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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.via ghana: i iz welcome the haiku poetic extractionz of the maxim: full-on potentiality of - few words maximum effortz! one wishes to almost die from feng shui minimalism! chinese geomancy and european chiromancy (reading balzac et al.) - but the sigh poetic of pepsi max effort iz wot iz the breaking of the camel bonk and backß... last time i heard from a kenyan bartender... all the timber comes from ghana... as does the wheat from ukraine and the salt from poland... coal is always "elsewhere"... or no coal... wind... the wind comes from: far far away... beyond the language of the seven vowels...

it took much of an effort to have to overcome
a reading of Stendhal...
esp. when you find him in your teens..
almost impossible...

it's enough to visit a brothel:
once a year... perhaps skipping a year...
and there's enough body,
and skin, and warmth...
to contrast... what i'm yet to read about...
otherwise have read, i.e.:

2010s through the 2020 summary...
lucy holden now 29...
sexting, dating apps, bisexual flings
flatmates with benefits...
millenial serial dater...

all the details are already known...
mine? that strip-clup in athens on a whim
with two strippers either arm
burrowing my face solving the mole
in their cleavage...
the goodmayes borthel with the romanians
that said a very bulgarian word, once...

and who can ever forget
the south african cocoon ****-accusation
of: not unde the bed-sheets and please
oil up rather than dry-******* me...
or the thai surprise picked up
in a park and that a little bit of heavyweight
beer and some jazz and a garden shed will allow...
the number of times i've had ***...
well... what are fingers for?

the black girl with a coccyx like an iron maiden
attempting to tattoo itself onto my pelvis...
2nd time round?
i heard she had a child and his daddy
would be bringing him home the morning to come...
and this other black woman,
oh i mean: full detail - woman...
two children sleeping on the bed...
get dragged off...
thrown to the bed...
and i'm there to **** an imitation ******
of... a tight fold of legs...

it's not exactly **** but even with that:
i'm not a best fitter...
so tell her: it's not going to happen...
we pretend to sleep or at least i do...
when this afro-fur-ball with a plucking sound
of a smooch is standing at the end of the bird...
he's naked i'm naked everyone's naked
i pick him up like i pick up maine *****
and lay him on my chest...
i can't allow a river of fingers through
his afro tangles... so i pat them down...
and he falls asleep...

***... oh no ***** word about it monsieur!
just this *******...
oh but i'm glad that some girl nearing
her 30s has made up her mind up...
only recently i've heard that my mother was
attempting to woo a married man
who was part of the Solidary movement
and probably waiting for a greencard...
i heard this... from my grandmother...

i'm still pampering on the sly for
a Mary Antoinette...
Ilona was wrong... i wouldn't become
a child strapped to a hellhole of a teenager's bedroom...
i'd become a leech hybrid...
as along as i have enough excuses
to return for "the word"... and never rap it...
i'm fine fine... best be on my optimal behaviour...
to never find myself in a baptists' church choir...

- there's also a quick fix procedure...
the match of the day is watched
with the mascots on screen...
the ben-hur's not making it to
prophetic status... yes the bread...
yes the circus... and all those cul de sac...
soap operas of parking scenes...

and there's always language...
best expressed when drunk...
never sober because is what delves into
the formality of: dear sir / madam,
kind regards...

the day when i stopped combing my fair
and peered at the beard...
uncombed hair: almost reminds
me of donning a pineapple on it...
an ancient buddhist balancing act...
like performing the act of gravity...
without copernican mathematics...
as simple as finding the CENTER on
a bicycle... or like finding
buoyancy in a swimming pool...
perhaps i am more water than flesh...
but i'm also a fraction of fat...

i can float on water if i can find
the balance... i don't need to play
the drunkard treading water surviving
to stay afloat.... i... relax...
then i float.... or bob-on-the-surface
teasing an unexpected shark-bite-attack...
although: swimming in a sea
is not my thing...
i very much appreciate seeing
the bottom i can dive down toward
and touch... the chernobyl stink of chlorine...
is almost a parisian perfumery...

heat breeds diseases it breeds...
insects...
i abhor the heat...
the zenith of winter is yet,
is yet to arrive... and for the help of god:
i can't arrive at... writing sober...
should "poo'etry" ever be written sober
to begin with?
i mind: that i don't mind...

i can find 8pm and 9pm quite:
which implores you to not quit - curb colt...
i was making a sponge apple stuffing
roulade...
after having made some biscuit
with brown sugar and diadems of hazelnuts...
and prior to some sausage rolls...
three fillings...
cranberries with some peppers and
chillies...
fennel seeds with apple...
and the third... the third...
i don't quiet remember...

my head was exploding with a brain being
towed and all was:
i am yet to grieve a passing,
a tax of death...
i am yet to be left half imbecile and half
of any other texas hold-up poker game...
i'm wishing for...
that quarter of a million of a bet
i placed on:
one team wins...
but both have to score...
ergo... catching a mosquito by the testciles
donning boxing gloves chance...
2 - 1 etc. victories...

i don't want to blame women...
the last one i was serious about...
she's on her 3rd marriage or whatever...
and i'm still in woad: in deep blue
coinciding with...
god's roulette...

as a testiment of man...
there's the ambition to find: the void...
to find nothing...
and from that... find the thinking thing...
res vanus: the emptiness
that can be fathomed with more or less
thinking, than a yawn's presence...
because...
descartes doesn't really exact ontological,
whatever...
i can't be and be:
when i churn out a day-dream and
a day-dream is all that is...

