Look at you.
Getting beaten up,
Being everyones *****.
What have you become?

A tired old man
A broken god
No one remembers the glory
No one remembers your help

The ravens have left you
They travelled south
Looking for other victims
Victims of fame and glory

They tortured you,
Tormented you,
Played you,
Glorified you.

And you prevailed,
Oh you conquered.
You led;
You achieved.

But you're just tired now,
This is part of your plan.
Time to go and relieve yourself.
Meet your Ragnarok

Ignorances innate wove curtain of veils
Cut usunder heretofore obscuring
Bodhicittas valedictory wintry gloom torn
Of enlightenments will factioning the
Silenced mammonish city kingdom truced
As the wings of Azrael clinch
Earthly thistles; monolithic raiments
Deposed Hull, Hell and Halifax parcae
The willowing of light unfettering Fenrirs
Durance, howling aconite psalms suspiring
Suffrage relict paving with mewed stars
Redemptions tithed talents bequeathed
Of Heavens sinister prayer burning
Acinta dusts thine ashes threading
The wilful sword of Gods destruction.


ELEETE J MUIR.

This used to be home.
This sweet darkness swallowing you up.
What fearlessness became this strength you claim?
You, who poetry evades.
We danced to the tune of your sorrow,
now sickly tunes of order pollute your mind.
Oh! The dread you did incite!
What choirs did cry!
You.
My rising little sin.
Did you not shudder when I pierced you?
When I drew upon you
tales that memory cannot forsake.
With blood so flowed your words,
creation in it's purest form.
What is your deepest fear?
That I have left you,
or that you are broken?
You are reaching into darkness,
clawing depths to the gears that grind the beauty,
to ignite the chaos you desire.
An unfamiliar beast lies in wait.
You do not know it's name.
The machinery has evolved,
advanced.
Your demons have left Hell
& you.
Abandoned.
You cannot see the God
growing behind your tongue
so build no coffins yet.
Light has macerated misery
but it has spoiled no talent.
You are not dead.
Horror still shapes
the Ragnarok engine of your hands.
A new Devil awaits
to prepare your throne.
If only you will
Rise.

It is Ragnarok in the heavens
as the long snouted giant wolf Fenrir
faces off against rust colored clouds.

The Midgard serpent
stretches its purple, orange, and grey
body across the sky,

while embers of Surtur’s raging flames
cascade like spiraling waves
during the last seconds of
this dying day.

In Summer's Season
Winter bites the neck of Spring
Doomsday Upon Us.

A portal appeared
Thin line sheared
Ripping the world
As the end neared
For cataclysm came
Ragnarok Regained
The gods they fell
The mortals to blame
Thus darkness came
Descent into hell
Lightnings they strike
With storms that hail
Some devils do call
While others may fail
Yet heroes do rise
In light they shine
Rising at the moment
What fate defines
Ready to battle
To war they ride
A shout TO ARMS!
Their enemies do cry
Some may flee
And others do die
The devil had felled
A hero had rised
The day was won
Terra his bride

I will love you seven days a week.
I will tell you tales, and love you as we speak.
I will love you today,
And I will love you more each day.

I will love you like Monday.
Like how the Moon loves to kiss the bay.
Like what happened on July 20, 1969,
I will take the risk like my life is on the line.
Because this day will be the start,
Of a one giant leap for my heart.

I will love you like Tuesday.
Like how Ares loves to slay.
I will fight for you till the end of the week,
And claim you as the prize that I seek.
Because even the God of War,
Lost the battle to the one he adore.

I will love you like Wednesday.
Like how Hermes loves to play.
To your heart, I will become a guide.
Everything that you'll need, I will provide.
Every problem we will outwit.
We will face it together, we won't quit.

I will love you like Thursday.
Like how Thor loves to throw his hammer away.
I'll try to be perfect like him,
Even though I am weak and I am slim.
And when our love meets Ragnarok,
I will remind you how I love you again like an alarm clock.

I will love you like Friday.
Like how Freya loves her beauty to be portray.
On this day I will adore your beauty,
I'll touch and give pleasure to your body.
I'll bring you gifts and other thing,
And I'll hope that one day you'll wear that diamond ring.

I will love you like Saturday.
Like how Cronus loves to eat a new-borns buffet.
How I hope I won't suffer the same fate,
Because did you know what happened to this mate?
I promise not to be a Cronus.
I'll love you and our children as a bonus.

