it usually happens like this, the moment you expand and exfoliate in vocab gymnastics worthy of poetry, and cannot fathom the mundane lumberjack constraints of writing fiction, were the use of a thesaurus is in plain sight... people start calling your sentence construct a "psychiatric" symptom of making salads... too bad these critics have such a limited vocab bank account, that they still have to use the thesaurus, in order to "spice things up"! i tried and i tried, but i can't make language rigid, systematic; i tried being the bricklayer of language with paragraph rooms: but i just end ******* it up, like a picasso.

a man might as well have said:
                      to have *shared an experience,
is to also have paid  a remissions for qualms
of having lived a life: mostly apart -

and is that not so?
this "shared" experience,
   is nothing but a reinvention
of the dionysian cult -
and by that i mean:
nothing more than the obliterate
target practice against
any mould, or "biased" glue
to fathom beyond the thought:
something good.

fool the man and folly another,
should he come from an age
of technological "investigations"
and replica interventions -
seems only the nomad,
the less civilised is the one:
who sought wisdom, and found it...
*****-strapped in diapers
and mosquito bites...
    truth to power!
i once had e lake, now aye av a bog,
my my: a fine wide ranging
toilet crouch moment:
but my my, wh'ah a woo!
  i mean view... neever took a ****
and felt so exasperated by the canvas,
than the ease of me giving birth to
a ****-worm...
  oi! armstrong! stretch!

have you noticed why stand-up comedy
is a wholly black vs. white affair?
these days us peeps can't say
anything profound, nothing biblical,
so, we resort to not being taken seriously
and, crack a joke...
    i mean... it doesn't matter that i don't
come from a non-colonial white group,
i still can't say anything profound...
i have to crack a joke, to be taken seriously...

problem is: i might actually crack a bad joke...
i actually might not be that much funny
as a dog chasing its own tail...

a man might as well have said:
to have shared an experience,
is to also have paid
a remissions for qualms
of having lived a life: mostly apart -

and that's true, in that,
a "shared" experience is never a lived
experience...
      the ****'s up with these shamanic
holidays?
   we know we end up on cruise ships
trying to celebrate "thinking",
while at the same time succumbing
to "being" bored...
          
         the only lived we ever had was
down the pub...
    and the "shared" we attempted to
capitalise on?
    bad acid trips, bad shroom trips,
post-scriptum of a white girl
  injecting concentrated ayahuasca...
yeah, really "lived" through it together...
the sharing is not the living,
the week doesn't concentrate with
a weekend, with friday binge, saturday binge,
sunday rest...

     the left? do the capitalist infiltrators
even know what the left stands for,
the left orthodoxy? jew.
you have too much time on your hands,
scrap the 0-hour contracts, and make people
work the mandatory 6, as it was done
in post world-war II "******" states...
less time to riot and chant ******* slogans...
maybe these people can learn
the orthodox way...
        
           people with 2 days off usually waste
one of these days on utopia, and the other
on the status quo...

     **** me, that's decent, i'm going to stutter:

           people with 2 days off usually waste
one of these days on utopia, and the other
on the status quo...

oh yeah, and make army conscription mandatory,
given that universities are obsolete,
just for the boys out there, save the "boys",
bring back mandatory conscription;
it'll be like ilford county high vs.
the ilford ursulines: secular segregation,
and the mosques can just *******;

you know, i this idea of being a social engineer...
it's titillating! like saying the word scone
or crumpet to a russian girlfriend!
**** gives me the giggles!

b.t.w.: shhh, don't tell anyone...
it might be the *** talking...

no, i don't believe in ******* mud sweat
soaking condoms and cheap beer glastenbury of
shared experience...
      i don't believe in "sharing" an experience,
i don't believe in group yoga, group detox,
group schmuck worth of l.s.d. or a dope get-together
to listen to some impromptu jazz and recite
poetry like those beatnik quacks of the 60s...
if it's not a lived experience,
   like preparing dinner, and sitting by the table...
well... nothing is worth sharing... n'est-ce pas?

you either experience a lived experience,
or you experience a mockery of life -
   this... thing, called "shared" experience,
3 days at a festival, and then?
off you go vermin! back into your cages!
chop chop!
            on the ******* treadmills, pronto!
most of these people can't even imitate autism,
or the child, or concentrate within the focus
of solipsism, given the theory, some *******
even claim that it's a mental "illness":
or as i like to call it: the proper state of affairs
of being an only child.

