Exhaustion,
Is what rings through my senses as I am about to pass out,
Quater past three, it has been me who wrote through the night until now, serene and clear was it's beginning which now only became a dark memory, recurring in my sleepy mind begging for slumber,
However, such are the thoughts of one who was too weak,
Knowledge was ****** into me, yet the chains of destiny remain bounding, almost tying me up to some sort, I cannot escape.
Oh how I cannot escape this dreamlike tale of misry and restlessnes,
Oh how I couldn't protect my heart in love from dying back then.
It all came to the point of no return until they were replaced.
But why not me ? What was it which I had left to do to go as well ?
Perhaps it was decided that it should have been so all along,
I shouldn't complain, even though humans live wretchedly,
Living and finding a new light to hang onto,
Is what I find very beautiful

~ Murasame

O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
  Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
    Felix! in imo qui scatentem
      Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.

               GRAY, ‘Alcaic Fragment’.

   When Friendship or Love
   Our sympathies move;
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
   The lips may beguile,
   With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection’s a Tear.

   Too oft is a smile
   But the hypocrite’s wile,
To mask detestation, or fear;
   Give me the soft sigh,
   Whilst the soul-telling eye
Is dimm’d, for a time, with a Tear.

   Mild Charity’s glow,
   To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
   Compassion will melt,
   Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear.

   The man, doom’d to sail
   With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
   As he bends o’er the wave
   Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear.

   The Soldier braves death
   For a fanciful wreath
In Glory’s romantic career;
   But he raises the foe
   When in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

   If, with high-bounding pride,
   He return to his bride!
Renouncing the gore-crimson’d spear;
   All his toils are repaid
   When, embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

   Sweet scene of my youth!
   Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Where Love chas’d each fast-fleeting year;
   Loth to leave thee, I mourn’d,
   For a last look I turn’d,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.

   Though my vows I can pour,
   To my Mary no more,
My Mary, to Love once so dear,
  In the shade of her bow’r,
  I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

   By another possest,
   May she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:
   With a sigh I resign,
   What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

   Ye friends of my heart,
   Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:
   If again we shall meet,
   In this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

   When my soul wings her flight
   To the regions of night,
And my corse shall recline on its bier;
  As ye pass by the tomb,
  Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

  May no marble bestow
  The splendour of woe,
Which the children of Vanity rear;
  No fiction of fame
  Shall blazon my name,
All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear.

Alarm at 9:30, wake up at 8:30, stretch in bed, go downstairs to kitchen, make omelette, give a quater to a freind, eat the rest, alarm goes off, cycle in to uni, shuffle the word order of an essay, print it, muck around, go to the bar, glance at a man giggling to himself, smoke a dovetail, go back in, slice an orange, eat it then, go through, the print out, crossing ****, out, Daniel walks up, hey hows it going, fast talking scurry walking you know what i mean man, he starts up, ive heard this one before... i havent drunk for 3 years, now i just smoke ****, cos i always smoke it,  got a girlfriend? I had a girlfriend, she was my best friend, then she went crazy though, made me insany, i said to her listen:
im thirty its simple you with me or no?
You stay or you go? Is that simple or no?
This was a while ago, she said i dunno, i felt mad as mud, and i came to the bar, just human beings, and there was my girl, with a korean! I smiled in surprise, he switched up the convo, you had a girl, well did you like her?
I stopped him right there, im going for a ****, dont mean to diss,
ok he said bye,
and walked through the door,
of him we'll say no more.
I got to the ******, a sense of achievement, sense of a glorified victory for me, i fumbled my fly, which was hooked with a paperclip, which was bent round the button, to stop from fly diving, and as this was happening my eyesight went whitey i tingled my fingers, i staggered aboutey, my foots were a-wobbling inside of my shoe, my knees were a-jiving to knee-jiggler tune, i flopped on my bag on the back of my back, twitched and i break-danced until my foot tore loose, and suddenly a boot, an invisible boot, and invisible foot, and invisible man, kicked me my jaw, and back snapped my neck, left me there sprawled. cripped by pain, blinded by white, starved of control, but over at last, i hobbled back out, morosely sat down, high brows of eyes, did you goosey gander, oh my Amanda, he looked like a mortal
when he went in
but then he came out
limping with sin
that boy was me, i met with a girl, and cycled back home, certain my tendons, were torn off the bone, i told her i fainted in the toilet and fought with an invisible man, she said can you be normal for once and tell me wagwan, why were you painting the toilet, and who was the man, i told her again that i fainted not painted, and she looked confused. i lost my essay, and im wearing glasses and your saying nothing, except nonsense and nothing, i told her id noticed her glasses but had seen no essay, as she let me go she kissed me but i asked for a hug, a hugs more important if youre stuck in the mud, i went to my house and told all my flatfriends the truth, why my foot hurts and my disturbance of duelling that man, they acted surprised and then went to bed, i made i some tea, and then spent the rest of the night smoking down my confusion.
Healing gently but still some weak patches


