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Edna Sweetlove Oct 2014
Goodnight ******
You fill me with sorrow;
Goodnight ******
You might die tomorrow.

Grunts and farting make me quite forlorn
But with each dawn I feel new-born;
Goodnight ******
While I'm deep inside you.

Goodnight ******
Let me lie beside you;
Goodnight ******
O what fun to ride you.

Goodnight ******,
Straightjacket enfold you,
Strong enough to hold you,
Goodnight ****** goodnight.
Sing this to the tune of "Goodnight Sweetheart" - it will make your neighbours laugh a lot.
oo put dis paintin on me walls
me gona find out eider way
me gona drive to niagra falls
to find out who ruined me walls

rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


ey ***** me say to me wife
dis be yor stupid paintin,
no steve it aint (read double life)
******* dis be ugly anyways
sorry steve, shush *****,
u no i turned reggae
me name aint steve anymor
call me steve one more time
and il shove a lawnmor up ur ***,
its reggae mon not steve  


rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


johny johny, "yes papa"?
did u put dis tin on me walls?
"no papa", telling alie?
"no papa", close your eyes
smack! dont put any tin
on me walls *******!
sorry papa it wasn't me
shut up, smoke a splif *******

rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


hoo could ave put dis ting on me walls?
maby is me smoke me a splif
me will remember if me did it or not
but me out of rolling papers
and me left me ganga in me rig

rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


me left me rig at me work
me boss dont no ow to twerk
me boss tink she no ow to twerk
no wan wants to break da news
me just a shy island boy
still confused bout de paintin

rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


love reggae
love ganga
love art
love poetry
reggae love ganga trucker family
Blissful Nobody Jul 2014
Lost all that there was,
No courage to build new.
Sweet Remorse!
Shadows cast do follow,
Guided by a source.
Fades away!

Being insane a cancer,
Sorrows feed on blissful memories,
Chokes the respect for life,
Death deceives laughter,
I am a doomed ******.

Sorrows imperishable bind the soul,
Graveness Despair rules my world,
Tearing Blades of animosity,
bleeds me to death,
I am a doomed ******.

Scary unholiness destructs all wisdom,
Melancholy songs strangle all smiles,
A streak of lightening burns the mast,
A single thought unsettles the mind,
I am a doomed ******.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
  then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
           journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
    you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
   even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
   man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
    in terms of history and biology:
     history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
   well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
                  after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
   monument valley: utah...
  a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
    ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
           just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
   that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
   that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
      it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
               not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
  i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
        talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
                        so here's what i found
   (band - song):

wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
                                                mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
    smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
               unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
              jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
                   datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
   colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
                    earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
   zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
   rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
     kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
              the secret - bell of urgency,
      unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens  -
                                                out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
    ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
    lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
     wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
   goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
   earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
           tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
      burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
        slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
         shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
     sutrah - el septimo viaje...

  

who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
   imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
   to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
      you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
     sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
     to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
    drunk? getting there...
       it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
            while buying a russian
standard liter,
   asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
   but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
   so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
   rekorderlig...
   mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
    sorry... magners:
               irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
     but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
  ålska and K  ö   nigsberg
                            *œ
?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
    cider...
- what was i talking about?
  ah... the "dreaded" past...
     the people who say:
  but you can't live out a life,
   holding onto a private past,
a memory...
    so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
                i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
   and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
         one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
    and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
           to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
          i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
        of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
    however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
  is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
      there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
    "dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
    given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
   working from dasein...
            hierjetzt -
      or in english?             presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
  that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
   the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
   that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
  and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
     but with my privacy?
    you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
    and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
           i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
     two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
   glass of warm milk,
  an egg yolk,
     and a good scratch of butter...
  (on the rare occasion,
  milk infused with garlic)

mixed together...
before bedtime...
  if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
     well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
        in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
       no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
   the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...

  and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...

oh i get the youtube creators:
   living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
        annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
  i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...

men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
   ah ha ha!
             what's the ratio?
   last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
   mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
                    seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
                    when Islam was quiet radical...

well... i cook, i clean...
                what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
              rent, in london?
extortion...
                   housing shortage...
                 well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
               or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...

   i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
      no... not really...
          i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
               honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
               get the picture?
                 paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
   maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
         books and music...
                     mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
  neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
           aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!

i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...

two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
    clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
   what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
          oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
       even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
   sign-language: na migi...
               i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...

i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...

that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
             a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
                 old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
        what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
          you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!

integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:

y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!

there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
       as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
   wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?

   so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...

it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
           jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
      clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
              but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
                 casimir III...
                        jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
                           kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
  gott mit, uns!

              mit eine leben wert leben:
    erinnerung ist die nur kino
             wert sehen eine film beim;

hell... could be worse:
   i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
Peter Watkins Nov 2014
today tomorrow everyday of the week i look directly at you but your eyes look the opposite way to each other. I speak to you but all you say is er i'm a ****** i find it funny i laugh you laugh and then i walk away
real story
Jacqueline Anne Feb 2015
Autistically
speaking
I applaud
your intelligence!

flap flap
clap clap

when you
don't think
before
you think

flap flap
clap clap

or open your
*******
******* mouth!

and disparage
and belittle
those with

a learning
disability.

But then maybe
It's you who is
disabled
as you don't
seem able to
distinguish
between what
is right and wrong
what is cruel and kind

flap flap
clap clap

in your ignorance
you are blind
and your
intellectual mind
is a snob
of the worse kind

Looking down
from your high brow
because you
are so clever

I forget
Let's all applaud
and you can remark
(Out of context of course)
that they're all ******* retards

flap flap
clap clap

Well aren't you hard!
You bully when
you say

the dimwits
and the morons,
unloveable,
undateable,
unwanted,
a drain of society
they should all be
put down.

Not somebody
you would choose
to be friends with
or if you did
it would be so you
take advantage of
an idiots good nature
and pure heart!

flap flap
clap clap

Or so you
could look good
in comparison
to them
and maybe it
would knock your
own IQ up
a number or two!

Your average ******
could teach you a
thing about numbers
if you asked them

And you wouldn't want
your own kids
playing
with them
incase they catch it....

Catch what?....
the ability to be
awesome
to think outside
the box
to see feel and
understand
and experience
the world and
people in a
completely
unheard of way.
To smell colours
and taste words,
and your inability
to deviate from
anything other
than your narrow
little mind
really is absurd!

So let's all clap
and flap flap
flap flap flap
and maybe
shriek a bit too!

They are the true
freethinkers
the true misfits
the pure and
the truly blessed

They are
the ones
the people
who are
"different"
"Individual"
as you
would like
to be

flap flap
clap clap
You ignorant ****!

Autistically speaking

Who's the ****** now?



©Jacqui Slade
Ben May 2013
The Morning After Part I
What the hell have I done? It feels like my temples are about to explode and the early morning light burns my eyes. My shirt is missing and I’m curled up on my Lovesac. I glance to the left to see Alice is sprawled out on my air mattress. She looks drained, even while asleep, and I think that I probably look a lot worse. Last night… What happened last night? It’s all just a jumble, my memories out of order. It’s a flash of colors, sounds, feelings and sensations, a blur in my mind. It feels like a tilt-a-whirl of sensory overload and I kind of want to puke. Then, like a dam breaking, fragments of memories flood my mind in a sickening torrent, too much, too much. ****. It’s starting to come back and that’s not even remotely helping, just making it worse. I feel even more confused and all I can think is What Happened…?

Ok! Let’s Party!
a three am party a trip edge
a witching hour emprise time to begin
a black and white strip of paper so thin
it looked so harmless, inconspicuous, even then
five hits for me, four hits for you,
placed under our tongues, we expectantly raise
eyes round the dark room for a white rabbits maze
or floating cat ears and Cheshire grin
the seconds pass, then minutes do spin
nothing
nothing
nothing shifts or shapes, bends or breaks
we wander to seats, choose movie to play
Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World comes to life on screen in a blaze
and…

Trip # Cats Everywhere
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4 - !”
cats are crawling slinking stalking
their eyes are glowing growing pulsing
and bodies moving sinuously serpentine
flowing round the corners of my eyes
fleeing from sight like shadowy wraiths
insubstantial  sensory stimulation
hallucination

Trip # ****** Coma
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4!”
Haven’t I seen this before?...

ringing blue lightning flashes razor sharp quick
cutting my mind in jaw breaking half
gasping for air I lunge forward hard
and break into silence, stillness, calm.
you have to remember to breathe
when things get fuzzy or funny or anytime now
otherwise sanity slips like water through fingers
or like rabbits down tunnels
on time to lost minds and messy motor control
****** coma, giddy, ecstatic, inescapable, unrelenting

Trip # I’m Melting
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4!”
Haven’t I seen this before?...

I have to **** but the whole world is breathing
standing and swaying every step an adventure
entranced by the swirly dripping dropping walls
i barely stay balanced though trousers do fall
relief, ahhh, glance down what the ****!?
maniacal laughter rings through the room
I’m melting I’m melting in big drops and small
being pulled ever downward but never disappearing
warm like candle wax, thick and viscous
I’m leaving a trail of me on the floor

Trip # Music
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4!”
Haven’t I seen this before?...

complex strains of sounds by vibrations
subtly influence the mood in the room
emotions experienced changing by song
upbeat pulse lively down tempo drops dangerous
I can feel the sound envelope my soul
Alice enraptured marries the music
sitting on moment to swaying the next
pressed up against me, blink, appears on by wall
(don’t drink and drive, take acid and teleport)
this controlling cacophony swells then settles
an ocean unseen deciding the trip

Trip # Alone
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4!”
Haven’t I seen this before?...

Alice embarks on adventure to leave
a trip to the restroom a momentous maze
breathe deep and hold, keep it together
I slip from this plane to a place so strange
the chair is moving and so is her hat
were they ever just objects or always alive
pink and white fur slithers up in answer
caressing my arms sensual depraved
the laughter returns ever occurring involuntary
in fast rolling eyes at madness do gaze
I cavort around with fluffy new friends
tumbling and squirming wiggly worming
the fun never ends the fun never ends
“are you ok?” – Alice inquires
back after minutes turned hours
“is this how it feels to know you’re insane”

Trip # ******
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4!”
Haven’t I seen this before?...

the blurry lights shimmer in colorful haze
I swim towards the surface lost in a daze
“hush now hush now you’re ok”
“how long was I out for” a question…a phrase
“ten minutes this time” “it felt like days”
harder to come back, feels like I’m drowning in rain
blood mixes clear with needle in vein
and fading to black and fading to grey
the blurry lights shimmer in colorful haze
I swim towards the surface lost in a daze
“hush now hush now you’re ok”
“how long was I out for” a question…a phrase
“ten minutes this time” “it felt like days”
harder to come back, feels like I’m drowning in rain
blood mixes clear with needle in vein
and fading to black and fading to grey
the blurry lights shimmer in colorful haze
I swim towards the surface lost in a daze
“hush now hush now you’re ok”
“how long was I out for” a question…a phrase
“ten minutes this time” “it felt like days”
harder to come back, feels like I’m drowning in rain
blood mixes clear with needle in vein
and fading to black and fading to grey
“I haven’t slept in eight days”
a half muttered phrase
“what are you saying, it’s been 10 minutes”
alice mouths back with questioning gaze
fade to black

Trip # Telepathic
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4!”
Haven’t I seen this before?...
“mhm yeah like what like yeah what”
“mhm like yeah like what oh what like yeah”
“mhm yeah like what oh **** like what huh oh what”
“mhm yeah like what oh yeah like what mhm ****”
mhm yeah **** like what oh mhm yeah what”
“wait what?”
“****”


Trip # Blue Gum Matrix
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4!”
Haven’t I seen this before?...

bubbles bubbles popping in pink
filling my mouth with cotton clouds
sugary sweet deliciously soft
seducing my mind into boiling blue bliss
I don’t notice the binary program lurking through unconscious thought
uploading software for changing perception
the transition to fiction so seamless like silk
I’ve jacked into the system with every chew
it’s twothousandwhatever in metrohive Tokyo
the future is different yet still feels the same
Alice sits solitary in darkened apartment
with wires like web strung throughout the room
all tracing with tracers glowing in ambience a glistening path
to electrical heaven, a desktop computer
my visual sensors are booting and loading
with mechanical perfection clarity arrives
a robot, I robot, created as A.D.E.M.
(Artificially Developed Emotional eMulator)
or A **** Excellent Machine (self-titled)
I sit up and blink as synapses fire
electrical currents carried on nanobig wires
I go move towards alice and watch binary code scroll
plugged into the network a direct hacker helper
this job’s objectives flash ‘fore my face
“we’ve got a big heist, security’s tight”
the scene’s fading out, cameras pan to the night

Trip # In Which I See the Future
“WE ARE *** BOB-OMB 1 2 3 4!”
Haven’t I seen this before?...