these people do know that they're breeding really
******* patients, hiding behind the label
"mental illness", while at the same time not
calling islamic terrorists as also being mentally ill,
they know that, don't they?
   i mean, the media is breeding really angry people
with this dissociative-dissociation -
yes, i know, but this imminent tautological blunder
can't be metaphorical, akin to plain sighted
interaction of prefix-magnets...

        oh wait... associative-dissociation actually
does make more sense... d'uh: tautological prefixation
never works: the paradoxical blunder...

       oh ****, have a party,
   step it up with "tautological":
as i might also add: existentialism and the inverted
commas - the laziness regarding the aristotelian
genesis of proper nouns, and quick-hand-draw nouns;

and when you write so "confusingly" as to make
your reader distrust you, in that you have read
enough books, for them to not be able to make
identical references of a chronology of reading.

to be honest, given this western media punch-bag?
i'd rather be called a terrorist,
   than someone who's mentally ill...
  god's honest truth, since then i'd be dealing
with puritanical matters of conviction -
and as one theist said to another theist:
much easier contemplating a "non-existent"
being, than being stuck in an atheist's head
pretending to reinvent the wheel,
and the cave man, and return to mama chimp;
just saying... at least the idea of "god"
either brings the desire to procrastinate
by gesticulating the existence of: via prayer -
or being ****** by the void,
    of a non-existence of, the thing that consumes
thought - res edere cogitans;
still, much better than being cannibalised
at an atheist banquet;
i much prefer shoving my ego up his ***,
than into the mind of some atheist,
and then start nodding in approval like
some zombie carrier pigeon,
which scratches its delivery confirmation
with a hook of gangrene.

Battle galactic of supersonic secrets
Nightmares haunt the day in quests for what is hidden
Overlay the sprinkles of perpetual remissions
Disregard the ambiance of the diseased repetitions
Evacuate the hostages
I repeat
Abort mission
For I orchestrated a **** up
No scapegoat in existence to replace my poor decisions

When will you be home:
When Spring's on,
When Summer's done,
When Fall is all in color,
Or Winter's white enshrouds us?

I'm waiting here alone
With longings to dress you,
Arms to caress you,
Before you leave again.
Yet, you will return.

Are you yourself there,
Somewhere, but not here,
Where family waits.
Let your fears
Drip off your brimming shoulders.
Here start your missions,
End remissions,
Renew your heavy heart.

Home is where you
Learned to walk,
Learned to talk
To eat and read;
All you'd need
When you leave.
Here you feel
Most secure;
Knowing friends are closer
Than they were before;
This side of the outside door.

Here is where the hearts are,
Without the worry
Of hurly-burly.
Who will bring you home?

You'll find shelter elsewhere -
     A Pagoda or a condo nest -
But home is where
Your soul finds rest.

You're right, it was a lie, a joke,
It's a hysterical sight when I forget, so I sigh,
It was a hoax...
I love to sleep 14 to 70 hours each day and how much I weigh, That's just a positive gain,
How'd you know I never had pain?
I purposely cancel plans at the end,
Who'd want to keep friends?
I just lie about it to seek attention,
being called a liar was my whole intention...
I am not sick or tired,
I just enjoy being called lazy, it's good for my self-esteem... when I do get out to look pale and wearing no makeup,
I no longer care about.
You can't see the illness on the outside, you can't see my body attacking itself, healthy brain cells killing oneself, so I made up the autoimmune disease by myself...
No need to look forward to remissions, good health doesn't need omission,  
No need to ask for prayer, for what's wrong with me(on my behalf), they'll find a cure, after all , my cells are pure, and you can't see the disease that I have.

Glad I made you laugh,
When God heals and take's it away,
Then you'll know I never had it anyway. -Jencie

I have travelled and dodged the bullets
dragged the leaded knees on casted iron
covered with clay on my bear bosoms*
felt your depth in my search ohh my love
and as I lay caressing your feet unhurriedly  
I feast in your unknown moistured touch
tongue on tongue preaching gospels unheard
travelling on transverse unmet peregrinations
hoping to thread at the core where we adjoin
learning again how to heave against the gradient
on paralleled transgressions exploring propagations
breaking walls and decoding the remissions
delegating preliminary positions to submission
feverish ardour of anticipation and langour
*I long for you sweet valentine, comeby on board

Let's go inside the vast seas
The depths of a gory yesterday
It pierces with undiluted questions
A pestering, such a continental drag
virtual pondering and remissions
Let it drown through currented waves

Let it collapse inside the dungeon
The darkness of grouping grills
The burning and frequent night chills
A ******, the convienient injustice
Ritualistic happenings and missions
Let it fade in the unseen tunnels

