Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.    like cardinal Leto remarked, having received news from Versailles... why is it always the ******* French?

perhaps in a less crude manner,
drinking wine,
while eating raw fruits -

  always a bad combination...
no *****, no meat?
   bad idea... wine, and raw fruit
akin to strawberries?
    irritable bowel movements...

- and that's because Einstein
didn't discover the concept of
gravity, in the format of: sideways?
in the form of orbits?
   expansive waves...
   that allowed for the elliptical interpretation?
like the old
              argument:
      (heliocentric) oval...
             contra the (geocentric) circular
"concern" for...
   whatever is up / down
            sideways in
      the Copernican terminology...
because there was ever a "shape"
concerning the universe,
  and not a medium,
            an extraction for the metaphor
for water,
   gas, liquid, solid...
              and the fourth aspect
of ancient elements:
   its existence in a vacuous "space"?

- but i can't fathom the French at this point...
once upon a time...
one Frenchman equated the motivation
for a "summa summarum"
    to be bound with a thinking,
and a curiosity...

            the current fashion of Latin
abbreviations...
   this... cogito ergo sum?
   it's nonsense...
    speak it long enough...
   and you'll find yourself inclined
to suppose that cogitans per se:
is a motivation, an impetus to exist...
yet... so much of thought it "wasted"
or, rather, to craft an impetus to
"doubt", within the confines of fiction...
but the motivation has lost its
origin within the confines of doubt,
and has been replaced by
the Freudian unconscious,
   a serialized phobia fest... notably
including a, clown...

originally, thought (per se) was
a secondary motivational outlet
that precipitated into being...
    first came... doubt...
   but... these days?
               doubt is a conspiracy theory,
no longer an emotional thrill
to prop-up thinking...
   and we have the French existentialists
to thank for this...
for they subverted their own
idea...

             negation has replaced doubt
as the origin, and motivation
for thinking...
        yet... this sort of "thinking",
has made, its materialization, so, so...
obscene...
    i can hardly find it surprising while
i took to propping two worthwhile
economic outlets...
   prostitution (since they will spend
the money i give them...
on things... i wouldn't even care
for propping up)...

    and... alcohol (scotch whiskey,
russian standard *****...
    shveedish cider...
                     german beer)...

but how can you even claim an existence,
if...
       there is no thrill...
of what is the secular expression of faith:
i.e. doubt?
  how can you replace doubt -
a motivation for thinking, materialized
into being... with negation?
  jean-paul Sartre attempted this inversion -

doubt has been replaced with negation
in his system...
             it's like that cliche of an English
1960s ***-joke / ***-like...
       this... frivolity over a blatant lie...
a lie so... bogus...
    so ineffectual in translating a hidden truth
that... you allow it...
   to care for the cheap comic aspect
of the execution...

but how can the French suddenly
feign to disbelieve their secularism -
   resorting to the antithesis,
namely:

  original

  doubt motivates thinking,
  which subsequently motivates
   being within the confines of reason,
or rather, reasonableness...

20th century existentialists

negation "motifs" thinking,
   which subsequently motifs
"being" within the freedom of non-reason,
or rather, unreasonableness...

   and by negation,
   i don't mean the atomic conceived softening
blow...
   akin to: dis-ease...
    i.e. (as i explained it to one old man
in a park, walking his dog):
  a negation, or ease... a denial of...

how can the Cartesian model work,
when the 20th century French existentialists
began with the presupposition:

   i deny, i think, therefore i exist?
where is the original thrill of
the secular aspect of faith, within the boundaries
of doubt?
              gone... vanished!
****! a **** on the London tube,
during the rush hour,
  during the heatwave
                of the past month!

                   perhaps this only comes
as a method of assimilating an increased population,
within the confines of the Taoist maxim:
the best way to aid the world,
is to forget the world, and let the world
forget about you...

             perhaps... the Andy Warhol 15 minutes
analogy...
      that in order to encompass the individual,
the world, and the individual within it...
   the approach had to change
from the original, exciting, exploration
genesis of thought, bound to the genesis
of doubt...
             having to be replaced by
a genesis of denial...
      the second tier of a secular society...
    the zeitgeist of Herr Censor...
to filter through what we see so often,
faces, bodies...
  but would be much more comfortable
having been bound to Plato's cave,
         of complete shadow theater...

perhaps... but the original tier of
secular societies' alternative to church prescribed
articles of faith...
                     to have replaced
the thrill of doubt...
      with this... Byzantine pillar of denial
as motivational groundwork for
thinking impetus
   that becomes an article of being?
am i the only one to see the frustration,
how, people abhor their being,
being founded upon an act of denial,
rather than an act of doubt?

     the once thrilling maybe (gnostic):
   has become the stale, "i don't know"
    (agnostic) - as if... people can't tell you
whether zebras have stripes!
   where there was once an article
of secular faith (doubt) -
   now?
                        there's not even that!

p.s.
  there has to be a much needed new mantra,
all publicity: is bad publicity -
unless of course you're riding that
fame juggernaut and are paying
for your all-inclusive status akin
   to madonna: since fame dies off
and you, none-the-less invest in the momentum...

one day where i drink a bottle of wine,
half a liter of whiskey,
   and i'm apparently not "screaming" in
my sleep from the heat,
the whole, "apparently", as i retorted:
at 5:15am? i was alseep! i was asleep!
how can i stop screaming in my sleep
like a banshee:
the sleeper and the blind man both see
eye to eye regarding the future to come...

