nefarious nested newfound
minds gather in dim-lit bedroom
shining with love.
taking seconds from an
extended time frame.

what eludes to harm done
comes from adultration
of a vision - friendship.
it's been said, no loyalty with
dope fiend drugdrugsdrug addicts.

when under the greensmoke
light of a cracked window
and wheezing-- OH the wheezing--
of youth taking
extra time to become
tomorrow's electronic future.

it's gonna be different
than yester-year, dear.
20% of our feeble country
engages indulges
in this ancient sacredity

&as; for you, my dear ones,
sitting in the dark,
jeopardy, saw IV, daft's
harderbetterfasterstronger
--"i've never seen so many colours!"
my heart calls as yours does,
for a future we're waking up to.

we're not violent vicious vile
backstabbing cold-mongers.
if anything,
laughing at them.
quoting movies, queueing memories.
preparing for world dissolution.


i hate the bane too, kids, but we
know who we are.

a conscious translation of the ego into the id is only automated thinking; that’s the content of the id, pluralism of thinking, it’s all automation, the id is the ego although plural due to automation understood easier because the id is the unconscious ego thought about, hence the excess of psychological theorisation; the freudian stance simple says of the cartesian inquiry: it thinks. the limbo of lost identity! the queueing of card shuffles and the bigger fear other than death in man, the fear of crow and pigeon conformity to repeat inanimate exactness for the narcissus to embody himself; for consciously we say ‘i think,’ there’s identity in that, unconsciously we say ‘it thinks’ ending up a statement of technicality never realised. pluralism and automation is the order in a reckless dream of a charles manson given the neon and example to refer to or imitate. the gods don’t give oral ***, hence their pristine vocabulary that’s less vulture like less and less unlike man’s.*

i don’t have a lot to say, feeling wise? a lot,
hence i write more words than take photographs;
it’s the ultimate antidote to seeing tree, stone, pavement,
when i get to use r and e to write about yellowish sunsets.
because using letter on blanks nurtured me
to stress less of seeing contorting threes with
the face that gaped a silent shout teary eyed to craft chaos.
i was about to be shakespeare but
the my regina interrupted,
i was going to say things like:
animals and children like me,
i gave my pinky away to a toddler
on a bench before i put on sweet sixteen’s heart-shaped lenses
to allow the sun its 3pm in autumn,
i gave a toddler my pinky.
cats are content while dogs are just happy,
i gave my pinky away
like michelangelo painting the two indexes touching
in the ghetto crib of two ******* brawling hello for the revised modern.
toddler took it with an apple in the other hand.
i almost said that the best song of rage against the machine
wasn’t: born of a broken man.
i’m vietnam in the american vanity!
hollywood considered abduction and retirement
with my statement.
you’re a good man when animals and children like  you
but women dislike you,
but with christ the children loved him too much and he said so
touchy feely with the armageddon kids behind a priest’s collar
leashing *******;
the animals? the animals were too eager on the donkey to architecture golgotha.
i’m less irish and even less catholic it would seem,
but when i write and weep, articulate the satanic:
tell one lie and learn many truths -
i'm almost satisfied to join a pilgrimage like a moth
attracted to a lightbulb from the shadows of knees.

You never taught me how to love
Amongst the tangled laces
In between picking me up
You never told me how to feel
Lost in the laundry
Innocent and carefree
You never taught me how to be needed
Amongst the wandering souls of adulthood
In between falling apart
You never told me how to heal
Lost in the stations
Queueing without patience
You never taught me how to mend
Amongst the pieces of broken hearts
In between pretending to love
You never told me what it was
Lost in the clichés
Waiting for the right day

There's more if you want - an unending supply,
love, from the heart as big as the sky,
you're equipped to deal with stars and diamonds,
look too hard and you will find no reasons

My mother always wished for generous arms,
brothers and sisters queueing to take turns,
I did not wish because I already had -
my surroundings, my castle, my very own dad

There were outings, love and ice-cream,
an aura like nothing that you've ever seen;
now it's not enough - who is in denial?
perhaps after all we were only on trial

You can take over your soul if you dare,
where is it written that anything is fair?

The Brits are good at queueing
the Yanks are good at sueing
Italians are good at wooing
and I don't know what I'm doing  

If no one tells me while I'm waiting
time waits for no man only destiny
the French are good at rugby
enthusiastic, they might even hug me

The Australians are good at everything
didn't they used to be English - sickening
the Indians are very good at curry
but now we can get it in Surrey

Terrorists are no good to man nor beast
now just tell me what you like least.