it rained then shone then hailed then snowed
and she'd forgot her coat
and it poured on her throat
later passed the day
and we cycled back northways
carlights lamps and moon hit your face
smiling with your long as a boot-face
hail-bones sparkly white as toothpaste
england is a sock and we live in a bootlace

her 'guy' lived with her
so she came round early arva-,
i accidentally injected her
with a deadly kind of larvae.
she went to a farmer-cist
to get an antidote,
a little white little pea that
went floating down her throat.
merrily merrily merrily merrily,
right under the belly
it knocked the nest out from the tree
and stamp the eggs to jelly

mama pigeon was away
magpie made jelly-egg
stampy stampy crush crush
heavy evil mag-leg

her dyed blonde hair
stood out starkly against the grey concrete
as me and my girl take up squating
for the momentary grease on the public step
as the alligators swim round the stoop
looking for the next strong-arm sucker
they keep time tapping one raised finger
on the humid air
she rolls up to us
and tosses herself down ontop of me
my girlfriend slides exasperated smile
and shrugs off the bleach blonde sticky fingers approach

the rest of the sticky fingers chase eachother
around the parking lot hoping  to make ground scores
off eachothers trash by numbers life in motion paintings
she chases my illusion
her dyed blonde hair tangles my thoughts
so i lead her to a quieter spot on the public steps
and settle her into her vibe

the diameter of her rig matches the close quater passageway
so she greases the way with a wall to wall smile
thats more scary than reassuring
and brushing back the bleach blonde
and tries once more to speak to my billfold
with her open shirt peeky-boo
i dont bother to say it but i woulda opened
up and spilled the greenage to keep her from folding
just outa keepin the peace
my girlfriend glares fifteen flavors of
get rid of this clown at me
so i dish dirt and bills to slide her on her way

i feel bad for her
she is our friend
but shes just to much of the gain game in her
to see that we have long since moved on
i cant play captain saveahoe
turned that caped crusader out to the history books
and im just looking to do my
morning breakfast circus
scrounge a coffee bean and a honey roll
my girl rolls a smoke
the tropical sun dances on sandy soil
we are a happy pair of clowns
and thats all that matters

an example of a sober poem, which always tends to predicate a celebratory drink, it's just annoying that it's not yet 4 p.m.