one day without engaging in internet
content: of my own accord,
next day? this... this... lethargy builds
up in me... i end up thinking:
i can't do this any more,
this insomnia culture globalism of
24h news reels is tirying me,
i pick up the sunday newspaper
which i found to be respecteable...
the sunday times,
  i peer into the magazines...
toxic masculinity,
    desire: what three women want...
i'm bored...
well more tired than bored,
bored-tired...
                 what women want:
what an exhausting question...
**** fantasy, beta-male provideer...
yada-yada-yada...
                    
    the only relaxing aspect of the day
(apart from the shade) is watching
england beat india in the cricket...
i always loved cricket sport terminology:
50 overs... innings...
wickets... 6 throws of the ball in an over...
the rest? i'm no atlas...
i don't like the world crashing in on
me with all its problems...
not because i don't have the right
advice to give,
but i remember the most modern secular
motto about giving advice borrowed
from Athos of the creation of alexandre dumas:

the best advice? to not give advice...
you cannot be held accountable
for giving bad advice: and people complaining,
or good advice and leaving
people in your sphere of influence...
asking for more - non verbatim... of course...

second categorical imperative?
tao...
              the best way you can help
the world: is to forget the world,
and let the world forget you...

                        you only need two absolute
maxim vectors to orientate yourself
in this world,
a third is nice, but: it can be kept loose...
at least two on a tight leash...

but one night spent drinking,
not writing anything:
and i am... spent!

                            the boogieman of england's
persistent complaints...
the muslims are not integrating,
the english: we should give them more
ground...
           o.k., o.k.... joe peshi in the role
leo getz in lethal weapon II...
            i too had to integrate!
i said: like **** if you think i'll give up
my native tongue when spoken in private...
you're not getting it...
i'll spreschen ihre zunge, no problem,
i'll even write you pwetty free verses to boot!
but, guess what?
  i will not force you to eat my
sauerkraut, my schnitzels,
                           my smoked sausages,
my raw herrings etc.,
                      integration does not work
within the confines of: pampering to a people
expected to meet you half-way...
what happened when the polonaise attempted
to meet the english half-way?
brexit...
oh come on guv'... is there a ******* tram
echoing its way out of my eye
when you peer into it while i attach
an index finger to the bottom lid to give
you a clearer picture?
           25 years in england: no englush girlfriend:
i guess all the english girls just love, just love love
being ***** by 9 pakistanis
daubed in gasoline...
                   hey: they **** thrill...

i'm tired of the weakness of the english,
the humpty-dumpty nature they are imposing,
self-cencorship,
    appeasing, like neville chamberlain...
bringing back the munich agreement...
not on a piece of paper,
instead... waving a scrap of a toilet roll...
so the english could wipe their own *****
on the promises of the germans...
if this really hurts the northern monkies...
guess how much it hurts the sourthern fairies...
(well... fairy, is a designated region surrounding
devon, bristol, hardly a ******* fairy in essex)...

   why am i foreigner and i share
the same nausea of the natives,
                     exhausted by the narratives?
i guess the english didn't like the polonaise:
but the polonaise are to blame...
came here with a list of benefits they could claim:
without having even lived 5 years among
the natives... housing benefits, child benefits...
believe me: the polonaise are the only
people in the world that hate each other...
to the extent of citing bitter criticisms...
whenever i pass through warsaw to see my grandparents
i am gripped with a sickness:
this homogeneity is too much for me...
shove me back into the east end of London...
too much of the same genetic material...
and that's when the language i am keeping
(seemingly for vanity reasons) fizzles out
into your basic encounter and that basic reminder
that circa 40 million speak it too,
better or worse, but they speak it...

of all the festivals? download...
                                   i wish...
    glastonbury?       not my thing...
kylie? i'll concede: slow? live, with instruments,
rather than the studio original...
wasn't that a cover of
   bowie's fashion?
                  sure as hell sounded similar...
but i heard the cure were playing...
so while writing my father's invoice
i made myself a paperclip bracelet...
   i figured... "let's just pretend to be there"...
and no, the 1980s weren't that bad when
it comes to music,
not now, by comparison...
the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me (1987)
release?
one of those rare albums you can
listen to akin to reading a book...

                       but there's still that persisting
exhaustion... i came from under communism,
from under the iron curtain,
but at least there was the economic aspect
of communism involved...

   only today i watched the story
of the terrible inversion of english jursprudence,
i.e.: guilty until proven innocent...
the 1975 case of the silesian vampire...
an innocent man was hanged...
the original vampire?
    smashed his wive's head in,
then his childrens', then he set himself
on fire...
              then again: the tragedy of those
rare cases of being presumed guilty
rather than innocent...
then the reverse: presumed innocent rather
than guilty and getting away with it,
through the parody of death
and the non existent god...

   there could not be anything more exhausting
than communism without a communist
economic model...
this current state of affairs in the west:
cultural marxism and the yet to be discovered
antithesis of cultural darwinism...

i'll use the cartesian chirality for a moment:
sum ergo cogito...
i don't like using political terms...
but... liberal (classical) - i don't even know
what sort of thinking goes into the label -
in the east? the liberals are exhausted
by a resurgent nationalism within
   the newly acquired capitalist system...
in the west? the liberals are exhausted
by an insurgent communism within
an ageing capitalist system...