thankfuly i have nothing to "work"
with... most women only have boredom to begin
with....
at exactly 20 minutes to 1am...
i'm not so sure...
a mother can say: you stink...
then you go and buy something from
a convenience store...
and the cashier stresses how fresh you smell...
that's quiet something...
a woman likes the way to smell to her...
in between doing these *******
tribunals of sweating over
apple roulades...

and Stendhal... it's only my mother...
i just have to gnash my teeth
and apply the burden of sober...
this canvas... no other...
i drink for the 1 hour pleasure
of disorientation...
a shot in the head in some Ukranian
prison...
stiched to the next to be executed...
chikatilo...
i'm not exactly fond of the company...
but i'm pretty sure...
kurt cobain... and his shotgun antics...

and how the prolonged death appeal
of Christine Chubbuck lasted much longer...
Kafka said it right:
a stab at the heart...
**** colt and boyo... don't aim for the head!
that's how Ukranian convicts die...
shot in the back of the head...
in a cell... never in the open...
it's not like the brain delves into
the automated unconscious of the pump
that's the heart... how do you think
the urban myth of the cockroach that lived
for 2 weeks more was born?
the head didn't have a mouth to ingest
food with...

shot in the back of the head is an execution
that, done in an Ukranian prison cell...
is pretty much all of Dante not visiting
either heaven or a hell...
but two weeks with... in the presence
of death... the body starving...
that magic finger-pointing exercise
of seeing death in movies?

well thank god they did a movie about
Christine Chubbuck's (rage against the machine):
bullet in the 'ed!
i was lied to, no matter...
i'm here to hush and sweep the leftovers...
because why would you march
a man into a prison cell...
shoot him in the head and close the door
and wait... because no: in the open...
with a chance for rabid dogs to feast on...
in the darkened night just shy of Kiev
would ever matter...

Christine Chubbuck was left dying on
life-support machines after her half-high Kiev
attempt to pop the balloon...
psych- myth of the brain as source
of the sigma soul...
my left toe has more soul than this
rubric forever explained as forever to be explored
goose-fat sponge...
come to think of it...
after a haemorrhage that no one believes
beside me, some neurologist and a dementia
riddled grandfather who easily forgot...

what's this brain this brain this nought?!
**** it... kamikaze cockroach!
as ever oh but always so much when
someone has to mention...
has to mention: with no exacting details
of fancy...

also called the drought period when pakistani
gangs are up in Leeds and i'm strapped
to the outlier Loon'don culture:
as ever playing the obedient schizoid...
because that's, just fair game...
centuries behind what the youth
of Denmark have to offer...
the mutterzunge and the l'inglese of:
any future of tourism with Jack's flag...

heavy influences stemming from
st. andrew and all the worth of wordworth
with a tinge of punk...
but never a baron of lexicon coming from
just shy of 4 hours away from
the lisp of masovian warsaw...

what could possibly be wrong?
how about... stemming it down to the root
of... sober people and the lacklustre of
when writing: under no influence at all...
apparently "now" the high moral ground!
the sobers usher in the words
that we are abide by when the football hooligans
their casual Tuesday mundane,
their casual Tuesday mundane custard
splodge of oats in regurgitation...

i can almost but not quiet...
imagine myself being the cameo in this dear diary
of these "free" women of the western world...
give me a feral black woman pulling
two kids from her bed in order
to imitate a ****** by folding her legs to
pretend...

it's still a bullet in the back of the head
for some, minor or major
andrei "cain" chikatilo -
no... with a full crop of cranium of hair...
and a grandmother that says...
well... how busy your chin hairs are...
that you are able to lodge a pencil in there
and it doesn't fall out...
hair here and all other hair elsewhere...
chest and... where the antioch identifier
of achilles ought to be of a six in sixes
packaged...

since who is buddha... or a christ when...
an thích quang duc "oops" happens...
the people will never leave their unison...
their get-together "happening"...
but what's to be celebrated should...
the crucifix be turned into that "other"
torture ordeal of being: piked...
crucifixion the tsunami wave of history...
when one can expect the fate
of being piked by the more imaginative
sorts?
if only the antichrist was gay
and was sentenced to levitate on a pike...
passion and ecstasy via
the Walhalla doing ****... again:
sorry if the pike missed the **** baptism
of ecstasy... and instead aimed
at ripping apart the flesh and bone at:
whatever pivot was made available
to work from reverse ingestion:
beginning with the pelvis...

i'm just tired and cooking and shooing
shadows for the past month and i know that it's
just an exaggerate lounge period...
and all i want is an added arm...
and the serenity leg to take the step to return to...
footsteps... with a bulging echo to command...

it needs to be stressed that these women were black...
i call them ivory beauties of chocolate come
quicksilver moon glistening...
i can't remember... no... "you're" right...
i never managed to **** anything
of an ethno-centric "perspective"...
i'd be arrested for that...
as if starting a hitlerjungen movement or
some other random "****"...

i'd package myself with a mexican strapped into
alcatraz...
the Louis of the Aztecs and some
long lost St. Juan of the Mayans...
leash me... Russian or Prussian or...
what's that third otherwise power of influence
that this body was allowed to morph into?

perhaps i once was allowed to control these words...
but that's how drinking goes...
it's a homocodie when you **** someone
when under the influence of alcohol when driving
a car...
this is a sort of homocide...
i trully gave my hands away to the devil...
and the brain: oh forget that old fabble of a pickle...
what's in brine was always supposed
to be in brine and pickled...

