I'm a fan of Vontaze Burfict
Though he may not be perfect
For he gives players concussions
To continue the daily discussions
Of the power of his percussion
To receive a hall of fame induction
That is where his value is derived
So what do these penalties imply?
That the referees have a preconceived notion of him
And are preemptively looking to treat him grim
Which gives his team a lesser chance to win
Which makes the biased referees grin

We are a country that idolizes quarterbacks
Every other position we're quick to attack
We only care about who has the ball
And laughing at others when they fall
We worship that which is shiny
And view everything else as grimy
Quarterbacks become celebrities incredulously
While everyone else is treated impetuously

The NFL is like America
Politics makes it harder to watch
The Patriots are boring and plain
They win constantly
The Bengals are entertaining and rough around the edges
They show promise and potential that is never realized
In a nation
Of provocation
I'd rather proudly call myself a bengal
I know that seems an idealistic angle
But Cincinnati provides no coziness or protection
You must always avoid discriminate detection
Of those that call themselves patriots
That drive blue and white chariots
And penalize players unnecessarily
For African Americanning

We really fumbled the ball
Because of the ref's call
That treats us unequally
How they have fun evilly
They can arbitrarily treat whoever however
But a concussion will make them less clever

"Holy Quambats!",
bellows low-orbit sports announcer 33e, a.k.a. Rick,
"The Zargoball's been switched! With a hopping Ugaroo!",

(An Ugaroo is an adorable jumping rodent from Vulky II, and a Quambat is the ten foot titanium pole typically used to hit a Zargoball across any particular preset playing perimeter- this for any listeners at home who are new to the sport.)

"Not to worry! It seems that Team Lime Green has gotten the Ugaroo caught in a snare- placed here in the ancient past for JUST such an occasion! Uh-oh! Here come the Iron Knights to try and steal their capture!"

(There are over 70,302 teams [exactly 70,303 teams] currently competing for possession of the Zargoball on planet Zargoz, partaking in the galaxies favorite interstellar pastime- a popular sport known also as Zargoz.  The current round began at an unknown date in the planets ancient history, and all that remain of its origins are a plethora of wildly conflicting and confusing myths. It seems here that Team Lime Green has passed down knowledge of their hidden snare for hundreds of generations through word of mouth before this incident today. Miraculously, their bizarre efforts appear to have payed off.)

"Oh, what a blast! The Zorodan Order has just dropped a neutron bomb over the site of the capture, eradicating all life within a fifty mile radius! All referees are currently contacting their lawyers! And now... The word is in! The new Zargoball has been placed in the Temple City, just outside the Zorodan Temple! Power move!"

(...)

"The timing however couldn't have been worse! It is now 29:29am of the third day of Rayah on the Zorodan Calendar! All Zorodan on Zargoz must now drop all clothing and physical possessions, sit on the ground, and spend the next 3 days in holy naked meditation! The Council of Crystals has now moved in and captured the temple, decapitating all naked Zorodan on sight! After burning down the temple, the Council will be transporting the Zargoball via Air Carrier to ninety-third base, where hoards of treasures await the recipient of this hard-earned point! It's a long journey though! Before they arrive, someone had better discover the secret location of ninety-third base! And quick!"

(The secret location of ninety-third base actually, out of sheer coincidence, is also inside the Zorodan Temple- however it will now likely be well over a hundred years before this is discovered, as the only living contestants with knowledge of its location have been recently decapitated and burned.)

"Folks, I'd like to take this minute to promote our sponsor, Fizzwerz! A bubbly drink, sweeter than theropian glass-grass and recently determined to be more highly addictive than human crack, now cost you only 13.1 Gobi credits! These are- HOLY GOD!! Attention folks, I'd like to interrupt this interruption to announce a spectator of honor here in the low-orbit VIP section! Actually God himself! What a serious honor! And now we return to our broadcast! Oh here we go! Oh dear! It seems that the pilot of the Crystal Council Air Carrier was a Swamper spy all along! The carriers passengers have all been knocked unconscious by his thick perfume! What a show!"

The smell of the oil as it's rubbed on your shoulder
The passion of the coach , we must be much bolder
The hatred of a player on the opposite side
The knowing when you'er out there there's nowhere to hide
The whistle has blow your anxiety drop
The firsts tackle made is a 19 stone prop
The taste of your blood makes it all worth while
The prop gets up and gives that I'll **** you next time smile
The old man on the score board sets our team to win
The small crowd on the side making all the din
The referees whistle calls the game to end
The prop who tried to **** you is now your friend
The hot water finds your wounds without any tear
The thought of some grub and a pint of beer
The game you so love has come to its end
The club house the banter a chat with a friend
The talk of the game the rights and the wrongs
The choir master arises and we blast out our songs

See you training

You could not wait til halftime to check your poem or add one.

2. You wrote a sonnet about pretty horses. (Broncos)

3.You wrote a poem about kittens.(Panthers)

4. As the ball soars through the air, you are reminded of a bird in flight.

5. A Superbowl commercial inspired a new poem.

6. You paused the game with your DVR to write a piece.

7. You think the referees look like majestic Zebra on the African plains.

8. You ponder the coin toss and wonder of chance and philosophical questions as to whether life is like a paradox, then write yourself a poem about it.

9. When a tackle is made, you think upon the animalistic nature of humanity and write a haiku about it.

10. There is a notebook and pen right next to your remote and munchies.

11. You have a neck ache due to looking at your hellopoetry site and then back up at the t.v.

12. You write  Peyton Manning farewell poem.

13. The commentator of the game makes a poetical statement and you use it in your latest poem.

14. The crowd boos a player and you feel compelled to write the pain of number 94 in a poem.

15. Last but not least, you might be a poet if you are reading this and the game is on.

sample size excavation:

urbanity forsake the village-metality
of the undisclosed biological
credo...
                     urbanity became
a pawn & pauper in a "clues",
which replaced facts...
                         i am more mushroom
than reptile or genital mutilation
grammar asking...

              finally! cricket has come home!
well... in between watching
roland garros,
and the ICC?
             even i can agree...
of all the h'american sports?
  baseball... sure...
ice hockey... sure...
     basketball... sure...
   h'american football?
esp. when watching rugby?
  i don't get it...
         scuffling in the middle...
pass back... one throw forward...
a decent runner...
         ball hits the deck...
"regroup"...
      reinforced rugby-esque scrum
drama...
    play-stop-play-stop...
ad. revenue interlude...
   start-stop-start-stop...
             doesn't it get boring, ever?!

i had to turn to cricket!
oh i'm enjoying the cricket...
it's like chess + braille + bridge
dynamic of tactic... sure...
it's not baseball...
       it's cricket!

   international test matches...
50 overs...
         50 x 6 = 300 throws of the ball...
1 over = 6 throws...
no other sport was so much
beautiful jargon,
so much stat.,

             and so many idiosyncratic
terms...
what do they call english
cricketers? tourists...
west indies (the carribean team?)
the windies...
          