         on a side: seriously, why even bother
engaging in any sort of "public intellectual"
debates when the public are only
discussing two books: 1984 and brave new world...
**** it, might as well talk to a camel jockey
who only own and rides the waves of
time in this world only using one...
muhammad...
   whom Khadija **** Khuwaylid
would probably whip into his young
respectable shape...

                  and this is how Ezra Pound comes
into rememberance:
usura... at least the muslims do not
play into the game of usury:
of interest... borrow a quid,
pay back £2.33...
            that's the only way you can
gain respect of the muslims:
if they truly were the money lenders
of this world: which they aren't...
unless a newly blessed...

   among the philistines and the proselytes...
england is such a tiresome project,
even on the outskirts of London...
i'm being dragged down by this intervention
of marxism: on a whim,
on a whimsical projection...
of "adding" values...
            
           communism would have worked...
in exceptional circumstances...
poland... circa 1945 - 1990...
syria: the current year...
  to whatever year is demanded...
exceptional as in: war torn...
where was the marshall plan
   for poland, when there was one
for sweden (neutral) and switzerland
(also neutral)?!
        black youths bothered about
the summer holidays,
having to live in council flats,
  concrete goliaths...
           want to know what it feels like
when entire cities are like council
estates,
with only pockets of remaining
   free-standing houses among
overshadowing council flats?
                                    nee bother...
sure... in a country where:
the house is the castle and there's a labyrinth
of castles constituting outer suburbia...
balconies... that's what the soviet
models had... balconies...
where women could grow flowers...
concrete staccato gardens in the sky...
the blocks of flats in england
didn't have balconies (sky gardens,
          esp. the early ones, massive fault)...
i spent one summer reading
bertnard russell's history of western philosophy...
lying in my grandparent's balcony,
in the shade...
watching passerbys among
          the barking dogs of the neighbours...

one day, one ******* day!
   and i'm already exhausted from the castrato
english narrative...
pandering to the people you expected
to integrate...
  no! you're not changing your standards...
your standards are perfectly reasonable!
i'm tired of the english pandering
to the sort of people who, will, not,
integrate!
               i integrated in a way
of respecting both the english culture,
as well as hiding / preserving my own...
why don't i just do the following:
   pisać po polsku?
                      like some czesław miłosz?

ah... good point... at what point
is the standard of integration appreciated?
when nothing is preserved?
surely integration is supposed to
accommodate some variation
of preservation?
     i might add: that's a fine line...
preserve all? no integration...
preserve some? integration...
                    preserve none? no integration...
food is a cheap target to example
with...
                   it's a low hanging fruit...
given that even i find indian cuisine
   the most superior in the world...
food is a cheap target concerning integration...
but the niqab?
  when the local english authorities
are employing face-recognition
technology and when testing it...
are forcing people to uncover their faces,
subsequently arresting them out of protest...
but not the women wearing the niqab...
out of? out of what?
   a secular society shouldn't be allowed
to discriminate against any religion...
it should discriminate against: all religions!

                isn't that what the secular ideology
is all about? the... softcore version
of soviet atheism?
        secularism of the west (miltary-industrial
complex)...
"vs." soviet atheism of the east
  (scientific-industrial complex)...
           i'm still so ******* tired
               of this bogus trap of "necessary"
                       commentary.
Mary Balcom Jan 2016
Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.

"Trumpery."

Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?

[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]

trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\

Definition of trumpery

1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>

2
archaic : ****** finery

Origin of trumpery

Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive

First Known Use: 15th century

Examples of trumpery

<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>

Related to trumpery

Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or *******), claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, *******, senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle

Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus

Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum
Otis told me about this cool
brand new swanky dance hall place,
said it was full of pretty-lookers
with baby doll faces
not the sleazebag rough
******-types, the scary kind.
So I pulled on my best blue jeans,
scooped on a little dab of gel and
checked myself out in the mirror.
I thought, man you look swell,
somebody might say, you're fine
and with those thoughts,
I stepped out
headed on down to the party club,
hoping someone would notice me, too.

I walked on over to the servery,
to sample some dip and savories,
out of the corner of my eye
I saw a pretty little babe,
she sashayed across the dance hall,
to make herself known to me.
In an instant, there was electricity,
we got to talking about how nice,
it would be, to get together
more regularly.
I knew there and then,
we were going to be real close friends,
she oozed class and she had me rapt,
my heart beat climbed high,
like, I'd scored a drop dead gorgeous
piece of sugar pie.
I thought yeah!
She'd be the ideal girl for me.

And she would be,
if she could dance the Watusi
she'd be fine with me.
Well, I'm not one
to beat around the bush,
I cut to the quick,
so I sauntered right up to her
and in my smoothest Southern drawl
asked the lil' darling,
"Sweet Darling would you like
a cup of Chardonnay?"
And she, in the most playful way,
smiled coyly and replied,
"Why Mister, surely I would,
I can't resist a fine wine!"

As we sipped on the wine,
there was a warming glow
between us two, we were starting
to cog, like in sync watches.
I thought to myself, I can play
a part, in her every dream,
my lil' darling and I dancing,
to the beat of a lava stream.
We took to the dance hall floor,
expressing our close body simmer,
the Watusi sounds,
had us all a glimmer.