Let it sail with the titanic ship
The ripple of calming broken hearts
The undone meanings and circumstance
Shattered chances, the unplanned farewell
Mutual derailment, downs, loniliness
Let it drown in the dense lost shores

Inspiration flows from the veins
reigns where once there were
dynasties, a destiny and the mystery
roads of the unhidden remissions

On the bed of roses, lies the beauty
a shine of unspotted fading gestures
Tilted metaphoric of synched moments
strolling on the myth of an autumn day

The glow of a heart that lights oceans
shimmering the waves of bluey strokes
those glistering movements of the untold
harvesting the arise of the siren responses

Smile lovely one, show the shimmer burn
like a fierce cupid aiming the toward arrows
of parallel sequences of the hot and the fire
the flame of unhidden kindles and twinkles

As the Caledonian pines unwind on a terrain
willed on the essence of a tantalizing dance
the echoes and the heckles of burnt seals
astounding the strength of another length

Last night, the time stopped and I ceased
sat on a log of peace minced in ventures
of lessons and visions, reasons and treasons
as the clock struck and the lock was undone

On the fervent course of roads walked before
as voices and hymns mashed within the storm
building mansions upon the diffused seasons
where life remains unbroken by bonded souls

During 1950 after many years of research, a dedicated biochemist by the name of Dr. Ernst T. Krebs, Jr., isolated a new vitamin that he numbered B17 and called 'Laetrile'. As the years rolled by, thousands became convinced that Krebs had finally found the complete control for all cancers, a conviction that even more people share today. Back in 1950 Ernst Krebs could have had little idea of the hornet's nest he was about to stir up. The pharmaceutical multinationals, unable to patent or claim exclusive rights to the vitamin, launched a propaganda attack of unprecedented viciousness against B17, despite the fact that hard proof of its efficiency in controlling all forms of cancer surrounds us in overwhelming abundance.
In his brilliantly researched 1974 book World Without Cancer, researcher and author G. Edward Griffin explains the trophoblastic theory of cancer proposed by Professor John Beard of Edinburgh University, which states that certain pre-embryonic cells in pregnancy differ in no discernible way from highly-malignant cancer cells. Edward Griffin continues:
"The trophoblast* in pregnancy indeed does exhibit all the classical characteristics of cancer. It spreads and multiplies rapidly as it eats its way into the ****** wall preparing a place where the embryo can attach itself for maternal protection and nourishment."
The trophoblast is formed in a chain reaction by another cell that Griffin simplifies down to the 'total life' cell, which has the total capacity to evolve into any ***** or tissue, or a complete embryo. When the total life cell is triggered into producing trophoblast by contact with the hormone estrogen, present in both males and females, one of two different things happens. In the case of pregnancy the result is conventional development of a placenta and umbilical cord. If the trophoblast is triggered as part of a healing process however, the result is cancer or, as Edward Griffin cautions: "To be more accurate, we should say it is cancer if the healing process is not terminated upon completion of its task."
Stunning proof of this claim is readily available. All trophoblast cells produce a unique hormone called the chorionic gonadotrophic (CGH) which is easily detected in *****. Thus if a person is either pregnant or has cancer, a simple CGH pregnancy test should confirm either or both. It does, with an accuracy of better than 92% in all cases. If the ***** sample shows positive it means either normal pregnancy or abnormal malignant cancer. Griffin notes: "If the patient is a woman, she either is pregnant or has cancer. If he is a man, cancer can be the only cause." So why all of the expensive, dangerous biopsies carried [out] to 'detect' cancerous growths? One can only assume that medicare pays doctors a larger fee for biopsies than pregnancy tests.
So how is it that any of us gets cancer in the first place. Is it exposure to cigarette smoking, intense sunlight or perhaps the effect of toxic food additives? Dr. Krebs thinks not. All of the hard biochemical evidence points to the fact that cancer is a simple deficiency disease of vitamin B17, long ago removed from our highly refined, western diets. Krebs postulates that the so-called 'carcinogens' are merely stress triggers that finally expose the B17 deficiency with devastating effect.
The proof Krebs has presented over the years to support his claim is impressive. Centuries ago we used to eat millet bread, rich in B17, but now we chew our way through wheat which has none at all. For generations our grandmothers used to carefully crush the seeds of plums, greengages, cherries, apples, apricots and other members of the botanical family Rosaceae, and diligently mix them with their home made jams and preserves. Grandma probably didn't know why she was doing it, but the seeds of all these fruits are the most potent source of B17 in the world. In the tropics, large quantities of B17 are found in cassava, also known as tapioca. When did you last eat some?
Independent research has also proved that a Himalayan tribe known as the 'Hunza' [more correctly Hunzakut] never contract cancer of any kind so long as they stick to their native diet which is exceptionally high in both apricots and millet. However, once exposed to western diets they become as vulnerable as the rest of us.
