Loved have I you more than me
If you get it,o get it priya
My world has separated me
If you see,o see priya!
On every road
Every crossing
Your memories
Stop me
Everywhere
Is your touch
Loved have I you more than me
If you get it,o get it priya

I was alone a lonely bird
You extended your hand
Called and brought me
O you taught me
Such giving
O howsoever I try
Can't forget you,can't ,O priya!

O my mind is today
So unstable
Without you
Am I empty
O in my chest
Smoke unknown
Fills up!
Loved have I you more than me
If you get it,o get it priya
O the path doesn't end
The feet move on
I feel really
I have lost
The address
O the night doesn't end
Dreams don't come
O I doesn't know
How many moons
Of tears
O yesterday
Was my love
Today it
Feels so far
O the touch
Of memories
Unending !
Loved have I you more than me
If you get it,o get it priya!

Tujhe chhoone par hai lagta
Tu jalti jwala re!
Tujhe niharne par lagta
Tu chaand ka tukda re!
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya
Ore Priya re!
Tere sang Tere sang ishq hua re!
Bana Dene jaisa lagti ** tum
Ek chitra!
Are munh tumhara ek
Paan ka patta
Bana Dee gayi lagti ** tum
Ek moorti!
Sach jaisi
Konark ki kala kirti
Tujhe padhne se lagti hai tu
Sach mein  ek kahani re
Tujhe gaane see lagta
Tu ek geet re!
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya tune
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya toone
Ore Priya re!
**** bhar Teri
Rajnigandha ki khushboo
Teri chaal mein
Raj hansini ka chhand!
Barasne jaisa pyar tumhara
Madhu ki varsha!
Sabhi or hoti hai
Bas teri hi charcha
Tujhe tolne par
Tu lagti
Ek phool re!
Tujhe dhaalne par lagti
Tu kuchh rang re!
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya
Aisa Kya jadoo Kiya toone
Ore Priya re!

Tere sang Tere sang ishq hua re!

daj, do wynagrodzenia: reszty.
daj: to niby: siebie;
a... dam... dam...
ale pierw: powiem:             to!
(ich) nicht werden
                  geben (ihr) das nacht!
first... i'll punch myself
hard enough to give myself
a plum-eye: ******* pacifists...
and then?
    then i'll strap a trouser belt
to protect my knuckles...
and then... then...
                    then: we'll "talk":
who might find a translator
ready...
   god...
i'm gagging for a
knuckle exchange...
        almost... itching!
like i might await
a shaving... from a Turkish
barber... in Essex...
of all Danish palaces;
and why would i want to allow
consort with these women?
considering the fact that
the russian ones believe in trans-national
grievance taxation:
of someone... who hasn't...
actually died...
              you know what?
*******...
suffer...
       watch me wipe my ***
with a satanic smile
ennobled
by a coulrophobia...
excesses of vogue
                      atypical models...
how is it... that...
coulrophobia doesn't translate
in reverse?
  and what's up
with the black privilege of
jass music, akin to white mozart...
as...  
  sure as ****, the drum would be
the first, and only thing,
prior to the people learning
the ******* clarinet!

oh drop me your ****** ***
holocaust dead bomb
on a polish ***...
     i triple, quadruple dare you!
you *******... ivory coast
   centipede!
               i'm *******...
as watts: wild-eyed...
       unstrap me from this
"unreality" of conversation...
then undo the internet banking...
and the rest of it...

             not adam watts!
    glitter & doom....
who?      tom waits...
oh **** me... blue valentine?
if that's not a **** with me
album... what is?
                 live circus?
        
do i look like a ******* ****-
(see the hyphen?
it's a prefix... the english are
lazy sometimes: couldn't,
i.e. could not,
remnants of shakespearean
english...

       i'll always cite macbeth...

  time, thou anticipat'st my dread
exploits: the flighty purpose never
is o'eertook, unless the deed go with it.
from this moment, the very firstlings
of my heart shall be
  the very firstlings of my heart.
   and even now, to crown my thoughts
with acts, be it thought and done.

it's hardly a racial slur, ergo...
why so ******* sensitive akin to a french
footballer or a ballerina?
   ****- (hyphen! hyphen!) ergo a prefix...
as already mention:
no, no...
   it's not: no iraqi ever called me a pa-ki
      (pákí)... yeah...
and you never called an afghanistani an
afghan, ever, no?
   pure camaraderie in that part of
the world... all the way... yeah yeah... yeah...
-stani (suffix) is sometimes missing
because... the english like to shorten words...
e.g. why is daniel: dan,
why is matthew: matt?
  why is muhammad: mo (farrah)?
                                    ******* pansies...
police your circumcised penises fiddling
english teenager girl, first,
come after my vocab. justifications: after;
savvy?

or a gypsy?
   by now...
     i'm looking like any
traveler...
and the world...
       forever resembled
a world,
  in the confines of
      a claustrophobia...

but... if there's a bigger concern for
a world...
  and a freedom...
i want a bare knuckle fight...
a black eye...
namely...
you bring  BOXING GLOVE...
and i'll bring...
     a LEATHER BELT...
wrapped around my knuckles,
and the wrist...
    like i might care to give
a second attempt to smile...

ah... the men... who care
about minding, if not in the least,
keeping women...
      bye bye, bye bye...
       and i've allowed myself
to know my grandfather...
as i did the slap in the face...
and...
the key question:
in the unfathomability of counting
the 32 / 4 ratio...
alas... one fist... one smile...

and countless... dentistry encounters...
because?
   because the rest?
the cultural artifacts of a today?
  lost to h'americana...
            as i might have wished...
for my prior genes
to make an autobiography
in **** germany...
  
   what?
  
      well... obviously: the oops.

no, for the crescendo...
you know...
           i'm getting this funny vibe...
gott ist tot... it's not really spectacular...
nietzsche really believed in eternity,
to the point where he pointed:
what does science offer, only old age...
what does religion provide? eternity...
oh nietzsche was big on eternity...
   gott ist tot is as unspectular as:
is it: how to do you pronounce x,
or is it: how do you pronunciate y?
debate:
              everyone says around here
the former... since no one wants to be a *****...
pro-nun-ci-ate (pro-nun-cíate)...
   might as well replenish the vocab. bank
and replace the word with:
how do you elocute z? / recite)....

gott ist tot / gott ist tod...
    "same ****, different cover"...
you know why i believe in god?
    not the christian reference points...
salvation blah blah, saviour and hide & seek blah blah...
n'ah... where would i derive all my vocab.
hunger if not from him?
   some men derive their vocab. from
women or gambling...
            i am not in the position of their
luxury... so god it is...

            primarily though?
               god is metaphysics...
             ergo? his judgement is not clouded
by metaphysical questioning...
it's impossible to receive a metaphysical
answer from a metaphysical question
when engaging with a metaphysical
ontological paraphrase of one's own search
for meaning in this mortal frame...

oh sure sure, my belief in god is as juvenille
as anyone else's belief in humanity's
clarity when it comes to jurisprudence
and its application...
    i've experience "jurisprudence" once...
drive-by phone theft...
me and three fwends...
   i catch the number plate...
i tell one of my fwends to note it down,
police station, report, culprit found,
a sit in at a barkingside police station
looking at mug images,
spot the ****** (it was dark when the mugging
took place, photographic memory, **** happens)...
a court session, australia is playing england
at the ashes (****, i missed it)...
in court the defence lawyer shows me
another picture of the culprit...
back then photogrpahs had dates
attached to them...
the photograph? over 4 years old...
i tell him: but this photograph is 4 years old!
how can i identify if this is the same
person: i, myself, will probably
don a beard in four years time!
      a simple slip-up...
        now that i have a beard:
it's so much more fun than growing your
hair long... i hated the nickname
chewbacca back in high school when i was
growing mine for a french braid...
i walk out of the court,
come to terms with the detective...
and i see the same hunger in him as i see in me...
will justice be served?
highly unlikely... since the victim
didn't recognize the *** in the mug-shots...
justice was probably not served...

   and this is how god plays into all of this,
hell or heaven, blah blah...
man created the figure of domina Iustitia
as blind... god created death to be blind...
justice was never supposed to be blind,
death was: the unfortunate deaths
of teenagers in car accidents,
among all the other freak accidents...

clouded with so many metaphysical questions
i don't appreciate man's ability to adhere
to jurisprudence without being
subjectively contaminated...
i have more belief in an "imaginary"
god than belief that strains me to belief
in man's sense of justice...
          the nuremberg trials are a rare exception...
but only when the culprits are
unabashed and fathomable by a collective
sense of pride... a blidness...
i believe in god, because i'd love to experience
the judgement of a post scriptum of
metaphysics...
  personally? i have been wronged...
heavily...
            i will not name names....
i know when and how i was wronged,
and by whom...
                2007... Canterbury...
      i won't name names: i'm not a rat...
man is too clouded with metaphysical questions
to begin with, god isn't,
he's a metaphysical ontology "bias"...
which is why, he is primarily a jurisprudent
answer...
   i'd love to experience divine jurisprudence,
hell or heaven are not of my concern...
and i don't imply divine jurisprudence
associated with the polytheistic take of
jurisprudence via a solipsistic mechanism
of a minor god and the person in question
without the hurt party...
in monotheism the god is solipsism personified...
these days: also the personna non grata...
so no... gott ist nicht tot...
            he's a personna non grata...
i just don't appreciate the human *******
of law, law governance...
   come on, in england you can receive
an a.s.b.o.s. for your cockerel being too loud
in the morning, your dog barking...
           would you trust man with
jurisprudence?
  a woman was cleared of the ******
of her husband
       when she hammered his head into a pancake:
over an abusive relationship...
police, weren't, "there"?!
sure sure... the hammer will do...
i believe in god without a sense of reward...
i just don't think man is capable of
passing justifiable laws...
no man could ever pass the eternal laws,
gravity... 100°C for the boiling of water...
i need a being  who has groundwork
in eternal laws, in unshakeable laws...
the ten commandments aren't:
you shall not...
   more... maybe, you shouldn't...
they are the most pristine jurisprudent
laws available... the: maybe you shouldn't,
eh, chappy?

       i just don't like playing the thesaurus game
on the more tight-knit game
of "passing" the wink-wink of Solomon's
judgement...
please, **** me please,
i'll eat 20 raw herrings in a cream sauce,
slurp 30 oysters,
eat 40 strawberries on a hangpverl
eat out about 50 harem virgins
like a castrato if you ask me, nicely,
**** camel cockey:
lucly i landed on a black gold slurp
with plenty of bangladeshi slaves:
******* of riyadh...
     what did muhammed tell you?
you camel jockeys / sand *******
have clearly forgotten...
******* arabs: short attention span...
you need to remind
the retards...
the dajjal would come from the east...
a palace of gardens...
well obviously the prophet wasn't
thinking about genghis khan...
            
  hmm barbarians...
vikings, arabs: yet so inclined to like poetics...
funny, that...
the civilized peoples banished
the poets...
            the ruling class and their cushioned
people: sacrosanct sycophants...
wankers, basically.

    the hajr? muhammad spoke of the dajjal
coming from the east,
and the east being a city of gardens...
where isn't riyadh and where is mecca?
isn't riyadh east of mecca?
was the dajjal to come from the outside
of islam, or from wtihin?
      last time i checked...
sh'ite islam isn't friendly to sunni islam...
if islam was the one true religion...
would have a shcism have occurred?
i don't think so...
   a persian would never bow before
an arab... that much os true...

oh i believe in god...
given how man practices jurisprudence...
is it some sort of, a, thesaurus game
i wasn't told about?
to me the human quest for jusctice is
a thesaurus game...
man is incapable to pass but one,
eternal, law...
he's great at nuanced laws...
laws allocated to sports...
i mean, **** me, cricket?
the best vocab. you'll ever pick up...

even god isn't as pertinent
in making the sort of music associated
with the limited alpha-to-beta
of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G...
wow! seven... seven?!
how many heads does the beast
of revelation have? oh... 7!

i'll stop tolerating islam, and start respecting it,
when it, acknowledges its presence
as a character study in the book of revelations...
then i'll just move on,
having made my point...

until that time comes...
    it's 600 years shy of becoming what
degenerate christianity has become,
oh and it's ripe...
it's gagging to implode!
600 years and wait for it to become
the next secular vasal conglomorate...

the warning muhammad gave
about "the best from the east"
was in point of question:
   a reference ti gneghis khan...
more like ibn saud:
  thst fat diabetic one eyed ogre...
and the legacy of decadence he left
behind...

saudi men with slavuc girlfriends,
buying up pink cushions and *******
chihuahuas...
**** after ****...
  you know the three slavic proverbs?
1. better a sparrow in your
hand, than a dove on your rooftop?
explanation?
better the small joys at-hand,
than impossible possibilities out of reach....
2. a drunk can spot east,
past mecca, whenever honing
the safety of his own bed... even at night...
not much of a proverb...
3. i don't care to rememeber...

once toleration comes into play,
i will, respect... just a waiting game...
i'm pretty sure no iranian will
bow down to a sunni camel jockey...
i like proud *******,
it implies: there are absolutes,
un-moveable goal posts...

                      if you are ever to bind yourself
in supporting a "side" outside a sports' dynamic,
always the outsider...
always the outsider... in this case?
the ****'ite islam brigade...
       the persians...
the sunnis can shove it...
   *****, bones, whatever....