          349-8 (349 runs...
         8 wickets)...
              
                   imagine a sport...
where it lasts so long that it errodes
your attention span like
a Tolstoy novel...
      come morning,
it finishes in the early hours of
the evening...

                cricket... quintessential
Dickensian replacement narrative...
and i've never seen more
laid back referees (umpires)...
what's a 4 to a 6
in terms of body language?

you have tactic akin to bowlers
throwing spin-accents...
so there's a minimum of a 1-2 1-2
runs... rather than 4 or 6 worth
of smackers...

            cricket isn't the worst
of games... by far h'american football...
that's the worst game, ever...
then, golf...
             **** me... table tennis
beats those two games,
even without all the glamour...
but itching chinese pretending
to be fast paced insect-esque
reaction time automatons...

                 i mean two female sport
events make complete sense...
tennis and gymnastics...

i don't even know why i enjoy cricket...
after all,
i am not exactly english "born and bred"...
bred from the age of 8...
hybrid mongrel...
i would still like to appreciate
the sports celebrated by the land
of my birth...
        żużel (speedway) and
(szczyptarze... almost a googlewhack...
2 results)...
                 hand-ball... and volley-ball...
greek wrestling...
      archery...
             sport is so under-represented
these days...
        only the major sports...
and at times, the monopoly associated
with their funding, their subsequent
traction of spectator numbers...
  it's so boring!
             it becomes too tribal!
totteham hotspur f.c.: born and bred!
there are so many other sports...
that do not entertain tribal ergonomics!
most of the olympic sports, for starters!

  today i was watching pakistan take
on england in the ICC world cup...
             ****- beauties all round...
      and then... for some "weird" reason...
the shadow of Rotherham...
     the cube didn't fit into the square
hole a gorilla was supposed
to push the prism through...
            
       there are just so many underrated
sports! it's not even worth criticising
sports per se...
         it's the sports that appeal to
the masses, that elevate the sport beyond
the sport per se, and craft trivial and
tribal affiliations that bothers me!

           i still think h'american football
is the dumbest sport available...
considering it as, rugby: devolved.
there's as much sense of passing the ball
backwards, imitating a charging wave
against a coastline of defence...
as there will ever be any sense found...
in scuffling in the middle
like some pretend boxing match...
allowing only one pass backwards...
and one runner maneuvering past the pointless
scuffle in the middle...
pass back, one throw, one catch...
                       run Forest! run!

o.k. even i found cricket a bit *******...
asparagus... ****... asperger syndrome
with its overt analysis...
   but even cricket looks better
than that ******* irish pub brawl
take on boxing that h'american football
represents...

bloated egos in armour...
           sorry, even ping pong looks
more appealing...
the ******* sumo diet worthwhile
to compete with...
        it's the cricket world cup...
and the time it takes to play out
100 overs?
    maybe chance upon a 6 run...
   8 wickets...
                      elsewhere
handball is pop, as is volleyball...
ski-jumping...
          
        sport per se isn't the problem...
it becomes a problem when
sport becomes tribal,
and the initial per se pleasure
of the spectacle of a sport is drained...
when people have to take sides...
when the sport per se cannot
be appreciated...
            hence the "concept" of the sport,
the logic of behind the sport is lost,
lost in the fact that it is lost to
it being monetized...

              when sport, resembles....
the kind of live performance,
akin to Heilung - Alfadhirhaiti...
while i am left, bound to the greater desires,
of moving to Greenland...
or the Faroe Islands...
        because even the English summers...
are starting to resemble
Indian summers more and more...
**** being your atypical English
sun-worshipper who "miraculously"
moved outside of London...

                         not, far, enough!
give me Greenland, give me the Faroe Islands,
give me Alaska!
    i can't stand this surge in
the creeping Summer heat about
to grind England to a halt!
                   however long it will take,
i wish to plan my escape to these lands...
i don't want a year's worth more,
in this little saudi land of the north,
with pubescent saudi ******* racers
bragging their diesel lamborghini *******
down Knightsbridge!

Lured by the siren voices of human aggrandizement,
The hedonistic, headlong pursuit of material satisfaction.
By the few who seek wealth and power
On a scale undreamed of
By the Caesars and Pharaohs
Or even by the lofty, pampered Imperialists
Of the heady nineteenth century.

Ignored, are the vast stinking, majority,
The teeming poor who sink deeper
Into the morass of hunger and wretchedness.
In circumstances of inescapable horror
Which breed hopelessness
And the smouldering hatred
Of lasting resentment and fear

A world of vast inequality.
Marshaled by the incorrigibly rich
In order to sate their selfish and aggressive
Lust for more.
An ideological evil
Which grips the lost and deprived
With the extinction of hope
And the rage to exact…a retribution.

Then there is the deterioration
Of international leadership,
The willingness or inability
Of world powers to control
Excess or anarchy within or without
Their borders…
Even whilst circling each other
With monstrous weaponry
And an engulfing, growing,
Antagonism of distrust.

America is in retreat to it’s fortress shores.
Europe is leaderless, timid and uncontactable.
Russia, near bankrupt, snarling aggression
And clawing back a buffer of unwilling former satellites.
Eurasia and the Middle East seething
With religious and racial warfare.
Africa in the throes of losing control
Of a world threatening Ebola pandemic.
China clawing it’s way forward
To global economic and military dominance.

A world without referees or rules
Where antagonistic giants force
The un-powerful to adopt
An  ultimatum of “either them or us”.
Where the threat of terrorism transcends borders every day,
Where genocidal practices and weapons of mass destruction,
Computer global anarchy and environmental depredation
Illustrate the growing volatility
Of a deteriorating world order.

There is a Paralysis of Will in mankind.
Anthropology, psychology and physiology
Recognise only one single human species.
But that species is impossibly fractionated….
By an entrenched pattern of conflict,
An inability to compromise,
A refusal to disperse wealth for the common good,
Global racial and religious disharmony and animosity
And a fundamental refusal to communicate
Proactively …at all.

The consequences of tolerating
And furthering this Paralysis of Will,
Shall lead mankind to an apocalypse.
The consequences of which,
Are just too terrible to contemplate.

Somehow we should, as one,
Engender… a common aspiration,
With a level of universal commitment,
To induce an attitude, a consciousness
Of great and abiding…
World Citizenship.

Realistic? …No!
Likely? …No!
Do you give it a snowballs chance in Hell? …Not this week!

Why?... The frailty of Human Nature!

M.
From just about as far away from everything as you can, thankfully, possibly get….
NEW ZEALAND.
20 September 2014

A six-legged Asian cockroach just washed up on American soil, and it can lay eggs on ice.

Roaches are infamous for the myth that they're one of the few species that could survive an atomic bomb. It's not science, but even Adam Savage and his gang of Myth Buster's say it's beyond myth: a human croaks after ten minutes of exposure to 1,000 units of cobalt 60. But for roaches, 10% of their population survives after exposure to 10,000 rads - hell, it's better than zero.