Then we pulled closer,
the gravity was electric,
a sacred feeling,
I could feel between my hips
and she,
she had a primordial fragrance,
I could smell beneath her
fashionable clothes.
Reasonableness was fading
quickly with the pace,
I held her face
and we fell
into another dimension.

A flow of passion ignited,
there was no containing,
the flare,
our lips burnt with an excited
and intoxicating fervor,
our skin to skin contact,
was like an ember.
Eros, had my sugar pie and I
in mind,
when he wrote the script,
to the sensual Watusi bind.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
.yeah, cultural darwinism, cultural relativism, moral relativism, and the inherent outcome of jurisprudence subjecitivity akin to the jussie smollett case... i once travelled to kenya, didn't grow an afro... hard a complerte hard-on for this ivory beauty, than looked like melting chocolate in the moonlight, and you know, it being africa, east africans are much lighter than west africans, and i spent an entire night, on a hammock, admiring the indian ocean battering the coast, crying... **** me, it was beautiful, i guess i needed no better outlet to justify my claim of reserving myself the chance to experience beauty; some "things", are just better experienced during the night, anti-voyeurism, i.e. when you're aware of other people being asleep. ivory beauty? what?! i wasn't looking for a ******* belgian chocolatier, i was looking at the pearls in her mouth... what?! that's suddenly "bad"? so there's no variant of, said language, to be subject to the expression of finding the crux of endearing?! no? none... no wonder i spent most of the time shying from the sun, emerging for a game of ping-pong, some coffee and cognac, while spending most of the time on the balcony, feeding macaques peanuts, while also admiring a pirate baboon's hemorrhoids double-*** pink, ***... no, not other humanoid comparisons, actual macaques, baboons, and ivory beauties smoking ****... i wish i stayed, and sang along to a verse from t.o.t.o., but the heat got to me, i don't even want to know how the colonial english managed to survive the heat... cognac, coffee, and looking for a shaded place; i met a Muhammad though... he wanted to show me his crocodile farm, i guessed he was a shoe guy, i declined... i only encountered the paranoia of being inclined to take up the proposition a year later... now it's just funny, compared with the current ******* intra ****? being placed back on the food-chain hierarchy, doesn't feel, that bad... i'd rather be eaten by some animal, than be forced into an eating-machine of a person's Minotaur's worth of ego, in a labyrinth of "thought" and social credentials, associated to a hierarchy / pyramid... "repenting" white guy... said the afro-american who would never visit africa, because of the whole fiasco... surrounded by a tourist-status, mentality; **** me, i went to Kenya, to play hide & seek roulette with the sun.

that god-awful moment when
you have just lit
a cigarette,
   but then some random thought
falls into your lap of a day's
   worth of thought...
thought, yeah: rarity verb,
shapeless void, when in the act,
of thinking:
absolutely zero
geometric explanation,
other than a: big 'ed....
and that only sticks for
a while, before you're subjected
to peruse further...
        why is it coincidental,
that, the current,
existential crisis,
   in the anglophonic-sphere
of "things",
is weighed down,
so heavily,
   with darwinian poetics?
   cultural-darwinism is
rife, in its format of expression...
this isn't individualistic
existential pointers to be
minded, akin to Kierkegaard,
Nietzsche, late-bloomers
akin to Sartre or Heidegger...
the former?
      quantum mechanics,
****** quest...
           lived with his mother,
had a partner ***
              ****...
and the rest of the jazz...
if asked to
  draw a straight line:
he'd digress into a mimic
of james joyce,
   literature, no paragraph:
but that was just
hte tip of the ice-berg...
no punctuation markers...
sober as a judge:
but ego "tripping"...
    back when existentialism
was sourced in individuals,
it attracted a frictive delay
on the en masse scale...
but now there's a hive
mentality,
            pushing against
any individualistic endeavours
that might stand-out,
since when was
continental existentialism,
compatible with darwinism?
ever?
     before i finish writing this,
that once lit,
but suddenly put-out
out cigarette will translate
itself into a slightly wet
tobacco fusion of my lips,
saliva, and a soaked filter...
and it will almost resemble
the first gulp of an english
ale, i.e. bitter...
  which i like...
after all... budweiser?
   honestly? not a decent beer,
where are the hops,
the bitterness?
   it must be due to the asian
influence, fermenting from
rice...
          beer?                  rice?
oh thank god i don't really
have that much to brag about...
being exposed to the cultural
undercurrents,
while satisfying myself
to the counter-culture
of the 1960s with the Beatniks...
my my,
    like wearing a mismatched
pair of socks...
but what is pervading...
is to source darwinism as the sole
poetics available,
the only explanation to counter
the rigidity of 20th century's
existentialism...
     how the "debate" has shifted,
it's no longer a question of
free will, but whether choice
is free...
     i drink,
   i don't know how to drive
a car, i know how to ride
a horse,
i don't gamble,
           i'm a parody uncle...
rather than a nagging aunt...
it's still bewildering,
   the current grip on the anglophone
culture...
  when the continental thinkers
were at their zenith,
in the 20th century,
everything was just plain dandy
over in england and england's
"elsewhere"...
    now? a catch-up game
for intellectuals, journalists
and all pseudo- and anti-
          of the respected fields...
i just don't think that darwinism
is a worthwhile estimate
of a crutch, a crux,
a walking stick...
        the almost deity status
of darwinism:
   as the sole explanatory
tour de force...
   all i'm seeing is:
not the dissatisfaction of
making an argument,
   rather:
    a dissatisfying argument
to begin with!
   reality escapism is not exactly
on the cards,
   what is on the cards,
is a lost sense of
   reasonableness,
    "oddly" enough,
   i too see the whole prospect
of a judgement of solomon,
the manic woman
throwing herself at the child
to be a lie,
    i would have went
for the woman pointing to
her stone cold heart,
in that gustave doré
etching...
            **** the baby,
given the modern climate
of abortion and
me thinking i just performed
a genocide, ******* into
toilet paper while doing
the no. 1, 2: and the subsequent 3
on the throne of thrones...
   this movement,
mgtow?
       it's an extension akin
to that manic street preachers
lyric: walking abortion(s)...
looks like 20th century
existentialsm wasn't ugly enough,
sure, sure, playing a waiting
game from the 19th century
instigators,
   now, oh hell,
   now we get to reap the benefits
of their angst!
but does darwinism help?
no... not really...
it just bypasses dialectics,
shortens the route for both
argument (thesis)
   and counter-argument (antithesis),
seemingly obvious,
but this blatant need make "revisions",
upon the canvas of
the natural order...
   was man, ever the justifiable
entanglement of nature,
standing before a mirror
of that nature,
    and not made certain
counters, at best,
justifying them with counterfeit?
        how will darwinism
suddenly extract an existential
solution to all the current
    existential qualms,
i will never know,
   but to me?
   darwinism is simply, nothing more,
than poetics for the up-coming
existentialists in the anglophone
world...
          the easily available...
also:  
     bother,
   why bother with opinions,
unshakeable facts,
when you have to be made
to be: excused?
             where's the dialectic?
rather: where's all that
requires there to be conversation,
i.e. reasonableness?
    right, right,
the madmen of a given society
are supposed to be
the reasonable ones,
while the children of sanity
play their little games,
until,
     there are no longer
any worthwhile games
                                          to play?
i tried, i failed,
time for another shot of bourbon,
or as i like to call it...
the perfumery apex of
translation -
   the whiff of scents,
       from a brothel.
Never had I seen such beauty like yours,
Such a worthwhile smile that shapes me like a file.