Alice and I curl up as one
excessive I know on this excessive night
but excessively is as excessively done, the social norm
it’s experience together and not alone
that draws us closer to breathe in unison
a chance to express feeling in this
uncharted sensory undertaking
together hearts beat in arrhythmic understanding
a feeling of pleasure creeps down my spine
and spreads out in ripples turning to waves
crashing and breaking on the sweet shore of…
alone in the bathroom I reflect on actions
for minutes and hours and finally days
I watch myself age and age and go grey
tormented by thoughts of actions and actions
guilt like creeping mold consumes my visage
decrepit and wasted I stumble from chambers
to find five am clock arms right in my face…

The Morning After Part II**
****.
lysergic acid diethylamide.... an adventure every time
july hearne Mar 2021
cherry blossom was his smoking hot girlfriend.
they moved in together, probably in 2007.
he met her online, he was married to a woman
who he said was a fundamentalist. they had four kids,
three daughters and a son.

he wrote a lot about how his fundamentalist wife had turned
the three daughters against him. as the years went by,
he forgot their birthdays and ages because it hurt too much,
so he wrote.

"cherry blossom, you're going to make it
with your unbroken man who i hope to thank
one day for making you happy", he wrote
in a journal entitled "the last one"
dated late September of 2012.

they broke up in mid August 2011

from a journal entry dated at the end of October 2012:
"ten things you want to say to ten different people"

cherry blossom was first on the list
cherry blossom's unbroken man was second on the list
cherry blossom's son of a different baby daddy was third on the list

his own son was fourth on the list
his daughters were not on the list at all.

he was glad she was with a good guy. he didn't have to worry about her. unbroken guy was a good guy, he loved unbroken guy for that. her son was a good guy, he was glad that her son got to hang out with him and his son.

according to the public messages his friends left on his profile and the last time stamp on his activity feed,
he must have died almost three years ago,
in mid August, 7 years to the exact date
he had posted a journal entry explaining
that they had broken up and cherry blossom was moving out.

7 years is the same amount of time
it took for jacob to get rachel as his wife
after being deceived into marrying leah.

he had other journal entries too,
they go back to 2008, so some of them
cover his time with cherry blossom

cherry blossom was smokin hot,
they had *** parties
cherry blossom got all the attention
because she was smokin hot

he had bottomed to his vanilla fundamentalist wife
who turned his three daughters against him
but cherry blossom was his submissive
so cherry blossom was the way

cherry blossom introduced him to swinging, ****, and gang bangs
his fundamentalist wife, who he never got a legal divorce from,
turned his three daughters against him.

he had 342 friends and 13 followers on his fetlife profile,
five left public messages on his wall after he died.
cherry blossom was so smokin hot.
"does anyone recall
the saddest love of all
the one that lets you fall
nothing to hold"

Paul Westerberg "Love Untold"

Michelle Obama took a page out of Dr. Levine’s opinion. She has a homosexual puppet sidekick to “inspire” LGBT+ children on her upcoming children’s food show.

In the new Netflix series “Waffles + Mochi,” the former first lady is joined by an effeminate puppet sidekick, Busy the Bee, to help Mrs. Obama teach children how to “eat healthy.”

Jonathan Kidder, the puppeteer behind Busy the Bee, makes sure that children understand Busy the Bee is LGBT. Why do your children need to know such ****** exists in a show about making healthy meals?

Kidder explained, “Making children aware of the puppet’s same-*** proclivities is important because he wants to use his character to inspire more LGBT+ kids.” He went on to say, “They never said overtly, ‘We need you to be as gay as possible, please.’ But I got the sense that they liked that I brought this diversity to the mix.”

So far, Kidder is one of the only openly gay creators in children’s puppeteering. A gay puppet with a same-*** loving handler.

He joked that “all puppets are a little bit gay” and he hoped to bring more diversity to “Waffles + Mochi” by channeling his own “dry, gay sass” personality and sexuality through Busy.

He said his job was to let Michelle Obama’s sidekick “be colorful and let my rainbow out through him.”
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2022
this guys venom, that guy is carnage, some other dude is playing the role of oh to hell with these supposed "guardian angels" / demons of want of conscience... if i'm spotted in public talking... can you please see that I'm talking to my ******* shadow?! wer wachen mich?! engel, dämon, that third breed of creatures... genius?! nein nein nein! mein schatten... i talk to my shadow, obviously i try to do so outside the realm of where people congregate... not football stadiums... a forest, a graveyard at night... this here is RIOT... me? i am MAYHEM... i was born in May... when the Chernobyl spectacular happened... ergo? i'm mayhem... oh i've seen this done... 6ft5 guys talking about being all hard... i'm only 6ft2... the girls have this funny argument when dealing with football fans: but you wouldn't talk to your mother, your sister your daughter like that... it's a football match... great line of defence... me... 10 shifts down... i don't think i've had any beef doing this steward business... i just look the part... i don't get any trouble... i do get compliments: oh... looking smart ol' chap... first line of defence? look presentable... look authoritative... to hell with being built like a brick-*******... give them some time... wait a while... chances are i too might... roll my eyes back... hide my irises and my pupils and only peacock the sclera of my eyes... but by then i'll be all berzerker mode... i'm ******* gagging for a physical altercation... like, i was watching this mini-series on the BBC about the 4 killings... 4 lives? yeah, about those killings in Barking circa 2019... 4 killings might qualify you as a serial killer... but what a ******* ******... he collected toys... he killed by injecting the poor sods with a drug that alleviated their homosexual inhibitions, perhaps gave them a hard-on... whatever... people killed by pseudo-autistic... o.k. they were killed by a ****** and not some Ted Bundy... not some Jack the Ripper: the mythological son of Cain... who... will never get caught... police at work... great Scotland Yard... a ****** just killed four gay boys and you're bound to ******* paperwork as the "real" police work... no wonder, eh? the killer was a ******* ******! then again, i also blame the victims... some people are just outright painfully - obviously... dodgy... why associate yourself, or even live... with people with absolutely no charisma?! no bravado? if you're going to get killed... at least make sure they kiss you before they stab you... what?! if i were to **** someone i'd shave my beard, shave my hair... i'd make sure it happened in a forest, at night, with a full-moon... and i'd kiss them while stabbing them at a crux point; i am "Judas": i am "Cain"... if someone is going to **** you... you want some ******* dimensions, at least 3: 3 will do nicely... but this killer... run-of-the-mill average Joe... great policing: clap clap... where's the nearest party? no. 10, Downing St.? on it! no one wants to be killed by a ******* socially awkward ******... a tornado, a tsunami... anything but this sort of *******! i grind my teeth... i have to grind my teeth... i feel like resurrecting Robespierre!

giddy like a ******* school girl, i seriously thought that
this part of me was dead, long gone, bye-bye...

i could have admired Bukowski in my 20s... and 20 year old
might... but i had a little think about it:
sure, i'm not surprised he could brag
about all the women he slept with,
why the FBI might have been interested in him...
but, then again, he was writing at a time
when... what?
                          erm... world war II happened...

most of the men who went off to war didn't come
back... plenty of ***-starved: bereaved women...
sounds like paradise...
hell... a postman: that also writes poetry on
the side...
                and i will never forgive the publishers
for this... Kafka explicitly implored for his books
to be printed in large print...
guess what most of Kafka is printed as...
in the small print...
                           almost subscript lettering...
and i'm not exaggerating...

but fire-**** Bukowski even though he wrote
sparingly (considering the oeuvre of other writers):
MASSIVE ******* PRINT...
CAN SEE IT FOR MILES...
COULD BE USED AS STREET SIGNS...
fair?
            
            it always happens... as you get older...
first you admire someone, then you... not exactly despise
them but... admire them less: you have your own
**** to deal with and when it comes to a democracy...
well... we're not going to admire the Quran
by the likes of things, are we? we might be a
bibliophile civilisation but that's hardly going
to make us become chained to just one book...

who wrote? didn't a woman write the Quran...
the older, business minded first wife of Muhammad...
Khadira? Khadija? ****... it's the latter...
write the first and you're going into Godzilla
territory (phonetically)... did she write the first surahs...
or what... magic pen, magic paper,
magic hand of an illiterate person wrote it?
after all... wasn't ol' Mo rejected by the Mecca crowd
and had to ******* to Medina?

then again... how did he come across the teachings
of the Docetics - a Gnostic cult that... is currently sitting
pretty at the zenith of Islamic orthodoxy?
anyway... meditate on this, meditate on that...
i'm currently meditating on Gemma...

oh, but i was fuming throughout the day...
i worked maybe too shifts with this **** of a silly girl
who's studying for a law degree...
wants to become a barrister... talk in court...
but can hardly conjure herself up to steward shifts
at events...
she came up with this crap about how:
there are too many old white men
in the practice of jurisprudence...
she isn't Pakistani... she's Sikh or Hindu or...
never mind: i tell her... as long
as a meritocracy is place...
      what... too many whiteys in India?!
too many whites in Kenya?
so... what's the ******* reasoning?!

i'm too polite... i just wait... i wait until people
buckle under their own argumentation,
mind you: i write, i breathe...
but then i focus on something... something...
much more... precious...
Gemma...
what the **** is wrong with me?
why have i turned into this teenage boy?
am i going back to high-school?
am i going to ask her for a photograph
so i can sketch a picture of her face?

red flags everywhere...
she was impregnated by an abusive alcoholic...
who battered both her and her son...
but if whiskey could be used to mould:
she literally is ms. amber: fräulein bernstein...
i'm getting butterflies in my stomach...
having met her on a shift on Saturday
i stopped jerking off...

    come off it: i ******* like i take a **** or take a ****
or take a shower... it's my:
no. 1, 2, 3 & 4 rule... no... no scented candles...
it's like exercise... i want to keep *** out of my head...
like i want to keep germs out of my head...
Gemma... what the **** is wrong with you
that's right with me...
3 days without jerking off?
wow! that's almost coming to the stamina
i achieve when i used to visit my grandparents
and could go absentee ******* shuffle
for over a month - when my grandfather was still
alive...

prior to: 35... still always want to ****...
if not thinking about *******...
waiting to **** a ******* and jerking off
just after squeezing out a loaf on the throne of thrones...
the ergonomics of manhood...
well... she's not a ******... she's not... "available":
just watch the movie: as good as it gets
to get the picture... single mum...
my prospects? on the pile of recyclables...
if she went for a "***** donor" that later became
an abusive alcoholic...
what is... an artistic alcoholic like myself to do
about her poor decisions?!

the **** am i? Claudius Maximus X...
  that ancient Rome fetish for fostering children...
uncles becoming fathers etc.?!
oh yeah, that's still in me...
but what has Gemma done?
put a having iron maiden ****** on my phallus...
prior to... **** anything that moves...
literally... Thai surprise... a Turkish *******...
ooh... oh oh: **?
now i'm only thinking about her...
Gemma Gemma Gemma...
ginger English rose...
                                   *****!

she fixated herself in my mind...
i think of her my testicles suddenly swarm like...
parasite infested wounds... my ******* are tingling
and i feel like circumcision is on the horizon:
like **** it is... ******* with your Hebrew / Arab
practices...

     Gemma, girl... you know how to drive a man...
crazy... i've been with a few prostitutes...
but this, darling... is something best associate
with the "upper shelf"...
i'm going nuts & bolts &           peanuts?!

it best happen to you:
you meet a girl & you stop thinking about jerking off
or going to a brothel...
sure... she's like a Pablo Picasso 'weeping woman'...
but no... you're looking for
  
   o.k. **** that cubist approach... Pythagoras somehow...
no, he wasn't... the woke brigade broke rank
and motivated me...

it's either Picasso's ******* or it's... i'm not even
going claim the Mona Lisa to be the pinnacle...
PERRONNEAU's
   Madame de Sorquainville...
   meint gott: das lächeln? fast, alles!

ich wollen: chaos!
               unbelebt dinge erscheinen mehr...
   unbelebt, dinge-veranlangt?!

oh Gemma Gemma...
what have you woken?!
        i imagine myself fathering someone else's child...
why? i can keep a distance akin to:
pet a cat, or a dog, recently?
same... father someone else's child = pet a cat...
like i don't come with a ******* exoskeleton...
like i'm... not capable of...
serial ******... i sniff fear...