here, an extract from Horace, the ****** was depressed
at this moment in time - he blamed the excess of wine,
and he blamed the excess of sleep,
he even instructed himself to write sober,
as best he could; imagine such days!
imagine how squalid we've become, with theology dead,
we have the voice of dietary requirements hovering over us
(tell that to the double chin of *Jan Sobieski),
i agree that perhaps theology breeds some unfortunate events,
but this constant drumming of health concerns makes
us no better than hamsters on treadmills,
with a constrained realm of thinking and conversation -
like Gary Busey talking about the dual nature of man
using Jeckyll & Hyde at a swish party filled
with drinking games, a conversation starter,
and those on the receiving end not understanding
he wants a longer conversation,
   english tongue dismissing english tongue as japanese -
horrid state... but i mean, imagine the times as of Horace:
too much wine, too much sleep? we should be so lucky,
in this squalor of modernity - there's currently a kid,
a next door neighbour, sitting in the garden...
he's been sitting in the garden for about an hour,
motionless, he's in his early teens, child of divorce...
i might be just watching premature depression,
and another ******* suicide...
you know that he used to ride a bicycle in circles...
yeah, through the service road to our line or gardens
and round and round in the cul de sac...
                 THE EPITOME OF A SETTING SUN...
he didn't ride it elsewhere, traffic phobia? again,
the western problem of premature depression -
like the 19th century and europe's problem of
premature dementia that was a misunderstood diagnosis
for people who people found uncomfortable for
all the reasons that didn't really require medical attention;
oh right, the Horace extract -

sic raro scribis, ut toto non quater anno
membranam poscas, scriptorum quaeque
retexens, iratus tibi, quod vini somnique benignus
nil dignum sermone canas. quid fiet?
at ipsis Saturnalibus huc fugisti sobrius.
ergo dic aliquid dignum promissis. incipe. nil est.

- translation: you write little, to the year of
parchment you demand hardly a quadrupling,
you write little, you strike-out more, you correct,
angry with yourself, that from excess of wine
and sleep the satyr in you became anaemic (weak,
contrary to belief that albino too would be
a befitting one word metaphor, no, albino wouldn't
be befitting). tell me, why? in Saturnalia you ran away,
you can't even write under the correct date,
then at least write sober, as best you can.
nothing thereof.
                                 i.e. he won't stop drinking, and he won't
                                 give up precious sleep -
                                 that's what nil est implies.

p.s. the anaemic v. albino metaphor debate is why
poets make terrible translators, they someone always
shove something original in, and that's why translators
will make terrible poets, for the Libra reason of
equal counterweight.

A Heart that Parts away from the chambers,That pump lies thru the veins with pain.A love that was crucified and died, sacrificed, and does behind a disguise.A mask.
That mask the past scars, the torn skin, truth ripped from the flesh left hollow and echos sorrow,
Faint in the distance, youth in the mirror,
Not in the eyes,tired of lies , eyes cry seeing human bein their nature.
Soo cruel  the pool of liquor im bathin my pours soakin the reality to of depression wastin every ounce of time blazin to relieve the stress of being puzzled in a maze,
Forsaken and disturbed to see the same face awaken shaking like the floor of order.
The door of opportunity leads to another border.
Truth itself holds no water,Takin so much in becoming a mental horder,
nothing new but the struggle, and only lived a quater.
When is there change ? im in need of aspoiler,or vent.
Like im exhaust, im exhausted from many losses, im lost and losed many calls from God.
Stop stallin God hear my repent im callin, so answer.
Thats all im askin ,
im tired of being bent, broke from bein spent,
sick of the cancer, sick of abuse.
I want peace of mind, can hell call a truce? living on the edge, Im hangin, danglin , souless  as a manikin, lost in the sky walkin,
High like aniken.
Im havin epiphanies, deliberately givin up my own liberty,
honestly my  honesty is now nothing no one acknowledge my poverty. My truth was rich, outta this world cosmically possibly the realist to ever grace reason modestly.

BY: Emmanuel jv Hernandez
1/16/14

Time scars all with the wounds they were said to heal
Sure the marks not visible, but the pain is ever so real
Staring at the hands that mend my fate
Circadian rythum thrown off is it too early or too late?
Half or a quater of my past an electrical impulse away
Memories faded by time but the pain is here to stay
The smell of your clothes, a nostalgic aroma
Time heals all wounds as these scars get older

It's that gut wrenching feeling,
Knowing where that blade is,
Three quarter inches from the base,
Of the inside of a closest,
That held so many secrets,
Because my friends cut off their ears,
So they never had to listen,
Listen to the nothingness,
The nothing of my life,
Cause that's where I'm headed,
To the base board three quater inches up,
I'll build a home and live there,
In my scarlet silken sheets,
Make love to bandages and salve,
Share lunch with long sleeve tees,
And cups of disgusting tea with pants,
You did this to yourself,
Your own personal hell,
Addicted to the addict of your own self,
I want to be reborn.