                   ****'ite islam i can
fathom, even respect,
sunni islam i just tolerate...
  as much as iran takes claims for the
big satan in ref. to h'america...
well... if h'america supports the infantile
saudi arabia, who's to blame them?

you know that polonaise joke about
about the pacifism of jews in
2nd world world war poland?
the joke ran along the words:
weren't the jews shooting the nazis
using crooked elbows (rifles)?
they always seemed to miss them,
taunted into walking into gas chambers,
the ******* hobbits...

          what? some bolshevik Brooklynian
jewish rada is to spare me
                 the pay-up diffrential
telling me, i was wrong?

  as i said before: the nazis lamented
when the warsaw uprising happened...
no, st. paul's doesn't stand proud
because, because...
   even with the blitz...
                 the luftwaffe were told:
you drop a bomb on st. paul's: firing squad...
and when notre-dame de paris -
last time i checked...
   the nazis didn't luftwaffe the **** out
of paris... did they?!

                  the nazis weren't mongols;
no people so well versed in chanel in terms
of their military being so well
   suited & booted could ever make such a
                              architectural sacrilege...

what?! people under the silicon curtain
are gagging, begging even: for nazis!
can i be the first?!
i just want to please the hungry!
if not punk then moving swiftly into ska...
am i the first?
   siliziumvorhang...
well, **** me... from under the eisenvorhang...
what's with these neo-communist pseudos?

and the hebrew god?
a jealous god... so a god with the knowledge
of the existence of other gods...
why wouldn't a jealous god have
no knowledge of other ("imagianry") gods?
to be jealous of only one's own existence?!

3 / 1: that's the ratio....
that's the only ratio... 3 times i experienced
love at first sight:

when i fell in love at first sight...
malina, samantha, janina,
priya....

equal measure: isabella of grenoble...

in reverse:
magda, promis, ilona, kot (i forget her name,
7 years old, first kiss, you can be forgiven
to forget, she had two twin sisters
and she was the senior,
her fasther drove a distribution truck,
milk, i think)...

****, i actually mismanaged
that ratio...

i believe in "a" god...
since i find too much of human jurisprudence
to be riddle with the thesaurus...
i don't think man can pass
law, he can "suppose so"...
but he will never pass the sort of law,
made forbidden,
or absolutely allowed....
i don't believe in a god akin
to the sort of a pontous pilate god
where i'll always find myself
outside of punk evolving into ska...

         mind you...
i'd hate to be trapped within
the confines of an atheistic exclusion zone
of intellect,
      to be trapped in nothing is one
thing, but to be trapped inside
the confines of an atheist's "nothing"
is quiet another....
i don't like being a hamster inside
a cognitive wheel of another...
   god is the jurisprudence spirit,
man the metaphysical spirit...
and i would very much like to stand
in the light of divine law being passed
to finally feel my shadow...

kult: brooklyńska rada żydów...
  not familiar?
  i forgot punk a long time ago...
esp. when californians came up with their
version, ergo? ska...

i'm currently taping a film
about the silesian vampire...
how strange, that the prussians came
back into the ***** of the polonaise...

growing a beard is so much fun!
fiddle after fiddle: and no violin!
atheists bore me
as much as the theistic hags
who's only ambition are
the thrill associated with Sunday
h'america and cinema...
               i can imagine only one
heaven...
where i am blind and given
               a large library of music.

-----------
               -Renjith Prahlad (15 Aug 2011 : 3:00am )
              

Aakashamee..nee innu prashanthamaayirikkunnu..meghangal oralankaaramaayi ninte meniyil innu kanunnilla..athinartham innu pavizhangal podiyillennnalle..Appol, Vishaadamaano nee innennil ulavaakiya rasam..Ente ella rahasyangalumariyunna aakaashamee..nee ente priya suhruthu..Innoru divasam koodi alle enikku mazhathullikale sparshikkan pattu,mazhathullikalude nanvil kuliraan kazhiyoo..Garpham peri alayunna meghangale kshanikku..thulikalkku piravi nalkuvan aanjyaapikku..kaaranam mazhathullikalude gandhavum peri,mazhathullikalude sparshanathinte navaanubhavavum nenjiletti enikku pokanam..paavanamaaya pachappillatha aa lokathekku,pacha manushyarude naduvileekku,garphapaathrangal aruthumaatiya meghangal kondu niranja aakashame melkoorayaayi thangipidichirikkunna marubhoomiyilekku..arabinaatilekku..Naalathe sooryodayathinoppam ente vimanavum udikkum..Pakshe sooryaasthamanathinu manikkorukal munpu enniyaalum theeratha kathanakathakalude kathaanayakanmaarudeyum naayikamaarudeyum idayilekku mattoru kathanakathaye rachikkaan aa vimaanam asthamikkum

Oru perumazhakaalamaanu..irunda anthareekshavum shakthamaaya kaattum..Aakashatholam valarnnu pandhalichu nilkunna maavu kaatil aadi ulayunnu..Athe marathinte ettavum uyarnna kombil oroonjaal kettiyirikkunnu..Kurunnu kuttikale oonjaaliliruthi muthrunnavar aati rasippikkunnathu pole elam kattine oonjaliliruthi kodum kaatu aati kalippikkunnu. Muttathu vidarnnu nilkkunna pookalkkinnu daahamillathe urangaam..oro manthariyum mazhathullikalude thaalathmakamaaya sangeethathodu chuvaduvaykkunnu..muttathe pookkalkkoppam,marangalkkoppam,oonjaalinoppam oro mantharikkumoppam ivide oru veedunndu..veettil orammayum..Veedinte munvaathil thurannu aa amma purathekkirangi vidoorathayilekku nokki paranju..Avan varaan samayamaayallo..innaanu vimanam ennanallo kathilavanezhuthiyirunnathu..eppozhanaavo avan varaa..Mazhathullikalaal maranja vidoorathayileekku nokki avarirunnu.."nee eppol vannalum ennu vannalum ninakku ettavumishtamulla palahaarangalum undaaki ee amma ninakkai kathirikkunnathu nee kanunnille unni..nee ethra valarnnittundenkilum..ethra muthrunnittundenkilum nee poyappol ivide kettiyirunna oonjalippozhum ninne aatirasippukkuvaanaayi kaathirikkunnathu nee ariyunnille entunnii..pathinnaaraam vayassil poyathalle neeyu..ini mon
thirikeee vaa..ammaykkunniye kaananam..

Maavinmarathinte shikharangalil thoongi kidakkunnorila paranju..paavam amma..enikkavarude vishamam kaanan vayya..ethra varshanglaayi avar palahaarangalumaayi enno orikkal makanezhuthiya kathile aksharangaleyum vishwasichu,pratheekshayude kirangalaal manassineyum prakaashichu jeevikkunnu..avan ee ammaye enne marannittundaakanam..avante manassil oru kanika sneham vasikkunnu enkil varenda samayam kazhinjirikkunnuu..kazhinja vasantham kaalam muthal maathramaanu njan ammaye kaana thudangiyathu..ennalum itha avarude kaathirippinteyum pratheekshayudeyum jwaalayil mungi shirassu muthal ente udalin keezhe vare kariyunnu..shishirakaalathinu munpu thanne njan bhoomiyil
pathiyum ennu thonnunnu..

Aakaashatholam valarnnu panthalichu nilkkunna maavilninnum oela balaheenamaayi kaattil
aadiaadi nananja bhoomiyil pathinju..Ammayude novinaayi orilayude thyaagam..avarude vishaadathinte theevratha sahikkaanaavathe maavinmarathinte oro ilakalum kozhinju veenu..Aakashatholam valarnnu panthalichuninnirunna maavu shishirakaalathinu orupaadu munputhanne nagnayaay..viroopiyay..muttathorabhangiyaayi..pakshe maavinmaram
santhoshavathi aayirunnu..ammayude makan thirike varunnathu vare njan ee muttathu oru vasanthavismayamaaya nagna vrukshamaayi ninnukollam..Aa makanum ammayum orumikkunnathu vare enikkoru vasantha rithuve sweekaaryamalla..avan thirike varunnathu vare ee maavin marathinu elakalude alankaaram venda..

the desired sadness,
worth a heiving...
a claustrophobic heart...
a sense of
nearness...
something...
beside the ordinary,
and esp.
beside being
ordained
worthy outside
the existence
              of a novel...
a...
   piano minuet...
like...
i only want to play
the piano,
but i don't
want to play
either Liszt or Chopin...
i want...
to feel as if i have
a heart...
i want to play...
the piano like
i might experience
the heart...
Debussy...
Satie...
                 Priya...
i want to live a life
of having
to experience
a love teased,
kept in the "dark",
"as if": waiting...
but then...
i don't even
want "that"...
do i?
             i forget
to levitate,
and gravity...
whenever i am bound
to having to express...
taking a ****...
anchor: first mate:
down!
all the way down...
among the *****!
gentle tunes...
tickling
rather than playing
a piano...
you are a being
i feed off
to feed a worthwhile
forget for
all that is and protrudes
itself to be "worth"
remembering!
   a beauty in the blink
of an eye...
a secret...
       a taboo...
          and something...
that would require a god
to make reality of...
and even then...
not worth the effort...
something...
as fragile as spring
and as vague as
whatever colours appear
in winter...
something truly
transcendental...
in passing...
never to be made unison,
to be joined...
passing, or fleeting,
by matrimony...
yet...
persistent... "there"...
gravity -esque...
       a verbiage burden...
my, little... piano escapade...
to attempt battling
diacritical marks with
nuance...
          my little something,
my altogether, nowhere;
my time, my patience...

                  my...
                              i cannot
even mourn...
being kept apart...
     i...
                 i cannot even begin
to sip at the fountain
of ambition
to make the ideas,
to people, unite....
    
      it's as if...
with first sight...
your first sight is to turn
you blind...
        i concede...
      mockery...
derision...
             so little acting
i have left in me...

     but a snap of
the fingers...
                   while the mountains
crumble...
               thieving love
through the artifact
of a butterfly's existence
of, par: 2 weeks...
           flinch of hue...
and burgundy...
to arrest
           the cheecks to tame
the sudden plush
they are to imbue...

     yeah...
i know... redundant...
       rhododendron reality...
i can't escape it...
like i wish there was a
plug-in realism anti-god
app.,
            muse... nabokov-esque
                      pristine...
if anything is worth being
lost...
it's that "you"...
              just like...
if what i remember...
is to be made concise
within the framework
of me?
                  there is no... "me"...

rhododendron reality...

                 or...
playing the piano...
very gently...
like a Debussy...
which you cited...
when your father drove
me home one night...

         Satie...
i was never into bashing
the fingers...
akin to the virtuoso
of either Liszt or Chopin...

     like some templar choir
boy for the monks...
       i touch this china-girl?
i am water,
she is salt,
she immediately melts!    

       all but the tender kissing
of a worth's concern,
to translate
what i did to a body
of a *******,
and what i could have
done with yours...
intact, with a seal
of a ring of obligation;

but this is not
the life i am to be allowed
such...
peacocking...
i abide here,
with you...
your humble...
                         pauper;
music appreciator:
               grandiose.