                              ich abwarten;
ich hegen: die ältere sprache...
                                                    die wurzel!

              obviously if i will not get any *** from Gemma...
enough time passes... what?! cower in some
variations of the middle-class sensbility,
watch the ******* t.v.?
i''ll be scouting for some ***... i'm not even 40 yet...
of course i'll be... i somehow try to forget chewing on
my tongues... feeding into her inhibitions
of chewing on her tongues...
oh Gemma, Gemma... you are such a lovely lass!

i wish... i could have married you...
time, that ******* thief!
oh well... but i could be the supposed father that's your
son's uncle... "uncle"... then again...
so few women allow access to even these...
if fathers are not allowed access...
why should "uncles" be given access?
great! send in the psychiatric nurses!

i would sooner send in... death!
none of this supposed prescription of life...
is worth living... not under the feminine
mantra of the western world;
perhaps in Africa... but no here...
not, *******, now!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.good, send me to prison, dox... whatever... with my knowledge of obscure Islam... i might make some friends; come to think of it, i will be saved, from perpetuating this quasi St. Augustine soliloquy.

if there are these... young men...
of combat age...
  almost ready to play the pawns...
"eager" soldiers...
what the **** happened
to the women of fertile age?
frozen their eggs,
gambled biology
and gave birth to a down syndrome
expose aged 40+?
i too thought,
that Zeus could, but never would,
**** Hera...
  instead, seeking concubines,
to provide humanity with
the myths of the demigods.
so men... of fighting age...
    and... a ******* walrus harem,
with women,
of a fertility age...
supposedly, miraculously...
  "missing"...
throw me a danish, and a glass
of milk...
i need a laxative...
     to digest this piece of info.
as a man:
i'm done, defending the most
obscure existentialist statement
forced upon me...
      within the confines of:
cue: woman...
         i'm a dodo adherent...
and if there is no dodo
excavation to fulfill a continuum...
luckily...
i'm not some idiotic geneticist
spectacle of fanaticism:
ich sterben, alles nutzen...
         herr junggeselle Kant...
what are my genes,
as a worthwhile impetus?
        to procrastinate before
the altar of procreation?
               i thought that western
society pledged its allegiance
to "individualism", solipsism, autism...
         why should i pledge
an alleged alliance to a future?
       oculus per oculus...
     who are these people,
hardly dictating me, and more,
"persuading" me...
   to invest in this... project...
this...
first a celebration of independence,
and then, a shackling of
said independence,
  into a familial rigor, and discipline?
so said first...
   but not said first,
invoking the unsaid second...
   hitlerjunge...
             so said unsaid second...
people can have their global
speaking tours...
  i have gnat of an english neighbor
to deal with...
  who took the authoritarian
alternative... just shy of...
telling me when it was appropriate
for me to take a ****...
given, he, aged 50+ and his bride,
40+ gave birth, to a, ******* ******!
- at that age....
passing on the, "genes",
let alone "memes" (is no longer an
option):
                   but surrogate
parenting, in the form of adoption,
is...
  but of course, the neighbor
owning to his own business,
will receive the front of the parental
frustration, of a people,
too old, to receive the status
of fatherhood / motherhood...
more like... papa-grand-p'ah
and mama-grand-m'ah...
      i know my boat has already sailed...
i never wished to travel to las vegas
to take a gamble...
     why would i enforce some
obscure fatherhood desire
onto a woman, who has clearly
not established herself,
well enough, into 20+ years prior?
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
i actually blame the outbreak of dementia in western society as sourced within a fat-free diet... you need to ingest fat! for ****'s sake! the brain is primarily fat! how can you just simply overdose on sugars?! sugar is like crack-******* compared to more complex sugars, i.e. carbohydrates! how can you do this to your own people?! smalec / lard... with pork trimmings and garlic (czosnek / ch)... how can western society "think" it has the upper-hand in the argument, when it pushes out fat-free yogurt?! the brain needs fat, it's fat... you need to ingest fat! point is: people in the west don't know how rare dementia is in "eastern" europe... avocado on toast? what's the problem with you? it's supposed to be guacamole! or at least eaten with a trickle of lemon juice with spicy food! retards... retards! you need to ingest fat... giving your body too much sugar makes you: either fat... or absolutely dumb... demented... dementia... eh, see the correlation? you need to ingest fat, simple as: your brain isn't a muscle, the argument: oh, we need to flex our cognitive muscle... what the **** is this? what sort of argument is this?! it's fat, it's probably once fat, twice jelly... in a city of about 60 thousand i've known only one example of alzheimer's... my auntie... sure, it's a dementia epidemic: because you're draining all the fat out of the foods that should have it!!! fat feeds the brain, since the brain is primarily fat... ****** dodo started speaking: woah abouh the omega-3 arguments? dunno... you catch the sardines and the mackerels. dunno(h)... i once knew this ****** that spent his days ripping newspapers... he could rip a newspaper better than i could cut it up with a pair of scissors... you know the scottish patent? you fold a piece of paper, lick the edge, then you fold it in the opposite fold, and lick the edge once more... and then the paper tears away as smoothly as melting butter on a hot piece of toast... but this ****** could tear pieces of newspaper in one smooth stroke... apparently typing these "offensive" words in a country of inbreds is "offensive"... i think i'll just call her: katherine die neu blut middleton... hardly a mary, but the blood matters, nonetheless.

8 6 9 4 1 7 3 2 5
5 3 *4
8 2 6 7 1 9
1 2 7 5 3 9 8 4 6
6 1 8 9 4 5 2 7 3
7 4 3 2 6 1 9 5 8
2 9 5 3 7 8 1 6 4
4 7 2 6 8 3 5 9 1
9 8 6 1 5 2 4 3 7
3 5 1 7 9 4 6 8 2

                              no. 8930
                                                      perhap­s i could have
done a more difficult puzzle, but then i was
relaxing, drinking ***...
             i made two mistakes...
as indicated, the first one in italics 4
  and the second in bold 1, which i implanted
as 9...
         even though a 9 was already in the sequence...
to correct myself i had to write out
the alphabet... even though i'm really terrible
at memorising the alphabet (hence i'm
a vocab millionaire),
                so to revise looking at 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
i had to write the letters out...
thinking: imagine su doku using neun briefe,
like so:
(a) b (c) d (e) f (g) h (î) j (k) l (m) n (o) p (q) | r s t u v
                                                               ­           w       |x y z|
i'm terrible at remembering the alphabet sequence,
     the cut-off point comes along like this, in sing-along:
a b c d e f g, h i j, k, l m n en oh p... q r s; t u v...
                             blah....
but i thought: i'd love to write a letter imbued su doku...
just for the kicks...
thankfully, having written the alphabet out
                i managed to salvage and complete
the puzzle...
                                    *** and tunnel vision?
more like double vision;
                            and two cats distracting me,
                               pretending to fall asleep like a pair
of pensioners, sitting down.
PNasarudheen Jul 2013
Think!
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming "save India", alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it, against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously
forced us to riots-in Gujarat, Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune, Bangalore, Poovar or Marad, no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a ****, with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic, fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture  
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs , in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don't dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
……………………………………………………………………
Note:1.Gujarat , Assam, Bombai(Mumbai), Pune, Bangalore, Poovar or Marad, :  these are places where riots or blasts occurred in India
Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!:two sanyasins(monks) of India the Former proponent of Advaita Vedanta Philosopy and the latter preached it disciple of Sri Ramakrishna  and founder of Ramakrishna Mission in Kolkota, India.
four Mutts: the mutts(Seminaries) established by Adi Sankara in Badarinath in the North , Puri in the East. Dwaraka in the West and Sringeri in the South of India to propagate the Vedic philosophy. It also proves the Undivided Indian concept the ancients had .
MNCs:Multi-National Corporations.
Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi: A very venomous snake representing Power and torture.Lord Krishna danced on the hoods of it and killed it as per the mythology. Kalindi is River Yamuna in India that divides Delhi in to two.
Redshift Mar 2013
"yeah i had a good break...was smashed the whole week...apparently i ****** on some dude's xbox"
"yeah mine does that too. they were ******* so hard the bed was squeaking"
"*** there she is! the one with the ears....hah check the sneakers! who the **** does she think she is"
"i'm glad my hair doesn't look like that"
"i think i was *****"
"did you get it in, man? hahahhh"
"it's cuz his **** is smaller than his brain"
"got a D...i'mma go shoot myself. i ******* hate this lady"
"hah! I like HER skirt. notttt! what the ****, she looks like a hippo"
"yeah we're kind of a thing now. he texts me like, 24/7...my parents were so ****** over break"
"oh my god i have this test in an hour...i was way too ****** last night to study"
"wow i didn't get **** on my midterms, hello mcdonald's"
"*******"
"hey *****, you're lookin' ******"
"check my ***. good? good."
"yeaaahhh man! we make this punch...it's crazy. half a solo cup and you're gonneeee. tuesday, man. be there or be a little **** for the rest of your life, hahahhahh"
"duude we were dropping ecstasy like crazy! everything looked like pink marshmallow fluff...some poor ******* jumped off the garage roof, thought he could fly or some ****...you want some? i can get you some, bro. no prob."
"i couldn't even sleep last night, my roommate was banging her boyfriend and the moaning was sicking me out"
"yeah bathsalts are some ****...my cousin tried to rip out his kid's eyeball one time...it was ******* hilarious"
"did you get in her pants?"
"homerun?"
"i was so drunk man, i don't remember anythingggg hahahhhh"
"honey...i was drunk. i don't even remember sleeping with her, you can't blame me"
"i was drunk...surprise buttsex!!"
"dude she had her hands in my pants for half of the class"
"can you believe she posted that? i mean come on"
"yeah! then write ***** on it!"
"hahah i wrote this note on her door with my number...saying that i was a lesbian and thought she was hot....then the ******* ****** called me and me and my roommates basically pranked **** out of her for like, two hours"
"dad, i know. i get it. yeah. yeah. ALRIGHT! i just need a couple hundred. i'll pay you back. it's just to help me get by. yeah, this one professor wants me to do some extra reading. i need it for a book..."
"yeah he likes you! he texted me! text him back. COME ON! i'm telling you...you're gonna end up 22 and STILL not have boyfriend. just do it already...jess!"
"yeah we didn't even have enough gas to get here. had to borrow money from my dad...ohmygodd...this app won't load..."
"it wasn't ****...it was more like...******* a dead fish...hahahhh!!!"


"i'm gonna fail"
"don't worry about it, it's the professor's fault. she's a ******."
Poor little Peter Hawthorne the first Australian Erin boy




Life was tough for little Peter, you see he struggled day in and day out
You see he was not the family person that his family wanted him to be
And also none of the cool kids wanted to be his friend
Because they thought he was too weird
So young Peter Hawthorne had to settle with a ******* named Kyle
Who might I add is a real sports nerd, and mind you
He looked at fighting at the football as a way of life
And this was the way I will increase my mojo, what a joke
It wasn't really that he got into fights, no every kid does that
It was the fact he got into fights for saying stupid things like
Come on you ****** Norwood team, punch them in the face
And then when the umpire made a decision Kyle disagreed with
He would say, you take that decision back ya stupid umpire
All I will phone my lawyer and have him charge you with assault and battery
Which made no ****** sense at all
And he will invent words, like get off him ya ****** opposition
Or I will take you to the establishary court, and you will be behind bars forever
And Peter Hawthorne really wanted to know what a establishary court is
Kyle would say, it is where this ref and the other team is going if they ******* me
Then a penalty for the opposition from right in front, and Kyle yells out
Why don't you put your glasses on ya stupid ref
Or did you leave them in the coffin with your last fucken life
Ya stupid fucken ***** and Peter let out a little giggle
As if to say that Kyle was the biggest ***** known to man
And when some people started to hassle Kyle
Kyle said, leave me alone ya stupid *****, or I will call the fucken police
And I will, my mummy has a door open just for you two fucken wankers
And yes those dudes bashed him up good
And Peter Hawthorne sat their laughing,
And yes, heaps was coming out of his mind which made his laugh stronger
Like don't trust that Julia Gillard, she belongs in the mental hospital
And that Andrew Barr, he is the biggest ***** of the century
I like Tony Abbott, he will make those young bludgers redundant
Because they are teasing me, I will show them, I will vote for Tony Abbott
And also his words to me were your mad going to college
You should be out working like me and vote for the liberal party
Yes, when I was a boy, ya know Pete
And I stopped him and said, yeah Kyle when you were a boy
I was a boy too, so shut ya fucken gob ya fucken ******
Kyle was angry with Peter and said, I want all my presents I gave you back
You aren't a friend worthy of my gifts,so fucken give them back ya cunk
And Peter laughed at the fact that he said cunk instead of ****
That was so funny, thought Peter
And after the weekend where Peter and brother ditched waiting for Kyle
And went straight to the football, and made Kyle go on the bus by himself
Kyle said to Peter, don't ever do that again ya fucken ******
And Peter said back to him you are a ******, ya liberal ****
And that feud went on for months, and after 10 months
They were friends again, but mind you, Peter wanted out of this friendship
Because he had too much fucken baggage and he said all this to
His other mate, who decided that Peter was too cool for Kyle
And despite the fact that Kyle saw Peter having fun with his new mate
Who was Redmond, Kyle wanted Peter all to himself
And Redmond wanted Peter to gang up on Kyle
In a dark alley, because Peter wanted to rid this evil beast from his life
So he can be a normal person with normal issues
Well, the issues he had after the dark alley incident
Weren't like he imagined, you see Kyle threatening to take him to court
But to this day, he never has, which says the fact, he's all fucken talk
And no action, and Redmond and Peter are the best friends
Two peas in a pod forever, and they are finally rid of ******* Kyle
*******, *******, kyles a little *******, he's a little ******* kid
And the man came up and said he's a man mate
And Peter and Redmond said. He might look like a man, but he's a little baby kid
Peter and Redmond lived happy lives as best friends
And Kyle, Is not with them, and that suits them fine
Cunning Linguist Aug 2015
Through a crowd
of homeless Vietnam war vets
Betcha I'm textin looking for more ***
From ****** galore
Open the back door and explore