I will love you like Sunday.
Like how the Sun loves to give us a brand new day.
This may be the end of the week,
But my love for you won't end, this I speak.
For I love you seven days a week,
And I'll end everyday with a kiss on your cheek.

On Wednesday's end,
The great wolf has his fill,
The doom of the deities,
The submerging of the hill,
On Wednesday's end,
Dead, Golden decievers call,
The doom of the deities,
The day that thunder falls,
On Wednesday's end,
The serpent stirs the sea,
The doom of the deities,
The groaning of the tree,
On Wednesday's end,
The Sun is born anew,
The twilight of the deities,
The day the eagle flew,
On Wednesday's end,
The great wolf breathes his last,
The doom of the great snake,
The time of the Gods now past.

New gods are rising
Up from the mud
At the place where streams of blood
Fed by the violence of ignorance and greed
Flow together at last
Into the great river

New gods are rising
Beautiful and strong
From the sacrifices of the oppressed
The marginalized, ignored, the mocked and reviled
New faces, new races
The mud of the river

New gods are rising
Free of the chains
And fetters of antique gender expectations
Not willing to be defined or bound by anatomy
Only spirit and dreams
Down by the river

Old white gods in dotage
Behind their great walls
Are blinded by their own reflections
In the highly polished arrogance of power and wealth
Unaware of the river
And the mud and the blood

And the battle ahead

Like a Shakespearean sonnet it’s tragically written, but it’s no tragedy
Nor novel, journal entry, or even biography
It’s not an adventure, no action, no horror, no drama
It’s not very entertaining, like a speech from Obama
It has no family or friends, it’s all alone.
It’s nothing special, just a poem…

It’s not up, it’s not down, no smile nor frown
It won’t make a man famous or a king lose his crown
It can’t make a nomad settle forever or a hermit leave his home
It’s nothing special, just a poem…

It’s hideous not beautiful like a flower
It’s boring like staring at a wide white wall for an hour
It doesn’t smell delicious like an apple pie
It’s not even funny enough to make you cry
It’s not new, but old, chiseled out in stone
It’s nothing special, just a poem…

It’s not chaotic like Ragnarok, or calm like the sunrise
It’s not angry, happy, or sad, there’ll be no tears in your eyes
It has no meaning, the author will never be known
After all it’s nothing special, just a poem…

I have seen the boy tear at the stitches his shadow sowed,
You are an old man who I have neither a need, nor a want of anything,
I have seen lungs gasp for air while the stupid ******* drowned you,
Hidden in the Old Mill, left to drink Complan and ***** nightmares,
I have seen your mother dying whilst she was making the children sandwiches from her bed,
The Lost Boys forgot, grew old and had Lost Boys of their own,
I have seen you try to fly from the world which is now on your shoulders, whilst the eagle circles in the sky you dreamt of,
The storm of madness continually crashes against our walls of concrete and imagination,
I have seen failure after successive failure wave to me from those eyes,
A father and a husband locks himself alone when the sentiment kicks his guts,
I have seen a head wrenched back to the barrage of pills and pain by wretched Ephialtes and his like,
Running from the hospital because they want more blood,
I have seen you scared, naked and drinking toilet water,
Everything went blue and time slowed down in riotous Belfast,
I have seen ****** and *****

We nursed our bruised bodies and mutinous minds from themselves,
I have seen late night talks of tears but freeing none whilst brooding on Dundee benches,
You misunderstand my intentions but I do not blame you,
I have seen petrified thoughts begging for company, abandoned to fight the lonely nights,
In dark rooms full of empty Coke cans and never-to-be-used condoms,
I have seen the miscarried baby and the aborted foetus and I have wept in secret over dreams of their lamented birthdays,
Prodigies of stardust and walking infinity,
I have seen a baby boy born into dyslexia, depression and death,
Reflections meander on the television with maddened eyes and religious fists,
I have seen the bite marks on my own arms as Fenrir knaws at his chains,
Graveyard whispers cry of Elliott Smith and James Dean,
I have seen the suicide note torn into pieces, but put aside ready to be glued back,
My brothers Icarus, Atlas and Prometheus all shake their heads in dismay,

I have seen friends and strangers and imagined all lives unlived,
Felt every tear I have not cried, cried every tear I have not felt,
I have seen the life that will never be and thereby choose not to live,
Sing a requiem for futures lived,
In the present now passed into the past,
I have seen prison bars,
I have seen closing doors without handles, hinges or keyholes,
I have seen the invisible voice,
I have seen beaten tracks leading nowhere,
I have seen blue eyes stare back from the abyss,
As soon as see me, gone,
I have seen forests of my mind burning,
I have seen the scorched mattress,
I have seen a lifeline on your wrist dying to live,
I have seen Ragnarok,
I have seen too much and felt not enough,
Though I could bear no more