This new species is the most evolutionarily persistent thing ever - if surviving means anything, it win's life on earth, hands down.

But I'd rather be a monkey.

We **** up and **** ourselves everyday. We slip and **** ourselves with power tools, or smash our fists into soccer referees and manslaughter oops ****.  We shoot ourselves off of propulsion equipment to see what happens.  Bone-crunching splatter ****.

From 100 feet up, we look like ******* mad men.

But the roach shows up carefully and gets **** done with nasty perseverance. The roach with vapid speech and wide eyes, glued to efficiencies and body armor.

To exist plainly - to work, eat. and sleep - is done best by roaches. Success is a cockroach.

Fans from both sides
Yelling at the referees,
Telling them how to do their job.
I wanted to defend the referees right
There.
But then I thought, "How could I plead my case
Regarding a sport that most of the audience knows
Better than I do?"
I rested my case in my head.
Even the coaches were mocking
How they could make better calls
And how many the referees missed.
I guess that's why my dad and brother
Didn't give a **** about the tension.
They've seen tension not only from me
In the family,
But they have an awareness of sports
That my experience cannot contest.

I have thin skin, I can't let these situations slide.
I couldn't be in an arena
Where every fan was booing the officials.
I had to leave; my hands are still marked with
The filth of unsportsmanlike conduct
On every animate being.
Sure no sport can come clean,
And everyone in my family and most outside my house
Had to remind me in basketball, piano, football,
That it's "just a game."

I left this so-called game early.
I wasn't really rooting for any team;
I don't even think I was watching a real game.

Chelsea&Barça


Chelsea&Barça
Is when a stadium is torn between
The devil and the deep blue *sea
And referees are left solely and boldly
To decide on only what they see

Chelsea&Barça
Is when elegance and eclecticism sits in enmity
And battles it out till
In its entirety or finality


Chelsea&Barça
Is when the proverbs of curse begin
As teams fail to steam and win

Chelsea&Barça
Is a match with no particular price
Yet,everything is priced and staked
Every second counts,the minutes take
As the game changes,and break

Chelsea&Barça
Is when eyes cannot be kept
Of that which it behold
Not for a moment nor a second
Life is defined,is a clinging- hope

Chelsea&Barça
Is only when dark horses stumble
Giant pyramids
For glory sake,in just the name of the highest bids


Chelsea&Barça
Is when brothers dine on tables of passion
With swords and blades
As shades are thrown
And bloods are trade


Chelsea&Barça
Is when the pool of the eyes
Overflow its banks
And men gets laid in ice
For their low ranks


Chelsea&Barça
Is both life and death

Chelsea&Barça
Is certainly the story of the last breathe


#ThePrince
#GreatestPoetEver

©Historian E.Lexano
™Recalcitration With Excellence

THE SUPER SONNET
(14 syllables by 14 lines)



I want to beat up Jimmy Olsen and take all his cash
Leave him left for dead it's all inside my head; a gas
Explosion would take care of the rest and then I would have
Her all to myself the prettiest girl in the world

I'd kick his legs with steel-toed shoes like the referees kid
Did to all the star players way back when we were all kids
Man she looks like she could give eine bier some head, Superman
She looks hotter than a ******* Pet/Playmate, Superman

Come on, let me fly away with Chloe you'll save a lot
more men.  Believe me when I say she's got that rack of lamb
Roast of beef man  She's one sweet piece of meat Yeah that Chloe
She is the Smallville star by far that takes away my heart

Fly away with me Chloe  Fly away with me Chloe
Fly away with me Chloe  Fly away with me Chloe

What am I to do when the words are screaming within my head,
when the arms of the letters are engaged in a wrestling match
and they're ignoring the referees constant pleas to stop;
what is the referee to do when they're driving him mad?
What is he to do when they're driving him crazy?

The fights only exist in the ring, in the head,
for they don't even exist in the outside world.
Spoken word is nothing but dressed up thoughts;
nothing but children in costumes on Halloween night.
The referee can not exist outside,
neither can the battling words;
so how is he to get any peace of mind?

What is one to do when the things he's meant for drive him crazy,
what does one do when the only thing fueling him holds him back?
How does one free themselves from themselves?

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

hop skip and away
i'm flying today
feather in the air
i'm lighter, spark, fire
dare me to stay
but i just can't wait
i want to take to the skies
and see what i can find

hold on tight if you're in for the ride
want to see the whole world
see every fountain, river, mountain
lets explore open doors
step through find something new
no fear, any scrape or bruise
is an opportunity to grow
so
what do you say?
the only thing that could make this better
is if we're in this together
but i won't wait its now or never
you shouldn't have to think
so in a blink adios, te recordare!

so i take to the skies floating breeze
i want to be surprised at the colors
of the fish in the sea, and take a second
to see if there really is that many
or do i need to go fishing right now?
don't think i could stop if i tried
cause a fishy in the sea can
hook line and sinker this heart
if and when they're ready to sprout wings and
take to the skies floating breeze
sail overdrafts with me
jungles of Brazil to the city of Pair-ee

i've a heart meant for dancing,
beaches, culture, romancing
try anything once, most things twice
food, trees, and drinks are my vices
music is my ******* but it keeps me sane
so we just won't consider that a con
cause i'm pro-grammed hardwired
to move my feet to the beat of life
it may skip and shuffle sometimes
but thats the spice to the sugar
cause everything nice gave Jane a dull life

taking to the skies floating breeze
stop for a game of futbol no referees
play til sundown lay on the ground
catch my breath take a rest
open my eyes to watch the stars
turn the sky into my own lightshow
no cover charge
i want to see if they're in reach
so i take to the skies floating breeze
every different tree a different melody

now you're ready to explore with me?
consider yourself lucky i can recognize harmony
lets come together and find our rhythm
we make a beautiful song

Referees mismanage oversight
incorrect calls lower credibility
faith in justice dissolves into the ice
agency is taken into padded hands
vigilantes slash and spear.

Hip check leads to cross check leads to fist check
malignant hostility boils over
leather armor is removed
interphalangeal joints meet mandible
type O negative paints a jersey
haymakers take bizarre trajectories
to avoid helmets and visors
the face is homebase to ingrain pain.

