i sometimes find myself listening
into the zeitgeist narrative...
the sort of talk that
is spoken by people who...
have a hard time figuring a hammer...
heidegger's:
can two labourers have
a discussion about philosophy
when solidifying themselves
in perfecting the: repeat labour?
my answer is... not really...
              crack a joke, sure...
but wouldn't a subject matter of
metaphysics counter them
     ineffective in the physical
endeavor?
           the question is still intact...
but the supermarket cashier
is more suspect...
                my question is:
       the jobs that are so pointless
they require sitcoms,
humour,
                        cubicles...
   and not one will you hear
talk of philosophy,
because... narcissus has taken
over...
           as as his brain-child birth
of the sister - solipsi - (σoλιψ:

now i'll ask...
the rubric break-down...

why is it σoλιψ...
  and not σoλιψι...
or for that matter,
not σoλιπσι?

      the Greek fathomed
to give noun-status
to some of their letters...
so...
             alphabet...
prefix-
                and -suffix point of
attachment...

ah...
but no one would read
σoλιψ as σoλι'ψ...
and no one would
read σoλιψι as...
             anything worth
adding the added iota...
unless...
   and the dot above ι
is of what distinctive
                             posit?

but σoλιπσι = σoλιψ...

me? i like trivial observations,
pedantic, yes...
  but my letters are not bound
to having a noun category...

alpha-               -male...
means something...
but in my castrato-sing-along
i have AH...
                      beta-        
  becomes be(e)-             -h...

       punk-*** orthography
of the english language...
intimidating & supposing it
has any orthographical markers...
j & i do not count...

        begin afresh:
and i would know something
about leaving a ȷustιfιed
aesthetιc comment...
  ȷust so!

the Greeks are riddled with
an excess of diacritical
mark application...
they have to look pedantic
before the Latin inheritors...

this is the point where you say:
being overly literatre
isn't helping,
when the English,
the prime inheritors of
Rome look... slumbering...

   i share their burden,
whatever happened to
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth...
and whatever i am
of a concern for birth...
listen...
they had their chance to breed
a blank slate man...
but as long as they left
the bricks & mortar of grammar
intact...
   they started attacking
grammar...
             what am i not to do?
cook you a ******* k'eh'b'āb...)

     - who was born out of
  solipsism...
                     it's such an airy subject
matter,
         at best: all of it requires
a status of noumenon...
   and someone who has access
to a very frictive vocabulary of
technical terms...
    spotted once in a while...
              crux-verbum constructs...

abortion at 9 months,
state of the union address speech
of the president:
   i'm not walt whitman
and there's no: o captain my captain
from me...

  but what i see...
       the old gods that were conquered
by the hebrew god
of its people resurging...
like Milton's fallen angels...
resurging...
   being reborn...
                with that speech
about abortion: i see, Moloch...
i too see Beelzebub...
mastering the craft of lying
tongues...
     the old gods are back, baby!
there's no need to congest
oneself with h. p. lovecraft
inventions...
      once the old, conquered
gods lose their fallen angel status,
once they are
   liberated from
the thesaurus of confusing
nouns of the lost time...

to me Moloch stands
the most proud...
and yes, i can listen to ricky gervais
talk about:
   the pinnacle
of darwinistic realism,
cultural darwinism,
how there is nothing ever
too suspicious about the natural
world,
and how i have to accept
the ****-manner of
"appreciating" the natural
world...
                   the octopus,
and the platypus...
            and... like...
                between a rock and a god...
the absolute death-row
narrative...
  there are only cul de sac
avenues for thought to exist...
and... given...
i am the deluded one...
then... where's the ******* asylum
and jimmy savile?

              but no one tells you
about anything: enlightening when
they have experienced
auditory hallucinations...
oh... everyone's almost
unanimous about visual hallucinations
esp. if they have ingested
fungus or Hofmann teabag...

as a person who has
experienced auditory hallucinations...
believe me...
   esp. when "thinking" is also
deemd "auditory"...
    in that casual: i can't hear myself
think...
                  auditory hallucinations
are no... pleasant...
    however much visual hallucinations
are championed...
because the fear of the unseen:
yet heard...
contributes to a more potent
fear of what is... seen: but on mute...
because by being auditory:
you can relate to it having
a... ******* mind...
a consciousness of some-sort...
auditory hallucinations are
that much more scary because...
you experience no fatigue,
when the sort of fatigue
you would experience...
from thirst... in the desert...
           "seeing" a fata morgana...