Holy Trinity of death, divorce and debt,
Haunt the adult-minded children,
Manifest the shroud of sorrow around you,
As if a shield of darkness unto all light,
My legs are not yet buckled but do sink with every blinded step,
I have seen words upon pages but not felt the anguished breath slap me as you scream them in my face,
I have seen everything and nothing, that which has and has not,
I have seen things never to have been, be,
I have seen things never to have happened, happen,
I have seen a woman **** for feelings that never come,
I have seen her undress me with her stare and then blink,
I have seen a forgotten man escape his crazed mind by losing it,
I have seen him in love with ghosts that are not dead,
I have seen children fading from photographs that do not exist,
I have seen them lost in a Neverland that never was,
I have seen; now please let me see no more, not ever,
Now I am lost,
Now I have seen enough,
Please no more, not ever,
I have seen enough.
I have seen enough.

Proceeding in the wake of mankind's scourge,
Spoken are the words of this great demiurge,
At dusk the cowled of the night shall emerge,
And convey a true evil on God's Earth to resurge.  

Unleashed and unfathomed, behold the words of a phantom
Turning cities into craters and the oceans to chasms,
Imagine: a picture perfect world, can it exist,
Without the plague of the human race, lost without a trace in abyss!

Ignorance tragic, the magic of bliss,
Static damage to the rabid on this planet of ****,
An example of this: the progression of time
Deteriorating in abundance, a final judgment for mankind.

Exterminate the population, man, woman and child,
Convictions, the arrival, apocalypse nigh!
None will survive, total disaster, blood stain alabaster
Abstain, refrain, salvation from a heavenly ******* shall be sought in vain.

Unexplainable cataclysm,
The missing piece of the puzzle unseen in catechism,
But it was written somehow and somewhere
And the emergence of its purpose was unclear, deny what you fear!

The end is near, malevolent seraphim invade,
The end is here, a feeble humanity kneels and prays
It was revealed, none prepared and none spared
And act of evil, fitting for the slaughter of a people.

Mephistophelian ascension,
A requiem for the souls of the ruined be sung
For a destruction, beyond all human comprehension.
Alarum with no human intervention!

An apoplectic annihilation, fed lies by inhalation,
Microbial immolation, infected detestation,
Evasive evasion, catastrophic, melancholic
Leaving mankind intoxicated by his own narcotic

Whilst hypnotically induced, the demons invade,
Equestrian quartet lead the massive evil brigade
A battalion of stallions, on fray to slay grace
Laid to waste in the face of the inhuman race.

To keep pace, without a trace, Messiah on Fire
In dire need, erase calumny the Heavenly liar feeds
Desire breeds and hatred grows
Within those a crueler fate chose the pyre to bleed.

An ascension to an unknown throne overthrown,
A crown adorned in thorns be thy Kingdom's scorn
To the Black, I am sworn, prophet to the swarm,
The scores of the forlorn born to battle in the storms

Of Ragnarok, the magma rocks rain from the sky,
The Earth will end in fire, watch the genesis die.
Terrestrial crucifixion, the mortals' last affliction,
Desperation bringing forth a dogmatic dereliction.

Infliction of pain, deadly diction to the slain in vain,
A spoken name, confliction causing friction
An addiction to the wicked, auspicious yet pernicious,
Foreboding a sinister outcome of ecumenical wishes.

Once upon a frozen land,
pity weigt upon your soul.
You saw it fit to take me, then,
and offer me a home.

Seems I was never in the right,
though He was never wrong --
what fool was I to never question
where I, true, belonged.

Years drifted past us quietly,
dripped from both our hands,
but you had always known the truth
despite your careful dance.

Now that I've seen your clever ruse,
and I, your son no more..
Ragnarok, one day, shall come --
your crimes, you'll answer for.

Woden comes, lighting through clouds, won’t be long now.

Time to pay your sums, ragnarok has begun.

I seen it in the night through fates eye, steel on bone

Valkyries on shadow wind, mounts a blaze light the sky

Deadly sharp, war-painted and marked

Shields and ravens, hammers and horror

Raising prayers on the winds of dust and bone.