A forgiving grey
Black and white together sway
until the next rain
A forgiving grey
Moody clouds come out and play
a forboding and colorless sky
Black and white together sway
A forgiving grey

© Priya Patel 6/1/2015

I'll find you your answers in the bottoms of your cocktail glasses
The solution to whatever keeps you up all night,
I know the poison that plagues you, you know mine.
I know your words are locked behind jail cell toothy smiles and smokey eyes, I know you don't remember I exist when you're not ******* me.

"Get me drunk",
you say.
As if I'm your favourite bad influence. You love priya pressure like I'm a guilty pleasure...

Like I'll teach you how to stray from pruned paths
and get your hands and knees *****
and how to get stains out of cotton dresses
Like I'll teach you ******* yourself slowly
Like I'll teach you to be the person your mother prayed you would never be
Because you think you like ***, drugs and gold toothed gangsters, you think you'll want to stick with me.

I know this isn't who you really want to be.

I know this isn't who we are.

Our hands may reach for each other or others or paraphernalia or liquid lovers,
but both know we're reaching for some thing further.

Out of reach and out of our time.
Out of the circle that came from a line.
Out of the room when you're out of your mind,

out

out

I need out

i can recite you the names
of the loves of at first site:
Milena...
"Candice" the Cat...
Samantha...
Janina...
Priya...
Isabella...
             i never ****** these women...
if i guessed right...
  (well... except ******* Isabella...
a silly pre-post-virginity-loss ****...
most probably drunk)....
they were probably
the younger sisters
of the older sisters i managed to ****...
notably?
promis & priya...
just saying...
i was so close to"laura" the Iranian-Scootch...
curse of the younger sister...
it's unlike for man
to marry a ****-star...
the idea fickles and furrows...
to somehow exist via: the cure's kiss me kiss me...
kiss me morality bogus... quest...

    Priya is us: most ******-up...
******* a a younger sister of the first allowance
of a blow-job?
the elder sister's first allowance ascribed...
in the afterlife?
you, me... and my sister...
now i will cite: tired of a shadow...
non-inquisitive of solipsistic islands bound
to the Pacific... rummaging
eternity with bride... and younger sister...
who would ******* need an Islamic Harem
at this point?

    i'll keep her to her word:
her (promise) and Priya...
        on a whale, island... of a non-confessional...
perhaps i was interesting when she said: said words...
bogus I: aged 21 circa...
but her younger sister was my forever
love at first sight...
i can't just ******* wake up from "that"...
i hid and hid and hid and hide more I hid...
this... loiter of...
no!
        eternity is me without *****...
you without concept of revealing access to a "heritage"...
aren't.. we... justified?!
i am father to the fatherless...
aren't we.. justified?!

it's like the doubled anti-******
of the ideology of harem compensation...
to savour two sisters...
you're missing a third though, dearest Graeae...
if you support knowing me: why belittle me?!
how many silent screams have you heard
echo from my cruel: digging imitation of what
could: scrutinise the fabric of public intellectualism?!
forget the verbiage...
forget, foremost... that i allowed myself
to be revealed unto you.

Another day another hour  
lost in the hum drum  
of everyday life
I am a mother, a daughter,  
partner by your side
I never say it enough
never share what I feel
never tell you how much  I adore you,
I truly do
Your simple ways,
and the smile in your eyes  
You are the **** sporty realistic spice  
that I fall in love with day after day
There is so much I feel and not enough
words to convey how much
I truly adore you
I truly do
There is no glam or glitz
or fairytale blitz
but there is trust and love
and years of support;
an unspoken desire  
that I somehow distort
But I want you to know
after all these years
you still are the flame  to my fire...

© Priya Patel Feb 28, 2016

Fall leaves 

The leaves appear distressed
angrily rustling 
frantically whispering 
lashing out at the branches
that once held them strong 
Their path has changed course 
from a tree of life 
it is now each leaf for itself 
and soon the leaves will Fall 

© ~ Priya, 9/5/16

I wonder what he hides
behind those smiling lies
and the warm creeping blush
that shades his eyes

I wonder if he knows
that I can see

I wonder what he sees
when he looks at me
the flushed cheeks
and hesitant goodbyes
quivering lips
from wasted lies

I wonder what he sees*

© Priya Patel, 1/29/16

The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.
~ St. Jerome

Its the silent nights
I've come to dread
the silent sewing
of needle and thread
stiching my tearfilled wounds
I am a hero by day
and rag doll by night
torn and falling apart
unable to reach light
I am a cause
that seems to be lost

© Priya Oct 15, 2015

Like a butterfly,
my heart flies away
to a place afar
where only emotions exist;
a place where love has kissed
The fragrance of its feelings
is sweet like the nectar of dew
on blades of grass new
just after Springs' first rain;
a taste that lingers
time and again
You sing me a love song
with the poetry you write
and your eyes pearce my heart
with the words you say
Even the birds can't help but sway
Like a butterfly,
my heart does fly away
to a place afar
with the words of our love song

~ Priya 3/20/15

He tickled my feathers,
teased and caressed them;
fanned the beauty of my plumes
perfectly, until I was the perfect
way he wanted me to be
and then trampled me to the ground
How clearly I remembered his sound,
his thunderous roar
with the hunger of a lion,
his hunger for my peace,
his insatiable desire
to have complete control of me
But I fought back;
perhaps only in the end
when all of my feathers
were but a wilted lament
of what was once me
I fought silently,
no blood or tears
and certainly no fears
I simply walked away

~ Priya 3/21/15

I am a blur of emotions;
the colored dots of freckles
that scatter freely in the air
and I am sometimes the knots
that get tangled in your hair,
desperately trying to come undone
I am the mystery in a love affair,
like the wild midnight mane
of a dancing horse
spinning round and round
before tumbling gently
to the soft of ground
I am the imagination of a canvas
ready to be painted me

© Priya Patel 5/26/15

I tasted the bitterness of hurt this week;
not at all meek
Pungent almost with smells of disappointment,
a lingering aftertaste of a trust misplaced;
a friendship in waste
A creation needlessly created
A reaction overly reacted
Now who is protected,
the friend or the friendship wasted?
As always, innocence is once again lost
It is nothing short of the bitter truth

- Priya

It's whispering time
when backs are turned and words flow
Each smile is a show

I wonder with birds,
do they chirp incessantly
we smile foolishly

We think it's their song
Love notes in the midnight air
laughing unaware

We become their toy
A mocking ground for love birds
we hang on their words

This is how we are
Spring to summer smiles for show
In the end, it snows

© Priya Patel 5/29/2015

Crippling

How crippling life may be
when gnarled thoughts
and broken dreams
leave you stunted
into silence

She was a dazzling bloom
a daffodil amongst thorns
until the wheels of life
trampled her
into the ground

Leaving me alone
with pictures and memories
and silent, pent up tears
trying so hard to accept
the absence of her smile

How crippling life may be
when everything you admired
is gone

© Priya Patel 9/16/2015

Opportunity came by today
completely unaware
Neatly packaged in silver and gold
hope perhaps,  a prayer
Aching desires to do what's right
to do for me for a change -
a feeling so utterly strange

Truth be told,
I'm not yet 100% sold
and opportunity has visited
a lot as of late
Perhaps I should count my blessings
and patiently, silently wait
Perhaps opportunity
has finally found me
Let's see

Perhaps I am someone else's key...

© Priya Patel 6/4/2015

she sets the sun soft
twirling her brush 
across darkening skies
spreading her wings
in a daily surprise
of beauty in the eyes
of the world
a rustling of leaves
a swirl of her sleeves
a breeze in the wind
a gentle reprieve
in the pinks and blues 
of her brush
a gentle blush 
she paints
across our whispering skies 

© Priya 10/20/2015

I listened to his gurgling  
bubble of words with animated eyes  
and flailing arms  
as he told me about his day
His smile as wide and bright as his story
soft in his innocent way  
and I watched him fall asleep
So sweet he is
this beautiful child of mine

© Priya, March 1, 2016

A story of love

46 years ago and on this day
a story was ready to begin
A dashing hero
meets the love of his life
and weds a stunning heroine
Each day, a new page was born
with words and memories
into pictures to adorn
the hearts of two star crossed lovers
So very much different
but alike in their love
forever climbing
beyond and above
to ensure the rest of us
was taken care of
In that, they were so alike
In that, their love remains alive
He was her hero
and she his heroine
A story of true love
that will never end

The story of my mom and dad ...

ॐ Priya Patel

Listen to the soft sounds of my soul
the fall, rise, and crash of
wave against wave of emotions

What do you hear?

At times I hear doubts
I walk through adversity
somtimes I crawl
many times I fall
but always sprawl
my way back to the top

I listen to the soft sounds of my soul
the rhythmic dancing of
doubts and decisions

I hear life whispering
for me to step forward
So I walk on two legs weak
to fate

Listen soft
What sounds does your soul make

© Priya Nov 5, 2015

Brightly colored corridors
decorated with a child's
imagination
The hopes of animation
upon tiny weeping faces
So many places
they could be
so many things to see
if only they were free 
from this place
But they are here 
A Children's Hospital
for kids that are ill
feeding from pill to pill
Tiny bodies everyday 
fighting wars with tears
killing and creating new fears 
dreams chopped short 
with silent shears 
Orders and disorders
cancers and disease 
brightly colored corridors
hoping to deceive
the raging wars within
So much stronger they are
then me 
This was where I've been 
Humbling and crumbling 
watching them stumbling 
and feeling myself 
falling to the ground
moments so very profound 
realizing how truly blessed I am ...


© Priya Oct 4, 2015

Hi guys!

I've taken a break from writing and therefore hadn't posted anything in a while. However, I'm planning to throw myself into it this summer by posting here at least once a week and recording more videos for my YouTube page.

Here's a link:
https://m.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLqlP7t52iiV4aNRbfLhOfyth7MOw_P5J5

I'll keep you posted with open mic dates/video releases!

Thank you so much,
Priya **

Sometimes I see her
as an apparition before me,
finger wagging
smiling that smile;
walking across the broken tile
in the kitchen we no longer use

Sometimes I can sense her
in the leaves outside
rustling with pride
at the funny ways
my kids make dad laugh;
and I miss her

Sometimes I hear her;
a whisper in my ear
reminding me to be softer,
to have patience, smile more
asking me to read her my poems
and to breathe a little space

And sometimes I can feel her
holding my hand
soft like wet sand,
warm and inviting
and I wish I could just
close my eyes and hold her

Sometimes ...

© Priya Patel 9/18/2015

i'm not even going to *******
this one out like a nabokov,
catching butter-fluriers...
i'll try to be adolescent having
a memory...
       the mortal kombat
sountrack...
            and instead catching moths...
or rahter...
       she's the younger sister
of a girl i...
  did the versailles sale of
a princess test...
    god... ******* ****** women?
it's like turning your phallus
into a scalpel...
              but it was love at first
sight... and if i lived
in an: arranged marriage society?
then maybe...
   but ******* two sisters
in one lifetime?
                   kinda ****** up...
******* a ****** is no fun,
it's ugly, it's scary,
it's... turning your "****" into
a shrimp...
     and once you do...
you start thinking:
so why didn't she get off with a *****,
to begin with?
  is that like a...
time binding economy
that... somehow requires
consecration from the choir
boy **** teasers?!
isn't the vatican, the only homosexual
state?
    don't know, wouldn't ask...
too busy with the ****-mortem
of bulgarian prostitutes
faking being romanian...
         that leg... wrapping itself
around my torso...
   that chilling example of
                skin, confined to a thigh?
i may be mortal...
  but this memory?
                it's eternal...
                   i really want to
remember her name...
  but she lied...
     so i really can't...
   lies?
   lies = bad memory...
   lies do not allow a memorißation...
but there is the remaining
touch...
   the engulfing leg over
the torso...

           that subliminal kiss...
like a squid... digesting
both flesh and teeth...
              
      ever
                   kissed a *******?
and not write a marcel schwob novel?
moi....
              the thrill comes...
when she's really...
really.. nymphomaniac... eager...
to attire a part of you in rubber...
and you resist...

   and then you play...
   teasing her... for a kiss...
and you manage to receive
a 1950s... hollywood: hold on casablanca
type of smooch...

         and it's a kiss like it
might be an 17th century medicinal
take on leeches...
        
  a kiss that leaves you toothless...
which is why...
i never understood the american
concept of a striptease...

or whatever **** is, or became...

what is so american,
that isn't wordly,
than what is a strip-club...
that isn't a belgian brothel?

nul.