Violence subverts gamesmanship
players must be taken off ice
to be put on ice
otherwise brawls become overabundant
and destroy the integrity of the sport
yet each transfer of agony is euphorically satisfying
—considering the context—
so fist fairs continue for the foreseeable future
we organize an impenetrable perimeter
once we've acclimated to penalty kills.

you sit and try to learn
The words you hear you said you could have written but you just needed another minute
When will it be your turn , to become a black balloon, and float toward freedom and the moon, your temper grows and true hearts are shown and now my mind has been blown like a referees whistle, you act like you are innocent but you know the fouls that you have committed
Just paint me a picture, of the future you see for yourself, tuck it away until a later day, let it collect dust upon your shelf
You are now the dove you dreamed of
Flying away back home, they say you can **** 2 birds with one stone,only  if you agree to be alone
But I can only see the memory inside, even if its pressed betweeni a lie but your memory stays painted oN my mind

Regulation time was up
and our team one goal behind.
At the referees sole discretion
Is the length of stoppage time.
How much time do we have left?
What difference can we make?
Already we’re shorthanded
And the playoffs are at stake.
We’re like a man whose heart has failed
a time or two before.
Each time nearly off with death
Until revived for more.
Or somebody whose lease is up
And headed for the door,
Waiting only for the truck
to take their past to store.
I heard my pulse race in my ears
As I penetrate their line.
I tuck the ball inside the post
And score in stoppage time.

Just ahead a shootout waits
which will decide our fate.
When playing games of sudden death
What a difference seconds make.

.the industrial age is over... i sometimes forget when the middle-ground was made into a sentence... the antichrist, or the demigod son of Hephaestus... the satanic push... to lever the molten iron: over... salt / silicon mines! gears up! industry and the satanic industries... perhaps... just... perhaps... now softcore industry of: etertainment rubrics... sewn underwear from the genesis that they were always going to be: export, MADE IN CHINA... this... grand ideal... but coming along with my bucket and spades... i knew that already, come 1994 in st. augustine's primary school... i had the sponge ****** mind ready to slurp the bubbles of ferocity sally scandals... post-soviety ex-satellite state civi? quasimodo was always going to give me the thumbs up... but when the bells rang... they started ringing for no injunction of a need to 'en masse'... there was a fire... a quiet innocent fire... but all the fingers started pointing...

politics, this most feral sport...
perhaps... "ars politico"?
the art of politics?

right now... boxing seems like a civil sport...
perhaps the damage is not written well
into the events...
but at least the audience is tamed...
probably by bets...
or other forms of decorum...
but in this sport of rhetoric?
in politics?
i don't see how... i don't see how i can
ooh and ah like a douglas murray...
although i'm a big fun of...
almost every homosexual talking...
it's like... that one aspect of ******...
i would have: if i could have...
not have a *******...

said sir lancelot onan jr....:
i have never met a woman...
who could... hand-job / ****-me-off
a prince william better than i...
it's a sad truth when you come across
specimens of women who only known
how to YANK and never... DOODLE
the phallus... with the ******* still
intact...
and *** and *** is just a ******* formality...

darwinism is the modern reinvention
of the copernican ooh-ah!
if copernicus did so: as an "independent"...
Galileo came along with his
mighty telescope... and the martyr's cushioned
seat... while some Greek...
to "us": unknown...

******* is older than beer...
that's my habit...
i look at women in "niqabs" performing
these lolly-pop acts...
and all i see is the niqab...
ninjas of islam mothers of the true believers...
is there something wrong in...
watching others pleasure themselves...
now: **** would be wrong...
if... i somehow managed a proud richie
if... it were... a woman being skinned...
if it was a circumcision of man's phallus...
performed by an iron maiden
gimmick ***...
then i'd be worried...

like that sound-proof of: you're not
in the company of a psychopath...
when someone yawns... you yawn with them...

ostrowiec swietokrzyski is a forgotten town,
once the allure of metallurgy...
because rust belt only happens in
h'america... because the mines only close down
in england... these people were also:
people of the metal...
western europeans "think" that we
moved... because... m'eh...
your metallurgy meccas closed...
ours... "ours"... didn't?!

darwin is the modern version of
medieval copernicus...
and i'm pretty ******* sure...
the ancient greeks, in their childish solipsism...
had a quasi-darwin to begin with...

i'm tired of hearing this worth of ****:
there's not enough toilet paper
to match up with the 111 of wiping your ***
with the index, middle and ring finger's
worth of: grafitti!

but at least boxing is a sport that still
demands a variant of ethics...
there's gloating prior...
but catch a skiving ******* gloating
after... doktor dentist herr sadist is...
waiting... parlor no. 2...
you can simply hear a faint grip
of the christmas carol he's singing...
'i'll hang you on a noose of
poor's joe's intestines i dissected:
** ** **...'
you get the idea where no jokes
comes from?

no sport ethic teaches the contestants
to gloat... to gloat is to be fat...
to be a glutton... no one likes...
people gloating after the facts...
like no one is expecting to hear much
about: the heliocentric contra the geocentric
argument...

i beg to disagree... people have a hand
in endearing the geocentric argument...
in the anglophonic realm...
what have we not heard of in the past
2 years beside brexit, trump?
so... there's a heliocentric model...
that's working? or aren't we still
left liberated by a geocentric model of
the now and the in-between?!

last time i chanced the argument...
nothing "west" of mars...
perhaps "north" of jupiter...
again: what's the copernican "west"...
what's the copernican "east"?
i'm still a ***** ******* remnant
of ****** pact VARSUS... aren't i?
warsaw pact...
and so i am:
i am in england for no "apparent" reason...
the metallurgy advent of europe
ended... even under the soviet
umbrella you were... "influenced"...
only western europe gets to: bemoan?
begrudge?! nostalgia riddle itself an et off?!

- you can watch any other sport
and find less "grief" in it...

tennis! what is tennis willing outside
of politics?
the captivated audience...
esp. with the prime-minister's
q&a...

in football... any interference from
the crowd...
summary? a clause is passed...
pencil & paper muscles are flexed...
law comes into: from sleepy /
sheepish demands: a reality to abide
by, goal poasts are moved...

perhaps that's why boxing is a mythological sport...
it doesn't matter that the art... the sport...
doesn't take into consideration
the entire body... and even if the rules
"suggest" that the upper body canvas
is involved...
the boxing remains true:
as truth said: the interaction between
two fists, the head and a car crash
bound to some later... "investement"...

but at least boxing is a sport of pristine quality...
it can be celebrated...
with a fictive outlet...
the audience is involved but only involved
as a dasein: being there...
politics? i vote...
but i'm hardly ever going to fathom
being in parliament...

oh mein nett gott...
where is tennis and my tennis *****?
that game of: 7 rectangles...
and... at most... 11 referees...
and about 6 ball boys / girls...

ludo politico... this most feral sport...
come to think of it...
there's not much to think of...
but beside the sulking and the gloating...

once upon a time so abstract...
so abstract as there is nothing to abstract with

to exercise a will for the existence of a body...
beside having to justify talking
by simply thinking...

darwinism really has shaped events
of historical consideration to fill up the calendar...
that no amount of copernican gluttony and
gloating could ever surpass...

what was once intelligenstia vogue back
in the 15th century... via copernicus...
is once more intelligenstia vogue in this:
what year are we in?
darwin... darwinism outside of the anglosphere
of *******-tick-tock-******* is...
yet another frictive detail that acts
like sandpaper when attempted to fit into
a jean pocket of events...