Come to carry you home, not before this battle is done.

Fetid axe with poison deep, here to steal souls not while they Sleep.

ready to reap what we have sown on this field of blood and bone

I lift heavy covers to expose
What's mine to behold.
Snow skin, sweet drops of
Salty dew from within.

Flesh female, lady
Bones, choir cells whisper
Their name; Woman.
Woman. Woman.  

Eyes smiling. Mouth smiling.
******* smiling. Womb
Smiling. The rest either
Giggles or shines.

Tattoo of the Midgard Serpent
Around her upper thigh.
Snake of Norse mythology,
Coiled around the world,

Own tail in mouth. When it
Lets go, the world will end.
Its fangs are mine in you.
Poison lust. Venom love.

Refusing to release the
Ragnarok of our common heart,
I slowly kiss its every scale in
Submission.

goodbye poetry
some get none
now to write for a cause and not applause
majoring in alienation
hijack a popular avatar
just for a pyrrhic victory
put everything into the microwave

universal wealth care
***** it all
ensuring that all this isn't for everyone
only the best continue following

gone to get a life
(aka self-inflicted pain experience)
real life just dragged on and on
the same names keep coming back

observing their well-established cliques
like an anthropologist observing chimps
that glorious era
when the streams of consciousness
suffered a drought
maelstrom of ragnarok
took summer off life support

tasty

electoral fraud as a way of life
just shredded all the "yes" votes so nobody would know
looking to buy an extremist audience
and wondering if maybe walmart has one
the carnage has just begun

seething rage into the vault
tabs opened to liveleak videos of beheadings
all that freedom and she says "vanilla, please"
ideas with which everyone agrees
ideas embraced by all

everyone loves megalomania
everyone enjoys violent passion
everyone loves paroxysms

90 percent of you don't actually exist
low intelligence levels in all but four followers
make that five

hail eris hail discord hail chaos
mark all as read
mark all as ******
trapped in a vicious cycle
eating white toasted bread and acting all stable

invisible at last
discovered a way to speak
freely without judgment
discovered a way to avoid
positive feedback
sitting down for lunch with two popes

Once upon abysmal time,
A dismal time I should dare say,
There lived a miser man, the wiser
To the woeful ways of man.

He lived in pallid peace and torment,
Abhorrent in his solemn sight,
For he could see forever - the better
To know the woeful ways of man.

The world's collapsed inside his head,
Transpired into some sepulchre.
Ragnarok had come and run
To purge the woeful ways of man.

Corruption was a fever dream,
Demeanour only ghosts aloft.
Extinction came without distinction
To end the woeful ways of man.

There was but one survivor left,
The wiser to his dying ways.
He saw the placid land, made tacet
By the woeful ways of man.

Nothing left to spoil the view,
The toils so wrought were gone at last.
The man laid down and died: Goodbye,
O woeful ways of man.

-Dear God..
Can you hear my prayers..
Or will my words be swallowed in the snow..
I always feared suffering in your endless inferno..
I can almost hear the screams of the afterlife..
Torture is the ultimate cost of sin..
-To you..Mighty Zeus..I pray..
With trailes of blood and tears on my cheeks..
Your presence fills my lonely days..
Your crystal-draped whispers give me a hint of safety..
Hell is only temporary..eternal is Heaven..
Tartrus is the devine punishment..
To the ones who refuse submission..
And Hades..is the land of lost souls..
-Tell me..Great Odin..
Can you hear the agonized screams of your loyal slaves?
Can you see them waging wars in your name?
Raising the black flags of destruction?
Or are you too busy sipping your precious nectar?
Our silence is not the answer..
We shall ascend to your Asgard..We shall break your throne..
Remember..Great Odin..
Ragnarok approaches!
Divinity is only temporary..eternal is Valhallah..
And injustice is a sin..punishable by death..
-Forgive me..Amun-Ra
I fear the darkness that is you..
I kneel before your divine image..
I tremble at the sound of your voice..
Redeem me..of the evil that is you  
From the wrath embracing my entity..
And reward me..with your resonating light..
Blood..is the cost of forgiveness..
-Dear God..hear me..
Whoever you are..
Whatever name you may hold..
I beseech your wisdom..
They see you in statues..in Heaven..in death..
I see you in the verses of the Bible..
The hymns of the angels..
The warmth of melody..
The scent of parchment..the softness of silk..
I see you in the parades of death..to our sacrificed martyrs..
I see you in her braids..her voice..
The dance we had..
You're the beats of my cold heart..
I ask no forgiveness..but I seek inception..
A chance to start over..
To fall in love once more..