You don't have to remember,
I'll remind you
I'll love you when it's dark
and I'll shower you with light  
I'll understand
when things do not seem right
I'll try not to be angered
because you were never with me
I will walk with you
forever, endlessly
Wherever there is dark,
there must be light
I will help you with this fight
I am here

~ Priya 🕉, 2/5/22

He's gone.

And that kinda *****.

He wasn't who I thought he was. He was more capable of anger and ruthlessness than I imagined. Saying things that tear out the most vulnerable parts and stab them to bits.

He was more childish than I thought he'd be for his age. He spends recklessly, doesn't have handsoap in his bathroom, and watches TV from a desk chair.

He was flaky and shady. Giving little information and being dodgy about his phone and whereabouts. He consistently cancelled plans and left me in the lurch.

He was never going to think about someone else for a change or be truly and deeply mindful of his significant other.

He had a sharp tongue and a hard head. If I didn't select every word carefully, he would snap and say horrible things.

He didn't let her go. As much as he would deny it, Priya still has a hold on him. He can't let her go. He would say terrible things about her and then also say I was like her.  He would delete her messages and lie about her texting him. He carried through the trauma and treated me like her. He wanted a relationship to just pick up where that one left off and not put the effort into 'dating'. I was a continuation of his previous relationship - all the history but only the good person.

He was boastful and also self-deprecating.

He drank too much and smoked too much.

He didn't follow through on things he said he would do.

He love bombed me and then pulled away to where I felt empty.

He's gone.

And that kinda *****.

And I'm sad that I still miss him.



-t.s.

i just pull these googlewhacks
out of my ***: from time to time...

https://tinyurl.com/mrxt88tu

i.e. russophisation capter

Russification... Germanisation...
familiar terms...
just like India was subject
to English culture...

            or how Argentina is...
distinctly: Argentina and not some
extension of Spain...

or how Brazil is... Brazil...
and distinctly so...
and completely devoid of what
Portugal continues to be:
being Portugal...

mind you: the tougher the ****...
the cleaner your *** is going to be...
you might just have to take
one wipe... and it's all rosy...
oh that: constipated sort of:
the closest man will ever come to
giving birth... this existential angst
of a tough piece of brown loaf...

geopolitics... once upon a time...
Western countries complained... moaned...
on the top of Cologne cathedral...
why will not the Polacks allow for
refugees! why oh why!

             fast forward... right...
     roughly 2 million Ukrainians are now...
living in ******-lack-land...
(a ref. to King John)... so you think...
it could be... sensible... to carve up Ukraine?
we could have all those lands up to and including
Lviv... how's that?

i'm only joking... but... we already have
2 million Ukrainians... if we incorporated
the western lands of Ukraine... while Rasputin
took the eastern lands...
hell... joke... the fabled reemergence of
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth...

yes: i too have a "job": i'm a day-dream of
sorts... when i feel really down
i replay the cinema of history...
i mean: to have one... it's not all:
Darwinism: just dropped from a tree
and started talking ooh-ooh grr gorilla
funny... albino ape that i: scratch my head...
ponder... ****-flinging contest?!

what am i going to reference against?
my genes were nowhere to be found
at the time of Edward the Confessor...
   or... the Scandinavian Raids of these Isles...
erm... some part of me at the battle of Britain:
****** fighter pilots...
remembrance placard in the underground
of St. Paul's cathedral...
Britain said: war! against **** Germany...
but no British soldier ever stood ground
on the disputed land...
while... Polacks ****** off... and fought for
Brish... everything Brishish...

repaid... demure of... copper-necks! in!
        that was the Brexit-argument...
too many Europeans mingling with too many
Europeans...

times like this... America and it's race...
and colour-blindness and whatever...
complicated little Europe and its ethnicity strains...
because: oh... i've been to Kenya...
i could tell you a Kenyan from a Nigerian: apart...
Kenyans are darker...
the women? they sort of glow at night...
as if smeared in... quicksilver-ivory...
i don't particularly... you know...
    entertain the idea of a black girl...
            but this one: in invisible ink... written on her
forehead: TROUBLE...           oomph!

curvy, plump... plum... cherry... **** me:
do i need to howl?! i'm not going to bark...
but that was the covert narrative...
too many Eastern Europeans...
           ****... no problem: fair enough...
we'll send them back... they'll gladly go back...

call me: call the Bengali UBER kids!
Scot?! scoot up! go on... shovel shovel...
diggy diggy...
             i never understood anti-racism...
i understood racism...
that's why it took me a while to sleep with
a black girl... a Thai girl... a Turkish girl...
a half-Indian girl... half half ha ha halves blah...
trans-racial Indian girl: how's that?!
neo-Brazilian... how's that?

i'll start going cross-eyed when blinking
on that banana skin of racial terms...
oops... slipped... into the Niger river...

that's the thing about drinking to excess...
you take a nap... because... oh god... the bacon was too salty...
that Carbonara came out all wrong...
funny: almost wong...
that dish? apparently invented during the second world
war...
when there was a shortage of... ******* everything...
those H'americano GI's came to Monte Casino
with bacon and eggs... hey presto!
the Seigl-Hi-Talians has some salt, water,
parmesan, garlic and pasta spare...
no onions... no parsley... oh come on... parsley:

prezzemolo! prezzemolo! eh! prezzemolo!
hide the dyslexic two Zees...
do i need to bring the Cyrillic in? the Greek?
preцemolo! come on... for the optics...
i'm not going to argue the stance
of dwarfs in the Lord of the Rings
against... elf vegans... but... optically...
if you're eating something as bland as...
pasta... some sprinkle of green will not hurt:
not the eyes...

right... you take a snooze... wake up...
you've had it rough...
there's not one intellectually equivalent
to you in the vicinity... ******...
right then... shut up... think some more...
but what i discovered... pseudo-hang-over...
water... starts to "taste" like... milk...
it's ******* magic...
i don't know how it happens...

       eh? sorry... i'm pretending to be deaf
to pretend to be thinking...

literally: you become so dehydrated that...
water... makes itself available to acquire
the properties of milk!
it's more "thick"... it's more... glut... eh?!
what the ****'s that?!
i have a gut... i'm missing a horse...
it actually tastes like something:
but it's water... it's universal...
it shouldn't taste of anything...
                 no no... no honey... this is *******...
Yucky-Yack milk!
this is a leprechaun milking a unicorn...
which... considering... Perseus and Pegasus...
o.k. sorry...               WHY>?
   i'm trying to flap my hands about like
an octopus' hello... telekinetically... i.e. not obviously..
head full of apples... juggling...
no hands... a pretty magic trick...

for ****'s sake... how did a unicorn ever replace
the Pegasus!
i know who to blame... the British...
too high-brow... no... taste for orthography...
i.e. that 3D project of reality:

vectors: ortho:
                meta:
                                    ­      para:

standard... in... discovering the benzene ring...
sorted... but not... oh no no no... no no...
that was never going to happen!

you, as a people, have not applied any orthograpahic
criticism: "criticism" of your tongue:
you borrowed all that's Latin: ancient Roman...
like pseudo-Afghani paupers of the north
with: pretense of non-origin... at times the Celtic
heart-bearers... at times the Saxons...
at times the Norman invaders...

your men are women confused by time...
that's what you are...
for all your glorious past...
i don't want to belong to it...
i can't... belong to it...
you... sniffing up the great *** of
H'america... i start to walk blind...
i stroke my bead: pretend to play the violin...

where is the orthography?
all those pretentious... sensible...
metaphysical arguments of an Englishman?
where?! where?!!
you ******* sulky little *******!
oh mate...

               i shouldn't be here... i'm not supposed
to be here... knowing me:
i'm supposed to be forever elsewhere!
trapped in katana or ideograms...
entombed... whatever...

  somewhere... where water tastes like milk:
in a firestorm of:
a gathering of the seven winds!
find me.. precious little fairy!
give me the patience: to wait;
linger with me within the confines of ice...
just let me

by now... water tastes like milk.

I. Yesterday's scraps: many more happy beginnings

i didn't travel to the brothel for revenge:
tonight, of all nights...
no... i travelled to the brothel for a lesson...
a lesson in creating a jealous woman...
a miniature Frankenstein... monster...
after all: what is a male monster?
one denied love...
and what is a female monster?
one denied feeling jealous!
a man might long for love...
but a woman? she longs for jealousy!

i'm still learning...
i was promised an entire night with Khadra?
Khedra? Khadija last night...
if she works a 0-hour contract:
she can choose! she chose otherwise...
obviously i was going to pamper myself:
extra-special tonight:
who has the reins?! me, or you?

and? i was going to choose her "competition"
to boot! because there's one way of making
promises: keeping them...
and there's another... being a whining demand
of self-sabotage...

no! i didn't go to the brothel to enact revenge!
of course i wasn't going to sleep with her:
she promised me that she would give herself
up for the night!
she didn't! ergo? i'm going to sleep with
her competition, her "competition"...

she actually can't have anyone competing with
her... since all the others are "Irish"
i.e. double-sure... pills and  ******...
but i have to admit...
it was the first time that i've been with a girl
who wanted the lights turned down: low...
low... low... almost ******* in the dark...
she asked me for permission
to snort a line of *******: she asked me...
would i want some? no... sorry...

she brought a glass of ***** with her
and a nervous laugh...
a cigarette too... and the most precious
peaches' worth of *******...
and an *** the worth and size
of a watermelon...

i didn't go to the brothel to ******...
climaxing is sometimes pointless:
esp. when you're trying to send a nagging message
of biting someone else's neck:
negging...

i knew i was going to fail the test
of both hard-on and *******...
i drank too much cider...
too much weak cider...
my **** started yawning:
i had to return to the public toilet:
****-break from American Pie:
i did have to lay a membrane of toilet
paper around the rim of the toilet seat...
before sitting down...

i squeezed out a decent loaf befitting an
Anne the Anorexic...
just after stopping by some Pakistani stoners...
asking them for a drag of their doofie...

i need to ****.....

