the scrapheap
of memory, a dazzling iron-clad
      heftiness of pulverising vector -
a Gucci demanding a pulpit and an
avocado on toast... champagne and
squid... or as the Michelin criteria were
revealed: rubber tire and squid di Calabria...
tell the two apart... you'll get a republic
passport... who would have thought
that rubber tires were the benchmark,
the ph 7 of foody palettes across the
azure blob, with some ashen and fern
bits in between.
   but this is me, testing new equipment...
having spent 3 weeks on two kinds
of detox... alcoholic... oh the whiskey...
and the ski jumping gavrons...
   plush? sparrels in a rolling dozen
of figurative barrels - and more sensibly?
kestrels, petted by stiff, castrated
   hippos of the sky, akin to astronomy
naming blobs: pi-7773-quatro-offshoot-of
Juno...
                 or a boo boo 747...
about as gracious as a **** launched
off a trebuchet at the dome of the rock...
gimmicky the sliding down...
hot wedge like swallowing a sword...
                3 weeks on this vegetarian
diet... detox alcohol detox 21st century
phonebook...
    rusty first imprints from the waiting game...
but my my...
               wasn't it fun...
                  Jan Kazimierz Waza
(the finicky cardinal)
                                       as presented by
Horatio... no no: John Ignatius Kraszewski...
   (Copernicus was apparently Prussia)...
which means Ignacy was Bella Belyy Kraшevsky...
      which makes me wonder:
why is the violin the pauper's? instrument
or the instrument of hoped-for empathy?
any one would tell you:
as also the accordion player on a tree...
well... roof here, roof there:
try doing ballerina's tip toe on a gothic
spiral tip of a cathedral...
and yes, the gargoyles... sing-along:
silent night...
                       holy night...
again: this was supposed to be a hiatus...
dogmatic statements... and....
    apodictic statements...
                      in truth, most people are
size 0 with their diet of words....
      where that turkey of a tongue to
fatten 'im up? well... ask the shepherds
of Damashek when Saladin will come
to rattle the blacksmith to wield a sword.
a thousand maidens faint...
   (if this was a cabaret voltaire play,
it would happen...
    and the two will never win:
one has a crop of hair on the scalp,
but spider-legs of a beard on the chin...
the other has precious silverware on
the scalp... and 21st Amazonian nomads
peeping out from between his
beard)... well...
not bad for a break from hiatus...
the whiskey is good,
                    the breadth has already been
tested...
   oh yes, the dreaded notes...
   this was supposed to be a:
a 3 week break, bam! a whole session
of writing it out in one go,
beginning with: the first question
i was asked as the Western Warsaw coach station:
do Kijova? i.e. to Kiev?
       oh sure, plenty of Ukranian merchants
down the western side of Warsaw...
   a Ukranian family of only women
sitting eating 3 while chickens among other
things: polskie chlopachki nie placzy...
and if you're lucky! you might even spot
a Mongolian!
                    it was never going to be an easy
transition...
i left Poland when it was -18°C...
                   sunny... bitter...
   walking on snow was like either
hearing a meow purr every time the foot impressed
itself on the snow, or i was wearing latex...
                 and to come into this abysmall
+7°C "winter" that England is?
   gothica... rain in winter... only in England...
and yes, if i were born here
i would be making awckward jokes about
the rain... but i wasn't.... i inherited it
from some unforseen discourse about
     Saint Gorbachev and how bloodless it all
became... prized piglets of Kazakh:
   dollar baby koo chi go go west and buys
usés a Lambro-jini... plight of the Sinking Belgian:
and all he did was sail to Congo on a waffle...
   pity the man! pity the man!
    i have no romance with England...
the grey skies and the constant rain
are like toenails to my heart... they're just there...
but you just see me walk in that pine
forest... in my natural element...
                              -18°C...
why did only German poets philosophise?
   and why did only Shakespeare make
poetry indistinguishable from philosophy and
why did the French turn to pastries
                                rather than the dry
and cough infused pages of bookworm time-donning
yella spaniel sepia waggle waggle
                  Sorbone          
   & Pavlov... pretty girls and pretty boys in
the Erasmus programme... to Rome!
to Antwerp! to Brioche! ... to a brioche...
                      Bruges!
                                               Kiev aflame...
Cracow a mind-game...
            Prague merely an INXS postcard from
the early 1990s...
                    Berlin a wall...
   Munich a litre of gods' **** and company of a dog:
of a dog's intuitive measure of man's
competence with regards to a desire for gods...
                   Lvov... thankfully Lvov
will never be the Istambul of Byzantines' nostalgia...
   so too Vilno...
                                                well...
that's for starters.

