3/2/2015

“I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, 
couldn’t do it anyway,
 just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made 
any sense, anything.
 And I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t sit still or fix things and I wake up and I wake up and you’re still dead.” Richard Silken


I wrote of vultures once, I'd found in the sepulchral little category of "poems I had burnt a while ago" that I kept in my brain. I spoke of predatorial lashings against the dead prairie dogs of her and I, class of 2005- add ten more years and...
Contended May heat like the May-December romances in trope, I'd walk to bridges with notebook in sullied hand, a bit flushed, a bit healthy with the sun on my gold flakes shoulders If I had only known? Right? Haha.
The grammar rules of english: you (I) is a proper noun- but of course, i refuse to give myself that much pomp. To be full of such vanity is to be full of treacly purity- which does not apply so much now.
I had been given time to love you - until I didn't need you anymore, you said, then you'd leave- a sweetly sardonic little note, seeing as you hated the conjugal and impossible implications of "forever". I feel, now that you are gone, this is an imprisonment I am doomed to til atrophy...
You are dead. Your corpse rots in the sun of the soil in the coffin and it is still cold outside. Everytime I leave the house I ask myself what I seriously am expecting from March. The heat, the permenance of your being gone makes me sit down on the cold snow,
  My dullard heart sits with a bread knife wedged on a rib when I realize how utterly alone I am- so alone the vultures do not even circle.

Her husband failed
to give her this, this
embrace, this kiss.
Her lover, this other

woman, this one whom
she could explore, wrap
herself in, tongue, lick,
smell, was suddenly

revealed to her, at a party
of her husband’s, some
big do, some work related,
job promotion hogwash.

She almost dissolves in
this female warmth, this
female smell, this soft
flesh thing she has known,

yet misunderstood for so
long. Her husband’s ******
predatorial ways are over,
he can go find some other,

go to some girl at the office,
some **** he secretly (so he
thought) had bought. She
feels born again, as if erupted

from the womb a second
time, mouthed a fresh cry,
suckled at new ******* and
likewise the other hers, too.  

What would people say has
long since ceased to matter,
love’s intensity blows out
candles of such, puts far from

reach the narrow minded tongues,
the moralistic finger pointers.
They sleep together, eyes closed,
bodies wrapped about each the

other, dreams take on a new edge,
other shades and tones, nothing
of the old life, just this woman to
woman thing and loving moans.

"I'm lost." I say, tongue heavy. feet wet.
"you're lost?" a question. open eyes.
closed hands. "I'm lost." an answer.
"my name." I say, hands opening. a mistake. "myself."
the lines of my form are taken in to account. a burning sun on dry skin, a glistening eye in an empty face, a thought of longing in an empty mind.
"you're lost." a challenge.
arms spread. menace, teeth, bigger, badder, predatorial displays of power. a weaker person. wooden splinters in an aging bridge. volcanic ash. I can't speak, my name is taken. my face. stone under water, washing away.
"you're lost."
closed hands. "I'm lost." acceptance.

My favorite things in the world are of the earth and universe.
Tulips and sunsets, stars, and pearls.
Tiny ants in thier colonies, apes in the trees.
The birds in the skies, the bees in the hives. The people and thier lives.
I love the oceans.
The land.
The dirt, the rocks, the sand and sediments.
The mountains, the canyons,
The glorious fruits and harvest.
The beasts that wander the plain.
The raw emotions.
The feeling of rain.
Water falls and waves that crash.
Geysers and volcanoes that explode.
The plates that corrode.
Tadpoles, and toads.
But I love art, where we take apart things and make them new again.
But in my heart I know that destruction and reconstruction are not creations but reductions of the majesty that is the tapestry of our home.
Our strife stems from our preservation and elimination of life.
Why do we build and destroy?
Why do we seperate and divide.
Why do we unite and create.
Why do we love?
Why do we hate?
Why do we imagine great gods that manipulate our fates?
Why do we engineer great and terrible machines?
Why do we covet shiny things.
I simply can not rise above it, my
confusion of the complex curiosity of my life as I know it, our lives, life.
Buy I know that my favorite things are of the earth and universe.
I wish I could live in the woods again
Then maybe I would understand all of our problems and all of our plans.
Until then, I stress with unrest, how these men could mold and blend the societies to arm aristocracy against starving masses.
My life is, our lives, are doomed to consume and be consumed.
I am not sure how to accept the predatorial ecosystem of socioeconomic thriving and surviving.
I feel left out with doubt that things are exactly as they ought to be in our so called democracy, and the powers that govern the boundaries created by man.
I just feel so sad to be a part of this plan.
I wouldn't choose to view the world from my subjective perspective.
I would be free.
I would not take as much as I have.
I would plant seeds, and eat plants.
Build my hut from leaves.
Wait and see what nature brings.
Do a rain dance.
I Realize I am only at the mercy of gravity and the skies, the stars that collide.