Today is the first day of Spring,
a significant moment when we shift into
a different rhythm of sleep and wakefulness.
When the dark turns back on itself
like thick rind peeled from a fruit
to reveal its golden glow.

That warm feeling returns,
not just superficially - much deeper.
Time has chance to saunter - people do too.
They find a moment to talk with each other-
too hot to rush off to wherever it is they're going.

**

Queueing in the supermarket requires patience.
People casually chat at the checkout
exchanging snippets of gossip as though
they've not spoken to a soul all winter.

Patiently I wait in line at the rapid-serve
with my punnet of strawberries,
their tempting fragrance filling my nostrils.

For a moment I am elsewhere-
in a sunlit field, hovering over row on row
of undulating furrows, where shy fruit
hides under spread leaves-
the ones that got away you might say.

Abruptly, my distant view's obscured
by an unfamiliar voice:

You are English-yes?

I had been studying his back,
muffled in a woolly facade of Tweed.
For him, it was still Winter.

Ah - An English rose - yes!

He tells me how I resemble his wife
and how she adored strawberries.

(simultaneously he waves over his shoulder
to somewhere in the past)

He says he will never forget her,
that once you stop remembering,
eighty years of life becomes meaningless.

A warmness spreads between us
like the weight of a cello concerto.
A kind of sad happiness.

Later in the day, under the almond tree,
I **** on season's first fruit.
My tongue curls around a mouthful of
forgotten language.
I am not disappointed.
It is impossible to believe how good it tastes-
like life sometimes,
when strangers offer a few kind words,
filling the days with sweetness-
the Summer coming.

Humans have long trespassed and
destroyed animal territories.
Humans have poached
And selfishly encroached
upon animal habitats,
felling trees to build human habitations.
Now the tables were turned
Humans quarantined in house arrest,
while some lie sick in bedrest
So animals not usually seen had a fields day roaming upon roads, crossing the streets. Reclaiming the once jungle lands
turned into concrete urban jungles.

It's better that busy humans now become photoholic
than forever queueing in lines of heavy traffic.
Without human pollution, nature is all the more photogenic
Mother nature all a creation of God
has now had many of us grounded
as she gives us a hiding
while we go into hiding.
Extraordinary turn of events indeed!!
In several countries round the world:
Discos and casinos vacated
Pubs and nightclubs evacuated
Bars shutdown for lockdown
People are behind bars
instead of guzzling beer in bars
and instead of animals behind bars.

Humans compelled to hibernate
so animals busted their cell gate
Priorly animals were in an enclosure
Now they are getting free exposure
Self-centred humans cared mostly about themselves
but now the animal kingdom is the cynosure.
Animals were shut in cages
while now human activity is under similar closure.
Ah, this corona crisis!
Is all this mercenary stasis
for humans a roasting nemesis?
A heavy price to pay
for rapacious carelessness and arrogance
where humans acted like they are in control,
like they are controllers of this planet
and they could do anything they wish with it.
It's ignorance to think all this is mere coincidence.
Im relieved our Islamic prayers can be said any place, anywhere
to kneel and bow to the one true real sustainer of the universe.

We need to invoke and supplicate to the creator who is still in control...
as prayer can really truly prevent fear and anxiety in such scary times.

Here is the hotspot:

a meander of people --


queueing for a shot.

-------------------------------------------

The Welcome signposts

lead me deep into the maze --


At Shot I am out.

She's queueing up for a drink

Warm hands hug her from behind
Diagonally across her front
They feel safe
They feel like home

She grasps the arms
Turns her head
Ever
So
Slightly

Stares into his eyes
They smirk as they move
Closer till their breaths mix
And's light, smooth, nothing
Like she had ever imagined

Oh, it's so much better

i'm not even 30...
i can rewrite my
autobiography mind you,
to catch a sunday edition
of the newspaper
and the delayed capital investments
for all those journalists
cooing and queueing for more
statistic in leather of whipped obedience!

Synapses

A scien’terrific, spiri’tool
To fool around with; a reality
The best of microscopes can see
And measure.
Pure arithme-ticking over,
Showering the brain with light;
Sparks queueing up in scans,
A cue to IQ variations, and
The more the better.
Riches of all human wishes lying there
Waiting to be bared then shared:
Nature in infinitude.