Dead beauty
Waiting for winds of change
Light of day
Comfort of tender rays

Fingers of fingers
Desperately grasping
Scratching at smothering grey
Beseeching fickle favour

Detritus, latent bounty
Seeping from soil
Leaves long lost spoil
Filling lungs, blood, mind

The wood snakes and writhes
Strangling and dividing
Bearing vivid green hue
Harbouring harsh truth

Morgue made art
Quater-circles, four deep
Enraptured by stone mesmer
Buried by rusted hedge

Scattered eyes of red
Unseen and unseeing
Forgotten by warmth
lost to being

a blast of whiskey the summon of the king to appear
a real encounter with Elvis & Zepplin,
from the early 70's sparks a calm to remedy
three at the bar forced to civality..,
under thick chains received
band was on the run kissing cousins all so much fun
these are the years sparked by tears,
throuw a quater in the fountain
some rich peeople choose to through the ashes in a fountain
base they are rich you see falling...calling out the remedy,
sit back ******* with a higher degree
your name is encrusted as distant timber under the leaves
Terror awaits the slogan a notion to rock & roll
splishing and splashing with no place to go,
bust up the beat to promote its tempo

Music across the pond,
a hint to vainly belong
having trouble to the new walk swing
then it rolls its nature from with again
I can dig the premonition from the falling rain,
Stairway To Heaven
not a one stop shopping event to a routine store stop seven eleven
paint a picture from beyond,
leaves None other then Motorhead, "Ace Of Space" !
brother pray for me brother connect to the falling leaves
transport a super couper honest Alice Vinny Cooper
cast a Flamingo
traverse to haunt the cold chilled places to go
through a river to impress a polished kit cement

Such an encounter in 1969 Jimmy Hendrix and his Experience
in the bushes forced on *** sorry that we met
not a noble jib to eternailze,
playing Star Spangle Banner
In the heavens beyond the moon has landed...

Mercedes Benz a good look always depends
the horse before the cart found a tisk & tasket
Safe behind a squeeky wheel
Expression
Innovatiion
In conjunction to fly
with words crossing by

With tears and pearls

A soul that yearns.

For a greater peace,

That only man can weave.



For richer, for poor;

In sickness and health,

The kingdom falling apart

What does she want? His wealth?



Anticipation, participation

Renevation and expectation,

All in a bowl of water,

Shaped in a quater.



For the wife has his kingdom

With fullness and glee,

Wealth at her disposal

To spend it all free.



While the King loses his army and;

Abandons his court.

A distant smile, and fragile touch.

Off he goes,

To lust and dust his *****;

her touch and body;

Only for him to loath.

Schoenberg's verklärte nacht, op. 4
for starting the night off...
reminiscence of the past four nights spent
in the silo of isolation:
thinking about Engels and Marx and
that theory about alienation -
such nights with fire and classical music
on the shift...
but i am doing a personalised understudy
in Polish Cinema from the Communist
Era... and i'm finding a great deal
i will not write essays about or pay
for an actual undergraduate degree:
it would have to be a post-graduate thesis
proposal for an educational body
say a university about the study of Polish Cinema
in the context of that time period
as a comparative tool to not exactly...
but exactly that... deconstruct modern cinema
in the English speaking world...
if i am a pink haired oily skinned
overweight leftist or leftoid or an ardent
Communist-**** ******* left opposition
in that the Devil is Left
and God is Right...
                        but i can be a proper deconstructionist
follow the paths of deconstructionalism
via the model of post-modernism
but only from the ashes and context of
being: as the British working class love
to make the distinction about foreigners
and then the Pakistani foreigners themselves
about new immigrants esp European
immigrants: BORN & BRED ENGLISH
BRITISH...
like that old slogan...

but that other slogan: BLUT UND BODEN...
well: where is your land?!
where?!