it's rough around the edges...
and all this ontological borrowing from ape,
from lion, this ontological borrowing from
ants from... this microscope inside
a telescope... and otherwise... inverted...

i'm at the end of my road...
a most fractured example of what could
possibly be deemed human...
annals of worthwhile autobiographies
my ***...
merry christmas my ***...
this celebration is a bit of a *******-whipping...
i might as well die tomorrow and know
that only one man existed in all of history...
hardly a reason to curl into a foetus pose
a shadow and start biting into a corner
like some mouse for the celebration
of the birth of Leibniz or Kant...
nonetheless...

i am to celebrate... something that's
either a bad-*******-riddle-of-ad-nauseam...

or... how i'm the only person who would say:
you know they unearthed the nag hammadi
library back in 1945... and there's a correlation...
with the history of the jewish revolt against
the romans... written by an "integrated jew"...
a josephus ben matthias...
and how... that doesn't even matter?
because jesus wasn't playing
chinese whispers in the gospel of st. thomas...
and this is all just fine, fine; fine!

to celebrate a "birth" is to also...
make this "life"... what it is... "life" something only worth
the margins and minor notations...

what is relevant when cf. (comparing)
darwin to copernicus?
the awe fantasy ridden vogue of intellect,
the: darwinism is a square box that can fit
itself into any empty lodge of parchement...
a square can fit through a triangular shaped
hole... darwinism can...
be all and end all...
we don't need any continental
existential complexity... we do not need
any 20th century existential ontology...
as long as we have... an explanation readied
via darwinism... a simple 1 + 1 = 2...

i, robot; you - don't care...

Kant is still holding the spot for: bachelor of the year...
215th year coming...
Kierkegaard is a shy second...
but Kant is something akin to
what the Muhammedians would call...
the unison of all five...
the Shahadah is the categorical imperative...
Salat: to think is to pray...
Zakat: to not speak is to give alms...
Sawm: to not think about food is to fast...
(or keeping the motto...
i eat to live... i don't live to eat)
Hajj: ha ha! Paris! or... to go where you're
supposed to be...
rather than... expect others for you to be at...
to not be a tourist! a hajj implies:
be not a tourist! expect to be made unwelcome...
come with a purpose...
that deviates from the purpose of
a stated origin to be made purposive
by you going there!
hajj! don't be a tourist!

i have always found some relief in Islam...
like any Romford bound lad...
Ronnie O'Sullivan...
christianity? not after having unearthed
the nag hammadi library...
not after the words have remained
coincidental... not after 1945...
not after WHERE the nag hammadi library was found...
not after the powers-at-be
attempted to "confuse" / hide the nag hammadi
library as a distinct yet: simultanoeus event
coinciding with the dead sea scrolls...
not after the each quwaitii became a oil rich
baron sheikh... not became the pakistanis
and the bangladeshi decided: **** it working
slave hours in Dubai...

Lawrence of Arabia citation of Islam...
i will fake it... the christianity...
but i doubt to ever have a pillow to lie on...
i am pretty sure i will not make it...
i know the allure of islam...
i know the allure of islam when...
if only some genuine friend of this faith came
across me... before that farce of a friend
worth the psychopath's lying ferret's woo
of an Egyptian... with time:
no... no! no healing!

Islam is younger... christianity is...
how many schisms?
prune, pseudo-buddhist...
catholic, protestant... unitarian...
bishopric baptist... calvinist...
it's a... monotheism...
but... given the many splinters?
i find it improbable to not treat it as a...
polytheism... how many times are most kind sirs
going to divide the ******* loaf?!
until we're no longer even eating crumbs?!

christianity to me is a polytheism:
given the number of times it has divided itself up!
it's a cancer growth spectacular, al fresco!
i can only thank the protestants for this...
poly-divison...
after all... there was only one schism in islam...
and that's the allure!
because i am neither: Iraqi prone...
Iranian il allahu blah blah blahlah ural "who who"...

skin? or tattoo?
i have seen christianity die...
no one wants to talk of the nag hammadi library,
honestly... this is a ******* major event!
the media contest: the unearthing of
the dead sea scrolls is a synonym:
of an event that doesn't even happen...
the dead sea scrolls is an event relating
the death of the prophet Isaiah...
being disemboweled... being a courtesan...
guess what!
if no one is going to be ghost-forsaken
and salted-soul honest!
irish proud etc.! guess what...
like unto like: do as they do!

plus all this anglosphere wet-***** darwinism...
how the ****, did darwinism just hijack all
the arms of the humanities...
everything has to be explained with darwinism...
good! because if every cul de sac of life
was to be explained using copernicus...
imagine!

not even newton is a celebrated
scientist these days...
not even michael faraday...
but darwin is!
everything has to come down to
a darwinism - a branch of darwinism...
there's only one narrative:
a biological / psychological narrative...
how could a mythology surround
a Herr Faust / a Pan Twardowski...

england skipped the myth of the chemist...
the alchemist:
sure... william "Christopher Marlowe" shakespeare
tried to "catch-up"...
the english imagination was lost to king
arthur and the glories of:
being conquered by Rome...
of having been part of an ancient history...
last time i checked... us central europeans...
the germans, the goths, the vandals, the aesti...
the great migration types from the Causcus...
we... we didn't share the bounty of this history...
we're again: the barbarians at the gates...
us, slaves... with this sound-encoding and our
own distinctions: our caron S and caron C...
to sneak-in the tetragrammaton...

and who are, the Italiano?
do the Italians even recognise ancient Rome?
do the English truly recognise the...
what's that artifact... the Stonehenge?
ha! ha ha ha ha!
by joke alone...

darwinism's plague on everything cultural!
everything has to be a reminder of:
genes! gene narratives!
everything has to become a propability
gambit! everything has to be sacrificed upon
quasi-religious statements of: why you should,
rather than: why you shouldn't be feeling
so ******* grateful for a per se...

to me... darwinism is... a neo-copernicanism...
a stylish vogue rhetoric...
you can wear darwinism in the 19th to the mid 21st century...
afterwards? it's just a timid burn on the brain
to have to "argue" trans-generational
sensibility patterns of being the labelled:
made in western liberal free "ouch" spice society...

i can side with islam on two grounds...
who were the janissaries?
Murad I would have retorted:
who were the Jesuits?
if not by foundation, the hands of Ignatius of Loyola?
when who were the Mamluks?
my western neighbors love to...
designate my grand ethnic "etymology"
within the framework of the eaten E...
i.e. a slav(e)...

why would i side... with this... variant...
this... "variant" of "christianity"...
for a ******* carol-song-***-by-*******-yah
hard-on quest?!
you heard them...
old saxons vs. new blut saxons in
an orchestra of zeppelins hanging over london!
or... the lagoon as i like to call it...

check you "history" your etymology...
oh... because "they" would correct "misunderstood"
etymology... with a counter:
akin to the ethnonym -
loan words baron!
it's just "a missing E"...