One good turn deserves another;
One good synapse serves another.
“Wakey, wakey” here comes knowledge!
Insights new, fresh out of college!
Insights causing you to grow;
Daring you to dare to go;
Blowing horns you dared not blow.
Synapse and invention new;
By definition a new you.

I’m signing off with love (or luff),
This synapse stuff the glove
That warms,
Synapses’ arms
The magic charm.

Synapses 12.9.2017 Circling Round Science II; To The Child Mystic II; Arlene Corwin

Buying, vying for space in the crush.
Queueing, rueing the race to spend.
Sighing, desiring a place to sit,
a vacant seat another target.
But this time shaded and discrete.
A place of grace to contemplate
what pleases and how it teases,
leaving the blight of appetite.

Children play

Mouths open in silent wonder

Purple waves

Begin to roll

Lovers love

Holding hands

A final time

Together

Drowning

Faces lit with

Jasmine yellow

And fuchsia fire

Reflect the falling embers

Burning sky and haunted beauty

Sunset at the end of the world

Eligible for an upgrade...or an upchuck, or something...


Good comrades once were forced to stand in  lines
To register submission to The Cause
And beg for life while starving in the cold
Applauding all the while their misery

Good comrades still fall in obediently
To register submission to the ‘phone
And fight for selfie-space – oooh, look at me!
Applauding bars of connectivity

The irony of queueing before false shrines-
Good comrades once were forced to stand in lines

The old lady queueing at the store. Do you see.
What's on TV tonight.
I remember the faces of the all the people I've met.
An orange may cost twenty-five pence.
The waiter cleaning the table looks tired. Do you see.
The dreary underground of this city.
My life's a leaf in a foliage.
Stay tall like a man. Give a hand. Smile.
Where's the ashtray.