modern English speaking world cinema is
in need of right wing deconstructionist
post-modernists critiques...
which have to be learned from the left leaning
loony crowd in the English speaking world
that does not exist in other parts of the world
simply because those parts of the world
were rather strict and serious about the left
even Germany was
but then Germany took the other route toward
Marxism and England will have to too
experience its own version of Marxism...
given that i asked the question:
who was more critical, authentically concerned,
with the terrible living conditions
of the working people in Manchester...
child slavery in England was a real thing...
England might have shone the light
to the rest of the world:
but internally it has always been a Dickensian
pogrom
a fowl place of orc and elves... and dwarfs...
this is not a Christian nation no more
than Poland was upon its conversion...
then defending the last pagan stronghold of Europe
that was Lithuania:
like Christianity reached Kievan Rus sooner
than and the enclave of Litwa: Litwa...
the last heart of Europe before the cancerous
experiment on humanity
like the Parting of the Red Sea = the Holocaust...
in terms of wonder
how God can inflict such wonders telepathically
no longer through the winds the seas and speaking
through fire: but as the lord of hosts
able to do what... Apocalypse does in the X-Men
universe and consumes Prof Xavier's consciousness
like a spin-off on the Marvel universe:
the baddy wins in the second movie
while dying in the first...

see: cinema in the west doesn't do much with human
nature: just the crushing of human imaginings
where there are more images than words
being consumed:
like this inner circle craving of the Elites in Eyes
Wide Shut to insert a paganism
to defeat the crushing Christianity of Judaism
and not Christianity out of Paganism...
or a Christianity out of Hinduism:
since we are talking geneology: time...
not all religions emerged at once...
same is to say not all people emerged all at once...
therefore who is to talk about the environment
and the green Antarctica...

Harlequin *******... sharing words sharing
images...
clearly... i felt like a *** slave...
                                   a little toy and then to bring
to mind: why wake up with negative thoughts...
but i was waking up at 6pm and not 6am
with negative spinning vertigo thoughts
like looking into glass and with enough
night being able to see a mirror... some terrific
horror beginning this night
with a spider gently, silently dropping down from
the ceiling of the hut...
at least not in front of my nose but near enough
for me to see and instead of a frightened aghasp
a cross-eyed examination suggested
that i should just blow it away: swing it away
like those flowers: out of nouns: you blow the seeds
away like parachutes
why didn't **** Germany just bomb London
why not send in: en masse:
their best lovers, poets, philosphers, thieves,
the crimminals! why didn't **** Germany
just bomb other cities like Manchester
and Industrial Heart of the Empire
while simultaneously not drop crimminal
paratroopers into London or on the outskirts...
crimminals... like what the Russians are doing
but anally... crimminals as... footsoldiers?!
you ******* kidding me?!
no no!
you drop crimminals into enemy lines...
just like what a lot of countries are doing in England
but there's no single country:
no wait... that's not what's happening:
dialectical materialism spectacles...
the rest of the world is dumping workers
into the drip feed of society for uber and deliveroo
asians...
those kamikaze antics of their knowledge of Roman
Roads is like... rules of the roads in Rome itself...
bogus...

ah... class... in England... if it's not about money
then it must be about interest...
and there's this overseeing scrutiny about
work ethic, work pride,
yes... work pride... something concerning
work and nobility:
long gone are the days of nobility and feudalism
and monarchy:
pride and nobility: pride is a version:
subdued by nobility...
one can be a petty security guard in a hut
in one of the most spectacular places
on earth to witness the plethora of humanity
at night: Elephant and Castle...
lunatics and the open asylum and oh so many stars...