Never had I seen such wit as yours,
Such a rightful judge to the cruel misrule.

Never had I seen such persona, with playfulness, reasonableness, uprightness, and inquisitiveness.

Never had I seen perfection, the quintessential condensation of all great characterization, in balance with my imperfection.

Yet it is only wise to appreciate you with my eyes, as my body is apprehended by the past, the future, the time, and the agony.

The life I've experienced has taught me that love is futile, served with sadness and unhappiness and dolefulness with a side of temporary blissfulness.

The idea of success impedes me from obtaining happiness, from settling for ‘less’ and portray a smile nevertheless.

Warped by expectation, limitation, and exploitation, time isn't sufficient to provide you with my fixation, affectation, and ministration.

Sustainability I cannot devise for when I witness your brown eyes, brown like earth, which with the kiss of rain and the seed of love can allow the flourish of life and euphoria never dreamed of.

My heart accelerates uncontrollably, approaching me to a heart attack of which I'm never coming back.

I suffocate as you leave me breathless, yet you suppress my stress and hopelessness.

I so wish to warm your hand while wrapping around your arm.

I so wish to embrace you in my arms and promise you safety for eternity.

I so wish to feel your lips and your hips, never letting go until the last grasp of my fingertips.

I so wish to stare at the stars to your side, while I admire your eyes, hoping that our love never dies.

But being with you is an impossibility, in addition to an atrocity.

Separated by time, a history, and personalities, war would form and never end in peace,
For my peasantry doesn't deserve your royalty,
For my filthiness shan't nudge your pureness,
For my darkness can't cohere with your brightness.

I'd be put to trial for the exile of your smile, the most intact of the wonders of the world that would now be purled.

I wish I could love you but never will I deserve you,
Never will we be together, for we would be an incompatible tether.

I wish I could be with you but it is true that we are through,
Never shall our past be repeated, for it won't be greeted, but rather maltreated.

I wish I could but I've understood from our childhood where I stood and where I stand,
Never will I know, if I were… with you, know where it would lead to.
We wish to love while abstaining ourselves from the possibility.
jeffrey robin Jun 2011
reasonably

we go "forward" and "toward"

we master our curiosity
and become "real"

we love or hate obama
as we should

--------

counting pennies

(it all adds up)

reasonableness

an honorable quality

forward and toward

the goal  ahead

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

soon we shall all be dead

and won't have to feel no more
jeffrey robin Jun 2011
reasonably

we go "forward" and "toward"

we master our curiosity
and become "real"

we love or hate obama
as we should

--------

counting pennies

(it all adds up)

reasonableness

an honorable quality

forward and toward

the goal  ahead

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

soon we shall all be dead

and won't have to feel no more
jeffrey robin Jun 2011
reasonably

we go "forward" and "toward"

we master our curiosity
and become "real"

we love or hate obama
as we should

--------

counting pennies

(it all adds up)

reasonableness

an honorable quality

forward and toward

the goal  ahead

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

soon we shall all be dead

and won't have to feel no more
I come as a godhead
A bright individual
Taught from the streets
Of light and darkness
There I roam once again
Beaten into reasonableness
Submission cracked me wide open
The light is in the madness
The darkness is in the light
I come to stand strong
Not be broken down
Left my home many times
Started over from the beginning
Oh well, it's a new day
I come not to stand in the way
But let my words show kindness
Until it's time not to be kind
Rather throw my fist and knock
The crap out of the person who offends
I come riding a lightning bolt
Into your freakin' mind
Too tired, must go to sleep. Sorry about the rant.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
how heavy the heart:
on an otherwise empty mind.