The implications of these findings are staggering of course. If we managed to control Scurvy (vitamin C deficiency) centuries ago, how is it we cannot do the same for cancer today? The fact of the matter is that we could if our respective governments would allow it. Unfortunately most governments have buckled under the pressure exerted by the pharmaceutical multinationals, the American Food & Drug Administration, and the American Medical Association. All three have mounted highly successful 'scare' campaigns based on the fact that vitamin B17 contains quantities of 'deadly' cyanide; conveniently forgetting that vitamin B12 also contains significant quantities of cyanide, and has long been available in health food shops world-wide.
Dr. Krebs' B17 Laetrile was derived from apricot seeds and then synthesized into crystalline form using his own unique process. Suddenly, the American FDA bombarded the media with a story about an unfortunate couple who had poisoned themselves by eating raw apricot seeds in San Francisco. The story made headline news across the U.S.A. although several suspicious journalists never managed to establish the identity of the unfortunate couple, despite many determined attempts. But the multinational pharmaceutical/FDA boot had been put in with a vengeance. From that point onwards eating apricot seeds or B17 Laetrile became synonymous with committing suicide...
Back in the fifties Dr. Ernst Krebs proved beyond doubt that B17 was completely harmless to humans in the most convincing way possible. After testing the vitamin on animals, he filled a large hypodermic with a mega-dose which he then injected into his own arm! Drastic perhaps, but the adventurous Dr. Krebs is still alive and well today.
The vitamin is harmless to healthy tissue for a very simple reason: Each molecule of B17 contains one unit of cyanide, one unit of benzaldehyde and two of glucose (sugar) tightly locked together. In order for the cyanide to become dangerous it is first necessary to 'unlock' the molecule to release it, a trick that can only be performed by an enzyme called beta-glucosidase. This enzyme is present all over the body in minute quantities, but in huge quantities (up to 100 times as high) at cancerous tumour sites.
Thus the cyanide is released only at the cancer site with drastic results, which become utterly devastating to the cancer cells because the benzaldehyde unit also unlocks at the same time. Benzaldehyde is a deadly poison in its own right, which then acts synergistically with the cyanide to produce a poison 100 times more deadly than either in isolation. The combined effect on the cancer cells is best left to the imagination.
But what about danger to the rest of the body's cells? Another enzyme, rhodanese, always present in larger quantities than the unlocking enzyme beta-glucosidase in healthy tissues has the easy ability to completely break down both cyanide and benzaldehyde into beneficial body products. Predictably perhaps, malignant cancer cells contain no rhodanese at all, leaving them completely at the mercy of the cyanide and benzaldehyde.
Any physician reading this article will probably be shaking with self-righteous indignation at this stage, muttering to himself: 'Yes, but where is the PROOF???'
Right here! Most people have heard of 'spontaneous remission', where the cancer simply goes away, hopefully never to reappear. Spontaneous remissions are exceedingly rare and vary from one form of cancer to another. One virulent variety known as testicular chorionepithelioma has never been known to produce a single spontaneous remission. Perhaps for that precise reason, Dr. Krebs singled it out for special attention when proving the effectiveness of B17 Laetrile in providing total control for cancers. As Edward Griffin recounts:
"In a banquet speech in San Francisco on November 19, 1967, Dr. Ernst T. Krebs, Jr., briefly reviewed six such cases. Then he added:
Now there is an advantage in not having had prior radiation, because if you have not received prior radiation that has failed, then you cannot enjoy the imagined benefits of the delayed effects of prior radiation. So this boy falls into the category of the ‘spontaneous regression... ‘
And when we look at this scientifically, we know that spontaneous regression occurs in fewer than one in 150,000 cases of cancer. The statistical possibility of spontaneous regression accounting for the complete resolution of successive cases of testicular chorionepithelioma is far greater than the statistical improbability of the sun not rising tomorrow morning."
Wisely perhaps, Griffin notes that because of the adverse publicity against B17 Laetrile, and because of the difficulties in obtaining the 'banned' substance, most cancer sufferers turn to the vitamin as a last resort, long after they have been burned by radiation therapy, and/or poisoned by chemotherapy. He points out that once the body organs have been savagely damaged in this way, there is little if any chance of B17 Laetrile being able to effect a cure. The body is simply too far gone.
When World Without Cancer was written back in 1974, B17 Laetrile was freely available in Australia. It is not now. A recent check with the Australian Cancer Foundation and health authorities revealed that nowadays Canberra considers each individual case on its merits, then decides whether the patient should be allowed to import sufficient of the material for his or her own personal use. If he or she manages to jump that hurdle, it is then his or her own responsibility to find a doctor prepared to inject it. Seemingly the multinational pharmaceutical lobbyists managed to get to our politicians before Dr. Krebs could get to the Australian public. Radiation and chemotherapy are highly profitable, and oncologists have to make a decent living...
Only a few months ago Australian nationwide television carried the delightful information that two out of every three Australians can expect to suffer skin cancer at least once during their lifetimes. On the massive evidence provided by Dr. Ernst Krebs, Jr. and G. Edward Griffin, that figure could be crushed to a tiny percentage of the anticipated numbers if Australians were allowed freedom of choice where B17 Laetrile is concerned. It is time for Australians to take a stand on this lethal issue.