Wreck that ***** (then I'm on to the next)
Next level ****, I'm on one at best
Deftly slip a little in your sister's sip
Now I'm caressing her *******
Hoping and praying my conquest ends with ******!
Yes, I confess I'm grotesque,
but I have finesse
I play that ***** like a game of chess

Bare witness -
I only ***** with the fattest of *******
Robbed a ******'s V-card
Now I'm charged with theft

I'm possessed and I have Tourette's
Ingested some drugs at the playground
Now I'm getting undressed
Digest my suggestive rhymes
I'm just a poor kid repressed
Manifest my pervertedness
My mind is a mess,
a nest
of enmeshed ******

And I obsess for excesses of distastefulness

It's disgraceful
My biracial angel
When I go directly from **** to ******
- In the blink of an eye
My *** game is fatal
Robbing the cradle & writing fables simultaneously
Screaming banzai!
Whilst I swan dive
straight into your ***** hole
& disable it

I'm insatiable,
Your mind is impregnable
Cause the impeccable mental images
I paint aren't erasable
Incomprehensible and intangible
Yet undeniable, I'm a despicable imbecile
Gazing in the peephole
Took a blindfolded stroll
down ***** lane and I'm on patrol
for an ocean of blowholes hundredfold

At the club so I dropped a bunch of Ecstasy
Take my shirt off so the ******* can all laugh at me
Tryna get the best of me
So I spite them out of jealousy
And absently drift away
through my mind to pornographic fantasy
My rhapsodic masterpiece
A mental form of ******
Getting busy in the squishy
til I'm dizzy in the hizzy
Swag, I do it valiantly

Turn it up this my jam
~Little ditty, bout jackin Diane~
Still a pity, too bad she's a man
Greasy ***** slap your eggs on my ham
If you'd prefer,
I might lend you a hand
Ram bam
bite the pillow I'm coming in dry
Don't be shy
Turn down for why
Either way have you in chains
by the end of the night

I'm a nemesis
***** slapping feminists
For emphasis
Hit em with a left fist
catching equal rights and ****
Yes I reek of cannabis
Can't handle bars I spit
Snide *******,
blame it on my pride and prejudice... ugh

I'm just a ******* egotist
An unrepentant hedonist
Check out Cunning Linguist
He da hypnotistic lyricist
This is my hypothesis
Maybe I'm just a nihilist
Detonating bombs
Catch me on the terrorist watchlist
Yes my words are devastating
But in your mind are resonating
Penetrating brains til it all begins disintegrating

I'm plastered
Falling over backwards
Mental state is fractured
Now watch me while I stagger
Tell your mother run for cover
Finna kidnap her


Pop pop
Got this **** on lock
Seeing double vision
Catch me jizzin in my sock

Steady speaking nonsense
Nearly unconscious
Bailing from the cops man
Too much Dwayne Johnson
***** have the nerve to call me obtuse
I be that Mr. got ***** the size of grapefruits
Barton D Smock Jul 2012
grandeur

had brought the well outta ground the muscled men and she came upon them when they had split into teams and were rolling it and had not yet become competitive. the hands of her gone infant came back to her to see these men heave back and forth a vanishing. of her many fathers one had said ‘the deep train went even deeper and I could not wake’. he had said it to excuse his one day feat of linking unadorned toilet paper rolls to stretch a rat’s mile. her stomach had yet to go down and she was comforted by such literal remnants as thinking of the last place you had it.

libel

two white boys come outta shack each with a wrist one left one right being ****** at the mouth. their laughing I wouldn’t say manic but still not righted. like certain bible stories seem to tumble outta that book it’s the same with their eyes and ears. their heads each one shrunk so as to be united. I want to say here at least a ****** knows what it’s mocking. I only know one of’em and only as far as this thing being passed and told that he ain’t a foster but he was born in a pan and taken from the offices of the parent company his father got laid from. you think that’s the joke but had I not said white you’d have thought they were anyway. here come two girls grisly with month and I never seen two boys so quick to put down the shack they come from.

prayer

I like it best when my girl is pregnant because I get the sympathies. on her hand, she likes me drunk. at any one time, I can remember seven of our eight kids. this means of course one gets left home but also that not a one gets left grocery. I’d tell you their names but then I’d have to split this saying into parts. but I can tell you seven are boys. now and again they’ll slip on sister’s dress to **** up my math. a good joke I start with is that they take after their mother and if they take after me it’s with sticks. I change the batteries in the alarms for fire and carbon monoxide every two weeks mostly outta fear that I’ll lose them all and have to recount them to some fireman I went to school with. I don’t know if batteries are cheap or not, I don’t know anything about them, but I know I spend a healthy chunk of my portion to have. wife and I are keeping the ninth at bay the ways we know how. she don’t ask me and I don’t her. one kid a week goes with her to church and it’s up to me to remember who in my charge caught a fish the week previous. but I’m not wrong with god; no book is the bible, I believe that. at cemetery by which I am lack whelmed: I wish I had his memory.

nativity

wonder they ever told him grown, that black foster, how he'd been at three years dropped manger while crying for the congregates. straw in everything. back a throat, bottom a shoe. pop said he just about caught himself afire at work, straw sticking out his pocket. pop unable to split work clothes from churched. some wanted to resurrect a fuss about color; don’t go resurrecting a fuss and waved his hand he did that pastor ingénue. heard then I the word negress and after its saying the sayers looked about as if she would appear. this was our town after god and many were still making their own. this answers how the black foster needn’t audition. the gold I brought was soft on my thumbs and the flakes stayed in my nails weeks after. pop could tell for that time what I’d been touching so I’d cover when I could. we were quite a pair in our fooleries what with his straw and my gold. he stopped going on about the blacks and I was able to skip school with your sister the ****** mary. the town was never up for nightmares or for dreaming so I kept your share to myself until now how you seen mary fingered by a man with seven. heard him saying it's okay baby, this one's asleep.

holy ghost!

I will cut myself, Horror Film. will fidget my nethers a last time. maybe make the snow an angel with a third leg. which means I have gone outside. maybe my father will happen by you and put his beers together. but I will be gone. into the woods dragging my feet so some will think it took two to take me. I will whip branches about me and generally scuffle so the some will better convince the left. my poverty will be confirmed by your presence on videocassette. my father will hold you aloft and your tongue will droop above the depths of his hair. my father will claim a vengeance he owes on and the some and the left will follow him over the states of my angel and into the woods. when they find me I will say I had an in body experience; that the two men nearby sleep and it’s what we’re walking in.

haptics

little he knows that in holding them hoppers until they spit and before they go wing he is making hitch the upcome carriage of his *****. his future nudes are backtracking and the gravity of this has been diagnosed as your emphysema. he is your, nothing more, son. he will rub your back and worry his thumbs orphan. oh thumb; toe six. the way you deeply stand arms folded he sometimes thinks you have been replaced by a statue of his mother. it is then he remembers the fence his father built and the collective plank his father carried under his arm. you want life to be good again; your son’s low hand and the pups it could feed.

verbal abuse*

she has brought with her a shoplifted teddy bear. on a good night her age is seventeen. two days ago the voices in her head moved to her mouth. she has seven teeth that remain quiet. she fears so much how this third day will go. she has been told, and she believes, I am only in her mind. but there she is, at the sitting rock where we met, the rock I told her I could see things in. unprepared for her faith, I am unclothed. I am glad she has the bear and glad for my part in her having it.

spiders

we got some kind of plague in our toilets mama.*  that’s my dad calling her mama, my mom. that’s him declaring another plague. week don’t stop until a plague has been pieced together by this man so named Paff Snull on the subscription stubs of any number of unread magazines mom uses to swat dramatically at imaginary flies and wasps and locusts depending on the week. this time though I’m ******* because when dad cracks his knees and ***** himself to fetch mama from silence, I look in the toilet up and it’s true and in the toilet down and it’s more. spiders grey and black and off white. with our low water pressure, spiders having a ball. mom and dad they get tents and tell me twice to get inside mine once it’s on the front lawn. I get told things twice because I was born thick and I haven’t the heart to tell them that after the first saying the saying of it is diminished. I mumble to myself in corners, sure, but it’s the same mumbling. our dog gets a separate tent and I sneak into it when dog allows. seven nights so far outta three weeks I haven’t. mom says it’s because of my acne dog don’t recognize me sometimes. ******* bit the meatsy of my right hand a month ago and my handwriting got so neat I was sent from school for cheating. it’s most of my summer and the house is still spidery. the dog has gone to the river to drink and seems okay with it. mom, dad, and I **** in the backyard in shifts. mom ain’t swatting anything, she doesn’t have to on account of the spiders. when right now I mess up my shift I find myself next to dad and he’s just some guy telling me them glass-full people got the joke on them because the water is contaminated. he’s so happy it makes me think I’m the devil to be grinning so big. long wasn’t the reign of Paff Snull.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
i do a really good imitation of a woodpecker with my hand clenched into a fist, knocking on my forehead, as if knocking on the forehead of others - i admit, i'm searching for an echo of the rat-tat-tat thumping drill for the cure of headaches.

when i inherit what i might inherit
i'll book a ticket to switzerland's auschwitz,
but drinking a bottle of whiskey
and a few beers each day... i'm praying to the gods:
gods! a heart attack! gods! a second haemorrhage!
gods! a heart attack! darwinism taught me
insignificance... so i countered...
well... an insignificant theory and practice...
like nietzsche said about the darwinists:
'
imagine* speaking for the entire human race!'
well, english journalists already do...
and i'm like hey hey hooray for iraq!
get blown up by a bomb i'd like my limbs back,
or at least the idea of having them once...
shiny happy people holding hands!
**** old age and grandchildren, there's no
accomplishment in that... fake teeth like
no teeth at all... apple goo pulp and then porridge...
what a great reward! ooh! ah! i'm all geared up
for that fear of death... no... i'm scared of being 100 years old;
i wouldn't be, had i been born a Galapagos turtle.
PNasarudheen Sep 2012
Freedom to Think!
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming “save India”, alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it ,against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously          
forced us to riots-in Gujarat ,Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune,Bangalore ,Poovar or Marad ,no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a **** ,with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic ,fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs  ,in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don’t dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave ,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
……………………………………………………………………
PNasarudheen Nov 2012
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming “save India”, alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it ,against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously
forced us to riots-in Gujarat ,Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune,Bangalore ,Poovar or Marad ,no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a **** ,with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic ,fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture  
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs  ,in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don’t dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave ,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
…………………………………………………………………….
AM Aug 2015
It was when his finger prints left marks on my coffee cup
in that Starbucks he politely gave me my warm hazelnut
I remember how I got a little struck of his height
he made me look at him like I am gazing at the stars

It was his 'hi' that painted my crooked smile
followed by a simple question, "what's your name?"
God, he's so cute in that black t-shirt and snapback
I sounded like a ****** when I speak my name out

It was his vibe and a little of his laugh
that got me re-arranged a space in my mind for him
as he threw compliments with the same amount
of every single thing I like about his consuming eyes

It was a bye-bye that evening where it started to rain
and I counted his steps as he walked away from me
along with the ticking clock for his first phone call
cause he stole my every attention until I stumble and fall
Shashank Virkud May 2012
To construct a consistent
world view, a chore more
than anything else, really.

I don't know if you're right,
I don't care if I'm wrong,
keep singing this song,

ba da dum, ba da dum,
ba da dumb
dumb
dumb!


Young, lover of fiction,
dont force it.