II. The Proper Verse

i adore nights such as this one about to unfold,
i have taken only a few sips of my whiskey and i already
know what i'm going to write:
usually it's the opposite, i have to drink enough
for a cognitive blitzkrieg in the vein of how Nietzsche
described it: that a thought or an idea
comes somewhere from "elsewhere" from outside
is conjured out of thin air: a spontaneous combustion...
it implodes then explodes into writing
whereby even listening to music is not necessary...
although: i'm sort of nostalgic-happy when it comes
to my choice in younger years...
i.e. either collect the oeuvre of Led Zeppelin or
Black Sabbath... obviously i chose the former
and regretted it when i listened to Vol. 4 and heard
Solitude for the first time and only regretted it
because it was so cool to play that song on guitar
in my ex-girlfriend's parents' house when it was only
me and her younger sister...
yep... my secret crush: love at first sight...
when it was all wrong: i was 17 and she was 14...
when it was all wrong... but not as wrong if i were
to say: i was 36 and she was 14...
     i get the whole ****** element but then again
i don't: i mean... i inherited a large stamp collection
from my late grandfather... so that would make me
a philatelist rather than a lepidopterist...
ergo... it's a teenage thing, there aren't as many
restrictions of taboo when you're that young...
    and i don't think there's anything remotely allied
to an "evil thought": there's just thought...
but anyway i was playing Solitude on her father's guitar
and... believe... that song... on the guitar alone...
in a large house that's usually mental (ex-girlfriend,
mom, dad, two brothers and Priya and some guests round)
this song on guitar where there's only you
and your former secret crush... it's haunting...
   she thought i was playing some blues...
i should have corrected her by playing some blues...
but i didn't... the kitchen was in a mess from the previous
night so i told her i'd help her out:
i cleaned the dishes while she dried them...
     after that i left... keeping my secret love a persisted
secrecy... so much so... that after several years
and several ****** women later... it vanished...
as did my idiotic youth...
                   but what the hell am i saying?!
i didn't sit down to write about that, then again:
digression is a very cool instrument of narration...
i learned it from my English teacher: Syr Tomas BOONCE!

last night... i ate too much during the day...
i rarely do... but recently i've had this unstoppable urge
for dairy foodstuffs... cheese... kefir...
yoghurt... milk.... cheese... kefir...
backwards and forwards... i know i'm actually craving water
(well, "me", i.e. my body)
but instead i want dairy foodstuffs...
mind you: all dairy products have more protein
in them than actual meat... i could never be a vegetarian...
proteins from beans is not the same...
another mind you: i don't know why
In the Evening didn't make to Led Zeppelin's greatest
hits album (well, at least the one i had
back in the day) but D'yer Mak'er did...
i owned the album the song's on...
but it only came to my attention after watching
Sharp Objects starring Amy Adams...
that show was a BELTER...

so i traded in my "emergency" €90 for...
ah ****... the Indian on Villiers St would have
given me £72... but i wanted to double check...
went to the currency exchange in Romford's Liberty
Shopping Mall... **** it... i'm not going back
to Charing Cross so i can get the 72 quid...
i settled for being 8 quid short...

and as i was sitting there in the garden after dinner
with a bottle of cider in my hand...
should i go today? should i?
only yesterday Khedra dismissed her wild plan of
inviting me to her house for a night of Trojan
fun of me pretending to be the 300 and "gang ******"
her solo... well... hence the "...":
     because it would be ******* her brains out for
the whole night, as it once happened with Ilona
in St. Petersburg all those years ago...
     i miss that night... i remember asking her...
so... how many contractions of O-spasms have you
been through? 7? each for every of my heads...
a nice rounded number: doesn't mean that an even number
would be any better than the 7ΓL
(eh! who the hell said that our modern numbers
came from either India and are morphed Arabic numerals)...
**** me... the Romans used letters as numbers
IX + XI = **... we already had letters in the form
of our letters... whether Greek or Roman...
Bb = 86... P = 9 I = 1 S = 5, 2 = Z...
sure thing: with "hindsight"... well whatever history
dictates: i'm not going to bother regurgitating...
with fake news and propaganda: there must be...
NEW TRUTHS... self-made truths to bring some sanity
to the individual not swayed by any external *******...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea...
but i went anyway...
i knew i would come across (i need the German in
naming this noun compound, i.e. state of being)
nebeldenken: fog thinking... nebligdenken:
foggy thinking...
and oddly enough... or rather: hardly oddly... i did...
foggy thinking is what some "experts" would enter
the scene and prescribe a man some chemical solutions
concerning a man's phallus not working...
well... rising... and only lasting for a few minutes...
i don't call it an erectile dysfunction...
it's more complicated than that...
******* oversimplified ***... oversimplified and
made it crude and rude...
i sometimes watch some vintage Italian movies
that would have been broadcast in erotica cinemas...
my god... back then people used to be so classy when
it came to ***... and gentler... none of this modern
trash... yeah... modern ******* is trash...
it feels infiltrated by homosexual acceptance...
         too much **** and not enough sensual *******...
on both sides of the *** "debate"...
i'm so happy that no one has asked me to penetrate
them anally... either man or woman...
because, honestly? if i think about the joys of having
a fire-******* from sitting on the toilet oozing out
durchfall... thoughts of waterfalls... everything coming
out: but certainly nothing going in...
(and the German spelling is easier...
that H-surd is awfully off-putting in the English spelling)

****: that Black Sabbath song Solitude wasn't on
Vol 4 but on Master of Reality... d'uh!

i should have waited for some other day...
i get paid on the 1st of each month and thanks to ol' Lizzie
dying... i'm looking at a "spontaneous" extra
£500 to boot... thank you Lizzie...
i know there was the whole black armband affair
and what not... but this time round i was thinking
about the money: although i love crowd-control,
esp. if i'm a supervisor and i have at least 4 licensed
security guards under my control and 5 unlicensed
stewards and a TfL worker from the tube station
and some police officers to manage the crowd...
i have to admit: Wednesday 14th was a ****-show
on Villiers St... people were so ******* annoying
that Charing Cross St. put in place what they use
during New Year's Eve... not straight down Villiers St.
but up to Adam St and full circle:
half the crowd heading to the Embankment St.
half to Charing Cross... thankfully i only had one
guy jump the barriers... a complete ****-show:
the wrong B plan... thankfully... come the actually
event of the state funeral...
       19th of September went: think of a warm slice
of toast and some butter... think of silk...
the two teams of my fellow supervisors in that one-way
traffic system only had one burst of people...
about 40 of them... they did **** all throughout the whole
day... i managed all the traffic... it was splendid...
basically: 40+ people were not needed...
i supervised the whole affair of people getting home
safely with... about 10 people: that's me included...
and a few barriers...

oh to hell with being felt loved by a woman!
there's no greater curse on a man than a woman's love...
puppy love... yuck...
a man needs to feel useful! used!
useful! a man needs to feed off and feed responsibility:
authority... man thrives on competence...
not complacence...
a woman's love is no more for me that me
adoring the first bloom of Magnolia come the earliest
telltale signs of Spring...
a woman's love is sickly-sweet... it wears a Thespian's
mask and with that comes the whole entourage of
disappoints and hell's furies...
i would swap a woman's love for a cat's love
every single time...
just like the story of Esau and Jacob...
a bowl of porridge chosen by Esau instead of a birthright...
then again: them two being twins...
is a woman's love for a man a bowl of lentils
or is it a birthright? from what i've heard and seen:
men are not given a birthright to be loved by a woman...
a woman is very much Esau's choice:
i'll take the broth... have my tummy full...
instead of striving for the role of patriarch...
i don't believe in the love of women:
i do believe in a love for women...
like i believe there isn't a vegetarian diet and the like...
there is only the seasonal diet...
fruits during summer... vegetables in the wintry months...
like the elders used to eat...
but love from a woman is a curse, not a blessing...
it's a jealous irrational love... it's Pandora's quest for:
suppose woman were to be endowed with a Faustian
thirst for knowledge... Pandora is the antithesis of Faust...
a Faustian curiosity is not akin to Pandora's curiosity...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea to go the brothel...
everything was wrong (but believe me....
that evened out sooner rather than later)...
usually i need to be a complete donkey of exhaustion
having finished a 12 hour shift before i can stomach
more physical strain of pleasing a woman...
i know my body better than i know my self...
i do know my reflexive: myself...
but the reflective: my self is still an ongoing project...
it all depends on how my thinking mingles
with that fickle creature of memory...
let's face it: who chooses what you can and cannot
remember? i don't mean that erosive substance
we are all subjected to via pedagogy, i.e. schooling:
whether it be 2 + 2 = 4 or a, b, c, d, e, f, g...
or the Battle of Hastings, the year 1066...

what man in his right mind would be appeased by
monogamy, that sacred egalitarian model conjured
up by man for fellow man,
so that all might have their fill, where is it now?!
there are no traces of it... the same men than conjured
up this model have passed away and gave
any if not all authority to the whims of women!
now? women are toying with the affairs of what
was once a noble admiration for the spectacular
consistency of swans...
so we've been told: don't admire the swans...
don't look up at swans: look down on monkey!
for me there are only two basic maxims that can
be extracted from Darwinism:

a. nature abhors a vacuum...
b. everything is useful / used...

nature doesn't provide either excess or a less...
well... it does: those 7 lean years
and those 7 years of excess... but nature is no mother...
it's not feminine: nature is asexual in that
it's an equilibrium... (7/7? Joseph's interpretation
of the Pharaoh's dream)...

i know my body: i will never know my self
in so far as i also know myself...

mein gott! it's only half past ten and i'll be finished
by around 12am... i'll have at least half an hour
of enjoying drinking and listening to music
and i'll switch off my workaholic-alcoholic
modus operandi and just drink and smoke and think
about having ***...

i knew it was a bad idea... i started drinking too early:
i was rested...
the bladder was going to be a massive obstacle...
a full bladder and an ******* are always in conflict...
i should know: ******* with my still intact
******* is a bit like a woman *******
using a shower head to trickle-up-a-tease of water
into her ******* regions... i still don't understand
why non-Jews are circumcised in North America:
it's barbarism... MGM...
male genital mutilation: a sword has a sheath...
that sheath is used for *******...
you take the sword out of its sheath... i.e. you pull
the ******* back... hey presto!
you're circumcised: no need for a kippah...
or a monk's tonsure... or for that matter...
a promise from a woman with her ******* NIQAB...
that should be white in colour... at least!
and be made from linen! breathable material...
"breathable": material that might allow air through...

i don't care if they keep wearing those
NINJA-PARACHUTES (better than Boris calling
them postbox attire)... right now girls in Iran
as shaving their heads and growing moustaches...
something is clearly up in the world of Islam...
like i mentioned already... i need a second schism in Islam...
i need it to happen in the Turkish "quarter"...
how else to fight all the prior years of terrorism?
attack Islam with ideas of reform...
that's the only attack... oh two-*****-shaken
while dropped into a ******* Mojito...
sure... a **** that gives off whiffs of mint-scentedness
is fair enough by me... but you're not going
to deter ZEE MUZLIMS by going after the Hydra
of chopping one head and waiting for another to sprout!
you go to the source!
you try to improve on: "PBUM" Muhammad's first try...
revision: not revolution... Islam can be revised...
but not with the Saudis and the ******* Pakistanis...
you aim for the fringes... the cosmopolitan Islam
with a richer past than the one dictated by
the conquests of the Arabs...
Turks are a fine example... the Persians another...
****'ite Islam allows for more... ah crap...
too many vowels... i always have a problem spelling this word:
just like the Anglo-Sphere speaks of ****** words
having too many consonants the same is true for
this word: too many vowels... i'm not even going
to try... i'll "cheat", use a search engine...
man-u-vre-ah-bi-lity...
                        maneuve­rability! ah... that's the one!

on a side note...
    it's true what "they" say...
bragging rights... and consistency...
some people amass a great following...
a great following breeds many comments...
i'm pretty sure that's an indicator of low quality content...
why is it low quality content?
it amasses many comments...
me? i don't have a fervent crowd... neither did
Pythagoras or Hey-Zeus... what could 13 men do
in order for a sight like that of St. Paul's Cathedral
take? competence? fervor? determination?
certainly not mediocracy...
                i still don't understand the Pythagorean
fetish for beans... high fibre high protein...
i mean... can you imagine to sit through one of his
TRIANGLE LECTURES having to stay silent,
but unable: filled with the dread of irritable bowel movements
(due to the fibre) trying to keep in a **** / farts?!
i like my audience, they must like me...
since... they hardly ever bother me...
and as long as i spew regular material...
i might as well leave a disclaimer:
hey bro! her sis! buy a book! try getting to the author
directly! you think that writing a comment
on a copy of a book you just bought
will help?
   not since the advent of the printing press has
there been a chance for the atomised man to bypass
certain restrictions... back then it was the Churches
and the solo-book project for the illiterate man...
now? editors of printing houses have: **** all on me...
i'm bypassing them... i'm not looking at the sales:
i'm looking for hungry minds... curious / sceptical
minds... why would i think, ****: dare me "think" about
this prospect of waiting for some acceptance of an editor
of low or no TASTE?! ha ha... ah ha ha!

i love nights like this... you get caught up in many surprises:
on the one hand by your own mind,
but at times by nature itself: it has "suddenly"
started trickling the most gentle rain...
if there could be a rain song: a most soothing song
of praise for the night... rain always makes more sense
during the night than during the day...
just as the horror movie genre:
the horror movie genre abused the night...
a proper horror movie?
oh... it happens during the daytime...
   Carnage Park (2016): please don't disturb the night
with all of night's allure... people are sleeping,
foxes are roaming: shh!
sha shtil, makh nit keyn gerider
der rebe geyt shoyn tantsn vider...