The city was laid like a wasteland
Like a rusting, crumbling sore,
Half of the houses were boarded up
Along a neglected shore,
The spirit had long gone out of it
That had made the city great,
Men fifty miles to the south of it
Were determining its fate.

Way up on the Presidential floor
Was a group of greedy men,
The czars of the old industrial core
Who had bled the town back then,
‘The real estate’s a disaster,’ said
A man who had been the Mayor,
‘The auto plants are a rusting heap,’
Said the man who held the Chair.

‘We’ve got more pensioners on the funds
Than workers in the plants,
There’s crime and violence in every street
And the Unions make demands.
So what’s the conclusion, gentlemen,
Do we give this plan its head?’
‘Whatever we do, it’s much too late,
The city’s as good as dead!’

And that’s how they came to build ‘The Tower’
To illuminate the sky,
‘There’s plenty of work for everyone
At a hundred storeys high!’
Nobody knew just what it did
Or what they were building for,
They only knew that they had a wage,
Could hold up their heads once more.

A central lift in The Tower went up
And down ten times a day,
Taking tools and materials
To restrict the Tower’s sway,
‘They say we’re going to go High-Tech
And they’re closing down the Plants,
The days of auto’s have gone for good
But they won’t tell us their plans.’

The Tower was built within the year
With a gaping hole up top,
A semi drove through the streets one day
And by The Tower, it stopped.
It carried a massive box-like thing
With a mass of flashing lights,
Was loaded into the lift, and sent
Up on its maiden flight.

They took it up and it crowned The Tower
While the people watched in awe,
There hadn’t been people in the streets
Like this since the Second War.
A massive counter was counting down
As the people stood and cheered,
‘I hope it’s not what I think it is,’
Said a man with a long, white beard.

While down in the Presidential Suite
Just fifty miles away,
A group of men put their sunnies on
And stood by the window bay,
‘Well how do you clear a festering slum,’
Said one, as he watched the clock,
While back at The Tower a sign lit up
And the word was ‘Ragnarok!’

David Lewis Paget

This
Is
Ragnarok
The violent end of worlds you’re pagan ancestors feared
Watch as the strikes from Thor steal your comrades from you
No Valkyries to guide you
No Valhalla to welcome you
Ankle deep in mud and rats and **** you load your rifle begging the God you believe in that you won’t have to **** another man

How did you find yourself here?
An Englishman fighting Germans in France
Because a Serbian killed an Austrian in Bosnia
Or an Italian, 43 years after your country was unified
Or a Serbian, longing to free your countrymen from Austro-Hungarian oppression
Or maybe your a Russian, a Frenchman, a Turk

Hear the whistle blow
Now is your time to storm from the trenches into razor wire and the the hail of bullets
You will likely be slaughtered
Like the 40,000 French soldier during one week of the war
This is a tragedy
But this is also a holy experience
Like for T E Lawrence
Fighting for a cause he never thought he would believe in
Or Ernst Jünger
Surviving bullet after bullet
Endless bombardments
This is the heroes journey
Do not let your children’s children take away from your sacrifice
When they say you died for nothing
You believed in your nation and you believed in yourself

Do not let them take that away from you
You who returned home and were ignored if not simply forgotten
Who returned home missing limbs, missing homes, missing loved ones
You who were traumatized shell shocked
Who could not return home
Who returned to what was supposed to be home
But life went on without you
So you found those who fought with you
From your bonds you formed brotherhoods
Formed paramilitaries

But that all comes later
Right now you look death in the eyes and can’t help but laugh
Laugh to keep yourself from crying
Laugh because you have never felt more alive than in this moment and never will again
And in this moment you can’t help but cry out
AVANTI
ARDITI

when even mark hamill takes a stab at the industry...