A colourful butterfly,
male of the species,
utterly romantic,
in his pattern of behaviour,
says it all simply
by the  his style of flight.
It is a kind of skiing
up in the air, as if on ice,
He practises it,  to tail her,
a duty he quite earnestly
took upon himself.

She is visibly pleased about
all the attention she commands,
revealed by  his spectacular aerobatics
her every response, tells it.

With his jittery moves,
he gives her good cover
from other pesky suitors,
with loud painted wings.

By flitting right to left
and then the reverse
he smears colors on her wings
his inadvertent gift, of love,
in the process of the courting ritual.

With his passion, he anoints her,
with all the fervour he could muster,
you'd see him tremble,
with uncontrollable delight.
as he defies the rules of the wind,
hovers over her as if she is vanquished,

Only she,sees it with a pair of different eyes:
"Love makes us both victorious,in this game"

As so often
I find myself telling the same story
Of a reckless young man
Who skated on thin ice
With every move and decision
A gamble
A spin of the wheel
Risking sanity, soul and life
Spin and spin again
Add passion to the grinding day
Add colour to the morbid grey
Oh, foolish young man
Now that he's old and damaged
Boredom raises it's dull-eyed head
As he practises being dead
Spin and spin again

                                  By Phil Roberts

the world is too full of people
a lot of practises, norms, traditions
something i can't get along
i have had it in me
languages, oceans, love, seasons
unfed, uncultured
i refuse to open up
to the danger living out there
it might swallow it up
i went away...i subtracted
from all the additions
and madness, jury's, promises
vows, linkages
this silence that i possess is worth a language
of speeches, made up by words
so carefully sewed by grammer, adjectives and nouns
a beautiful place - trees
love, nature, mountains ..child's careless laughter
open yet so concealed
souls sees it - dances it with the sensations
coming out ..like a sun amidst dark clouds
i stay like i care least
shrugging off everything ..and everyone
not of that, not of this
in my heart..i contain all
feeling of beauty ..feltful sadness
converted into deep joys
rivers, cold glaciers into melting snow .
there is much that can be spoken about
it's only..silences in me
take me along..much more
than language with such torn up words

Two loose teeth and one a molar
Red wine eating the gums

a ferry journey away and fifteen miles of road
there and back again-

The dentist practises the art
that will solve two problems

But you are the same you as last time a loose tooth started to wiggle
and your success at pulling your own teeth, lye dead in the draw.

As so often
I find myself telling the same story
Of a reckless young man
Who skated on thin ice
With every move and decision
A gamble
A spin of the wheel
Risking sanity, soul and life
Spin and spin again
Add passion to the grinding day
Add colour to the morbid grey
Oh, foolish young man
Now that he's old and damaged
Boredom raises it's dull-eyed head
As he practises being dead
Spin and spin again