i really should think something more,
should i?

it's called experiencing a hangover
   after having ingested too much
science.

i get that a lot...
     the cool crowd wears gucci,
and the cool crowd wears
   atheism, as if they don't have
limbs, and are merely brains
    in pickle jars...

but hey! my hands are up!
i'v succumbed to the plague
of *adam & the ants
with:
a nervous trill of: stand! and deliver!
which is very much akin to
the fashonista circumstance
with donning red and leather,
and whenever:
     it didn't happen in romford...
adam and the ants
   like a cold war cultural exchange
        project
making them akin to lady pank
and that rough recording via
mniej niż zero (less than zero)...
what, people party!
i see russia as: fertile ground worthy
of being explored...
      cheap sound, and the less cheaper
lives in the west-world...
come... we can be more scandinavian
with that ż writing ƶ instead.
  the best analogy concerning me
is already presented with the imagery...
   the angry microbot from
big hero 6...
            and i'm always bound to return,
fuse with the grey matter...
you have no idea about the reality of
being ethnically, well... technically: homeless.
i'm already a homeless artifact...
     i don't know why i want to
merge with the crowd,
  i guess i only thought about
unlearning the english language...
  
and you really can read a philosophy
book like doing mathematical rubrics
of arithmetic,
but unlike 1 + 1 = 2,
i can't make it as simple to suggest
that i + think = happening, being, or i am,
when there's this ergo octopus
that say otherwise...
   reading these books is unlike doing basic
mathematical yoga / stretches...
  i never know what σ i am to arrive at...
it's never a stable sum...
     it's easier to state 1 + 1 = 2
than to state a:
  you should do that,
   which extends into someone using their
body and faking a mind
      and actually doing it so that you can
waste your time before a television set...
   and be called a vegetable...
    couching...
            
it's painfully obvious that people have
an aversion to philosophy,
because there seems to be nothing about it
to equate to the systematic acceptance of
psychological systems of therapy,
the pain is that: thought should be the sole
therapeutic stance... odd, i know:
just, thinking about it
   away from the moral dimension of
making choices that magnetises thought
away from narrative...
  and how not many Tolstoys emerged since
writing war & peace...

but unlike dealing with numbers,
   we are oh so more disposed to remember
a set of combinations for 26 digits
      than we are remembering
the many combinations
involving only 10 digits (0 - 9)...
         wow... for the first time, i am actually
awe-numbed...
              but philosophy books do that to you,
and there's also that much necessary
computer analogy,
   the dark web being akin to
   the grammar circus...
to write a basic 1 + 1 = 2 with words
   can't be reached so suddenly,
it took Descartes and a human history
worthy of a 17th century...
            
which is why we have this fascination
    with mathematics
being wholly optic investigations,
    and wording things requires
feeling and cannot be
pure optic...
           how could the two systems
ever converge?
would i say 1 + 1 = 2
            in the same way as i might say
a + b + b + o + t = abbot
    or i + am + an + abbot = a + church?
mathematical language is too definite...
  it's what we say: when human interactions
are reduced to
    the basic human interaction
of asking for directions, or buying whiskey...
  
but when did we really begin
to want the two mediums
to converge?
   primarily when we took to writing ♪, ♫...
    
given ♪, ♫, there's no point
treating the two otherwise
comprehensive systems of encoding
          to be worth
a marriage that could ever consolidate itself
with punctuation marks (, . ; : - etc.)
and operation marks (+ - x ÷ √)...

   or, cf. heidegger aphorism no. 167...
how the style of aphorism encourages
writing something
in between... in the least:
               something akin to this...

quiet frankly, some call it chance
   and the odd padlina, well, a corpse...
you wait for these vulture moments
and hover over a sudden waggle of the tongue.
                    
so who could argue...
                 so much of our feelings' narrative
doesn't translate into the mind's,
within the framework of being, of consciousness,
of the unconscious...
most of our heart's narrative is likely unconscious,
as incomprehensible as a dream...
    and if this is but a myth,
then the only alternative is that is speaks
a language of auto, automatic...
                so how heavy it must be to have a heart
that cannot be translated into a narrative
of the head...
        how we're naturally **** schizoi
rather than **** sapiens...
         i said it over and over again:
i'll turn the authenticity of schizophrenia
on its head... i'll apply a groundwork of using
only one tool: metaphor to prescribe humanity with
a much more reasonable account of itself...
     given that, democratically speaking,
we cannot account for a plateau of sanity,
and a coherent circumstance of reasonableness.
    some peoplke thought that solipsism was
a medical condition rather than a theory,
others said: dualism and the shadow of dichotomy...
otherwise merely wrote a sleeping 8: ∞.