Seattles finally in heat
Warm dry air wafts up encompassing my skin as
I stride out the library's predicted to be heavy doors that are, unexpectedly light
Just like today
The ants precede out from the woodworks
to soak in their habitat's golden hues ricochet
the earth's existing melodies and harmonic undertones
on the faces of the creatures in our purposely lopsided
Double sphere planet
White incisors shine unthreatening
Why is it they convey predatorial death in addition to undiluted joy?
So much is this way
Making perfect nonsense, just felt and done
I don't think we could help it if we wanted to

YOU are so tasteful.

so majestically bitter and slick like thick honey. ferocious peach preserves with ghost pepper infused inside. your tears salt the ocean. your verbal ***** coat a lilac scent on my tongue.

YOU are so delightfully enigmatic.

you write your letters with your own ****** ink with a scandalous smile, agonizing and anticipating the ****** of a sentence you don't dare finish. i stare with a trembling gaze at your fingertips dipped in crimson hue. your lazy eyes stagger my weight onto my right side—the weaker one.

YOU are as enlightened as a nova.

"it's a crabapple world out there," you said to me one night. doves flew in and out of your heavy-lidded eyes with hemlock threaded in their feathers. you call yourself golden wheat because you are beautiful and rare, but easily reaped when harvest season comes. when they come with scythes and pitchforks.

"revenge," you said, "for my mischievous antics."

YOU are so arcane.

there are no secrets in between the hairs on your head, a dense forest with predatorial dangers underneath. my own hairs sought those secrets as hands crept up your neck and into the golden wheat field on your head. i ache for your tell-tales. my wounds fester with the hunger to be satisfied by your apprise.

YOU are mine and wild.

for no particular reason, the atmosphere stretches thin. two heartbeats irrythmic and syncopated with the lapping of a tiger's tongue in tainted jungle water.

my hands aflame with your gasoline blood hold tight to your maverick ways. unorthodox and unkempt you are. fallible and illogical. cathartic and despotic. as much as you are all this, i ask to love it all.

Apathy in form
  Gaze at the sleek, predatorial
             physique, splendid in a sense
    forward gliding on
the currents laboring to
          provide an example of excellence
  in the embodiment of antithesis
to the goal of.. sentiments in a sense,
     or perhaps passions mapped out?

I’m not in doubt, more that in plural demeanor
   so any seeded proposal is
any other unfaith-ed exhibition
        suppose it could all end a little bit better
    if we didn’t resume our idolization of
          particulars, like all the functionel
that produces synchronic intricacies
  lathering in messy pictures full
of every meaning to all and ever could
         depict, in that glancing, know talk
  that abrupticates the framework
        of the ‘how ya doin’?’ formalities we
  ever so often sell as the scripture to
the boredism we addict ourselves

Quarantine at The Palace,
Andrew's been grounded.
Meghan and Harry sent to
the colony and no one's seen
hide nor hair of the Corgi's.

Meanwhile, Julian Assange
remains under lock and key
because pinch face refused
to interfere in what she said
was a diplomatic problem.

It is now a humanitarian
issue Ma'am, but just so you
know, ******* is political
when it becomes predatorial,
especially after it goes viral!

How to drink in class without getting caught.
By bringing a metal water bottle filled to the brim with *****.
I learned that goofing off in class is more important than actually doing work.
So I, fall behind
piles of homework on my desk.
Feeling all this stress.
Which is ironic because alcohol is supposed to reduce stress, right.
A smile fixes everything

2. I learned to keep my head held down
Hidden at all times
Because the judgemental predatorial vultures who lurk the schoolyard 24/7 are always looking for a moment to strike.
So smile
You don’t have to mean it just fake it
Just do it so they never know how you feel and never have anything to say about you
A smile fixes everything

3. I learned that I did not fit in because I grew up too fast
When I was born mommy and daddy were fighting
When I was four daddy was thrown out the door
When I was twelve mommy told me daddy was stupid
When I was thirteen daddy told me the same thing
So whose son was I supposed to be?
I came home to comfort my mother's stress because living alone can be a huge mess...
I sat in silence with my thoughts
I didn’t tell my parents how I feel because I was too afraid of what they’d say.
And I knew deep down there was nothing they could do to take it away.
Instead I packed my bags and prepared for a vacation across the city every other weekend to my dad's house. Or “stupids” house as mommy liked to call it
A smile fixes everything

4. I learned how my heart began to feel
And I was terrified that these feelings were real

4. Sadness
4. Abandoned
4. Outcasted
4. Confused
I’m sorry when I get emotional I lose count
7. Angry
63. Stressed
91. Anxious
3627…  Alone
A smile fixes everything. But not a broken heart