- and what were the chances of me becoming
a sentimental drunk... listening to some
crowded house - weather with you?
the la's - the la's... no... not merely the 1990s
epitome of h'american tourism lodged in london
of myth... as any ******... that myth translated
itself into paris... there she goes...
i mean the whole album...

whale! whale! a beached whale!
Grindadráp...
and some want to go on the Hajj...
and die in a human stampede at the Mecca...
but... well... some want to...
of all of Europe...
Venice, Paris, Rome, Athens,
Amsterdam, perhaps Edinburgh
(wink-wink nudge-nudge)...
Barcelona...
or... Grindadráp of the Faroe Islands...

capture a polyphony in language that is hardly
ever going to be much more
than a chance to... to do that...
shove three fingers into your gob...
expect an elevated volume of sounds...
call the hounds! a mile away!
i was never allowed to learn that
whistling "trick"...
perhaps that's why i never managed
to play the trombone or the clarinet...
the ****-poor leftover guitar...
which is as much as having to read
braille!

reality: i live in england but i'm a ******...
i haven't ****** an english girl...
or a ****** girl...
i was close! a ****** girl licked my face
like a cow, once...
chin, lips, nose and forehead...
i was actually waiting for e.t. when that
happened...
the pakistanis have all the english girls...
sorry... it's sad...
but... the australia...
the fwench... the russian...
it's a decent rubric...
crude... nuanced...
so is buying fwesh meat at the butchers...
the perfect crime is less severe...
fiddling with a tombstone...
then towing it for 2 miles...
to bury the remains of your cat...
after your neighbour "accidently" killed him
when you were away...
and of course they deny it...

after all... i live in a society...
innocent until proven guilty...
said jimmy saville...
it's not the old... european "misunderstanding"..
of guilty until proven innocent...
if not a real story of Tomasz Komenda...
there's the Shawshank Redemption...
or there's... the Count de Monte Cristo...

if all are innocent until proven guilty...
what's that? the genesis story never happens...
it's hardly a moral deterent...
isn't it? people will do as any aleister crowley
would command them to do:
do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law;
this is a naive presupposition of
fudge-packed jurisprudence...
what should have been egg-whites..
it merely some sugar dissolved in water...

statistical counts aside...
i would be more inclined to... fear...
being held guilty... to then be allowed "innocence"...
that to being held innocent...
to then be forced as a doubly-culprit!
how does the double jeopardy paradox arise...
from the high pillar of: innocent until
proven guilty?!
law is at one's own leisure...
should all be bound to an innocence...
revisions of the biblical metaphor...

if we can all be innocent...
wouldn't we at least all fathom an innocent
attempt to break some law?
for a matter of: testing the waters?
even if innocent until proven guilty is true...
there's no narrative of redemption...
why is it that the shawshank redemption
is such a popular movie?
since it adopts the continental motiff of:
guilty... until proven innocent...
it offers... redemption...
it's a popular movie because it's unfair
for the basis of a single individual...
not some amassing of victims of a jimmy saville
recount... that have... none... zilch...
no redemption!
their redemption: ist tod!

because if i were to be found guilty...
with no chance of defence...
i would exercise a double-think in relation to this...
rather than exercise this leisure into
grieving the orwellian zeitgeist monstrosity of
but the one novel...

i'm not convinced of the english model...
this... innocent until proven guilty...
this pontius pilate argument...
i'm not for it! this sinking to the core of my heart
and hopefuly, prevents me from a heartbeat...
perhaps so fewer examples of
the #metoo would come to the fore...
if... one were not so easily allowed
a ststus of innocence...
perhaps... guilty until proven innocent...
doesn't allow...
so readily accessed accusations...
perhaps this modern, english model of
jurisprudence...
is missing a medieval lisp?

as law abiding as would suggest...
i would be much more deterred from inacting
a grievance should i be found guilty...
without a benefit of a doubt of a jury...
than if i were to be given the a priori: innocent
status...

i don't like this: england and greenwich in tow
is the bellybutton of the world
demand of... all else is less than we...
no... did i come from Algiers?!
what has Algiers to do with it and Leeds
shouldn't?!

at least that's how a man sobers up...
while still drinking...
he might focus on sober demands...
of topics that only drunks should speak of...
and since neither of the two meet...

because i have stood as a witness
in a court...
and i was given a photograph to...
"compare" having identified him in a mugshot...
the photograph i was shown still
had a date imprinted on it...
and this was the ******* argument...
the photograph was years old...
i identified the culprit in the police mugshot...
but the case was "won"... for no apparent reason...
the witness said: i...
this photograph is years old...
i can grow a beard and hippy attire in a year's time...
of course i was the witness that said:
note down the registration plate
of the car this camel-jockey jumped out of
and grabbed m'ah fwends mobile...

i've seen how: innocent until proven guilty works...
i'm not conviced...
i can't be... there's something instinctual preventing
me from adhering to this english...
jurisprudent sensbility...
it's hardly a ******* charles dickens novel...
if it were... and i greatly underestimated
charles dickens... no... really...
i shouldn't have read any of dostoyevsky...
i should have read charlie ****'oh'ends...
believe me when i say that is hould have...
since... heidegger's ponderings VII - XI
will retain their shelf-status as... the book most
probably unread...