my company is asking for my social media
pages... they want to make an audit...
i think i've been captured on camera doing
something right... and they want to see my social media
profile... i'm a bit shy: it's a bit like losing your virginity
for the first time: to allow the virtual world
to collide with the real world:
i'm afraid of being sacked...
not that i wouldn't react to it with so much desperation
as to fly to Istambul and become
a missing person...
and like those modern people who...
i can't get past Schoenberg past the 6th or 7th minute...
like those people who have music curated
to them Moloch of Metallica adoration music
and producer and musician somewhere an artist:
oh i adored Metallica's master of puppets...
but i spent the first two weeks just listening to Battery
before listening to the rest of the album...
by god! that's me!
i can't listen past Schoenberg's 6th or 7th minute:
there's just so much and it works like a tide
when you let yourself go
and listen to the entire 30 minutes:
this is CLASS in England...
intellect...                     concern for humanity: soothing it
by distracting it with one's own solipsistic interest...
oh: if they want to audit my internet presence...
they'll be in for a surprise...

but English cinema is rarely existential and
so much phantoms to please...
it's sad that foreigners adopted:
but who invents the tools doesn't necessarily
have a say
concerning how those tools are to be used... right?
there's no inventor of cinema:
the objective... who gets to dictate the subjective
from the creation of the tool...
i see a hammer but no nail?
tool or weapon?
hammer and nail as a weapon become a torture emblem
of Christ and Pinhead in the hellraiser universe...
nail on its own... perhaps a toothpick...
so the hammer and the sickle
would! oh oh oh!
i want to redraw the flag of **** Germany!
apologies to the Asians!
i need south Korean now!
it's a flag!
drop the ******* the red white and black
that the Arabs are now borrowing
with a tinge of green in writing...
i have a flag!

                  BLACK...
                            wit­h a WHITE: HAMMER
   and SCYTHE!
                              or... maybe not a hammer...
but the hammer... yes... a black flag with a white
hammer and a scythe...
we don't need no clock of the ******* now:
we have the star of david clock turning...
tick... tock... tick... tock...           tick... tock...
i see a mat to sit on and read an open book.
two horns: tick tock... tick tock...
                                 i see my comrades ahead:
Jackie Spoonfularrow...
                              she's there... mermaids in her
**** juices...
                     tick-tock...

卐    (anti-clockwise or clock-wise...
             focus on the Rorschach...
         is this symbol orientated around a clockwise
dynamic... or an anti-clockwise dynamic?
can't say much for clocks and O...
            so that's the symbol of time performed so isolated
so much like the Birth of Christianity
from the ******* of Rome!
        i know that for me... this is... anti-clockwise...
but see... the germans chose the clockwise *******...
i'm chosing.... the anti-clockwise *******
and it will be just white on black...
in the corner like the five stars of China
and the hammer and the scythe... elsewhere...

something needs to happen spiritually!
artistically! voluntarily!
by the grace of god...

    ****... clock is stuck... hardly the crossroads... ***
of **** sites...
        i wanted to venture to show you the tick-tock
of the clock... clockwise starter quater to, then noon...
but that html codecie is only burning a flag...

thus a clock running on empty where
the second hand just quivers, limply...
trying to move forward but then having a dead man's
reflex response: tug-tod...    tug-tod... tugging at
the angel of death imploring him:
am i awake in heaven or in hell or again?!

can't replicate the html dictates of this page...

p.s. i made a faux pas: there is a mistake in here...
i know it...
      the Nazis did choose the anti-clockwise
*******: but they fell because you can't
choose an anti-clockwise *******
to go back in time... huh?! no anti-clockwise
just counter-clockwise?
wait wait...

yes a clockwise ******* imply going back
is healthy?! like a counter-clockwise *******
going forward in time:
******* to O                                 maybe it all fell
apart because their chose a counter-clockwise
******* to go back in time and unearthed...
what they unearthed: God's disgruntlement
with his People
concerning their overstayed welcome
in Poland: so that currently: Poland can prosper
and be envied by journalists in England
and i'm not even there
because my grandfather was a Communist
Party member and there was no room for people
like me back there: some country
like Chamberlain's Czech Republic Antarctica;

Człowiek z marmuru: man of marble: Wajda...
or Dostoyevsky's Idiot and my Anti-Idiot combined...
Decalogue: I, III, X... oh and VII for Linda's performance.