it's still mainstream darwinism...
i imagine the years under the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth...
the Ukranians must have been like...
enough! enough of this Copernicus ******* already!
Ave Khmelnitsky!

after all... copernicus was right...
the sun does not move around the earth...
the earth moves around the sun...
copernicus was right... we were wrong...
the earth moves around the sun...
but... the affairs of the sun...
are not... the affairs of the earth...
and those... bound... to inhabit it...
the sun is important...
but... soap opera triviality is...
somehow... more... important...
drama of the callous nature of man...
is... more than... the vacuum riddle bundle
of billions of years is...
with its... mere H-to-He exchange of gaseous
bundle warmth...

one thing that governs my cruelty toward
how darwinism is exploited to fit
every ******* crevice of everyday life...
that one's: its supposed universality...

but then... this trans-genus trans-species
"comparative literature"...
it's not enough to be imitating ape...
again: which ape?
the chimp alone? the gorilla?
the ******* macaque?
why would i devolve...
having the body of a gorilla?
a gorilla could wrestle a lion to the death...
i, albino quasi gremlin bonkers IQ...
get to... pet a bonsai tiger!
yay!

two things went wrong when it came
to... "people, thinking"...
vogue ideas...
the copernican revolution...
and the... revolution of darwinism...
oh we can forget about marx...
we all know what was wrong about that...
i'm pretty sure some greek knew that already...
but we're stalling...
for **** know's what...
since: not being vular by now is not going
to help the "clarification of verbiage
over civilised tea and scones later" either...

if only these darwinist concentrated on
the source material...
but... to throw into this "existentialism"
a mix of peering with scrutiny at an ant colony...
at bacteria... at tapeworms...
and... somehow... being...
once more... the center of the universe...
of analytical diarrhoea?
in a heliocentric schematic?
**** me... are you sure...
this heliocentric argumentation was only so good...
as good as... when you didn't have to
navigate a west and an east...
on a map...
going through the Rhine valley...
via Antwerp... via Essen...
via Dortmund on the autobahn?

again... what's a copernican "east"?!

The Federation stood around stunned because they did not know what to say
Message was the heart of the Federation, and now she was in Drozen’s fray.
Lady of the Night appeared to them and said Message is ok, Drent you have explaining.
Because it was like they were Romeo and Juliet the way they were complaining.
Drent rose up and said, no it was more like Romeo and Juliet were like Drozen and Message.
My father tried to warn her that as an Imperial Candidate she should spurn his vestige.
But Message did not respond, and as Headdress Prince I tried to get together a decree.
That no barbarian could associate with an Imperial Candidate or die painfully.
Message would not speak to me, and Drozen left in a maniacal fury.
Little did I know that Drozen would come back and this time not as a loving suitor.
The Imperial Candidacy went on, and it was between me and Message to be ruler.
I thought Message would win it, but the Brethren never got to pick.
They handed the Advocate Council the paper with their choice, but she never opened it.
Drozen interrupted the proceedings, and captured us both to his Alieno-Machine.
This is what happens when true love turned into violent vengeance, I would never forget that scream.
He destroyed our planet, and took Message to a load to lock her inside.
And as for me he said, Drent you will be a Teremi Mercanary, and if you fail Message already died.

So I came to Earth, because that was my next assignment.
But I did not know that Message was already there, and had broken out of confinement.
I resented Message for the destruction of our world, but I realize love cannot be forbidden.
I guess Message became a courier of the Dragon Power to become better hidden.
The Federation sat there stunned, and Breastplate-Bearer said, This explains so much.
Dragon-Man groaned and Lady of the Night asked, Tell us, how did she get the Death-Touch.
I think the load was so strong that it had a Gretian force-field and in the process of breaking free.
Some got onto her hands, and over time it evolved to become the Death-Touch on her fingertips.
I could never let go of the fact that I let down my Dahomeyians as a Headdress Prince.
Lady of the Night said, No don’t feel that way, and Breastplate-Bearer said, you really dropped the ball.
Boundaries, Lady of the Night and Dragon-Man both screamed, but Breastplate-Bearer continued, Good thing this is like boxing with gloves at all.
Dragon-Man then turned to Lady of the Night and asked, So did you get any intelligence that you heard.
Lady of the Night said, You can use your disembodiment powers to free her, and Dragon-Man replied, I gave Drozen my word.
Lady of the Night said, Well, there is nothing I can do, because Message just has to fight to victory.
Drent replied, I think now that how Message feels about Drozen, victory is not enough.
Breastplate-Bearer called out, Hey, should I take the cloaking mode off the Isotrain Mechanism?
Dragon-Man shook his head and said, No, this is our base we don’t want Drozen to know where we are living.
The Claimant joust was come, and Drozen and Message were both prepared.
But Dragon-Man was shocked for the first time in a while to feel fear.
He knew Message could fight, but Drozen was the Commander of the Numberless Clans.
They must be Numberless for a reason, but at least Message has the Death-Touch in her hands.
Message took her position on the Centaur-Raptor, its wings were spread out to its fullest.
Drozen also mounted a Centaur-Raptor, but when Message looked closely he was sweating bullets.
He seemed to be out of breath, and Lady of the Night taunted, What is wrong can’t get enough air.
Drozen fired back, After I am done with Message I will end all of you who have come here.
Message and Drozen head together each other Message had her weapons ready for combat.
Suddenly Drozen fell to the ground heavily, without Message making First Contact.
Message pulled out her Celestial Blade Saber, and yelled Surrender or die you fiend.
One of the Scimitan referees said, That is against the rules, and Lady of the Night retorted, Hush, you don’t know what you’ve meaned.
Don’t you realize that Message has saved your planet and many countless more.
I don’t think I did it, Message said as she stepped back with Drozen lifeless on the floor.

Can I have his head, No, Heart, No, Kneecap, No, Message and Dragon-Man argued.
His hands, You have hands, stop trying to be greedy and eat this splendid food.
Message huffed, He did not even have the courtesy to die by my hand, how rude.
Drent called out, So what do we do with Drozen’s lifeless body without power.
Dragon-Man replied, Put it in the Acider flames and let them have a feast to devour
Lady of the Night asked, Dragon-Man, don’t you have a pending court case?
Dragon-Man smacked his head and said, Oh yeah, we better get back to Earth in haste.
No don’t go to Earth yet I want to fight you all, the Legate said in the background.
And in the Voidful Midst the Covenantial Project was gathering the Federation without making a sound.