such is the sobering process...
am i, in no way, allowed to sacrifice my 'ed
on the premise that: innocent until
proven guilty is the right categorial imperstive
to buckle on... since...
the anglophonic world buckles on it...
like a spectacular breakdance feat of
a penguin on steroids...
doing the diving header tsunami
of chore: the crowd goes wild!
it's no operatic applause and being
"superficially" reminded as to how...
find your proper seat...
before the castrato peacock does his
singing bit...
apparently finding one's seat
when it's never going to be a maggot-pit
at a slipknot concert is all that's
about to happen...

come by the butcher's and let's attempt
in finding you some oysters
among the volume of red boisterous...
to replica your genital parts
and sordid caviar letfovers...

perhaps i could be angry...
but la ilah illa blah'lah...
i am... halway bound between
being simulation circumcised
and being castrated...
i never which is which...
notably, given...
circumcised men are not allowed
the impetus of taking up
web-cam Susan on promise of...
also pleasing themselves
without wanting to earn some money...

it's a real problem though:
innocent until proven guilty versus
guilty until proven innocent...
relish...
the english indiosyncratic
wishing they were scandinavian iceland...
no... honey too sweet tooth bear...
this is not how the GMP affair that exends
with its genesis in the jimmy saville affair
looks like...
this quest for: apparently "superior"
is not going to work on me...
kin of a kind-of luvvie dubby...
bon voyage!

the entire continent is listening...
individualistic rights...
innocent until proven guilty...
the more i reiterate these words...
the more i sober up...
because i can't see how...
i am: a thief...
until i am proved to be... a thief...
by having performed the act
of thieving...
or not even an "after"...

sorry... please expose your divine
rational intelligence and tell me
via a reiteration that 2 + 2 = 4...

i am not a thief,
but i am a thief...
only if the act of stealing is proved...
and if "the" act of stealing is not proved...
i'm way more than a thief...
i'm a thief with a baby driver!
this anglican logic *****...
if innocent until proven guilty...
is to sustain the individual flourishing...
i'd rather make theatre of the original,
biblical deterrent...
a queen of this sort of popish claims
and her duaghters of yorkshire because...
the pawns of justitia...

conventionality of continetal thinking...
there's not even a "what if" or
"it would be better" should... allow,
extended into:
guilty until proven innocent...
rather than... innocent until proven guilty...

i sometimes find myself chattering...
in the cold...
but i'm not chewing anything...
i'm pretending to pivot the piano on a ghost...
being played as some per se magician's
excavation of: whatever time...
thus it was spent...

i call it chattering chopin...
bite marks available... like the multitude
of signature most willing to be...
allocated a collection foreseeable...

the would the artichokes of arabia...
or the fennel roasted roots of Italy...
there's something to be had of a woman
sporting the "cherokee" leopard-skin prints
on something that's...
90% cotton and 10% lycra?!

and the reason why i visited a brothel
in the past ten years was because?
if i want to play poker...
i'll play poker...
easy ***? it's not so easy in the act
and you want to find a kiss and...
she tells you: it's against the laws
of this sort of nunnery...
but you still manage to slurp a lip or two
of a shy pluck of the tulips of the sea...
or however this thing that
language is works...
if it's not going to be a hammer and nail...
forever... this "excuse" to allow nothing
more than YA novels...
metaphors and... pedantry of elswhere
from punctuation?

herioglyphic assumptions of :) emoji?
wink barrel baron! oi!
non-responsive...
black also implies: ivory beauty...
i started to admire their teeth...
since mine were always going to be
custard yellow death grin...
like bone to the rot...

no... i'm pretty sure tonight ends
here; now;
the prodigy - destroy...
given how... keith flint...
and that horse... and it was never a tale
of the stormy badger...
and how the fox is my aid and will
never make it to...
transcend the red coat hunting parties...
because... just because.
In nineteen hundred forty-nine
China was won by Mao Tse-tung
Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away
They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday

Supported by the CIA
Pushing junk down Thailand way

First they stole from the Meo Tribes
Up in the hills they started taking bribes
Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
Collecting ***** to send to The Man

Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
Supported by the CIA

Brought their jam on mule trains down
To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town
Sold it next to the police chief brain
He took it to town on the choochoo train

Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
Supported by the CIA

The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
He peddled dope grand scale and how
Chief of border customs paid
By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D.

The whole operation, Newspapers say
Supported by the CIA

He got so sloppy & peddled so loose
He busted himself & cooked his own goose
Took the reward for an ***** load
Seizing his own haul which same he resold

Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
Working for the CIA

Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
A big fat man liked to dine & *****
Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
Till ***** flowed through the land like a flood

Communists came and chased the French away
So Touby took a job with the CIA

The whole operation fell in to chaos
Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos
I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan

All them Princes in a power play
But Phoumi was the man for the CIA

And his best friend General Vang Pao
Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars

It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
Clandestine secret army of the CIA

All through the Sixties the Dope flew free
Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky
Air America followed through
Transporting confiture for President Thieu

All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA

Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby
Saw Marshal Ky fly ***** Mr. Mustard told me
Indochina desk he was Chief of ***** Tricks
"Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix

Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away
Till Colby was the head of the CIA