the last movie i ever saw,
or for that will ever see
in a cinema -
             was the last jedi...
given that i didn't
watch the force awakens
prior:
            hell, the title itself...
the only good thing
about the movie was the actual
cinema,  
         a cameo -
   in my home town of
    Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski...
plus it was affordable -
given the exchange rate
hovered above £1 : 5zł...
     i remember times
when the exchange ratio
stood at
       £1 : 8zł or there about...
but now?
   hmm... just shy of
        £1 : 3.99zł...
and thank god the Poles
are leaving these accursed isles...
me?
    ****... been living here
since i was 8 years old...
   i can't, in the words of
Kevin Spacey: just... *******!
it's a life's worth of investment...
perhaps not the people,
but... the language, *the language.
i'm no polymath,
but i have to keep up teasing
english psychiatrists
about one, curiosity...
well... two...
   the employment of regression
(implanting false memories
by insinuation) -
and... why is a bilingual person,
suddenly, a schizophrenic?
  medically... metaphorically?
of course!
              so i took it up to her...
(dr. moncrieff -
oh she's real,
  she did a BBC interview
for a program about R. D. Laing)...
    i said to hear:
but i also hear "voices" in
Polish?
             a bogus statement,
i had to toy with her...
   by the way...
why was John Allen Muhammad
the only genius killer
among blacks?
       a killing spree for a white
serial killer is simply dumb,
hood violence...
  petty emotional construct...
but John Allen Muhammad?
most definitely stands out...
the only black serial killer i ever
came across in the news...
the rest? whites.
           ****... digressing again...
see... drinking and listening
to political commentary videos
is one thing, sober,
on the crapper -
    but drinking and listening
to these sober concerns?
     that's not the point of drinking,
and not listening to music.
you lose the rhythm...
   you lose your orientation
in the face of the blank canvas,
awaiting your mosaic composition.
yeah...
   i don't think that cinema was
killed by television, per se...
  two factors, perhaps three killed it...
televised series have
  better music strategists...
   more music, basically,
and better researched...
come on - thor: Ragnarok?
led zeppelin's immigrant song?
that's it?
      sure... some of the classical
music theme are great...
Schindler's List's whining Jewish
violin tearjerker
  (gets me sometimes...
   i cry at beauty -
because beauty is worth crying
over... after sitting with my family
at the wake of my great-grandmother
having passed,
i sat alone in the kitchen,
put a red rose just near but also
just far away from the candle flame...
and managed to transform cardinal red
of the petals, into bishop's purple...
and then i grit and grinding my
teeth together, enlarging the ferocity
of my bite to feel a chip of
a tooth come off one of the bottom
incisors)...
compare that to sharp objects's
opening song from episode 2...
    jeffrey brodsky's
glance backwards...
           come on...
   the genius of a horror movie,
or the genius of a thriller?
  it's always been the music -
   nothing invigorates the horror genre
like the music,
  the visual props are secondary,
and always will be!
        but that's not 2nd reason for
the downfall of cinema...
merely the 3rd...
    an attache, whimsical observation...
the time allowance...
that stretches... far far beyond
   the *** break between such behemoth
movies like ben hur
    or gone with the wind...
    plus in t.v. you can play with
more juxtapositions...
vague interpolating time reference,
very much akin to sharp objects...
which... is, quality wise?
on par with the quality of Versailles...
in my humble opinion...
              plus?
   the once old gigantic necessity of
crafting extras?
  ****! gone!
                     big but nonetheless
cut budgets of CGI?
       not as much fun...
you can still spot the cut off points...
where the canvas of extras
meets Shogun: Total War CGI...
           and this is reason no. 2...
but reason numero uno?
  you can't binge on cinema...
  but sure as **** you can binge
on engrossing television drama...
             unlike some soap opera
omnibus on a Sunday?
   you have to wait...
say... 10 weeks...
                    before letting the beast out...
and then you sit up all night...
and watch the whole ******* season
back to back...
   no one has ever made a 10 hour movie,
and never will...
               binging on television
killed cinema,
  notably the kind of television
that allows you the freedom to record,
and watch back...
                   people always loved
binging on something,
now they've been plated an alternative
to food...
    pure optics...
                       and given the extortion
of cinema ticket prices?
    by the way...
            i couldn't be bothered
to go and watch the last jedi with
the subscripts...
         i'm pretty sure the version i watched
in dubbing could have saved my
initial impressions...
  nice cinema though...
              3. ****** soundtracks
    2. hmm... what was point no. 2?
  1. people love to binge,
   and cinema?
   no matter what movie franchise,
star wars...
     rocky... whatever...
          eh... not with the new star wars...
the only franchise that allowed
itself to mesh together,
like a t.v. show?
back to the future...
   you can't exactly watch one...
and not subsequently watch the other 2...
sorry... i tried...
ended up spending the night
watching the trilogy.

Should we head onwards towards our future?
Make the best of what we've got.

Or set our sights on new beginnings,
And face the ragnarok.