me? i hate it how...
biology and physics have reached
the status of mainstream...
while whatever chemistry
was allowed, of nibbling on
the mainstream
is left rotten in the arms of a zombie
attempting to read some
alchemy text from the middle-ages...

no... i am not mezmerized...
****... mesmerised...
****...
    mez... z'oh: **** it... might as well
employ the german diacritic
marker:                meßmerißed -
because the, "softness" of the S
in that word, is never really: SOFT...
is it?!

      auditory hallucinations...
i can't explain them...
          it's not like you can actually
ingest a fungus...
that would allow you to hear...
say... the philharmonic crescendo
of Pandemonium...
   find me a drug like that:
then we'll talk...
              
   and, if ever, on the side:
poetry would be dead in a day
if everyone started to have a darwinian
hard-on for nature or
the Aristotelian genesis bound
to awe...
                       fear...
                       and it's not like
fear is a pathological complex
that man needs to be rid of...
     sure, i'll make it more subtle:
being... apprehensive...
           and you know what fear
doesn't allow...
          stagnation...
dulling of the senses...
                                     apathy...

mind you:
that half a liter of whiskey,
and listening
to the corvus corax song
                    la i mbealtaine
could never do much wrong in me...
coming to this bud of a blank
space,
and letting it exfoliate into...
this, bargain, of extracted words.

I have walked this earth a thousand times.
Dirt. A loose aggregate of particles, held together by gravity, and moisture.
Rain. Water suspended. Resurging. Cascading in plumes, like sheets of smoke.
Sky. Blue. Stretched like canvas. Abstract. Nowhere. Everywhere.
I exist. Here. Standing. Thinking.
I am dead. I am being born.
I am existing across all time and space, but I do not know it.
At this moment, I am trapped. I am unconscious. I am unaware.
I have walked this earth a thousand times, and cannot even remember.
Because it has not happened. Has yet to happen. May never happen.
Future. A nonexistence on the horizon.
Hope. An ache. A nothing replaced with nothing.
Misery. The wretched face in the mirror.
A child wears my eyes. She drifts through life.
Scared. Alone. Free.
She plays in the forest. Her small, sap-covered hands grasp branch after branch.
She enters intermediate school. Is called freak. Is judged by her skin, her eyes.
She realises she is different for the first time.
Alien. Deviant. Other.
Her eyes fill with self-hatred.
I have watched this moment a thousand times, yet can do nothing.
Disintegration. The act of separation.
Loneliness. A billion strangers condemned to live together.
Existence. A billion billion billion particles, shifting beneath my flesh.
There is no death that can end my being.
I have felt the atoms of my past collide, and spark into biology.
I have felt the atoms of my future shred like fractals, spiralling into a dim, dark nothingness.
I have felt all this, and none of it.
From infinity I came, to infinity I’ll go. Forever cycling in the pantomime of existence.
This pretend construct of space and time.

O *****'s opposite,
A great wall
     Of spine,
A Yin and Yang
     Of tongues,
We tug and pull
At territories,
     Acupuncture,
Our souls
     Populous
Of me and her,
As our energies, powers,
     Superpowers, stirring,
Growing, binging,
     Surging, and resurging,
Engulf
     A blazing evening.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

waiting watching seeking
in vain
anxious eager expecting
in vain
unrelenting mind thinking
in vain
hopeful  aspiring dreaming
in vain
golden memories resurging
in vain
gazing searching reaching
in vain
lonely aimless existing
in vain
painful destined sojourn
in vain
hoping moments solace  
in vain
wishful hoping a glimpse
in vain
desiring deeply belonging
in vain
closely warmly approaching
in vain
missing pining crying
in vain
A dawn to come, this pain
no more in vain

my face burns
a flame of emotion across a clouded sky
my insides swell and heave
a ship rocks from the tidal waves
i lose my footing,
or did i jump?
Why did I do this?
I already know the answer.
-silence-

the air ripples my clothes
i fall for hours
crash.
the ocean.
i remember the feeling.
it's cold; i am solid
i cannot move
water is in my lungs
the salt stings my eyes.
there is nothing for miles
only i exist here
It isn't enough. Most life in the ocean isn't this high up.
i let out the remaining air in my lungs, and i begin to sink.