                                        January 1972
KA Feb 2014
as the flames grow higher
  you must know
  its the persecution that I'm crossed
  not you
  I want peace
  my life is a dream
  row row row your boat
  get to the other side of life
  my Buddha
  so many innocent died
  so many haters
  listen to me
  persecution
  photographs
  Malcolm keep clicking
  it gives my life meaning
  at the peak of living
  light yourself
  shoot into the sky
  shooting into the flame
  I make my point
  scores settled
  magazine covers
  me in white
  you with your mouth wide open
  shooting into the flame
  I peak
tangshunzi Jun 2014
Questo matrimonio balla la linea tra giardino e rustico ;prendendo la bellezza naturale di una cerimonia all'aperto e abbinamento con la bellezza industriale del Sodo Park.dove da pranzo in stile familiare regna regina .E piegato in graziosi dettagli è abiti da sposa on line l' abilità di progettazione di McKenzie Powell .belle immagini da Bryce Covey fotografia e un video di nozze da Super Frog Salva Tokyo che è andato virale per una buona ragione .Date un'occhiata qui ancora di più.

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Da Sposa .Così molti dei nostri amici e parenti viaggiato incredibilmente lontano per essere al nostro matrimonio a Seattle .quindi abbiamo davvero voluto tutto il giorno .non solo per essere una festa.ma sento come una grande cena di famiglia in stile .Abbiamo tirato un sacco di ispirazione dai terrosi .cene comunitarie avevamo sempre adulato in Kinfolk .così abbiamo messo l'accento su avere lunghi tavoli comuni fattoria .una tavolozza di colori neutri / caldi .e un sacco di verde e di fiori .Abbiamo anche un colpo con un bellissimo spazio di accoglienza con soffitti alti e travi a vista che non richiedono alcun fluff supplementare .

E 'stato sorprendente vedere i pezzi si uniscono il giorno - di .ma onestamente .i nostri amici e parenti hanno giocato il ruolo più importante nel rendere tutto il giorno al di là di quello che mai avremmo immaginato .Abbiamo avuto così tanto coinvolgimento da parte di tutti - dai progetti bricolage e materiale stampato .ad avere un caro amico ci sposare .e tutta la mia famiglia che canta presso la nostra reception Von Trapp - style - ognuno ha lasciato la propria impronta sulla nostra giornata .( mio cugino èun panettiere ed effettivamente volato nostra torta tutta la strada da Toronto !) che ha reso incredibilmente memorabile per noi .La ciliegina sulla torta doveva essere la festa da ballo che seguì .Abbiamo avuto un incredibile equipaggio di amici e parenti per festeggiare con abiti da sposa on line .nessuno escluso .e venditori di eccezionale talento che ci ha aiutato a tirare fuori tutto il giorno !

nostro slow motion stand era il sottoprodotto di tasking una agenzia creativa per fare un video di nozze .SFST non sono video di nozze .ma mio marito .Quang .è un maestro nel convincere le persone a fare cose che normalmente non farei mai .( E probabilmente aiutato il fatto che egli è un co -proprietario di SFST . )

L' idea per la cabina è nata dopo aver realizzato un paio di cose : Ci sarebbe voluto molto tempo per loro di modificare il video completo di nozze .ma ancora più importante .abbiamo voluto provare e sfruttare alcune delle cose che SFST è in realtàbravo a - come fare le cose belle vanno virale.In verità.era quasi un dopo pensiero .Dalla realizzazione di idea era forse dieci secondi.

hanno suggerito di mettere una telecamera RED in una sezione della sala ricevimento e sparare tutto ad un frame rate elevato .Ma il successo del video è nel modo in cui è stato eseguito.e gli amici e la famiglia che hanno partecipato .L' uomo dietro la macchina da presa .Blaine Lundy .ha avuto la personalità perfetta per indirizzare la gente e ha fatto un lavoro incredibile modifica del pezzo .Anche i più timidi ospiti sono stati persuaso a taglio sciolto davanti alla telecamera .Re-



guardare il filmato per la prima volta .e vedere tutte le imbrogli che sono andati durante il nostro ricevimento è stato un momento davvero divertente sia per noi
Fotografia : Bryce Covey Fotografia | Videografia : . Super Frog Salva Tokyo | Event Design :Mckenzie Powell | Floral Design : McKenzie Powell Designs | Gown : Jenny Packham | Cake: The Cocoa Cakery | Cerimonia Luogo : Greg Giardino presso l'Università di Washington | Banco Luogo : Sodo Parco By Herban Festa | Bridesmaids Dresses : Amsale | Catering : Herban Festa |Calligrafia : Esque Script | Giorno di coordinamento: Get Stuff Done Group | Dress Boutique : La Teoria Dress | Trucco E Capelli : Erin Skipley | Photo Booth : Usnaps | Supporto Stampato : Katrina Mendoza | Veil : Sara GabrielAmsale e Sara Gabriel sono membri della nostra Look Book .Per ulteriori informazioni su come vengono scelti i membri .fare clic qui .McKenzie Powell Floral \u0026 Event Design e Bryce Covey Fotografia sono membri del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .McKenzie Powell Floral \u0026 Event ... vedi portfolio Bryce Covey Fotografia VIEW abiti cerimonia on line
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Rustico Sodo Parco di nozze e un divertimento Rallenti Film_vestiti da cerimonia
sean pomposello Mar 2017
She lost her
husband in
Quang Ngai
Provence
fifty years
ago.