**** me: so much already written and i'm yet to make
my most truthful testimony!
release me! make me make it! i'll give you all
the oaths and still not utter your name!
lodge me between the combat between
King David and King Solomon...
i would gladly pay to see that combat of cognitive
ability!
each and every man will sing a psalm...
but live up to the wise expectations of what a king
observes?! and make them categorical imperatives
like a shopping list for turnips and carrots?
hardly any...
thank god i'm not a lyricist...
i prefer words to be dealt with in the medium
of the digestive process of thought:
than a life-experience enacting:
let's face it... most: if not some... of these supposed
"wisdoms" are false by the nature of the person
uttering them...
a king's choosiest appetites
are not on a pauper's menu...
back in Victorian times oysters used to be the food
of / for the poor... look how oysters have
been elevated...
but oysters are not my Aphrodisiac... nor is chocolate...
physical exertion is... as is tiredness...
as is cider... as is tobacco... as is a little glug glug
of whiskey...

i think long gone are the days of keeping aa woman's
integrity in place for curbing a man's desires
and unfiltered "having"...

i think i'm reaching some variation of a crescendo...
i must be... if i switched "moods" with my song of choice...

i didn't go to the brothel to punish Khedra...
she promised me a one night SPECTACULAR...
i didn't get it...
i was simply lashing out against her to
disappointing me...
i was like: weren't you supposed to spend
this night with me?
her "best" excuse was: the brothel was missing
women....
right... fair enough...
E-NUFF... don't ask me how English language:
that globalist witch of a tongue works:
of all the Empires in the world...
only two imploded: the English Imperium
and the Soviet... the latter... less gradually
than the formerly...
you do know that there were plenty of peoples
living in between the Germans and the Russians
on the "event horizon" of the geographic "debate"...
i was forever CYNICAL about
a story akin to the "****** birth":
let's just pretend fostering a ******* was
much less an adventurous route for a woman to
keep...
ugh! you peoples keep too many vowel en-routes!
too many vowels!
no wonder your people are still scribbling
graffiti on brick walls:
you are half-literate!

      insult me: expect an insult back!
what's that "*******" in Shakesperean?
you bite your thumb at me, sir?
what does it look like?
if you have a rabbit's worth of front teeth on the ready...
you lodge them between the fingernail
of the thumb and the thumb itself...
then you pretend you bite down...
while flicking your thumb forward...
until you hear a "click"...
yes... i am biting my "thumb down" on you sir....
the mediocracy of lost expectations...

oh, but the event? i knew i shouldn't have...
i was drinking too much before it even started...
12 hour shift... one bottle of cider... a walkabout...
a glug or two of either whiskey or brandy...
i'm dehydrated enough to have my ****
lubricated by the glorious spat-spit-on of a woman's
mouth...
i was going to be deflated balloon of a man
tonight... i'd get a ****-blocker...
given my adventures with Khedra if i didn't
chose her...

prior to i was wandering trying to empty my vowels...
sorry... my bowels...
it's always that affair with the little *****...
ugh... i'm nervous... i know she's nervous...
cider... moon.... cigarettes...
the echo of footsteps...
but i drank too much...
i was out of place to perform....
i stumbled across two Pakistanis smoking marijuana...
walked past them... walked back...
i implored them: who's your seller?
they wouldn't disclose... can i try some?
more than willing: it's good to make "friends" in the night...
i took one ****... i told them: don't worry...
i'm not some undercover copper...
i did hope they might think i'm some MAFIA
quality-tester...
that my role was aligned to the MAFIA:
walking around testing the stuff being sold...
like i told them... 10 years ago...
these Vietnamese punks were selling the herb
lined with fibreglass!

i told them: make sure you get your "herb" from an Afghan...
i took one poke at the joint to see if it was
alright... they offered to give me the whole "thing"
up... i was like... n'ah mate...
i just want to **** on the quality:
nothing has changed since my marijuana-psychosis
over 10 years ago... it was still the same concentrated
potency... it made me caffeine high for a while
from an alcohol stupor... but nothing
per usual transcendental magnimonity...
basically ****: basically trying to sniff wet toilet paper
crap of "green"...
regurgitating snot...
mind you... they were playing pirates...
with a green light that might blind airline pilots....
as you do... smoking the herb and not thinking much...

but i wasn't an undercover police officer testing them...
i was a quality surveyor of what's being sold...
high minds think high "things"...

oh, but once in the brothel? i knew i was walking with
a limp ****! i knew that once i showered her
gifts of lingerie i'd ha ve a ****-blocker in place!
hey presto! a ****-blocker!

imagine sitting opposite three women.....
funny "thing"... being:
YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
now... CHOOOSE A "FAVOURITE"...
pardon the Judgement if Paris!
me in a brothel:
of all the women...
among the ****** it is the hardest to chose from!

i didn't terribly punish her...
not by whip or a scalding tongue...
i love her...
chocolate.... i hate chocolate....
by this brazen tinge of brown...

choke on TATE- CHICKEN
Britain my LAST ***...
with the Lilies dies my bride...
             aren't we equal to serve the crown
she was such a beautiful *** to ****,,,
lest we don't remember...
she was a granny "second to last"...
first... first comes the state...
somehow the latter affairs of  familial ties.

- imagine... sitting across a room with three women
you already ******...
choose! huh?!
choose! you have but one favorite....
and two "left-behinds"....

leave a woman sweating all over her body...
sweating...
pass on a *******...
three women: all of whom you ******...
choose...
sweat all over her body:
her pretending to ride
you on the corner of the bed... OTT...

but there's also something equally satisfying...
it's only shared between men...
working with Emmie at the Ice Rink...
i'd say we're on par... looks wise, dimension wise...
she must be a stunning 5ft11
me being a 6ft2 220pounder
and she too is a... HEALTHY specimen...
she's not obese or anything... she just reminds me
of Alison Taylor... she's a big girl for a big... boy...
i have to admit... i couldn't stop eyeing her up...
and i'm guessing these two guys i know: knew: know...
whatever... started chatting with me...
but kept on looking at Emmie as if we weren't
simply working together: but we were dating...
there was no jealousy in their eyes
there was more... a natural state of affairs...
they gave off vibes akin to: wow! nature has balanced
itself out! this guy has found someone compatible
with him!...

**** me... she's already updated her profile picture
on WhatsApp like 3 times already...
fickle creature that's memory: snd finicker creature
that's woman to boot!

she's a gorgeous Dagenham exemplification of
what an English girl ought to be...

then again: Marie... sure limp **** and all...
but i only had a limp biscuit of a hard-on after i refused
Khedra a bedding... well: i thought i was punishing
her for refusing my Spartan night of frolicking...
instead... i switched off when she brought in
a random punter into the room next to us...
in the way she started "moaning" i knew she wasn't
getting her usual pleasures...
that's when i switched off, shut down...
Marie had already dimmed the lights so **** low
she even called it a phantom illumination...
that's the first time i rekindled the time i slept
with that Spanish wild-one Tamara...
all that cocoon *** steaming under the bedsheets
afraid of beauty and nakedness:
her living arrangements didn't help either...
i was turned off by her living with three homosexuals...

there are only two ways a woman can get
bad dating advice:
1. from other women...
2. from homosexuals...
mind you, i have nothing against buggery...
i've kissed several men in my passing this mortal
wound of flesh... tonguing etc.
but...

we weren't actually engaged in much backwards
and forwards piston action's worth of
lubrication... i was sitting on the edge of the bed
and i just tucked her in into my arm's girth...

i just chose the right sort of music...
OTT... Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
bingo! i was caressing her thoroughly... inner thighs...
outer thigs... tickling behind the ears...
kissing the back of her neck... biting her shoulders...
massaging her *******... esp. around the *******...
poking and pinching her *******...
waiting for them to become *****... plagiarising
her hands... horribly since they were three-quarters
of my size... detailing the curvatures of both
knees and elbows...
      i knew she was nervous... she was like a tiny little
mouse unable to contract pleasure vocally...
with onomatopoeias...
a nervous giggle... here and there...
plus she had to sniff a line of ******* and down
a shot of ***** to get over her inhibitions....
the dimmed lights... which: to be honest...
exfoliated her nakedness into a lily's tease of attempted
suicide...
oh **** me... my father bought some lilies for
my mother the other day...
to the agony of her discomfort...
that's when i decided: they die... which they will...
and seeing them as they are...
they'll stage me a Philip contra Elizabeth timeline...
if one goes... the other will soon follow...

how will i dictate my fate against fate itself?
well... i won't to a Curt Kobain shotgun stunt...
i'll but loads and loads of lilies...
i'll shut the windows and the doors...
insulate myself in a limited amount of oxygen...
place the lilies near me...
loads and loads of lilies...
i'll smoke some marijuana... i'll drink plenty
of whiskey... and then... i'll... i'll fall asleep...
and never wake up! hey presto! problem solved!
mortality best cared for!

i still can't forget how she sweat all over...
she even asked me: am i hot or is it hot in here?
i replied: no... it's only you...
even with a limp ******* **** i could make a woman
sweat from all her pores...
that's almost better than giving a woman
an ******... that's me and that itchy-numbing
on my fingertips whenever i shared my property
with neighbours letting them play my Nintendo...
itchy-numbing of the fingertips... itchy-*******-numbing!

come to think of it... if i'm serious about becoming
a teacher... this was by far the best way to start:
crowd-control, public security...
if i can deal with a bunch of drunk RETARDS
then i could harness the same sense of authority
over children... better still: i have an inquisitive mind...
i'd just be doubly inquisitive about them
being either not inquisitive or stale...

maybe that'a why i enjoy PAREIDOLIA so much...
esp. come the night and the moon
and the clouds... i revel in this "****"...
perhaps that's why i abhor crossword puzzles
and that's the reason why i write with wry intent
on morphing nouns into misnomers...
i'll deliberately call a table a chair and a chair a table...
for gimmicks' sake to craft an antithesis
of Descartes sitting at his desk
pretending not to do some telepathy...

Herr ******* Cogito... Zbigniew Herbert to boot!
i drink because i'm enough of sound mind
and have tasted insanity to know:
when the great wrath of the godly wind comes:
you just **** back...
****: that's a cunning word in my mother tongue:
it's not burping via your ****...
it actually means: LUCK... you have ****...
you have luck...

Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
and how she insinuated ***... sweating... sweating
through all her pores...
i'm ******* losing my mind all over again:
but at least this time round it's not to something
abstract: a priori... this is all a posteriori
fervour...
i've been here before...
   i'm sure of it...
the mammal that came from an amphibian form
to this gesticulating skeleton...
i admired forg: ha ha... frog tadpoles...
their wriggling ways gave me insight into
how my handwriting would turn out...

like my grandfather said: chicken-scratching...
i'd tatoo his words onto my body if i had
the audacity to give sacrilege of body
as a gift to the gods...

how she sweated... my god... i've seen plenty
of *******... but none of the flicks compared
to that, THAT experience...
******* is ****... *** is too personal to be
exploited in such a way as to turn man
into thinking he's a ******* Duracell Bunny...
switch on... switch off...
you need to be in a "mood" to get a hard-on...
and just as quickly you can turn-off...

i know why i turned off...
but i also turned on a second gear...
i turned off because i declined Khedra...
and i turned off because i heard Khedra in the next
room not being pleasured in the way i would
have pleasured her...
and this... and that... and the "other"...
plus she's a petite creature and i wanted
to feel someone compatible to: my, SIZE...
i wanted a big girl with big floral patterns of *******
that i could massage...
i gave away my hands for her sweating
all over her body doing the bare minimum
of listening to the song of my choosing...
as we shared a cigarette...
as i kneeled before her...
because... let's face it...
i'll **** on the cross before i kneel before it...
it's the antithesis of the inborn ontology of man...
the first anti-Christian lesson i taught myself?
the cheek "thing"... reek!
someone slaps you? you slap them back!