You don't need a dictionary
to write a poem.
We chanced in passing by that afternoon
To catch it in a sort of special picture
Among tar-banded ancient cherry trees,
Set well back from the road in rank lodged grass,
The little cottage we were speaking of,
A front with just a door between two windows,
Fresh painted by the shower a velvet black.
We paused, the minister and I, to look.
He made as if to hold it at arm’s length
Or put the leaves aside that framed it in.
“Pretty,” he said. “Come in. No one will care.”
The path was a vague parting in the grass
That led us to a weathered window-sill.
We pressed our faces to the pane. “You see,” he said,
“Everything’s as she left it when she died.
Her sons won’t sell the house or the things in it.
They say they mean to come and summer here
Where they were boys. They haven’t come this year.
They live so far away—one is out west—
It will be hard for them to keep their word.
Anyway they won’t have the place disturbed.”
A buttoned hair-cloth lounge spread scrolling arms
Under a crayon portrait on the wall
Done sadly from an old daguerreotype.
“That was the father as he went to war.
She always, when she talked about war,
Sooner or later came and leaned, half knelt
Against the lounge beside it, though I doubt
If such unlifelike lines kept power to stir
Anything in her after all the years.
He fell at Gettysburg or Fredericksburg,
I ought to know—it makes a difference which:
Fredericksburg wasn’t Gettysburg, of course.
But what I’m getting to is how forsaken
A little cottage this has always seemed;
Since she went more than ever, but before—
I don’t mean altogether by the lives
That had gone out of it, the father first,
Then the two sons, till she was left alone.
(Nothing could draw her after those two sons.
She valued the considerate neglect
She had at some cost taught them after years.)
I mean by the world’s having passed it by—
As we almost got by this afternoon.
It always seems to me a sort of mark
To measure how far fifty years have brought us.
Why not sit down if you are in no haste?
These doorsteps seldom have a visitor.
The warping boards pull out their own old nails
With none to tread and put them in their place.
She had her own idea of things, the old lady.
And she liked talk. She had seen Garrison
And Whittier, and had her story of them.
One wasn’t long in learning that she thought
Whatever else the Civil War was for
It wasn’t just to keep the States together,
Nor just to free the slaves, though it did both.
She wouldn’t have believed those ends enough
To have given outright for them all she gave.
Her giving somehow touched the principle
That all men are created free and equal.
And to hear her quaint phrases—so removed
From the world’s view to-day of all those things.
That’s a hard mystery of Jefferson’s.
What did he mean? Of course the easy way
Is to decide it simply isn’t true.
It may not be. I heard a fellow say so.
But never mind, the Welshman got it planted
Where it will trouble us a thousand years.
Each age will have to reconsider it.
You couldn’t tell her what the West was saying,
And what the South to her serene belief.
She had some art of hearing and yet not
Hearing the latter wisdom of the world.
White was the only race she ever knew.
Black she had scarcely seen, and yellow never.
But how could they be made so very unlike
By the same hand working in the same stuff?
She had supposed the war decided that.
What are you going to do with such a person?
Strange how such innocence gets its own way.
I shouldn’t be surprised if in this world
It were the force that would at last prevail.
Do you know but for her there was a time
When to please younger members of the church,
Or rather say non-members in the church,
Whom we all have to think of nowadays,
I would have changed the Creed a very little?
Not that she ever had to ask me not to;
It never got so far as that; but the bare thought
Of her old tremulous bonnet in the pew,
And of her half asleep was too much for me.
Why, I might wake her up and startle her.
It was the words ‘descended into Hades’
That seemed too pagan to our liberal youth.
You know they suffered from a general onslaught.
And well, if they weren’t true why keep right on
Saying them like the heathen? We could drop them.
Only—there was the bonnet in the pew.
Such a phrase couldn’t have meant much to her.
But suppose she had missed it from the Creed
As a child misses the unsaid Good-night,
And falls asleep with heartache—how should I feel?
I’m just as glad she made me keep hands off,
For, dear me, why abandon a belief
Merely because it ceases to be true.
Cling to it long enough, and not a doubt
It will turn true again, for so it goes.
Most of the change we think we see in life
Is due to truths being in and out of favour.
As I sit here, and oftentimes, I wish
I could be monarch of a desert land
I could devote and dedicate forever
To the truths we keep coming back and back to.
So desert it would have to be, so walled
By mountain ranges half in summer snow,
No one would covet it or think it worth
The pains of conquering to force change on.
Scattered oases where men dwelt, but mostly
Sand dunes held loosely in tamarisk
Blown over and over themselves in idleness.
Sand grains should sugar in the natal dew
The babe born to the desert, the sand storm
****** mid-waste my cowering caravans—

“There are bees in this wall.” He struck the clapboards,
Fierce heads looked out; small bodies pivoted.
We rose to go. Sunset blazed on the windows.
Autism Speaks don’t speak for me.
Cause I reject their reality.
What if I felt the exact same way
about their neurotypicality?
See, normal?
It’s a peculiar word,
and I guess it means I’m not following the herd.
But I don’t see why you want me gone—
At least I’m alive. At least I’m strong.
******.
My existence a crime.
A baby they’d abort if they’d only had the time.
Early detection.
Eugenics by another name.
Autism speaks till you silence it without shame.
Auschwitz for Autism, soon to be in business—
Neurotypical Nazis, only trying to finish us
Yeah, to you we’re hardly people,
and driving off a cliff with your daughter isn’t evil?
Well, here’s another wakeup call for the sheeple.
You exterminate so much you make the Daleks look peaceful.
Well, aren’t I human? Answer me please.
Because your fear and “awareness” has me down on my knees.
A slam poem about the atrocity that is Autism Speaks.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
oh god, oh god! that dump felt: just about as good as a zeppelin droping bombs over london... i managed to feel a vindaloo up my **** at the end of it! magic.

ever heard of huskies?
                                                                             no?
        my godmother is a huskie...
she's a doctor, she sometimes didn't shave
her legs: or that was my initial bewilderment
when i was playing video games
i.e. *porsche challenge
on PS1...
and that's donkey's years ago...
        but she was a huskie...
                       she was a woman with a deep
voice...
                  but this is in another culture
and i'm sitting here, watching western culture
and thinking: well **** me! no problem
with the genital removals...
   but who the **** is going to reconstruct your
jaw-line?
                you can't fake a femenine jaw
from a man's jaw... nor the hands...
     that's why i sometimes think my **** is
tiny... but then i can hold a basketball in one hand,
that means: pick it up with one hand...
   that's why i always said... the sexiest part
of a woman's body? her hand(s).
           i can't believe i'm going to name these
people, but given my godmother's husky voice
i think i should... on a matter of principle:
and yeah, i sometimes speak like i've been castrated,
even though i smoke tobacco my voice should
be deep... all the time... i sometimes resonate:
like an angel... when i'm being pretty pretty, nice;
   how the **** are you going to reconstruct
the jaw so that i don't think you are?
                      self-conscious about your larynx?
that's not even sad, that's prompt for: me being
inquisitive... given my godmother (the doctor)
who spoke like she spoke...
                                 em... chloe arden?
    what the **** is this huskie playing at?
               blaire white... oh 'ere we go, another huskie...
i'm not laughing... you look into those eyes
and you know something is a "tad" bit iffy...
            i get it... you think you sound like a "man"
sometimes... and i get it: i sometimes sound like
i've been licked in the ***** by a karate kick...
    and that has happened to me one...
            i was doing this course in some specific
interest area... and i was signalled out
  because i wasn't shouting when i was moving forward
doing kick! chop! kick! chop! ha! ya(h)!
                    sensai was away, and this white geek
took over the class... he said: you have to shout
while moving! i was like: no...
           what the hell does he do? kicks me in the *****...
clap clap... well done you ******* ******.
          you don't do that sort of thing in boxing
for ****'s sake... that's a no go zone...
             if he even gained a black belt in the art...
he'd be excomunnicated there and then...
                             you a ******* woman or something?
*****.
                 yeah, i realised that, i have this delay
button... something happened to me 15 years ago
and i'm only writing about it now... it's a bit like Proust
on stereoids... i'm not gay enough to remember
eating: that "special" macaroon.
   like i said:
         these girls are huskies...
                         i know because my godmother
is a husky...
                               it's self-consciousness in the extreme...
get kicked in the ***** and you'll start wearing
post- / anti- transgender spectacles...
        no matter what you tell me... that jaw line and
those plump cheeks with the missing cheek bones
that's characteristic of women... mmm...
             you have a better magic trick? 'cos'
this one isn't working on me (ref. the two stated examples);
o.k., and my godmother.
2 naughty teenagers captured in the psych ward


all people who do crimes are mental, at least that is what ron thought as

he watched the news and saw 2 teenagers push a train seat onto the traffic

under the bridge and ron thought that he would like to place them on medication

so they can be punished for what they did, so when ron woke up, ron went to the

cafe to say his piece about the teenagers who pushed the seat out the window,

and after he left, he felt better but it soon went away as he arrived at the HDU and

the group of teenagers were on their way to his HDU, and ron said, yeah they need

medication but they will be a hard case, because they probably believe what they were doing

was the right thing to do, but the nurses said, no they are on their way here and we are going

to give them all the help they need and ron said, we will try to give those trouble makers the

help they need, because the medication won’t work if they don’t want it, and believe me it needs

to work, they must learn what they did was wrong.   ron went out to give the morning medications

and the teenagers entered the HDU as ron was finished and ron said i am going to talk with these yahoos

so can you bring this back, and when ron approached them he said, ok, you guys think you did the right thing

by pushing that seat outside the train door onto incoming traffic, and john who was the ring leader said yeah

it was what this city needs, and then ken who videoed it said, that was the most fun he ever had and ron said

well, if that was the most fun you had, you area very sick individual and we need to have a chat on why you

think that it is cool to do that, john said, my dad doesn’t care for me and he loves the railways, perhaps he loves

the railways more than me, so i wanted to spoil his precious railways and ron said, i am sure your father loves you

but it’s hard to love you when you do a stupid thing like this, you could’ve caused an accident and killed many people

and john said, who cares, and ron said, yeah you are sick if you think taking out your aggressions on those poor drivers

and ken said, you haven’t met his father, all he cares about is his trips on the railways than him, he once yelled at john

for accidentally spilling the milk and i was there to see it, but ron said but is what you did hurting your father, well maybe but

you could’ve killed many people who were driving and john said ******* fucken ****, you are supposed to make me better

but instead you point out that i was in the wrong, and then john said, you know nothing about us, we are not mental, we are real

men dealing with stupid parents and ron said, ok i can’t keep you on the medication but while yopu guys are here you are taking

medication and ken said, cool, we are finally taking drugs, and then ken said how about you guys give me ****** or mariguana, that

will make us good little angels and ron said nice try, i will place you on seroquel, which really will open your brain and make me understand

why you kids would do such a horrible crime, and then ron asked john, have you seen the macauley culkin flick, the good son, well you

yahoos are just like him, maybe worst because it’s the real world and john said, are we just, well just for that we won’t take your ******

medication, and we will make it harder for you are your nurses as well as any other patient who gets in our way and we will tip the water over you

when you bring out our medications, because what we did was fun, and we ain’t mental, there is nothing wrong with us and ron said, well guys, if

you don’t take the medication, you won’t get better and be released from here, and ken said, we will escape from here, you see we will grab the

keys from a nurse or yourself, and then pick up a sharp object, and you screws will never see us cool dudes again, and ron said, do you guys really

think this was cool, you could’ve killed somebody and ron went away and told the nurses, to have a security guard with them when you go into the HDU

and keep no sharp objects in their way because these yahoos need to understand what they did.     john and ken went to watch TV  and charlie chaplin was

watching cheers and ken said i want to watch ben 10 and charlie said, no, cheers is better and ken said, listen you fucken ******, get out of here so we can watch

ben 10 and charlie said ******* you fucken yahoos, i was here first and john walked over to him and picked him up and said, hey ******, are you going to move

or are we going to kick you out you old fogie life loving ****** and ron came out with a security guard saying, you guys aren’t the boss here and ron brought

ken and john to their rooms and locked them in saying, you don’t get to watch your show boo hoo and john and ken yelled out help help kidnap kidnap

help help kidnap kidnap but ron took no notice of them and went back to get the medications, for everyone even for john and ken despite them not wanting it

but both john and ken took the medication but declared they ain’t mental but they want to be free, and once we get free, we will stop taking the medication

because they ain’t crazy, they just wanted to get out of the ***** loving HDU and ken said to ron, don’t ever talk to us ok, we ain’t talking to no screws, you might

be helping the other patients but you can’t help us, so we will make you happy to take your happy drug, and be goodie two shoe so we can be free and ron

gave them the medication and went to his office and clocked off and bought pizza and retired to the couch while john and ken practiced being good despite wanting

to call charlie chaplin and patty roe retards but they bit their tongue, john and ken aren’t unhappy for what they did, they still thought it was cool but to be free to

do it again was what they were thinking of and that was what ron was worried about and that messed with ron’s brain making him say i am here to help but john and ken

were just bad people and can’t be cured, ron thought maybe jail might be better for them, oh well we have to give them a chance, they are only young
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
a bit like listening to
enya's take on the lord of the rings
soundtrack...
who, the ****, wouldn't
wish to drown, listening
to these Celtic mermaids?
i know i would...