Now, a
lifetime,
another
husband
and two
children
later, in
retirement
she pushes
a coffee
cart and
makes small
talk at a
local VA
hospital—
her way
of giving
back.
Eliot Greene Dec 2013
for Thich Quang Duc,
The monk who lit himself on fire in 1963.

The flames were a mantra,
Kissing skin like the enlightenment
That blooms when one has finally
Swallowed the last spit of his fears.
Young monk with kerosene in hand,
Pyre priest of thunder and spark.
You never said a word as you ascended,
But I wonder what you whispered
Before your blood boiled. I wonder
What you dreamt of the night before,
If you even slept, or did you stare
At the stars and say sisters
I will sing you soon,
A symphony of supernova and smoke
That stopped all the street lights
As the world basked in your blaze
As if you were the origin of heat.
You wore a halo of combustion
For all the angels that couldn't
Be heard singing a dirt song,
Harmonizing with the silence.
But the furnace of your body
Was a screaming nirvana,
And if those flames were a mantra,
Then they were speaking holy holy holy.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
she just said, a disturbed song lyric: i want to play with your evil inside... true story... a Novosibirsk girl... who invented this masochism of globalisation? florida china... california spanish apples? sometimes me and a tiny village in crimea would do, just fine... i don't understand why people get bored about brick walls so quickly, or don't contend in chess... or make an easy su doku puzzle extra complicated by repeating 20 seconds of a type o negative song...

mi niet nie(t) budyed...
                                                   me charisma...
   me pogrom...
listening in on football hooligans...
   dirt, naked,
                                    which was much more than an
american girl doing a hand-job
                             trying to buy alcohol later...

just thinking: arab has oil (black gold)...
now he wants snow...
   arab wants snow?
    can the ****** manage the cold?
what the **** do you take to integrate
eskimos in alaska or ultra-mongols
in siberia... sun-cream, or sunglasses?
arab has black gold... now he wants snow...
****** wants snow...
        i'm laughing because his women
aren't equipped to standardise that
environment... they'll need much more
than a niqab if that's what you're trying
to colonise... seriously... much more
than a niqab... niqabs don't work in siberia...

  be slavic *****...                   we darwinist...
you ******* darwinist?
                       you survive, or you
                                           die? like... die?
die telling funny jokes?
                         you darwinism?

i mean... i love watching a woman
exposing her genitals,
******* on screen,
                         all wet and i think i'm
watching daffodils...
                        it's spring...

i clench my teeth and imagine sheep..
then i take a bite... and *sheer
...

bradzie!                  idziom!

                  ­   finally... what wakes the barbarian...
and what gives it so much support,
given rugby is so... so... ******* boring?

just look at the horde... look at it wriggling
and angry...
     all those yachts can go to hell...
i remember owning a doberman,
and he bit into a **** and there were this
maggots wriggling inside of it...
  that really defined my childhood memory...

what's the west if not a trans- debate
about genitals? so... what the **** is that?
boiled, scrambled or poached?
           or the next post-Freudian metaphor...
what is it that might even provide me
for a cohesion strategy?
        
but you're still need more thana  niqab is you're
going to spread to siberia,
the jew hating in the koran seems a bit of a fake,
given the invasion of germany...
    some ******* queer look at debating free will...
the muslims are doing the jews deported from europe
a favour... really...
      how coulnd't they...
the problem is... what favour are the muslims doing
to the europeans?
  
pasnawitz harasho... the **** is this model of springbox
talking? the english talk spaghetti nasal in american,
i know that... they're like nag nag nag nausea...
      peppercorn on the ******* throat...
          i'm trying to actually write what a Bulgar
******* calls harasho...
     nie(t)   that tao is annoying... in polish that's written
as: i won't build this...
         nie............. budjed....
                       harasho?
ok... look... there's no laughing about it...
   i just get -арашo....
  i can't find a ha... maybe because that's because
н             couples to en, or na na na, na na na...
nursery rhymes would be easier...
harasho... or... dobże? or dobrze? or ok?
     china ching or quang moong do?
try a Beijing duck!
                           iffy... it's like you almost
want to pick up these influences for the mere
hell of it... given the fact that your message is
so different...
              
   it's just problematic...
how do you not attach ю (yu)
   to э (aha! no attache letters!)
and then not say niet budyed....
                                   ниет будюэд.... how?

i'm only writing this because i've been told to hate poland,
and then later told to call england the narcissistic
bellybuttons the the world, with their greenwich 0...
   i actually don't think i was told lives...
given that english women are reducible to
     bridget jones diaries, or a rotherham journal of a
teenage girl...
  
    i swear... if i'm not marx and there is no engels...
then this is a revision of victorian england...
                        given the english treatment of children
or the concept of marriage...
    that's hardly me boasting...
               what's coming, living with your parents?
drinking to excess but still able to watch the oscar ceremony
with them and then writing your father's
      invoices?
                       hence the pyramid argument:
throw one of a one-armed bandit into the equation
and let's never meet on what could be called
a mutuality or.... that shared plataeu akin
to a.a., because the internet never fosters that attempt
at cohesion... well... unless people flock to
suicidal sites...