On black ground Pennsylvania coal miners obey admiralty laws for
hidden within the walls of malls lives a Roman deity of ***** *****
Upon hallowed plots Pennsylvania's ministers praise common laws
but far below the stalls in malls are 666 patron saints of ***** *****
Above ground coal miners obey admiralty laws but underground in
masonical halls mit dolls are U.M.W.'s patriotically-red cruel claws
Parkinson's hypokinetical rigid syndrome pulls Linda Ronstadt free
to fire hospice ovens on diesel fuel, polystyrene & tinder constantly
Since hefty Linda's condition was mildly diagnosed as syndromical
she's maintained a stiff upper lip for farting at crap deemed comical
'cause Hershey Highway-ridin' Jerry Brown ******* hetero-erotical
like the time **** Jerry Brown **** behaved vaguely hetero-erotical
like when queer-praisin' Jerry Brown **** schtupped hetero-erotical
like the night unwiped-*** Jerry Brown **** ****** hetero-erotical
like the time raunchy **** Jerry Brown **** ****** hetero-erotical
like when queer-baiting Jerry Brown **** schtupped hetero-erotical
like the time tricky-**** Jerry Brown **** schtupped hetero-erotical
for ***** enemas made Bill McKinley's state more cryptographical
from a bad case of diarrhea that trotted towards the nympholeptical
in sing-along songs longer than over-done operas overtly operatical
that somehow draw parallels that ain't Manson Family congenerical
I hurled puke as churlish, Polynesical squaws vomited spoken lines
from monkeyhood to manhood via monkeyshines for broken spines
Sue wouldn't mistake my army boot for a tennis shoe nor repeat the
Ted Bundy snafu: I love you & want to bury you, I mean marry you
Bad train derailments are too common where an icy rail jogs whilst
Alaskan searchers can't find Earl Warren Commission's Hale Boggs
whose airplane crashed 'cause he didn't like cereals called Kellogg's
Special K that constipates whales so as to stiffen inner whale clogs,
intestinal obstructions & Nile fever among thoroughbred male dogs
& grade-A Cornish CX meat kings, Wagyū cows & large, pale hogs
that forage like Pinoys through rancid garbage & gnaw on trail logs
in a drunken torpor, stupefied from cheap-skate, Cebu bar ale grogs
served by Turkic, skinny-dipping gals in whom a red-love well sogs
as the aura of heaven brightens & clarifies, the haziness of hell fogs
& toxifies quagmires & streams killin' mountain toads & vale frogs
in a world that forced Joan Crawford to fight tough guy & gal trogs
wainwrights know hubs'll spin freely for folks who do not nail cogs
down while steadily puking egg triumphant nogs over egg fail nogs
My bones are big, metabolism is slow & prostate is retention-proof
on this structurally-sound, adequately-trussed, high-suspension roof
After a busy Sabbath-mistaken Sunday I beheld lunar-dead monday
like would a college student slaughtered by electrocuted Ted Bundy
in the presence of a priest diseased from a Loredo beet-red-nun date
America worships the highest-rankin' Catholic like an unfed prelate
who howls Bud Abbott rabid & acts more dumber than **** Cavett
whose attenuatin' emotions are their strangest in bakers' bun classes
beyond the old-dirt-road remissions of a patsy in fakers' sun glasses
among true adherents & sad congregants poking Quakers' fun *****
while disseminatin' heresy to gun-grabbers at the pope's gun masses
like heretic John Pope had at Bull Run's Second Battle of Manassas