I see you.
Watching me.
we both relive our pain.
the stinging of the box jellyfish.
the pierce of an octopus beak.
it hurts.
I see our blood color the water.
The tears in our eyes, or is it the brine?
You say something.
I couldn't hear it.

I have to keep sinking.
I have to find you, see you,
Ask you.
I pull us both down.
your stinging stops, for one moment.
the jellyfish and the octopus.
is it an embrace? is it a struggle?
I hold our memories,
cradled in 8 arms.
I feel your fear.
I see my mistake.
jetting upward, I force myself up.
upward in the roiling ocean.
Why did I do this to you?
What can I do to fix it?

the octopus pulls
it pulls
it pulls it's arms off.
it can't look at itself
not with these arms
not with these eyes.
Looking back now, I really didn't see her.
I promised my heart to her, and I only gave half.
he stops moving.
floating motionless.
the jellyfish has drifted away.
he watches in silence.
she has painted new pictures.
he closes his eyes and thinks of what he's done.

the months pass
he meets the other fish in the sea.
he wastes his time.
on them.
on his hobbies.
on working.
each night he sees her in a dream, but by morning he says it's washed away.
I can't blame her.
I wasn't there.

september.
he feels himself climbing up the side of the trawler.
Maybe I can stay alone.
By myself.
Maybe I really am the devil of the ocean, and only god can redeem me.
he argues with his friends
"You still miss her, don't you?"
is what they ask.
he hesitates.
he feels the love resurging.
I am different. This time it is different.
he wakes up early and works out.
he takes on another job.
he resists the pull of the sea.

he thinks of the jellyfish and his wrongs. he wants to share his unbridled love.
I'll look.
Just one more time.
the waves, they're back
the sky is gloomy and it rains for days.
he wants to dive again.
back down to her.
he knows his mistakes and remembers hers. but it'll be different.

the ocean looks the same.

i do "think" that telepathy exists,
but only between a man and an animal,
the piercing stare of a cat lazing on your bed -
squinting almost "saying":
where's the *****,
   and where's the chess board?
i'm unlucky owning a ginger
specimen...
   black holes are
telephones to god?
   i prefer the mind of cat
and telephoning the devil:
he's usually the more informed one
given god's omniscience, other omni- etc.
imagine that gymnastics i have
to go through, to bypass
a cat's meow and read his
eye-contact...
   as i said: you'll get the investment
in the "investigation" once you've
read bulgakov...
oh sorry, no mark twain? oops...
must have forgot,
or burped a champagne bubble
from my gob, say hello to daisy,
****.
       you still breeding those
types of virgins these days?
lucky me, i get the cinema
of islam resurging and invading...
all i can do is, sit back,
and joing the chorus of applause.
even though cats sleep so much,
watching a cat sleeping never
leaves you feeling lazy...
always... itchy, for some reason.
maybe their autistic nonchalance
when awake...
        but **** me,
i "ask" him:
   händel or foster the people?
answer resides with the latter.

p.s. that's diacritical arithmetic,
isn't it? it's not some grapheme innuendo,
right? i know, i can count...
ä = paa (hiding the surd h to
either laugh, or breathe - catch 'un...
extrovert says hello with regards to what
introvert confuse, a tongue twister of
                          æ... is that
vampire for blah blah, or... bleh' bleh bleh bleh?
i was seriously going to posit that
comma below to insinuate the pause:
i.e. ultra syllable stressor) -
em... why make writing boring?
readable, page-turning?

          can writing at least resemble
its retarted yet autistic genius cousin
mathematics?
      i find more easy narrative
wiping my ***, on the throne of thrones,
listening to ac / dc's thunderstruck
song tapping the beat to avoid
getting a cramp from massaging my
prostate; so... go figure what's appropriate
given whatever circumstance
also requires a napkin and a fork.

right?

i can't imagine a world where written language
had the 1 + 1 = 2 rigidness ascribed to it,
what with the play-dough of
diacritical marks and punctuation marks
running rampant revisions...
  a microcosm? well that's diacritical
syllable distinction...
  a macrocosm? well that's punctuation
syllable distinction...
    all in all, comes the atom: letter,
comes the compound: word -
comes the sentence: chemistry,
   comes the paragraph / book -
                                the per se, alter. god.