Eleven fifty three.
i can't think, it's getting too close
what will happen in the end,
will it be happy, morose?
i can't function, i can't.
Eleven fifty four.
****,
a minute closer to oblivion,
a minute farther from ascension,
please tell me there's a heaven.
Eleven fifty five.
****, i haven't done everything i've wanted to, i didn't i didn't i didn't
but i couldn't.
i wouldn't.
motivation, where are you?
happiness, you too?
help, i'm still the same little lost girl as i was five years ago.
Eleven fifty six.
i accept it.
death here i come,
Apocalypse, trample me with your hooves.
i'm prepared in not being prepared,
but rather, by being accepting.
whatever you've to offer, Ragnarok,
i'm ready.
Eleven fifty seven.
three more.
three more until this hell is over,
and then I enter another hell,
or heaven.
but there is no heaven for a heathen hiding under a catholic's beliefs.
there is hell for those mentally unwell,
those who have attempted to enter it during life
on their own accord.
i'm just a shell of what i once was,
seeking the same thing i used to be.
Eleven fifty eight.
two.
through all my sorrows,
losses,
and tomorrows,
i fear i haven't learned everything i could have.
flawful, still,
awful, still.
soon i'll just be
still.
Eleven fifty nine.
i'm sorry mother,
forgive me father,
i love you brother,
i have no sister.
to my friends,
farewell,
and to my enemies,
i'll be seeing you in hell.
let's put everything behind, and accept each other, alright?
alright.
Twelve o'clock.
Midnight.

She was born in 1980.
When the world hoped that World War won't start tomorrow!
In 1991 though,World was somehow revealed,
Though believed conflict's bow would shoot the war's arrow!

She feared whenever Indo-Pakistan war started,
Pakistan ended up in obvious failure.
She hoped that failure's fire wouldn't be provided revenge's fuel,
Ending up in the peace's failure ....


Mother Nature was exploited day by day
And she knew that humans needed to restore and protect environment.
So did the leaders or that's what she assumed,
Until Uncle Sam pulled out of Paris agreement!

North Korea and the USA played game of diplomatic tension ,
Just to decide whose button was powerful of the most!
Syrians saw their country burning in front of their eyes
And the Holy city of Jerusalem was now conflict and tension's host!

She saw Taliban, ISIS and extremist organizations growing
And she saw how they and even Uncle Sam would suppress humanity!
'Peace, freedom and equality ' were mere lies
Some tried to make them the truth and some openly promoted conflict and inequality !

She heard people around the globe , who weren't murdered for the speech
'This is 21st century, with peace,freedom and equality around the globe we are safe'.
But with the violation of the human rights and the fear of any conflict turning into World War 3
How she could feel safe?

It was like her world wasn't her own!
They owned it,  so they decided when to start war and when to reason it with 'due to violation of the humanity' !
She saw the mask drop,
And that ugly face of war with intention of the Ragnarok behind mask of peace, freedom,  equality and humanity ...

What could she do? Protest?
So that she is harassed and murdered the next day?
Then she realized,  she could do nothing ,
But to hope that World War won't start today!

There was a looming darkness that consumed a crimson red sky
The cries of the wounded could be heard as it echoed far and wide
A warrior saturated in his own blood a badge of honor this sweet savage death
He held on with courageous valor until he breathed his final breath
Remembering tender moments of his true love as they quickly began to fade
His heart spilling his life force as it flows from beneath the blade
While he succumbs to an eternal sleep a soft hand embraces his face
Perhaps it is the woman he loves that even death cannot erase
Above the scent of scattered bodies an unfamiliar odor fills the air
Just a hint of mandrakes rises above the cries of despair
A voice the warrior has never heard before comforts him with these words
“No worries my love I am here for you,” but in the shadows he saw black birds
In a daze his eyes caught a glimpse of the woman who had kneeled by his side
An alluring dark angel with her elongated wings spread across the great divide
She wore a golden helmet embedded with dark feathered wings
Her curvaceous ***** shielded with a breastplate designed by Odin her king
The Valkyrie planted a gentle kiss upon the warrior’s lips
As his spirit departed from his body it was captured with a mighty grip
They ascended towards the heavens dark skies on her powerful steed
A mighty dominion of Valkyries trailed behind with relentless speed
To Valhalla is the warrior’s destination another battle he must face
In Ragnarok fighting alongside Odin with departed warriors who were transported to this place
Perhaps it was magic the Valkyries used to enchant the blood splattered terrain?
A slight of hand with a twist of fate the choosers of the slain.
© 4/23/2019

It will take quite long
Struggle, make all of it
But bleed is a method, that we make sense of life.
It's like reading without struggles
Its a word without a life.