the lunch?
salad....
  cherry tomatoes, fresh pepper,
fresh chillies...
      guacamole with chillies...
god, infused with lime...
greek goat's cheese...
           crunch iceberg lettuce...
and?
****... must have missed somethng...
well...
there was also prosciutto...
like i once said:
i hate bacon...
    prosciutto?
             give me a bucket-load
and i'll play the chipmunk...

   god i hate bacon...
ugh...
     it's lile eating gorilla turds
with a comparison
to what tuna steaks will never be,
and what smoked
salmon slices share with
prosciutto...

the bits that make a whiskey...
smoked salmon...
           if the Japanese will not
entertain salt in their sushi?
**** it...
we'll smoke the ******* out...

what a glorious statement of
attaching oneself to hubris...
  and the Celtic mermaids?
one question:
can i drown, right here and now?!
i want to drown!
i want to turn into a merman!
i want to cry!
oh god... for all eternity!
i want to cry!
i want to cry when
beauty is expressed so piquantly!

i want to be acknowledged
my by second mother, art,
who would never dare
to engage in the ancient greek
ritual of placing two coins
over my eyes to pay
Charon...

             oh sweet Celtic mermaids
from a missing Odyssey!
I.R.A.: punch the grieving
paw of the Anglican lion
surrendering
with a take on dentistry!

i want to drown...
   you songs turn the salty
seas into sugary fountains!
   i want to drown!
embraced by your voices
in the choir or the echoing
chambers of oyster shells!

   i never liked sushi to begin
with...
either the north sea smoked salmon
slices...
or the Baltic Sea raw herrings...

                 the English?
leave them...
   congregating on the money...
surmounting there sphere of influence,
the Atlantic Ocean that becomes
a pond...
   leave them... bestow a leverage of
stalling them...
         keep them comfortable...
keep them exclusionary...
  keep them: 50+ years too late...
that will buy us time...

           keep them sifting through rat ****...
we need them disorientated,
looking at a cul de sac,
rather than a road with, other, road
genesis injunctions
of what life, twist and burden turn
we have to share...

         now... i don't cry because
i'm sad...
      i cry... when beauty is made
sacrificial...
             and since so few cry at beauty?
i have to cry...
because?
  whatever is being regurgitated
mainstream?
   does not gravitate me
to the necessary emotional stratum...

all i can think of is...
  
               Celtic mermaids of Ireland...
and drinking buddies of Scottish
trans-gender kilt highlanders,
Welsh longbow men spies
   of Swansea...
   and the English?
guess it's just a case of talking:
"right across the... 'pond'"...
     like ******* are...
pond people my ******* god...

          i would have feigned the delusion
of... a shared tongue = a shared
cultural reference!
but in sudoku?!

   linear + sq. ≠ diagonal -

England and the U.S. and Australia?!
a dog barking up the wrong tree...
it always was, it always will be...

          i'll rephrase my concept
of England and America...
   being "specially" connected...
what? like retards?!

                        Pontius Pilate:
i'm washing my hands clean of the affair...

ask a Swiss... what he might have felt
about **** Germany!
no?
                           no what?!

      this country already constituted
a perfected allowance to deem my
ethnicity equivalent to vermin,
rats.... foxes...

     well... better this commentary
stays underground...
i wouldn't want some, ******,
reading this sort of wording;

mind you, he, it, she, they,
might forget it 10 minutes later.      

god, i hate bacon...
   but prosciutto?
                            as long as it's combined
in a salad...
  with fresh veg., and greek
goat's cheese...
    no, *******, problem!

SPRING ONIONS!
Trev is a young dude and he needs to be liked by all




Trev is having a hard time getting teased by his little bro Markie, who was a real little cool kid, and when I say cool kid, I mean he does all the popular things, and all the rough cool kids loved my his brother Markie a lot, and Trev, is just a regular joe who likes to just go down the shop and have drinks, sitting down talking about fathers who were fairly strict, mind you Trev had all respect for his father, but that doesn't stop him from ratting him off to friends over a nice cold can of coke.
You see Trev had a main best mate named Heath, who was a real friend, well at least Trev thought that as Heath always seemed to listen to him, but Heath wanted really to be a cool kid, while Trev just wanted to talk about the things he watched on the TV, and he said a lot about that new music show named Later with Jools and Trev said that Jools Holland was a real hero for music fans to see their favourite music, and I know that sounds like what cool kids talk about, Trev, who, yes I haven't told you, as autism, and he gets obsessed with music, and every conversation was about music and being cool calm and collected.
Heath, didn't want to upset Trev but really he didn't want to listen to every conversation about music, you see it drove him nuts, and Heath didn't have it in his heart to tell Trev, because it could hurt his feelings, but really Trev could throw a tantrum, and Heath cared too much for that.
So Heath became Trevs only friend and came over to his house every weekend to play with him, but when Trev bought out the toys and started to talk about baby talk, you know he was only 8, but Heath didn't speak like that, and even Trevs younger brother Markie who still was using his mothers pet name as his name at 6, he was more grown up, and Heath often tried to tease Trev with his brother, and yes they teased Trev, and Trev was getting very angry, but he kept on trying to talk to his friend, he said ' who do you want to win today in the first round of the AFL, and Markie said how about we choose the team you aren't going for, and then Trev told Heath to come to the shop to buy a drink, and talk about problems with our families, cause Trev was thinking that just because your family has enough money to support you, it still can be a nightmare trying to grow up in a family like that, and Heath, who was getting sick of Trev winging and whining, just said to him that he liked him, and despite of what he says to his brother, it is just a joke, but of course Heath is a kid, and he was a poor kid, so instead of saying what I just said he said, that is what he meant, he actually said, you know , yo, man, wots, happning, ya fams orye qui comply, which you know Trev thought was complete jibberish, and started to think that Heath didn't care about him and sort of gave him the cold shoulder treatment, and Heath sort of noticed the chemistry trying to actually understand, and said his jibberish, which was yo man wots up,
Yo dude, ya nid ta liten up, and Trev was tired of this language and started to wonder why a friend of his was talking like this, this talking isn't proper talking, it'total jibberish, sure he is nice to me, but he speaks this real spastic jibberish, it drives Trev nuts, but really, he has no friends, at school, but he was honest, in that he couldn't figure out what language he spoke, and his brother Markie who heard him wonder what these words were in his mind on his bed, Markie started to teaee his brother saying, you are so ****** *******, you don't know anything that cool kids know, you stupid old ****, he is being cool, you see, ******, he say, yo, ya doin nuttin rye, ya stipid and yo a fu-en ritarded, spaz and Trev really was hurt, mainly because of the way he said it, because really those words meanr nothing, you see they are just words to suggest that kids can tease people who are disabled, so they can't figure out their goings on.
This kind of teasing was going on for days and days, and Markie was a real cool kid, everyone liked him, yes, like all kids want, Markie was popular and then Trev and Markies father noticed that Trev was starting to feel low, and really he tried it make Trev feel better, and yes Trev was normal enough, but his autism kept him from expressing how he feels about Markie and his friends teasing him, and his father and mother sort of were starting to figure things out and when Markie got home, their parents told Markie to behave himself and stop teasing his brother, and then Markie jumped up and said yo da, u
No tes ma bro, u spikin I tun, and then their dad said, maybe, but he ain't like the other kids, he has autism, and you know he needs to feel like people care about him, and Markie  moved around saying I ain hippin he, and then their dad said, if you don't I will ground you for weeks, and Markie promised to make an effort to be nicer to Trev, and Trev really was excited, so excited, be started treating his brother Markie like Heath, and then he thought he was a cool kid, and yes, Trev wanted to treat Markie like a ******, but unknown to Trev, their dad told Markie to go easy on him, but Trev got hypo over the fact that he was a cool kid, kids even said he was like us, man, but still Trev was still too disabled to know young words, but it didn't worry him, because the time his new cool friends noticed it, they were getting too old to tease people that way, even Markie moved on in the adult way, yes maybe This is the time for Trev to be an adult and not worry about being told he's stupid, because only losers tease like Markie used to, because that is just childish, and everybody lived happy through their lives, even Trev, the end


Sent from my iPhone
Thomas Crone Dec 2013
To all the ******* who don't
Know what is and isn't important
For their own **** good.
A *****, rigid, spiked, smelly
One finger salute for each
And every one of you.

This ******* throws his kids
Out into the streets in November.
Big man of the house who trys so
Desperately to be intimidating,
With a ****** back and a
Horrible stench of alcohol on his breath.

This ******* who thinks she's special.
The stuck up ***** that too closely
Resembles a plump ****** carrot.
Who thinks the perfect guy is a hairless
Fruity smelling mommy's boy *****
With perfect flippy hair and a big ****.

This *******, the few, the proud,
The fruity smelling mommy's boy *****
Who wouldn't know a pair of pliers
If they were ripping off his sparkly earrings.
Never having an ounce of dirt on his hands,
But at least she... I mean he has nice teeth.

This ******* that can't tell one honest
Fact about his "hard and lonely" home life.
The one who nods and laughs but just wants to ****.
Who beats off to his computer after taking a hit
That he bummed off his rich friends.
Who is confused as to why some people (me) hate him.

This ******* who screws with the emotions
Of one of the best guys ever to glide through her life.
Who throws him on a roller coaster with smiles
And flirtatious giggling while she lets him kiss her.
Then throws him to the side and takes the next in line.
I wish only the very best for you, you ****** *****.

Those ******* who abuse, torment
Or play with someone who just wishes the best.
The ones who hurt the vulnerable
To feel better for themselves.
No one deserves the **** you give,
Except each and every one of you.

Honorable mention to those *******
That complain about all men being the same
When in reality they're just searching for
The same type of meat headed ******
Every time they have such a painful terrible
Breakup. Just shut the **** up. For real.
BRIANO ALLIANO PERFORMS AT JUPITER MOON


hi dudes and welcome to jupiter moon where i will chuck a methane smoothie all over dad

so he can stop treating me like him at home, you see last night dad used the old young dudes

tp say i am not like my mate pat anymore, no, don’t want to be a cool kid to my dad, but i can

clean my house to what i like, and nothing more, buddy, so if you treat me like dad, you must

except i want to be a poor man, because dads way will never work, he should work on betty campbell

here is cruising round with red bull


I see some sorry old soul walking around the town, with a leather jacket on and a red bull in his hand, you see he looks kind if ***** and ****** up in the head he also looks so droopy, too, he should be home in bed, he'll go into JB hifi, if they'll let him in, that is and then he'll notice his red bull can is empty, he didn't know what to do, and everyone is staring at him, he yells out really loud WHAT ARE YA LOOKIN' AT YA ******, and nearly gets into a fight, and he was going completely crazy, yes he was weird, so ran through the mall, saying, I have to get my red bull, I have to get my red bull, I have to get my red bull, it's a f..n matter of life and death, if I don't get a red bull now, I swear I'll **** someone, waddaya think of that, everyone was saying as he passed thinking this man is cool, I think he's a loser cruising around with his red bull
When he got his second can open it up and it squirted everywhere, and unknown to him that half the can was lost in that squirt, so he cruised around with his can saying howdy to the chicks and saying hi dudes to the chaps, and, man he felt so cool, as he went over to JB hifi, yes his red bull can was empty again, and he yelled out ****, this time he was really ****** violent, he knocked over an old lady going to the bank and punched a yeah mate yeah kid,  (nerd) in the gut, and he was like that all the way to the red bull shop, when he got their the red bull was sold out and the store clerk said we have red eye, mother or V, and he said I don't want those, they are woosey drinks, I only drink red bull, because about 1 hour the man was taken by the police, as he was cruising it gives me wings, as I left he saw a kid who bought the last red bull, and he offered him $50 for it, and the kid said, money comes and money goes, but this red bull stays with me forever, and he got violent threatening to **** him as such and the kid said, ok dude, keep ya shirt on, give me $50 for this can and I will give it to you, they exchanged what they had and the kid went to the police station to fill in a statement saying he was threatened by a crazy red bull ******, and in around with the kids red bull, the police took him away the kid identified him as the guy, whi would convert to violence, to be cruising around, oh yeah, yes, man cruising around with his red bull, what a loser

and now here is my next song, called go to bed little shy boy, because i feel like a hooligan with my itchy feet, and i feel like i am getting kidnapped on earth because i am a tad messy, cause dad will never help me, when i do work, i feel like a lady, well, ****** oath i am a
lady to a tease, but i don’t want to get teased though, so i am a man
You see, you are still a little shy boy, and we are still teasing you
So, now you are working, man, come, leave us
And let us muck around, we want to smoke our bongs
As well as drink our bourbons, and drink 100 beers
Yeah we all feel cool, and don't wake up little shy boy
We want the adults to not bother us, cause we are having so much
Fun, we don't want to be adults,and don't want you to worry about us either
You see, all the men, are sitting there, trying to muck with them
Saying tease him, if you want to tease, just teaee him
But at the end of the day, man, we aren't really teasing
We are sitting up all night, being bums and young bludgers
And it's because you are such a ******
We might be making it seemed you are getting teased
But, we really want to leave you alone,,if you leave us alone
Cause, we are drug addicts,,and we want you to respect the fact
That we don't want to work, as long as you think that you aren't a young bludger
Everything will be already, but young bludgers go to bed for work
So mate, just enjoy yourself, and smoke your bongs
And have a good time, doing it
You see, I want to enjoy ourselves doing this
You are now leaving us all on our lonesome
See ya dudes
yeah, i don’t wanna be a cool kid to tease so i say to you, shut up cockbreath, here is my next song


