Frre from the stress that has you depressed.
Free from the distraction that keeps you disconnected.
Similar to those held down.
Once freedom is achieved.
Your whole world feels turned around.

Unlike the emancipation proclaimation.
Which was just a signed symbolic act.
You afraid to move willingly.
Until your proposal is met.

Not afraid of reprisal from your enemies.
Because your freedom was achieved by your own reasonings.
Others lives according to fear.
But you convinced with truth that in some ways you're not affected.

The Emancipation Proclaimation passage.
Has beeen everlasting concerning freedom for some.
While others were held in *******.

To be free.
Means you move according to your rules.
As long as the decisions affects only you.
Not one to be hunted because others refuses to accepts truth.

Hollywood sell-outs, bands change
it's only now a new ******* age.
Disney new ballet is ***** to
money, and ideals we knew
vanish with subtlty

Michael Bay puts
the spode into explosion
while the media ****
francises and more.

Horror remakes are they
such a good idea? Suddenly
Jason and Freddy no longer
bring fear. Robert Englund walks
with a stick, but Hollywood
this shtick no good.

Entertainment industry
thrive on naiveity while
we sink deeper into
simplicity. Education
stagnating as a whole
with cries of purity
and morals galore.

Blood and gore we crave
we want, so Roth and Saw
sold us hard, but questions
now number on the minds
as people question our
sanity.

Marvel the gods and
Heroes have forgotten the
way, they're now
in Disney sway.

People are dancing to
the new sensation,
it's lacks a plot,
it vilifies most and
fills with hesitation.
It's High School Musical.

'I want Edward Cullen'
girls now cry, 'He's like
so hot and sweet' Twilight
is the new blue.

The Boy wizard now grown
up he's out of Hogwarts with
friends in tow, pursuing new
careers and other goals.

Sony and Microsoft strive for the
crown while Nintendo say jump
we all ask 'How high?'

Guitar hero, play like a
star, with a couple of buttons
and combinations, you master
AC to the DC with Stones and more.

People yell Fail at Vista,
though eagerly await
Windows 7. Meanwhile
Apple as a company
considered arrogant,
with branches in every
market, ranging with
ipods and iphones, well
you know what they say,
an eye for eye leaves the
whole world blind.

Instant messages and cyber
chat, issue this proclaimation,
that letters are dead and no
longer cool. Conform and
drop archaic methods.

Facebook, Myspace, Bebo
and more, we push for
perfection with a social
site. While people Digg
and Stumble whatever
more.

DIAF we yell to haters,
flaming and trolling
youtube and sites.

Everything viral it's now said
the mistakes you make
could be shown a day later
on any video site.

Generation X move out
and baby boomers time
is up, we're the MTV Generation,
utter jerks, brought up by net,
we learn l33t by age 10 but
english, come again? LOL
and ****, we laugh and laugh
but really we sigh.

Canwehazsanity?
a cute kitty asks

.one of the "things" i've learned... from exploring the freudian madonna-***** complex of modern woman... when it comes to prostitutes? no erectile "dysfunction"... oddly enough... it's like... two couldrons of polar-opposite subjects met, settled for the primordial object-object relation, and left, each other, to pursue their prior to the interaction: intentions... it's almost fascinating, how the madonna-***** complex would play out in my head, every time i chanced upon casual ***... without a clarity of a transaction... which: is self-evident when going to (either): priest, psychiatrists, or *******. how many examples of casual ***? what, you want me to recount the number of times an emancipated woman, wanted to do it under the bed-sheets... cocoon-style? do it with a *******... **** me: the whole affair feels breezy... you both take a shower prior, there's this whole aesthetic about ***, it's not something clumsy akin to extract from tinder... hence my choice in bypass... freedom... b'ah... the clarity of transation, i'm sometimes allowed to forget my genitals, and smooch for an hour... and when i hear of the modern "game" tactics... clueless... i have absolutely no idea what freedom implies these days, without a clarity of transaction... there's bound to be a transaction moment at some point... thinking about going to a butcher 'elps... i'm raw meat, she's raw meat... there's no chance to experience ******* theatre of subjects, prickly points of interest... labyrinth start-up builders of relationships...  i couldn't imagine myself the theatre of a pick-up artists... i'd hate to pry upon unsuspecting subject matters... point (a) i would be unable to do so, and (b) i couldn't begin to fathom the fogginess surrounding a delayed format of transaction... (c) i'm a terrible liar... at least with a ******* i can be honest... how frequently (d) once every 3 years will do me just fine... one nadir... 5 hours... i was encouraged to do two at the same time, i declined... how did i get the money? i lied about a death in the family... managed to convince the bank manager to extend my over-draft limit... 5 hours... no sildenafil... no three-some... three prostitutes? it was just one of those nights... but... like hell if i'd wish to replicate that sort of freedom among the Loki-harem... of the emancipated women of today's western society... unless forgetting your genitals, smooching for an hour, and hearing the words: you're nice... is somehow gesticulating ***-slaves? sign me up... i once had a wild thought... of applying for the position of bodyguard in a brothel... i know where absolute freedom leads to, as a man, the sinking of VASA... roulette helter skelter down to the bottom of an emptied bottle of ms. amber... while listening to something by GHOST - not ever, no since Abba - i guess a woman's experiencing of exercising the most fanatical variation of freedom... will not be, akin to this "manly" affair of, culminating nonchalence.