  me? i'm still much more bothered about
ниет будюэд... and whether that really does translate
as niet budyed...             yack jack jesus yahweh
had me bewildered why genghis khan came along.
If I could set myself on fire
and with a lighted heart tell
about the strangers swallowed
in hate and earth's endless
wars. Thousands dead and
missing and where's my dog?
If I could set my life aflame
and shed light and warmth on
this place and strangers then I
would strike the match and die.
.
Fifty years ago
to the month
that they laid
you in the ground

.
Only now
have I found
the words
to make a sound

.
You came home
closed coffin bound
Not suitable
to be viewed

.
Only now do I frown
Thinking about
the name in stone
that's hewed

.
That day you died
I was left to cry
I didn't know
what to do

.
Two teenage lives
both said goodbye
never
to be again

.
One under
21 gun salute
The other
under pain

.
They are
still burying you
in my mind
my time has been unkind

.
I've lived through
a thousand deaths
looking for reasons
to find

.
Resigned
I am bound
by the truth
of October '69



Dedicated to :
Marine PFC
William Le Grand Dawes
Born 6/24/50
Died 10/19/69
Quang Ngai Province
Vietnam
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
so... if pensions make so fiscal sense?
why is there a counter
argument against suicide on
existentialists grounds?

please, elaborate...

   so a pension makes no sense?
why wouldn't the excuse
for suicide make perfect sense?!

so if people are not making any profit,
not juggernaut progress for a company?
**** it!
      economic euthanasia....
please! alleviate me from the misery!

i won't mind... i minded
petting cats... a cat a man...
  a head is a head on a stump of wood...
i've seen a chicken get decapitated
watching the remaining
chickens congregate in
in a cannibalistic fashion...

just prior to the eyes rolling into
a whiteness, dead...
      and the chicken sipping
the old testament Nile...

               so if pensions make
no fiscal sense?
       then debt makes the similarity
of the sense of paying it back...
but then suicide?
            there is no argument...
suicide has not existential argument
at this point...
you're excused..
    jesus christ, who?

thích quảng Đức

    jesus christ, who?
            lampshade hanging...
jew what who?
  
                    so.................................

no retirement plan?
no retirement payment?

oh...

                  sloth donkey works his
existence to a death,
no memory cinema....

   thanks!

                    there were never
ever any suicide arguments
worth a counter....
but there are now...
  
               i can excuse suicide...
when i can't excuse
this economic revisionism...

              the suicide is excused...
given that the already imposed
economic model is already
turned to fission of
a lacking doubt of post-script
implementation...

              just listen to the right song...
and then hang...
               ha ha! a crucifix!
   teach-quang-dhoo...
    must be Vietcong -
a letter with two diacritical marks"

  
     what's the point?
  i've seen the end...
         and the end...
            is what ends the present.
Thanh Mar 2019
Nhật mộ đồ cùng, quang ảnh dung,
Địa Thiên, thủy hỏa, hỗ tương phùng.

Lights and shadows melts at the sunset,
Heaven and Earth, Water and Fire, opposites attract.
Simple Đường luật in Hán Việt.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2022
This side of the moon, we see
this side light and hot
then this side dark and cold,

allways half a time dark cold
allways half a time light and hot,

held to the reining tides,
slipping annually, assuring ever changes,
the moon, herself, mistress of all currencies
exchanging loads from one time chthonic sands,

now, the tops of high plains,
once the bottom of the whole world sea,
prior to the last time we saw greenland green.

The hope of 1957, and 1960-66, just
was not enough true to be tested in a war,
Thích Quang Duc, June, 1963, died to prove wrong.
Earlier, ten moons, or so, ten neap right alignings
Time stopped so we could all re-see, we saw

Dying Peter Fechter is carried away
by East German border guards who shot him down
when he tried
to flee
to the West in this August 17, 1962, photo.
Fechter was lying
in no-man’s-land
-- for 50 minutes
before he was taken
to a hospital, where he died shortly after his arrival.

From <https://rarehistoricalphotos.com/rise-berlin-wall-1961-1989/>

Suddenly I am weeping, and now, once more, is 2022.
Putin and such as think him wise,
still bring me to tears,

I still see the pond, the sea becomes, as life reboots.