It was in my mother’s father’s final days when Beckham curled it in against Greece
It should have been wrapped up months or at least minutes prior
But for the English
Football is a beautiful form of torture
Some relief in the dark and painful last of his days
It may sound dramatic from the outside
But from the inside
When you’re in on the secret
Football has always been the beautiful game for a reason
And fate was sealed that day

The infamous Zidane headbutt
It came at a time when I was realising people aren’t perfect and heroes are human
For me, not a disgrace, but a lesson
The world’s greatest are also flawed

Lampard 2010 World Cup
It was over the line
I know it
You know it
But the greatest journeys all have their ups and downs
Their misfortunes and their injustices
Our time is nigh
It’s coming home

The psychopathic work ethic of Ronaldo
The glue on the boots of Messi
The precision of the Pirlo pass
The ‘Why always me?’
The ‘You’ll never walk alone’
The wins, the losses
The joy, the heartbreak
The frustration of supporting a yo-yo that never goes all the way up
An ode to my forever unmentioned Plymouth Argyle
The screamers, the blunders
From Thierry to Titus Bramble
Alonso to Okocha
The once-club-record-signing whose name now evades you
The heroes, the villains
The naive dream that maybe one day you’ll make it
And the hope that maybe this will be our year
The diving, the referees, the relegations, the failure
The 4-0 thrashings by the rivals, the penalties and quarter finals

I don’t know why I do it to myself
But I know that I wouldn’t have it any other way
This is the beautiful game
This is football

Ah, the mercurial female pursuit!
The greatest and the damnedest game
What stunning highs and cruel lows
Where patience is lost and hearts are claimed

To feel the the pleasure of the chase!
The pursuit is worth the heavy toil
Great angst and fear are put to shame,
Eclipsed by sweet romance's spoil

But what is this? It seems to me
The playing ground's all bare today
Except for stone-faced referees
None of the players have come to play

I'll have to turn about and leave
No man can play this game alone
It seems an awful waste but yea
I'll pack my things and head back home.

I've tried to play a number of times
Prepped and practiced, just in case
There'd be another player to play
A worthy foe for me to face.

And we are made to play, and win
This game that we've all known and seen
This challenge, unequaled! Upon the earth
The greatest sport that's ever been

My spirit falters, as time marches on
Diligence, heart, and patience all wilt
I know not why this all must pass
Is this the thing for which I was built?

But I believe that someday soon
The pitch will shine an ecchoing green
And on that day I'll play the game
Against a player as yet unseen.

I was 8
Breaktimes at school were the best
I remember the small field-not-pitch
Where we played football
Not as a game of 22 players
and referees and rules
It was a game of 44;
No, 46 self acclaimed stars
It was a game of the whole school
Everybody against everybody
Indiscriminate of ***
Or skill
Of height differences or body frame
Tackled by your teammates for dribbling too much
You could pick up the ball and run
Rugby style to the opposition post
Then kick to score and most likely, miss
Or get mobbed even before you get to the post
It was all so exciting;
Such disorganization;
So much fun.

liberalism rots my brain and breaks my heart

emotions are cast as a lack of objectivity needing to be overcome and cut out.

emotions are not insight they are impediment.

a threat to someone’s wellbeing and dignity is cast as a difference of opinion, that we can agree to disagree that there is no target on your back.

while you are walking up hill into the wind with your possessions rolling down the bank, the world is warped into a frame, call it a “level playing field”

as if an elite group doesn’t own and run the pitch, profit from the rent, write the rulebook and hire the referees.

It's afternoon and I’m standing outside in a towel. I’m smoking a menthol cigarette, or rather the ****, one of four collected from the ash tray on the brick ledge sitting in the window by my screen door. I’m surrounded by dead plants, it was too cold in the storage room for them to make it, no heat goes there. The thing about dead plants, you can never tell if they’re truly dead. There might be a spark of life hidden somewhere. Sure the leaves yellow, become brittle, while others maintain a shade of green. I’m smoking this menthol down to the filter, my skin has the watery remains of a two hour bath beading in the late winter air. It's St. Patrick’s day, and the town will be filled with drunks, I aspire to be one of them. Yet my face is dead, I don’t know how to wink. The bar tender gave me a cigarette last night, in appreciation, I blew her a kiss, our eyes met, and in both of our faces, dead plants. I watched a gaggle of muscle bound monkeys in tight shirts pounding the hardwood of the bar, hollering in tones only achieved by men watching sports together. Not the birth of a boy, not the heat of ******, can match the sound of men reveling in someone else’s athletic accomplishment. I used to sit on the bench of my middle school basketball team, we only ever lost one game, it was a catholic school hit job, the referees in the hometown pocket, it was probably the first mugging I ever witnessed in real time. If you’re enthusiastic enough, people will keep you around, the key is to never let on that you’re faking it. That’s the art of social life, that veneer that only the true actor can achieve, being so deep in character, that you believe it as your self. This smile, take it or leave it, but if you walk around smiling long enough, people will wonder what’s wrong with you. I’m smiling, I enjoy absurdity, feigned or otherwise, just yell in my face a little less, or start throwing glass and make a real horror show of it.

Hockey is the only major sport not based around fighting that you can fight in
And not get ejected from the game
The referees just give each player five minute penalties
Some players will use this to their advantage
And try to pick fights with players more valuable than them
Creating an equalizing equation
Raising their value to the player they eliminated
And bringing that player down to their level

10

Hes fast.. that uppercut came out nowhere. its always the one you don't see that takes you down

9

Not sure how many more of those I can take. My legs feel like jelly

8

My right eye's bleeding pretty bad, hes been working on it all night and im pretty sure i have a cracked rib

7

This cant be happening man, not in front my family. I can't go out like this

6

This is a b.s. match anyway. There's two of him for christ sake!. and why do we need two referees!

5

If only I would have trained harder. Stopped drinking and taken thing's seriously for once. Come on lady luck I need you now more than ever!

4

How am I gonna face my girl after this. She's always been in my corner and i'm about to let her down

3

Well at least its almost over. I'll find a bottle of whiskey and hide out for a while.

2

**** that. You've fought harder men than him and you've always come out on top. Get your *** up and put him down. The loser is the man that gives up. That's something you've never done once. And your not gonna start today!

1

the lull, the longing,
the ache  just before sleep
and just before wake -
the quiet, rhythmic
shushing, the weight,
the heaviness.
it's too dark, but
it's too bright, too
much, not enough,
too warm, too cold.
always too something.
never quite enough.
it's the swell of the sky
just before the rain,
the stillness and the hush
around midnight just
before it snows. it's
the creeping feeling
of change, of danger,
of letting go, of giving
up - it's how the winds
change, it's the stack
of papers blowing
away in the sudden
gust. it's the boys
who promise to
never hurt you while
they're untying their shoes,
unbuttoning their pants.
it's how they sneak out
after you've fallen asleep,
the cancer in the way
they kiss your forehead
just before they go.
it's your father holding
your small hands, and
your father's weight
after he buckles under
too many beers. it's how
no matter how many times
your he disappoints you,
you'll always call him daddy
when he finally comes around.
it's your father being the first
man to break all the promises
he made you and it's your aching
little girl's heart believing
him too many times. it's your
mother telling you to be better,
but never showing
you how to be better.
it's the way your mother tells you
to be safe but never teaches
you how to say no,
how to tell the boys when
enough is enough -
how fingertips creeping up too far,
how hands slipping down too low
should never feel like a debt to be paid.
she doesn't tell you how that sudden
vacancy in your mind is a warning
sign, how it's a quiet no,
and that maybe will never be a quiet yes.
it's the teachers telling
you that boys will be boys,
telling you that girls are mean
and to get over it and handle
it among yourselves because
there's no referees in real life.
it's lies that sound like promises
and words like forever and love
and ipromiseillneverleaveyou
hitting your heart like a brick.
it's empty beds and empty
houses and empty cupboards
and ghost towns in your chest
and abandoned homes in your
head and it's the way ghosts
never leave the places that
harmed them the most. it's
how falling asleep every night
feels like the battle and waking
up every morning feels like
the war and it's the way that
no matter how many times
you fight, nothing's ever won.