while some of us, didn't get a chance
to experience the sort of canvas
of life, whereby multiple
mistakes could be encountered...
and be subsequently
   made...
  i guess: lucky "us"...
regrets? perhaps some,
sepsis like
         stigmatas?
   not really:
like Kafka said,
   hardly a concern
for missing something,
when you've never
had a chance to either
have, or architect
    a sense of loss around...
today i tried explaining
the curiosity of hand-writting
to my mother...
while filling out her
disability form...
     she was caught,
when she found herself
unable to read some of her
hand-writing...
   i can't remember the last time
i used one hand to write,
i've managed to place
my hands to an ideal before
the altar of the keyboard...
why is it then...
that we learn
the french alphabet sequence...
i.e.

   a b c d e f g h i j k l
m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

when...
the keyboard says:

q w e r t y u i o p
    a s d f g h j k l
   z x c v b n m                 eh?

fancy some chiromancy
with a gypsy, ******?!

in the past 10 years?
1 date... sloppy seconds
from a nightclub,
we spent 2 hours in a park
drinking wine,
we moved to a pub,
she lied about meeting friends
for food,
            i stayed,
finished a pint...
    what? she couldn't keep up
with me...
   i drink: that's basic...
but even me drunk,
and her somewhat sober,
would not have
    become convenient
on subjects matters of
a shared interest...

don't know,
i forgot about how i was supposed
to feel when i followed up
on a meaningful transaction
in a brothel...
           feeling is not exactly
a privy concern for me,
as a man:
i'm supposed to be both
the object, and the natural
proclaimation of
the source of objectivity,
of categories, of boundaries...
i'm not a woman,
not a subject,
   and all of what subjectivity
i'm supposed to entertain...
no, that's gone too...

but animals like me...
i find it hard to force the she,
cat, from my bed when i've finally
drank my last of ms. amber,
and it pains me...
i remember one relationship,
****** me up....
i tended to fall asleep
embracing her...
spoon? is that what you call
cuddling behind her back?
always on the left side...
   i never wanted to let go...
but then i realized that
the entire left flank of my body
was numb...
   and then i'd flick myself
to the other side,
   and she would do
the antithesis...

      love's most gracious moments
are solely confined
to the cinema of memory.

two proofs of solipsism...
as a non-thought experiment...
(a) handwriting...
people are so defensive about
their handwriting,
   it's as if i'm expected
to be able to read their scribbles,
their chicken etchings...
it's enough that i can read
my own... but theirs'?
**** me... near impossible...
notably with the pulverising
norm of script, writing done by two hands...
what the hell are people expecting?
(b) farting...
   that's not even funny...
how many people can you find,
who would find their own farts
"offensive"?
      imagine a crowded tube carriage...
well... you shy one out,
a ****...
   who can stand this perfume,
the most?
   only you...
        i'd love to be a jewish matchmaker
on the grounds of:
  well... only if you can
   spare yourself to stand
each others' farts;
         what a dating utopia.