No fish in clear water, I heard a liar say.
A cretan slow belly carp laughs and shines off.
crossed my mind, in the middle of a day
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
you've never experienced hell,
if you haven't sat through it,
unless standing,
        muddied foot,
            soaking rifle,
              all because some serb
shot, the franz, the ferdinand,
the kneeling austro-hungarian
alliance...
                tod hat ein atem...
           name me the three
witches of Hamlet...
                  i can name you one
i can name one for you...
                   horpyna...
                a dog barks,
a son falls to his death in
a bike accident...
                  one now prays
for a worthwhile attendence
to encompass mourners...
                  circling,
            *****-pyna..
           or -pýna(h)
                          otherwise...
are we all actually
                              literate?
         are you sure?
i'm not so sure...
                   but i find the ones
who are not so literate
to be soft cuddly avatars of
   panda...
                    dried out U
in the centaur vision of bow,
and arrow: V...
                    death doesn't hunt,
death, stalks...
          tod tut nicht jagd,
                    tod stengel...
            otherwise known as:
                             schnüffelngriff...
mein schnout...
                      brigadier hooond over 'ere
made a perfect
                      Peckham accent...
      hiding the H
    really allowed the yew...
to sprout...
               tender living beast,
what will you do without
this ukrainian witch
           believed to be a 6ft man?
               point being...
how do you actually hollow out
the Y in hush on a leash,
                          beginning with eng-?
surf the big or little dipper
sort of phrase...
                             how?!
not once did, hail zeus!
         mention this tetragrammaton
construct!
                   je sui(s),
                            hail zeus!
and the son of?
                    thitch quang duke?
you know, that burning monk...
           no point mentioning
anyone post-script
               malcolm browne...
now...
     smoking pieces of salmon flesh
is fine by me,
        but doing
the same to, whiskey?!
                shim-shimeney
shim-shim: **** surreal...
                        mary *******
poppins dropped in on this antic
and, herself asked,
       stop this ****** perfume
crafting;
              well, that really wasn't
a question,
      but neither was 1950s
experiment with cinematic
    application
of technicolour,
      notably: ooh...
           glocke, buch und kerze
      (bell, book and candle)
       nineteen... fifty... eight...
    or as otherwise stated:
           god, hates, the lords, of salem...
   never spent an hour
with a bulgarian ******* then,
i gather?
                then you probably don't
know,
               what the madonna-*****
complex is...
             point being:
     i know what a flacid,
           compared to an ***** phallus is.
Ducphotran May 2020
He returned to Quang Ngai to visit Chau Sa
To remember the ancestors under a setting moon
The lost kingdom had been destructed
only inert territory left
The old citadel had been crumbled
since that the ghosts have been wandering
Behold, the courageous, young men might have been
on the King’s boat
Those could have been the sacred elephants
next to the ivory towers
Beautiful women, magnificent ancient temples
Once there was the glorious land of Chiampa
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
the tyrd tier of tinking: and tinkering:
soil! sailor! tailor! sire! speer!
the 'ird tomme: of.. off' of
'n' effer: f-f-f'ing
contra "t"-ing...
   the tarded: dart und
darting... Fear the Dubliner ****!

told us it was all about
the buck mc abstainin'
loss of tooth
to speak... easy: IRA...

lord fudge... crapper sentenced to:
that bomb coming from
a shoe-shine... we could almost
wish... this new shakespeare
from the lodging of...
for all the love of shakespeare...

what is... auld lang syne?!
smokies... sung... sang and tatties!
bittersweet loved up crease!

afraid of "us"... U2 soon pops
up closure for leisure...
i am the love thast never become
the sing-along for the worth of...
    
this disglorified:
woman of a lost dublin...
      sacred mow tow and tie..

my: freckled..
fritz... mummy: be...
mommy best...
ralph fiennes...
         amon göth...
                     and all that is /
was ever to be required...
limbo fashioned and a somewhat
soaking up of "talk"...
  
scrutiny of the absolved
"work"...
i better scoff at:
chance and... gamble...
you are me...
better made witness of...
the loitering "bleach"...
better start calling 'im:
bleachboys crescendo!
the mecca-boys the
cupsid copper-necks!
my skins my all borne forth born...
skittle rage and grief born...
born freed from
the shackles of a ****!
mother daughter or the harem!

before one **** is ready...
the next ****** will be readied
for the next anarchist crescedo!
of: glory be to: burn the tire the rubber
turn the ****** the...
      also called a ***** and a shrimp ****
wink-wink: all insinuation...
shame for all the people grativitating
toward racially charged sensibilities
of heart and offence...

me whitey yoyo... when
the ***** sunks a lemon
and you're... along with me...
the bright and lost...
concept of a digestive biscuit?
  *******...val kilmer and...
       pity the blond... spoon-fed soul...
clown bored: bearing... nicole kidman..
            
because the concern for jihad...
once upon a time... was...
the **** of violence of the Bataclan...
was... eating the testickles of
infadels...
a whittle virus: beijing made...
scared... these... originals...
these god-fearing folk...
into: nostalgia...
into a secular understanding
of the world?

                        well... they better be arab...
saudi... not iraqi... yemen oud...
iranian...
      they best be kept saudi...
and best keep them...
barricading the
   tiananmen sq massacre hardons...
like... Eddie Edams'...
bullet to the head...
"contra"... thich quang duc -
whoever was being crucified...
wasn't... by any chance...
also made subject... to... the blood-eagle?
a scalping: just in case:
he should be seen donning a kippah?
was... he's?!

bruise welsh read: fwesh: and red...
ripe... teasing crude pink...
and salmon and *******...
a rainbow trout: rainbow and crevices
of tailor: and abortions for
the tonne load of jerking out...
yugoslav conundrums...
                          genocides...
callz 'em... what doz' 'un callz em...
"janissary" / "mamluk"?
caviate if not... caviar!
          
skin read: with a dipping into
mayonnaise...
some mustard after the grand feast
of worth for the worth of the day!
and i to will come...
like a dog whistled to come
to a return...
                
   an image to burn into my mind:
the owczarek kaukaski -
the caucasian shepherd dog...
big ******* wolves wiz onz
metz.
copernican bluffs...
     corpus "christi" of stalingrad...
   it could almost seem the same...
when one were to be fed...
the same hungry **** on **** warfare...
tsarina victoria contra...
  of england...
                 the oops-and-circumstance
of a parisian midwife...
so much for no ***** no ******...
and somehow...
the sigma of man... "preserved"...
yeah... like **** it will be...
better pray for the ****-gang-up
of the litany of the monghol khan!

      no!
niet! nie!
             nein!

— The End —