it was around 2001, i.e. circa 2001 (tautology,
but not for rhetorical purposes, not as tool of the sophists)
when the mad cow disease spread across
England: that beef and hoof and moo genocide
when the cows got their "geriatric" wobblies
their Parkinson's shake-a-doodle-do's -
frenzied like Elvis finding gravity in the knees
and the pelvis with suede and blue dogs...
music before drug affirmative mantras...
yes... then... around that time...
i was still one year short of sitting my GCSEs...
me and this rascal, Peter, Richardson(?) -
we used to roam the streets on the weekend...
climbing trees, throwing glass bottles into the air
waiting for them to shatter... going up multistorey
car parks and spitting on people...
well... i did have an agenda about spitting on people:
another time when i was much younger
i was taken to Chessington World of Adventures
theme park by my father... there we were minding
our own business watching seals
when a ride passed us... one of those train rides on
stilts - a group of boys in a carriage decided it was
fun to spit on people... one massive phlegm landed
on my father's head... i was furious!
i wanted to get my own back... as it happens...
karma can be blind... there are always collaterals,
innocent bystanders while karma is allowed to sentence
some sort of compensation...
karma is hardly personal: or rather people THINK
that karma obeys personal qualms,
you can't harness karma for your own sake...
but people always cite karma like so, especially in the west...
well i did get my own back...
i managed to land a juicy phlegm hark on a collateral's
head from about 20m high up in a parking lot
with Peter one beautiful Saturday afternoon in Ilford...
so i was supposed to go to this outdoors resort
centre for "poor" and "disadvantaged" kids in Wales,
Glasbury (see it? now say it... the Welsh say it
as Glaze-Bury: it's not Glass-Bury, more on that in
a minute)...
          i didn't go with Peter that year because said X...
bad moo moo...
          but the P.E. (physical education) teacher was kind
enough to offer me a chance to go again
two years later... but then i was sitting my A-levels
but by then Peter was long gone:
deciding to finish his education at 16 and go into tattooing,
getting his teeth knocked out in pub brawls,
ending up working in a carpet retailer
(although, much later i found him shacked up with
this honey and i thought to myself: ****...)
so i went to this retreat...
                    we did horse-riding, caving,
canoeing...
                         but one day we were told to do this exercise...
split into two groups...
one group: older boys with younger girls...
group two: older girls with younger boys...
   we were given a map (topographic to be more exact)...
we were driven out into the countryside away
from the resort...
group two (older girls with younger boys) was
dropped off first...
we were explicitly told... you can follow the road
from where you came... or...
so the first group was dropped off first...
our lot (older boys with younger girls) was dropped
off way way further afield...
to this day i'm wondering if i cheated...
when our lot were dropped off... map in hand...
i asked the driver... so... where are we?
a creazione di adamo finger hovered over the map
and pinpointed our starting position
(don't all public maps ref WHERE YOU ARE
on a map? YOU ARE HERE... so i wasn't cheating,
was i? you need to know where you are on
a map before you can start reading it and then
translating it onto the environment, no?)
so as Michelangelo pointed and then drove off
i took charge... ah! i spotted a short-cut through
a little grove, forest(?) and a cow field...
so as the boys in the group were busy trying to chat
up the girls i ended up (unconsciously or otherwise)
the leader of the group, taking responsibility,
being accountable (**** me, this NVQ3 in spectator
safety is really brainwashing me into being an upstanding
citizen)...
          and so... we managed to beat the other
group... so much so that once we reached the retreat
house we were already busy doing physical exercises
in the yard to **** time while the bewildered group
were coming down the hill with that HUH?! expression...
point being:
now i find myself in a similar situation...
if not a physical intervention dynamic then at least
an insinuation at... dialectical-sophistry...
because you don't have time you don't have
a Platonic leisurely for dialectics per se...
therefore in conflict situations you need
a dialectical-sophistry dynamic: to become quickly
persuasive...
like in my last shift at Tottenham Hotspur...
operating a human cordon at the entrance of
the Seven Sisters tube station entrance...
           the Pareto Principle:
        in terms of crowd control...
         20% of people will cause you 80% of problems...
how did i manage the massive queue of people
with only 6 SIAs (security industry authority operatives)?
i left them to it while i studied the crowd
and listened to their complaints
in order to spread my point of view INTO the crowd
for the crowd to hear my own constraints...
constipations... concerns... whatever...
talk to one person and then word-of-mouth
will do your bidding...
"yes sir, i agree with you, but it is not the football
club's fault, Enfield council should have started
making logistical improvements to the area,
they knew for well over 5 years that
the original stadium would be demolished,
from a 30,000 capacity to a 60,000 capacity...
the infrastructure of the area should have been
updated to accommodate for a strain in egress..."
boom bara boom... talk to one person and then
that person talks to another person in the queue
and you contain the disgruntlement...
you also add the empathetic:
"well sir, every single shift i finish as Wembley,
even though the staff leave at least 2h after an
event, i still have to end up queueing with the spectators,
yes, i too feel like i'm cattle and i'm being herded,
but please appreciate the fact that
when these transport hubs, stations, were built,
there was no incentive for a coliseum culture
revitalisation, football stadiums weren't even remotely
near the capacities they are at the moment,
so how would you begin to increase train station
capacities, would you think that double-decker
trains could be envisioned to accommodate more
people in transit?"
i might not be a police officer... but i'm second best...
my mother always wanted me to be:
either a police officer or a teacher...
well **** that... but it turns out: if i do this security
job and write sly poems on the side...
i might have eventually become both... in an informal
sense of the word...
not that i'm thinking about pleasing my mother's
ambitions for me...
i have my own ambitions... or call them dreams...
only today i sent a picture of a note i crafted
upon waking... first thing that popped into my head...
to my girlfriend... in ******* Hawaii...
go figure... but technology has made such relationships
possible, bearable even...
yes i'm going to have hiccups: i'm a man in my
30s... i wasn't a flirt in my teen years or my 20s...
now i'm a natural flirt... and that's my bad...
i've gained enough confidence over the years that
it's hard for me to not be a flirt...
but a flirt is a game without actually wanting women
a flirt is a way of studying women...
i have one i don't need a harem...
    if girls used to tease boys in their teens...
see... girls play a game of tease...
boys play a game of flirt...
tease for flirt... tease for flirt...
but only once you reach a certain age can you start
to flirt proper... and it's usually with the younger
girls in their 20s... who you have absolutely...
respect(?) - no... interest for...
         but then again: is that neurotypical given how
many instances there are of clucky men
wanting to settle down with younger women?
me... ha ha... am i neurotypical?
                    so i woke up... wrote a note...
took a picture... sent it to HER...
and it read as follows:

                        Groß = Groz
                                         (the same Z in Polish and English)
                 Since Zeit = Cajt (not z'igh 't
                                                 but (tseit - in English
                                                   of ****** phoneticism
                                                as above, cajt)
                ∴ - the one time that Braille influenced
          mathematics, not really, but that's
            therefore:
                      ß = Z                 not Ś or Š
              ß = Z (proper, the Polish and English Z,
          which is not the Deutsche Z which is
           the Polish C and the English TSE)
          
obviously i could have looked this up in a dictionary:
but it's so much more rewarding
when you wake up and have an epiphany...
it's better than waking up with a memory
of a dream... because you wake up with a memory
of a dream rather than the dream itself... no?
well that's what memory is to begin with:
the blurred line with the unconscious
and dreaming... obviously when memory is stripped
of this airy fairy day-dreaming construct
of relaxation and utilised proper for: arithmetic
and spelling... well... that's another matter...

scharf: spitz (spits slavic C)...
Aglican X - kss...
sharf Es stumpf Zee             dead Ed... living Dee
for the three K'appa sounds:
                                "
Cat Quip K' (potassium)         'alium

i had this Spaniard called Jorge... everyone
English called him just that... George (not gorge)
Joerge...
so when i asked him i sort of knew what
he would say: written Jorge...
but in Spanish... d'uh J and G are... H...
Horhe...
                        and yes i could have learned this
from books...
but then... people write books...
so...          why not skip the books and read people?

When the world ends
it'll be too late for Netflix
to make a series about it,
too late for BBC's
'any questions'
to give answers to it
and those
queueing for a McDonald's
will realise
they've
'bought the farm'

I have always travelled headfirst.
As an aeroplane child, I lent forward
with my arms outstretched, humming.
Later, I perfected the same trick
without any hint of movement or sound.
I arrive awkwardly in conversations,
my head bursting through thin walls
unexpectedly like a jack-in-the-box.

Whilst queueing, I argue with the people
in front, indignant that they are only
ahead by some mishap of time or space.
I am a gargoyle, forever watching,
cursing all the decent people
as they file beneath me. I contort
in public for I am a private person.
Love has eluded me, until now.

When I'm asked, "Would you like a seat?",
I will reply, "Parallel lines never intersect."
To be aloof, takes practice and hard work.
"Pierrot, you must be exhausted!" is a
common refrain, but only from old people, young people seldom give
insights without provocation.

As a baby, I was doused in talcum powder.
My inner fire extinguished, I was deemed
ready for a neutered life. When it is dark,
I stand quite still, like a mannequin.
I live only for the attention of strangers.

Queueing up to queue to get to
the front of the queue and they're
all behind you just to remind you
that they are queueing up too,

the lines are never ending
the queues are always forming.

We've become a production
a Cecil B DeMille,
'The whispering chorus'
of wannabees,
most of us
over the hill.

Sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this;
" Who on earth could vote for this lying chump "
try *** offenders bullies and rapists,

Anarchists and jailed insurrectionists
the immature who's hero dubbed them dum
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,

Ask ragged trousered philanthropists
and the dictators who've become his chums,
try *** offenders bullies and rapists,

And those antidemocratic fascists
shameless GOPers queueing to kiss his ***,
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,

Ask his sad insecure apologists
all these unblushingly will come up trumps
try *** offenders, bullies and rapists,

and twisted insecure rabid racists
a mutual courtship for a closet  ****
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,
try *** offenders, bullies and rapists...

AstraZeneca,  BigPharma,
           BioNTech,  Sinopharm,
Moderna , Pfizer,
              Sputnick,  ZyCov-Di,

The Immaculate Conception
is a trick of deception because
all were conceived incubated
gestated and delivered (albiet
prematurely by a caesarian)
just in time for 2021 as people
were loosing their 2020 vision.

Added to that being Lockdown
Winter and a general depression
of the manipulated masses who
have been made to succumb and
will therefore be queueing with
up rolled sleeves begging to be
saved by BIG PHARMA who is
watching them at all times via
the anode and cathode ray tubes
which 99.99% of households have
therefore the opiation is complete.



Ps.

The author has no cellphone, no
microwave, no dishwasher, no
television, is a vegetarian, reads
The Guardian, supports organics,
votes Sinn Fein and lives in fear
of the current Irish Government.

God
if they only knew
they would be queueing up
just
to have a conversation
with you