The moon is bright tonight
That resurging light
Reminding wrong things will eventually go alright
And things will mend into scars
like the moons resurging stars
And a strong tree
reminding me one day I'll be strong and free
And the faint cloud smear
Reminding me of my once fear

I cried tonight.
I cried as I listened to two believers tell me my dreams are still possible.
Tell us all our dreams are still possible.

I cried as they told me what I already knew.
How possibility to grant gravity to our progress as a people was unjustly ripped from us almost four years ago.
Ripped from me.
I cried four years ago as well.
Different tears.
Very different.

I cried as I felt my chest fill once again with a breath I haven't drawn in a long time.
A breath of freedom.
A breath of hope.
My lungs expanded as tears welled and my throat caught.

I cried as I heard words of processed thought and genuine care.
Ideas of resurging justice and critical vision.
I cried as I watched inspired people inspire me.
People of service.
True service.
Serving me, serving us.

I cried cheer and joy.
Of illumination.
Enlightenment.
I cried as my ears became filled with complete and coherent sentences.
Sentences of reason.
Reason and truth.

I cried for the tortured eagle in all of us.
Carelessly beaten.
Recklessly injured.
But surviving and resilient.
I heard that bird's cry.
Knowing how high it can fly once again.
Higher.

I cried with tears of promise.
Promise of the next.
Promise of the after.
Soon.
I cried happy tears hoping for an end to our nightmare.

And I slept like a baby.
A baby eagle...

pelvic plum...
if you don't know what that is...
em...
let's begin with:
i have beard envy...
i'm not going to lie...
but when it comes to having
***** envy?
oh... you know those guys post their
phallus selfies...
just after they ****** themselves off
and all the blood is resurging to
the liver, kidneys, etc.?
that part i find hilarious...
i always thought:
send them your shrivelled up ****-pick
and... as a bonus: your uncircumcised
"excess" flesh... how's that?
**** sending them your...
just *******... bombast...
oh wait... wait... gotta take a post
e. e. cummings ******* selfie...
n'ag... i need to wear a baseball cap
on backwards... put a clip on
the visor... shove a *******
pen up the cap so it sticks like an
antenna...
then think about...
will i finish painting my bedroom
at 12am... or will i... just...
put it off for a more decent hour...
perhaps... since it's December...
catch some daylight hours...
how's that?
honest to god, even my cat thought
it was a bad idea... you done enough...
you done, enough...
******* and scribble something...
fair enough... if a cat's looking content
via prescription dynamics...
i really shouldn't be painting at 12am...
i should be: if i were a Picasso...
but simply... redecorating my room...
the last green, the last ****** green...
given enough artificial lighting...
more ******* grey than green...
oh this new stuff... FAVA BEAN...
whatever the hell that means...
put that hue to the test when stressing
indicators at a crossing..
auburn smoulder... red?!
adventurous canary... amber?!
thesaurus chameleon... ******* green?!
go?! i most associated green with
safety... why not blue... for... water...
flow?!

well, yeah, so much for ***** envy,
like reading up the khama sutra...
deer ******, rabbit ******...
elephant ******...
conversely a deer phallus, a rabbit phallus...
an elephant phallus...
so much for "pair bonnding"
between an elephant phallus
and a rabbit vagiba...
hardly the ***** envy type of story:
when... you can't arrive at a pelvic
plum...
you know that place...
you're so right up the cul-de-sac...
matched... that your ***** region is...
bruised from the knock-in-knock-outs
of thumping...
so much for a large ****...
when you can't put all of it her...
savvy?

better start ******* a donkey or
Alexis Texas... or some black girl with enough ***
cushioning to allow you extended length
some: ahem... breathing room...

just recently... watching ****...
on mute... it's no ******* Caravaggio...
these are the spicimens i could eventually
****? no thank you...
do i have to be some ******* in order to...
no thank you...

on a sly: affirmative action... concerning
the lack of male graduates in / with college
degrees, as possible suitors for women with
college degrees... say, what?
that's in Fahrenheit or in Celsius?
inches or millimeters?
the **** are these ditto-heads on?
sign me up to their pharmacist!

ditto-heads: pseudo instruction manuals
for composing a narrative...