                                  By Phil Roberts

Monsieur Tickle
A business associate
Of my pater
Me aged four
Monsieur Tickle
Oft would visit our home
And tickle me
And tickle me
And tickle me
At first
I felt tickled
At second
I felt uneasy
At third
I felt scared
I didn't understand
I thought being tickled
Was mean't to be fun
Not of terror
After a while
When Monsieur Tickle visited
I would hide
Just two years ago
I mentioned this
To my sister
Who remembered well
This tickling mister
This sinister mister
Monsieur Tickle
As he tickled her too
And shared the same dread as i
And also shied
And would hide
As he evoked
So much fear
Whenever he was near
Yet he left
Our two brothers alone
(The third had not yet been born)
So whenever
I have to pretend
During acting practises
As part of a creative warm-up
I find myself
Having to act
As the others enjoy
The fun of it
Their own memories
Of being tickled
Untarnished
So i try to pick up on their vibe
Whilst i inwardly cringe
And cry
Monsieur Tickle
Now, no doubt
Lies in the company of worms
Yet still makes me squirm
The vermin now lies
With vermian

by Jemia

As so often
I find myself telling the same story
Of a reckless young man
Who skated on thin ice
With every move and decision
A gamble
A spin of the wheel
Risking sanity, soul and life
Spin and spin again
Add passion to the grinding day
Add colour to the morbid grey
Oh, foolish young man
Now that he's old and damaged
Boredom raises it's dull-eyed head
As he practises being dead
Spin and spin again

                                  By Phil Roberts

She practises perfect
until I no longer
detect
a flaw.

Ya Know It REALLY IS... !!!
England’s STILL A *****... !!!

Linton’s Words of Scripture...
Were Those of Honest Pictures... !!!

That Showed What It Is...
To... Try To Live...
Inna’ English Lands...
When You Are BLACK... !!!

Well Unlike Him...
I Was Born And Raised...
In A Place That CLAIMS...

To Be The... “ GREAT UK “...

Well Britain Or England...
But Now The Ships Sinking...
Because Heads DIDN'T Listen... !?!

To... Linton’s CLEAR Vision...
Cos’ It’s STILL A *****... !!!

A Country FULL of Tricks...
And Working Practises...
That Makes The Masses SLAVE...
To Earn Themselves A Wage...

So That They Can Get A Break...
From Working For Low Pay...

While MP’s Pave The Way...
For... CORRUPTION of The State... !!!

So These Words Here Are TRUE... !!!
... England’s STILL A *****... !!!

If You’re NOT IN... “ Their Crew “... !!!

Bureaucrats Who Sit and Plan...
How To Tax and Scam...
The... Average Man... !!!!

And Let’s Not Forget...
About... Immigrants... !!!

Like Linton Said In His Poem...
They Use You... ABUSE You...
Spit You Out And Then ***** You... !!!

From Legal Tricks...
To... Political Stings...
That’s Right Like BREXIT... !?!?!

Now Ain’t THAT A *****... !!!

Political NONSENSE...
Causing Folks PROBLEMS... !!!

Because of These Wrongun’s...
From BRONSONS' To JOHNSONS'... !!!

NOT Linton But BORIS... !!!
A Chuck With NO Norris... !!!
Whose Talk Can Be HORRID... !!!

So YES It’s A *****... !!!!!

I’ve Just Revamped The Script... !!!
From Windrush' To Brexit'...
We STILL DON'T..... Fit In...

When You THINK And Have Skin...
That’s DARK And Marks Cards...
of The... Whitest Of Hearts... !!!!

UNLESS You Will FOLD...
And Do As You’re Told...
Like Those Good Slaves of Old... !!!!!

From Being Called Lazy...
We’re Still Seen As Shady...

Because of Things Lately...
Like Street Crime That’s CRAZY... !?!

Well I Guess I’m That Baby...
Whose Now Become Brainy...
Who Sees That The Word...
...... “ STATELY'S “...
Connected To Hades... !!!!

Which Is Where ******* LIVE... !!!!!
So Trust When I Say This...

Linton... Made The Trip...
And Explained The Sitch' Quick...
Through His Truthful Lyrics...

That Inspired This Script...
That’s An OLD... NEW LIK'  ...
That I’ve... Changed Up A Bit... !!!

Which Reflects On The Fact...

That.....

... “ Ingland’s Still A ***** ! “...