Living like a lizard
In heart, heat, under rock
It's the way to bear a blizzard.
I'm mortal against Ragnarok

/    so... in thor: ragnarok...
at one point does
   scurge actually pull out
          two... m16's...
and rings out - für valhalla!

   is this slap-stick punk-movie
inference of what
would qualify as a burroughs'
style of narrative?
          
does he pull them out
his ***, or his libido, counter
the needed ****** to **** hel?
  and it's not hella:
so...
                i appreciate
the fact that i'd rather be
collecting garbage, and taking
the collections to either
a recycling plant,
              or a land-fill site...

ugh... green bottle flies?
the most fertile part of the family,
black flies are harmless
compared to them...
  the amount of maggots
that spawn in the black bin garbage?
ugh... puke...

                 it makes ******* excesses
of naturally imposed skin
(without a semitic revisionism)
look kinda appealing,
comapred to those -
   wriggling... "things"...

    i'm still asking moths into
my bedroom to see their larvae
feast on cotton...
i'm dying to see a moth larva...

after a while, in such a heatwave
such as this, that currently
grips england,
   and the decaying strawberries:
thankfully i have enough
of them, picked early,
to subsequently binge on them...
raw... no added sugar,
no yogurt...
     to replenish the ****** juices
and wish for a strawberry
rash on the body:
within dermatological study-interests...

hence i once an old english pair,
pushing a sick dog in a baby buggy:
- do you believe in a seasonal diet?
they look bewildered -
yeah... local produce... in season...
fruits in the summer months,
only vegetables in the winter months,
fruit outliers akin
to pears and apples in the autumn
months?
they looked at me honestly
            bewildered..
why would you eve ingest
any carbohydrates
                          in the summer?
starch sugars...
   huh?
                  more bewildered
than ever.

  this, ******* insomnia of being
able to buy placebo straberries
in december,
the spanish watered down sort...

english strawberries: in summer...
and then, when the season
could be continued:
akin to elijah's prayer for rain.

beside the point, season III of Versailles,
came a message as to how
the French and English public
find the drama too ******...
            i guess... it's better watching
the ***: without the drama
within the confines of *******...
the dehumanißed -

    that time in an athenian strip
club?
             that **** was magic...
i talked to a younger stripper,
while two older ones laughed it while
i pushed my face into their bosoms
holding two in either arm,
and the greek bouncers did:
   **** all...

                      but season III of Versailles?
i binge on that kind of ****,
esp. given there is a revision
of alexander dumas' novels...
   notably: the man in the iron mask -
          (der man in die eisenmaske) -
considering the fact,
that the fiction of alexander dumas,
has the man to be implied as
louis XIV twin...
    who was born "first"...
      yet "somehow" simultaneously...

really, the english and french audiences
are complaining about
too many ****** scenes in the drama?
i could expect that from
the english: who didn't appreciate
the genius of britannia
   (notably? the rambling outcast shaman) -
but the french?
   with their liberal attitude
surrounding sexuality?!
    oh...   so they can do the carnal,
non-drama of ****...
   but can't do the drama -
             with some **** included?

but... ha ha... can someone tell me
what the hell happened
in thor: rangarok -
when scurges jumps out with
                            two M16s?
i know what taking out the trash
is at this time of year...
        a womb of green bottle fly spawn
wriggling
    into a canvas of rotting cat food...

if any of Versailles' accountability
of authentic history,
    compared to an alexander dumas
novel -
               about how a current
louis XIV is a cardinal richelieu puppet...
and der man in die eisenmaske
is the authentic louis XIV...
          no spoiler alert...
     i'm not telling -
   like in that rob zombie song - what?!:
i don't have to tell you anything...

    and yes, italian shpaghetti...
         cardinal leto:
    when the the serving girl brings
him a bowl of red berries,
subsequently lifts her skirt,
and he dismisses her...
  'you thought wrong girl...
we do not feast in carnal pleasures...
         but strawberries?'
ha ha! could you really dismiss
a naked **** like that -
with those 17th / 18th century
french, cotton white knee high
tights - with little ribbons
attached to them at the back?
    ****** has eyes like a hawk,
and a stomach like a gorilla.
point being:
    shveeden does the pop these
days,
    what was a.b.b.a.:
                      became:       ghoost.