i drink, to giggle, to arrive at a steady hand...
a bit like a "painter" is to a surgeon...
mind you... painting in one colour...
in a 3D space is a meditative endeavour...

the currency of ******* is diminishing....
perhaps i don't want to **** women as
portrayed...
perhaps i don't want to **** the sort
of women: portrayed...
either way... *** is too rare for me to somehow
succumb to... pornographic fetishes....
not going to happen...
each time i might as well we ******* a ******!

i drank too much, i ought to have
finished the painting & decorating "thing"...
yesterday... but these are the wintry months...
less daylight hours...
eh... i abhor Christmas...
******* carols...
i love winter... why require some pick-me-up
festivity?
some ******* tree?

the temp. has dropped...
there's less dust in the air...
the insects are hibernating...
you can't pick up the serpentine scent of garbage...
what's not to like?
sure... you see less sunlight...
isn't that a good thing?
last time i heard it rumoured...
you're more assertive in the twilight hours...

- bowling for, perhaps, soup?
yeah, but perhaps it's only a "Slav-thing"....
i do become upset over...
mis-etymological: logistics...
like: barber is somehow
of Turkish origin...
Anglo-Saxon pick-me-ups...

perhaps it's only a "Slav-thing" to register
being offended at the word...
*******... biscuit-bite...
or, perhaps...
the minorities are too *******
sensitive?!

        i don't like being called a Slav(e),
i.e. with supposedly an E-"missing"...
lazy ******* islanders...
keep them that way...
island dwelling people are always that way...
self-important,
self-agrandiosing...

   angradiosing snoozers: eee!
a googlewhack... one in a billion... however many
a time...

i was looking for... self-....
                              aggrandizing...

is it an S, is it a Z? or is it a... ß- (+) -orrow?
ha ha!

odd... i don't feel insulted...
i might do... half of Europe being denoted as Slave...
maybe i should check with the Russin hackers...
Russian... they just might...
be itchy enough...
perhaps the etymology rubbed out a little...
along the lines of the JUGOLS...
the southern Slavs...

line of faux pas etymological pursuits:
Germans? beginning word, prefix...
GERMS?! JA?!
no... i think i'll clarify with the Russians...
these ******* English idiots talk one thing...
think another.... high praise for H'America...
H'America my ***... a black-fetish...
cry-baby interracial-bonanza! load, of, *******, *******!

call me crackers... call be ******* cheddar...
although... hmm. cheddar...
that's pushing the Gobi desert territory...
after all... the areas where the Mongols adventured into...
set those places back... circa 100 years...
hello Ing-Land!
so lucky... inventing football,
cricket, rugby... come to think of it...
**** it up... concerning Rotherham...

thus dictated... England made war on Germany circa 1939...
last time i heard...
****** servicemen... flight! flight!
no Englishman ever stood ground
on the Westerplatte..

you get to own yours... i don't get to own mine?!
how will that ever, *******, werk?!
**** it, whatever...
you have you little interracial experiment...
i'll be with the: in-their-graves
19th century germans...
oh... i'm not having children...
it a bit like:
would i really want to put them through
this... cultural... ahem... drought?!

i'm here... that's already enough...
i don't need to subjugate my ***** to fully grown...
stampede of errors...
i always thought i was the good father...
why?  because i didn't have any children
to raise as my own...
bring me children of strangers...
i'll babysit... no problem...
i was a good father...
i didn't have any children to raise as my own;
subsequently... like EMINEM...
i forgot to boast about my fatherhood skills...
daddy failed: whereas i achieved prowess...
some ******* load of "i"...
it ends up being a returns policy of: YOU...
right about, nearing, some variation of... (the) end.

Never made
Much sense to me
To sit and think
Subconsciously
Allow autonomy
Of mind
To find
The guide it hides
Behind
And reassign it
To the fore
Without a presence
To assure
Its resonance
In sync endures
The onslaught of
Controlled despair
The inundation
Of nightmare
Resurging as it purges
Out
The sounds of peace
With bouts of doubt
Tumultuous,
Unmoored
In a frenetic
Clangor ringing
Desiccating ear canals
With streams of conscious
Sirens singing
Ineluctable refrains
That beckon me
To stray
So far away
Reclaim my brain again
Never again
Let it convey
The end