*how heavy the heart:
on an otherwise empty mind...
      
            and how the mind compensates
the lightness of having a heart
with so many theories and theoretical
promenades...

           and how unto man thus given:
a desire of reclaiming a heavy heart once more;

alas, no "leisure" activities bound to the fields of
  a bachelor status...
         run a mile as a man solo...
walk to the local shop as a man with a ring of
monogamous status...
      
i guess the problem can be solved by a simple
answer...
   do you like drinking alone?

yes, yes i do.

    that's a joke, to be honest,
how heavy the heart: with a mind filled by too
much contemplation...
the bearable lightness of being...
           a revision of Kundera...

       could it possibly be paradoxical?
well... not unless it's taken as a fleeting pass.
Gourab Banerjee Sep 2016
Sleepless nights
Spellbound feelings
Awakened I'm
Waiting for you
Sometimes in bed
Sometimes on road
Reasonableness searching
A medical shop
To get some
Sleeping pills
How far I would bear?
It's too much
Now!I've to rest.
Is there anyone?
Can anyone listen to me?
So,please bring for me
Some sleeping pills
I need it urgently
I can't be more
With this nightmare
I won't be more
Live for you
Now,I want to sleep
Please,let me.........-Written on 17.09.2012
Michael John Oct 2023
-there is gil and his
angel dust
from one seraphim to
another-peut-etre!?
(that is horse tranquilizer)
before tea at three and the news
our resident muse
will read a poem from his/
her selected verse
now available at books etc
on the high street
priced 12.99-somethin for
halloween, i believe..?!


the monsters are about!?
circling around..
what do they want?
-we ask the questions!
(they shout..)

blood ******* vamps
evil made of man-
o men..
you want ******* this?
OR that?

your choice..
hedgehogs
little boys
little girls

in disguise
death lives
a-knocking at the door
give us more..

or else..
mad eyed wolf
black or white
reasonableness..


yes,thankyou,and
one more perhaps
will takes us to the
news and weather
(try not to swear,dear..)
lily..
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
ah... ha ha... **** never gets old...
i'll admit...
       liberal comedians
will forever outperform the libertarian
leaning right-wing commentators...
why?
  they have some nuanced knowledge
of boundaries...
fair enough... when the libertarian
commentators do their
   SJW accents...
    with pink-but-not-punk hairdos...
it's self-evident comedy...
it's not the sort of comedy
that involves thinking:
   well... that's reasonable,
if the highest form of reasonableness
is to enshrine free speech...
  sorry... that's just lazy...
if i'm going to make a **** joke,
i won't be making a joke,
but rather reciting, verbatim,
my grandfather's memory,
about the two SS-men dressed in black
manning an anti-aircraft outpost
in my home town...
   asking them...
  herr-bitte-bonbon!
the funny part is in the punctuation...
her never says it with a comma...
i.e. herr, bitte bonbon...
he still got the sweets...
         he added...
i ran back home, and put my glued
together hands under the tap...
yeah... all Nazis were inhuman zombies...
some gave sweets
to the children of the people
they were occupying...
but all bad, nonetheless...
still... i get edgy humor,
but sometimes it's just: enforced humor...
libertarian humor is sometimes
akin to canned laughter...
you're not supposed to laugh:
you're expected to laugh...
that's why liberal comedy is better,
in that it acknowledges
the constraints of comedy...
            it's authoritative humor...
and comedy needs as many
metaphorical comparisons
to psychological archetypes,
   as is required to dissect the constrained
number of ****** expressions...
i give the benefit of the doubt...
sure... sure thing...
say all the jokes you want...
but i sometimes abhor
the complexity of a Monty Python
and succumb to the simplistic genius
of Fawlty Towers...
    when i laugh:
i want an uncontrolled reaction...
giggles...
till the stomach aches...
   thinking about what i'm laughing
about, with an explanation to boot...
that's just bad...
      punchlines bad...
    i'm already more curious about
the madman who's, "apparently"
laughing at nothing in particular...
there's that...
        and there is the liberal humor...
with its constraints...
the orthodoxy of humor...
the orthodoxy of humor with its
canon of hubris...
  the proud look of: i know this is funny...
rather than this libertarian...
****, what's going look
of bewilderment...
          were we supposed to play
tennis with a squash ball,
and hit the squash ball with
a lacrosse stick?!
   and hit it so that it falls through
a basketball hoop?!
bill maher...
who the hell cares if he "thinks
he's smart... he's also *doubting
that
he is, in the classical Cartesian sense...
sometimes... i just find...
that i find it hard to compensate
the intelligence involvement
    in producing a joke...
                i like constraints,
archetypal comic constraints...
          not everything is funny... oddly enough...
and enforcing omnipresent laughter
is worse than canned laughter.
Yenson Mar 2023
Decent cultured quiet
aren't qualities of weakness
reserved hardworking aspirational
aren't qualities of weakness
independent and self-possessed
aren't qualities of weakness
Law-abiding honest and honorable
aren't qualities of weakness
empathic caring and reasonableness
aren't qualities of weakness
being astute to garner comfortability
isn't a sign of privilege
BUT
to the Mcafferty Criminal Family
raised on Gangsterism and crime
these predatory Extortionists
saw all these qualities as weaknesses
they are going to put the squeeze on
make the offer one can't refuse
or else
Well they got the biggest shock
I refused
I stood up to them and called them out
You're a walking dead they screamed
Do your worst I screamed back at them
No I am not afraid
They have since been very busy
recruiting and running Training Courses
on Prison Culture, Extortion Intimidation and Bullying
Lying, Gaslighting, Fudging and odious Manipulating
crash Course in ***** dealing and Foul play
I hear the Courses are over-suscribed
their punters are all on offers they dare not refuse
mugs and cowards are two to a dime
and so readily willing to be used
fooled and hoodwinked
Yet we see One Man still standing
Unafraid unbowed uncowed
one man
laughing at them all still
I am free
they are not...