5. I learned to be ashamed of who I am.
Every day at school I was called a new name, and when my parents split up I was totally to blame.
Because my parents had so much going for them and then, they had me.
I was their fate.
I started gaining all this weight
I found out  that I wasn't straight
Never wanting to leave home, becoming used to being alone
Because reality, became too scary.
I was never really good at English class until today
When I started to adopt my word of the day.
Suicide
This word soon became my word of the week and even my word of the Month.
I had shuffled desperately through my dictionary and could not find another word, to replace it with.
Hope… that was a word from when I was a kid.
But it seems that my vocabulary isn’t familiar with that word anymore.
That page ripped out by hands laced in hateful intention
By the same people, who always gave me such negative attention.
After all these years, I started reflecting on my life, and remembering what I had done over and over again whenever things got hard.
I smiled.
And in that very moment, I learned that a smile does NOT fix everything.
And sometimes a tear can change a life.

-Adam Purchase

In my sickly delirium...
What started as a simple enough cold
Morphed into an onset of the GRYPA...
Or as I like to call it: the gryps...
or grips... should you wish to know:
The Y is a hollowed out Iota: yes for
Short: aye aye, pirate eye...

It's this analogy I have in my burning
brain...
A supposed beggar woman asked me
Once for 20 squid and I gave it to her
Because a storm was coming
And she sounded so convincing
But today she asked without any predatorial
cunning for the same amount
And I just barked: NO! NIET! NEIN!
I've stopped feeling sorry for these opportunists
As I walked into the store to buy
My remedy of a little whiskey for
The cough and aches and later some coffee
She quickly shuffled from the bench
Because I'm just, simply done with
All this fakery this victimhood mentality:
It bothers me...

I've had three attempts on my life...
One when I was a bambino is hospital
A nurse tries to choke me
Another time when a mother
Of my best fried tried to push me into a well...
A third time when I experienced
A brain haemorrhage when
A Muslim buddy of mine thought
It would be exciting to give me bad
Drugs and I stupid enough thought it
Might be soft LSD....
Aged 21 and then over 10 years
Spent in madness trying to figure **** out

See, but i love myself when I'm sick
And striving: i see the relentlessness
Of the self-will as the all encompassing
Self-preservation projection
And I'm under no illusion
Of a free-will... bandage throughout
Whether a slave to the passions or
To the necessity of labour and all
That entails the need for money
And why I'm not a plumber
But I can pay a plumber to do
A plumber's work...

In this weakened state I see
The supposed admiration for predators
In the animal kingdom, the quasi-nobility
Of the tiger etc
But predators are not unique
In that they are beautiful
But merely opportunistic
What's truly admirable
Is the animal that's having to employ
All the vitality in its abstract:
In essence... supra-intuitively
With heightened senses...
Why am I sick because I don't eat
Well enough I drink or maybe
My coworker visited a hospital recently
He's ill etc I'm not shifting blame
I just live being myself disinhibited
When I'm frail that's when I truly
Come to the fore when I can bark
At a beggar woman and feel not
Disney-esque repercussions of being
Chastised and made impotent or turned
Into.a beast and cursed
So be it! Have me as your beast!
And I'll make sure that third party
Of your God is to be turned into a Chimera:
Tell me of the "person" that is the Holy Spirit:
The PERSON... not the allusion
To the Christian Church or the Islamic
Ummah...

As a Slav I'm tired of the ****** and ****
Jokes... tired of them...
It's almost insulting in a way only
Hebrews might joke...
I was next on the list for extermination
And if we weren't forced to build
Auschwitz then we had the prospect
Of thinking our tongue to be extinct:
Genuine concerns...
And now I'm sick of Europe
And Europeans
Unlike that scene from the Last Samurai
Where the colonel asks Tom Cruise:
Why do you hate your own people
So much...
Well... you have given me all the right
Reasons... this diabolical all inclusivity
Mantras of pseudo-communism...
I'd rather live among the barbaric Polynesians
And see the world through the lense
Of Gauguin...
I don't want to live among Europeans
Simply for their sadomasochism
And lack of once existent bravado
And chauvinistic expectations:
I don't want to live among them
And I'm certainly not going to live
Among the Russians or my supposed
Fellow countrymen in Poland
Even though I speak the tongue
I'd rather retain than tongue for personal
Reasons of...
Playing a joke on psychiatry with:
Bilingualism is a another version
Of schizophrenia... didn't you know?

In my weakness of nearing flu fatigue
I'm buckling, stomping: in a frenzy...
Unlike the predator
I'm in desperation mode and there is
Nothing unique or admirable
About a predators... it's the admiration
For the animal about to be eaten
And how it conjures a beyond freedom:
This ******* of freedom
Corruption by both
Happiness and misery
Sickness and health...
But health rarely gives permission
For the mind to overcome body
It's only in sickness they you start
Tripping like you might with some brushstrokes of illumination from
Despondency... bluish silver moon melancholy mischievous melancholy...