These Days It's CLEAR ... !!!

I've Now Passed ... " Those Years " ... !!!

Where ... RUNNING My Mouth ...
To PROVE WITHOUT Doubt That My Thoughts Are SOUND ...
Is NO LONGER A Need That Lives Within Me ... !!!

AGREE To DISAGREE Is Now The Theme ...
With Which I ROLL When The Youth Get BOLD ...

And Wanna TELL ME How Things Now Go ...
....... I KNOW What I KNOW ....... !!!

As I'm SURE They Do ...
But There's Something In The Youth That's NOW ON SHOW ...

A DISRESPECT For FACTS That Come From OLDER Mans' ...
YUP ... Mans' Like Me Who Deal In FACTUAL SPEECH ... !!!

NOT Conspiracies ...
That Are Now On TV's ... !!!!

I CONSPIRE To REVEAL ...
The Things Youngsters NOW SEE ...
That Simply ARE NOT REAL ...
And ARE FILLED With FALLACIES ... !!!

Like ... DODGY Referees ...
And Stars Whose SHINE Concedes .......
To Personal DEFEATS That Leads Me To Believe ...
DEEP DOWN That ... They Are WEAK ... !!!!!!

SO MANY New Age CLOWNS ... !!!
Who've Signed These CRAZY DEALS ... !!!!!

Marketing ... Promotion ...
So YES Living ... " The DREAM " ... !!!

Causing A COMMOTION Because The Dream ... "Conceals" ...
A Lack of TRUE DEVOTION To What Most Want To See ... !!!

HIGH Quality ... NOT Sporting CHEATS ... !!!!!
Or MIMING Teens Whose Sheen Is CLEAN ...
Until We See Them ... BROKEN Down ... !!!!!

WITHOUT Being Drowned ...
By The HYPE That SURROUNDS ...

"They're the greatest thing to come along,
since Jesus Christ, The son of GOD !"

"The son of who, he's just a fool !
Check Bieber son, he is that dude !"

"Okay, can I ask, how old are you ?"

"I'm Twenty Two, what does that prove ?"

"It proves that you have a limited view !
Don't get it confused, I have one too,
but mine has seen, a bit more, nah' mean !
Respect for old heads, now seems to be dead, and I ain't that old !"

"Who told you so, you're grey and choose to not make moves,
your thinking's off, I think your mind's gone soft !"

"You're probably right, what could I have learnt
from seeing the times, when you had to earn,
your time to shine, and rep' that hype !"

YEAH ... " Rep' That Hype ! " ...

NOT Just Get Signed And Then SUDDENLY BE ...

" THE MAN " ... Like MIKE ... !!!!!

Or Like ... " ALI " ...

" THE GREATEST of ALL TIMES ! "

OPINIONS In The Young I DO WELCOME ...
But ONLY When RESPECT ...
Is What Young Heads Then COME WITH Next ... !!!

The Sad Thing Is ...
It's NOT JUST Kids NOW FLIPPING The Script ...

A LOT of OLDER Heads ...
Now Be Running Talk That's FOUL ... !!!
Since When Did EVERYBODY ...
Have Knowledge That Was GODLY ... !?!?!
These Days MOST Peoples' Arguments ...
Are CLEARLY Rather .... SHODDY .... !!!!!

To Me These Days It's CLEAR ...
These Whipper Snappers FEAR ...
Arguments of Reason ...
That PROVE Their Thoughts AREN'T Seasoned ... !!!

So When They're Brought ... It's TREASON .... !!!!!!
And Then COME OUT Their DEMONS ... !!!

DEFIANCE PRIDE And Then DENIAL ...
Passive AGGRESSION They KEEP Defending ...
UNTIL ... Common Sense Lessons ...
Leave Their Demons ... SUITABLY Weakened ... !!!

We've ALL Been There When Youth ... "ENSNARES" ...
Our Ability To HEAR The Things Most of Us FEAR ... !!!!!!!!!!

Because When Most Are ... " YOUNG " ...
It's CLEAR That WISDOM Comes ...

BEYOND ............................................................

..... " THOSE YEARS " .....

Tell them they are cursed
Those impostors
Who pretends to be trouble shooters
Yet breaks the door latch for the robber

Friends of the common man
Who suffers from kleptomania
Men clad in devil's costumes

Hopes of the living dead
They are school boys
Who uses
Tins as vehicles
sticks as guns

Standing all day
Like a man waiting for his debtor
Clinging to motorists
like zombies
Hitting vehicles
Like goons
Shouting at the top of their voices
Like bus conductors
Waving their sticks
Like sport referees
Just to get the green rectangular polythene

With their perfidious divel
They turn the nation to a quagmire

Tell the men on black berets
That they are all cursed
Like a man who defiled his own blood


TheRadicalTheaspian

LAWMYK
©2018

In an instant,
in one second,
two lives are forever changed,
in the blink of an eye.

Love is put to the test.
To be forsaken or to prevail is the test
that the players of this game must overcome.

Time and destiny are the referees.
They’re setting the rules,
the players have been selected (they’re you and me).

The obstacles have been set,
the game must begin.
You are to forget me,
my touch must become unfamiliar to you.
My thoughts must not reach you,
for if one does, your love is immediately resuscitated.

The challenge is for you to love in your unconscious state of mind!

No flowers in our paths, just thorns,
that penetrate the skin making this (our) journey bleak.
No sun during the day, so, light may not be a guiding presence as you search for me.
No full moon, since its face will point you towards me.
No rainbow, so that hope dies with thee.

Angels, angels, want to intervene!
But have been forbidden from interceding
or the lesson won’t be received.
The lesson, what lesson? What is the lesson?
Is it strong enough?
Is it loud enough?
Will good prevail?
Will LOVE conquer all?
Will I stay or go?
Will you go down into memory lane, as unknown?
Is that the lesson? (I don’t know)

Two soul mates found each other in their last life.
They began to play the game.
He did not remember her.
She remembered everything.
He forgot love…she reminded him

He remembered love.

LeydisProse
2006