https://youtu.be/002z5H7cqn8
https://youtu.be/002z5H7cqn8
Can you truly say anyone of you is free when criminals rule you by fear, intimidation, blackmail and threats. Do you honestly believe you live in a civilised society when you are scared of sticking your necks out.
Dennis Willis May 2023
things are asking me
to be spoken
sometimes politely
sometimes not
reasonableness always
has an opinion i often
don't want to hear
don't hear
won't

searing things alight
my *** and i whoop
like a stooge
and my game is not
even right
skittering crost
out of my mind
to having no mind
as my conveyance
is dissolute and garbled
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
title: filthy-familiar...
body: in fifth place,
unfathomable so.

   come to think of it... i'm only here for finding 502 bad gateway hacks and google-whacks... the rest, the personal stuff... eh... m'eh...


and while we were at work, we'd took
the time to visit a graveyard and
inspect the graves...
oh... how glorious it felt...
i told her that her knee would give out...
it did...
the park at night with the church-bells...
i'm sort of sad she wasn't "ashore" when all
of this happened... this female forever
"elsewhere"... she can be with you in a graveyard
at night... but she can't be with your
snuggling comfortably on a Saturday night...
i'm starting to see the bigger picture...
i can start seeing...
****** with a lust...
             it's not fair because it's simply not fair...
it's because...
some people shouldn't be allowed their
over-expanse of freedoms...
why? why?! seems like a waste of reasonableness
within the confines of freedom...
i greatly, cannot appreciate it...
best be dead... since when living...
there's not much to add...
there's actually a minus to mind...
she can take me to the graveyard...
she can drink my homemade wine... in my presence
in the kitchen while she washes the dishes...
but then... she will not own up to...
slandering me... trying to get me fired...
i'm going to wait... just a little more...
i'm a patient man...
i'll wait it out... i want to see where this is going
to go down: through...
but to make it soberly poignant...
i'm thinking of ******...
out of love... i'm thinking about killing for love...
i literally have nothing else to write...
to offer...
            i need clarity...
     i want to come across her attempt at
retailing an honesty: if she has any left...
it's not going to be easy...
she's not going to own up to anything...
i only just give more love...
more *******...
    it would be so much easier if i had the avenues
of employing the Niqab...
no argument: woman... put this drab on...
and shut up...
          but not me...
      i have to navigate the dodo project
of western liberalism or whatever you want to
call it...
   listen... i'm not invested in this culture...
with either children or anticipating grandchildren...
i'm out...
i already know what sort of people are
reproducing or going to reproduce...
people willing to put up with their governments,
for the simple access to the most base
of pleasures...
i found a higher "focus" within the confines
of music...
family is disappointing... there are never any guarantees...
my grandmother undermined my grandfather's dementia
riddled death... whether because of the Wuhan spread
or... whatever... it doesn't matter...
family has become a disappointment...

i'm already an advocate of euthanasia
that's readily available in the Benelux...
so? what are my concerns?
oh and i'd want to love...
but... if i can't... well then: i can't...
that's life...
   i'll still buy my mother flowers...
i'll still buy a reluctant Valentine flowers and
a card... she'll reply? no... she won't...
even though... she's the one that wronged me...
but of course, she's a woman:
she has to be in the "right"...

                  let death come prior to old age...
i'm already tired...
i don't want to be double tired having
to mind something akin to arthritis...
enough... i'm not even bailing out:
i''m having a reality check...
if i can't have A... while i'm already B...
then, obviously... there's no C involved...
ergo?
            
don't get me wrong... two generations prior to mine
had... a very nice chance at life...
they had such a welcoming possibility to
fulfill their biological *******...
my generation?
what happened to the one ex that i had a chance
with? she married up... to a guy much older
than her...

         i write poetry... am i going to get paid for it?
ha ha... ha...
people want free music...
   while only paying for Harry Potter... etc.,
free plumbing?
o.k., fair enough, enough of me complaining...
if only for the love of the art...
it's enough for it to be an extension
of thought: to coordinate my jumbled thinking...
no other reason...

what i regret most, though...
was being sold the lie, the lie of romance...
i would be much more happier being told
the cold turkey reality of ***
than being implored to fake it...
being sold the lie of romance...
that's what's most painful...
              this... "waking up"...
                          by now i'm so "woke": that i'm
practically sleeping, once more...
i sometimes venture out for a breather...
but, as ever... the woman disappoints...
unless i sober up with a *******...
then i might as well have been seeing a priest
or a psychiatrist...

i felt she could want me while she felt
so comfortable with me in the cemetery...
but then she threw in all that petty *******...
ah...
               what a cruel, insignificant lot of a world.
Dennis Willis Jun 2020
we keep hoping
they break
into
reasonableness

they don't
they fill out
form
and space

numbness
lies in success
that leapt
against your skin

thrown out
and rising

— The End —