Still "reading" Jon Fosse...
It's not so much reading as meditating
And yesterday's interlude had Asle
and Asle poised together
With the DT's: delirium tantrums
The shakes
And i drink, I think:
But it never got that bad that I might
Shake... but it was like the Scandinavia
Adventure of the simpler poison
That the elaboration by American
Beatniks and the heresy
Of writing under the influence of
Plebyscilin or LSD or achuasca
and I don't mind being dyslexic
At the point....
I shouldn't be at work but I am
And I'm feverish and *****...
and probably a little crazy...
But that passage from Fosse about Asle
and Asle mistaking being on a boat
And all that snow
Made me want to drink a bottle
Of strong cider 8.2% in a public place
At a bus stop waiting with other people
Going to work and going to school
While I was like: 7am is 7pm for me:
I don't know why you think i might
Have a drinking problem...

These night shifts will end
I could do them in the winter months
But the day is creeping in
And my biology is rebelling against
The ******* econoc model: economic...
It would be plausible to do this site
On a 3 man rotation: 8 x 3 = 24 hours
But these 12h rotations are insane
And inhumane and I don't give
A flying ****'s fat *** what the argument
For capitalism, western values blah blah
Flux more blah blah
Christianity is better than Islam
Blah blah some more...
It's a 3 man job per shift...
Even the ******* communists knew
This when operating a metallurgical plant
They had 3 shifts... day... 6am start...
Night and graveyard!
**** your Mr Little Society Know It All

And as for the "supposed" lie...
And you will know the difference between
Good and Evil...
But I did dah that lie while throwing
The illusion of you being in a garden,
In paradise... seems like a small price
To pay compared to what God might
Have said: with you on a barren mountain
Side or in the desert
Or in the open sea
With not water to drink
Imagine the reality check
If God spoke to you, dearest man
And you didn't have the illusion of being
Spoken to in the garden of delights
But of course you had to **** up
That garden of being delighted
As the middle class Englishman
With a garden of your own Candide: tend to
No no... you had to **** that up too!
What wasn't reallya lie
Was the veil of the garden
Of paradise
When in fact you already knew
The nuance of knowledge with the conjunction
AND because good and evil
Implores relativism after all didn't
Your Savior say that it rains and shines
On both the good and evil man?
But where were you?
Stranded in a forest awaiting to labour
To uproot all those trees to
Make the land fertile and arable:
Arabs... spare me the desert harshness
Reality I'll ask the 'Skimo about
The reality of the freezing Tundra...
*****...

Even now it's so funny in England
The English might
But i won't be schooled in language
By some ******* Somali
About the term Aboriginal
Cf. Indigenous when
The ******* Somali knows
**** about ethnonyms and exonyms
Like how the English refer
To themselves as expatriates
When moving to America
And everyone else is immigrant...
Proper garden tools in this middle tier
Logic... class:
English society is so transparent
With the proper guise of license
And education and accent...
But Ghandi was right about the Europeans:
They set off glorifying the names
Jesus Christ for 2000 years
With the help of the H'americans
That'll leave us 1000 years worth
Of remembering Adolph ******...

Long before Einstein came
Along and gave man insight
Into revealing actual relativism
Of combining space with time
Man's inherent "flaw" was to settle
His ontological trajectory to fathom
Existence built upon "my"
Ethical Relativism...
Each time a deviation occurred
Something miraculous happened:
An original man was born...
One who could quench my desire
For harmony in the working progress
Paradox... the oomph and propeller...
Man was already sentenced to
Moral Relativism long before
E = MCsq came about...
The moral relativism of a Crusade
Or of Jihad... it's for the good: with some evil
Spices along the way....

Who needs geneological testing...
I know where I'm from:
Based upon what my mind is
Responsive to, unabashed and disinhibited...
I don't need to know what I already know
When I succumb to Scandinavia literature
And abhor Jane Austen's private
**** sensibilities
Since I already know she's playing
The victim cards with Pakistani ****
Gangs and fair enough...
But this is my proper chance to get laid
By flying ******* off to Kauai
And finding myself a Mayan bride...
Because the girls really didn't take
A fancy to me so
World's your oyster, matey...
Just wondering why Jimmy Saville died
before this phenomenal news came about...
Sorry? Who am I feeling sorry
For when Eastern Women ask
The question:and where were these girls'
Parents?!
What am I to seriously believe:
I can understand moral relativism...
What i don't understand is the media
"Moral" inflation / conflation...

And some notes:

The subconscious is not a petty domain