I am a man and other men are teasing me with the kids
This is driving me crazy, I told them that I am a man
And I don't stand for this kind of juvenile behaviour
You see the kids didn't listen to that, they just laughed
And for a while each man kept on trying to be mature adults
Which we all know they're not, said for the kids to leave me alone
And then said, he isn't a target for teasing
But then after 3 days, the men said, what the flaming ****
We are going to tease this ****** yuppie
Yes, we'll tease them with the kids
The kids would teaee and when you go to the men
The men will teaee them too. They will act like all other Australians
And tease you as well, yes and they will ****** find it ****** fun
You are suffering cause you haven't got many friends

And the kids are laughing, while the ******* men say
You are a fucken big old softie,and you are now with no friends
Then you get a knife and try to stab him
And after that you punch him in the back
And then you draw out your knife and threaten to slit his throat
If he doesn't stop fucken teasing him
But they go, I am teasing you, and that's the only way I am being



You see when I go out of my bedroom after having a night of ***
The kids ate teasing me, left right and centre
And I try to handle it, but it's so ****** hard for me to do
Because they are saying things like, I am going to bash you up
And giving me a pineapple drink which was ****** wee
close to you
So if the kiddies are teasing you, and you turn to me, to get me to muck with you
I will say, I ain't mucking with you, mate, neh
I am just teas---ase---ing you with the kiddies, you aren't like us, cause when we tease you
Mate, you can't handle it, and then you say, you are spastic, and dumb as well. And I will punch you with this metal part of my leather glove, to show you who can't fucken handle teasing, you **** of the earth, fucken man
Then you go to your room, and they don't talk to you anymore
Because they are treating you like a target to tease
And that drives me crazy. And i yelled out
I AM SICK AND TIRED OF BEING THE MAN WHO IS GETTI NG TEASED BY MEN AND THE KIDS,  LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE
And they did, I am now a free spirit, no one can successfully taste me, never


yeah, i don’t wanna get teased by the men and kids, so i will be a hooligan oops, i am a cool person

you see, i am a polite man, hey, what did you say, you are protecting me with your hey, so i want dad to fly off, ok

have found a polite way to

I have found a polite way to say I love you even if I don't really mean it
I have found a polite way to tell you to ******* when you constantly bug me at my place of work, and that is treat him like an employee and then sack him, that'll work
I have found a polite way to tell someone that their weird without making them get upset
I have found a polite way to say to a right wing party that their policies stink by saying, you guys are a bunch of total perfectionists, who care nothing for the little guys
I have found a polite way to tell someone that they aren't the right sort of friend for me by saying, please mate, I need to broaden my horizons, so can you leave my perfect world buddy
I have found a polite way to tell my boss that I am resigning and that is I really don't want this place of employment, it's not really my cup of tea
I have found a polite way tell someone in a bar to stop bugging me by asking them nicely to please leave me alone and if that doesn't work then leave the bar saying if people aren't going to be nice to me here, I ain't going to come here
I have found a polite way to call someone a young bludger by telling them that they are as lazy as you were when you were their age
I find polite ways to say anything because I value my
Life too much to be hurt people's feelings, I am really cool, man

ya see i hear voices of people saying i have no real problems, but i wanna be famous, and i want to move to adelaide, but i don’t get positive feedback

so i feel like getting drunk and vomiting like this song

You see I love to have a few beers, or chocolate, and chips, oh yeah
This was what I really enjoy when I go to a pub at night
You see I live next door to this nightclub, called the hungry ****** horse
And I ain't cursing because I want to, man, that s what it's called
I met a man named Roger Killbert, who I had *** with and having a few
But the beers weren't doing good for Roger, they made him really sick
You see he was getting drunk and vomiting, yes, he was really sick
I don't share children with him, so why did I stay with him
You see he lost his family in the recent fires, and this is the first time he went out
And Roger was getting a sickly taste in his mouth, oh yeah
And it made him *****, he was sick,
You see it was just vomiting, so I didn't bother to take him to hospital
But I changed my mind, when te blood came out, it was really bad
So I took him to the hospital, and the hospital said he fine
But I know in my fucken ****** heart, that he was sick
Then he vomited blood, and the nurse said
To Roger to go to the waiting room
Because this isn't too important, but we do know that it was
And I said, why don't you get your *** in gear
And help my fucken friend, and from that moment
They labelled me a stubborn girl, yes I hated that a lot
And I said, yes, I'm stubborn, but I care for him, and have you got
Someone you care about, you hear about doctors like you
And I am more than just a stubborn woman
If you don't look after my friend, or at least try
I will soo your pants right off
He fucken had the nerve to say on what grounds
I am trying, to be my job, follow work protocol
Yes, I am doing fine, I earn a lot of money
And I deserve every cent, then I said you deserve squat
But I don't really care, when we left, yes I sooed his pants off
And since that ****** day, this doctor never learnt his lesson
We were moved to another hospital
You see he is getting drunk and vomiting, and he was very sick
And we are enjoying spending his money we got out of the doctor
Yes I feel ****** good

you can get your earth bodies to look at aaron clayton or aaa youtube TV, to hear everything performed by me

here is my next song


now, i will tell you where my cool kid is, at the mall mucking around
you see I go to the mall, being with young people
And I have so much fun, making young people mistakes
Like drinking all night and passing by McDonald's
For a McFeast and fries and coke
I will look like a junk food hooligan
And yes I will look so cool to the young
But I wish it was as simple as that
I want to have some fun
So I saw my two friends Eddie and Daniel
And we mucked around having fun
But it wasn't really what I wanted, man
So I told them both to *******
For 3 years after they purposely ran into me
And call me Woosey, and um, they will put the smoke in their ear
And eat McDonalds while I will try to be an adult
And every adult decision I make, they said Woosey, Woosey, Woosey
And then I got up and said you kids make me sick
But I couldn't say that, and they called me Woosey, because I was
Too Woosey to be a man, that opens up to his problems
But I felt like trying my hand trying to intimidate them
And make them leave me alone, it drives me crazy
All I want to be is a normal young dude, you know
Playing around making mistakes as well as being cool
But I have **** like you two teasing me as if your friendship is a fucken lie
You look like greedy pigs when you eat your McDonald's
And you are a ******* when you bang your head against the tapes
Yeah, dude, you look like a Woosey to me, mate
I am just doing the kind of things that Patrick did
Because what he likes to do, is similar to what I like to do
I like hard rock music, but I ain't a little young dude
Who is to scared to escape the tease
You guys are two little Wooseys, and I will say you are Wooseys
Mainly because you eat little young food like maccas
And you stick the cigarette in your hair, like a ******
I am a cool young dude, cool young dudes do art, and don't look lost
I'm not lost, I am so radical dudes, let's party
I am now on the healing process, because Daniel is the only Woosey
And that's the truth, you see


you see, how many of you guys have been called a woosey, you see i believe in loving life and here is my next song

i still wanna be young, what is wrong with that
Yes, mate, I am happy and I feel cool
I feel my body is getting younger and I want to break the adult rule
Mind you, there is nothing wrong with growing up, and being wise, so to speak
But really that's too formal, man, doing that will just send you weak
You need to do things that are exciting
Like go on an aero plane, like to Thailand or Vietnam, or even the mighty USA
You should go on long rail journeys too, yes that's a bit of a buzz
You can either choose having a sleeper, living the lap of luxury
Or roughing it up on the single ride seat
You can also grab a hot meal on the train
And you can eat it in the dining car
And you can eat it up, real fast, so you aren't away from the seat too long
I also like a bus trip, like to Batemans bay or beyond
And a trip to Sydney. Melbourne, Brisbane, Hervey bay, gold coast, and fantastic Adelaide
I go into a club and if I hear music I will either tap my foot or dance to it
Depending on the mood of the place
I also like to stay in a Hotel, and watch a bit of ****** Rupertvision
Some shows are good, and thouroughly entertained me so much
But not enough to make me give to that rich *****
I sometimes like a good trip in the country, where I climb mountains
Or just look at the views from lookouts and even the wild life
And mind you, you can have a ball in the country, cause you have no main worries
No worries at all, sonny Jim
Then you can spend the weekend in Sydney for the Carols in the domain
Where you get in early, pick a great spot, and take in the Christmas spirit
Mind you, you have to wait in line at the toilets, but it's all in good fun
And mate, if you happen to lose, dad, or even your mum
Just go to the stage, and tell them that you are a lost boy
With no directional skills, and how do I find mummy again
Of course they will help find them, but you really just wanted to get on the idiot box
And mate, just wait for the hiding you get off mum or dad
For wasting important television viewing time
There are so many things you can do, but, mate
You need to get a job, oh yeah, don't make your mum and dad pay
That can make you uncool
You see, I am a 43 year old young dude, yeah
And I will be there, till the day I join the afterlife, oh yeah
i hear voices of people saying, i ain’t going to help you little cool ki, ****** oath i am cool kid



Hi little kid, you can't find your mummy, you are a baby
Cause this is a family event, and it's quite ****** safe
Just ask a fellow kid, sure you are safe little kid
But then another kid will come, and trick me into
Looking like a phedaphile, and I won't be able to get out of it
So little kid, keep looking around for your mummy
And, yes you will see her, and I ain't helping you
Cause I am not the kids teasing Buddy
You see I want kids to let me be a true grown up
Who wants to be cool, and have a lot of fun
With other grown ups, and if kids can think of Judy being with each other
The city will look after their needs a lot better
You see, I dressed up as Santa, but I ain't helping you kid
So *******, or I will put you in the toilet
Do you want that, I don't fucken think so
I can tell you, I ain't no kid, I am an adult
Who wants to have fun and enjoy life
I don't want you kids to come up to me
And ask me to do something inappripiate
Even if it looks innocent, it ain't, I aren't that type of guy
You kids are a pack of fucken losers
And just keep yourselfs in your family groups
Cause that will suit me just fine, because
I ain't gonna he
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
i'll be as smart-drunk as i can be, you just find the "drunk" idiots; clue: they have a hard-on for being bilinguals, but they speak as much arabic as much as i speak turkish in a kebab takeaway.