As so often
I find myself telling the same story
Of a reckless young man
Who skated on thin ice
With every move and decision
A gamble
A spin of the wheel
Risking sanity, soul and life
Spin and spin again
Add passion to the grinding day
Add colour to the morbid grey
Oh, foolish young man
Now that he's old and damaged
Boredom raises it's dull-eyed head
As he practises being dead
Spin and spin again

                                  By Phil Roberts

I hope this is the voice of writers in general, however humble.

Every writer's intention is to share his thoughts.  He doesn't compel the reader to buy or read his book. It's natural of him to write/say this:
'here I am writing what I am thinking and about my experience....'.

But life is never short of philistines.  A few might even say:
' Don't advertise before me!'

That the person should articulate the above shows how low- down he/she is---it smacks of ill-will, ignorance, contempt and spite, immaturity and in the worst case--schadenfreude!

Confucius  the sage (600 BC) wrote about the chun-tze (the gentleman, the perfect person) who is kind, tolerant, encourages learning, practises humility, kindness, generosity, shows respect for all people, and delights in the success of others and never denigrates others as the xiao-ren (the 'small' or inferior person) does.

Confucianism has captured the imagination of the West which has openly declared that the founder was among the world's greatest philosophers.

Was the sage advertising himself? If he were so,  would he have survived for over 2,500 years?

Anyone who dares say that the writer is an advertiser must be among the most deplorable.  He or she should be pitied!

head turners embedded deep mind
harvested and deployed
'Dear Consumer'

i was rereading poem no. 11 from Ovid's
first book of ****** poems...
a bookmark? 100 rouble banknote...
hmm... i know the Slavic practises of women
who enjoy literature...
they enjoy "mummifying" flowers
in their books...
    me? i managed to mummify a spider...
the ****** crawled into the pages
to dry out...
              LAWINA LAWINA...
the chant before the opening song
of a gig by Łąki Łan... AVALANCHE...
LAWINA! LAWINA! AVALANCHE!

listen! LISTEN! to the people!
that's all you need to do... listen....
to the people!

i ******* hate the English and their
supposed: technicians of all the languages
of the world...
their... pish-poor skills at skiing
and etymology...
   SLAV... is simply short of an E?
and GERMAN? missing a MAN?
with missing S for GERMS?
what's ARAB?
                                 GRAB?!

                 i get ******* over the simplest
of "problems":
they're not problems...
but i get ******* about them...
because they're problem akin
to saying: blue is red...
and the English are prone to be megalomaniac
in their two-face-one-sidedness!

as much as i love the English:
i hate them...
because i've orientated myself
to live alongside them...
even i know that the English distinguish
the "English" among themselves...
the northerners are monkeys
and the southerners are fairies...

the Welsh are ****** and the Scots are
Scootch...
  while i'm translating myself
as an Anglo-Slav...
               hybrid cause... excuse me please...
i'm just not among my own people...
the ancient fable of the three brothers:
brothers Chex...
                (Czech)...
Lach... (Lax) and Rus...

           right... so this in-warring in the Slavic
worlds is a major ******* problem?
where was Afghanistan... Iraq...
Libya?! the best cricket season ever?!

funny "thing": **** Germany...
and... the concept of Arianism...
                   ever heard of the Sarmatians?
the Iranian tribe of people who settled
in Poland? the area of land preoccupied
by the migration of storks and European Bison?

"they're" not "my" people:
  but there's this echoing of time...
a furore...
             a condescending part-past-present...
there's this launch of the Harbinger of the Demiurge!

Nazis... fake... Aryans...
attacking actual Aryans?!
for the sowing of the sorrows of all
our deaths... may they come before
we least expect them...
i have no demands
of the Russians...
                       just some from the FSA...

some sanity... please... some sanity...
you're no longer the "USA"...
you're the FSA...
you're the Federal State of America.,.
i agree: a ****** acronym...
but... truer... than what you're used to...

your etymological malpractice
created a spontaneity in me
i wished would never be born...
****** ****** ++,
i.e. *******... seirously: *******...
or i'll eat you...