ROSJA SIĘ MOBILIZUJE: JAM ZA!
and so they should be...
this infernal cognitive-parasite "creature" of western
conjuring is not ******* welcome in either Russia
or the Orient... it's not a serpent...
it's a ******* tapeworm!

me? i'll be ******* Eastern Women till the sun
never ******* comes... Romanian,
Bulgarian, Turkish...
sure... i'll make it a personal fetish of mine
to think of any fuckable English girls...
once they're done playing victim and succumbing
to the "egalitarian anti-racism" while
getting soaked in gasoline by Pakistani ****-gangs...
maybe then...
until then... no, thank, you!

well... brutal times require brutal measures...
and a kind, heart...
a heart the size of a pebble... and just as tough...
what?! just because the VESTERN VOLD
had a hard-on while failing in both Irq... I-RAQ...
Afgantisan... lobbied the indefinite migration
via the collapse of Libya... that... Russia... RUSSIA!
would ******* bow down to these *******
loony tunes?!

Dear Uncle (Ras)Putin... blah blah...
France's testing of their nukes in the Polynesia...
GOD-ZILLA!
   GOD... ZILLA!
                    i don't care whether or not i'm on
the right side of history: sure as **** i'm on the right
side of *******... and i like to ****:
which is why i'm not a train-spotter or a stamp-collector...
or someone who dabbles in LEGO and putting
together a replica of Optimus Prime...
just give me **** and i'll be happy-camper like
it might be a bowel of oysters...
oysters... mmm hmmm... oysters & ****...
i love oysters... i love ****...
i love naked sweating bodies...

i love the smell of hair... esp. unwashed hair...
it's so solipsistic... like farting in a crowded space...
the taste of keratin borrowed from biting nails...

you that feeling when you smell: weakness?!
i'm guessing the Islamists have had enough scent of it...
they figured out: what's the point?!
they're already implosive... they'll destroy themselves...
there's absolutely no need to attack them...
Muhammad asked Ahmed:
want to throw this tennis ball against a brick wall?
i throw, you catch... you throw... i catch...
how's that? Ahmed replied to Muhammad...
sounds... dandy... let's play.

because, that's, what, it, *******, is...
all that's "western" is RIPE for the taking...
i won't even blink when i see it desecrated...
i'll be the Poet of the Coliseum...
watching it all unfold...
i mean: i was scolded for not being confident in my
youth... now that i've aged:
oh... lucky me... guess who's also lacking
in confidence... all of the women...
will i go out of my way to try and...
no no... i don't have a car... i don't have a fixed hour
paid work contract... i don't have a house...
no no no, no no no, no... exactly!
so if i don't have x, y & z... why bother?

to the promised land of the brothel!
and even there, there are some without the slightest dignity
of being pleasured: of having confidence...
but... i've already paid: so i can work with that...
i'll gladly unravel those timid beauties into
******* floral killers of a Lily!

oh well... c'est la vie... comme ci comme ça...
some people learn to live with
a ******* hernia... or athritis...
i can live with this... i know why i'm single...
most women could not handle me...
actually: i don't think even my mother believes
she can handle me... i know why i'm single...
i'm the selfless ****-wit that wants
too many women... and occasionally... on a sly...
a man... i can live with that...
sure... from time to time i reopen an old wound
from my teenage days or romanticism and idealism...
oh! wouldn't it be great! to have a sole woman for one's
"solipsism" to destroy?! yeah...
that would be grand!                          in theory.

dearest mistress of memory: leave me be!
stop youe hanging around: let me get on with my life!
just you and only you... one faceless woman
after another...
i have plenty! i have about at least 10 on the go...
i'm deciding which one is warmer than
the others... and which is more jelous than the other...
i'll talk to one... i'll tease another...
i'll **** the third proper silly...
i'll settle for the one with the child
to not think of womanhood to begin with:
rather than behind...

i still can't escape the feeling of gratification
making her sweat all over her body by simply
having learned the geography of a woman's body...
made of ice: apparently...
mein gott... what a wonder to behold...
in my hands oranges... in her hands watermelons...
a spider of a hand crawling atop another spider
of a hand that was hers...
such tender aspects of the FLESH...
like stripped culminations of the pig rediscovered
on a woman's body...
i forgot who i was...
a butcher?! a sadist?! a wizard?!
i must have exemplified myself as "someone"
if she still felt nervous
after snorting a line of ******* and downing
a decent glug of *****... pretending to laugh: nervously...

i should have been told much earlier on
that most women have a very limited sense of self and space...
for that natter time too:
most women have zero to no self-esteem...
if you asked a 20 year old me what the "problem" was...
i'd tell you: oh! all these girls! hive minded high-brow
they're pompous *******... finicky...
walking a a pair of ******* on a leash without either ****
or dog!
but now?! mein gott!
strange... how things change...
they are so... limited...
they have become so timid... so... fresh...
they're the fresh flesh on a leash...
and still: they don't think they are...
i don't like suspect packages....
these women aren't...

i don't want to end writing this poem...
today is the 23rd... i get paid on the 1st...
i'm already practicing my plumbing with take-two!
take-three! sessions of a hard-on...
lucky a man with very little hobbies...
all i think about it *******...
even ******* turns me off: finally!
it's unrealistic! far from ever it being so...

the mind sometimes overpowers
the body in the same way that the body sometimes
overpowers the mind...
i switched off... this time round...
but it's hard... you sit down in the ante-chamber
with three women...
problem being: YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
and there's one favourite among them...
she promised you a Spartan Cohort Night with her...
so you try to punish her:
by NOT picking her...
well... that will never go down well...
since she already allowed no ****** usage...

maybe i should think about... building a play-toy-thing
train-set or... **** knows what...
i just love women too much...
i love seeing how many mistakes they make...
i'm not saying i'm perfect...
but it's  gleeful pleasure seeing a woman
make a mistake... it's a bit like... seeing yourself
being born...

upon the great ***** of time...
   a figment of your own imagining... neither conjured
up by the mere spontaneity of thought...
hardly an affair of imagining(s)...
never mind the byproduct of memorising
one iota's worth of: iota, omicron, tau, alpha...
by the dim blue glare of the iris...
no... my iris are greeeen...

each and every day the everyday happens
and i feel obliged to borrow
all the necessary talents from the Thespians...
i am "i"...
                there is still massive heed of the grand
moving parts... some stall... some arrive with
no conscience with gravity's whim...
who, are, you? peering into my disclosures?!
my soliloquy supposing
the dead have no ears?!

  have no stomach the food to digest?!
a truly be-spotten sort of: awaiting feed...
time for the freezing of the tides...
liberate the Arab from his self-induced
indulgence!
fancies of fanaticism....
              of worded "things" worth "digestion"...
a tongue of youth
as precursor for the unfathomable futures
to come! old men have: not dictate
in my life! they reek of stinking socks
not since the times when old men claimed a superior
notion among the the youth...
i have nothing! nothing! to learn from the people
i should be learning from!

old men die... that's what they were
supposed to do in the first place...
old... men... die...
i too will die... but not before them!
but at least they could have ushered in a few
decent maxims... instead?!
instead?! i have no maxim conjurers!

these pandered to old FOOLS!
i sometimes wish i were a cannibal!
then again: the prospect of eating these
"leather chairs" is pristinely:
disgusting!

                        i am: ******* livid: i am abhor!
ABHOR!
                 i will shout that word...
**** it.... no mountain near me...
i will, climb, up... a ******* hill..
and extend my tongue and mouth into a shout
and i will clarify: I ABHOR!
best we burry you *******...
you think... us... youth...
will sit back while, you had all your, fun?

it's only one coin-flip away...
i want my fun too!
you're going to tell me, no?!
are you going to tell me, no?!
you... frail... old... man?!
you're going to tell me, no?!
what did you tell your elders?!
the same **** i'm telling you?!

ooh... what a telling!
i'm 36 years old... i'm going to have all
the prostitutes in the world and more!
i've, had, enough!
no! i haven't! had! enough!
i need... more!
i need more!
        i'm going to create the reality
that Darwinism subscribed to!
                         i want, more!

i'm hungry... i'm vengeful...
i'm... oopsy-turvy... i'm...
baron of Emeralds... green Irises...
                
just like the prostitutes suggested: why are you
looking at me with so much ferocity,
with so much intent?!
why?! i'm eating your soul...
******* it out from your eyes...
you, are, mine!
the eyes disappear when the eyes roll back
into a canvas of sclera...
but not until then...

why am i so intent on peering into your self?
if it bothers you so much:
why, why... why don't you close them?!
are you afraid of being unable to see what's
worth being seen?!
tender doe... why... why... oh why so...
scared? life didn't get back to you with
its revisions of adequacy?!
too bad... maybe next time.

finish this, Matthew, finish this!
yes: we know already...
you had trouble keeping up a hard-on because
you thought you would be punishing
a ******* who's wild idea
of inviting you back to her home for free
*** backfired: as you know it would...
****-locked after you chose another
and then broke down limp
       hearing her walk into the next room with
another man and not hearing the sort
of moans you heard when she was with you...

i can't forget the dimmed lights...
contorts... archaic precusor-Cubism...
   the body sweating all other without much exertion
being applied...
if only the moon could drool moonlight
like a dog in Pavlov's experiment might drool
for the reply to a ringing of a bell...
my hands turned into spiders...
my hands turned into eyes...
but i wasn't angry or ashamed at my predicment
of under-performing...
if she was sweating all over her body
and i wasn't impaling her bur rather caressing her...
*** is... complicated...
it's not even close to the pornographic depictions...
i switched from a performance artists
to looking for something deeper...
a bit like...
well... what's within wheat?
   the category of carhohydrates... fibre...
it's the same with ***...
                                simply squeezing juice from a lemon
is not even about the point of squeezing
or the lemon...
    sometimes lethargy kicks in when you're trying
to switch ****** partners...
esp. difficult if you already have three sitting opposite
you whom you all have bedded...

Monday... i'm going to have to revise my liquid intake...
i already know that it requires me to juice up
with one strong cider... and drink some whiskey
on the side...
while kneeling before her naked body...
or sharing her cigarette...
then again: maybe her nervousness made me nervous...
after all: she had to snort a line of *******...
she had to drink half a cup of *****...
and still that nervous laugh as if Khedra was going
to **** her...
i have recently found that women are...
terribly nervous...
it's so unforgiving to find oneself in the company of a nervous
woman...
then again: maybe this should be a thrill for me?
oh, Marie is going to take me a while
to unravel... she's too petrified for any penetrative
***... she's pretty content with performing
only oral ***...
    i wonder... why...
  she's the first girl who wants to do it completely in the dark...
she feels insecure or rather: wounded...

whatever the reasons are...
    this tiny: heaviest of hearts i frown at and with.

p.s. 4/4

e|-------------------------------------------------12---
B|---­------------3--------------------------------12---
G|---------3--­---------5----- 2h3h2-----------12---
D|----5------------------------------------­3-----------
A|--------------------------------------------------­-----
E|-------------------------------------------------------

­and then my usual blues...

I'm learning the sky
like leaves understands the breeze
so that I find you

You could be the clouds
here one minute, gone the next
floating past my dreams

You are all my nights
I search for you in the stars
foolishly it seems

My pleading whispers
like an owl on a branch
silently alone

I'll search endlessly
like falling leaves search for ground
so that you come home

~ Priya 🕉,  2/23/22

.poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
ringo star h'ahmed...
george ali...
paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
right on the plonker...
i'm not finished!
i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
(one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

gehirnablassen...
brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

)  notes to preserve completing
what remained: pending...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos / chaos...
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...                                         (

1. well, let's begin...
        it has taken me two days to complete
my utterances... i've just spent 40 or so minutes
listening to the last of the youtube
stronghold (dangerfield -
               from hash to ******) -
i can relate on the literature,
i can't relate in taking steps of replica...
i started smoking marijuana
aged 21... i think you should start later...
drinking while being a teenager, fine...
i hanged around with some irish in my teens,
we used to have sleepovers at youth clubs
play pool, buy ***** mags and drink
white lightning: bumb cider...
but given that i was sold chemically
enchanced (negatively, i might add) marijuana
that turned me psychotic...
ah... psychiatric terms, used by the mainstream
like some casual metaphors...
     recently i was at a health scrutiny hour...
yes: my psychosis was made stable in
a schizophrenia: which is a new word to describe
bilingualism... oh the english natives!
what competent people...
  no, it didn't become bipolar: psychotic depression...
lucky me... lucky in that:
           bukowski: isolation is the gift...
the rest are a test of your endurance...
no **** sherlock!

  i just look at all the particular instances
when english (the language) breaks rules...
    heidegger merely pointed out
that there's a difference between chaos
and χαoς: well cheap and cha-cha-cha...
but when it comes to the ferryman?
some would say: χαρoν...
otherwise? do the raj bidding of inserting
a surd H... nibble at the tetragrammaton...
   and call the ferryman κ - αρoν
                                            (h)...
this isn't the only example: cheap, chisel...
        chemistry... it's not chem-ístree...
      it's kem-ístree!