a vague memory of relationships,
something,
as vast, as it is nothing but
an act of sheepish nodding...
     to be so dependent
on another...
           to set about i.q. plagiarism,
to make "things"
mutually inclusive,
rather than keeping
a mutually exclusive attitude...
to format
          gemini in siamese?
i could sacrifice my i.q. upon
this altar,
but seeing my previous attempts
to do so...
   and seeing them fail...
i'll just stick to the original intent,
me, object, her, object,
   at least i.q. doesn't matter
in relation to prostitutes...
and have you ever seen
a self-objectifying woman?
where she can't play tricks with
contraception?
   that's what put me off...
      
   once again: sad, happy, morose...
is that even relevant,
esp. now?
           you can't get more
"puritanical" ***,
   other than with prostitutes -
two people, anonymous,
with with their faces
later like tattoos on their memory...
1066... a tattoo from my surrogate
mother, England...
   i'm supposed to remember it...
i sure as **** remember
           Edward the Confessor...
i don't know why...
but he's my favourite king...
he's just, so... nuanced in a mingling
of availability and vagueness...

loser living with his parents...
cooks, cleans...
   weird...
   and drinks a liter of whiskey
almost every night...
and the cats like him...
   and he's not homeless...
  what sort of man is he?
a curiosity,
an oddity...
          i still don't know why
these "people" put up with me...
perhaps i'm only the well
assured ******* on a piece
of paper...
         oh: that high-threshold
of experiencing pain?
   it's a schizoid "thing"...
or a bilingual "thing"...
     ha ha.... i forget which is which...
what sort of drunk am i?
pedantic about spelling...
curious about the behaviour
of vowels, in hebrew,
acting as pseudo-diacritical markers...

    eclectic interests...
but then... a focused narrow expression
of but a handful of interests...
the sort of "miracle"
that is not looking
for an antithesis of "god"
via... passing on the genes;
what was that about,
to begin with,
                 in the atheistic circles?

i began and i will end with
this observation:
of atheists concerned with passing
on the genes...
as... highly, **** me: highly suspect.

p.s. i tried, once, or twice,
to allow my cat to sleep with me
in the same bed...
   no chance...
     so... me sleeping in the same
bed, with a woman?
if i can't sleep with a cat in the same
bed?
   where would a woman
fit, into a revision?

the portcullis grinds to a halt
the red, leering cyst Solipsism
tints the looking glass

:blustery,
warm afternoon breeze
smoothes out the crinkling
of the wrinkly overcast soul
as a hurried little sheikh,
an aged caucasian woman
blisters past me
on two be-tighted legs
tensely betwixt
solemnity and nervousness;
i wonder why i hurry everywhere

a man with one full human leg
on crutches
in an astronauts effigy
tripods a very deliberate but rickety path
slowly leaps his spider arms
his cyborg motorcyclists helmet
obstructing none but the least aware
from peering at his character
"doting on windmills
every day is a partition
the great event; theatre epic,
"Life!"
presenting everything ever,
filtered and engraved
by humanitis
there's you and who you were,
where you've been,
how you're going to be
and in no personal regard

--Psyche is a selection of the universe,
propped up by consciousness.
it exists in no True sense,
but it is as it does
due processes aside."
--to paraphrase his silent proclaimation

look into the annals and you may deduce
humanity has made a rather good run of things
we no longer stick each others heads on pikes
or burn women who float at a stake

blot out the eternal sunshine
the well-wishing hypocrite of everymind,
who robs us of choice
hovering the carrot of dreams in place
learn to live through the brimstone rain and choking dust
because volcanoes give birth to islands