i feel what i think:
i think that... i feel like:
the sound of chainsaw...
and your bones... readily itemised!
i feel like... something being
dealt a proper "scrutiny"...
        i want to make someone
sick of thought...
           i want to reinvent glue...
hmm...
            perhaps i want the pan-Slavic
reinvention?
          of... let's... no no..
let's not re-try Communism...
                                    
current people are such ******* *******...
current people are: bo-ri-ri-ring...
then again: maybe almost everyone was...
maybe we've been entertained too much
to know the difference between between
being entertained and not ieng entertained
and having drinking water /
fire to keep warm...

music is less music
if you can replace it with the SOUND
of wind or that of water...
or that of fire....
start calling MUSIC: VIBRATION...
              
i ought to know... the Demiurge is ******!
we're not sitting pretty...
we're sitting... pretty: ******* ugly...
i'm having my last: my last: everlasting fun...
if i'm wrong? fair enough:
but i'll be dead anyway.

we! "we"! we were the "original" Aryans
of the European continent...
the place where the Samartians settled...
unlike the myth of the Russians
and the Swedes founding Kiev...
hell... the English have their Anglo-Saxon
myths... so... why can't i have mine?!

no... not: Samaritans...
SARMATIANS!
                            ARYANS...
an Iranian tribe that lived on the banks
of the Vistula...
where i'm from...
well... so much for defining yourself
as not being historically confined to
the origins in Iran by simply killing Hebrews...
ha ha...
so much for blonde hair...
and... the current currency of anti-racism
with the women entertaining BLACK-OH...
i don't care...
i'm sort of looking up for the New-Brazil...
of copper-neck skinned
beauties...
more white in her than black...
i mean... loss of thick ***...
loss of thick nose... loss of thick lips...
+++...
                      but the curly hair?
that's there...
                                    what?! problem?!
and when did a horse ask to **** a donkey...
wait...
when did a wolf ask to **** a spandex...
variation of a "would-be" labrador:
lab-rat root of what would become a...
******* Dachshund...
which would later become
a *******: break my bones! break 'em!
break em! let's create a Dobermann!

or is that, in reverse?!
time... seems... in-reversible...
  all the better... i'd abhor having to deal with
repeats of someone already having said:
ecce ****.

STANDARDS DOUBLE

DIFFERENT CONTRARY  ANGLES N PERSPECTIVES  OF THE SAME PEOPLE.

Realities, practicalities are different very, from our ideals n thoughts;

This is the very reason,  with these standards  double, our society rots.

Today  compulsory are masks due to covid; understandable this situation is;

But what about those masked people; whose masks see we can't, how do we deal with these?

People say one should have a priceless heart, which  is worth more than solid gold;

But in reality prefer people those who are rich; talkative, powerful and bold.

People with hearts of gold,  taken are for granted; and often  neglected

Whereas the rich, powerful ones, the pampered, spoilt ones are selected

Speeches loud are given against practises evil; but sadly limited it is; used  only to be preached.

Wonder I often,  why these standards double? Where have we actually reached?

Happen rapes n sins other,  almost daily, condemned by the people who are in it involved.

Have you thought, how, why and from when,  have these standards double evolved ???

Armin Dutia Motashaw

You don't practise what you preach

Don't worry

Nobody practises what you preach
anyway

He is really very fast
With his fingers, hands, and feet
He practises martial arts
And he's really hard to beat
He's in the gym for hours
And never misses a day
For it is his daily dream
To follow the champion's way

AFTER ME

Even after I am gone,  may many people,  my work carefully read.

On understanding it, may parents n grandparents better kids breed.

With everyone growing trees n plants, the environment will be fresh indeed !

With my constant prodding, with this green, may pure air people breathe.

May peace and prosperity prevail n no one under terror  does seethe.

Wish I, every child loves and diligently practises our religion n increases our creed.

Parsipanu n the great values of our ancestors flourish abundantly may.

Write I, with all my heart, and with conviction full, I pray;

"Hope Every Parsi Puthra believes (n works too) that PARSIS ARE HERE TO STAY".

Armin Dutia Motashaw