it only hits be, dead-hard smack in the middle
of the chest, it almost feels like a cardiac arrest,
but is in fact that case of the famous turtle
travelling zeno's affair between
oliver reed & keith moon -
sorry ol' chaps: can't be much of a company,
i'm a lone-wolf drinker,
i hate talking and excesses of comic antics...
but it hits me:
william burroughs said that writing was
50 years behind painting,
painting became sloppy, too sloppy to object
to geometry,
      painting became a freak-show worthy
of a frankenstein monster than never appears...
point being: i hate being lied to,
i hate being faked for "companionship",
if you think that a drunk can't keep a secret
you think a drunk can't sniff out a rat?
and i thought i was being trusting...
   you know how many times i could have
punched out the guy who apparently
"enjoyed" drinking with me? every time
he brought his cyprus ***** of a
bro-bunny with him? he always had the argument:
you couldn't have had it worse than mine...
wanna bet?
      i just remember talking to this random guy
in a pub, when i came out of the toilet,
and he was looking at the guy, squeezing his
nose with his fingers, implying:
ready for that punch luv'ed up sam?!
    **** me, i was boxed with enough
knee jerks to let the case roll...
come on... if i punch someone i might as well
ask for a coffin...
                 and some jail time:
as my father always said: don't
touch ****, **** stinks.
            i should have merely said:
take it out on your old man,
and your ****** sister,
                punch him first, before i give
you a proper missing-tooth-grin...
       outer east-london,
last time i remember being in a fight
was in school...
punched that pikie in the knickers (kidneys)
so he'd sooner **** his pants,
or cry me a ******* timberlake sonata...
  thankfully the teacher liked my taking
the **** from the o'keef...
                 so i sometimes punch myself
in the face, betting with myself:
knock 'im out! knock 'im out!
i try, god i try...
      bit there's only so much you can punch
with emphatic passions for a night's worth...
i've had almost 32 hours under my belt
and i still don't feel sleepy...
   but then i make the right brown bear
canadian cocktail, and i do a mini-series
of hibernation, 10 hours...
been awake 32h+, what does that matter?
but this article wakes me up, once more,
she on her holiday, and she's keeping count
of her instagram likes, her bikinis, her *****,
her whatever it is that she does...
who the **** invited you?
seems akin: sisyphus and tunnel vision -
namely: you had no guardian: to make you
perform that infantile task of repeat,
you could have been akin to prometheus,
dragging the godly stone unto
the mortals... idiot! there was no cerberus
looking after you!
so you have your three brothers...
sisyphus who ought to have taken the
rock to man, and informed them:
romans! countrymen! lend me your ears!
i have just invented the "wheel"!
wheel?! the countrymen replied!
yes! a wheel! sisyphus could have replied.
then prometheus came before the altar
of eagle celebrating empires,
  liver eater by an eagle whether in rome,
or in **** germany, or in american balds...
but of course idiot polyphemus replied,
as he was always prone to reply:
the big stanley is iran,
  the little stan is idaho...
                       no one nowhere,
   nobody, nothing to do with the acronym brigade...
cyclop antics: tunnel visions,
better on horses with shutters...
        i say: sisyphus has rolled enough stones
toward a "futility" that actually meant something...
i'm sort, polyphemus was in a war,
the surgeons had to extricate one of his eyes
and make him into a helpless cannibalistic
half-***...
             one-eyed...
  but don't pity the ******, just mind the magician's
trick he always seems to compose under
his sleeve, with you being unaware...
                      sure, i might use "degrading"
terminology, but i know the magic of a ****** when
in see it, and it's so much more,
than certain people's attempts at clarifying gravity.
no one forced sisyphus into the menial task,
as no one believed that narcissus
looking upon his reflection in a lake,
would realise his mother to be medusa,
and be frozen into stone...
for narcissus was the son of zeus and of medusa...
christianity has already erased by slavic past,
it's only right that i reclaim a hellenic
dignity, away from this byzantine parade of farce!
there are more decried route unto death
than by crucifixion, most notably:
    a crucifixion in private, rather than upon
the public justification of a golgotha,
for at least, the public would plead the guilt
to a mercy and allow an end; but in public?
god knows, and thus god will never end,
knowing, our darkest plights,
which some of us, would rather decant into
a void, rather than the: un-circumscribed;
some of us prefer the minor injuries of
seeing urbane graffiti, tagging, as opposed to
these fetishes of abhorring words,
adding to the fetish of the less abhorred
meat cleaving;
     i'll die choking that these fetishistist desires are
a standardised explorations leading toward
the foundations of power...
  "power"...
           they sure are a fetishism,
and they are sure desire,
           but are the standardised "explorations"?
and do they lead unto power?
      as ever: ad infinitum nuance in quaestio:
id est: qua est vis? (what is power?)...
               ergo est vis *** non vis...
         i like my latin, even if it's piglet,
for some reason, it allows me to handle an enlarged
bladder, once it's been taken off the streets
and put to good, however *lingua mort

it seems to "appear".
From out the dragging vastness of the sea,
Wave-fettered, bound in sinuous, seaweed strands,
He toils toward the rounding beach, and stands
One moment, white and dripping, silently,
Cut like a cameo in lazuli,
Then falls, betrayed by shifting shells, and lands
Prone in the jeering water, and his hands
Clutch for support where no support can be.
So up, and down, and forward, inch by inch,
He gains upon the shore, where poppies glow
And sandflies dance their little lives away.
The ******* waves ******, and tighter clinch
The weeds about him, but the land-winds blow,
And in the sky there blooms the sun of May.
Chauncey May 2014
Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a boy who say and read all day and all night.  That's all he would do in his spare time, read, read read.  Now, this boy wasn't hard to find in a crowd due to his brilliant blond hair and his misty blue-green eyes which seemed to be as if fog had rolled into a swamp and created a beautiful tranquility.  This boy, was made fun of for reading, for not knowing things, even for having glasses.  They called him things like "******", "four eyes", "stupid".  These words hurt the boy more than anything he could ever imagine.  So he buried himself deeper in books.  He wandered down the halls of Hogwarts from Harry Potter, and slept in the cabins at Camp-Halfblood from Percy Jackson.  He watched on as tributes killed each other in The Hunger Games, and flew with the flock in Maximum Ride.  But one day, something  happened to this misty eyed boy.  He moved schools, with new faces and new insults.  Except, the misty-eyed boy was never called names, never made fun of.  He was accepted, people talked to him without calling him a name.  And he started to respond.  Slowly, he emerged from the pages of the books he had been buried beneath.  When he emerged, something caught his eye.  A beautiful girl, one with auburn hair and hazel eyes that shone like the full moon on a clear night.  She made him feel happier than he had ever felt, and the names that had clung to this poor boy fell off.   This misty-eyed boy decided one day to give his heart to this hazel eyed girl.  And that's when something amazing happened, she gave him hers in return.  And they were happy...for the time being.  As the boy began to talk more and more, he started to read less and less.  He went online and made friends from all over the world.  He indirectly hurt this hazel eyed girl, and she started to take her heart back.  That misty eyed boy tried his best to convince her that he was the right one to hold onto it, but she gave it over to somebody she had met online.  The misty-eyed boy was devastated, he began to do the one thing he had wanted to do all his life.  He wrote.  He wrote and when he did the world seemed to stop, nothing mattered anymore, there was no hazel eyed girl, only him and his emotions.  And the boy was happy.   The boy wrote and wrote and wrote, stealing glances at the hazel eyed girl whenever he could, smiling slightly as he remembered all the fun that they had had together.  One day, the girl gave the boy her heart again, and he felt that feeling that he had felt only once  before in his life.  The misty-eyed boy was even happier.  And they stayed like this, but not even a year later, the hazel-eyed girl started to take her heart back.  She turned to another boy, one who's blond hair was shorter and his eyes were a deep blue like the sea.  He charmed her with his kindness and his grace, and when the misty-eyed boy complained, the hazel eyed girl and the sea blue eyed boy lashed out at him.   And the boy was sad again.  He wrote, but this time, he could not forget about that hazel eyed girl.  He felt the pain envelop him and consume him.  He gave up multiple times but couldn't surrender because he knew if he did he would hurt those who loved him.  Before you give all of your sympathy towards this little misty eyed boy, you must know this.  He too, had let his demons out.  Twice in this story did he make that hazel eyed girl cry, and cut and give up.  He said things that made her feel horrible about herself, he did the things he promised he would never do.  He became a monster.  But that ended as quickly as it arose, and the boy felt horrible.  He sat in his room, crying because he knew that that girl had scars because of him.  And that little misty-eyed boy sat and wondered, what would have happened if he had just stayed buried.
aviisevil Jan 2014
"come here ****** , sit with us"
As I walked away from those eyes
"whats the matter , we'll show you love"
I knew , nothing but lies

I was the funny one , the clown
"look he's coming , lets push him down"
They laughed at me when I was hurt
"you're so funny mate , now turn around"

"hey you , you look like a girl"
They used to scream at me
"oh he's crying , so much hurt"
But still they couldnt see

"come here stupid , now entertain"
i'm so tired Please , not again
"we'll beat you stupid *******"
i've to play their sadistic game again

On my way home their was no respite
"look how he walks , left and right"
They stared at me like an animal
Do you know how it feels to live your every moment in fright

Afraid of everything that touches you
Everything that goes by
Can't stop no matter what you do
Every wish and dream is to die

"child , why are you so different?"
Always asked my folks
"cant you act normal for a moment"
"is this your idea of a joke?"

"child , why don't you speak much"
At the dinner table they always spoke
" maybe we should send him to a boarding school"
Yeah , like that would've stopped the world from being an *******

"look at his wrists , he has done it again"
As they gathered around me in a choke hold
"did it pain, now do it again"
Or we'll tell your dad and he'll scold

Yelled the teacher infront of them
"fool , get out of the class , you're disturbing everyone"
He could'nt see they were poking me with a pen
And my hair was full of gum

"your kid is a ******"
Whispered the man in the office to my dad
"take away his guitar"
He's listening to rock and thats too bad

"I bet he takes drugs"
"is he into satan?"
"your child is cursed"
He talked without a curtain

"you , I curse the day you were born"
The only thing I had always known
The last ounce of sanity in me
Departed , Now finally gone

I was dying but now I was dead
A new persona began to form
As the last bullet pierced my head
The old one was long gone

The new one wasn't the nice one
All he had was anger and rage
All he had was hatred for everyone
Now it was his time to play

His lips parted and he whispered to the world
"man ,finally i'm 'gonna have some fun"
His heart full of hatred , ready to tame the world
With a sick smile he picked up his shiny gun


another columbine had begun..
Travis Green Aug 2018
Above my home where the dark clouds
curl into the sky clinging for a home to
rest their sleepy depiction, shadowed
trees hum sweet lullabies, lonely leaves
breathe in the sad song of fallen dimensions,
letting its lifeless view roll upon their frame,
the chilled breeze sailing in the skyline,
as I scramble my way out of a filthy dumpster,
a mountain of disintegrating mess covering
my broken body, hovering flies surrounding
sticky strips of spaghetti, moldy mashed potatoes,
and moldy chicken *** pies, while my mind sunk
into traveled thoughts, bruised hands pressed against
the creases in my forehead, allowing my existence
to feel the stranded scars streaming in various mazes,
dull eyes flushed with a burning disorder, aching cheeks
and chests nestled in darkening chamber corners, buried
hips and thighs uprooting in somber blades of grass,
thorned, torn, and destroyed in different worlds.  As I stood
on the slippery pavement staring at the ruffled scenery
in my sight, spinning streetlights thickening into slouched
positions, screaming sidewalks spilling sadness and madness
in the drenched air, razor-edged buildings inching into crushed
centimeters, jumbled meters, ****** yards.  I replayed the sober
images in my head, the way my young brown-skinned mom said
I would never amount to anything, how I could hear the raged
noun ****** sift into the distance, its flaming mechanics
accelerating into screeching sounds, the way she hurled
her fists at my smashed face, every vibrant language
breaking apart, slamming shut into closed infinites,
snagged contractions and gerunds diverging into
shuddering double spaced negatives, the way she threw
my lingering body inside the trash dumpster, her sharp
scarlet words, You are no son of mine, ricocheting off
savage surfaces, sparking my soul in a calamity
of choking diction.
Dada Olowo Eyo Jan 2015
Goes 'bout mouthin' the bend,
Talkin' from the rear end,
Mirrors fools quippin',
With grey matter drippin'.
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
On some verdant green hill far away in cute little Palestine of old
Before the Israelis marched in and bunged out the owners
Jesus was hanging about on the cross not feeling too happy
I suppose he was dying for you and me because his Dad was asleep
And he doesn't care if you are a ****** or a giant or a fatty or a fairy!
Yessir! He loves everyone unequivocally provided they praise him endlessly
And receive him in their souls and sing him a load of ****** hymns!

But if you don't receive the LORD and reject the words of the EVIL ONE
He (God) will crush you totally and utterly like a blue-tailed fly
Squatting on a well-used and ill-cleaned second-hand lavatory brush
Without any exception whatsoever even if you are an ugly fat dwarf
As He don't hold with no discrimination nor positive action no way!
So get down on your knees (a shorter journey for amputees with stumps)
And get praying to THE LORD without blinking twice. Yeeha! Amen!
Nexus Jul 2018
*******! I'm a ******, got no grit and finds life hard.
Got ***** whipped and now I can't get hard. Gonna sing myself to sleep and dream of discharge.
Walk a mile, fake a smile, i'm stuck as a child.
Fighting my mind, desperately trying not to be evil.
People dying, I see them. A voice, it tells me to eat them.
I know your insides I can practically feel them,
Every bone, every muscle and tendon.
Skinless people feel they need to follow me around,
I try to run but they catch up and pin me to the ground.
Pry my mouth wide, put your tongue inside and suddenly there's no sound.
A white noise fills my mind and a darkness washes over my eyes.
I'm skinless too, I can join those who used to follow me, through the red I see blonde.
Lips i need to kiss, a skinless body I need to hold.
-Bradley M Hodgson

— The End —