.in a land, where, ahem, "supposedly"... the one eyed man leads the blind? that oeuvre proclaimation? hard to... give the one-eyed the mastering of the people, who can see, no? as the one eye-man said, son of Odin... the two eyed are as blind as the no-eyed, in that they cross their eyes, and imagine themselves drowning... i see a serpent... without eyelids... perpetuated spine of lizard, cranium of cold, venom... the hebrew didn't exact... "justice" by ensuring the lizard to be left, wriggling, spine-esque, without attachment of limbs... no... the real torture? the torture that Moses didn't speak of? why, why oh why, did he leave the serpent without eye-lids?! i ask, because a mammal, a bonsai tiger is playing the role of a bassett hound, he's a maine ****... and he, for some, reason, enjoys my company... the fact that the "devil" lost his limbs... i'm not here for that... i'm here for the fact that serpents... spine and cranium remnants of dinosaurs... have, "apparently"... "lost" their eye-lids... imagine the agony... of falling asleep with your eyes open! sympathy for the devil? well... is there really any sympathy for a god or the gods? beside the point... ever since i was born... for all the creativity of the h'american people, their primitive christianity was perpetually sentenced to be abhorrent for me... i could never stomach it... that being said: so what their atheism. i could never stomach either side of the argument... at least with the russians you were told to settle for the kazakhs, those pseudo-Mongols... then, those, intermediate mouth-offs of the english... it's like a dog dies, but you can never get the fleas off of a dead dog! they keep on biting, trying to "revive" *******, akin to 20th century's 1960s zenith, "property allowance of dictum". let me just say... how god cursed Satan... to be left without limbs... is how he cursed... the fact... that dinosaurs, "once upon a time", ruled this orb... limbless sidewinding spines and brains? that's not the real... "pardon", for the emergence of man... do snakes have eyelids? i'm pretty ******* sure they don't. big tigers... tigers and lions... what about the domesticated bonsai tigers? last time i checked... big cats... tigers... lions... they had eyes... that resembled mammals... their pupils dilated, or contracted... cats? the bonsai? why do their pupils resemble lizards? ******* spies! leather in furrs! what's that old christian metaphor of wolves in sheep clothing? that's it, isn't it? well... here's a ******* update: lizard leather in bonsai ***** furrs! i keep having these blinking matches... with my maine *****... yes... the basset hounds of the feline kingdom... blinking matches, wavering: staring contests... the poverty of the metaphor poetics of Moses is finally revealed... you trust your cat? sure as **** your cat's eyes do not dilate or contract like a tiger's or a lion's might... there's a ******* lizard spy in that cranium of their, "cute"-ness... i'm pretty sure the eyes of a tiger, or a lion, become O from o... regarding the pupil... and not O from ()... slit. again... the biggest curse of the "devil" (dinosaurs) was... to craft a slithering pickle jar of a lizard's worth of a weaving spine and a brain cell? or, the fact, that, serpents do not have eyelids?! that they have to black out to craft a pair of eyelids? that they have to binge... and the reason why they ingest a whole body, is so that they can digest a whole body in order to fall asleep, with their eyes, open? i have just left, whatever was the worth of the poetics, associated with Moses' genesis... some **** ***** can play around with a serpent for all i care... i just need to hear a sssssssss sound in my head... find a cat sleeping in my bed... and say: those eyes are not big cat's eyes... they change from mammalian through to lizard... cats are dinosaurs' spies; and no, the curse of leaving a serpent without limbs... which explains the ******* crocodile... the komodo dragon... i'm worried that "god" took a snippet of the eyelids of the serpents... the "retrospective" lab. specimen of the remains of the dino. inquiry into the past of this, orb.