2. poor *******, the english,
   they can't discuss orthoraphy...
hardly, to begin with:
what with i (ι) and j (ȷ) -
you have already cut the diacritical heads
of come the CAPITALS: I & J...
what a simple hydra to vanquish...

2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)

                     i like this one...
   letters, syllables, graphemes,
sodium: Na...
  the key and the door analogy of the keyhole...
feminism: it wants to coagulate...
to group existentialism with
scholastism...
sorry honey... play your footie:
*******!
                    key being inserted:
φought enters θilosoφy....
yes, the graphemes are elevated,
beyond the stature of consonants...
didn't you ask?
oh, you should have asked...
- socrates: can yoy give a rational account
                    of syllables, but not of letters?
- theaetetus: it seems possible.
-socrates: quiet; i think so too. at any rate,
surely you'll have an answer about the first
syllable of 'socrates', if someone asked
'tell me, theaetetus, what is SO'?
- theaetetus: yes, my reply would
be that it is S and O.
- socrates: so there's your account of a syllable,
isn't it?
    - theaetetus: yes.
- socrates: all right then, tell me alao of your account
of S is.

sorry... after this point, for B to be a surd?
bottomless pit... let's ask what is a letter,
what is a syllable... and what is a grapheme...
the greeks bargained on dialectical markers...
which they dind't need, since the latins needed them...
what is a syllable is also: what is a grapheme,
and how to account for "strange" vowels?

the greek thought, they thought,
"thinking" that only the greek language
was correlated to universal thinking...
and that universal thinking was only associated
with greeks speaking... pish-poor choice
if you mind...

         syllables... individual letters...
weren't consonants synonymous to syllables?
esp. with added diacritical markers?
play-tongue-think-tank with the greeks...
sooner or later they fizzle out as
redundant...
         couldn't keep Constantinople...
will not regret or revive the bounties of
reclaiming Istambul...

i once claimed to tolerate islam...
tolerating islam is one thing...
    respecting islam: quiet another...
i can attempt myself at
respecting a cloning device...
which any religion is: a cloning device...
i can tolerate it...
which, doesn't imply i respect it;
i wouldn't eat a meal with a muslim...
and sharing a meal?
is my fullest acknowledgement of
respect, i tolerate islam,
i, tolerate it,
   thank **** i don't respect it.
respect it like some 19th century german
philosopher... hegel or nietzsche....

what is a syllable "compensated" by
a grapheme, esp. with a hidden consonant,
akin to the caron "s"...
      i.e. šeep: look at that...
the first time orthography was introduced
into the englishsprechen...
   hid the H: šeep... sheep...

well we already know where the greek
letter went to: modifying scientific
constants... after all π = 3.14....
    Σ = summation...
            last time i checked...
letter, whether consonant or vowel
orientated,
took up more meaning beyond
translating the optic of encoded
sound into expressed sound...
    they became surds...
          tools to think with,
only secondary sound symbols...
you no longer translated the representation
of the sound,
there was an idea behind the letter...
disguised as a "letter"...
chemistry minded the syllables:
Na: sodium, salt...
   and that was that...
              
  fai(s) çe q'(u)é voudrā(s) -
written, but otherwise a surd...
fwench has the most examples...

3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
     mind you, i will gladly whistle about
three songs while walking...
this is the part where i become an arrogant
*******... teaching yourself does
that to a man, there's no pride in being
lectured, ordered to regurgitate...
for all that pomp & circumstance
that makes pride & prejudice shy...
    she should have always been
first choice on the fiver banknote...
jane austen my ***...
            mary shelley was the dog's *******,
through and through...
the three songs i sometimes whistle
while walking, taking a whiskey for a walk
(good thing i don't own a dog)...

a. beethoven's symphony IX
     allegro assai vivace - alla marcia...
b. la marseillaise...
   c. british grenadiers - fife & drum...
shhh...
    (for all the worth of shakespeare's
poetry... robert burn's:
aud lang syne...
        hell... i can't write sing-along poetry...
poetical commentary...
which still beats poetry worthy of
thee theatre...
shakespeare, no shakespeare...
aud lang syne:
   old long gone song, refurbished)...

5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

       isn't it obvious? england is a metal
asymlum when you wish to see it as such...
somehow and "suddenly" all the social
pressures disappear when nagging either
a polonaise society or a h'american society...
i'll be critical of applied english,
as a language...
but when it comes to living?
               second to none... when i was younger,
and growing up in poland
the english were know as gaylords...
or the bellybuttons of the world...
now, having grown up among the irish
in the outer east-end of Loondon?
want to talk to a 6ft1 115kg "******" about
his lack of obsession with marital status?
his complete disinterest in dating?
what's a dating app?!
                 the same kind of "******"
obsessed with templar chants?
dabbling in helvegen?

  dating... what a weird concept...
whenever i get a chance, i'll sit with a thai
surprise (bisexual, female)...
manage to take her home, play her some
jazz... **** her in the garden...
                            walk her home...
"date"... when it comes to prostituites...
when it comes to prostitutes...
    britney spears  - criminal,
     rihanna - shut up & drive,
   lady gaga - telephone
                       holly valance - kiss kiss
delta goodrem - innocent eyes.....
gay boy got gay rights...
what a boring time to be alive in...
just when homosexuality was no longer tabooo,
norman stephen "typo" *******...
boring homosexuality...
  antithesis artistic homos...
gays are boring me with their antics,
i'd also love latex love triangles...
but...
  i'm not joining in,
since i haven't been made welcome...
         welcome this:
the rightful pucker of a knuckle count's worth
of a sucker!

    i've experienced only: 3, loves at first sight...
kot... i rememher her surname,
she was the first to kiss me,
aged, roughly 7...
    priya.... my ex-girlfriend's
younger sister...
                          isabella of grenoble...
who took my virginity...
oh, ****...
        there was freckles galore daniella...
at st. augustine's... rabbit to her...
there was... milena...
there was samatha...
                there was jadwiga...
                       there was janina...
i fell in love too many times...
there was ilona of novosibirsk...
   gregoria who licked my face
like a cow...
                 the ukranian *******,
the bulgarian prostitutes who i stole
kisses from,
the serbian strippers...
   packaged boy,
  postcard ****-acto...
                 the australian fling...
half hindu half scouser...
towering beauty with the looks
akin to tweety bird lips (as my irish friend
noted)...

women... ah ha ha...
           i guess 3 months is long enough
for me to be with them...
    last time i checked, she was on her period,
and i was gagging...
last time i checked: ******* a *******
her period alleviates the period pains...
she didn't let me,
instead? i received a week
bound to reading Bulgakov...

           condoms are great when used
to **** a ******* her period...
that's how i started to hate relationships...
*** monopoly..
   and readings from cosmopolitan magazine
about the out-dated
idiosyncracy of relationship statuses...

4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...

     i can tolerate islam,
but, i can't respect it....
    how could i respect it?
           i met a greek in warsaw....
he sounded like a goth,
     how the spanish tongue sounded
much akin to the greek zunge...     

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on an ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

          mind you: i always seemed to "mis-pronounce"
words in english... first came puma:
i was laughed at on a primary school bus
heading from st. augustine's (half-way between
gants hill and barkingside) to the barkingside
swimming pool: where i learned to swim
by myself, very much akin to me learning
the english language, by myself,
dropped into the deep end,
i was a complete mute...
my parents were also learning the zunge...
so they couldn't exactly teach me,
i had to learn it myself...
      so it wasn't puma: with that hollowed
out U...
      i.e. pú-mah... it was: pew-mah...
or piu-mah...
           weird...
                   then i found other examples...
i was once more corrected
when it came to the celts...
                       it wasn't cedilla "riddled":
çelts, but Kelts...
    funny that... the football team from glasgow
is dubbed çeltic, not celtic: isn't it?
i loved being corrected about my
pronounciation... get corrected enough times,
and then... light: you get to sprechen such
things as:
   what sort of orthography aesthetic discussion
can i have with an englishman,
when his sole diacritical markers
hover over an ιo: iota: i / ι...
   and that dotless antithesis of java - ȷ -
like in dante's canto XXVIII:
                               Bertrand de Born,
two completely pointless orthographical -
as i would rather call them:
indulgences rather than errors,
otherwise not necessary...
             excess spelling... and particular,
hidden, pronounciation variables...
that's as much of an orthographic debate
you will ever get from an englishman,
given their lack applied diacritical markers...
hey... if the english speaking peoples
love their "reality" chequers...
   their metaphysics...
           i have something as pertinent, ready,
orthography is far more interesting
to me than the grandeour of metaphysics...
so now we have to figure out
the third sister... given the already associated
benzene ring directions of associating
compound groups:
   ortho-,
                      meta-,
                            ­           para-...
  can't just leave it to paranorman / -"normal"...
para- needs to be associated with something
else if we're going to venture
with orthography and metaphysics
and further...

    another decent example?
       gnomes...           gnostics...
why is the g treated as a surd at the beginning
of the word, hence? 'nomes hence 'nostics...
but all the more apparent in a word like
diagnostics?
                               i guess i've found my
new playground: the english vocabulary.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.

For hours I sat
between the rustling leaves
and the humming wind;
the tender kiss of breeze
upon my eyes
I could hear the singing
of birds and the laughter
from the ripples in the lake
and the soft, cozy blanket
of peace around my arms
I was just a ******* a bench
between the rustling leaves
and the humming wind
with the tender kiss of breeze
upon my eyes ...

~ Priya

My words today
are soft like silk
and warm like the honey
that kisses your lips
Perhaps from there
my words will sip
They become the  
devine intertwine
of consonants and vowels
like fingers twirling through
the strands of my hair
Today I will smile into the air
and from the corner of my eyes
poetry will drip
filling your pages with me

© Priya ॐ 6/29

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

If not me, then with whom
whom to pretend with
to act tough with
to be angry with
when the answers you seek
are not answers at all
If not me, then with whom
to be your faithful eyes
when you just can't see
and to hear the things
you ignore determinedly
all the while, fervently
pushing me away
I don't know what to say
or how to be
but I'm here, waiting patiently
for you to finally see me
for me, for you
I'm here, fumbling, stumbling
through something so humbling
hating that your hurting
hating that we are crumbling
when all I want to do
is hold you, help you
be the rock you know me to be
just as you have been for me

~ Priya 🕉,  Feb 26, 22

it's quiet,
but not as silent
as I would have imagined
after all my bricks fell down
I think, looking back over the years
even through the roughest waters
there were never any tears
just wave after wave of emotions
a swimmer fighting not to drown
but eventually,
all my bricks fell down
it's quiet
no laughter in sight
no will to fight
no longer toiling in a useless plight
just the tumbling of bricks
that fell down

© Priya Patel 10/12/18

I'm sorry if the tears of me
are staining your pages
What sky do you know
bleeds sunshine everyday?
Even the clouds
need a healthy cry;
a common ground
for the raindrops to dry
But rest assured,
my rainbow is just
beyond the horizon

© Priya ॐ 7/2

The word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.

~  Carl Jung

So well I remember
the clinking of our glasses and
the "cheers" that followed
with laughter and happiness
We were like kids that day
sipping from cocktails of love,
never realizing how truly
we were blessed
We were the dream team;
a mother and two daughters
sipping from cocktails of love

© Priya ॐ 7/2/17

Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.

~ Willa Cather