o.k., so i integrated, now what?
can the anglophone world
put away its ******* of giving
everyone a fair chance when that
supposed "fair" chance is
a neurotic take on not being "racist"?
what, a, load, of, *******:
  and pastoral ****-heaps of oops -
i should have migrated in my
teenage years and kept my
diacritical exfoliation,
       the distinction by accent if not
by colour... but i'm sure you're
well aware that the oliwki -
i just call the ******* olives -
              have a joker card of the obviousness:
i.e. like ******* are descendent
of an eskimo...
                 today is the first night
of night frost...
     metal is hit first,
the cement paparazzis are not yet
economised -
                        and i find it a waste of a day
in winter if i see sunlight...
    so i go back to bed:
the plan was always:
go to sleep in the night,
wake up when it's night.
           i'm not buying it...
              but i should have really
misguided by efforts in learning this,
god-forsaken tongue,
imperfected it, rather than perfected it,
retained the: free meal ticket of
the ******* accent and then scream
when the opportunity came: racism!
racism!
                  easier if i were olive
skinned...
                free rides like that don't come
so often...
         the english have become
neurotic beyond compensation!
      i'm not nervous about being called
a racist or a ****... call me that enough
times and then a lightbulb moment
will, happen... problem is:
i'll embrace that stereotype with as much
gentlemanly airs and "concern" that
will only be made for the opposite
party to not distinguish politeness from,
ridicule...
              no no,
these people will not be riddles -
they'll be ridiculed, a massive difference.
i sometimes regret learning the english
language to establish myself by the native
standard of talk,
  because once you've attained that:
then what?
     you already have a meritocracy that's
build upon: what's best representative
of your multiculturalism -
apparently the whites don't distinguish
other whites...
                    as it is clearly seen:
christianity taught the nebulous blood-thirty
barbarians a culture of masochism...
            it's actually painful to hear
a german speak, less painful speaking
german yourself...
       herr... wachsen einige hoden, bitte!
danke.
           it just looks like watching a boxer
in match wearing a ******* tutu.

    willkommen! zu aufpassen:
                    die zeit zu kommen sie!
*****-brute-deutsche...
    hündin-brachial-ßaß!
           ­      ich: jawohl!
                                  
   you want to punch: you better want
to punch high, on the head...
for the... ******* concussion
    (die gehirnerschütterung...
guess what... no trenches for you...
chemical nouns!
  ficken feen paddy kobolde -
    glücklich?!)

there has never come a time,
similar to this,
when a ******, a polen...
would, love, the deutzsche-zunge
as much, as he might love it now...
weird... seltsam...
                gott, mit uns!

memories of my grandfather's plea:
herr! bitte bon-bon!
         before the soviets came
and decided to sleep with the goats...
kommen auf ein metallurgiefamilieanfänge
(carbohydrate enough for you,
mrs. khan?!)
          what is it with me and the allure
toward the german tongue,
away from zee Ęnglisch?!

       i have an idea, or, two...
so many pakistanis with khan
as their surname...
it almost makes you, "wonder"...
islam blah blah this,
islam blah blah that...
       a lot of pakistanis with
mongolian surnames...
       time to find the wound...
time to find the salt..
  don't you think?
     oh: nicht bitter...
                       wirklichkeit... prüfen,
eh?
                i can't, or rather,
i don't have the energy to hate,
or remind the saxons,
their misdeeds...
              ich bin müde!
                i am, tired...
    see? no diacritical marks,
i have to make up the "loss" with
punctuation markers...
                            kennt ihre nachbar!
liebe? liebe?!
                   kennt ihre nachbar
            wie dich selbst!
liebe?! ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
sagte die eifersüchtig gott...
liebe?
                how about: know your neighbour
as yourself...
      the command, love your neighbour
as yourself... can we leave that sort of *******
to petting cats and pigeons?!
i rather know my neighbour as i
might know myself...
        love is never a part of the golden rule
of universal application...
  love is a futility of diminished
senses...
       i rather know my neighbour,
than love him,
as much as as i rather know myself,
than love myself.

so when's the next *******' worth
of riddles going to come from?
   palestine...
  look, i've already exhausted the "jewish q.",
i'm tired of jewish wisdom...
what's next: the arab pandora's box?
great!
    mind you... it's so nice to see
the yews the yids, the 'ebrews
making fwends with the arabs again...
hell: goat herder met another goat
herder...
       which leaves the argentinian
neo-nazis with the beef!
            and some of us:
with leather shoes, belts...
                 jackets... and... bacon!

god bless... this wonderful world!

Caesar conquered the Gauls,
again uniting Rome
under the promise of total glory.

Napoleon, First Emperor of France,
escaped exile in Elba to return to France
as emperor.

Lincoln as president
issued the Emancipation Proclaimation,
bringing hope to those disenfranchised.

Better men than I.

Now I stand in the comfort of my home,
struggling to reach my own back
to scratch it.

Under the venerable
boughs of the Emancipation Oak,

leaves fell at liberty
into the laps of Afro-Americans.

Lincoln’s proclaimation
sowed acorns amongst dissent;

now mighty oaks grow,
conquering bitter winters.